Baby Travels and Rap

Hi! I am hoping I still have a reader or two. Seems a little dusty around here. There may be some big changes in store, which would lead to me having a little more time to write. I’ll post more details once the decision’s been made.

Meanwhile I am discovering just many things about my personality have changed since I became a mom. I have more patience than I thought I would. I need a helluv a lot less sleep than I thought I would. Tangentially, I am willing to scream like Tarzan in my vehicle to keep from falling asleep at the wheel. (I am not driving much these days, until we get the sleep-thing figured out.) Most shocking of all: I like an Eminem song.

WHAT?

I have begrudgingly appreciated the fact that the guy can be a talented poet ever since he appeared on the obnoxious rap scene. (As opposed to my beloved not-obnoxious rap scene. It’s a fine line, sometimes.) However, I have always thought the dude was a whiney douche bag with a shrill, grating voice more suited to punk; which happens to be a genre I have never ever ever liked. Ever.

Yet suddenly I’m in the car last week nodding along to a catchy tune before I realize: a) I’m not asleep! SUPER! And b) holy crap. It’s Eminem and I don’t hate it. He has a new song out about addiction recovery or whatever, [“I’m Not Afraid”] blah, he’s been whining about his life since he started his career, but there’s a nice melody, the chorus is pop-ily dark (which, I realize, is like saying something is kitten-ly sinister), and I don’t know why but I am loving on this line:

I’m strong enough to go to the club
Or the corner pub and lift the whole liquor counter up
‘Cause I’m raising the bar

Well done, Marshall, well done. Now be a dear and tell Green Day to follow your lead, won’t you?
In Miss Thang news: we survived a very hectic trip back east. But she got to meet her great-grandmother, which made me (and her, and great-grandmother) crazily happy, so it was worth it. Despite the flight, the incorrectly installed carseat, the late nights, the complete lack of schedule and thus lack of sleep, the lack of oil in our car, the three-hour trek into Virginia to be eaten alive by mosquitoes, the pacing outside in a thunderstorm because, ho ho, the patrons of the country club apparently do not appreciate screaming, overtired babies, and the power outages in 90 degree heat with 100% humidity. So worth it.

The Funasaurus was back in Colorado (in air conditioning, nonetheless) for the last half of our trip, working some long hours, and I feel I have been fairly explicit in my desire to never travel without him again.