I f*cking love my kid.

Seriously. The F-bomb is necessary, because the pedestrian sentence doesn't cut it without it. I fucking love my kid. He's the best, he's the bomb, he's the bees' fucking knees. If everything else I ever attempt in this world fails dismally, and I raise a happy, healthy, independent kid, I'll count my life a success.

Look, I'm a sarcastic bitch, but not about my kid. I'm not easily domesticated; I'm a shitty housekeeper, I go to cooking like I'm being sent in front of a firing squad, and my skill at being a quiet, demure wife, is well, *snort* nonexistent. But as a mom, I unequivocably rock. My kid is the spitting image of me as a kid: highly energetic, independent, smart, problem-solving, boundary pushing, empathic, and easily affectionate. He's not the easiest kid to wrangle in the world, but let's face it: I don't want that kid.

Easy-going kids are not my thing. Easy-going morphs too quickly into bland, boring, and milquetoast; or covers up a conniving personality that uses subterfuge and manipulation to get what they want, since they don't have the balls to ask for it. I can't stand people like that, and I'm glad my kid is as far away from being a mousy pushover as he is.

Which is not to say he's a bully: he's a very affectionate, loving, empathetic kid who happens to have a lot of energy he doesn't (at nearly 3) know what to do with. Let me illustrate: one day I picked him up from his day care place(he goes two days a week so I can get something done besides wiping jelly off of everything three feet high), and the teacher came rushing over to me. She told me, in excited tones usually reserved for a Nobel Peace Prize nomination, that a little girl in the class had been having a meltdown that day when her mom had left. Apparentally, she wasn't comforted by anything, and the teacher had to hold her, sobbing and wailing, for a good fifteen minutes with no signs of stopping. Anyone who's ever held a screaming child knows that fifteen minutes is a lifetime.

This little girl plays with one, and only one, toy in the classroom. Ever. Apparentally, apropos of nothing, little Eddie walked over to the toy shelves, found the favoured toy, and brought it over to the unhappy girl. The teacher told me she was floored. She said it like he performed open-heart surgery or wrestled a bear.

That's one of my favourite stories, because it shows off a side of my son that isn't always in the forefront. At two and a half, he not only tried to comfort another child who was upset (a feat in itself; toddlers aren't known for their sympathetic natures), he did it by offering her her favourite toy. So not only did he want to help, he also paid enough attention to the kids around him to know what this little girl would like. For a toddler full smack in the me-me-me stages, this is something pretty fucking amazing.

So whenever he's leaping headfirst into the couch from the coffee table, or writing on the TV screen with non-washable crayons (I know, I know, but the washable ones don't come in any good colours), I have this story to remind me that underneath all the ballyhoo, my son's a genuinely good kid. And that's a platform you can build a good adult from, so we're already halfway there.



Forgive me for gushing about my kid, I know to non-breeders or pre-breeders the constant kid stories parents make can get a little grating, but all the stories you've heard about having kids are true. They will take over your life. Of course, if you're even close to being a decent human being, you won't miss your old life too much; you'll no longer give a shit about all the things you worried about when you were childless. You'll have all new things to worry about, like how you're going to pay for college, or how you're going to get the peanut butter sandwich out of the VCR.

Of course it's hard, it's harder than anything I've ever done in my life. It's more stressful than my job, my marriage, and my relationship with my family combined. I've gotten more grey hair in the last 3 years than I got in the first 35. But it's worth it, it's worth more to me than everything else in my life combined. I love my friends, I love my family, and I love my husband. But if worst comes to worst, I can survive without them. The only person on this earth I can't say that about is my son. But that's how it is with kids. They bring out the best you have to give as a person. Let me illustrate further:

I am terrified--at 38--of zombies. Pissing myself terrified. Hyperventilating-in-the-theatre-during-Sean-of-the-Dead-terrified. I say this to you with the full force of my (admittedly irrational) fear:

I would walk through a cityful of zombies to get to my son.

Even clown zombies.

That's how awesome my kid is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go wipe yogurt off my laptop. :)

Best Garage Sale Ever

Sometimes it’s fate.

I’m not usually the kind of person who assigns divine origins to ordinary things. I don’t think god, if she/he/it/they exist, gives a rat's ass about the outcomes of elections, baseball games, American Idol, or war, for that matter. Deities have better things to do than pay minute attention to the daily lives of their creations; anything more is just the narcissism of human beings.

Still, if it wasn’t fate that sent me to the Best. Garage. Sale. Ever, I don’t think fate exists. Because truly there never was a garage sale more tailored to me than the one across from the house of my friend, Kate Valleroy. She’s a crafty girl I know who happens to be due to pop out a young’un in two months’ time, so I was there to give her a bag of boys’ clothes that little Eddie has *sniff* outgrown. Also, I was there to gawk at her lovely house and wish that we, too, had had the sense to paint and fix our own before the baby came. But that's a whole ‘nother tale.

We were enjoying the atypically lovely St. Louis July weather out on her carport, while my son threw fish food and leaves to her thankful koi and we snarfed down some of the sweetest strawberries I’ve ever eaten. In between bites, she mentioned her neighbor was having a really cool garage sale, and we should go before we left. Since my kid was getting further away from feeding the fish and closer to joining them in the pond, I gathered him (and his father) up, and we moseyed across the street.

Holy flarking shnit.

First of all, there wasn’t a dud in the whole sale. Tons of retro religious kitsch (the seller is a lapsed catholic who alternates between loving religious art and being creeped out by it), ‘shabby chic’ vintage linens, vintage clothing in perfect condition, juice glass sets, retro paint by numbers pictures, 1950’s figurines, and a ton of space age ashtrays back when smoking was still considered classy and refined. I just about shit myself. Every piece was better than the last. It was the best combination of circumstances ever: on one hand, she was an antique dealer, so she knew her shit when acquiring pieces--none of her items were reproductions or poor representations of the era. On the other hand, she was trying to get rid of everything, and the items she was selling weren’t her particular taste, so the prices were low. The killer was that she knew she could get more money for the stuff, but she didn’t feel like it making the extra effort.

I bought less than $50 worth of stuff, but probably walked away with $250 worth of items, easy. She said she might be having another sale, and I’m considering going back and buying another $50 to sell on Ebay or etsy to pay for the first bunch. So to share my good luck with the world (of course, I’m not sharing the location, I’m not quite THAT nice.) I took photos of everything I bought and will let you in on the finds without further ado.



This lovely couple was one of the first things I saw, and I had to have them. For one thing, she was selling them for about a 1/3 of what they’re worth, and for another, I have inherited my grandmother’s tastes for 1950’s Asian kitsch as well as almost all of Gramma's items. These will go nicely in with the rest, as will these:



And these:



In addition to that, I picked up this adorable planter and vintage painted leather doll that are hanging in the catchall shadow box in our dining room. The doll in particular walks that line between cute and creepy that I love so much in my décor. If I’m not a little afraid it’ll come to life and strangle me in my bed, it doesn’t belong in my house.



All that stuff alone is worth what I paid for the whole lot, but then she added the holy grail by having not one, but two double tiered lampshades for sale. The second one she gave me for free. With the lamp attached. She didn’t want to sell it because it needed restringing on one side, but 5 minutes total work in front of the TV will fix that. She gave me a few items for free because I bought so much stuff; also, I think, just because I was so knocked out by everything.





Also free was the little horse statue that I looked at and then put back. The lady was nice enough to throw it in gratis, just because I liked it. Of course, because she did that, I bought an additional whale planter, crescent shaped candy dish, and 4 pieces of vintage jewelry. So maybe she's smarter than me. No, scratch that, she's definitely smarter than me.






But near and dear to my heart was the final purchase: a little vintage sewing basket with all kinds of antique notions inside, including some beautiful 1920's era needle cases. I love all kinds of vintage sewing gear, especially if it has the packaging intact. Some people collect baseball cards, but I'm not much for sports. I'm much happier risking tetanus with sharpened vintage steel.





So where does fate come in, you ask? Well, I was originally supposed to meet Kate on Monday at Cooperella Cafe, but due to my famously unreliable memory, I missed it until it was well over. When I rescheduled for Friday, I forgot that most places would be closed for July 4th, including--you guessed it--Cooperella. Kate was gracious enough to invite me, my erstwhile hubby, and our whirling dervish of a son into her adorable house, which happened to be across the way from this sale, and which she just happened to know about even though it wasn't officially open yet.

For anyone besides me who loves midcentury modern, slightly tacky antiques, you'll understand that having that many things in one place for THAT cheap takes an act of god, or several gods, for that matter. So score one for the big guy. I'm sure he's much more interested in this than the Superbowl anyway. ;)