The Boy & I like to play a game we call Bad Parent Chicken. The rules are simple: one parent must verbally attempt to come off as a terrible parent when talking to the other. The one who flinches, i.e. admits that they are not terrible, loses. Here's a relatively simple example.

Boy: Where's the baby?
Me: I dunno.
(a long silence ensues, until Blake either makes noise somewhere or one of us loses the match.)

It's a lot of fun; kind of like a worst-case-scenario game in which we get to feel better about ourselves. I highly recommend it.

My parents came back from England today. It was kind of a big event; they'd already made arrangements with a friend to pick them up, but I decided to buzz the airport with Blake anyway. Because what set of live-in grandparents wouldn't melt before a small grandbaby holding a sign that said 'Grandma! & Grandpa!'? And besides, it's not like I had anything better to do.

(Aside: I have been incredibly bored this week. Shortly after I wrote the 'domestic goddess' entry, I realized that much of my madcap Martha Stewart energy welled up from a fount of extreme boredom. I mean, it's not like I don't have anything useful to do: that's just the problem, really. Everything I do these days is extremely useful to either my family or myself, but it's the self-indulgent activities I miss.

Anyway, now that it's just me n' Blake against the world, I find I'm building my day around errands and housework. It's particularily bad around 3 p.m.: Blake is up from his afternoon nap, I'm exhausted, it's too late to go out anywhere fun, and all we can do is start dinner. So I've been cooking elaborate meals. Tuesday was the best one this week; I made a large pot of chili and was able to wander around for the rest of the week muttering, "That Homer thinks he's the Pope of Chilitown.")

So we went to the airport to see them home. I think my parents were surprised that I was able to a) meet the plane on time & b) bring enough cash for the parking garage. If I had c) arranged to bring the Summers' van so we could all go home together, I would've had a perfect approval rating. As it was, they were very happy to see me & my little 4-toothed monster waiting for them at the end of the aisle.

I had a really excellent day yesterday. Thursday is Baby Club day, so it starts & ends with a long commute. I've written before about the twilight status of Baby Club; they need a new moderator and I feel compelled to keep going until one turns up. Being that my attendance is obligatory rather than chosen, it weighs on me. And with the declining attendance, I wonder why I bother. But enough bitching. Yesterday's meeting was fairly healthy, and although I'm still not off the hook, at least it didn't feel futile.

For the past three Thursdays, Andrea had invited us out to an organic market at 3:30. Unfortunately, we found it difficult to fill the afternoon last week, so we'd just gone home & had a nap. This week I was determined to go to the market. Andrea offered her condo as a hang-out, and I was sure that I could get Mr. Moo to sleep in the car.

Well. If you've been reading me for any length of time, you must realize that any well-laid plans are interpreted as hubris in the eyes of the gods, and the target of just punishment. My morning meeting, as I said, went well. My lunch with Dirk & the Rocketboys also went extremely well: we ate off each other's plate and all four of us left with full and content bellies. (I had to call Dirk from a nearby payphone to set this up, as despite my nap plans, my lunch plans were flying solely on the seat of my pants. ("Are you hungry?...I'm going to say something that needs to be said a lot more often: meet me at Ein-stein's.")) I even got the Boo to sleep in the car on the way to Andrea's.

Of course, it was the meeting with Andrea that invited thunderbolts. I didn't know where she lived, just that it was "across from Trinity-Bellwoods Park." I happen to love that area of town, so I was pretty happy to go there, park, & rocket around in search of my nap date. But all my pay-phone-calls went to the answering machine, and I was forced to accept the fact that there would be no nap date. Blake, of course, was wide-awake & full of beans from the moment we parked the car, so it's not like he would've slept if things had worked out. In lieu of our nap date, we got a tart from Clafouti (an excellent bakery I've visited only once before while pregnant and in the company of my mother & Scherezade, who are both serious tart-appreciaters.) I then took Blake across the street to the park & tried to nurse him down on the shady grass. Eventually I gave up on this, too.

So we sat, barefeet touching, facing one another. He ate Heritage-O's from a baggie & I ate my tart. Then we crawled around on the grass, chasing a few slow pigeons & giggling. It was a time of near-perfect serenity, something I have never experienced with any other human being. For this alone, I am grateful that Andrea didn't pick up her phone.

When it was time to go, a stranger hailed us. We stopped briefly to listen to a strange Polish woman tell me snippets from her life story, then moved on politely. (Stacy says that I just have one of those faces that make street people want to talk to me.) I was hoping that when I met up with Andrea, she'd know this familiar character and regale me with weird anecdotes. Alas, I seem to be the only one who stopped for this woman.

We finally found our way to the organic farmer's market, and I was immediately glad that we'd made the effort. Andrea was extremely apologetic about the phone mix-up, although I reassured her that our time in the park was a happy adventure rather than an inconvenience. (I suppose the gods missed their mark & smote her with crushing guilt). The market was amazing! Not only did I get to see babies & moms whom I've missed, but the market itself is a wonderful place to buy food & hang out. I bought melons, blueberries, olives & a hot vegetable roti to share with the Boy (who turned up after work). They were inspired food choices: Blake has been gobbling those blueberries every day, and I wish I'd discovered this taste earlier in the season; Nic ate half the olives when we took them home; and only the melons remain as yet untouched.

Our babies got to sample our food, roll around in the dirt, wrestle with each other, and generally whoop it up with sticks & dead leaves. We were by no means the only ones; the place was full of tiny ones zipping around, breastfeeding with abandon, and getting muddy. It was dirty-faced baby mecca and I loved every minute of it.

blake shows off his new teeth for cheryl

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 9/24/2004 04:38:00 p.m.