grandma h.

It was my Mama's birthday yesterday. Everybody thinks their Mom is the best. You won't believe me if I tell you you're wrong. But, I know the truth.

She is able to love me even when I'm a terrible piece of human sh-t, and she loves my daughter in ways that I don't even understand. When you make your Mama a grandma something slightly changes in your relationship. The world tilts a little and instead of butting up against each other, you are suddenly slid together, shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, to help this little bub up to reach the sky with her teeny tiny filthy fingers.

Stella recently got over an out of nowhere shrieking hatred towards baths, thanks all due to Grandma H. who, with a combination of bubbles & swim goggles, solved the latest child rearing mystery. I like to think that now she will be an Olympic swimmer, and we will trace her success back to these times.

I hope my Mama knows her everyday love is the blueprint for my life. And in case she's not already crying reading this, here's an extra swift kick to her tear ducts.

Of near-death experiences & Easter eggs

Pushing Stella through a crosswalk on Friday we came thisclose to getting punched into Heaven by a dude in a sports car who came swerving out from behind a bus, in a big hurry to shit his own pants, I guess. It happened so quick - we scuttled past and he took off - that Nuv didn’t have time to manifest his anger into a gun and shoot laser holes through the guy’s skull. The only consolation is I KNOW that guy sat sweating for the next few minutes, realizing he was inches away from being cellmates with an ass cumming giant named Juicebox.

Our Easter Sunday was not a total f-cking let down for me (like the shameful failure of Christmas 2012) because I was smart and did absolutely nothing for Stella. Ok, fine, we laid out in plain sight hid a dozen or so candy eggs and waited for her to get home from Gramma’s place. (Attention all parents – sending the kid for Saturday night sleepovers is the greatest parenting decision you will ever make.) So, she exits the elevator, runs the opposite way down the hallway and I’m thinking great, I’m going to have to forcibly shove this chocolate down her throat.

She comes in, and in less than 3 seconds, undoes the fancy bow on the official Easter basket and whips out the precious scrap of bunny fabric wedged in the bottom that I was SO EXCITED to find a perfect use for. Again, I think cool, you ingrate. We can save a sh-t ton of cash in life if you’d prefer to not celebrate any holidays.

But, like a good girl with my greedy tendencies cursing through her blood, my piggy daughter quickly figured out that there was sweet stuff everywhere and all it took was some hunting and gathering for us to ooh and ahh like she was doing algebra and somersaults simultaneously. Tally of how many eggs were popped into her mouth in a 2-minute timeframe – six that I saw. One still had foil on it. Afterwards we gently led her out into the stairwell and let her climb up 19 flights of stairs twice to work off the sugar. Then she slept while we ate a tremendously kick-ass crock pot roast. It was a good day.

*two doggies

Splintering off the part of my life that is both the best and has the most room for error - I am going to be posting parenthood tales here. So, if you hate kids, head back to the blog. For the rest of you, I'll be back shortly.

*Ask Stella how many dogs she saw, and this will always be the answer.