Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Glistening Wet Goose Cavity

The wife is gone again.

She was home fleetingly and will be back Thursday or Friday. She doesn't know which. So that leaves me and the kids arguing over dinner and my son struggling with his new-found ability to vocalize what he's feelings. He's just started saying "I love you" to his mother. It's fantastic when this sort of thing happens because kids of his age cannot help but tell you how they feel. So they tell you all the time when they want you to know that they love you. Unfortunately he's also saying, "I miss Mommy again" an awful lot as well. One short stretch and she'll be home in the evenings at least.

As for dinner - the kids didn't eat mine or their mothers the last two days. And last week they all but revolted at anything I gave them. Cooking for just the three of us feels like a waste of time - which is completely ridiculous. Especially considering that 50% of the time it's generally the three of us sat down at dinner anyway. But even the old tricks - asking specifically what they want and getting them to help put it together - hasn't worked the past week or so. Other than last night they haven't even tried to chance their luck and ask for dessert. Just not interested. In fact my daughter has been so uninterested in dinner that last week she often would wander off whilst we were preparing it saying she didn't want any - leaving me stood in the kitchen holding my lukewarm spuds (send them all in, Google - you don't scare me).

Last night my son cried inconsolably because he couldn't have a cookie. We didn't have any and he hadn't eaten his dinner at all. Not even a token gesture of shoving it around his plate or squashing into a uniform mash to make it appear smaller. He just sat there and then excitedly mentioned cookies. Then ignored my points about how we don't have any and just heard the part about how he can't have any. Still - I'd like them to want dinner. I'll have to think of something that appeals. Mind you according to almost any Food Network show what people want from dinner is gratuitous cleavage.


That's not even remotely subtle. And while I personally think Gaida looks like a sparrow with tits I can imagine why her show might be popular amongst the male demographic. Why can't US cooking shows be more like British ones? Not River Cottage or the appallingly pointless tosh of Heston Blumenthal. But if they really want to show show you women basically having sex with food may I suggest showing Nigella Lawson wrist-deep in a glistening goose cavity whilst making suggestive "oh goodness am I being filmed doing this?" expressions. Actually in hindsight I'm wrong - but somehow the British cooking shows are filthier and yet more wholesome at the same time. Which is weird considering I distinctly remember watching one where they got Sophie Dahl to suck cottage cheese off her finger for a good 30 seconds on her "cooking" show. 

Yesterday I also took the opportunity to spend some time in complete silence. No screaming kids. No music. Just nothing. I didn't go anywhere. No - instead I put on a pair of construction headphones and sat five feet from my own children. Couldn't hear a bloody thing.  It was surreal and surprisingly nice. Of course that idyllic bubble was burst when I stuck them on my daughter's head and she wandered around after me screaming, "I CANT HEAR ANYTHING DADDY!!!!" for fifteen minutes. Anyway - here's a photo of me being stared at by the dog - who seemed strangely alarmed by the two massive ladybugs mating through my skull.


In completely unrelated news, yesterday someone on television mentioned a catheter. Then my daughter glanced at me open-mouthed waiting for me to explain. I wasn't quite prepped for a "it goes in your urethra" moment so I went for the, "hey look a squirrel!" trick and pointed out the window. It's funny that I'm comfortable explaining the finality of death, the link between livestock and meat or even trying to explain Kierkegaard to her the other day- but that  I came up short on ideas for why and when someone gets a catheter shoved down/up their willy. It's not even prudishness. I just don't think she can biologically understand that one. I had been clicking through the channels at the time and the creepy Dr. Oz ( I don't even mean that physically - I mean his YOU WILL LIKELY DIE OF SOMETHING HORRIBLE TONIGHT shows) had mentioned offhand that someone may need a catheter. I considered for a moment letting him explain it. But frankly I was worried he would show some sort of diagram and my daughter would consider it an innocent but horrifying addition to her doctor's kit.

Lastly, I made the mistake of watching 30 minutes of Peter Capaldi yesterday before then having to go out in public. I really wouldn't click this if you're at work. The quantity of fantastic swearing is absurd. Anyhoo - as is usually the case I absorbed my only audible contact with someone without an American accent and a simple task of buying coffee had me desperate to tell someone they were about as much use as a marzipan dildo. The invective he spits in that is legendary. As a residual effect of watching Malcolm Tucker I tend to go about the rest of the day devoid of any of his anger but brimming with a desire to talk to other people who realize that swearing has absolutely nothing to do with limited vocabulary (don't believe me?). But It genuinely fills me a sadness that I can't explain to other people that the carefree-but-scathing use of profanity that makes British speech so colorful will be missing from my children's vocabulary. I know that makes no sense at all in many ways. But it's one of our secret weapons and has greatly aided the growth of other parts of my own vocabulary. So strangely I am suffering a weird need to speak with other British people jsu t so I can feel their common fellowship when they tell me to piss off. I shall have to make do with Facebook and expat sites I suppose.

Time for tea.

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