First! Last night when I was reading my book (John Irving's A Widow for One Year) a reader was described as being "avid". Take that, Swistle sweetie. If Irving, a master storyteller can say "avid reader", what could possible be the harm of it?
Anyway..... on my last post, I realize that the faux-snootiness of my own little pet peeve did not translate well into writing.
Teh iruny. It mawks. Please to enjoy.
I have also noticed that certain topics will guarantee you a pretty, pompous Tiara of Hoity-Toity. Certain topics such as eating healthy, exercising, reading or drinking tea. I have seen folks go rabid in a comment section over a particular blogger who liked to talk about her exercise routine, the comment section collapsed into bitter words decrying folks who exercise as judgmental towards those who do not. Me? I think the tea drinkers are the worst. Bitches! All of 'em.
Speaking of tea, I had a lovely blueberry rooibos last night. It was heaven.
I do not have time for segues, this will have to do............
Oh! Hey! I do need to clear up something - it was not my birthday this week (No, that honor goes to Jenny!) (My birthday is April 20th! Mark your calendars in great anticipation) (Of nothing. I really have no plans.) No, what is happening is that Anjali has been carefully and meticulously planning her JULY birthday for nearly two months now. She is still tweaking the details but as it stands currently, we are going to have it at the nearby Nature Center, all of her friends are going to sing Happy Birthday to her, we will have pretty plates and napkins (plain white is just not done), we will play games, and she will open presents (she is crystal fucking clear on this last part, folks.) The guest list changes weekly, the gift list even more so. However, one thing stays constant - she will have a Barbie CAKE. No cupcakes (my usual cheat on parties.) I have a scant 4 months to work on this, because I do not do cakes.
Besides, in all of this Perfecting Parenting to which I am subjecting her, she needs something to grouse about with her therapist, no?
I made a joke the other day about loving Arun less than Anjali. None of you laughed. Of course, this is not true, I love my children equally! No favorites! Because they are exactly the same! Carbon-copies, save for a Y Chromosome lurking deep in the genetic folds of one of them. Otherwise? Equal.
One of the reasons why I am feeling less compelled to talk about Arun is that quite simply, he is a boy. I do not know adolescent boys very well, they are mysterious creatures with a language all their own. And I have no idea what will come forth from this blog to haunt Arun in his middle-school days.
Girls? Are simpler. If Anjali is to be subjected to Mean Girls, I doubt they are going to pull out quaint tales of that time when she played her game Mama Needs to Find Her Lost Baby with toy scorpions or how she has been carrying a piece of Styrofoam around, calling it Mr. Key and has declared it be her best friend.
No, Mean Girls will just go for the jugular and will call out one of her physical features.
It does not help that currently, Arun and I are in a nice little place - we get along well, we are having amazing conversations now. He has SO many questions about everything. Everything! I try to answer them as best as possible and am glad for my trivia hobby because I have a lot more answers than I would have thought.
But Happiness and Motherhood make for boring posts. Folks want drama, tears and rent garments.
So, if I talk less about Arun here, it means nothing other than I am not sure if blogging about his ardent adoration for Fancy Nancy and her mad vocabulary skillz will lead to him getting his ass handed to him in junior high. That is all.
Besides, 2.5 year olds are just more quotable. And that is not Arun's fault.