I spuddle.

I’m having one of those days. You probably know what I mean without me explaining, but I’m an explainer, so I’ll explain. It’s sort of like my world is a glass of chardonnay and I’m at the bottom of the glass (maybe I’m some kind of mermaid in this scenario and I can breathe underwater, or in this case, underwine) and I look up and see a dark cloud, only it’s not a dark cloud, it’s a dead fly. In other words, “ironic”. Using the word “ironic” to mean something it doesn’t mean. In this case, to mean “crap”. So what better day to do a Grace in Small Things? If you don’t know already, this is where you list five things that aren’t crap to make yourself feel better about all the irony that’s otherwise polluting your life with its dead flies in your white wine world. (For the record, I hate white wine. I think I’m allergic to it because I once had a glass ALONE and it made me so sick and dizzy I thought I might die and whoever found me would think I was drunk and perhaps also a white wine alcoholic who owned both a cat and a copy of The Rules and that scenario was so depressing I haven’t touched it since.) (And also have never owned a cat). (Although I did once buy The Rules but then left it — on purpose — in the seat pocket of an airplane in case the plane crashed and I died and it was found in my apartment and I was written off as a person with the huge character flaw of owning The Rules which I’d only bought as a joke to give to someone in the first place.) (I put it in someone else’s seat pocket so if the plane did crash, The Rules ownership would not be traced to me).

Conclusion: Let’s start using the words “irony” and “crap” interchangeably. No one will notice.

1. It’s pretty nice that — even when I’m in an ironic mood and am snappish and short-tempered and feel wronged by everyone ranging from the mailman (for not delivering my funky camera strap) on up to the CEO of McDonald’s for having those ironic Happy Meal “toys” this week (a bad CD is NOT a toy) — when I try to take a shower in the morning someone still loves me SO MUCH and can’t stand to be apart from me for even TEN MINUTES that they will hurl themselves against the bathroom door (and when that fails, bash the door with a chair) sobbing their heart out because THEY CANNOT SEE ME. No, it wasn’t Clayton. It was The Birdy. She’s only 20 months old. I’m sure in time she’ll grow to feel relieved that I’m in the shower and not up in her face, telling her to watch TV already because Mummy is busy. But for now, it’s kind of endearing, in a paint-damaging sort of way.

2. The really ugly apple tree in our backyard has big pink blossoms on it, which means we are entering into the two week period where it actually looks like it has the potential to be pretty before sinking back into its regularly scheduled program of being a blight on the face of the planet. Pretty flowers are good, right?

3. I’m really struggling here to come up with another thing. That’s sad, isn’t it? Oh, here’s one. While I was in the shower and The Birdy was hammering on the door, The Bun was busy in the living room setting up (i.e. throwing everything onto the floor) a DISCO IT’S NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY PARTY that had choreographed dance steps and a soundtrack provided by a plastic fish that uses a fan to blow smaller plastic fish into the air. The DISCO IT’S NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY PARTY was pretty funny, but then it took me half an hour to clean up and The Bun and The Birdy got into a fight over the air-blowing fish and I took it away and got mad and then they got into a fight over the helium balloon with almost no air left in it and then I made them go outside where they stood at the door and screamed “MUMMY WHEN ARE YOU COMING OUT? WE MISS YOU!” Which was nice, too, seeing as I’d just threatened them with permanent removal of the disco fish and perhaps everything else that they’d ever owned or fought over.

4. None of us have the Swine Flu.*

5. Last night I slept with The Birdy because she was sad and because I was mad and fighty and frustrated and stroppy**. It was 1000 degrees upstairs where she sleeps and just walking into her room made me mad thirsty so I got her a bottle and she went back to sleep and then I fell asleep and slept through until morning for the first time in four nights and I realized that I love flannel sheets, especially when they are old and sort of thin and have tiny little bumpy balls all over them from being worn out, because they remind me of being a kid and being tucked in so tightly by my mum that my arms couldn’t move, sort of like being swaddled but not as a baby, as a full-fledged adult who is feeling fussy and whiny and in need of being taken care of. (I ended a sentence with ‘of’. My bad. Apologies to editors everywhere.)

And that concludes my ironic list.

* Gratuitous mention of the Swine Flu so I can tag the post “Swine Flu” and get about a million more hits than usual because no one who is anyone is currently googling anything else. Except those who are.

** Stroppy may just be the best word that the British invented that North Americans haven’t taken over and made their own.

Filed under: Grace in Small Things