the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Pull a chair up with the hyrup

The Olympics is slowly killing both Jon and me by pushing us three and four hours past our normal bedtime. We’ve been trying to keep up with all the excitement, and two nights ago I finally had to call it quits at one in the morning and hit the sheets. I remember thinking as I checked the clock, oh God, please Leta, sleep in until at least 7:30, do it for Michael Phelps. She answered that prayer by screaming out at 5:00 AM and then refusing to go back to sleep. I brought her back into bed with us and for two hours she asked, CAN I HAVE A PANCAKE NOW? HOW ABOUT NOW? I WANT A PANCAKE. MY OWN PANCAKE. PANCAKE. PANCAKE. PANCAKE. I won’t lie, I did have the sudden urge to punch Jon in the gut at about 6:30 and go THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. In fact, two days later, I’m still fighting that urge.

I couldn’t sleep through the PANCAKE monologue, so I finally took her upstairs at about 7:00 to eat breakfast. Jon was wiped out, had been working on about six different projects, so I let him sleep despite the fact that THIS WAS ALL HIS FAULT. And then when we got upstairs I realized, oops, I don’t know how to make pancakes. Sure, I could read the directions on the box, but on four hours of sleep I couldn’t see straight. And was in no state to operate a piece of machinery whose main component is fire.

So I suggested that we eat some cereal together. And she protested a tiny bit until I explained very clearly that her daddy is the pancake parent and me? I’m the cop out cereal parent. Pancakes taste better when made by daddy, and cereal poured into a bowl by anyone other than me will just not taste as glorious. Also, I’m tired, be quiet, be glad you have food to eat, if you want I can give you the speech my dad used to give me about starving children in Africa, I haven’t yet uttered that sentence to you, and it would give me great pleasure this morning to cross off that rite of passage.

So we had cereal. And some casual conversation (note, she is watching herself in the viewfinder the entire time):

Also, thanks to several kind readers who sent me the link, I think I now know how to make pancakes because of the following amazing video. Be prepared for the most sensational three minutes and forty-six seconds of your life, I promise you it is worth the investment of your time. Someone get this kid a recording contract STAT:

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

read more

SaveSave