Skank of the playground laying on the slide

pink crocs, flowery skirt
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Man, I hate it when people assume I’m a 22 year old tragi-heroic single mom without a lick of sense and that’s why my kid’s bones are showing through his skin.

On the one hand, I don’t want to sail under false colors and let them give me that weird “status” of being their pet adopted poor person that they’re so open-minded to talk to. It’s an icky politeness and over-interest, like they’ve got an extra invisible hand patting themselves on the back.

On the other hand, if I refer to ‘my husband’ or fail to evade questions about being a renter or an owner (always tossed out at me like, “So, are you in an apartment around here?” said as if the word “apartment” were prickly in the mouth and had to be grasped firm & brave so as not to sting)… Well, then I feel like I’m whipping out my privilege. And then it somehow gets me extra-complicated hate. Like if I’m that sort of person i.e. upper class stay at home, then I’m saying “fuck you” by letting my belly hang out and having goofy-ass hair . . . it’s like it’s a slap in the face to them. Why? When.. what the hell… I’m not going to dress up to walk 2 blocks to the playground and these fuckers are lucky I’m wearing underwear.

Those snooty haterating playground wenches always get to me, but I’m extra touchy because Moomin looks like a starving rat.


Normally I’m not so mean and hating on them! Seriously!

Today we played 567134871 games of Crazy Eights. I cheated madly to lose, which is harder than you think. Mostly I slipped the eights up my skirt. When he looked away, I’d stick them on top of the deck for him to pick. Question: Should I teach him to cheat and detect cheating, as I was taught? Or is that a bad legacy to pass on?

Are the playground wenches reading this and thinking “See! I knew she was a nasty piece of work. She teaches her kid to cheat at cards!”

Two (three?) days out of the hospital. He ate half a bagel, two pieces of Frosted Mini-Wheats, half an Odwalla juice, several nibbles of bread and butter and… the crowning glory… a whole plate of chicken nuggets. Has his appetite returned? OMG! Why didn’t the hospital give him IV nutrients?

My theory is that the more I force him to run around and ride his bike and quit lolling in the hammock reading comic books, the more he’ll eat. Since I’m naturally indolent this meant a slow walk/bike to the park where we laid on the slide together and made up stories about the slavering dragon-hound in the pit below (since we were in a supervillain’s lair, where there’s always a trap door and a slide to a monster pit) laying on a bed of gnawed-on bones, ready to pounce. “Mom, I’m ready for us to stop telling this story now. How about something else.” “No, man, it’s okay. The dragon-hound is chained to the wall, and you take a thorn out of its paw. It eats the crackers that were in your pocket and becomes your faithful pet.” “Oh! Oh yeah! That’s RIGHT! And then we go UP the slide and it defeats the evil villain! He looks like Dr. Doom! We’re going, ha-HA! GOTcha! We defeat him with the dragon-hound, and I call him… Droon. Not Droom, Droon. I’m made of metal like a robot. ”

This counts as healthy exercise, right?

I feel half-crazy after last week’s hospital heinosity. Can I please get over it already . . . I think I need therapy, or another large glass of good whiskey.

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10 Responses to Skank of the playground laying on the slide

  1. Jenny says:

    Something in this entry makes me think of Annie Dillard's essay "Aces and Eights" from Teaching A Stone to Talk. Those playground bitches have no idea what you've got up your skirt.

  2. Vanda says:

    Hello from a hot England.Do you plan your entries to be so bloody funny? The vivid picture I had in my mind almost made me spray coffee over my lappy!Teach the boy to cheat so he will know if he gets into a card game if anyone does it;-)

  3. Anonymous says:

    Can you get him to eat a banana? I was really sick recently, and my appetite stayed gone afterward. It was recommended to me that perhaps my potassium was low, and that bananas would help me get the appetite back. For me, it worked.

  4. elswhere says:

    Losing Crazy 8's on purpose is SO HARD. I had to stop playing just because it was making *me* crazy trying so hard to lose. It's easier to lose if you play open hand.Or, losing at Memory is easy! You just keep almost picking the right pair, so they remember where everything is and snap the pairs up and feel clever.And: Gah! on the playground bitches. Bleargh.

  5. Lisa Canter says:

    I just caught up on my blog reading and went over the apendicitis. THANKS GOD THAT'S OVER. I want to puke in sympathy. Funny thing about the playground bitches – either they are as uncomfortable as you (a sign of coolness) or just plain scary. The kind of mind that doesn't question oneself in this parenting game we play – is truly frightening to me.It's terrifying sometimes how motherhood throws us into the pool of humanity. Sometimes I am just not prepared. Luckily for me – most of the time I am clueless – much too wrapped in self to think about it. Also unlike you – I have the exterior that says "normal" and completely unchallenging to the moral majority mamma talks to me easily – having not a clue…

  6. mitch marx says:

    Definitely teach him to cheat and to do magic tricks!

  7. mitch marx says:

    Definitely teach him to cheat and to do magic tricks!

  8. Thida says:

    BTDT with the staring about my kid being too damn skinny due to illness. And he was a baby. Then he went on steroids and chemo, got incredibly fat and everyone exclaimed how healthy he looked. Yeah riight. Those playground bitches have no clue.

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