The Monkey Barrel

Archive for June, 2008

In having a conversation with my sister in law we were discussing what she wanted for her birthday. First she says world peace and I question who’s world exactly. Then with zero enthusiasm in her voice, “Clothes”, she says, “I guess”. So I ask if she likes my taste or should I get her a gift card to somewhere she likes. After a decidedly long pause, she says she likes my taste and frankly detests shopping for herself. I detected an air of discouragement. So while trying to convince her that her main problem is that she has no self confidence and way underestimates herself when clothes shopping, I, yes me, had a brilliant idea. (besides the, I’d club a baby seal to be as small as her idea) I’m gonna adopt her. Oh yeah, I said adopt. It’s the perfect solution. When I have the urge to buy something cute, and small, and girly, I can go buy it for her instead of imagining those cute Charlotte Russ clothes I’d always have to pay double to purchase two of and then rip apart and stitch the two items together so as to encompass my own personal girth. Then we both get two distinct needs filled and I won’t feel such guilt over needing to drop the half a person in weight I carry around. The boys are excited about their new older sister who can now buy them beer and get them into r- rated movies and the bonus, she doubles as an aunt too. Now my brother is married to my sister/daughter and his kids are my kids cousins/uncles and I’m my own grandpa. giggle snort Woo hoo Maybe there’s some rogue West Virginia blood in my veins.

Have you ever visited your own blog expecting to see something new on it, but knowing full well what your last post was and that no one posts there but you? I’ve done it three times today. That last little bit of sanity just slipped out of my grasp and blew away.

If you give Emily a doughnut she will resolve only to eat one. Then she will see the powdered sugar custard filled and decide one more won’t kill her. She will spend all day counting in her head the hours until she can dive into the rest of the dozen without ridicule or mockery or anyone noticing. She may even sneak one at lunch time but blame it on the kids. Emily will catch sight of herself coming out of the shower the next morning and resolve that the last dozen that have implanted on her thighs are it, and she’s having no more. Until she goes downstairs. And the box taunts her. Beckoning her. Just one. What would it hurt? No one is awake yet. So, she indulges in one. Okay two. If you give Emily a doughnut you may as well just sign her death certificate because she could literally eat her weight in them unto death. However, she will die with a big, powdered, custardy, doughnut eatin smile upon her face.

I’ve decided that being pregnant is a lot like being shipwrecked on Gilligan’s Island. You start out thinking you’re going on a nice three hour (more like 3 minute) tour and before you know it, you’re barfing your guts up over the side and find yourself stranded on a remote island (or at least your the size of an island) for 9 months surrounded by idiots. The one person you can count on, the professor (your doctor) always has some crisis on hand and just can’t manage your problems and your normally Mary Anne brain goes out foraging for your common sense leaving you with Ginger in charge. The Thurston Howells offer advice through a drunken fog despite never having been in a situation remotely close to what you’re going through and if you hear the skipper call you little buddy (or little momma) one more time you may just find the nearest volcano to deposit him into. And all because you indulged in a three hour (minute) tour, a three hour tour.

IT”S A BOY!!!! That’s right folks, if you didn’t get the news bulletin on the cnn crawl or see the sky writing, or witness first hand the giant, grinning, smug, big headed Fred, it’s a boy. I really can barely get my head around the idea although I knew all along that’s all Fred would ever give me. I think we could have 10 children and they’d all be boys. But just imagine the three of them all grown up, towering over their gray headed mother, joshing around the kitchen at the holidays. Three giants just like their dad ’cause we all know this is another Fred clone. Boys. Wow the testosterone around here has reached epic proportions. Probably time to buy the gas masks for the teenage years.

If you give Emily a Fred she will want to walk down the aisle and say I do within minutes of their first meeting but patiently wait 18 months to do so. Then she will drag him into the most insane family life ever and he will love her not in spite of but because of her situation. If you give Emily a Fred she will get a few years of infertility woes and he will get a soaked shoulder that all result in the happiest, bounciest baby boy that is his nearly identical clone. Then a few more years with the infertility and the grouchiest baby boy screams in but quickly turns into a crazy clown that provides endless hours of laughter and is also his clone. All three boys will steal her heart in an instant. If you give Emily a Fred, every year on his birthday she will wake up next to him in wonder that he is there, still beside her, all present, all in, all the time. And she will be reminded that her life would be an absolute misery without him there to reassure that she is not crazy, just a little neurotic. She will pat her belly and tell the new baby that he/she is in for the most amazing life that could possibly be had because he/she has the most amazing dad in the world. If you give Emily a Fred she will spend every minute of every day trying not to make him regret choosing her over all others and she will love him within an inch of his life.
Happy Birthday honey…

In a week, provided this bundle of energy cooperates, we will find out who is hanging out inside here. I am both excited and scared to death. Another boy would be great. Having two already I could almost be considered an expert. And let’s face it, it would be cheaper. All the hand me downs, no bail fund, and no wedding to save for.
A girl however, would be new and wonderful and very expensive. We’ll have to make good strong inroads with all the police departments in the area to prepare for Fred’s eventual arrest, and his bail fund will need to be started from birth. We’ll probably also have to beef up the home arsenal. There’s also the wedding fund provided the bail fund hasn’t bled over into it.
I truly don’t care one way or the other what it is. So long as it’s healthy and of singular sex, I’m good. I have a feeling it could be a girl just because I’ve been so sick and wasn’t with either of the boys, but that could always be a misnomer. At any rate, in just a week we’ll know, I hope. Stay tuned…