Cherries and tantrums and brides, oh my!

If you had seen me yesterday, you would have thought of those old Calgon commercials where a frazzled looking woman has a kid pulling at her skirt, the phone ringing, a pot boiling over on the stove and her hair all wild and crazy around her. It was just one of those days--work was overwhelming, Clementine was needy and there just weren't enough hours to get all the shit done I needed to. Today's not much better, but I keep thinking if I can make it a few more hours I can go home, survive bed and bath time and then veg on the couch watching Miami Ink and dreaming of the day I stop breastfeeding and can get my Clementine-inspired, belated Mother's Day tattoo. Or maybe I'll just dream of being Kat Von D, the chick tattoo artist who is one of my many personal heroes. Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch and compose my letter of resignation, which I do in my head sometimes when work gets rough.

One of the reasons it has been a little hectic is that I got to go away again last weekend. It has been a summer full of travel, and I'm really enjoying getting out on the road with my family and seeing this crazy state. Our awesome friends David and Laura have introduced us to the Michigan phenomenon of "Up North" in its various incarnations, and this past weekend we went up to a little town outside Traverse City, home of the annual Cherry Festival, called Elk Rapids. It was everything I wanted in a weekend away, and the only sucky thing about it was coming home. The town is nice and vacationy--some shops, a great city beach, a park, cool houses and a yummy bakery--and it is situated in a neat corner of Michigan, giving us time for a day trip that let us see all sorts of new things. Clementine, who has been a fantastic traveler on most of our other road trips, has quite a little stuffy nose, so she was more terror than usual, but it didn't slow us down very much. OK, so the idea of taking her to an outdoor fireside poetry reading failed miserably because she thought everyone was there to hear her shout and scream and cry, but that was our only misstep. We were able to enjoy a day at the beach and one poking our heads into towns (read: shopping) like Glen Arbor and Leeland, and we even visited the very cool Sleeping Bear Dunes. I can't wait to get back to all these places and get to know them even more. Someday Clementine will really appreciate her nomadic parents, and I know she'll always love her some David and Laura, who have been with us through some of our best and worst travel moments.

Back here in the real world, we are dealing with some troubling developments in Clementine's behavior: mainly the temper tantrum. When I take something away from her (ummm...like the hair dryer cord or the lead door stop that could crush her toes into oblivion) that she really wants, she will throw a total hissy fit and shriek louder than a baby her size ever should. It is honestly otherworldly. I was able to excuse it for a few days as a side effect of her cold, and I'm still pretending deep down that it's possible, but I also have a sinking feeling deep inside that I've already somehow totally fucked up my job as parent and have created a spoiled baby. Maybe it's not that bad, but at 2:30 a.m., she was up shrieking and kicking and pulling hair/beards and causing some parental discord between the one who wanted to leave her shrieking alone in her room and the one who picked her up and caused the other to look like the evil, abandoning parent. It really just takes me back to those newborn days when, at some wee hour, Nate and I would yell at each other with the little energy we had after weeks of no sleep over something inane that we could certainly agree on after rest and in broad daylight. So yeah, my kid is kind of broken, and I just don't know what to do to fix her. It still seems impossible to me that my little love has turned into a calculating, manipulative child who needs me to be firm, but I'm getting worried that I've spoiled her. Is that the giant parenting machine infiltrating my brain? I feel very insecure in my parenting skills in these times of crisis, and I try to remember that I have my own instincts to follow. My instincts tell me not to fight against the fits, but I'm afraid I'm headed toward being that awful mom in Target who just continues shopping while her demon spawn runs wild, banging into shit and throwing temper tantrums over not getting a barbie or some other shit toy.

Between work and parenting it's amazing I have time for much else, but my friend Karen is getting married this weekend, so I'm also involved in much briding [and I'm having fun, Karen, so stop reading this and get back to finishing your programs!]. She's holding up pretty well, but it's hard as someone who has lived through the experience to hold my tongue when she's all distraught over flower arrangements, chair covers and the like. I want to tell her that in the end none of it matters, but brides can't hear that, can they? I don't want to generalize, but I think it's safe to say that anyone who has been through the planning and execution of a wedding probably comes out of the experience having realized that their color scheme, music selection, flower arrangments, etc. weren't the make-or-break-it factor they thought in the planning process. But just try to tell that to a bride who is pretty sure the entire tenor of her marriage will be set by the song she and her hubby use for their first dance. There is no listening. Karen is hardly a bridezilla, but she is definitely lost in the details, and while I'm getting wrapped up in the fun of it, I keep thinking how even the informal celebration we had after we got hitched in Vegas was probably more than it needed to be. I would have had a much bigger house down payment if I really had just rented a park picnic shelter and grilled myself. But I digress. Karen has just come in to show me her wedding hair, and if she can get the top to look less like a football helmet, it is very lovely [go finish your programs, Karen--you know it does really look like a helmet, but the back is very pretty and you will be a gorgeous bride.].

She and Dave spent hours at my house last night working on their music mix because the one traditional wedding element they decided to opt out of was a DJ or band. Instead, they're using my iPod. I'll be interested to see how this works out for them since dancing is a big part of why people like going to wedding receptions--that and the liquor. For those of us in the non-clubbing set, it is the only time we get to truck out onto the dance floor and make fools of ourselves. That doesn't happen at the shows we go to in Detroit, where you are really just supposed to nod/bang your head and stand there looking cool. Thank heavens Karen's sister sent some dance song ideas their way to make sure there was something mainstream that everyone can relate to--I can't wait to groove to Madonna and Riyannah (or however the hell you spell that), two secret, guilty MTV pleasures I treat myself to while pumping in the morning. I'm pretty bummed that Karen got Dave involved after she and I had worked so hard, though, because he's taking music way too seriously, voting off some of my favorites, thinking that if there are one or two cheesy dance songs people will leave the wedding saying "Well, that would have been fun if it weren't for the Hokey Pokey. How lame can you get? Their marriage is doomed!" Sure, I was against the YMCA at my wedding, but know what? Everyone in the house danced their asses off. And none of them like the Ramones or the Pixies because you just can't catch a beat there. I got over it, and people had a good time. So I'm trying not to take it as a big fuck you that last night Dave overruled that inane Cha-Cha song that Karen and I always dance to at karaoke night and she LET him. I love being told to sliiiide to the left, even if it is the dorkiest thing in the world, and it's not like I've asked to do the Chicken Dance (although, after some wine, I totally would). I love Karen to death, but she's a little too eager to throw her friends under a bus for her man sometimes, and this might be the last straw. I mean, can you imagine a wedding where you don't get to do any stupid dances? [Get back to your programs, Karen--the Electric Slide doesn't count! Even after I went into the Victoria's Secret dressing room to help you find a bra for your dress, no cha cha? But you said yes to Eric Clapton, my least favorite song in the world?? I think you'd kick me in the ass if Dave told you to, and that's just lame!]

This blog took me a whole work day to do because of all the shit in my inbox. I guess I gots to get back to it. I have some great pictures of the amazing shrieking baby that I may or may not get to between my tattoo fantasies tonight.