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February 10, 2006
Friday Shuffle - The Stop Touching Me Edition
I got about halfway through composing a rather long-winded blog entry yesterday. It was about dogs. Specifically, my hilarious history of owning really, really stupid dogs. You would have loved it, I'm sure, had Clara Jane not hit the shiny red OFF button.
You see, I don't have my own office, per se. I did, once upon a time. One of the reasons why we bought this particular house was because of the lovely little room in the back of the house, filled with windows overlooking the backyard. And space! Oh, the glorious space! I had two - two! desks back there! And enough space that I could have a little dance party whenever I wanted.
The summer after Clara Jane was born, when she reached the point where she was no longer content to spend most of her waking hours in a swing or sling, I had to give up my office. It was too isolated from the house. For about a year and a half, my "office" has been in the "dining room", which is really just a small space between the kitchen and living room, open floor plan and all. On the plus side, I can be at my desk with Clara Jane in my line of sight, without putting much of a cramp in her motivation. On the negative side, my desk is in the middle of the house for everyone to abuse at will. Nevermind the intricacies of consolodating an entire office into the space of one desk. Precarious doesn't begin to describe it. Oh, the mountains I constructed from paper, notes, cooking magazines, yarn, half-finished knitting projects, rough drafts of chapters, CDs, bills, telephones, cameras, purses, beverage vessels and one very snazzy monkey clock! Mountains that have been driving me out of my mind for approximately 18 months. Now that Clara Jane thinks everything in the world belongs to her, some changes are in order, because the mountains, they are crumbling down.
Last weekend, B. and I gutted the rather large closet/pantry off the dining room to make room for all my crap. No more mountains! I'm happy. So very happy, indeed. But there's one thing I've been longing for. For years I have wanted a privacy screen. Before, I just wanted one to use as a room divider, open floor plan and all. But with my desk in the dining room, I've decided that a screen is essential to my survival. You see, I cohabitate with people who believe that, if they can see me it means that I am just waiting anxiously for them to ask me a question/fix something for them/listen to their incessant chit-chat/read them a damn book/etc. No amount of education on this topic seems to work with either of the people who share my living space. And by "share" I mean "plow over me at every given opportunity, especially when I'm eyeball-deep in editing a chapter for my book".
I need a damn screen.
Now, I love Isaac Mizrahi. I usually don't care one whit about designer anything, but I la-la-la-love anything Mr. Mizrahi does. Hell, if he groped me, I'd just laugh it off. Not like it would be the first (or second or even fifth) time I've been groped by a queen. Although I might ask him for a pair of shoes, if he really wanted to apologize.
When he introduced his line of home goods at Target, I knew it was kismet because what was all over his stuff? Poppies! Big, bright orange poppies. I do so love poppies. And what was the centerpiece of this line? Why, a big privacy screen enblazened with a giant, luscious poppy!
Today I was at Target and lo and behold, they have clearanced the lovely screen to $25. It's huge, so I pressed the button for customer assistance. And while I waited, I got kicked to a fucking pulp. Attacked, right there in the furniture department of my friendly neighborhood Target. Who would do such a thing, stomping the ever-living fuck out of a gal who wants nothing more than a 75% off poppy screen that will grant her the only wish she's had for herself in nearly two years - privacy?
Oh. It's you. Hello there, Devil Baby. I ... I thought you'd returned to the cornfield with the other minions.
No such luck. Devil Baby returned today, and she returned with all the fires of Hell blazing in her fury. I really think it's that sweater. It's cute and all, but she was wearing it again today, and her attitude matched that look on her face.
Clara Jane, would it fucking kill you to stop kicking me in the gut? Will your legs atrophy and drop from the seat of the shopping cart like lightening-struck branches on a tree if you ceased kicking for more than 30 seconds? Because if you don't stop kicking me directly in the incision the doctor made when she hastily removed you from my body - you know, where I gave you motherfucking life - I'm going to introduce you to another man named Isaac. I'm sure you'll have a grand ol' time, frolicking in the corn fields and worshipping Satan.
Yes, I cut my shopping trip short because I was sick of being kicked by my child, and sick of getting nasty looks from other shoppers every time I'd hold her legs and say, "Clara Jane, please stop kicking me." And yes, I've become one of those moms who does nothing but repeated things like, "Clara Jane, please stop kicking me," while her child continues kicking! Harder! Because she loves the sound of my voice!
Before we went to Target, we were at lunch. As Clara Jane repeatedly shoved handfuls of fried rice up her nose, and I repeatedly said, "Clara Jane, please stop shoving fried rice up your nose"*, it hit me. Oh my God, I am Jeffrey's mother. Remember Jeffrey's mother from Bill Cosby: Himself? She's a young mother who boards a plane with her young son, Jeffrey. Little Jeffrey repeatedly tells everyone on the plane, "I'm four years old! I'm four years old! I ... I ... I'm four years old!" As Mr. Cosby put it, "Little Jeffrey. I remember his name, not because he said, "I'm four years old," but because Jeffrey's mother said his name all 2500 miles of the trip."
And that's where we are. "Clara Jane, please stop kicking me. Clara Jane, please stop shoving fried rice up your nose. Clara Jane, please stop touching the bleach. Clara Jane let me wipe your nose and get rid of that rice. Clara Jane don't make me tell you again to quit kicking me. Clara Jane Clara Jane Clara Jane just .... stop it! Clara Jane, let's shuffle."
1. What Sarah Said - Death Cab for Cutie
2. Out of Time - Rolling Stones
3. Set You Free - Black Keys
4. Going to Town - Afghan Whigs
5. Unchained - Johnny Cash
6. Down by the Water - PJ Harvey
7. My Hometown - Bruce Springsteen
8. Magnolia Mountain - Ryan Adams
9. In Your Honor - Foo Fighters
10. Dinner at Eight - Rufus Wainwright
Posted by Robin at February 10, 2006 02:21 PM
Comments
but but did you get the screen? because it is fabulous. tell Clara Jane to stop sending Charlotte Josephine memos about the satan worshipping workshop. She doesn't need pointers.
Posted by: jenB at February 10, 2006 04:26 PM
as you are aware, i believe that clothing can definitely have something to do with mood/pandemonium/devil baby development. in fact, i recently destroyed a sweater because it had bad karma.
i think it's the sweater.
i'm sorry to hear you got kicked from here to china today.
Posted by: kara at February 10, 2006 04:27 PM
No, I didn't get the screen. If B. would stop standing over my shoulder and yammering, perhaps he could go to Target right now and get it for me.
Posted by: Poppy at February 10, 2006 04:27 PM
You have to get rid of the sweater -- it's got to be that sweater.
You didn't get the screen?! B STOP READING OVER HER SHOULDER AND GO GET IT FOR HER!!!
Posted by: Katya at February 10, 2006 04:52 PM
The screen has been purchased and is sitting on my front porch for all the neighbors to admire!
Posted by: Poppy at February 10, 2006 05:28 PM
That screen had better be in your house by now!
That picture of Clara Jane just slays me. It's not just the evil glare but then hand placement. Casual evil.
Posted by: Dixie at February 10, 2006 05:34 PM
I was panicking there for a minute that someone would snatch the last remaining screen while you were wrassling CJ. I thought this story was going to have a sad, sad ending. Whew. I can breathe easy now.
Posted by: jess at February 10, 2006 05:37 PM
Ohkay... I have only begun reading, BUT... I need to hear more about the monkey clock. No. I need to SEE it. Thanks.
Posted by: Julie J at February 11, 2006 10:09 AM
Sweet effin screen victory!
Burn the sweater, girl. BURN it. And make Clara Jane watch it burn. It'll be like an exorcism!!!!
Posted by: Julie J at February 11, 2006 10:15 AM
