Moving Day

 
It's official!

Domestic Irritation has moved to Cords and Fleece.

Of course I’ll continue to write about family life and I’m sure I’ll be plenty irritated and awed daily, but I hope to open up the content a little more in the new blog. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but we’ll see.

If you'd like to come along, please update your Readers and links, because I will no longer be posting here.

In other words, this is the last post on Domestic Irritation.

(*sniff*)

See you in the new 'hood!

-Melissa

A Quick Technical Question

 
Hello All,

Are Domestic Irritation posts still appearing in Blog Readers? Just curious...

Could you give me a quick response and let me know if this post showed up properly (or not) in your Readers?

Thanks!

M

The Fire Drill

 
"Oh look, kids! Your classmates are standing in little groups on the lawn, instead of playing safely inside their classrooms. And listen -- the fire alarm is ringing. Whoopee! OK, now. Run along and have a good day. Good luck with that fire and everything. Remember -- stop, drop and roll. We'll see you later!"

What is the matter with us?!

Apparently there was some sort of electrical malfunction in one of the rooms at the daycare where my girls go to school. When we pulled up, small children were standing in groups around the school yard. Samantha's class stood on the sidewalk in front of the parking lot -- their tiny heads barely visible over the hood of my car as I pulled up. (I doubt they'd be so visible from a minivan.) 

No one seemed to be worried. Smoke was not billowing from the windows. Only one fire truck pulled up next to the school -- without sirens. Firemen casually walked through the front door as if they were about to register their own children for daycare. It's all going to be fine.

But still.

It didn't seem right to drop our kids off in the midst of this mild chaos. Dropping the girls off at daycare is one situation where I like routine. I pick a girl -- any girl -- take her to class, sign her in, hug her, kiss her, wave goodbye, and that's it. That's a nice, safe routine. Sometimes the girl cries and I feel like shit, but at least it's safe.

"The teachers are very capable," Michael said. And he's right. They are. Have faith, I think. But this requires more faith that I'm capable of generating. Other parents came and went, so we left. Because that's what the other parents did. And because there's work to do. And because there are so few parking spaces that we had to make room for more parents who needed to abandon leave their kids at school. 

This is not a good morning.

As I put the car in reverse and slowly backed away, Samantha reached out to me while crying and clutching her baby doll. We usually don't allow her to take baby doll to school, because baby doll is very special. But we allowed Samantha to keep baby doll today for comfort. Because that's way better than actually comforting her, now isn't it?

This is not a good morning.

I'm writing now because I don't want to work. I'm waiting until a reasonable time has passed so I can call and confirm they're OK and stop worrying. But I don't want to call too soon, because then I'll get the inevitable endless ringing since they're probably still outside. So I'll hold out as long as I can so that the odds are better of reaching an actual person. In the meantime, I'll hold onto my "faith" for comfort. Because that's way better than actual comfort, isn't it?

Fuck it, I'm going to call.

The phone rings once, twice...

"Hello, this is classroom 4." 

I hear children playing and talking in the background.

"Hi, this is Melissa, Samantha's mom. I'm sure you're being bombarded with phone calls right now.

"No, not really."

Oh.

"Well, I'm just checking to see if everything is OK."

"Oh, yes," the teacher says. Her voice is calm and relaxed. "We're back inside and Samantha's eating breakfast."

"She is?" I ask. I imagine Samantha sitting at a circular table with other children, eating Cheerios with a plastic spoon out of a paper bowl. She's wearing the dress she got for her birthday. I bet her baby doll is on her lap.

I breathe. 

"That's great! So what happened?"

"It was an electrical short in one of the classrooms. They took care of it and now everyone's back inside. Everything's OK now."

"Good! Well, OK. I just wanted to make sure."

"No problem. Thanks for checking."

We hang up.

Well, now, isn't that great? Now I can get this day started. Stop worrying. Get back to work. Fix those web sites. Focus on conversations. 

But still.

I can't help thinking about Samantha, whose probably giggling now and sending baby doll hurtling down the slide. Wheee! Samantha loves her baby doll and I can see why. Baby doll has comforted her time and time again over the last three years. She has absorbed many tears and fears into her pink terry cloth flesh.

But even when Samantha is sad and clutches baby doll tightly to her neck while holding her pink hand, Samantha knows one thing for sure -- there's nothing like actual comfort. Because this faith thing is hard, sometimes.

I love you, sweetheart.
 
 

The Good, The Bad, and The Booty

Samantha: “I want to play Boggle, Daddy!”

Michael: “This game is for people who know how to read.”

Samantha: “Yes, but I’m tall!”

Michael: “Well, height really has nothing to do with literacy.”

--------------------

Elizabeth: “Look! It’s a dradle.” (pause) “I made it out of clay!”

And she really did. And we laughed really hard.

--------------------

Me: “I had a dream that you were mad at me and I went to a used record store and bought Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall for you in order to make up.”

Michael: “Are you sure you didn’t buy the record first and then I got mad at you?”

--------------------

Elizabeth: “How come kids only know about being fair and not grownups?”

--------------------

Me (to friends): “We got a kitten!”

Michael: “She misunderstood -- that’s not exactly what I meant when I said ‘I wanted more pussy’.”

Oh, yes he did.

--------------------

Me: “Meg’s touching your bone.”

(Meg is the cat and the bone is obviously Michael’s penis -- certainly not a drumstick.)

--------------------

Michael (while searching through the trunk of the car): “Is my rain coat up there?”

Me: “No, it’s not. Aren’t there some umbrellas back there?”

Michael: “Mmmm... only fruity ones.”

Me: “What?”

Michael: “Let’s see, my choices are a giant green frog umbrella or a Winnie the Poo umbrella.”

Me (chuckling): “Well, it’s better than getting wet.”

Michael: “Uh, no -- it’s not.”

And off he walked into the rain...

--------------------

Elizabeth: “I wish girls had chocolate butts.”

Me: Pause. Process. Blink. “Huh?”

Elizabeth: “Because then you could lick their booty.”

Oh, yes she did. I just love daycare.