Tag Archives: star wars

The Importance of Being Boring

It doesn’t happen all at once. I suppose that’s why it happens to so many people. It just tends to sneak up on you. And by the time you realize what’s happening, it’s already too late.

Suddenly, you’re boring.

I should know. I have completely morphed into the most boring person alive (even including that guy I met seven years ago who started every sentence with “Well, actually,” and thought a three-hour diatribe about how much he hated George Lucas—while wearing a “Star Wars” T-shirt, mind you –was an appropriate response to the question “Hey, how are you?”).

Granted, the very idea of “boring” is relative. What you find boring and what I find boring could be vastly different. For instance, the few times I have accidentally watched sports is only because alcohol tends to hang out wherever sports are happening. And I’m the kind of devoted drinker that will pretend to care about 11 burly men in ridiculously tight pants if it means society will give me a free pass to get drunk at two in the afternoon.

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And you, for example, may find books boring. Or fancy cheese. Or Saturday Night Live. Meanwhile, my life goal is to find a job that just lets me read all day while eating fancy cheese and the only time I’m interrupted is when Tina Fey and Amy Poehler take Instagram selfies of the three of us with the hashtag “Best Friends Forever.”

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Legend has it there are even people out there who find math exciting. Yes. Math. That thing with all the numbers but also, cruelly, letters and tiny hieroglyphics. But just like so many other legends, their existence is hard to proof (but if you look hard enough, there are cosines of them everywhere).

Sorry. I’ll stop being so acute. Math puns are a sine of a big problem. Never drink and derive, kids.

But the kind of boring I’m talking about, the kind of boring I have turned into, is universal. It’s the kind of boring you become once you have a baby. And while our society may be fractured on pretty much every topic imaginable, we can all agree at least that parents of young children are just the worst.

We are utterly obsessed with our children. They are all we think about. They are all we talk about. And they are all we think everyone else in the world wants to think and talk about.

Granted, in our defense, nature makes us this way because it knows that only an obsessed person could find the energy to pull a kid away from the computer cord 200 times a day, every day, without their head exploding. But that biological explanation is a poor consolation prize for the innocent barista I cornered for 27 minutes with my rambling monologue on how my son used to love bananas and now he hates them.

And the worst part is that we don’t even care that we’ve become boring. We don’t care that the only thing we can contribute to a discussion about Netflix shows is that Ricky Gervais was on an episode of “Sesame Street” and it made you laugh so hard that you scared little junior. Or that the last book you read was “Let’s Go To The Baby Animal Farm!” And you actually LIKED it. Or that the only political opinion you have these days is that someone should probably be elected president but here, look at this rash on my baby’s butt…do you think it’s regular diaper rash or something more serious?

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Oh my god, we are so boring. Which is why you see us parents of young children hanging out in clans. We’re the only ones who can put up with each other. And even then, we are secretly hoping Brenda shuts up about her stupid kid soon so we can talk about our own vastly superior kid.

The good news is that this too shall pass. The kids will get older and become more independent and with that freed up space in our brain that used to be occupied by cutting the crusts off approximately one million sandwiches, we will remember that we used to be a person too. A person with interests and hobbies and dreams and poop stain-free pants.

Yes, someday we parents will become people again.

But until then, you totally think it’s weird that my baby no longer likes bananas too, right? I mean, what’s up with that?

Napper’s Delight

Guys. GUYS. My baby napped in his crib.

No. No, you don’t understand.

My baby.

Napped.

In his crib.

For one glorious hour and seven minutes (and 46 seconds, but who’s counting), my child slept in the daytime in the actual space that is specifically and scientifically designed for just such a purpose. As opposed to where he has taken every other single nap of his entire short life, which was in my arms (or his father’s arms, or his grandparents’ arms or that hobo’s arms that one time I REALLY had to pee in a sketchy Starbucks).

Not that I didn’t try to get him to nap in his crib. I did. I do. All the time. However, this is how it usually turns out:

Flashback wavy lines…Flashback wavy lines…Flashback wavy lines…

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But this time, I don’t know if it was a fluke or maybe he was just really tired that day or if it’s that he’s finally old enough to realize that the crib is actually his bed and not the Sarlacc from Star Wars. But he slept. And after only 11 minutes of “my mother abandoned me and I’m going to die” level crying.

So what did I do with that one hour and seven minutes and 46 seconds, you ask? Well, you know that “Flight of the Bumblebee” song? Yeah, have that running through your head as you read the following.

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First things first, I ran to the bathroom to grab the nail trimmer! Where I clipped four out of the ten gnarly hermit nails I had been wanting to trim since March! Before remembering I had to do laundry! Because I was down to my pregnancy underwear that I had to safety pin to my pants so they didn’t fall down! So I ran to the bedroom to start sorting my giant mountain of clothes! Which I did for 2.5 minutes before remembering I could actually eat something for once without a tiny human being clawing at my legs! So I ran to the kitchen and opened the fridge! Just basking in the glow of the refrigerator light and the knowledge that I could eat whatever I wanted and not just grab the first convenient thing I saw, which was usually something disgusting, like two-week-old Chinese food or celery!

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Before I could eat though, I realized I could finally read the Sunday newspaper! Even though it was Tuesday! And the newspaper was from three weeks ago! But first, I wanted to make more coffee! Because I would need more caffeine to do all the things! All. The. Things! Ooh, coffee and the newspaper! AND A BISCOTTI! I needed a biscotti too! But we didn’t have any! I could run out and get some! Oh wait! No I can’t! My kid is just napping! Still needs an adult present! Oh well! Wait, what was I doing!?

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A book! I could finally read one of my books languishing on my nightstand! But which one!? Oh, but first I should shower! NO! A bath! Oh my god, a bath! I miss baths! And then I could read my book in the tub with my coffee and biscotti! Oh yeah, I was making coffee! Where are the filters!? I can finally shave my Sasquatch legs and use that fancy sugar scrub!

Cookies!!! We don’t have biscotti but I could make cookies! Wait, why do my nails look weird? Oh yeah, I didn’t finish trimming them! I could do that while I finally start watching “Twin Peaks” on Netflix! Right after I call everyone I’ve ever known since I can now finally talk without Lil’ Captain ChattyPants constantly trying to grab my cell phone! But who to call first!? Wait, wasn’t I making coffee? Where are those damned filters!?

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Ooh, actually though, I should probably use this time to clean. Hahahaha! I crack myself up! Searching for “Supernatural” bloopers on YouTube while stuffing my face with cheese it is instead!

Oh crap. Oh crap, crap, crap. What was that noise? He’s awake!? Already!? But I haven’t DONE anything yet! Sixty percent of my nails are still scary witch lady length!

Oh well. Guess there’s always the next time he naps in his crib.* I mean, now that he did it once, I’m sure this is bound to become a regular thing, right?**

*Still waiting.

**I’m typing this one-handed as he naps in my arms.