Weird News

The Internet is filled with stories about creepy things that little children have said or done. A lot of those stories have to do with kids pointing at dark corners and talking about people they see standing there. Or are about kids "remembering" a previous life. 

This photo has no relation to this post. #TBWhateverday

Today, this happened to us. 

Let me explain about the things that the Noodle thinks are endlessly awesome this week: 
1.) Anything she can "count" (Ooone! Twooo! Fouur!)
2.) Trams ("Choo-choo train")
3.) Busses ("BAAAHS")
4.) Airplanes ("Airpwane!")

Noodle does not care about cars, I guess because there are so many of them. They're background noise, like walls and sidewalks and grass. 

Except this evening. Noodle, Alex and I were walking home from the nearby dim sum place and decided to stop off at the gas station because we needed cat food. Noodle was in her stroller. As we were leaving the gas station she started whooping and hooting about the cars. 

"Anschauen!" she said, pointing wildly. "Anschauen!" (That means to look at something). 

We ignored her and kept walking, but she squirmed out of her stroller. She handed her father her blanket and her pacifier, which is unheard of. She grabbed my hand. "Car. Auto. Anschauen," she said, and led me back into the station. 

I thought we were heading for the modest gold Mercedes that was getting gas. Nope. The Volkswagen? No. The girl was focused. We walked past all the pumps and into the back, where a row of cars were being serviced. 

And walked directly up to the nicest car in the place, which was a family-friendly black Porsche. One like this: 

Noodle marched past the lady in a smock who had been waxing the car, and who had turned around because she thought we needed help. My one year old put her hands on her hips and spent a few moments staring at the car from the front, and then walked around to the side. She was nodding. 

The front doors were open. Noodle had a look at the seats. Finally she pointed. "This is nice," she said. "'Snice, Mommy." 

Her hands went back on her hips. And then she just stood there, nodding, with a little face that said she knows good work when she sees it. And then she cried when I made her leave. 

It was the most absurd thing I've ever seen. Where does she get this stuff from? 

The only explanation, of course, is that she is the reincarnation of a chubby banker who is having a half-hearted mid-life crisis but whose spouse won't let her (see what I did there? 10 points!) get the really cool car. 

I see luxury vehicles. 

Everyone Sucks

So, happy belated Mother's Day! I love my mother. She is awesome. I also love being a mother. It's great. As you know, I will be a mother times two in October. By which I mean I am pregnant. 

Unlike being a mother, being pregnant is not awesome. Okay, let me qualify that. It is LITERALLY awesome to be pregnant. It is an undeserved privilege and also, you know, super magical and fundamental and biological, or whatever. 

It's super great that two twisted ladders of information are twisting together again, reassembling into something both ancient and new. Each strand carries the genetic history of a thousand thousand ancestors. Each of whom ate and prayed and worried and wondered whether they were pretty and wished they owned nicer stuff and fell in love (or didn't) and couldn't actually believe they were really going to die until the moment they did. But whether saints, martyrs, or total jerks, our ancestors had one other thing in common, too: they managed to breed, and so did their kids. 

And now, in the case of me and Alex, all that information has again duked it out in a very tiny game of dice and the resulting individual is currently constructing herself in my stomach. And all while we watch Spartacus and eat chocolate! 

So, you know, on THAT level, I'll give it to you, pregnancy is pretty cool. 

On the other hand, my clothes don't fit, I'm SO tired, and I can't take my skin medication. Therefore I am crabby. Or, to put it differently, everyone who is not me sucks. 

Three whole people have struck up conversations about my skin in the last couple weeks--people that I have never met before. Seriously now. What is their thought process? 

Do I walk up to people I have just met and put forth, as a point of entry into conversation, my opinion about the mole on their neck? Do I casually tell new people that the way they wear their boots makes it look like they are about to invade Poland? Do I inform them that sensible people no longer underline their eyes in pale metallic blue? No. No, I do not, because I wouldn't like to make them feel bad. Whereas they, apparently, enjoy making other people feel self-conscious and also like to demonstrate their incredible knowledge of skin diseases. 

All psoriasis-driven conversations, for all of my life, have gone something like this: 

"Oh wow! Sebborheic dermitis?"
"Big words. Not what I have."
"Does it itch?"
"Yep."
"Have you tried avoiding strawberries?"
"There really is no cure. I'm going to go hang myself in the next room, if you'll excuse me."

"Oooh, would you look at that! My cousin had that."
"Did she really."
"Yes. It's a fungus. You have to stay out of the sun."
"It is not a fungus."
"The thing my cousin had looked JUST like that, though. She had to shower with anti-dandruff shampoo for ages, but then it cleared right up. You should try it!"
"I hate you."

"Have you ever tried a macrobiotic diet?"
"No! Why?"
"I've been on one for ages. I've never felt better."
"Tell me more."
"Well, it's great for your energy levels. And it like cures all allergies. And, you know, stuff for your skin." *Looks interestedly at my arms*
"There is no cure for psoriasis."
"You should really try it!"
"I hate you." 

"My dentist has psoriasis!"
"Great!"

"Classic. Neurodermititis."
"You mean neurodermitis. It's not neurodermitis."
"Oh."
"It's psoriasis. Psoriasis. With a "p". It is genetic."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"You know how they say all happy families are the same, but every f***** up family is f***** up in its own special way? That's how skin conditions are."
"Oh man. That must be really hard for you. Have you tried meditation and neem tree extracts? This one time on my spiritual journey to India I met a guy who said people who meditate never get these common ailments."
"Mm."
"Like, they don't have allergies or dandruff and they never get colds."
"You don't say."
"You should try it!"
"Thank you for this unique advice that I have never heard before." 

And it is not just my skin. It might seem like I'm being unreasonable, but I assure you it is true: ever since I got pregnant, everyone else has sucked more. Fact.

More examples? Fine. For example, the people who work at the grocery store don't make eye contact anymore plus they ring up my stuff extra slow. Like what, they think I have all day to get home and make dinner? 

Except you know what's worse? When they ring up the groceries all extra super fast so you can barely bag them, and then they start ringing up the next guy before you're done, and his ugly tubs of coconut-pineapple yogurt get all mixed up with my delicious, normal flavored yogurt. 

Mind you, these ultra fast scanning people don't care about customer service. They just want to see how fast they can scan things. I've worked at a convenience store before, so they're not fooling anyone. I was just like them. 

No, the speed with which you scan groceries does not say anything about your adequacy as a human being. It won't get you to the end of your shift any faster. Are fast counters good rocket scientists? Are fast hand-washers better surgeons? No. No, I don't think so. What are you, six? Scanning groceries fast doesn't mean you are good at your job. 

If you want to be good at your job, grocery store girl, convince the overlords that Spar should sell ripe avocados like an effing real store. I'm serious. What is this graveyard of pitiful, hard, green plant excretions? Seriously. It's like Spar stocks its fruit and veg on the basis of a Peppa Pig episode. Bananas, oranges, apples, and broccoli. Ah yes, some strawberries, because spring. Yes, Spar. Clearly these are all of the fruits that Mother Nature has bequeathed unto humanity in the year 2015. Give yourself a little pat on the back, Spar, since your work here is obviously done. 

Anyway. I'm clearly very pleasant to be around these days. 

I'm searching for something heartwarming to say. 

Oh yes. On the plus side, it turns out our little family obviously has a career singing together. We're like the freaking von Trapps. (And if you don't know who the von Trapps are, you must be Austrian). 

Watch the magic on this video below, which features terrible sound and a blurry picture. I'm sorry about the blurry video. It's not just everyone else who sucks, you see. It's ME TOO. I'M SO SORRY. 

*runs away, eating*