Pizza, Pomp and Circumstance

The Crimson Mafia did indeed let me exit stage left with a diploma, sparing my life but not my bank account. Right now I'm still shaking the crimson dust off my feet having had a great experience but no desire to attend school as a student for a very long time. The festivities in the yard were very festivey and while I am not impressed with pomp and circumstance and graduation speeches that must, by some law of cliched graduation speeches, use the words "horizon," "triumph," and "in spite of the global recession," I have to say that the fanning out of masses to the tune of the bagpipes did impress me. My heart was stirred, and I felt proud to be there, but mostly I felt blessed...oh what? I'm sounding like a cliched grad speech too, now! Hey HEY!

Big Pops came in from the Mid-West to support me, but mostly to read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to Baby Girl. And then after a few minutes she'd waddle over again to his lap and point to the word SUCKER on his forehead and make him read it again. Did you know that the very hungry caterpillar turns into a beautiful butterfly every.single.time?

We also ate ridiculous amounts of pizza, watched a ridiculous number of episodes of "Everybody Hates Chris" which is one of the best funny family shows evah, and talked a ridiculous deal of bulllloney during the days that Big Pops was here. It is nice to have your parents be proud of you, whether you're earning a degree in a field with no lucrative future, or teaching your own kid about caterpillars and chrysalis.

I suppose I should once again be distributing my resume for various adjunctries (Is that the plural of adjunct? It is now!) but sabbath begins in just over an hour and just about every fiber of my petite self is needing to rest on the seventh day. Maybe by doing so, by languishing a bit longer in this cocoon, I will be ready to emerge as the proverbial butterfly in the weeks to come.

***

Notice my baton. I can haz baton because am best baton twirler Crimson Mafia ever did see.

Slice of Perfection

I want to tell you about the perfect day I had yesterday, beginning with taking Baby Girl to tot watch and then coming home to play "Find the Car Keys" which always have a way of ending up between the sheets with Lovey Loverpants who was off of work. I want to tell you how we then found the car keys and went shopping for the wee-est most edible pair of baby crocs ever manufactured, and how we had a leisurely lunch where our laughs were NOT punctuated with glances sideways to see if anyone needed something cut up bite size, or to ensure no napkins had been confetti shredded onto the floor.

I also want to tell you how I rode my bike fast fast fast and gamely across town to the indie theatre to meet Haddy and watch the marvelous Valentino documentary. I want to tell you about all those magnificent haute couture gowns.

But I can't tell you all about that perfect day which was yesterday, because it all has been eclipsed by this one moment I experienced in the car today. I was the lowest I have ever been on gas, coasting by the grace of the merciful God of the universe, watching the empty tank light light up like a star atop a Christmas tree...oh please God, please let me not have to stall out here.... We made it to the gas station on fumes alone. And then.

I looked back to see that little face, the sapphire jewels for eyes, the smile so easy and bright. That face said, We're having fun, Mama! Riding in the car, the whooooosh, the beeeeeeeps, the lights and honks, and slobbery bow wows leaning their heads out of those what are they called? Doors? Shoes? Applesauce?

It took my breath away, that unflappable spirit as revealed in that sweet sweet face that can change the course of the cosmos in the matter of a second.

Collateral Damage

Hey! I finished my Capstone project and now that I am d-u-n done with school forever and ever amen, Baby Girl has joined me in celebrating by completely annihilating our private property. ***

Tuesday she scampered away from me whilst I was trying change her diaper. Nothing new. Problem being her sweet little cheeks were completely poop-smeared and she proceeded to poop-stamp the bedspread (where the changing pad lies) like it was parchment paper and her butt was a Chinese chop.

***

Wednesday I shared with her the magic of Redi-Whip. She was hesitant at first, clenching her lips as I angled the Redi Torpedo of Whip toward her little maw. But then she came a waddling back, saying "Mom! Mom!" which in Baby Girl-ese really means "More!" Next thing I know I am squirting it into her mouth. She proceeds to spit it out like volanic lava, wipe it on her hands, and then smear it across the back of my shirt.

***

This morning she whizzed on aforementioned bedspread. I changed her into a swim diaper to go to the sprinkler park. Upon return, the swim dipe had evidently given her the worst rash in diaper wearing history, so I put her in a cloth diaper for her nap. Fifteen minutes later, I heard crying from her room. I went in to discover a naked girl, diaper pooped on to oblivion, and shards of poop smeared all over her crib, blanket, and bedsheet.

There is no rest for the weary. Not even weary grad student mamas that thought they were going to get a break.

*** Baby Girl? What's that white stuff in your hand you're about to smear on my shirt?

Running from the law.

Mug shot.