Motherhood is Not for Wimps

I’m finally down to the last few boxes from the move. I am scraping mildewed boxes out of the basement, opening windows, and finding it almost habitable. The yard is lush and my deck canisters are bursting with squash and tomatoes and herbs. We have a new gas grill, and I find it amusing to pluck something off a vine and chuck it on the grill and eat it.

The last year has had its challenges for La Casa Loony Tunes, and I think the time has come to slow down, enjoy the languid days, and ask less of ourselves for a bit.

So while I am not shutting Damomma.com down, I will be posting less for the immediate future. I’m starting to think about other projects and directions, the future of this blog and of me, and I’m hoping that by fall I’ve got some ideas of where to go next.

(The Fabulous) Carolie and I have started work on Motherhood is Not for Wimps II: Still No Answers, which we hope will be available for sale by the end of this year.

And wait’ll you see the cover.

It’s Tuesday.

Okay. You got me. I’m going to respond.

Seriously. You would not believe the e-mails I’ve gotten. People feel strongly about boogers, apparently. And lenient parenting. And, like, whether or not I should be permitted to procreate.

I want to set the record straight: THIS BLOG SHOULD NEVER BE MISTAKEN FOR AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL. If you think you can do it better, god bless ya, I’m sure you can. I tragically lost my omniscent certitude that I was right the morning of September 21, 2002.

That said, I will respond to this one.

Ren smeared the booger on me because the conversation was making her uncomfortable. Her sister was sobbing and Ren was ashamed. She hoped the booger-smearing would provoke me and end the conversation. By refusing to respond, I was, in fact, disciplining her.

I insisted that she owed her sister an apology, and it ended with the two of them hugging, music swelling, and whispered conversations about that not-so-fresh feeling.

On a related note, Miss Moonbeam is back from college, resuming her summer nanny duties.

“Hey, Ren!” she said when the Doodle trotted, grinning into the kitchen. “Do you want to put some clothes on?”

“No, thanks,” Ren said. “I rather be nakers.”

“Oh, okay,” Moonbeam shrugged.

“Hey,” I asked. “Did you read the blog?”

She nodded vigorously. “If you’d reacted to the booger thing she would resort to that every time she was in trouble.”

If I were single, and we were gay, and she were of age, I just might marry her.

“Ren. You wrote on Sissy’s artwork. It made her cry.”

(Mare: Waaaa!!)

“Ren. She’s crying. Because of you.”

Renny stares at me, solemnly picking her nose.

“Do not. Draw on anything but paper. YOUR paper. Not the wall, not the furniture. Not Sissy’s art.”

Renny’s crystal blue eyes are unblinking. Finally, she removes her finger from her nostril, smears booger down my cheek, and laughs.

I can’t believe they actually make lolipops with dead scorpions embedded in them.

And extra points if anyone can spot Ren on a Japanese blog.