A Fart’s Worth

A while ago I was roaming Pinterest (as one does when they need to be taken down a peg or two about everything involving eating, drinking, clothing, shelter, and parenting) and something caught my eye.

It was so simple, yet seemed so Pinterest-y – a toddler activity that involved basically no mess, no skill, and was very easy to set up. “YES,” I thought to myself, “something that I can do that is enriching for my child and I can actually say out loud that I did something I pinned.” One of those total win-win scenarios. Yee-haw!

As you may know, I’ve been daily vlogging to keep my mind busy and to preserve precious memories. Memories such as these. Who would want to forget that when I don’t have a lot of time to choose my words I refer to a measurement as “a fart’s worth?”

“But Carrie,” you may say, “a fart isn’t a measurable entity.”

And I would say, “Yes it is, what you mean to say is that it cannot be a set amount, as every fart is different, like a snowflake.”

And you’d be like, “Right, that’s what I meant – you can measure a fart by volume of sound or a subjective scale like smell, but ultimately, if you were to tell me ‘a fart’s worth,’ it may mean something different to me than to you.”

And I’d say, “Yes. I agree, and I have to say, thank you for being so polite in our discourse and not immediately yelling at me about the immeasurability¬†of farts. This is why we are friends.”

And you’d make a joke about how our friendship means several fart’s worths to you and we’d both laugh.

Then, after the back patting and laugh-winding-down-sighing, you’d ask how the activity went and I’d tell you that it completely and utterly failed.

I must say that in the 20-45 seconds total Lydia spent poking at these bags of finger paint, I could have taken a picture and said that she loved it, slapped it on Pinterest, and basically created an urban legend.

Fake Pinterest1

Oh my God, that’s what someone totally already did!

So I’ll start my own:

Fake Pinterest2

Wow. I feel so accomplished! I can see why people like Pinterest.

No no no no no, here, play with this boring thing.

I now have an 8 month old/almost 9 month old. She can crawl and just this morning she was standing up, holding my hands, and she let go and stood on her own for a few seconds. I was happy for her but also felt a little jealous of people who’s kids don’t walk until 14 months.

That constantly used expression, “they’re into everything” is certainly based off of fact. And it isn’t good enough to play with something like an age appropriate toy – those are for BABIES. Babies don’t think they’re babies. It’s very tricky.

So we’re at the stage where she crawls around, sees something she’s interested in (wires, dogs, knives, broken glass, smallpox vials – we still need to baby proof our house), goes for it, and then we use our evil ability to walk faster than she can crawl and move the thing she wants. It’s super fun.

Lydia and Teddy Bear

Today, when I was moving a box of old CDs from out of her reach, I had a pang of empathy. I imagined what it would be like if every time I reached for my smart phone, a big giant took it away before I could get it, AND THEN STARTED USING IT HIMSELF THE BASTARD. Or if every time, I, a short person, was on my tiptoes trying to pull something off a high kitchen shelf, that same giant comes up behind me and then moves it even higher. What a douchebag. Then, every time this giant denied me the pleasure of learning about something exciting, he spoke to me in a language I don’t understand but in a tone I could tell is pretty condescending. That would suuuuuuuuck.

And the beauty of all of this is, even as we slowly baby proof – moving things as needed, installing safety devices – it still will never spare us from constantly having to be party pooping assholes because one of the super powers babies possess is finding the most dangerous thing or activity in any given environment. There will always be a new dead bug or a fresh dust bunny to find and taste.

I’ve even found myself grabbing a spatula, and literally saying to myself, “This is really important to me and is not for babies. I’m going to put it right here on the floor for safe keeping.” As if that will somehow replace the amazing excitement that is wires – there’s a SURPRISE at the end of them. You just can’t top that.

So as I enter into the new phase of parenthood – Evil Fun Destroyer, I have to remember, as I grit my teeth and my eyes water while my daughter scrapes a cookie cutter against the tile kitchen floor, making a sound that I can only assume is the soundtrack to hell, to allow her the little joys that won’t cause serious injury (save for my eardrums).

And, for real, y’all, if we are taken over by a race of giants we are screwed.

But do they pass the savings on to me?

Lydia has started eating “solid” foods – gruel and the like. While I appreciate that the rice cereal I bought for her is organic, I’m not sure about their labor practices:

baby cereal 1

baby cereal 2

These babies don’t even get bathroom breaks – they have to wear diapers! Also it doesn’t seem very safe to force them to wear no clothes while they’re harvesting, that’s just going to lead to sunburns. They’re not even training their employees right – look how that baby is holding the watering can – there’s a handle for a reason for God’s sake!

I’m sure the employees get paid in empty gift bags, tissue paper, old pairs of glasses, and empty plastic soda bottles, so I’m not sure I should be paying as much as I did for this cereal. Surely with this workforce it could be much cheaper and they could still turn a profit.

If Hannibal Was Hired for Window Displays at Disney World

We had a lot of fun during our trip to Disney World. I’ve gathered some terrible and stupid pictures to share with you. Here we go:

We stayed at the Polynesian, which has extremely polite trash cans:

This thing loves refuse, and wants yours inside it.

This thing loves refuse, and wants yours inside it.

I think my favorite animatronic character of all the rides is this fabulously groovy disco scientist on Spaceship Earth:

She's got it going on, both scientifically and fashion-wise.

She’s got it going on, both scientifically and fashion-wise.

On our final day we dropped by Downtown Disney (if you panic because you hadn’t been able to find any Disney Merchandise in the parks, you can come here and get some, too), where I found this disturbing scene (if you can’t tell from the glare, these are princess dresses MADE OF PRINCESSES):

dresses

Has anyone else been watching Hannibal? Doesn’t this look like something that could be on that show? In particular, the murderer who was working on a “color palette”? Can’t you just imagine someone whistling creepily to themselves while they made this, maybe repeating “my pretty dolls, my pretty dolls” to themselves over and over? Just me?

Lastly, because it’s the most natural change of subject, here’s a picture of baby as Aurora. I really don’t subscribe to “pink princess pretty girly girl” stuff. I’m not crazy about how ¬†gender-specific specific baby items have become. However, when your five year old niece asks for a Sleeping Beauty dress from Santa Claus and hopes that Lydia has one to match, well, then, by golly:

Aurora Lydia

She’s drooling in this picture, which I think makes her more authentic character-wise because you know Sleeping Beauty’s pillow case was nasty with sleep drool.

And while I still DON’T embrace pretty pretty pink for all girls all the time, damned if she didn’t look cute. And, now that she’s being constantly mistaken for a boy, I have to steel myself to fight the power and not feel like I have to always dress her like this. Disney World does weird things to me.