Tag Archives: giant squid

Survival of the Funnest

You may well be wondering “Hey, did you guys survive the bedbugs? Or have you been carried off by the invading swarm?”

Well, both, in a way.

We came through it. We walked Bloodsucker valley and lived to tell. We’re still moving around the city, and we’re not scratching persistent itchy bites. We pass through the nights unmolested. Ten years from now, I might be cautiously optimistic that the process has worked. But we also seem to have been carried off, replaced by new, stronger more bad-ass people. We were made new through bedbugs. And even the Fun Apartment was made new. Even though it’s pretty much still the same.

It was 26 days living with the bags. Twenty. Six. March of 2017 is now just a charred piece of paper on the family calendar.

It was only supposed to be 24 days, but the exterminator decided–twice!–to rearrange his schedule.

And perhaps I should thank him, because it was those extra two days that did it. Those were the days that showed me that things couldn’t be the old way anymore. I knew on those two days that we were–or at least I was–going to be different people at the end of those two days. Those were the days I said all the swear words.

Happily, at the end of those two days, Mr. Fun Apartment and I were different people still married to each other, so that’s a plus. And I was a new person who just did whatever felt good. And didn’t feel bad about feeling good. I dyed a pink streak in my hair. I threw out at least a third of our stuff, but decided that we really couldn’t live without a giant squid costume.


Eyeballs the size of dinner plates!

I went to a fancy party–on a Monday night–and drank ALL the champagne! I made cereal and called it dinner–to great applause!¬†We started watching Looney Tunes! The Mr. bought some shorts! (Well, he’s got the legs for it.)


Push the Sky Away.

I got interested in a band* and then actually went to see them play–like an actual real person does! We went camping and ate ice cream sandwiches for lunch! At this point, I fully expect the boys to come home with tattoos. I’m cool with that, as long as they are anchors with the word “Mom” over them.

So now, apparently, I’m a person who says “Yes, why the hell not?” to almost any proposition I get. But I warn you to use your power over me wisely: I’m very susceptible to suggestion. Yes! The answer is yes! Unless you’re the PTA, in which case the answer is “Umm . . . maybe next year?”

So does all this newness mean that I’m ramping up for a big blog-name-changing announcement? No. Not yet.

But we’re asking ourselves a lot of questions that begin with “When?” and “Where?” I think we’re pretty set on “Who?” I’m afraid that “How?” will just have to sort itself out later. I’m too busy saying yes to things.

So, for my mom and the realtor she’s been secretly emailing, we’re not packing up yet. But we’re opening the lens wide. We’re putting on shoes, but no pants.

Why the hell not?


*One of the in-house music critics insists on referring to the band as Nick Cave and the Bad Nuts. Hey, I’m pretty sure Nick would say “Bring it on.”





Filed under Living Small, Not cool, Mommy, The outside world

Be it resolved . . .

New Year’s has never been my holiday. It’s ok, I guess. Maybe I am never quite ready for it. Because it chases so close to Christmas, I am always mildly surprised when it comes. It’s like a guest arriving early when you really need them to arrive late. “Oh! You’re here! Already?”

We don’t have a big tradition for it. I don’t go to fancy parties (hint hint, people). I spent this year’s big event curled up on the couch in my jammies (not even the cute ones) with box wine. And because I was looking at a clock that the boys can reach, at exactly 10:57 I heard the soft roar of the whole city swell up like a wave to celebrate. It was pretty magical. I didn’t want to be out there with them in the cold, but I was glad to be part of the whole business.

Then I immediately went to bed, where the man of my dreams had already been asleep for three hours.

I am always kind of surprised on New Year’s Day, when I wake up in the same apartment, with the same mess. I guess I kind of expect everything to be all new and different. (I also expect this when there’s a new mayor, with similar results.) But no dice. You see that pile of papers on my dresser, 2015? Go ahead, impress a girl.

And then it’s January and I’m sort of relieved to pack away the Christmas decorations (relatedly, you guys should see all the extra space we have now!!) and I’m also relieved not to spend every spare moment furiously knitting squids.

Giant squid captured on film!

Giant squid captured on film!

And I prefer Lunar New Year anyway. After all, that’s when I came out as a blogger. So I spend most of January like Janus, with one face looking dazedly back at the old year, wondering what the hell happened and one face peeking from behind the door at the new year that arrived like the early guest.

And I’m not super big on resolutions. I make them sometimes, but usually I keep it small so I can, well, keep them. This year, I ran through a whole list of ideas for resolutions. Here are some from the reject pile:

Stand up straighter. Unlikely to succeed, also: last year’s resolution.

Remember everyone’s birthday and send them a note. Until I can text directly from my brain, cross off “note” and replace with “warm thought.”

Deal with all the random boxes of crap in the bedroom. This is actually a resolution for my husband, who informs me that one cannot make resolutions for other people because it goes against the spirit of the thing, or something like that.

Develop weekly cleaning routines, with different days for different chores. Also unlikely. I don’t think the resolution should make me feel even more inadequate. I have magazines for that.

Do an awesome project–like this! Oh, shut up Pinterest, I do not believe in you!

Put your &$*#ing shoes on, I said! It’s time to go and I told you three times! Again, not a resolution for me. Also, isn’t something you say over and over and over again called a mantra?

Put a little more effort into not looking like I dressed in the dark and then smeared myself with toothpaste. Maybe . . . Hrmm. Sounds like a lot of effort, though.

Move into a bigger apartment. Mom, did you not read what I wrote about resolutions for other people?

Ultimately, I settled on these:

Have a good laugh with the boys, every day.

Hug each boy once a day when they aren’t expecting it.

Wait, haven’t I been doing this anyway? I’m not sure, to be honest, and that’s kind of scary.

I’m not sure the boys will get much out of my new lazy mom’s resolution, but I will.

"So this horse walks into a bar . . . "

“So this horse walks into a bar . . . “

They can make their own resolutions.


Filed under Mistakes I have made, The outside world