Papoe

A new routine

We are adjusting to a new routine. One that includes waking at 6:00am, ironing for the week, packing lunches, and leaving the house in the morning with clean hair and two children at my heels (note to self: do not forget the children!). That list will grow, I’m sure, as we get further and further from away from the days when I could do a little work and tend to a little child while simultaneously keeping up on the details of Sonny and Brenda’s looming (will-they-or-won’t-they?) nuptials [General Hospital, for you non-soap-opera-watchers].

There have been many times in the last few years that Khary and I have looked at one another and asked, “How did we get to be so adult?” Time is a funny thing, in that one day you are making out in the back of a restaurant when you should be out on the floor (yes, we worked at said restaurant), and then suddenly you have two children and you’re channeling Jane Fonda and Dolly Parton, minus the giant boobs and sexual harassment.

To commemorate my first week back at work we ordered Chinese take-out, I went to my first Bikram yoga class in YEARS (which I thought would help my sore back. I am now stiff ALL OVER), Jocelyn and I spent a little quality time at the horse racing track, and we watched the Packers and Steelers dance their way to the Superbowl (Go Packers!). It was a good weekend.

Now I have to get off my ass because those clothes don’t seem to want to iron themselves.

The pièce de résistance

Khary and I held hands yesterday. This was momentous only because it was the middle of the day, on a Friday. There were no strollers, and no tiny fingers grabbing at our shoulders, or legs kicking to get free from our grasp. We each had two hands free. The girls were in daycare, and we had a movie date.

We try and go out on occasion, but this was different. There was a feeling in the air like we had just snuck down the back path between 3^rd and 4^th period, and we needed to make the most of our time. We bought popcorn, we made fun of the previews, and we held hands again. The movie, if you’re wondering, was worth it (The Fighter. Christian Bale and Melissa Leo are AMAZING. Mark Wahlberg is Mark Wahlberg).

The real pièce de résistance was our evening meal. We went out as a family for the first time. When we were just a threesome, we ventured out on a semi-regular basis, but Aja has never been kind to restaurants. Or really, she hasn’t been kind to me. I have taken her with me for various work-related breakfast/lunch meetings over the past year and she has always made me regret it. She only wanted to be held. She couldn’t, at that time, sit up straight, and then once she could she still practiced the art of throwing herself backwards at the drop of a breadcrumb. So I stopped trying. But she’s bigger now, and we thought it was time.

We went, we ate, we conquered. Aja ate the crayons, and then anything we put in front of her. She only fussed when there was a break between bites. Jocelyn marveled at the pizza oven and the giant poster of a man covered in tomatoes (I’m assuming from the La Tomatina Festival in Spain). We sipped our drinks and then wrapped up the meal within an hour, just as the girls were about to take a turn to Grouchland.

It’ll be awhile before we can go to a restaurant that doesn’t have its own Kid’s Menu. Not that we used it, but it is a symbol of kid-friendly-ness. Regardless, we really did enjoy ourselves. Khary and I like to imagine how much easier it will be a year from now, when Aja is Jocelyn’s age. Which just means that Jocelyn will also be older. I know that to use the word easier is a mistake on my part, but I’m sticking to it.

Khary and I also plan to hold hands again very soon.  

An EPL machete is on order

I wasn't going to write about Eat, Pray, Love anymore but then I had a moment to read this morning. No, I still have not finished the book. I was reading The Daily Beast, when an article by Rachel Skukert called Elizabeth Gilbert's God Obsession caught my eye. Rachel has written her own memoir, also based on her travels. She describes said travel as the "Drink, Scream, Ill-Advised One-Night-Stand variety." She did not find God.

I sent Rachel a tweet to say that I loved her article. She wrote back to say thanks, and told me that I had to watch this video immediately. Hence, the machete. 

Lewis Black Protests Eat, Pray, Love.

[The New York Times must not like me, so it's not letting me upload the video directly. Please click on the link above.]

If I were to write my own memoir, I think I would like QVC to honor the film version by hawking bottles of Two Buck Chuck, pairs of black Converse, and used burp cloths.

For more Eat, Pray, Love critique (papoe-style) you may enjoy these posts:

I like to eat. I don't pray. Love is everwhere around me

Il bel far niente