Notes From Mother’s Journal: Let’s All Learn to Walk on Our Hands Edition

I have important information to share about how to space your children. Well, not *your* children. I don’t know what’s best for you. I only mean, child spacing in general. If you are one of those people who sits around and makes pros and con lists about how many years apart you would like your children to be. People do, you know. I am not making that up.

For example, I always wanted two children, about three years apart. Apparently “wanting” and “using appropriate preventative measures” are two different things. Now you know.

Anyway.

Important Note on Child Spacing: If you space your children too close together, you might not get to hand down the clothes. Especially shoes. If your kids are four or five years apart? You will definitely be able to use the same pair of snow boots twice. Not rain boots, necessarily, since they seem to spring a lot of leaks and at about 3 years of age, a child *might* just run so much he gets holes in his rain boots, (I know!) rendering them quite useless. But snow boots, especially on the west coast, where we get three inches of surprise! snow every year, to everyone’s shock!, will not get worn out. They are pass-downable.

Except that my children, my dastardly, food-eating, growing children, are two years and three shoe sizes apart. Trombone’s snow boots from last year are too big for Fresco this year and will be too small for him next year. This makes it even more everlovingly painful to find for purchase only snow boots that cost fifty motherfucking dollars a pair.

Fifty dollars for three months’ use? That is bad math. I do not enjoy that math.

We buy used when we can, of course. I lucked into a pair of size 9s for Fresco at Value Village for only $3.50.

Overheard at Value Village, a man and woman looking for boots for their son:
Man holds up pair of rubber boots: These look good
Woman: No. Those look like construction worker boots.
Man: But they’ll keep his feet dry. They don’t need to look good.
Woman: I don’t want our son to look like a construction worker.

But there were none in Trombone’s size so I hit the mall. Where I could only find boots that cost upwards of $30.

I specifically did not go to WalMart. I wanted to see if I could find what I wanted at Not WalMart. Answer: no!

On Monday, with no preschool due to professional development for teachers, I took the children to WalMart. WalMart had “Star Wars” snow boots for $40. They had “Sorel” brand snowboots for $60. But they also had “Black” snow boots for $18. Thank you. That is what I wanted. We are not wearing these boots to the Arctic. We are going to the schoolyard across the street to play Ball of Ice Soccer.

After we picked out the boots, we spent an hour in the toy department, where the children went mad with joy over all the things that go beep, whirr and lalala while I stood idly by, marveling at the newborn baby doll that was bigger than Fresco and only $7.

Dear Santa, in case you are reading, Trombone would really like the Iron Man Walking Remote Control Beeping Action Figure that says “I AM IRON MAN” and sadly, does not sing “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath but it doesn’t really matter because I sing it in my head almost 18 hours a day as it is.

Fresco would like whatever Trombone is having.

You are under no obligation to bring these items, as we will be regaling them with many educational puzzles made of free trade bamboo.

But – one lucky local boy is getting the SUPER MACH 30 RELOADING MAGAZINE NERF BLASTER ASSAULT RIFLE – I know because his mother hemmed and hawed over it with her friends. All of whom had seen the toy discussed on Regis And Kelly. Toy isles near Christmas: very frightening places.

The other thing I bought at WalMart was socks. For me. Yes, Mama treated herself to a 2-pack of socks for $4. I know, I know, I’ve gone wild. And if I was blogging more regularly, you’d know that I just bought three pairs of socks less than a month ago. It’s almost like I’ve lost my MIND.

I have these feet, they are actually classified as hooves, I guess, and they kill socks. Specifically, they tear through the heels of socks faster than I can tear through a loaf of fresh sourdough bread. I thought it was my rubber boots wrecking the heels of my socks but having not worn my rubber boots much this Fall, I am guessing it is actually my coral-grade heels that are doing it.

My only pair of socks without holes is the pair Saint Aardvark’s mom made me two years ago and they are some kind of miracle so I only wear them to bed for fear I will kill them too.

So Monday morning, while Trombone and Fresco checked out the Toy Story 3 Celebratory Learning Toilet
(I am only half making that up)
(It cheers when you flush)
(Cost: $39.99)
(for something you *might* put excrement in)

I fingered through different pairs of socks, ranging in price from $2 – $20 a pair and suddenly thought, fine, fuck it, I will buy $2 socks. Why pay more for socks if you are only going to wear them for ten minutes? (I know, I should do sock commercials, right?) I chose a
2-pack of very fuzzy socks and put them on when I got home. How delightful they were, how warm and how hole-free. “Like bunnies,” said Fresco, petting my feet.

Then, when I came down from putting the children down for their “naps,” I flicked off the light switch and got…an electric shock. What? I looked down at my feet on the carpet. I shuffled them and hit the switch again. MOTHERFUCKER. Polyester spandex blend on carpet in dry weather plus Magical Electric Personality means my socks give me shocks. Is nothing sacred?

Next step: learn to darn. Or: get my dad to reinforce my socks with stainless steel.