Poor, poor, pitiful Kate

Stuck in line at the grocery store yesterday, I picked up People (or Us or whatever it was) Magazine, the one with Kate Gosselin's heavily made-up, perfectly coiffed face smiling out from it. I open the magazine and start reading.

The gist of the story is that Jon is such a bastard. Though of course Kate doesn't use that word. She was in poor-martyr-me-I'd-forgive-him-if-only-he'd-ask mode, not I-hate-that-son-of-a-bitch mode. Which I figure is pretty calculated to gain her sympathy. Everything about the Gosselins -- Kate anyway -- seems calculated.

Not Jon, of course. If Jon was calculating and clever like Kate, he wouldn't do and say all the asinine things he's been doing and saying since he cut loose and let his dick do all his thinking for him.

Everybody these days hates Kate Gosselin. They think it's abominable she's raising their kids in public. At this point, what's she supposed to do? Bow out of the TV series and get a jobs at Wal-Mart, for God's sake?

I have no child-rearing advice for Kate. I do have hairstyle advice: for the love of God, woman, who told you that asymmetrical rat's nest looked good? Is your hairdresser a biker lesbian?

Why do I ask stupid questions?

Okay, so we're getting ready to go to a birthday party. I finally have all the kids dressed and ready. God forbid the bigger ones could get themselves ready without, "Mom, I can't find _____," and "Mom, where's my ______?" and "Mom, he hit me!" Well, you get the picture. Anyway, the little (and not so little) monsters were all ready, and I even had my own hair fixed and was just reaching for my purse when --

"MOM!!!!"

Yep. You guessed it. At least you guessed it if you have a passel of your own brats (which I say with all affection). One of them threw up. On the pale ivory Berber carpet we put in last year (WTF were we thinking????). After she'd had a glass of grape juice. Or two.

Deep breath. It's all right, darling. Let me get your dress (the one my mother-in-law probably paid fifty bucks for at Nordstrom and of course it's dry clean only) off and get you cleaned up. It's okay. We can wash your hair (which I spent half an hour putting up in hot rollers and spraying). I'm so sorry you have to miss the party, my sweet angel. Please don't cry.

Why don't kids ever throw up outside or in the toilet? Why don't they throw up when they're wearing ratty old clothes or better yet naked and about to get into the bathtub so they're right there and have no excuse for not using the toilet instead of the carpet or couch or down comforter?

Why do I ask stupid questions?

Love and gratitude

Sometimes I am absolutely overcome with love for my children. I look at one of them, feel their little arms around me and I just melt. They are so little, so fragile, and rely on me for so much. I worry whether I am capable of giving them everything they need. What I can and do give them is all my love.

Other times, well, let's not talk about that. Today isn't one of the "other times." Today I am just filled with gratitude at what God has given me. I am the luckiest of women.

See, I'm not a sarcastic bitch all the time.

Calm before the storm?

My kids are playing nicely with each other for once. I probably jinxed it by writing it, and there will be screaming and mayhem in the other room at any moment.

Shaken, not stirred

In case you were wondering, I opted for the martini, and made it a double.

Decisions, decisions

The kids are in bed. Fighting. As usual. Shall I go in there and slap them silly, or just fix myself a martini and put on headphones so I can't hear them?

The Novel: Tool of the Patriarchy

Novels oppress women. How? By making it impossible for us to get anything done once we start reading one. Am I ever going to learn not to pick up those stupid chick lit books like the one by Sophie Kinsella I just finished? Contrived plot. Predictable ending. Love interest the kind of amazing guy who doesn't exist in real life and only makes women dissatisfied with the imperfect guys they're married to.

So why did I let my house disintegrate into a pigsty while I wasted all that time reading it? She is an engaging writer, and it was fun escapist fantasy. But I'm finished now, and am going back to reading nice, safe non-fiction I can put down when I need to do something important like, say, vacuum the floor.