Today was alright. No sickies reporting for duty. I got some work done, did some grocery shopping, came home and received stewardship of the cubs circa 1 pm, just in time to get to Mass. That is, just in time to get to Mass late. We made Communion, anyway. We missed the homily; damn, we'll have to manage another week without hearing about the shortage of priests who (assures Father Stewart) are of vital importance, and why don't more people show up for Mass when it's not a Day of Obligation. (Wouldn't know, man, we're the ones who ARE FRICKIN' HERE!!!)
(Aside: I'm amused to imagine Fr. Stewart coming across this blog and being offended. Because what's he going to say about it that won't involve explaining what he was doing on this site in the first place? Heh-heh!)
The kids were basically great. The 5-yo drew a picture of "Mairy" from a painting on the wall (kick-ass job, too); while Eve alternated between singing along (you know that "A-aa-AAA, A-aa-AAA!" thing the little mermaid did? Like that, with less range), asking "Who's dat?" fifty times while pointing to a "Mairy" statue, and wandering around the church (quietly, at least) so I had to get up and follow her around.
Their Mom joined us for lunch at McDonalds. They have a playroom! So we'll be able to talk about stuff while they play!
Why the hell do we always fall for that? 
I can't remember the last thing of any complexity we've been able to discuss in McDonalds since the 5-yo learned to walk. 
So an hour and a half later, Mommy goes off to Mass. She now goes to a church in Manhattan that has a nice GLBT community. (I stick by St. Brendan's because... well, frankly, because it's a short block from our building.) I am left sole acting guardian, and after several more minutes of play, the 2-yo gets antsy and we have to leave.
Getting outside, the 2-yo -- The Best Toddler Ever, remember -- starts the second huge tantrum she's thrown in my presence. Screaming "NO DAAADDDDYY! NO DAAADDDDYY!", wriggling, fighting to get down on the dirty sidewalk. Which I finally let her do (I'm more concerned about bystanders than I am about actual germs), and she lies down sobbing and screaming. Five minutes of careful talking finally get her to tell me what she wants. (At least what she wants now.)
"Fries." Yes, we made it about a block and a half away before she told me that she wanted more fries.
So I tell her, fine, we can go get fries if that;'s what you wanted." and she gradually emerges from Toddler Hell. But McDonalds, when we get there, has suffered dinner rush! It's going to be a 5-minute or more wait, which is an hour in toddler time (two in holding-a-toddler time). So I convince her to help me make fries at home.
Now, the "fries" I discovered the other day are strips of fried tofu. Easy to make, lots of protein and they actually taste pretty okay with ketchup. Both kids like 'em. And I'd just bought a pound of tofu. I also make me a salad of baby spinach, apples, tomatoes, a slice of fried tofu cut in strips, and a strawberry-vinaigrette I threw together. Kick-ass.
While the 5-yo does some digital art and the toddler snarfs fried tofu and sliced raw veggies (she wants 'em, I'm not complaining), I call an MD friend for the first time. Fun conversation, though I realize in the middle of it I'm a little manic; I often am, the first time I talk to someone, and it's compounded by my tendency to talk very quickly.anyway (partly a New York thing, partly because my mind moves a lot faster than my mouth, and partly because I can be compulsive).
Much hilarity and horseplay ensues. It occurs to me as the toddler pushes me onto the bed (with my help) that the only women I can remember pushing me onto a bed are a now-out butch lesbian, and our 2-year-old daughter. Still, I do not cry.
Given the late lunch/snack, dinner is not served until almost 9, which is bedtime. Oh well. Dinner, btw, is salt-fish cakes with sautéed veggies, and is generally enjoyed (though the 5-year-old rejects the peppers, as promised). Then the 5-yo wants her midnight snack, a concept with which she's been obsessed for the past few weeks, and demands before bed, even if, as tonight, she's just eaten dinner. So she eats two small apples, cut in half.
She also wants to at least see Mommy before she goes to sleep. I (it turns out mistakenly) believe the mommy is almost home and say yes. And hour later (an hour and a half past bedtime), I realize my error, and say that's enough Family Guy clips on YouTube ("Funguy!" as the toddler calls it, is their favorite form of entertainment) for one night.
the 5-year-old then eschews the bed for the futon, on some 5-year-old principle, and the Best Toddler Ever serendipitously decides she wants me to "Rock-a-bye" her. She's out and in bed in less than 5 minutes, by which time the big sister is sawing logs as well. W00t.
Mommy shows up about 3 minutes after they're asleep. Turns out "I'm almost home now" was actually "I'm coming home now." Oops.
She's upstairs as I type this. Any minute, should be here to finally get to talk about stuff. The only beer she has is Guinness, however, and as I'm not in the mood for Guinness, that sucks just a bit.
The end.
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