Squidgy Squidgy Fish Feet
Posted on March 25, 2013
I just finished singing a rousing rendition of “Squidgy squidgy fish feet” to my son and it dawned on me this is where all my time has gone. It has been what, more than a month since my last post? And, all I can do is apologize and try and convince you that I don’t love my son more than all of you, my dear—hopefully still devoted—public. No, the problem is this, I love making up nonsensical songs for my son while making oodles of quiche. Yes. What I am saying is I have become Susie Homemaker and I like it!
It is really easy to do all the embarrassing things I do with Jonah because I am virtually a single parent these days. So if I want to bake quiche naked, while wearing a colander on my head singing, “Squidgy squidgy fish feet, on my Jonah a-sweet-treat!” I will, with pride. I know what you’re thinking. You’re think I’ve been abandoned because Hubby just can’t take my new musical stylings. Wrong. Sadly he heard the workforce calling and dumped us for some stuffy—I’m sure fully clothed—office folk. Somehow he figured this would be more amusing than spending time with us, watching Jo giggle at me as I let the expletives fly when I get splattered by bacon fat. Curse you bacon splatter.
All right, so that’s not exactly what he’s thinking. Jonah’s dad is working everyday of the week these days, and five out of the seven he works 16-18 hours straight. And, no this is not one of those times I use hyperbole to enhance my prose. I am a single parent because my partner in crime is doing everything a man can do to provide. He also thinks he’s not doing enough … Yeah, cause I am really pulling in the big bucks here with my job as a 24 hour singer/songwriter bottle-warmer, quiche-dispensing bum-wiper.
Ah, we are managing. And we must be pulling off this parenting thing whether together or apart because our kid is a giddy, drooling, happy damn mess. I kiss him twelve thousand times a day, and I am telling you my face has never been so moisturized.
We have a move on the horizon and I’ve been wondering who I can hire to do that. I’ll need a team to pack the crap and move the furniture, someone to organize the workers, someone else to watch Jonah and keep him amused, and finally someone to prepare and serve me cocktails while the work gets worked. Is this … unreasonable? I need these things to survive, because I am known to be lazy, emotional and micro-manage-y when stressed. Would you want to attempt moving with a gal like that? Right, even I feel for my husband. However, my marriage has survived thousands of my meltdowns. What’s another swell breakdown? I’m charming.
So I guess what I’m getting to here is a hollow apology for neglecting this blog that I adore so much. Truthfully, so much is happening with Jonah, it feels as though he’s checking off milestones on a daily basis and I cannot stand how fast time is passing yet I’m so excited to wake up each day to see how much Jonah has changed overnight.
God, he makes me so proud … now it is clear to me why my dad came to every play, cried at every performance and yelled at the other parents to “Stand up and clap, god damn it!” or why my mom stood on side behind the curtain watching me hack the art of ballet to pieces, every time. Multiple times. Pride makes you swell and do ridiculous things because your kid is the be-all and end-all and the best kid of them all.