Friday, August 26, 2005


What are the odds?

You have been struck with the "Suzy F. Homemaker" bug (or struck by lightning, you aren't sure which), when you decide to make your husband waffles for breakfast. Homemade. You are holding the baby when he suddenly projectile vomits and hits the entire northeast corner of the kitchen. For those unaware of the landscape in said kitchen, that would be the oven, microwave and half of the pots and pans.

You run to the door, dropping a waffle on the way, to let the dog in. You drop the baby into the Jumperoo, or as we are affectionately referring to it these days, the "Neglect-aroo." He begins his loud protestations but to no avail. You go back into the kitchen to find the dog has eaten the waffle and has moved on to the bathroom, where HE is now projectile vomiting the contents of HIS stomach. The waffle maker begins to "beep, BEEP, BEEEEPPPP" but you are now forced to pick up vomit that smells mysteriously like poop, while having to listen to the baby's wails from the next room. You now smell the waffle and wonder when the smoke alarm is going to smell it as well. Oh, that's right. You disconnected the smoke alarm on this floor because it rings more than it is silent.

You yell apologies to the baby, who is now sounding like he might bring this up at Thanksgiving 25 years from now, but apologies are just not going to cut it. You go back and save the waffle maker from the waffle that looks like it might combust at any moment.

And what do you hear? "Why are you crying, buddy?" From his perch 2 feet away from the baby on the couch, as he peruses the daily results of his Fantasy Baseball pool on the laptop. A pool in which he finds himself 7 out of 8 at any given time. A pool that goes approximately 137 games longer than it should. A pool that will not change between now and 9 o'clock when he gets to his government job and he proceeds to surf the web on all "breaks."

Two vomits (one smelling like poop) and burnt waffles.

What are the odds? One in One.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Back alive, doctor's office visits and on-demand feeding

I lied. When I said that the most inopportune time to have a poop bomb was 3 minutes before takeoff on a flight, I lied. Because having a poop bomb 10 minutes before leaving for the airport, the poop bomb that covers 70 percent of the baby's body and 30 percent of the baby's car seat, is the worst. Hands down.

We got home, but the baby was still doing his "eh, eh, eh-ing." Even I couldn't console him. So this was the conversation between me and the nurse yesterday.

N: Maybe he got an ear infection from all the pressurization issues on the plane. You should bring him in.
K: But he doesn't have a fever.
N: Ah, my kids NEVER got a fever with their ear infections.
K: I swear to God, I told my husband that if it is NOT an ear infection, I'm giving this kid up for adoption because he is driving me nuts.
N: (insert muted tee-hee-hee) Just bring him in.

So we get to the doctor and apparently we are the talk of the office. Old friends by now with the nurse who has seen E a hundred times, she comments that everyone in the office is very amused by my statement. Failing to see the amusement, I just nodded. She then proceeded to to say that, and I quote, "Kristen, his ears are PERFECT. He's just teething."

I got back out to the car and called Derek.

K: Should I leave him in the office with the nurses or just out front with all the office girls smoking?
D: I'll be there in 10 minutes to get him.
K: You can't get here in 10 minutes. You don't have a car.
D: I'll take a taxi.
K: It's rush hour. I guess I'll just take him home.

I stopped by Buy Buy Baby and bought 37 of those frozen thingees for baby gums and the amped up Baby Ambesol.

Fastforward 2 hours later.

K: Aren't you going to give him the ambesol?
D: It's bedtime Ambesol. I'm waiting for bedtime.
K: It's f-ing bedtime somewhere.

And he went to sleep at 8:00 p.m. Ah, it's the little blessings in life that keep us going...

Until 2 a.m. Anyone know how the kid got on Greenwich Mean Time? He played for an hour in bed and was talking, yet again, in his OUTSIDE VOICE to the animals on his bumper. I finally gave in at 3 and got him. I fed him for a while but I was too tired so I rolled over and tried to go to sleep. He commenced a long-ass conversation with my bra strap about the injustices of mothers and, I can only imagine, the injustices of the bra that stood in his way. Did I mention he was using his outside voice? It is 8 a.m. and I haven't slept for the last 6 hours.

Anybody want this baby?

Monday, August 22, 2005

Things I've Learned at Hayden Lake, The Final Chapter

1. If you and your lover decide to sneak out in the middle of the night (OK, 10:30 p.m. but for heaven's sake, that's the middle of the night) to skinny dip and you decide to go through the window, WD-40 it before so it doesn't creak and wake up the baby.

2. If your very tall husband looks out the window and says that you will probably have a difficult time getting back in because the window is too high up, you should probably believe him. Or you can just have grand hopes that when the time comes, you will be blessed with a brilliant solution to the problem.

3. If you wake up the baby as you have one leg out the window and one leg in the room, you should probably go back for the baby if you intend your sneak-out to remain undiscovered.

4. Skinny dipping with an infant is not recommended. What is recommended, however, is hissing through the open window of the cabin next door to your husband's 17-year- old second cousin twice removed and telling her to take the damn baby. She will tell you that you are on crack when she hears what you are doing, but she will take the baby nonetheless.

5. When you get knee deep in the water, Murphy's Law states that your mother-in-law will choose that EXACT MOMENT to come out onto the patio of the Point, a mere 25 feet above you. She will sit down in a chair with a bottle of wine and proceed to chat up your husband's aunt about nothing of importance. Since she talks more than you, you will be left wondering if the 17-year-old second cousin twice removed would be willing to raise your child because MIL is not quite drunk enough to miss this and there is NO WAY IN HELL you are getting out of the water.

6. It is possible to laugh hysterically while swimming in the shadow of the full moon and not get busted.

7. The window is too damn high and what the hell were you thinking going out of it. You are grown adults, married and have a child so you have obviously had sex at least once so it's not like anyone would be surprised if you want to go skinny dipping. Your husband will be forced to sneak through the back door because you also managed to LOCK the window when you shut it because you didn't want to crawl back into bed with a damn raccoon or some other nasty creature. Even when he opens the window and you pass the baby who is talking to the closest tree in his OUTSIDE voice, you find that your ass is too fat and now how the hell are you supposed to get in. Thank God for ladders...

8. Lock the bathroom door. This is standard. Even if you and your husband are the only ones up. Otherwise you are perusing a 3-year-old Woman's Day magazine article about how to lose 35 pounds in 2 weeks by eating watermelon rinds and lemon zest when fun turns to tragedy. And it's not really any big deal because you aren't doing anything on the throne. It is just a combination of spending your entire life with bathrooms that did not have reading material, being fascinated that someone would have Woman's Day in their bathroom, and finally realizing that the throne might be the only place you can relax and be unmolested by anyone.

Until the door creaks open and there stands your FIL in his sarong. You are embarrassed for him (he is wearing a sarong), you are embarrassed for yourself and there is really no backing out of this. As he closes the door in as much haste as he can muster since he is pretty much asleep, your embarrassment moves to the knowledge that maybe your FIL thinks that you read Woman's Day and can there really be anything more embarrassing than that?