My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Psycho Baby, Qu'est-ce que c'est?


The other night, Red was up to her same-old crazy monkey antics at dinner time. Standing in her seat, throwing food across the table, demanding something not on her plate, wiping her filthy hands on me and then grabbing my arm and announcing, “My Mommy!”

My husband looked at her and said, “Child, are you psycho or something?”

Red grinned and said, “Psycho! Psycho! Psyyyy-choooo!”

This is now her favorite word. She sung it last night while dancing to Steely Dan. She has taken ownership of this word. Wonders never cease. And neither does Red’s energy.


File under “Thank God!”: Dusty located my lost book on Saturday. The library book that had been lost for a week and I was beginning to think I was going to have to pay for. She was rummaging under the living room sofa for a book everyone but Red hates to take to school for a book swap. She found the book.

“Oh, and there’s a lollipop under there, too!” I told her, “I had to hide it from Red. You can have it if you can fish it out.”

Dusty found the Blow Pop, the wrapper of which had been obviously gnawed on by Psycho Baby. Then, she hands me a black square, “Look!” It was my long-lost book! Praise Jeebus!

Dusty was duly rewarded with a huge tub of beads from IKEA. She’s all into patterns these days because that’s what they’re focusing on in school – pre-math sorting and patterning. Dusty loves it and now is creating patterns with beads when she makes necklaces.



Fuck. I am trying yet another birth control method that requires inserting a foreign object and my entire female cavern is unhappy. Very unhappy. Somehow I have a feeling it will be removed this evening and I will once again be the tool of the pill. Until my dying day. Unless someone – at no charge – wants to lop off my fallopian tubes for me. Sigh. Double fuck.



And so today I go to Red’s daycare and have lunch with her and a roomful of other two year olds. I am not sure whether this is good for Red or not. I mean, it’s always nice to have Mommy pop in for lunch but I think it’s also confusing for her because I’m not there to take her home. I come, I leave. She might be unnecessarily sad.

Red’s “report card” came home on Monday and was very interesting to read. It was amazing all the things she does at home (speak, undress, revel in her Redness) that she won’t do at school. She. Never. Talks. At. School. I’m not going to ponder this too much. I’m sure she has her reasons and perhaps in the din she can’t hear herself think much less feel she’d be heard if she spoke. But, at least the teachers dote on her (because she’s an “easy” child when she’s with them). It explains a lot about her behavior at home. All that pent up energy and vocabulary. Hmm.


10:08 a.m. ::
prev :: next