Nobody Knows Anything

Welcome to Diane Patterson's eclectic blog about what strikes her fancy

No paternity test needed

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I am not making this up:

Yesterday afternoon, Sophia and I snuggled on the living room couch so I could read to her. She wanted “Sleeping Beauty.” Okay, okay. In Disney’s version, there are three good fairies at the baby’s christeninig who give the new baby gifts like “Beauty” and “Song.”

I turned to Sophia and said, “What did the fairies bring you when you were born?”

She smiled and said, “We don’t have fairies in our world.”

I swear to you she said this.

I also swear to you that, while we’re planning on bringing the kids up without religion, we haven’t exactly been harping on it yet. After all, Sophia’s three. The whole sky-elf discussion can wait a little bit.

Or maybe we can skip that whole thing. She seems to be a little ahead of the curve.

I told Darin about what she said and he said, “Yes.” Daddy’s little rationalist.

I don’t think that word means what you think it means

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I picked up the paper today—an actual physical paper, something I don’t do very often—and read about Odai and Qusay and the amazingly well-timed (for the White House news cycle, at any rate) four hour firefight. And then I read this article and I feel, well, disoriented.

Odai, 39, Saddam Hussein’s elder son, was the wolf — a sadist who tortured athletes for losing matches, a womanizer who had henchmen snatch women and girls off the street, a tantrum-thrower who beat underlings and rivals to death, a show-off who collected fast cars and jungle pets.

Um, hello?

Colin Farrell is a womanizer.

Odai sounds like, oh, I don’t know…a rapist? Or a psychopath?

Why the hell did the Washington Post use a term like “womanizer” for a vicious bastard like this guy?

Checking in

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I almost titled this entry “Cracking up” but I have this thing about the power of words and self-fulfilling prophecies.

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I also almost wrote an entry detailing why things are difficult for me right now, but not only would I not get any sympathy from y’all, I’d probably get active hate mail. So let’s just put it that my life has changed dramatically from the first part of May. For example, Darin worked at home. So when I needed a break or to run an errand, he was there. This is not the case now. It’s different, and I haven’t adjusted yet.

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We live in a small town. The local weekly has on its cover this week the story of two English teachers at the local high school who fell in love and got married. It’s a cute story, but…um…slow news week?

Well, it’s better than yet another story about the Rampart district. Or cleaning up the Belmont site.

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Since I posted my discovery that I could go exercising after dropping Sophia off at preschool, I think I’ve gone out maybe once. So of course I get discouraged and think, “I’m never going to exercise or lose this damn weight!” and go out for a Frappucino. With whipped cream.

It’s amazing I’m not 300 pounds. There have been a lot of self-soothing Frappucinos of late.

Update: Um, of course what I meant to say is, “I have been using Frappucinos as self-medication” or something along those lines, not “Frappucinos are lonely and need love.” But you knew that.

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Part of the difficulties of adjusting to this move have been that I don’t have many friends around here. Actually, in the immediate five miles, I don’t have any. I think other moms have put out the word: “She’s coming! You know, the one who’s desperate to talk to other adults! Run!”

I’m trying. Evidently some of our neighbors have kids the exact same ages as ours. I called their number, haven’t heard back. These things take time. It’s hard to have that perspective when every day brings a new exercise in “What do I do with the kids today?”

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Sophia has the funniest line that is guaranteed to make Darin and me crack up whenever she says it. Whenever she puts forth an idea for something she wants, she says, with her biggest, sunniest smile: “Can we go to the bookstore now? Yeah? Is that a great idea?”

Not a good idea. A great one.

No idea how she came up with that one.

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For several months there Darin had to read Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel to Sophia every night, mostly because he made the mistake of telling her that it had been his favorite book when he was a boy. Darin turned the nightly recitation into an audience participation event, with Sophia finishing half the sentences.

We finally (yes! finally!) opened one of the boxes of the kids’ books and one of the books was Mike Mulligan. Sophia asked me to read it to her last night.

She didn’t remember any of it. Mike. Mary Anne. “Neat and square.”

Which might mean she’s already forgotten a lot about Los Angeles. Not everything: she still brings up her friends from time to time.

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I didn’t mention that one of the biggest stresses we’ve been under is that—ta da!—the buyer for our house in Los Angeles backed out a week before we were supposed to close escrow. And she didn’t even tell us, we found out when the escrow agent called to tell us. And because we’d set up the purchase between friends, we didn’t even get to keep the down payment.

Which would have really, really helped, given that we’ve had two mortgages going for a few months now and had to pay for some stuff to be fixed at the old house. (Like termites. Yes, my house got tented and I didn’t even get to see it.)

Reportedly everything is fixed now—we have the most amazing real estate agent in the world who is handling everything for us; if you are buying or selling a house in LA call Jeanne Valvo at Coldwell Banker, you will not be sorry—and the house should go on the market soon. Jeanne may already have a buyer for us. I just want to see the check.

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I’ve promised all my friends that I will stop complaining to them all the time. I don’t know when, though. I’m just a little stressed out right now.