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Archive for April, 2006

One of the most difficult parts of being a Yankee fan is the doom and gloom surrounding every loss. Last night’s game was a bummer. It certainly wasn’t a blow-out, though, and I’m not quite ready to throw my hands up in disgust. Unit pitched a complete game, folks were hitting and fielding, and there were some close plays. Santana just pitched better and K-Rod was, well, K-Rod. This is not the end of the world (series) or the end of the season.
Now, if they lose the home opener I’ll be seriously bummed, but that’s because my arse will be in the stadium.

In other news, the new Joga Bonita commercial featuring Ronaldinho has changed my opinion of the campaign. This is partly because it’s hard to glower at Ronaldinho, and partly because my daughter recognizes the intro, causing her to stop dead in her tracks, inhale deeply, and whisper ‘Ronaldinho’ with the most dreamlike grin this side of teenage.

Half an hour to Arsenal, and I’m hoping to hell they knock Man U around a bit.

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These kids today

The synagogue across the street is hosting some sort of Techno Dance Party. This makes me feel old for several reasons:

1. I do not know the appropriate term for a dance party accompanied by techno music.
2. Is it even still called techno music?
3. This is all happening in a synagogue on Shabbos, which makes me think it is some sort of youth activity.
4. No less than three times this evening, I turned to my husband and asked if they were still playing the same song.

Techno music gives me anxiety. Listening to it makes me twitchy. At the decibels required by most youth, it makes my heart race. I do not know how to move to it, flashing lights make my eyes hurt, and the repetition of beats moving faster and faster make me really light-headed. The only thing that could make it worse would be a smoke machine.

Thankfully it is only loud enough here in my living room to remind me of the heady days of roommates and loud neighbors. Unfortunately, having lived with a house music dj prone to practicing at 4 am and next door to a house music dj prone to practicing at 4 am while Lucy was still in the throes of night feeding, I am none to happy about the entire experience. I can only surmise it is winding down because I heard the telltale strains of a Slow Jam and the flashing lights have ceased.

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Poop!

I am pleased to report that Lucy has pooped on her potty not once but twice this week. Does the time come when talking about your child’s poop isn’t at the forefront of daily discussion? I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
After fits and starts, I have finally reached full frustration over potty training. Cheering only goes so far, after all, and the treat approach gets expensive with a child who deplores sweets. And so, despite all of my promises to myself that we would wait until Lucy was ready to train on her own, I have finally admitted that she would gladly wear diapers until she’s thirty if it afforded her a little extra time for playing.
Enter the panties. The ones who have afforded us the most success are covered with little Cinderellas, and I suppose it makes sense that a child would have difficulty doing her business on Cinderella’s perfectly made up face. Lucy loves Cinderella despite never watching the movie. I am not a huge fan of the Disney princess machine. See the things parents do to get their kids to shit on a toilet? The panties *must* be the Cinderella ones as Beauty and Jasmine simply will not do. Forget about the adorable striped and polka dotted ones I picked up as spares–they were soaked on the first wearing.
Finding non-princess but still character panties for a girl is tougher than it should be. I spent quite some time at the Disney store last time I was there digging through in hopes there were Nemo girl panties. I have torn apart the Sears panty section to no avail (they had Doras but not big enough.) I fear we will end up with 17 pairs of cast off Beauty and Jasmine panties just so we can be fully stocked with Cinderellas.
But I guess it’s all worth it to have a kid who can crap on the potty.

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