Because a huge celebration for my mother wasn't enough...

we had a big rite of passage tonight at Chateau Cookie.

E finally realized that Zinni will always pay attention to him if he is covered in cereal that is a paste-like consistency and, when dried, makes him look like a breaded baby, ready for a fryer.

And Zinni realized that the baby will let Zinni lick him from head to toe when Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, arguing about the nutritional value of rice vs. oatmeal cereal.

But if the dog eats all the cereal on the baby, then mommy doesn't have to spend as much time cleaning the baby.

It is a good thing.

Far be it from me to question the Big Man

I just can't do it, Amy. It's too embarrassing.

I got tagged by Amy to do a music meme.

Unfortunately my top song I am listening to is Lisa Loeb's "Little Red Caboose." The list gets worse from there (My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean, ect.)

Tag me again in 5 years when I am allowed to listen to my own music on the radio again.

Connor's rules

Now I don't know Connor, but he was in the next aisle over today at the blackberry field and his mother issued the following directives:

1. Don't get the blackberry juice on your shirt or the bees will come (I'm not sure if she was really worried about bees or if she didn't want to OxyClean the white shirt).

2. Don't reach up to pick the blackberries. All the good ones are down low, like you are.

3. Don't pick the red ones. I know you think they look like raspberries, but they aren't.

4. Don't eat more than two blackberries, or you will get sick.

5. Don't just stand there in front of that bush. Look at all the blackberries down the row.

6. CONNOR, WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THE ROW? COME BACK HERE. COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW. CONNOR, I'M SERIOUS.

7. Don't squeeze the blackberries or they will get crushed. Be gentle.

8. Don't throw the blackberries into the basket or they will get crushed. Be gentle.

9. Connor, I said, "DON'T THROW THE BLACKBERRIES IN THE BASKET OR YOU WILL RUIN THEM."

Am I the only person to realize that these were far too many rules for little Connor to follow? I think it worked out for him because it appears that he didn't follow even one of the rules.

When I turned around, Boo Boo Kitty had managed to find the ONLY BRANCH within 5 feet and had it in his mouth. I was pulling leaves out of his mouth for about 30 minutes.

We are now up to a carrot in the supermarket, pizza crust, beer, rice cereal and blackberry branch for food. This kid is screwed.

Be careful what you ask for

Jaime asked me to give her baby-2-b a nickname. Full well knowing that the first name we gave E (Dunk) came from the Urban Baby Name Book and a scary game of Baby Name Roulette. I may have neglected to mention in the earlier post that when we did it for a girl's name, we came up with JaLit. Jaime probably wouldn't have asked if she had known this.

She indicated that she is having a girl, so I went scrounging for the book. With a laser pointer to guide me in the baby's bedroom. It is only a matter of time before Jaime realizes that one would rather try to read 45 book titles with a laser pointer than awaken a baby that has been moaning for the past 12 hours and has finally gotten to sleep by some method only known to his father.

So what was the name as we closed our eyes and flipped through the pages? Constantina--which means Loyal. I think we should call Jaime's precious girl "CC" until she can come up with a name for her. I wanted to flip again, but D said that was against the spirit of Baby Name Roulette. Sorry Jaime.

Christina also asked for a nickname, but D and I have yet to create a name/symbol for her in the spirit of Prince. She will be known as (still unknown), formerly known as Christina. LOL

Let's say it together, folks..."Wicked bad karma"

After the baby cried off and on for 4 hours today (beating the total sum of crying he has done in his 5 1/2 month life), I then went to the dentist.

D and I went together and Dina, the Dentist, went on and on about how beautiful my teeth are and how I take such good care of them. I felt slightly puffed up and frankly couldn't wait to rub it into my husband in the little room next door. He drinks coffee, drinks soda, blah, blah, blah.

Dina said, "We'll just take x-rays since you haven't had any in over a year. Just a formality." Translation--anything to jack up the price of this visit since the insurance company is only paying around 25 cents.

She came back shocked.

"You have two cavities. In between your teeth."

Oops.

K: "Would it have helped if I drank tap water because you know I am a bit of a water snob and I cringe just using it to brush my teeth?"
Dina, the Dentist: "Nope."
K: "Is this my punishment for not flossing?"
Dina, the Dentist: "Yep."

And then I had to go out and face "Mr.-I-Floss-Twice-A-Day-Because-Flossing-Is-So-Important."

Sometimes life is SO. NOT. FAIR.

Is it time for the vacation yet?

Because I went to the movies to see Must Love Dogs, AND went to Costco AND went to IKEA all in one day, I will forgive that mean man in the parking lot who jumped in front of my car because he thought I was going too fast through his truck dealership parking lot. You must believe in God, mean man, because you had lots of faith to believe that I wouldn't spraul your middle-aged skanky used car salesman ass all over the hood of my sedan. I just didn't want to get blood on the car and I didn't want to get arrested. It was in a warehouse district, for heaven's sake. I was only doing 15 mph and you were the only person in the lot. A little baby part of my wicked heart wishes that I had not been rational during my verbal exchange with you and I had just made your wife a widow. Somehow I think she would have been thankful for the favor.

Did I mention that I got to park in the Family Parking spot in front of IKEA?

Birth control and highway robbery

What do these two things have in common? (I'm starting to sound like Freakonomics. LOL)

I understand that birth control is a VERY personal matter, but this is my avenue for venting, so you might want to skip this post if you find the discussion of family (or anti-family) planning distasteful.

I lost my birth control pills. They are somewhere in this house but I can't find them. If my mother had been here since they were missing, I would have thought something fishy was going on, but she hasn't been here in months. Come to think of it, my husband is probably suspect as well. But let me explain something. I will be living in a different state than my husband rather than getting knocked up at this point of my life.

The other night I sent him looking for the pills. The man who cannot find his ass with both hands. The man would could not pour beer out of a boot if the directions were on the heel. After ten minutes I heard furniture moving in the baby's room, a loud crash, and then a wailing infant. Did he honestly believe that I had put the pills behind the dresser??? WTF?

Anyway, so here I am 2 days later, sweating it out and wondering if they will ever show up. I broke down and ordered more at CVS knowing that this would be coming directly out of my pocket, without benefit of Blue Cross/Blue Shield picking up the tab. I spoke to the pharmacist and requested that he give me generics. Normally I am too good for generics, but when I'm paying, I AIN'T paying, if you know what I mean.

I showed up and found out that my doctor had not "authorized" generics so I had to pay $59.59 for one month of pills (unless we got her on the phone at 11:27 pm). That's right, folks. $59.59 for the MINI PILL. It's not even a whole pill, but a fraction of a pill! They don't even really work, for God's sake. If you don't take them every day at the EXACT SAME TIME, you will probably get pregnant if you are in the same room with sperm.

I came home and told D all of this. He was mortified by the cost and then by the "generic excuse" given by the pharmacist. He is threatening anti-trust lawsuits and to sue CVS. I would rather he just spend that time cleaning the living room.

Alarm Clocks

When I was in junior high and my sister was in high school, we shared a very small room. We slept in a double bed, kind of like Mary and Laura in Little House on the Prairie (except our bed was from Mattress Discounters instead of made with straw). We started out with two twin beds but that left us with about 8 inches of room in between the beds. Thus having to share a bed.

She used to do all manner of cruel things to me. Turn the light on in the bathroom and then crack the door open so the light shined in my eyes when I was trying to go to bed. Or on Saturday mornings I would open my eyes and there she would be, 3 inches from my face, making the biggest bug eyes. Invariably I would shriek and go careening off the other side of the bed to get away from her.

But her biggest sin was setting the alarm clock for 2 1/2 hours before she had to get up and then hitting snooze every 9 minutes. That would be a minimum of 16 times that the alarm clock would go off. The problem was that I would wake up when it went off the first time at 4:30 a.m. and lie in bed cursing the day she was born, for the next 150 minutes. I would poke her and prod her to just Turn The Damn Thing Off, but to no avail. Maybe if she would just turn it off before I really woke up, I could get back to sleep.

I'm much better now. D's alarm goes off and I go back to sleep. If he hits the snooze and then gets up, I don't fare as well.

E's new habit is to play in bed when he wakes up. Laughing and cooing and talking to God only knows what, I don't get him (who am I kidding--D doesn't get him) until he cries.

Well last night in bed, this was the conversation.

D: What happened to the monitor this morning?
K: What do you mean?
D: I didn't hear the baby until he was screaming this morning and that was through the bedroom wall.
K: I guess I turned the monitor off.
D: What???
K: I must have turned the monitor off because he was waking me up.
D: You turned the baby monitor off so you could sleep?

Kind of defeats the purpose of the monitor, huh?

I should probably clean the house

After a day spent picking blackberries with E, Renee and Alex, I came home to the same mess I left in the morning.

Derek was looking for his knife sharpener and the following conversation ensued:

D: You know the one place I haven't looked for it?
K: In the couch?
D: Are you serious?

I'm totally going to clean one of these days.

What's in a name?

My little sister called me last week to tell me that she had read my blog and that she was sorry but there was no way she was going to be able to call E Toofus because his name is Boo Boo Kitty.

My friend Sandie followed this theme a few days later when she suggested that if we had a girl the next time around, we could call her Hello Kitty.

Perhaps I should explain how this whole thing happened. I am the queen of the nickname. It's true. No one I know gets called by their parental-given name. And my nicknames seem to always stick. You guys didn't really think her mom named her Marel, did you? Then there is B. Of her 20 letter entire name, I managed to find one letter and call her that. For heaven's sake, my cousins ask how "B" is when they see me. At my wedding I was introducing her as "B" and she was following up with, "Actually my name is Jennifer." But back to the original story.

When we found out that we were pregnant (when we realized that the pink line on the second test means the same thing it meant on the first test if you morons had read the instructions--pregnant) , we paused the TIVO of Reagan's body lying in state in the Capitol and ran out to B&N to buy a baby book. Barely back in the parking lot, I suggested that we come up with a temporary name to call this sexless baby. I said that we should play a game of Baby Book Roulette. I flipped the pages and Derek slammed his finger down on the name Dunk. You read right. Dunk. Not Duncan but Dunk. We had apparently purchased the Urban Baby Name Book without knowing it. But Dunk it was. It wasn't like we could pick another name.

We called him Dunk until my mother had had enough. On Thanksgiving, he became Ethan.

But two weeks after he was born, he became Boo Boo Kitty. Boo being the origin of his nourishment and Kitty, well I don't know where the hell that came from. I HATE CATS WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING COULD I HAVE BEEN A LITTLE MORE CREATIVE?

So I have been getting a little worried that maybe Boo Boo Kitty might be sticking too much. I mentioned it to Derek and this is what happened...

D: Ethan?
E: (staring intently at his chew toy)
D: Ethan?
E: (wondering how far he can get the chew toy in his mouth without gagging)
D: Ethan?
E: (wondering if it would be more fun to throw the toy or to keep eating the toy)
D: Boo Boo Kitty?
E: (turning with a HUGE smile and a laugh to look at D)

Oops, I did it again....

Freakonomics, or "how-to-throw-an-economist's-study"

I, like many Americans who are not knee deep in the latest Harry Potter book, am reading Freakonomics (don't worry, Marelle, your copy will be on its way soon). If you knew my husband, you would understand why this book is mandatory reading in my house. But the disturbing part is the conversation I had with him the other night about how he managed to throw one of the studies in the book.

No, not the Sumo wrestler study.

Here goes...

D: You know the bagel study that the economist did in the book was at .... where I used to work. That's where he first started selling his bagels.
K: Yeah?
D: I used to buy bagels from him.
K: Yeah? So did you cheat him on rainy days and pay for your bagels on sunny days, like his study determined?
D: Not really.
K: (starting to get nervous because I could see that there was SOME sort of cheating that had occurred based on the look on his face) Not really?
D: Well, you see (imagine someone doing that dance he does when he is trying to NOT say what he is about to say), the bagel costs some crazy amount like 85 cents. I mean, who has 85 cents? You either have a dollar or a few quarters. Never 85 cents.
K: I'M SORRY! You have 85 cents if you want a bagel.
D: Well, (hemming and hawing) I just kept track. If I put in a dollar one week, I would make it up the next week and put in less.
K: You were running a bagel tab?
D: I guess.
K: So some Fridays he took home less money because you were evening out your account?
D: It all came out in the wash.
K: The man did a 20 YEAR STUDY and you managed to throw 8 years of it by keeping a running tab only known to you?
D: I guess. I was just the noise* in the study.
K: So how many other people were noise in the study as well? Do you think you were the only person doing that?

Good gracious. Where the hell did I find this man? My apologies to Paul Feldman.

*Random market fluctuations that make it difficult to forecast the market's direction.

Why YOU gotta be so determined too?

Murphy's law: If you go to sleep at 12:15 am, the baby will invariably wake up at 5:45 a.m.

There was howling off in the distance. It got closer and closer. Until my dream about my impending vacation was rudely interrupted by the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Or Toofuses, to be exact.

I laid there for a sec, wondering if Derek was going to get up but he was playing dead. FINE, I'll do it myself.

I went to get E and put him on the changing table. If I don't change him, he pees all over me and all over my nice bed.

Apparently he decided that if he did not eat THAT VERY SECOND HE WOULD DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH. You would have thought he had gotten his hand caught in the car door, he was screaming so loud.

D: What are you doing to the baby?
K: Pinching him????

The birth of my own little drama king.

Why you gotta be so determined?

Derek decided today that he was going to take the Oriental rug outside and shake it out because it is downright nasty. Today. You know. The day it was 96 degrees. The mosquitos are swarming like the cicadas last year except not so loud but oh so more annoying and painful.

K: Let's do it on Thursday, when the high will be 79.
D: fine, I'll do it myself.

Baby, baby, baby. So off he goes, knowing that my whiny self will follow.

But I brought a broom. I figured I could clean the rug Jane Austin style. Beat the crap out of it. As Derek held it.

That'll teach him to just poke, poke, poke until he gets his way.

Oops there goes another one

So much for getting the picture of Toofus with the one stubby tooth in his mouth. Cause that tooth got a brother today. Do we call him Toofus Squared? Toofuses?

Someone in the house smells like wet dog

Zinni,

Now it isn't like me to point fingers, but if you want to loved and adored, you probably shouldn't have rolled in the dead animal on your way back in from the middle of the lake. So now you have managed to take that wet dog smell and up the ante with a foul dead smell. We'll call it the "double word score" of bad dog behavior. Lounging on your back in the middle of the dog bed and refusing to look at me directly does not in any way, shape or form make you any less guilty of your crime of stinking up my house. And if you walk past me one more time with the full-contact rub, leaving streaks of wet dog/dead animal along the length of my leg, I will have to ship you off to Nana Jane's house, where she will love you unconditionally. I don't do unconditional.

Love,
The Head Bitch

Here are the shoes 

Romantical dinners and shower shoes

Tonight was our first official night out after dropping the baby off with our friends Renee, A and baby Alex. A sort of exchange, I think this could become a dirty habit.

So I told my little sister about this exciting turn of events and her first question is, "What are you going to wear?"

I instantly thought that a queen size flat sheet from the bed might be about right, but I decided on the only pair of pants I have that fit. I was looking hot. Real hot.

Until halfway to Renee's when I looked down and realized that I hadn't changed out of my terry shower shoes before I left. Derek made some comment about being embarrassed about me once again. This coming from a man who is still wearing the same tshirts from college.

I was mortified. But it is amazing how two appletinis can fix any problem.

What the heck happened to that water bottle?

I spent a whole 10 minutes yesterday looking my 1 1/2 liter bottle of Deer Park that I had just opened and taken a few sips of. Never found it. Eventually I gave up and cracked open another.

This morning I awakened to E's gurgles and gripes on the monitor. My new policy is to wait to go get him until he actually cries like someone is pulling all his eyebrow hairs out one by one. He was fussing away but not very loud and not very committed. I let him go for about 15 minutes and then I went in to get him. There he was clutching my OPENED and now MOSTLY EMPTY water bottle. Thanks to the waterproof mattress pad, he was lying in about an 1/8 inch of water, completely soaked from head to toe and smelling slightly off.

I carried him into the bathroom and showed him to D as he was taking his shower.

K: Look at the baby.
D: He's cute.
K: Look at his outfit.
D: I know. I put it on him.
K: (frustration mounting EXPONENTIALLY) FEEL his outfit.
D: He's wet?
K: Didn't you happen to notice the huge ass water bottle in the crib when you put him in last night?
D: Uh, no.

Once again I have divine intervention to thank--this time for my child who didn't drown in the pool of water known as his crib.

Swim on, Toofus.

Don't make me go postal

To the woman in the Chrysler behind me in the District this morning, who told you that ramming into the back of my car because I wouldn't inch forward so you could fit into a parking spot that is not officially a parking spot for another 22 minutes would actually be effective? You are so lucky that I showed some restraint and didn't come back to your car and drag you out the window. Don't think I wouldn't do it.

Baby's all growed up

Today was a big day in America. George Bush nominated John Roberts to the Supreme Court and E got his first tooth. Which is bigger news, you ask? That's for you to decide.

It's even tougher for me to decide. As the strict constructionist, I think that this nomination was a good choice. But those rantings are saved for the Blog Chicken.

So I realized today that E had his first tooth when he chomped down on my hand. And might I say I was SO GLAD it was my hand that found the initial discovery. We tried to take a picture, but apparently it is an invisible tooth that just feels really sharp when your knuckle gets chowed on. My friend Renee said he was very advanced but I brought it to her attention that this is not one of those situations where you want your offspring to excel. You want your child to be the first one among his peers to be potty trained or to stop biting. These things are important. Knowing that I have YEARS left of this and that we started early is slightly disconcerting.

Reality is that I was a little sad that never again would I get an all-gum smile from him.

The-Baby-Formerly-Known-As-Boo-Boo-Kitty will now be know as Toofus.

The people that tell you the truth

Christina, you will appreciate this...

My Vietnamese neighbor just came by and brought me the most lovely flowers from her garden. As she handed them to me, she told me how she was going back to CA to get her car and then she would be back. And what happened next is something I never saw coming.

VN: You get fat. Just because you have a baby don't mean you should let yourself go. You need to care about yourself and get skinny again.

All this after I have lost 5 pounds in the last week. Don't mind me as I go down to run on the treadmill. I'll be back when I am skinny.

a visit to Costco on the hottest day of the year

I have a love/hate relationship with Costco. I love it because it has nearly everything I need in life to survive and be happy--bottled water, beef, strawberries, tricolored peppers, paper towels, toilet paper, books and baby wipes. Really, do I need more than that? I hate Costco because I can never get out of there without spending all my money.

So I was loading up the car yesterday in the parking lot in the 100 degree heat (with all those extremely necessary items like the Drumstick ice cream cones) as the girl beside me was loading hers. When she was finished she remarked how well-behaved E was in the cart. I replied that I thought he might be paralyzed from the heat. She laughed.

Brewery tours and relationships

OK, so it was the second brewery tour we have been on in as many weeks and once again we had the youngest member of the group with us. All these brew tours have me VERY nervous about my husband's plans for our basement. His eyes just keep getting bigger and bigger.

Yesterday we went to Old Dominion for their free Sunday afternoon tour of the brewery. Touted as the first microbrewery in the D.C. area, I was highly disappointed to realize that it was established in 1989. When you hear "first" or "oldest" microbrewery, you don't want to think 16 years ago. You want to imagine the founding fathers, belly up to a fermenter, checking specific gravity or whatever someone would do with a 100 gallon ferementer.

The tour had a bit of a Strange Brew feel to it. It was hilarity at it's best. You just kept waiting to hear a story about how the employees get to swim in beer on a hot day. Our tour guide was as friendly as can be, but his knowledge of the brewing process was a little light. It was OK, cause we kept getting to try beer.

Our friend Matt showed up halfway through the tour. Matt separated from his wife last year after she got herself an internet boyfriend and now he is back on the prowl. When I asked about his new girlfriend, he said that they had broken up again. He told me that in the 6 months they have been dating, they broke up about 3 times. I told him that this was not junior high and if you break up more than once and get back together again, that would be hooking up, not getting back together. Which is not a problem as long as you accept it for what it is.

So I asked him what precipitated this last breakup. He said that they had a conversation about their differences and she said that it bothered her that they did not have the same "world views." Well I would have to say that is a given since Matt is a republican and she could not be a more liberal democrat. When she asked him what bothered him about her, he answered (and I am not making this up), "it kind of bothers me that you don't drink beer."

Yes, folks, I think we all understand that this might not be one of those relationships that can stand the test of time.

I usually don't get sucked into this kind of stuff but this was fun

So I was over at Katya's blog and she asked for interview volunteers. Here are Katya's questions for me.

1. If you were a cookie, what type would you be? Chocolate Chunk, my signature cookie.
2. What era/period would you liked to have lived in and why? Late 1800's in the Wild, Wild West. I think I would have liked to have been a bank robber.
3. Which celebrity would you most like to have over for dinner? How embarrassing. Paris Hilton was the first person that came to my mind (I must be reading too much Pink). I imagine she would be fodder for my sarcasm and would never realize that I was mocking the hell out of her. Then I realized that it would be RIDICULOUS to invite Paris over because it's not like she would even eat my Grilled Pork Tenderloin with the White Wine Dijon sauce or my Steak au Poivre anyway. At least not without taking a trip to the loo to vomit it all back up. Then, as if I couldn't be embarrassed enough, I thought of Johnny Depp. Only because I think he is so hot and I just saw him on Leno the other night. It doesn't appear that he is that chatty and it's rude to drool in front of your husband, so he would be a bad bet. So that leaves Goldie Hawn.
4. What three words best describe you? amiable, capable, entertaining
5. If you could have three wishes what would they be? Peace, Health and Happiness for baby E.

Now the rules if you too want to be sucked into the "if you don't participate, you will never be rich" game
1. Leave me a comment saying 'interview me please'
2. I will respond by asking you five questions (not the same questions you see here)
3. You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Good luck.

Letter to the 'rents

Mom and Dad,

On this eve before my five month birthday, I thought it would be beneficial for all family members if we would have a state-of-the-parenting discussion. I will address Dad first because I realize that as a man, he will only read the first two paragraphs of this anyway and then ask Mom for a summary of the rest when he grows instantly bored.

Dad:

Television Viewing Habits
You should probably know that if you continue to give Mom that cause-and-effect speech regarding her late night chocolate and my late night “If You Think I Am Going To Sleep Before Midnight” situation, she is probably going to give you the same cause-and-effect speech about my constant wails during any and all of your attempts to watch Jay Leno. Dad, please. Leno??? He is SO 1990 and he isn’t funny. You couldn’t watch Conan?

Bedtime Routine
Thanks for singing, Dad, but you might want to keep that voice of yours below a dull roar. I know you are a big man but if you actually want me to go to sleep, you probably shouldn’t come into my room yelling “What’s wrong, Buddy” when I am crying. And as for the walking thing, it looks like you and me will be learning around the same time. Is my room so difficult to navigate that you have to knock everything over after you finally get me settled down? And you might want to work on NOT falling into the crib after you put me in. But only if you want me to actually stay asleep.

Mom:

Poop and Vomit
Mom, Marmie and I have discussed this “poop and vomit” obsession of yours and she thinks you should just get over it. Apparently you did the same thing to her and is SHE STILL MOANING ABOUT IT? When you hand me the phone to talk to her, we are not just exchanging pleasantries as you thought. I am describing in great cooing detail all of the injustices I am suffering at your hands and she is telling me to be patient with you because you are doing the best you can. Further, she is also telling me not to listen to your foul language.

Child Collaboration (aka Or Why You Shouldn’t Make Fun of Your Friend’s Parenting)
You probably shouldn’t have been laughing yesterday when Faith was screeching at the top of her lungs telling Marelle to “Just Go Away.” Faith and I are VERY good friends and she is a VERY smart girl. She has already been informing of the “Finish Your Plate” injustices suffered by her in Long Island at the hands of her tyrannical mother and she has made a list of all the “Buttons” to push. So back off, sister. Your time is coming.

To both parents:

Response Time For Any and All Yelling
a. The “I-Can’t-Believe-You-Put-Me-In-This-Crib-Now-What-Am-I-Supposed-To-Do” cry
--response time is non-existent. Hello, People. There is a baby in this house.
b. The “My-Hand-Is-Caught-In-This-Damn-Toy-Again-Will-You-Ever-Learn-To-Not-Leave- Me-Alone-With-It” cry
--response time is a little slow. This is pain I am feeling and just because you are trying to
finish making your toast first (or your blog, if we are being honest) doesn’t mean the arm
isn't getting a nice red mark around the bicep.
c. The “If-You-People-Think-I-Will-Ever-Stop-Crying-Then-You-Are-Sorely-Mistaken” cry
--response time is Much Improved. I knew you two weren’t as stupid as you
look.

Sleeping Arrangements
If you are wondering why I go instantly silent when you place me on YOUR bed, it might be because I prefer the 600 thread count sheets and that pillowtop mattress of yours. Don't think I didn't notice that you bought me that cheap-ass crib mattress and those cardboard sheets. I know you have that whole SIDS thing to worry about, but come on. There has to be some middle ground. Enough with the "all night diner" comments as well. That scratching at your back in the middle of the night is not to make your mosquito bites feel better. I am trying to get your attention. Wasn't it your decision to nurse on demand? We like to call this demanding, in case you are wondering. And please stop whining about how much I move around when I am in bed with the two of you. It's not my fault that the bowling ball mattress guaranteeing a good night's sleep doesn't include any and all movements.

In conclusion, I have a few words for Zinni. Stop drinking the Hatorade, bud, cause I ain’t going anywhere. Mom has promised you repeatedly that she will not allow me to torment you and word on the street is that there are Cherrios just around the corner for you. Hang in there. If you are really good, I’ll let you have your chew toys back.

Thank you for your time. Now could someone PLEASE change this damn diaper.

Ethan

Ever mow the lawn

in a raging lightning storm?

It is very fun until your hair starts to stand on end and the dog starts barking manically. Derek would have taken my picture but I think he was too scared.

So I thought that would last longer

Thanks to all of you who gave me the congrats on figuring out how to have 20 seconds to myself in this long day. Blue2Go called it when she said that he would change. I just didn't think I would be changing one problem for another in under 12 hours.

Last night he screamed so loud that you would have thought his father was holding him by the ears. He wouldn't go to bed. Derek gave up and brought him back to bed at 11:20. Where he proceeded to kick me for the next 3 hours (when he wasn't trying to snack at the all night diner). At 2:41 I finally threw him at Derek. He instantly fell asleep.

UGHHHH!!!

Startling realization

If the baby wakes up in the morning and I ignore him, he plays quietly in bed for 30 minutes and then falls back asleep.

I feel as if I have discovered the Holy Grail.

Blog on, sista.

Pacific Standard Time is the best

In fact, I have decided it is for me. Getting up at 10 a.m. is everything I imagined it would be.

So today when I asked Derek how the garden was looking because I was too tired and too lazy to go outside to see how it withstood the torrid heat and torrential rains while we were lollygagging on the West Coast, he said that I might need to cut back the tomatoes because they were a little out of control.

And the "Understater of the Year" award goes to D.

I went outside and there were tomato plants EVERYWHERE. As in, where the dill used to be, where the basil used to be, where the cilantro used to be. This may work out if I just want tomatoes and am willing to sacrifice the rest of the garden.

Anyone have a machete I can borrow?

how I know E is not going to be the next Ford infant model superstar

This morning we attempted to get our family portrait taken. Attempt being the operative word. Might I say that E was not the least bit cooperative. Until the very end, when we put him down in the middle of the pool table and the photographer stood on it to take his picture. I think he realized that he was doing something illegal because then he was all about being cheery and smiling. Perhaps some of that had to do with me taking off his clothes so he could be back to his happy naked self.

By the way, the cleaning lady told us as we walked by that the baby is probably cold.

Everyone has to have an opinion.

You know it's true

when a straight man stops you in San Fran to tell you that your baby is SO cute.

When will the sleep come?

So I had a pants night sleep last night, thanks to having to share a bed with the two biggest bed hogs in the world. It is apparently genetic, because the boy has it too.

Why are we even sleeping with E if we have finally managed to get him out of our room back home and into his big boy crib? Well the Mormons were kind enough to give us a crib in our room this week but it was all of 7 seconds after putting E in the crib that he managed to shove his foot through the 1 1/2 inch space between the rails and turn his leg to an angle from which he could not recover. Derek apparently anticipated this because he requested a room with a king size bed. He could have just asked for a twin because I am still sleeping on the same damn 6 inches of bed that I had a home. E continues to scooch, scooch, scooch across the bed until I am nearly falling off.

He is crying, crying, crying and the only thing that seems to help is when I rub my fingers across his gums and make that squeegee sound you hear as it goes across your windshield when you wash your windshield at the gas station.

So before I sat down to type this (since my $12.95 per day session is scheduled to end in less than 2 hours and I am already paying $45 a day to park the car), I put E into the above mentioned crib so I would not have to worry about him. I heard him whining away behind me but God forbid I turn around to see what is going on.

I should have.

There he was face down with his two chubby legs hanging out the side of the crib.

I am the world's WORST MOTHER.

Cowardice

To all our friends in London and the UK, we are so sorry for the evil acts which have paralyzed the world, yet again. You are in our thoughts and prayers.

The tenacity/stupidity of men

Derek's best friend/undercover lover Jorge lives out here on the West Coast and Derek has spent the last 5 days trying to make a plan to see him. They have known each other for about 30 years and have been best friends for the last 15 years. I brought it to Derek's attention on Saturday night when he was making plans for Sunday brunch that Jorge's wife was supposed to HAVE A BABY on that very day and perhaps making breakfast plans was not the most sensitive idea. We could blame this on Jorge, but he would sell his soul to the devil to see Derek so he obviously wasn't giving this too much thought.

Sure enough, Jorge calls on Sunday morning to say that his wife is having contractions so she doesn't feel like going to breakfast.

NO SHIT, SHERLOCK.

We go off to the barbeque and proceed to leave the cell in the car, unattended.

When I went out to the car at 4, I found 2 messages. The first was from Jorge at 10:47 a.m., saying that his wife's contractions had stopped and could we make a new plan? The second was a picture of his baby, sent at 2:40 p.m.

Why men continue to surprise me is beyond me.

Fog City, the Mormons are making a killing and why am I always buying a vaporizor on vacation?

Might I say I am having a rock star vacation, all except for the fact that the baby has more green snot stuck in his head than one of those funky cartoon characters that I have not yet been forced to watch. I resorted to sucking the snot out of his nose as a game in an effort to ensure sleep for all, but it didn't work. I had to get a vaporizer, which is apparently the doctor's recommended method for increasing your child's breathing capacity during a cold. This would be the third vaporizer I have purchased since his birth and all that crap about nursed babies getting less diseases is crap.

Sunday we got together with "the cousins" and had a barbeque. Uncle Mike barbequed everything under the sun and I caught Derek yelling at one of the distant relatives about corporate taxes and outsourcing. Isn't that what everyone discusses at 3rd of July barbeques? All I am going to say is that I turned my head for just a second and all hell broke loose. We like to refer to it as "The Red Wine Incident Gone Bad."

Monday morning my sister in law took me to yoga in Half Moon Bay, an experience which I found so fabulous that I could almost forgive her for giving my son a carrot, pizza crust and beer this weekend when he has not had one taste of any food yet (I said ALMOST forgive, Kristi). Pretty much the only thing she didn't give him was dog food. As far as I know. That will teach me to leave my child unattended or even turn my head for a split second in the presence of family.

Monday night we were off to watch the fireworks at the hilltop house of one of Kristi's shie-shie friends. The fog held off, the food was fab and we managed to beat the traffic back into town to check into our hotel. And might I say the Mormons are no fools. The Marriott is charging us $45 a night to park the car. WTF??? There goes the massage, dinner for 2 nights and a crepe at the pier. Bastards. I really need to get a job.

What the hell happened to the poop post?

So I got a 911 call from Marelle today, wondering where the hell I was and what the hell happened to the poop post. I have no idea what happened to the poop post so I guess I will have to start over. It is too bad, cause I don't even remember what I said.

I guess it all started last Saturday when we woke up at 3:30 a.m. to get to the airport for our 7 a.m. flight. If you are wondering what jackass planned a 7 a.m. flight on a Saturday with a 4 month old baby, you can rest assured that the jackass was not me. I wasn't too sad to leave, since the thermostat in the house registered 87 degrees.

Wonder of all wonders, we managed to get to the gate a whole 14 minutes before flight departure. As we boarded the plane the flight attendant gasped and said to me (about my nearly naked baby), "He's going to be cold."

"I sure hope so." Everyone is an expert, in case you hadn't noticed.

So there we are. The door is about to close and you know what he did. He filled his pants. The poop bomb from hell. I would like to take this opportunity to say I am so glad I was wearing my beige linen pants. WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING???

Sure enough, it took another 10 minutes to take off and then the pilot left us in our seats forever. So there I am holding him off my pants in order to minimize the damage when Derek decides that it is time to break the rules and head to the loo. Of course I can't break the rules. The sign says "Fasten Seat Belts" for heaven's sake. But I had enough and we were off to fit the Jolly Green Giant, his somewhat tall wife and a poop-filled baby into the world's smallest bathroom.

Is his timing ever going to get better than this?

we are OUT OF HERE!!

As sad as I am to leave this house which is registering at 87 degrees at 4 a.m. (props to Cath for lending us her 1970 air conditioner which managed to keep our room at a lovely 74 degrees), I look forward to a small reprieve from the heat wave on the East Coast as we travel west. Derek will be attending the "I-Can't-Believe-They-Are-Paying-My-Whole-Trip-To-My-Favorite-Town" Conference and I will be attending the "I-Would-LOVE-To-Try-Your-Sauvignon-Blanc-After-I-Taste-The-Chardonnay" Conference.

Rumor has it that I will have access to the Internet, but after that horrible affair with the whole broken laptop thing, I'm not sure how it's all going to work out. I look forward to spending 5 hours on a plane today with E, as that is his favorite thing, next to having his nails clipped (can you believe I'm still doing it, Nancy?) or having the dog step on him.

Props also go to D for cleaning the entire house last night. Jeers go to E for playing quietly on the floor for HOURS like he does this all the time and what the hell is mom doing anyway?

Catch you cats later.

It finally happened, and it wasn't as good as I thought it was going to be

you know, when you get pregnant, gain 48 pounds, lose 34 pounds the first 3 weeks after childbirth and you still manage to only fit in clothes THREE sizes bigger than where you started and it's FOUR MONTHS LATER, you never believe that anyone will EVER look at you again with even a sliver of interest (except my husband, whom I have discovered is not opposed to women with figures like Wyeth's Helga rather than Hollywood's heroin chic.

(As a side note, when I looked for links to the Helga pictures, I found that you can actually purchase a term paper about Wyeth online. I find this disturbing in more ways than one. Primarily because if I am to purchase a term paper, I would probably like to have the person's NAME spelled correctly. WHO are these idiots and where do I go to sell term papers online? It's not like I am doing anything else these days. But back to the story...)

So I am chatting up D on the cell phone on my way to Costco when I looked over at the van beside me at the light. There is a man blowing kisses at me and raising his eyebrows suggestively (if eyebrow movement can be deemed suggestive). AND HE WAS NOT HOT!!!

On the phone...

K: Oh MY GOSH. I DON'T believe it.
D: What?
K: The guy beside me at the light is blowing kisses at me.
D: Really? (note: totally disinterested because he is actually working and doesn't want to chat on the phone)
K: I don't believe it. It's disgusting.

(pregnant pause)

K: I have a moral dilemma.
D: (perking up) What is your dilemma?
K: He's an AIR CONDITIONING GUY. You think he would come over to the house and replace the A/C today if I flirted back?
D: (pregnant pause) Maybe.....

It is amazing what you will do if you are going on your third week of 85 plus temps INSIDE your house because they "can't come until next Friday." And that is after I wrote the $4210 check.

Don't worry, Mom. I didn't do it.

Ugh.

You can always make him smile. Better than his mother. 

New developments at Chateau Cookie

My husband told me that he felt like I wasn't respecting his "babies" because I was not photographing their growth. That would be the hops growing up the side of the house. His babies. For the love of God and country, what the hell is he talking about and how does he expect me to get anything done if he sits in front of that damn XBox playing Grand Theft Auto San Andreas from the second he gets home until he goes to bed?

Moving on...E has discovered that he cannot put EVERY part of his body into his mouth (so many things to say, but I'm just going to let it lie) and he also discovered the inside of Zinni's mouth. This went remarkably better than expected. As a new mother you have all manner of visions of your dog (who couldn't harm anything on his best day) suddenly go rabid and biting your child's arm off. Actually, Zinni foolishly yawned within E's reach and E caught sight of those pearly canines and the big red tongue with the black spot on it. In went his hand. I figured that I would just ride it out and sure enough, Zin just kept his mouth patiently open while E checked it all out with his entire hand and forearm in Zinni's mouth.

Zin had THE MOST BORED LOOK on his face and I could hear his pea-brain saying, "Could you just get his arm out of my mouth?" Oops.

"That's enough, E. Let Zinni close his mouth."

Thanks to Marelle for outing me....payback is a bitch

The Blog Chicken

I just drafted a whole post on the Supreme Court's decision regarding property rights, due process and the enforcement of restraining orders.

I just can't push the Publish Post button because my theory is unpopular and I seek love and acceptance.

I wonder if blogchicken.blogspot.com is available...

Useless things men do

Why is it that when the house is T-R-A-S-H-E-D, the man of the house always wants to do something productive such as clean the basement (insert shed or garage, if appropriate).

D: I think I'll go down and clean the basement.

Perhaps it would be a little more helpful to carry the 37 tons of clean laundry upstair or to hold He-Who-Cries-Incessantly-If-He-Is-Not-Held-When-He-Wants-To-Be-Held so that I can get one thing, just ONE thing done.

The newest (and my favorite) blogger

Now he'll have another avenue to vent about the bastardization of the political parties in America.

He said the political post was for you, Marelle.

Slideshow

For those who missed the slide presentation of the creme brulee (MARELLE!!), here it the link again.

Crazy things E will do

We went to my sister's house on Saturday helping them pick up some furniture. Just before we were ready to leave, I propped E up on the couch (because I will NEVER learn). He was just sitting there by himself, hanging out, when he lifted his leg about 4 inches off the couch.

Dave said, "Look at Ethan lifting his leg. That is so cute."

I knew there was more to this than meets the eye.

He filled his pants. That's right, folks. The kid now lifts his leg to fart, pee or fill his pants. It is friggin' hilarious.

Chocolate layer 

the making of Black and White Creme Brulee 

Black and White Crème Brulee

Here it is, folks. Thanks to Derek for all the pictures he took when I needed both my hands. We are eating it right now. Eat your hearts out.

Black and White Creme Brulee

8 large egg yolks
1/3 cup, plus 8 teaspoons sugar
3 cups heavy whipping cream
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
4 oz. dark chocolate, very finely chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Whisk egg yolks and 1/3 cup sugar in large bowl to blend. Pour cream into a heavy saucepan. Scrape in seeds from vanilla bean and add bean. Bring cream to a simmer, remove from heat. Gradually whisk hot cream mixture into yolks. Strain custard into another large bowl. Transfer 2 scant cups to medium bowl. Immediately add chocolate to remaining custard in large bowl. Whisk mixture until chocolate melts and custard is smooth.

Divide chocolate custard among 8 ramekins. Place ramekins in large roasting pan. Pour enough hot water into roasting pan to come halfway up sides of ramekins. Bake until custard is barely set in center, about 25 minutes. Refridgerate until tops feel firm, about 30 minutes. Spoon vanilla custard over chocolate. Place ramekins in roasting pan with water. Bake until vanilla custard is barely set, about 35 minutes. Sprinkle 1 teaspoon sugar on each and TORCH (you can also use a broiler for this--1 minute). Refridgerate for 1 hour.

Garnish with mint and blackberries.

Rules are SOOOO boring

The Iron Chef has created a list of convoluted rules for the bakeoff that can best be described as what one would expect from an attorney. Now that CREATIVITY is part of the requirement, I will surely not win. When will I ever have the time to write a creative piece on how great the dessert tastes? Maybe I will just go out in the neighborhood and take pictures of neighbors reactions as they taste it?

I will be taking a separate poll on this blog for the winner and ALL may participate. Bonus points for anyone who votes for me, but you should probably wait until I actually post the pictures.

The Iron Chef Cooking Challenge

Well this is how I am going to be spending my weekend. While the particulars have not been worked out (what with the Iron Chef making this crap up as he goes in an effort to skew the results in favor of himself I am sure), I will be making my infamous creme brulee and taking pictures for all to see tomorrow. Stay tuned. I would just submit the beer making pictures but beer isn't dessert for some people.

The beer chronicles

After D dug the compact flash card out of the A:/ drive where I mistakenly shoved it instead of the "Compact Flash" drive, I posted pictures here of the bottling of batch #23, an Amber Ale I believe. E was SCREAMING the entire time because we wouldn't pick him up but frankly it was 2 hours past the bedtime I think he should have and we have to get stuff done, for God's sake. We are very serious about our brewing and Little Man had better get on board with that quick.

Favorite movie lines

I have many. Here are a couple of my favorites.

1. "There's no crying in baseball." Tom Hanks, A League of Their Own

2. "You want answers???"
"I want the truth."
"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" Jack Nicholson, Tom "I swear I am straight" Cruise, A Few Good Men

3. "I JUST ate a bug."
"Well keep your mouth shut." Goldie Hawn, Kurt Russell in Overboard.

Let me hear yours.

AHICC #1 (as heard in chateau cookie)

K: This is very important. I am trying to talk to you. What's more important right now, me or your game?

D: Don't make me choose, babe.

God Bless America

Derek is singing a personalized version of GBA for baby E.

"Baby Ethan, Baby Ethan, stand beside me, and guide me, through the night with a light from above."

It ain't right but the baby ain't crying no mo'.

OMG, they have moved on to Jingle Bells. I wish I could tape this and play it online. It is too funny.

oh, she'll wake up if I yell loud enough

This morning when E woke up at 5:30 I brought him into bed with us because it was too damn early to get up for the day. I promptly pulled the covers up around my neck and went back to sleep.

A couple hours later I began to wake up to the "EEEOOOOWWW" of E's look-at-me, look-at-me yell. Not a cry, just a yell.

I opened my eyes and there he was six inches from my face, with both his little hands grasping my shirt and pulling for dear life as he yelled into my face. His eyes went wide with surprise that he actually woke me up and the biggest smile crossed his face.

You can't beat waking up like that.

the words you love to hear

As heard in Chateau Cookie just moments ago...

"You were right and I was wrong. That's why I worship you."

And it thought it was my looks.

Pina Coladas aka how-to-make-it-through-the-day-with-screaming-kids

(while humming Two Pina Coladas by Garth)

8 oz. Goya Cream of Coconut
6 oz. Dole Pineapple Juice
4 oz. Malibu Coconut Rum
4 oz. Midori

Pour Cream of Coconut, pineapple juice and Malibu over a blender full of ice.
Take a swig of Malibu while BLENDING.

Pour into 16 oz. tumblers and float an oz. of Midori on the top. Add a couple of cherries and drink to your heart's content.

Makes 3-16 oz. drinks.

What happened to the customer always being right?

I've been fuming for hours.

To my Afghani friend at the Kabob House, thanks for giving me a cultural lesson on how you treat women. I really loved it when you tried to take the guy's order who was standing directly behind me before you took mine. And it made my day when I piped up that I was next and you asked the guy in FRONT of me if I was with him. I wouldn't have even thought to talk for myself. Thanks for serving the THREE DIFFERENT ORDERS for the THREE MEN behind me and for clearing the restaurant before fulfilling my order. People get capped in this town for less. So I hope you weren't offended when I came over the counter, ripped my receipt of the credit card machine myself, signed and threw it back in your face.

Oh, that's right. It would have been in your face if you hadn't actually WALKED AWAY from the counter AGAIN.

Next time I'll send the man in rather than have him watch the baby in the car. What was I thinking?

To all my friends who have suffered disparate treatment over the years for your race, color, sex or religion, I am so sorry and I can see how this would really piss you off.

confessions of an XBox widow

He's at it again. I did not see the man for 8 weeks during pregnancy thanks to the Halo 2 game that I think I got him. Every night I would drag my fat ass up the stairs alone. He would wander in at around 12 or 1, hot off of some fight he had won. He was a little put out though that he couldn't talk smack with all the other kids by way of the interactive microphone because he didn't have one. I brought it to his attention that the most common phrase heard on Halo 2 was "I gotta go. My mom said dinner is ready."

This time it is Grand Theft Auto San Andreas. I'll admit I was a big fan of Grand Theft Auto Vice City. The only rule I had was that Derek couldn't pick up the hookers. There were plenty of other people from whom he could steal money.

San Andreas is a little off the deep end though. It appears to be one big drive by shooting full of gang stereotypes that are tedious at best. And the language makes even me blush. Since I have been compared to that of a sailor on occasion, you can only imagine.

The good side of this, however, is that I get to be on the computer and I don't have to share. I like not having to share. A Lot.

Talent on the other side of the Pond

Go over here to hear Martin's newest creation Stand Still. And remember when he is terribly famous, that you heard it hear first.

Addicted to MXC

I'll admit it. I'm not ashamed. I watch SpikeTV. The common man's answer to the Lifetime Channel for women. SpikeTV is full idiotic programming designed to wheel men in. And the sleeper hit MXC has got me hooked.

It's a little like Mystery Science Theater 3000, except it is blatently mocking Japanese game show contestants (with lots of sex and potty humor in voice-over English) as they perform "grueling, ridiculous and hilarious stunts, all in the name of what they call 'fun' and we call humiliation." During these stunts, people rack all parts of their bodies and you just have to laugh. It ain't right but it sure as hell appeals to the secret desire to laugh at another's calamity.

My mother would be appalled.

Family Restaurant still doesn't have cheddar cheese

We have been eating at "Family Restaurant and Pizzaria" (sic) for about forever. We used to go there on weekends B.E. for breakfast. A mediocre breakfast at best, but what can you expect from a "Pizzaria" anyway? I haven't had a decent breakfast since I left the Land of the Diners, New Jersey.

Without fail, Derek orders an omelette with many items. Kind of a western meets greek. And like clockwork, he starts out with..."I'll have an omelette with cheddar and (insert whatever).

The only problem is that "Family Restaurant and Pizzaria" (you can't make this up, I swear) has never, ever, EVER had cheddar cheese. The waitresses are getting quick now. They just agree to whatever he says and go off to spit in his omelette. This morning....

KH: FAMILY RESTAURANT never has cheddar cheese. Why the hell do you keep ordering an omelette with cheddar cheese? It doesn't say cheddar cheese on the menu.
DT: On the menu it says they have that cheese omelette with "various cheeses." What kind of cheese do you think they are putting in that?
KH: AMERICAN, feta, mozzarella, parm maybe?
DT: They are not.

Four words for you, folks. "Family Restaurant and Pizzaria." It would not surprise me in the least if the cheese omelette showed up with two colors of American cheese and a sprinkle of parmesan.

So the omelette shows up. That "cheddar" is looking awfully runny.

KH: How's that "cheddar" cheese?
DT: Shut up.

Happy Father's Day to the father of my son

Derek,

For sneaking me an ounce of beer or wine once a week while I was pregnant...
For bringing me dinner at the library on the late study nights...
For cleaning the house when I just couldn't take it...
For carrying me upstairs when I had no energy at the end of the day...
For letting me sleep in on Saturdays and Sundays...
For holding my hair back as I threw up...
For cleaning the floor after the aforementioned incident...
For watching all six hours of Pride and Prejudice...
For buying all those pregnancy and parenting books from Amazon the second you found out I was pregnant...
For giving up the name Cassius in favor of the name Ethan...
For wanting to call him E. Lewis after Meriweather Lewis...
For buying the safest car on the market on a whim so we could be safe...
For sticking up for me when I could not stick up for myself...
For rubbing my back when I thought it was going to break...
For watching the heart monitor all night long without closing your eyes once...
For demanding that Ethan come out "RIGHT NOW BECAUSE MOM WANTS YOU TO..."
For accepting my death grip during the unmedicated 22 stitches...
For changing 90% of the diapers...
For bringing me breakfast in bed for the first 8 weeks of E's life...
For waking up in the middle of the night and changing the baby...
For obsessing about crawling and walking...
For making us laugh so hard we cried...
For promising to love us and protect us always...

Thank you.

My apologies to all the single/married people without children

I have become one of THEM. You know those assholes who mows his lawn before noon on the weekend.

I remember when I was single and in my first year of law school. I would work all day, go to school all night. I lived for Saturdays when I wouldn't get out of bed until 5:00 p.m. It was me and 80's movies on TBS all day. If I heard any manner of lawn equipment prior to noon, I would lie in bed with a pillow over my head, convincing myself that random gunshots out my window would NOT be productive.

Well, ever since "The Incident," I'm stuck doing all the heavy lifting and I might be stuck mowing my yard for the rest of my miserable life. So since the AC is out and we are living "efficiency style" in the living room, we were all up bright and early this morning. OK, not so bright. So I decided to mow the lawn/savannah that I have neglected for the past week. And I sure as hell wasn't waiting til it got nice and HOT to do it.

KH: Is 8:42 a.m. a decent hour to start mowing the lawn?
DT: The neighbors will probably just be glad it's mowed.
KH: The neighbors who care have been up since 5 a.m. anyway.

For personal safety reasons, I mowed the backyard first. It cuts down on the list of possible suspects should someone decide to shoot me. By the time I got to the front yard, it was like 9:30. Hello, who's not up at 9:30?????

I've become one of Those People. The people with kids who don't give a rat's ass about the Other People Without Kids. I can't believe I have sunk this low.

The gift that keeps on giving

I had a conversation today with an unnamed person who told me that purchasing a Playboy isn't like purchasing a regular magazine that you are finished with once you read the articles....

The magazine was actually referred to as an investment.

Obviously solely a benefit for the owner and no one else....

So disturbing on so many levels.

Flying squirrels

Robin wrote a post today about trying to not run over a squirrel. And while I found her benevolence touching, it reminded me of how much I really hate squirrels.

Last year we had a garden full of tomato plants. For those of you that know me, I am obsessed with tomato sauce and all manner of pasta. Derek, not so much. But ever since we started making fresh pasta he has come over to the dark side. Well, we started to have a little problem with half-eaten tomato plants on the vine. There was a big hole in our miniscule raised beds and we were sure that a mole or some other evil rodent was waiting until the tomatoes were ripe and then having at it. Until the day I got the phone call.

I was in the library, sick as a dog, studying for the bar. All the sudden my phone vibrates. The caller ID flashes that it is Derek from home. I'm thinking WTH? I'm studying and I want to be left alone. I jogged out into the stairwell and answered the phone.

DT: You are not going to believe what just happened.
KH: What just happened?
DT: I was getting out of the shower, and you know how I like to look out the window and survey all my land?
KH: (thinking--"All 1/5 of an acre in the dead center of suburbia????????) Yeah?
DT: Guess what I saw?
KH: (thinking--"How the hell does this man think I am ever going to get anything done if we continue to play 20 questions?????") What?
DT: I saw a squirrel sitting on YOUR chair in the back yard, eating a ripe red tomato he was holding in his little hands.
KH: SOB!!!!!!! What did you do?
DT: I got out the BB gun and shot him off the chair.
KH: Shut UP!!!!!!!
DT: I did.
KH: From where?
DT: The upstairs window.
KH: (suddenly suspicious) What were you wearing?
DT: (silence)
KH: Did you kill him?
DT: Nah.
KH: YOU ROCK BABE! I love you! But what if the neighbors saw a gun coming out the second story window? I'm pretty sure you can't shoot at squirrels in broad daylight. Or ever, for that matter.
DT: I thought you were worried about your tomatoes.
KH: (silence and pregnant pause). You're right. Good job.

It was a pretty eventful summer. I was never as good a shot (my old range instructor would be mortified, but I maintain it's harder to shoot a bb gun than a sig). We only shook up a couple of squirrels. Derek said it was worth it to knock them off their feet so they would go home and tell their family members to avoid that Colonial halfway down the block.

I don't think so.

We'll have to see what happens this year.

Why must all parenting nightmares occur in public?

We took the Injured One to the orthopedist yesterday afternoon after Boo Boo Kitty and I spent a LOVELY day in AC with our friends Renee and Alex (who also fed us and entertained us!).

We found out that the Injured One has a crushed big toe. He is very put out by this because no one can actually do anything for him and why did we spend 4 hours at the ER the day before and an hour at the dr. office for someone to just clean out the nastiness and send him on his way? I tried to tell him it was for the drugs but he is still bitter that I won't let him wash his vicodin down with beer or a gin and tonic. In fact, he has refused all further offers for vicodin in general. I'm sure that in the future I'll be asked to conduct all manner of minor surgery in the kitchen rather that going to silly hospitals.

So there we are in the waiting room, WAITING to make our co-pay and get the heck out of there. I put the baby in his car seat and placed him on the floor next to the Injured One. And then I did the unthinkable. I TURNED MY BACK. That's right, folks. I thought that I could leave the two of them unattended for a brief moment. You know, the medicated Injured One whose toe was crushed by a weight bar and the fruit of his loins.

Hearing a blood curdling scream that can only mean that the Boo Boo Kitty has managed to get his head caught in a major appliance, I turned around to see the car seat tipped over backwards and the baby lying upside down with his head resting on the floor. After snatching him up and realizing that he scared himself silly and is actually fine, I also realized that luck of all luck, the office is packed and all six nurses behind the counter are watching. So now I had to shlep him over to the counter so ALL the nurses can see that despite the fact that his parents openly neglect him, the BBK is alive and well.

So I guess they aren't kidding when they say that you should buckle them in at all times, huh?

Thanks to all the well wishers...

The weather broke last night and the AC guy is coming today. WooHoo!!

quick request

If you are a prayer, one who sends out positive thoughts or can will things to happen, please send out your requests that we can get an air conditioning person in here today. It's 8:00 am and it's already 83 downstairs. God only knows what it is upstairs.

What the hell did people do before air conditioning?

How Vicodin can make the world a better place

So today was one of those days...

the AC went out officially, on the hottest day of the year so far....it's ok, though, because the not-so-nice (read cast-iron-bitch) at the heating/cooling place said she would send someone next Thursday. Like we all won't be dead by next Thursday. When she asked what was wrong, I said it sounded like Marine One was landing on the roof. She said, "So it's still working but it has a noise?" OK, dumb ass.

I cracked the screen of my laptop--again...

I missed my cooking class because of a run to the hospital emergency room. Derek's weight bar has seen more action today than it has in years...when it landed on his big toe, crushing it and making it bleed like a stuck pig. It's OK though, because the ER staff thought they were the Alexandria, VA version of Scrubs. One doctor/nurse was funnier than the next. I had to laugh when the doctor told me to screw off when I said that D's pain couldn't match childbirth.

E peeded on me in the ER--twice. When Derek asked if I wanted to take him out to the car to change him, I said, "Why? He managed to keep his diaper clean by peeing out the crack."

Four hours later...

But there is a silver lining to this cloud. The doctor took me up on my suggestion that Derek get a tetanus shot and I convinced Derek to give me half of his bottle of Vicodin for my trouble. OK, I actually held up the script in front of his face and refused to get it filled at CVS until he promised to send half the bottle over to my side of the bridge. I think it'll all be alright.

Which is worse?

The miami nursing tank tops or the robe?

I just answered the door in my LLBean floor length terry robe that is so big I could fit 3 people in it. Only my ankles were showing.

There was my Muslim neighbor Sayed with cookies they had just made. Normally I am mortally offending him with my porn star boobs but I think that my bare ankles may have done him in.

I can't win.

Cookies Best Shots

rather than clog up the blog with pictures that no one wants to see, I started a new blog over here. That way my mother can stay up on my life and not have to be offended by my foul language.

Michael Jackson--Not Guilty

I wonder if he has plans to meet O.J. for happy hour tonight.

"the poop bomb" aka "how-to-ruin-the-perfectly-delightful-lunch-in-a-single-bound"

D gave me a ring today and asked us to lunch. We had an errand to run in Alexandria, so we found ourselves at Le Gualois for lunch.

Suddenly E started to get cranky. You would too, if a POOP BOMB went off in your pants. All over his clothes, car seat, Derek's hands. It was truly an overwelmingly disgusting incident. The snooty French people at the table across from us pretended that it wasn't (and we weren't) happening. You think that incidents like this would teach me to carry a diaper bag around, right.

Yeah, not so much.

He was MUCH happier when it was all over, after I went back to the car and changed him. It's times like this that I wish I had one of those really big wrenches to crank open a fire hydrant. I'm guessing that might not have gone over very well in that section of King Street.

Below is representative of a similar explosion that happened 10 minutes before we were SUPPOSED to leave for NY last Friday.

We like to call this the "double word score."  

what moms do to babies when moms get bored in the back seat of cars on LONG car rides home. I wish it had been red checkered like Arafat's. 

Gail and E 

Aunt Margie on her way to the Belmont. 

I didn't know how retro I was

until I got to B's house this weekend. We decided earlier last week that we would go up to Jersey for the weekend so her mom Gail could meet the baby and we could sneak across the river and get dinner at Tang while she babysat.

So we showed up late on Friday night. As is par for the course, E is a little cherub until 10 minutes before we get there. No complaints here since I wanted to cry about 3 hours earlier.

I took him into the house where B, Gail and Aunt Margie were waiting oh so patiently to snatch him from my hands.

KH: I'd better feed him first and then you guys can have him (whipping out the boo).
G: Whatcha doing?
KH: Feeding him.
G: That way?
KH: Uh, yeah.

She is staring a hole through my chest, like I am performing some alien ritual.

G: Does it hurt?
KH: NO, it doesn't hurt. Haven't you people in Jersey ever seen someone breast feed?
G: Oh, NO.
KH to B: Is she serious?
B: Yeah.

The whole weekend she was fasinated every time I fed the baby. Incredulous, even. Coming from the world of people that believe in breastfeeding until the child goes to middle school (not me, don't worry), this is very new for me and I kinda egged her on a little.

Those people from Jersey...

Only in Montgomery County

This is why I live in Virginia.

Conspiracy theories and such

For the record, the request for medication in the below post was for me, not Ethan. Thanks Marelle, for the intervention attempt. I will make you a BIG margarita on Saturday as an expression of my gratitude.

You know the old saying, it's not a conspiracy theory if it is actually happening? Trivial as it may seem, I discovered this morning that Graco MUST have some sort of thing going with Duracell because I had to put 4 more batteries into that cordless monitor in as many days. The good news is that if I am using the monitor, that means my baby is actually sleeping. So should I just see this as a blessing in the disguise of a monetary ball and chain?

One dog's intelligence

Or lack thereof.

So we decided to can green beans tonight. Not ordinary green beans, but special ones that stick out of Bloody Marys on weekends. This would be a FABulous idea if I liked Bloody Marys. Or green beans, for that matter. But Derek has been inspired by Bonnie Moore (who we saw tonight, per chance, at Whole Foods, doing her personal shopping--she stopped to tell us we had a beautiful baby and I told her that my husband was stalking her via every class she teaches--just kidding, I figure she'll figure out the stalking on her own--really, if your husband's fantasy is an award-winning chef, how do you lose?), all due to a recent canning class at Sur La Table.

So we were outside snapping the green beans when I realized how intellectually-challenged Zinni truly is. Derek was snapping off the tops of the green beans and throwing them to Zin. He was catching EVERY SINGLE ONE, chewing on it for a sec, and then spitting it out. Since there were 2 1/2 pounds of green beans, you do the math.

Did he think that Derek was switching to steak every other bean? WTH? I watched him and thought about every single person that told me that Zinni was such a smart dog. And how very wrong every single person was.

Derek called it the actions of the eternal optimist. Spoken like the eternal optimist himself.

where's the medication?

baby won't sleep. cranky because of lack of sleep. i'm....going....crazy.....

Words you never want to hear from your mother

So we were at Jen's house this weekend helping her move (ok, at this point we were just lounging around, doing nothing) when we had a baby-overheating incident. Explain to me how I am supposed to keep this kid cool without sticking ice packs under his arms on a hot day.

So he is whiny and someone gets the brilliant idea to stick him in the cooler. Derek went into the kitchen, put some cold water in it and brought it back outside. I stripped off what little clothes he had on and put him in. That was when my mother piped up.

"Buddy, I am so sorry that these people are your parents."

Hey, mom, it's not like I grabbed the full cooler, took out a couple of beers to make room and put him down on ice.

Come to think of it, that would have been the PERFECT solution.

Rock, paper, scissors

Ever played rock, paper, scissors to get out of doing something and have someone pull, what they call dynamite, out of their pocket?

Work with me here. Wouldn't we call it "rock, paper, scissors, dynamite" then?

I don't know what the hell dynamite is supposed to beat, but my ass surely wasn't the one going downstairs to retrieve the baby monitor.

Opa, E and the Rolls. 

I can't believe we have to sit in COACH. Anyways, I'm about done this white russian. Could you top my bottle off, love? 

Look who's choking now

I don’t like to talk politics. And I don’t like to write about anything that isn’t funny, but I have to comment on this Deep Throat debacle.

This is what “Deep Throat” Mark Felt said when interviewed.
"It would be contrary to my responsibility as a loyal employee of the FBI to leak information," he told journalist Timothy Noah six years ago, when questioned about his possible role as Deep Throat. I have to wonder how he managed to get that comment out without laughing.

But it’s the comments now about how Felt is the unsung hero that have really chapped me. Hero, my ass. This is more like it.

Wounded that he was passed over for the top job, furious at Nixon's choice of an outsider, Assistant Attorney General L. Patrick Gray III, as acting FBI director, and determined that the White House not be allowed to steer and stall the bureau's Watergate investigation, Mark Felt slipped into the role that would forever alter his life.

I hate to cloud the issue with the facts, but what about the law? You know, that agreement he made with the government when he got his job as a special agent? That he would uphold and defend the constitution and that he would not illegal disclose any information he received under the auspices of his employ?

When I was young, I used to ask my uncle about his work in the aerospace engineering field as a civilian employee for the navy. He was instrumental in engineering a fighter jet. His response was always the same—“Ten years and/or $10,000.” The penalty for disclosing top secret information. Not that I was asking for TS information. I wouldn’t have even known what the hell he was talking about. I had just seen Top Gun and thought it was cool that my uncle was the reason the plane flew.

It doesn’t appear that Felt’s actions were based on his heartfelt belief that a great injustice was being committed and the American people were being shafted. There was no nobility in his actions. He was pissed off because he got passed over for a job he wanted. I hardly thing that the anti-war protestors that were on the receiving end of his loose construction of the 4th amendment are thinking he is a hero now.

Don’t get me wrong. There is no justification for Nixon’s behavior. He was stupid and got caught. To believe that he was the first president to conspire as he did, or that he was the last, is naïve at best. One politician cheating on another? Big deal.

Inspired by Robin, here are my shout outs for yesterday. A series of cheers and jeers, if you will.

To my beautiful son who awakened me this morning through the baby monitor at 6:12 am as he talked to the animals on his bumper after 6 hours and 57 minutes of glorious uninterrupted sleep, GOD BLESS YOU and I am truly sorry for the late night threats to sell you to a couple in Dupont Circle looking to adopt a child.

To Will, the maintenance salesman who tried to rob me blind by claiming everything wrong with the car was a safety hazard and I obviously wanted my family to die of carbon monoxide poisoning if I didn’t get the power steering fluid flushed to the tune of $134, I’m on to your game.

To the JA taxi driver at the airport yesterday that veered into the left lane occupied by me in order to turn right at the light, YOU ARE NOT DRIVING A SEMI. I’m pretty damn sure that the turn radius on the Crown Vic can get you where you need to go without endangering the lives of those around you such as myself.

To the makers of toothpaste, it is your fault that since I don’t want my orange juice to taste bad in the morning, I have managed to forget to brush my teeth until 3 pm every day this week.

To the woman in Babies-R-Us shopping for a registry gift, thanks for trying to buy the Jumperoo not on the registry because you thought my baby was so cute and the perfect salesman. His Opa would be proud.

To the couple in Babies-R-Us last night who were kind enough (after asking a litany of questions to determine our child’s stage of development) to warn us about the baby’s back not being strong enough for the Jumperoo we had E trying out in the middle of the aisle, I have four comments.
1. We have an open position for a consultant that can advise us how to stop a baby that cries in your lap if you don’t let him stand the whole time (or a position for a person who can hold a standing baby for 10 hours a day);
2. If you two are such experts on baby development and we are such terrible parents, why are you asking us about Baby Bjorns now when your child is 3 ½ months old? How the hell have you people being getting anything done for the past 3 ½ months if you don’t already have one;
3. My back wasn’t strong enough to move my sister’s 1,000 lb. mattress from the old apartment to the new house yesterday, but I did just fine and will only require 50 hours of PT to fix the damage I did; and finally,
4. I don’t know how we ever got this far without having you (and your unsolicited comments) around.

And last, but not least, to my beloved husband, who had to eat an MRE for dinner because his wife didn’t come home and left no food in the house, who came to meet us at Babies-R-Us at 8:45 pm even after having to eat an MRE, and who kept his response to the above mentioned couple to a condescending glare, I worship you and do not deserve your love and affection. You are the best in the whole world.

The scary truth

My neighbor Judy just yelled from across the street.

"I like your hair. It looks good."

I yelled back, "I washed it.

She just shook her head.

My best friend Mike

Who is Mike, you ask?

The UPS guy.

That's right. I'm on a first name basis with the UPS guy. Last year we almost invited him over for the annual Christmas party. Which we didn't have because I was pregnant and for some reason Derek refused to grill for 75 of our closest friends. He's so selfish.

Back to Mike. Just before I had Boo Boo Kitty, I was working from home a lot. Before I was so cruelly shafted by the federal government and left on my ass, without employment.

Boy did I bust my husband. Every day around 4 Mike would show up with a package for Derek. I didn't know about this little shopping fetish of his because he managed to always beat me home from work. So now that I am home, unemployed, trying to figure out if we are eligible for EIC, what do you think shows up at my door? Four packages.

I hope one is a book about how to not drive your wife so crazy that she runs off with Mike, the USP guy.

putting the baby to bed

OK, so this whole putting the baby to bed thing is a crock. I'm a lazy ass and I have been letting him fall asleep in my arms and then putting him down. Not successfully, but putting him down nonetheless.

So we thought we would try the No Cry Sleep Solution on my sister's suggestion. It should be the "No Sleep, Parents Crying" Solution. I have come to realize that the Ferberizers/Type A's of this world have made that choice because it is the quickest solution to the problem. I can't do it. The crying bugs me. Not like it bugs my sister though. All last week she jumped up to grab the baby. Even Dave did it when E started to cry last night.

But back to the book. The baby has had, oh, about 70 minutes of sleep the entire day. In his little defense, he did sleep until 10, so he really isn't that awful. But the house is trashed and I can't get anything done.

KH: The book says to have an hour long routine before bed.
DT: Is the author on the internet? Can we find her? Maybe she can come over here every night for an hour to get this baby to sleep. An hour is ridiculous.

I pointed out that we had just carried the baby around for the last 7 1/2 hours so he wouldn't cry. Perhaps a one hour commitment isn't THAT much. Whatever.

I read off the list of suggested activities that might induce an infant to be lulled to sleep. The list is as long as the check points for a Jiffy Lube oil change.

We have tried several things on the list already, but to no avail. How about that soothing bath before bed? We did it in the dark, by candlelight, with soft music in the background. The kid splashed like Michael Phelps, dousing his parents and not becoming even remotely tired.

And then there is the lovely suggestion about singing lullabies or playing music. Not a problem as long as we hum the music or play instrumental. Otherwise he sings loudly. That's what he did at the funeral last week. Cute, but not good. And certainly not something that is going to get him to sleep.

DT: Give him to me, I'll rock him.

Two minutes later...

DT: I'm getting seasick.

I think that must be better than being in a rocking chair and getting car sick, right?

Fence post holes and how to get out of work on holidays

We have a little problem with Zinni. He has decided that he would rather be anywhere but here. By nature Labs are not very loyal dogs to begin with because they will go with any person who says "good dog" and who will give them steak. Or treats. Or scraps of year-old crackers on the floor that made their way behind appliances but somehow are still able to be retrieved by the retriever. Or poop in the yard that may even be his. He's a whore. There are no two ways about it.

So he has now become the wandering dog. A little rattle of the gate and he is out. So Derek has decided that a 6 foot gate on each side of the house will solve our little "free bird" problem. Somehow the high fence on the front is going to fix this problem.

Like anything done by Derek, this front fence is being done right and will be able to withstand Cat 5 hurricane force winds. I haven't brought it to his attention that the dog can take the 4 foot high surrounding fence without even a whimper. Whatever. So not my problem.

So yesterday we spent the lovely day sinking posts. OK, Derek spent the day sinking posts. I may have had a 2 hour nap on the couch, but I can neither confirm or deny that information. Anyway, he was ready to throw in the towel when I came crawling outside.

KH: Come on, I'll dig the hole for the last post.
DT: Are you sure?
KH: Of course, baby. I should contribute.

Two inches into the hole and I hit concrete. But I don't do concrete. I would love to be an asset in this project but I don't do concrete.

KH: OK, I'll hold the baby and you just get the concrete up. Then I'll dig the rest. I promise.

When I turned back around 10 minutes later, the hole was two feet deep and the 2X4 was already in it.

I'll see your podiatrist's note and raise you with a fence post. Touche.

Embarrassing questions parents will one day have to answer

My son's will be...

"Why are all the tips of my fingers flat?"

How does one answer that one was an idiot and could not operate baby nail clippers?

Derek says that this is not all bad, my permanently marring my son's hands. He says that it will protect him from detection should he choose a life of crime one of these days. You know, no fingerprints.

I hate to point out that scarred fingertips, barring complete obliteration of the whirls and ridges, are actually a great identification source. I am too flabbergasted that a life of crime may be a possible occupation for the offspring that I labored 28 hours to bring into this world.

Maybe he was joking. I really hope he was joking.

Cultural diversity or pee?

I would really like to blog about my conversation with my BRAND NEW FRIEND that I met at Big Ray’s funeral today, but he was a bit stodgy about the whole blogging thing and practically made me swear that I would not mention him or any likeness of him that may be discovered by some random person in some random area of the world that will be brought up to him in conversation at a later date. For a person in a profession that requires a “look at me, look at me” attitude, I think I might even find that remotely refreshing.

I could also blog about the ants in my mother’s house because they are worthy of their own story/recognition. Right now I have the minutest ant running up and down my arm. I can feel him but he is too fast and I have wasted too much energy slapping skin unproductively.

I could blog about the little incident on the playground when an unidentified family member was so excited about being on the mile-high slide that he/she failed to go to the bathroom and just pooped in his/her pants. And then went down the slide, which led to an epic mess. After a long (and might I say VERY drawn out saga), the underwear ended up in the trash can. In case anyone is wondering, it was not me….

So I guess I’ll settle for last night’s drama. To set the story up properly, the Boo Boo Kitty, after a miserable time last week of “let’s-learn-to-sleep-in-our-own-bed-because-Mom-is-tired-of-having-you-plastered-to-her,” the Boo is living La Vida Loca because he is at Marmie’s house this week. Marm doesn’t have a crib and Mom decided she wasn’t going to lug one more thing on the plane, like a crib, so now he gets to sleep directly against Mom, like a Boo sandwich, all night long, GDI. In Mom’s bed from high school. Which sags toward the middle precariously for anyone in it since it is like 20 years old.

All was right with the world.

Until 3 am last night. When I awakened soaking wet in a pool of only God knows what. Oh my God, did I wet the bed? I don’t think I have wet the bed in around 30 years. I think. Anyway, I think Derek could verify that I haven’t wet the bed in the last year and a half, at least.

So I am soaked and there is so much damn pee that it had to have been me. Except that I have to go to the bathroom really bad. Wouldn’t I feel relief if I had already peed? I looked at the baby. He’s only 14 lbs. Could he have peed that much? I mean, really. There was so much pee that he would have had to, like, pee forever to wet this bed this good.

This probably wouldn’t have happened if I had just listened to my mother and used the bigger diapers she bought instead of being my cheap-ass, unemployed self, determined to use up every damn diaper I have, since I only have to buy around 6,000 more before this kid stops peeing on me.

If my BRAND NEW FRIEND, whom shall remain nameless, has found this blog, I hope he is thinking that our conversation today regarding American culture would have been a much more appropriate read than this and that he knows that this is all his fault.

OK, not true. I would have written about the pee anyway. It was a life-altering experience.

Bodily functions and how someone else's is grosser than your own

I'm done with it. I realize that nobody wants to hear it and that I was determined to not be one of those mothers that spends a lifetime discussing bodily functions, but I don't think I can do it anymore. The pee, the poop and above all others, the spit up. It is so nasty. And why does it seem like I'm the only person that is grossed out so utterly and completely by my child?

Today I spent the day with my friend Adrian and her family to celebrate her graduation from GMU School of Nursing (you go, girl). Her aunt Renee was desperate to hold E.

KH: But he'll spit up on you.
R: I don't care.

What do you mean, you don't care? How can you not care that there will no longer be one inch of dry clothing on your body when you finally hand this child back to me?

Today he spit up Matrix style. As it came out of his mouth, I was so stunned I could not move. It made an arc to the side and then, wonder of all wonders, angled back and landed right in my cleavage. All 2 ounces. He smiled sweetly, but it didn't matter.

But I think that the best is yet to come. Yesterday I experienced something that can possibly be even grosser than E's neverending spit up.

Marelle's 18 month old, Elijah, is getting a couple of molars. With his teething came a cold.

MA: His snot is not green, it's yellow. I promise.

Guess who was looking through rose-colored glasses?

But the color wasn't what was so fascinating about Elijah's snot. It was the fact that his snot ran from his nose like Angel Falls. Just when you thought there could be no more fluid in his little body, the snot would run over his lip and down to his chin. In his parent's defense, they were on top of the situation as much as possible. His father Eliot followed him for the entire 4 hours he was here, and went through what seemed like at least 7 rolls of toilet paper, wiping that poor kid's nose.

No end in sight. I thought that maybe a wet/dry vac might be an option, but it seemed cruel in retrospect and probably could have ended a 20 year friendship if I had suggested it.

I hate vomit, but I'm guessing I'm going to hate boogers more.

Whose idea was this anyway?

SHE'S BAAAACK (and just in time to almost burn the house down)

I have decided that 18 days is a sufficient mourning period for the loss of one's occupation/career/identity. Byegones.

I decided yesterday to bake some chocolate chip cookies. I am an unemployed housespouse now so I figured I should act accordingly. That and I make bitchin' cookies. In fact, my cookies are so good that I would sell them and probably make a million dollars, except for the fact that there are all those zoning issues and you have to let a county inspector into your house to look around. I don't think the inspector could get past the mound of dog hair by the front door. Of course, it's not like I am letting the dog make the cookies (or even lick the spatula midstream in the process) but you know how these damn government types are....

So I got really inspired when it looked like Derek might be thinking about making beer in the kitchen. He left for a second and I had the mixer humming. Touche. Beat cha, beat cha.

Well, the cookies take like a million years to cook and I got inspired to go to Costco to get food for dinner with our friends Eliot and Marelle that night. Derek came with me (which was great because I lost my Costco card about 3 days after I got it, which was around 2 years ago). An hour later, Derek opened the door to a plume of smoke and the smoke detector going "BEEP, BEEP, BEEP" incessantly.

Probably shouldn't have left that last batch of cookies in the oven before we went, huh?

just when you thought life couldn't get any better

i used to think that getting a tick bite and ending up in urgent care because you are sure you are going to get lyme's disease could be one of the worst things that could happen in a day.

and then i lost my job...