You know all those other posts where people are deep thinkers? Not so much here.
The Farmer in the dell has been bugging me now for 72 hours. After catching myself humming Led Zeppelin to quiet the baby down, I thought perhaps I should use "age appropriate" music. You know, get into the groove of this whole baby crap.
I'm not sure where it came from (the depths of hell in retrospect) but I began singing the Farmer in the Dell to Ethan the other day. I didn't quite get through the first line before I became disturbed.
"The farmer takes A wife."
Where is he taking her? Matuba for her favorite Millenium Rolls or Spicy Toro Rolls?
Citronelle for the Chocolate Three Ways? Paris, because she has been so nice and gave him such the sweet baby that he always, always wanted?
And is the taking necessarily of HIS wife? It just says "a wife." Does he get to shop around all the area wives, looking for the one that won't talk back or take the credit cards out of his wallet and cut them up? (ten bucks says at least one reader is, right now, frantically reaching for his wallet in his front pocket and scanning its contents)
How about the child picking the nurse? Who would trust their kid to pick his childcare provider? "You, you with the bottle. You look good enough."
And last, but certainly not least...
"The cheese stands alone." What does THAT mean? Other than that you were the last asshole to be picked in this stupid game where the popular kids get to be people, the less popular kids get to be animals and the unpopular kids are food products. This is what I think of when I hear "the cheese stands alone."
I wish I had a click-the-button system like they have on Outlook so everyone could weigh in on which line is the worst? Having to choose would be tough though.
Derek and I had a long discussion (longer than 2 minutes, which is a long conversation for me these days).
But here it is. The comment of the hour....drum roll please....
DT--Why can't the farmer take a wife AND the nurse? Then he can have that menage a trois he has always wanted.
Way to take a really disturbing song and throw it right off the cliff there, big guy.
Friday, April 22, 2005
My work here is done
I woke up in the middle of the night to Derek putting the comforter back on the bed because he was cold.
As I opened my eyes, I could see him staring intently at the comforter before putting it on, trying to make sure that the bamboo stems were facing the bottom of the bed and the leaves were facing the top of the bed.
As I opened my eyes, I could see him staring intently at the comforter before putting it on, trying to make sure that the bamboo stems were facing the bottom of the bed and the leaves were facing the top of the bed.
Gotta have faith
Keep your heads up, progessive Catholics. Benedict XVI could be to the Catholic church as this man was to the Supreme Court. Some people will say anything to get a job.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Benedict XVI
The world has a new pope.
B and I had a running joke that Pope John Paul II (or JP2, as the college students in St. Peter's Square apparently like to call him) actually died about 8 years ago and that he was "Weekend at Bernies." If you looked really close you might even see the strings helping to move his arms. I personally blame this on the Vatican, because they forced him to speak at the window all those years and his lips never moved once.
My theory was dashed however when an old friend, personal photographer to this man, told me that he actually shook the pope's hand last year at a state visit. And got a Pope Medal, whatever that is. I told him it was lost on a boy raised by two jewish parents.
I called B a few weeks ago to discuss the obvious consequences of the pope's illness (i.e. he was gonna die, assuming he hasn't been dead since the mid-90's) and asked her how she was feeling about the end of the world approaching, what with the pope knowing the whole Miracle of Fatima prophecy and all (http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa070300b.htm) and B's insistence for our entire friendship that the world would end when JP2 died. B explained then that if the pope actually TOLD someone else, whatever that means, that the world wouldn't end.
So I got to thinking about this. What if the pope gave a little insider trading information to his confidant Joseph Ratzinger. Think about it. You in the conclave, sitting on the stone stairs, staring up at the Last Supper, thinking maybe your last supper might be soon, what with the world ending and all.
In walks Cardinal Ratzinger. "Guess what I know that you don't know?"
I don't think there is any mystery as to the speed with which the cardinals sent the white smoke up the chimney ("Is it white? No, I think it's gray. No, it's WHITE). Consider it a gift to mankind.
B and I had a running joke that Pope John Paul II (or JP2, as the college students in St. Peter's Square apparently like to call him) actually died about 8 years ago and that he was "Weekend at Bernies." If you looked really close you might even see the strings helping to move his arms. I personally blame this on the Vatican, because they forced him to speak at the window all those years and his lips never moved once.
My theory was dashed however when an old friend, personal photographer to this man, told me that he actually shook the pope's hand last year at a state visit. And got a Pope Medal, whatever that is. I told him it was lost on a boy raised by two jewish parents.
I called B a few weeks ago to discuss the obvious consequences of the pope's illness (i.e. he was gonna die, assuming he hasn't been dead since the mid-90's) and asked her how she was feeling about the end of the world approaching, what with the pope knowing the whole Miracle of Fatima prophecy and all (http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa070300b.htm) and B's insistence for our entire friendship that the world would end when JP2 died. B explained then that if the pope actually TOLD someone else, whatever that means, that the world wouldn't end.
So I got to thinking about this. What if the pope gave a little insider trading information to his confidant Joseph Ratzinger. Think about it. You in the conclave, sitting on the stone stairs, staring up at the Last Supper, thinking maybe your last supper might be soon, what with the world ending and all.
In walks Cardinal Ratzinger. "Guess what I know that you don't know?"
I don't think there is any mystery as to the speed with which the cardinals sent the white smoke up the chimney ("Is it white? No, I think it's gray. No, it's WHITE). Consider it a gift to mankind.
Phone conversation with Ginny about the pope and why you should NEVER bear big news on a cell phone.
My mom can't get news at her office. Unauthorized access of the internet or receipt of non-work emails is punishable by death. So I called to tell her about Benedict XVI.
GH--So, were you surprised that this one was picked?
KH--Well, he was the pope's bitch.
GH--The pope's snitch?
KH--The pope's BITCH.
GH--Pope's snitch?
KH--B-I-T-C-H.
GH--Oh, Kristen. You are so bad.
Come to think of it, the pope's snitch is probably fitting as well.
GH--So, were you surprised that this one was picked?
KH--Well, he was the pope's bitch.
GH--The pope's snitch?
KH--The pope's BITCH.
GH--Pope's snitch?
KH--B-I-T-C-H.
GH--Oh, Kristen. You are so bad.
Come to think of it, the pope's snitch is probably fitting as well.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Oh, it's a plot against me
You know what they say, it's not a conspiracy theory if it is actually happening.
Derek called from his conference today, asking about our lunch plans. Baby E was down for the count, so I dropped his ass into his car seat, grabbed a bottle for the inevitable scream of hunger, and we were out the door. The cry started quicker than I thought, so there I was on 395, with my arm stretched across the seat trying to keep a bottle in the screaming baby's mouth.
We ended up meeting at the lovely Restaurant Murali (http://www.muraliva.com/) for a little Eye-talian cuisine. I have come to the stark realization that I too, along with my husband, think that money is growing on a tree in our backyard. Bygones.
So Derek gave Ethan the rest of the bottle and carefully bounced him on his leg, taking care that should Ethan spit up, it would not happen on his best law firm suit. Then it's my turn. Not two minutes pass and I have an ounce of milk, running down my arm, over my shorts and onto the floor.
DT--I don't know how this always happens to you.
Bitter, I handed him back. Once again, bouncy, bouncy, polite burps and generally obnoxious cooing at one another.
My turn again, 15 minutes later. He didn't even give me 60 seconds before he had taken out the other side of my black shirt.
Waiter--Madam, madam, do you need some soda for your shirt? Did you get sauce on it?
Soda for my shirt--SOB, I was wearing a cheesy t-shirt, not silk. Don't remind me that I am currently in the running for the Sloth/Slob of the year contest.
KH--That's fine. I have BABY all over me, not my lunch.
I hate the little bastard.
Derek called from his conference today, asking about our lunch plans. Baby E was down for the count, so I dropped his ass into his car seat, grabbed a bottle for the inevitable scream of hunger, and we were out the door. The cry started quicker than I thought, so there I was on 395, with my arm stretched across the seat trying to keep a bottle in the screaming baby's mouth.
We ended up meeting at the lovely Restaurant Murali (http://www.muraliva.com/) for a little Eye-talian cuisine. I have come to the stark realization that I too, along with my husband, think that money is growing on a tree in our backyard. Bygones.
So Derek gave Ethan the rest of the bottle and carefully bounced him on his leg, taking care that should Ethan spit up, it would not happen on his best law firm suit. Then it's my turn. Not two minutes pass and I have an ounce of milk, running down my arm, over my shorts and onto the floor.
DT--I don't know how this always happens to you.
Bitter, I handed him back. Once again, bouncy, bouncy, polite burps and generally obnoxious cooing at one another.
My turn again, 15 minutes later. He didn't even give me 60 seconds before he had taken out the other side of my black shirt.
Waiter--Madam, madam, do you need some soda for your shirt? Did you get sauce on it?
Soda for my shirt--SOB, I was wearing a cheesy t-shirt, not silk. Don't remind me that I am currently in the running for the Sloth/Slob of the year contest.
KH--That's fine. I have BABY all over me, not my lunch.
I hate the little bastard.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Babies and bars
First it was happy hour on Thursday. A dear friend was leaving the madness of the Fed and was leaving for a real job at another agency. We decided to celebrate at an outdoor restaurant/bar in DC, a couple of blocks from the office. I told Derek that I would drive into the District, pick him up from work and he could take Baby E to Caribou Coffee while I got loaded up at HH.
Well, Derek decided to "swing by" HH to wish Dave well in his new job. The guys all asked him to sit down for a drink. Two hours and God only knows how many pitchers later, we are all sitting in a big circle outside, baby in tow. It was about that time that I glanced around and noticed two women in their 50's, giving me the nastiest looks.
I brought out my favorite southern drawl for the occassion, "oh, my God, who takes a baby to a bar???"
I prefer "outside cafe, with alcohol libations"
Then there was the brew pub in Alexandria. http://www.shenandoahbrewing.com/
When we walked in the door at 7:15 on Saturday night, a guy belly up to the bar said, "Well that'll drive the average consumer age down in here." Good beer.
Finally was baby's first trip (outside the womb) to a Virginia vineyard. OK, so it isn't Napa, but we are doing the best we can here. With a great lunch packed, we threw the baby into the car and were off to visit Pearmund Cellars. http://www.pearmundcellars.com/
We stumbled onto their barrel tasting event and the rest is history.
I see a pattern here that may be cause for concern.
Well, Derek decided to "swing by" HH to wish Dave well in his new job. The guys all asked him to sit down for a drink. Two hours and God only knows how many pitchers later, we are all sitting in a big circle outside, baby in tow. It was about that time that I glanced around and noticed two women in their 50's, giving me the nastiest looks.
I brought out my favorite southern drawl for the occassion, "oh, my God, who takes a baby to a bar???"
I prefer "outside cafe, with alcohol libations"
Then there was the brew pub in Alexandria. http://www.shenandoahbrewing.com/
When we walked in the door at 7:15 on Saturday night, a guy belly up to the bar said, "Well that'll drive the average consumer age down in here." Good beer.
Finally was baby's first trip (outside the womb) to a Virginia vineyard. OK, so it isn't Napa, but we are doing the best we can here. With a great lunch packed, we threw the baby into the car and were off to visit Pearmund Cellars. http://www.pearmundcellars.com/
We stumbled onto their barrel tasting event and the rest is history.
I see a pattern here that may be cause for concern.
Presbyterianism and Beer
I woke up early yesterday. I never understood before why Pache got up early when her kids would sleep til 8:30 or 9. Now I know. The house is so peaceful at 6 a.m. I found myself actually ironing Derek's shirts. Bizarre, I know.
Derek cruised into the room around 9.
"I'm ready for church." And there he stood in all his 6'3" glory. Wearing his beat-up shorts and his Christmas present from my wicked sister this year--"Beer is my new religion. Would you care to join me in a prayer?"
It was his idea to be Presbyterians this week. The church has been around for a million years, is 4 blocks away, and according to Derek, "has a highly regarded preschool." Premature thinking for an 8 week old baby, but whatever.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH, no. We don't even know if this is a USA or a PCA church."
Not knowing (or caring for that matter) about the distinction, he waxes on about how God really doesn't care about what you wear to church. All I can think about is that "causing others to stumble" concept that was drilled into me as a child. Even if God didn't care, what if we cause all the old ladies to be so horribly mortified that they would miss the homily? Not that they hadn't heard 500,000 homilies in their time and could probably tell you when Pastor Mike had a busy week watching NCAA finals and was recycling one because he had slacked off.
Bitter, he changed his clothes and off we were to be Presbyterians. Well lucky for us he changed, because the church turned out to be a USA church. Thank God I had put my Miami cleavage shirts away, because it was bad enough that I was the only woman there in pants. 90% of the church population was over 80 and there were easily 150 people there.
It all worked out anyway, because right during the most solemn and deep part of the homily, Ethan filled his pants. Big time. I'm not sure what was worse, the loud fart or the giggles around us. I don't think we are getting invited back.
Derek cruised into the room around 9.
"I'm ready for church." And there he stood in all his 6'3" glory. Wearing his beat-up shorts and his Christmas present from my wicked sister this year--"Beer is my new religion. Would you care to join me in a prayer?"
It was his idea to be Presbyterians this week. The church has been around for a million years, is 4 blocks away, and according to Derek, "has a highly regarded preschool." Premature thinking for an 8 week old baby, but whatever.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH, no. We don't even know if this is a USA or a PCA church."
Not knowing (or caring for that matter) about the distinction, he waxes on about how God really doesn't care about what you wear to church. All I can think about is that "causing others to stumble" concept that was drilled into me as a child. Even if God didn't care, what if we cause all the old ladies to be so horribly mortified that they would miss the homily? Not that they hadn't heard 500,000 homilies in their time and could probably tell you when Pastor Mike had a busy week watching NCAA finals and was recycling one because he had slacked off.
Bitter, he changed his clothes and off we were to be Presbyterians. Well lucky for us he changed, because the church turned out to be a USA church. Thank God I had put my Miami cleavage shirts away, because it was bad enough that I was the only woman there in pants. 90% of the church population was over 80 and there were easily 150 people there.
It all worked out anyway, because right during the most solemn and deep part of the homily, Ethan filled his pants. Big time. I'm not sure what was worse, the loud fart or the giggles around us. I don't think we are getting invited back.
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