Not the Mary Poppins I thought I'd be

It's only a couple of weeks into summer break and I've already run out of things to do, hiding from the heat and humidity in our Florida home. We've baked, done murals, played board games, finger painted with glow-in-the-dark paint (I'm not sure if you're supposed to do that), and visited the in-laws' pool every other day.

I'm considering getting a home waxing kit and letting the kids go for it on my legs. Like a science experiment. Everybody wins, right?

Wow.

THAT was the last blog I posted? Geez, I've written a bazillion blogs since that one.

In my head.

Ouch.

I'm miserable. Ever been stung by a wasp? I thought I had, back when I was a kid. But I don't remember anything like this.

I was pulling weeds in the landscaping because after we returned from vacation Tropical Storm Ernesto left behind a growth of Tropical Crab Grass. While leaning over the hedge I yanked on an alien foot-long grass strand and felt a flaming rake tearing across the back of my left hand. I envisioned poison nettle, but as I fell backwards, cursing in a way mommies do in front of their 5-year olds ("Holy SCHARFENBURGER!!!!") I saw the slow, taunting retreat of a wasp where my hand had been.

That was Sunday morning. It is now Monday night, and my hand has swollen to freak-size, so I guess the Benadryl, Ibuprofen, ice packs, and Icehouse aren't doing the trick. If I make it through the night without losing a digit, I'll be heading to the doc tomorrow morning.

Stupid nature.

That's not iFunny.

Last night I was marveling at our 2 year-old son who likes to walk up to my mac when it's playing iTunes, and navigate past the (frequently annoying) animated dock and click the tiny button to start up the music "visualizer" (mesmerizing screen swirlies).

5 minutes ago, however, I discovered him at my computer with a new achievement. He figured out how to navigate into the iTunes Music Store and purchase songs.

Those two Matisyahu songs are coming out of your college fund, Bucko.

catch up

I guess I'll write a new blog while I'm downloading Sopranos episodes. I only started watching the show for something to pack my Pod with (same reason I got temporarily hooked on Desperate Housewives, which totally jumped the shark in the second season), but watching even a single episode keeps me doing... dis tick, joisy accent fah hours aftahwads, youknowwhatahmsayin?

So much has happened in the past month. For the second time, a grandparent died during our vacation. I hope it's simply a sad coincidence and not a curse, as we're going to Disney in a couple of weeks and we're running low on relatives.

My 4-year old daughter fell off of a barstool (at the breakfast counter) a couple of days ago (we were so freaked out that we didn't even get the joke the doctor made about her being too young to go to a bar -- ho ho ho, Dr. Funnypants. Now fix our baby!). We were at the ER until after midnight getting her a CAT scan. Thankfully she slept thru it and more thankfully she's fine -- just a concussion. She's back to talking a mile a minute and being the beautiful princess with silly hats and breath that smells suspiciously of Smarties.

Other than that, I'm a year older and now sport blonde, chin-length hair. If this French-Women-Don't-Get-Fat diet -- I mean, lifestyle change -- kicks in, I should be thin enough to actually wear this cute haircut out in public. Until then, I'll sip my leek soup in my sweats on the comfy couch watching Tony Soprano on my iPod. But I'd raddah be eatin freakin ziti, capice??

You know what tastes really gross?

Diet Coke with salt in it. Thanks a lot, Son.

I got an iPod for Christmas

...but then so did most of America, so I guess that's nothing special. However, it may actually end up saving my sanity, as my 4-year old daughter is apparently in training for the Non-Stop Inane Babbling Pro Tour.

The child, while admittedly brilliant and comedically advanced waaaaaaay beyond her age, narrates her every thought. Heck, there isn't even thought involved for some of it -- it's just constant yammering AND IT NEVER STOPS. The irony is that when she's tired, she talks even MORE.

You think I'm exaggerating. Oh how I wish I was.

She of course gets her chatty talents from her father, whose conversational stamina is well known throughout most of Florida and some parts of Michigan. But since she spends most of her life hanging out with me, you'd think that SOME of my quiet, self-absorbed melancholy would rub off on her... But no. Yap, yap, yap.

But now! Now, thanks to my new iToy, I can plan dinner while listening to Norah Jones instead of Motormouthed Preschooler. (Don't judge me until you've had your train of thought interrupted with, "Mommy?" for the 1000th time before 10am.)

I'm smiling and nodding, but it's not because 4-year old Daughter is tattling on 2-year old Son for putting an entire family of mermaids in his diaper and hiding behind the couch. I'm bee-bopping along to as many tunes as I can cram on to this 30-GB dealie until I accidentally drop it in a puddle, or leave it in a shopping cart, or my son stuffs it down his diaper and disappears behind the couch.