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Archive for March, 2006

I’m so not That Mom

Before I had my daughter, I had this glorious mental image of myself as, well, Laura Petrie. I’m not sure why, but I think it may have had something to do with capri pants.

It has come to my attention in the three years since Lucy’s birth that I am not Laura Petrie. I do own more than my share of capris, but that’s where the similarity ends. I am the mother who sometimes forgets the sippy cup of water. I never manage to pack the right objects of amusement on trips, although I make up for it in quantity of objects packed. I’m not certain I ever saw Laura Petrie actually pack anything, but for some reason she comes to mind every time we plan a trip. I suppose she’s my inner nag.

This is all pertinent because we are currently planning a trip to Disney World. Or, I should say, my far more Petrie-esque SIL is planning the trip. We’ve been left with little more to do than figure out what we’re packing and what we want to do while we’re there. There is a part of me that feels a bit babied by the arrangements, but she’s been mostly overruled by the part of me who feels as though packing five days’ worth of stuff for three people is enough to send me into the closet with a six pack of microbrew.

I have no idea what we need to take. I don’t even know if we own what we need to take. I can’t figure out where I need to go to shop for what we need to take. I must confess, I have NEVER taken a vacation to a place where there was no laundry facility. I’m 32 years old, and I have no idea how people pack for places where laundry is not an option. How embarassing is that?

My greatest fear is getting to Florida and realizing I have packed a suitcase full of nothing but ill-fitting pants and odd socks. I know intellectually that I will spend days poring over websites devoted to packing for family vacations compiled by people far more organized than I, and I will compile elaborate packing lists weeks before we leave.

In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be in the closet with that six pack, crying into my capri pants.

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How does my daughter know the exact moment that I switch from mindlessly clicking from site to site to actually trying to formulate some sort of entry? It’s uncanny, I tell ya. Kind of like how the cats know to come running when we open the bagels to make a sandwich, but are nowhere to be found when we just want a bagel for a snack.

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Yes, I am a woman. I am in fact an American woman who likes what the rest of the world calls ‘football.’ I also rather enjoy baseball. As such, most of my posts will center around the aforementi0ned subjects.
To answer a few questions that may come up:
1. I am a Yankee fan. No, not because Jeter is hot. I’m sure he’s a perfectly attractive fellow, but I’m more concerned with his ability to get on base than his choice of dates or where he went clubbing last night.

2. I am an Arsenal fan. And, again, not because I’ve seen Freddie Ljungberg posing in his skivvies for Calvin Klein. Again, I’m sure he’s also an attractive man but I’m more worried about how his calf is healing.

3. I also follow
football:
Juventus, Liverpool and Fiorentina. I love Ronaldinho, Vieira and Pavel Nedved, Steven Gerrard and Peter Crouch, and I’m quite happy that Luca Toni has emerged as a player to watch so that people don’t look at me funny when I wear my Fiorentina jersey.

baseball:
Orioles and Twins. I love Tejada and Mora, Torii Hunter, El Duque, Jose Contreras, Dontrelle Willis, Kerry Wood and Mark Prior (when they aren’t broken.)
4. I am against (football edition:) Diving, coming on the pitch late, Jose Mourinho and his ‘blame anyone but me’ attitude, Ronaldo calling out Pele, racist chants and banners, Paolo DiCanio and the jackbooted fans of Lazio and AC Roma, and the Joga Bonita ad campaign that is played every five minutes on Fox Soccer Channel.

5. I am against (baseball edition:) The notion of Bonds breaking Hank Aaron’s home run record, the Red Sox, stupid graphics during games, migrating strike zones and players who don’t run hard to first on flies or run hard to catch flies.

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