Thursday, December 7, 2006
Here I am supposed to be writing a short letter to include in the holiday cards I want to send out in the morning, and instead I’m blogging. The apartment is freezing again. The other day it was 63 degrees in here. I reported Marjorie to the housing authority for the second time. When I came home this afternoon, I heard her ask Pablo if the heat was on. He said yes and asked if we complained again. I hope their asses get fined this time. That’s mean of me. No, I’m freezing.
We had a wonderful break back home in Maryland. My mother’s basement rocks. I want to move down there. I wish that I had my mother’s basement in NYC. There’s space for Abby to run free and dance. The wood-burning stove is charming and keeps the entire floor cozy. But the part I love the most is the spacious bathroom. My mother’s bathroom is like a castle compared to my dilapidated one room peasant dwelling bathroom. I can change my clothes with Abby in the room with me! Hell, I could throw a party in there while I change and use the toilet! The bathtub is like the Olympic sized pool here in Sunset Park. Abby swims laps while I scrub the dirt off her. I felt completely sinful one night after Abby had fallen asleep. I snuck upstairs to the kitchen, grabbed a homemade vegan cupcake from Avery’s birthday party, my sister’s copy of “Fast Food Nation” (which my sister insists she read, but it didn’t change her outlook on foods and eating out. I about died a hundred times while I read that book, and when I got sick Wednesday morning I swore to Scott I was dying from E Coli, but, in fact it was the beginning of my second-ever period since Abby’s birth which finally arrived tonight.), turned the heat lamp on (did I mention there’s a heat lamp?!), and soaked in a super hot, cooked my insides bath for 45 minutes. I can’t wait for the holidays! Four days of continuous bath taking!
Scott and I got Abby’s holiday presents. I ordered her a xylophone, a recorder, and two play silks. Scott got her a cd player and another They Might Be Giants album. I also picked her up stocking stuffers. Here’s where I seem to lack in creativity. My parents rocked at stuffing stockings. I was always excited about “the one big gift” but I always saved the stocking for last. One year my sister and I got a porcelain tea set. There were always pretty pencils and tiny puzzles or toys. I had $30 worth of store credit left over from the shower curtain debacle to spend in the picked over Target for Abby’s stocking. After an hour of roaming around and cursing the cookie cutter big box store for not carrying decent tiny toys, I ended up with three tubs of play-dough, two Matchbox cars, an Etch-A-Sketch, the original Memory game, and a sippy cup that looks like a travel coffee mug. It only came to $17, so I found a box of Kashi pumpkin spice granola bars, and picked out holiday cards. Since Scott is an evil genius at extracting information from me, he knows what I got him.
It’s now that time for me to floss, brush my teeth, wash my face, pee, climb into a warm bed, scoot Abby over to her side of the bed, turn the bed light on, read twenty or so pages of my book, and fall asleep. All in that order.