Why.....someone must be procrastinating like it's their job.
That someone is me. But I suspect that that someone may also be you. And far be it from me to impede your procrastinatory ways. Rather, I will support you in all of your postponery and foot dragging. In that vein, I present you with videos. That probably were viral months ago. But I procrastinate everything. Even video watching. So. Whatever. Here you go.
I aspire to this when I'm an octogenarian. I have a long way to go, but I'll be working on it. I have time.
This may just be the best wedding trailer video of all time. Watch it and try not to get misty. Just try. I dare you.
Norwegians are hilarious. And books are hard. Call the IT guy.
Get your nerd on and watch these amazing documentaries. I know I am.
Wanna take a photography course from Stanford for free? Here you go. While not strictly video, it involves a camera. So whatever. Don't complain.
Japan, you’re awesome and great and everything, but let’s be real. Your address system is probably the most ridiculous thing ever invented. It makes no sense, is understood by no one, and the only purpose it serves is to keep the location of important buildings super secret so as to prevent foreign barbarians from invading and capturing all your treasure. I know that is the only motivation behind this ludicrous way of making maps.
Let’s start with problem number 1: There are no street names. Okay, there are A FEW street names, but not that many. And whatever, let’s not get hung up on details. Pretty much only main roads have street names. And also intersections have street names. Which would be helpful, if you house was located in the middle of one. Otherwise: useless.
Problem 2. House numbers are totally random. Houses are numbered in the order in which they were constructed. Meaning that number 10 Nameless Street might be sandwiched between number 17 and number 52. NOT HELPFUL, Japan, not helpful at all.
Problem Number 3 - There are no grids. Streets go in any which way. I am absolutely not kidding when I say that I’ve been massively and hopelessly lost five minutes from my front door for this very reason.
Japan, you’re not just messing with dummy foreigners like me.Your own people often don’t even know where the hell they are. Give an address to a taxi driver, and there’s a 100 percent chance he’ll have to consult a map, and 75 percent chance he’ll not be able to find the place on the map, and a 150 percent chance that the whole exercise will make you want to slap yourself in the face with a rotten fish and then recall with much nostalgia Shanghainese taxi drivers and wish that you could go back in time where the only taxi related drama was terror and car accidents. And that’s saying something.
Once, I was so terribly lost that I got into a taxi, gave him the address and then we drove around for 10 minutes looking for the place only to end up EXACTLY where I had flagged down the taxi. Neither of us could tell where in the ever loving hell we were.
I then went into the building that I thought *might* be the one I was looking for, and asked some workers inside if they knew the address of that particular building. They did not. They had no idea. WHAT THE HELL????
So, basically, Japan, if you could please think about reforming the mess that is this craptacular address system my life would be infinitely easier. Thankyouverymuch.
I’m not even sure what I used to write about for Small Style. Was it fashion tips for toddlers? Was it deriding the fact that my child is the world’s worst sleeper? Was it a romping account of some minor molehill of an incident that I mountainized until drama was seeping out it’s ears?
Ummm, probably all three. But. Lately there has been relatively little drama. No vom-a-thons. No up-all-night-all-you-can-scream buffets of misery. Although there was that time the other day wherein my lovely daughter stayed up two-and-a-half hours past her bedtime, which, because of my new morning routine, is about two hours past MY bedtime. However, she made up for that transgression by finally falling asleep in my bed (after me, I might add) and staying there all night. So, not only did I get little trip down co-sleeping memory lane (I’ve been rejected big time in the co-sleeping department since Stella developed a will of her own at around 10 months), but I also got a lovely, cosy all-night-sleep buffet with a cuddly baby while I imagined that she was snuggling me and didn’t think that sleeping in my bed was totally lame. Mr. Chef, however, convinced that Stella would wake any moment and need some baby ninja action, slept in her room all night on a tiny cot and did not benefit from this sleep coup. Anyway. Most boring story of all time.
I took Stella on a coffee date on Monday with a real-life friend. Whom I made through my blog. And, of course, she was the perfect baby. For all my winging about her not sleeping and not playing by herself, she is a model child when we go out in public. Not a peep. Not a whine. Not a tantrum. She’s all, “please” and “thank you” and “yes ma’m” and “here, let me hold that door for you,” and “allow me to wipe your table.”
Serious. She’s like this all the time when we’re out. It’s okay to hate me.
Also, it’s December. And there was sun. So we played in the leaves. Well, when I say “we”, I mean my friend and Stella. I’m not a big fan of dirt. And stuff.
I have noting to move on to. So, here’s a random, poorly executed picnik collage. Feast ye eyes.
Shirt - Crew Cuts
Jeans - Baby Gap
Cardi - American Apparel
Shoes - Converse
Jacket - Gifted from Switzerland. So it’s the warmest.
Stella has recently added a few new words to her already robust and thriving lexicon (of two words, ahem.) Let’s talk about them for a moment, shall we?
Mama - While this one has been kicking around in the background of her vocabulary for a while, in the past few days it has burst forth to command a prominent spot in her every day utterances. But no, not Mama, I love you, or Mama, come get me from my crib, or Mama, let’s play. It’s more Mama, give me something I want. I feel this may be foreshadowing, you crafty literary god, you.
There - Stella’s main word until now has been “this” and god help the person who tries to identify exactly what this is in any particular situation. A cup of milk? No. An orange? Dis. *points emphatically* The Brita water filter? DIS. Papi’s phone? Nope. DDDDDIIIIIIIISSSSS. It is, then, with much exasperation that we add the new lexical item “there” for it is no more precise and no less likely to end in an interminable dialogue of There? Dare. There? Dare. There? DARRRRRE. So, basically, language acquisition for the win!
S - I don’t know. All I can say is my child, whom, I might add is a mere 18 months old, can correctly identify this alphabet letter by name. Which pretty much guarantees that she’ll be reading by two. Whatever, so she also calls every other letter in the alphabet S. And also most numbers. And all kanji. Shuddup. She’s a genius. I can tell because she just learned how to unlock my iPhone.
Remember how I don't brag about my kid? Hahahahaha. I'm full of shit.
How 'bout a vote? Please?
I never really thought that competitive parenting was a “thing”. I imagined that tales from the playground of boastful barbs like “little Gage can count to twenty!” countered with “well, we haven’t worked on counting with Maddie but she knows all her colours. She even knows taupe!” were largely the stuff of popular culture imagination.
And then I met just one of these parents. Early Thanksgiving morning, the airport lounge at O’Hare was full of babies. I was in the bathroom, changing my clothes, trying to control the damage of a mid-flight nose bleed. Stella was examining all the babies waiting in line for the change table, pointing and making the sign for “baby”. A mother of a girl a few weeks younger than Stella said, “are you dancing?” and I said, no she’s obsessed with babies. she’s signing “baby”. The other mother, flustered, said “Oh we haven’t learned that one yet, she signs a few things but we haven’t done “baby” yet." And then she went on to prompt her child to preform her newest verbal trick. As if it were natural. But if was for my benifit.
I felt like telling her, “lady, my child only says three words. One of them is meow. So, no biggie.”
But I let it go. She was stressed. And ambitious for her child. And comparing hers to mine.
Still, the encounter made me feel uncomfortable. And has stuck with me. Why is that?
This was my five minute brain dump for Stream of Consciousness Sunday. You can join in too. Sit down, set a timer (five minutes), and then write your heart out. Don't edit. Don't worry about typos. Just write. Then grab a button and link up at All Things Fadra.