His only job is to keep the baby alive

I don't see why it has to be so difficult.

It started on Saturday. I was supposed to go to a bridal shower and of course had not wrapped the present until 15 minutes before I was supposed to leave. I stacked the presents high on the bed and wrapped them with ribbon as D and E watched. E lunged forward and his father watched him rip the wrapping off one of the presents.

K: HELLO!!! What are you doing?
D: I thought he wanted to touch it. I didn't think he would rip it.

Fine. I grabbed the boxes and as I lifted them, I noticed a small 1 inch by 1/2 inch piece of wrapping paper under them. Which, of course, I brought to his father's attention.

When I came back, the small piece was gone. I sat down to offer one last meal to the Boo but he started to wail. I spent the next 45 minutes trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He was so upset. It was then that his father started the conversation.

D: Maybe he is upset because he swallowed the wrapping paper.
K: I'm sorry?
D: That piece of wrapping paper is gone. Maybe he ate it and it is making him sick.
K: I noticed it was gone. I just thought that MAYBE you had grabbed it when my hands were FULL.
D: Yeah, no.

With that, the baby started to "eckh, eckh." I opened his mouth and out popped the tiniest piece of pink wrapping paper you have ever seen. One piece down, one thousand to go.

K: Hey, come look at this (pointing to the speck on the bed)
D: I guess he ate it.
K: You let him eat wrapping paper.
D: I didn't think he could reach it.
K: Do you realize how bad this is? That wasn't just your average run-of-the-mill Hallmark wrapping paper. That was Sally Foster wrapping paper.
D: So?
K: That crap is like Tyvek. In fact, I think it IS Tyvek. I think that Sally Foster buys it with pink high-heeled shoes on it and Home Depot buys it with Tyvek on it. It could be like gum. It could take 7 years for him to digest it. The kid is miserable. I can't believe you let him eat the wrapping paper. And now I am supposed to leave you for 5 hours?

Three hours later, he called me because he thought I had just called him.

D: Your son just learned how to go from the living room to the den.
K: (knowing that there is a step down to the den and realizing that E hasn't quite learned the whole 'step' thing yet) Did he land in the den on his head?
D: Yep.

I think this is a plot to keep me home. Must resist....

Feeding the 5,000

Conversation in bed this morning at Chateau Cookie:

D: So what are we going to have for breakfast this morning?
K: I don't know. Since someone bought a 10 lb. box of pancake mix, I'm guessing breakfast is a no-brainer.

The box advises that it will feed 80 people attending the annual Volunteer Firefighter Pancake Breakfast or the 80 people attending PETA's annual "Common Sewer Rats Have Feelings Too" fundraiser. I feel like the breakfast version of Bubba Gump.

What do you want? Chocolate chip pancakes? Blueberry pancakes? Apple Cinnamon Pancakes? Banana Walnut Pancakes? Caviar Pancakes? Scallion Cilantro Pancakes?

And let's not even start on our waffle options.

The continuation of the allergy story: fastforward two days after the "ant incident"

We met up with B in Glacier National Park. It was still light out so we decided to go to the Visitor's Center to see what was up. It was already closed when we arrived and the parking lot was pretty empty except for a ranger's truck and a couple of Brits standing beside a rental car, chatting.

We got out of the truck and out leaped Zinni with us. While there is an actual law that dogs must be on leashes, we rarely follow these laws. You know, what with Zinni being so obedient and all. I mean, he comes when you are grilling steak. I think we had a leash with us though.

Anyway, Derek had once again been bitten by ants while putting up the tent and was jacked up on Benadryl. He wandered down the little gravel road with the sign that said "PARK RANGERS ONLY." I started yelling to him but he was clueless. Taking dazed and confused to a whole new level. He took the dog with him. Realizing that I would get more of a response from a brick wall, I gave up.

It was then that we looked up to the top of the hill and saw the most gorgeous ram standing right outside the Visitor's Center. I thought it was fake because it was standing so still. As he stood there checking us out, the dog started to trot back to me. Oh, yeah. You can see this coming, right?

With that, the ram looked at the dog and then came charging at me at about a million miles an hour. Having been on wilderness trips with B in the past that involved her spewing forth directions in advance while on a flight to the end of the earth ("if you see a caribou, run. If you see a bear, stand still. If you see a beaver, ..."), I yelled to her, "What do I do?"

Sure, she can't friggin' shut up on a 7 hour flight about what the hell I am supposed to do when I see any manner of creature in Alaska (which doesn't even matter because after 4 Bocci Balls, I don't even know my OWN NAME and I clearly didn't remember all her coaching when the caribou charged me in Denali), but now she's got nothing to say. As my life passed before me and I realized that not only was he going to run me down, he was probably going to maul me as well, the dog stopped his advance toward me and the ram ran in the 4 feet between us.

With that, I heard, "GET THAT DAMN DOG ON A LEASH!"

I almost die and Ranger Rick is worried about a damn leash? The Brits in the parking lot are freaking out and B is looking like she is going to pass out.

My soon-to-be husband turns around and walks toward me.

K: Did you see that? That ram almost killed me.
D: Huh?
K: Didn't you see that?
D: No.
K: I almost died.
D: Huh?

I hate Benadryl.

Fabian Basabe is going to be the death of me

I can't make it to the Season Finale of Filthy Rich Cattle Drive. It's just too awful. Derek doesn't even understand why (or how) I can watch it. Having finally caught up with the season thanks to TiVo, I watched Fabian Basabe berate the future Lord Alexander about how America doesn't care about the Brits (using "we" for Americans). I don't need you to speak for me, you pompous ass. Let's ignore the fact that Fabian Basabe's claim to fame is as the son of a "wealthy Ecuadorian businessman" and just move on to the real question--why no one threw HIM into the campfire on Sunday night's episode.

(I figure if I use Fabian Basabe's name one more time, I can creep my way up the Google search for all those people typing in "who is Fabian Basabe?" You are certainly sending my readership through the roof. Sorry to bring you down, Fabian lovers. Watching him makes me glad that even with my lack of wealth, I still have a brain in my head. That's gotta count for something. Then again, as one of "those people," you know, those who WORK, I don't count anyway).

How many children do I have again?

Last night we got home from our short trip down south to find that 'ada and Zinni had been stung by the bees hiding out in the wood pile. We know this because 'ada met the car with his usual, glazed-eye look that suggests a trip to the ER may be in our near future.

I asked him if he had taken his Benadryl yet, but he said he hadn't. Now I knew the ER was in our future. We spent the better part of the next three minutes arguing over 1/2 a Benadryl versus 2 Benadryl. This ties back to a couple of stories.

Derek is severely allergic to bug bites/bee stings thanks to an incident as a child involving a tree and his cousin Michael. Needless to say, Michael is less allergic to bee stings because his cousin let him get down out of the tree first, but they probably got 60 bee stings between them. It makes those of us who actually anticipate consequences of things very nervous.

So this leads to our cross country trip a couple of years ago. We were in one of the Dakotas (who knows which one, or was it Missouri???) when Derek got bit by ants. I didn't think anything of it until about a half hour later when he was unable to follow a conversation and wasn't even speaking anymore. This is when he decided to tell me about this whole allergy issue. Frantically I began looking for Benadryl, and when I found it, he only wanted to take a half of one.

K: Just take two.
D: I don't like how Benadryl makes me feel.
K: I imagine DEAD isn't very comfortable.
D: OK, I'll take one.
K: Are we having this conversation because I can't believe we are having this conversation? Take the damn Benadryl. You are a lunatic. Maybe I shouldn't marry you. Frankly, I'm not even entitled to your life insurance yet, so could you just take the Benadryl?

Believe it or not, this story gets better. But I think that is enough for today. Tune in tomorrow.

All-consuming knowledge

E has his own laptop. It's ridiculous, I know, but it's true. It is the laptop from 1999 that gives the very disturbing Blue Screen when you try to access any programs. But it didn't crash when we downloaded the Muppet Babies game CD, so now Boo Boo Kitty can play with his computer when 'ada is playing with his computer.

So the other day the two boys were banging away on their respective computers when I decided that enough was enough and it was time for dad's Mini Me to go to bed. Offering him one last snack before bed, he chomped down as hard as he could, sending me to the moon. I screamed, "don't BITE" but he did it again. As he opened his mouth, there was a Q key rolling around. Many apologies from dad, but I wasn't feeling the love.

"You have to be careful. He could swallow those keys. And frankly, Poop Scrabble doesn't sound like my idea of a fun game."

A few days later we decided to go to the Renaissance Festival. I was trying to get everything together but it was taking friggin' forever. Derek let the baby play on the computer and then tried to give him a bottle. E was having no part of it, so D just put him in his car seat. They went outside and I just started to throw stuff into a bag. Fifteen minutes later we were on our way when BBK started to cough.

D: You alright buddy?

He told me to pull over, but the baby had stopped choking by then.

We made it to the light before Derek pulled an N key out of the baby's mouth. The man's only job is to KEEP THE BABY ALIVE while I am trying to get ONE DAMN THING DONE. Maybe the baby didn't want the bottle earlier because he was trying to keep from swallowing the keyboard.

You think he would notice an N key missing from the keyboard. I mean, it's not like it's the Alt button or anything.

The phone call I got this afternoon

"I was at the baseball game last week?"

Everyone's a comedian now.

Since Amy asked....

Here's Lenny. He doesn't know about the blog so he can't be mad. If I put Carl's picture on here, he would inundate my comments with awful stories about me.

Now I'M CONFUSED

I wrote the post about the guy I met at the baseball game, a guy named Carl. A man that I had a 3 hour relationship/chat because he was sitting beside me. He inappropriately commented on my underwear that apparently was the talk of Section 227 at the stadium.

I have a friend named Carl, that commented on the post. He is very funny.

THERE ARE TWO CARLS. It seems wrong, but there are.

Now my head hurts...

The two blondes and the story of Carl

Real Carl is a legend in our household. And not to ever be confused with Baseball Carl. I clearly need to provide some clarification regarding the last post as it has caused great confusion at Chateau Cookie.

Real Carl is like Waldo from the Where’s Waldo series. At any given party at Chateau Cookie, people who have heard about Carl for years are yammering to meet him. Usually Carl cannot make it due to travel for work (Benin—you know he has to be telling the truth because who would miss a party because he is in Benin). In fact, he didn’t make it to our wedding because he was in Bangkok for the week. Doing only God knows what.

Carl has weathered the times. Carl and I worked together at a place that really could have doubled as an insane asylum. He knows where all my skeletons are buried and has agreed to keep any and all locations under wraps. Carl has witnessed all manner of odd events, to include the New Year’s Eve dinner party where my gay ex-boyfriend burst into tears in the kitchen. This remains his favorite story to tell in mixed company. He is also known to cough up a good, “So there was this one time when Kristen was stacking dates with the three guys she was dating….”

So when I told the story about Carl from the baseball game, this caused great confusion with two of my favorite blonds. My blond husband and my best friend B, whose stylist Dennis works overtime to make her blond like Derek’s.

I was on the phone with B last night discussing the baseball post which she was in the process of reading when the following conversation commenced:

B: Carl was at the game? Did you know he was there? Where did he sit? Did you see him? Did you know he was going to be there?
K: What are you talking about?
B: Carl was at the baseball game and then he commented on your blog.
K: The Real Carl commented on my blog. The other Carl was just some Carl.
B: Carl was at the game?
K: No, the Real Carl was making fun of the Baseball Carl’s comment about my getting Derek. When you read what I wrote, you HAD to know that wasn’t the Real Carl. That’s why Real Carl made the comment on the blog.
B: Then who was Carl?

Ugh.

Later that evening, because the moon was apparently full for all the blonds, Derek started in on me.

D: Baseball Carl commented on your blog?
K: (thinking that perhaps he had lost what was left of his mind) What the hell are you talking about?
D: Carl from the baseball game commented on your blog?
K: Why do you say that?
D: Well, I overheard you tell B that …
K: (instantly cutting him off) You were listening to my phone conversation? You were eavesdropping? What were you doing listening to my conversation? Do I listen to your conversations?
D: You were loud.
K: (not stopping to even breathe) And how in the hell would Baseball Carl get my blog address? Did you think that while we were discussing my thong underwear I just scribbled my blog address on the inside of his hand? ‘Carl, if you like my thong underwear, you’ll just LOVE my blog.’ Are you crazy?
D: Well maybe he just came across your blog. You know Carl is probably surfing the net at work.
K: Just surfing blogspot.com, hitting the ‘Next Blog’ button and up pops Cookies Delight and the story of him at the game? Surfing porn, yes. Surfing Blogspot, no.
D: It’s possible.
K: Let’s not get into the statistical possibilities. Let’s just not.

What happens when your husband leaves his seat when you go to the baseball game

So we went to see the home team the other night. Never having taken the Boo Boo Kitty to a game, we figured the very end of the season was the right time to go.

It didn't work out so hot since the baby hadn't taken a nap, it was 90 degrees, and we were in the two seats that were still in the sun. We gave him an ungodly amount of baby cookies, but he was not going to be appeased. Derek said he would go and change him in the lav and maybe that would change his mood as well.

As he walked up the stairs, change dropped from the pocket of my shorts. I leaned over to get it and suddenly I was getting help from the peanut gallery.

"There's a quarter to your left."
"Looks like you have a penny under your foot."

As I sat back up, local government employee/"I-left-a-leave-slip-on-the-boss's-desk-in-case-he-notices-I'm-gone"/new best friend Carl leans over and says ...

"I know you got yo' husband by wearing them thong underwear, girl."

Oops. All my complaints about being a size ... and not being able to fit into my old clothes, my shorts are now starting to rest comfortably on my hips instead of my waist.

K: Well, you know how it goes, Carl. Girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get her a husband.
C: I know that's right.

With that he turned back to his conversation with his homies sitting on the row above us. Not two minutes later, Drunken Fool arrives.

DF: Hey there. Your husband told me that he had to leave with the baby and I was supposed to look after you.
K: (thinking that this was an impressive line coming from a man that had probably consumed, oh, about 9 Bud Lights) Really? You don't say?
DF: Yeah, I saw him leave.
K: Actually, I think he went to change the baby.
DF: You got HIM changing the baby?
K: That's right. How good am I?
DF: Wow. My wife tried that s$%^ on me when we had twins but I told her to forget about it.
K: Yep, I've got him right where I want him.
DF: Huh...

With that I graciously managed to get him back to his seat, unharmed by me, Carl or my returning husband.

Note to self: Don't wear the "everyday's-gameday" underwear to the game. No good comes from it.

Dirty Little Secret

After a weekend of winery tours, bellinis in stretch limos and gourmet meals, I settled in tonight to catch up on my latest vice--Filthy Rich Cattle Drive.

Don't think that the patheticism of my attraction to this train wreck of a show has escaped me or those closest to me. I was so enthralled that when the baby started to heckle the tv, I screamed at him to be quiet to I could hear whatever horrible thing was about to come out of Fabian Basabe's mouth. Fabian Basabe of Barbara Bush fame.

So many choices, I'll have to pick "I will never again feel bad for those less fortunate than me." This was said after he spent 4 hours failing to properly read a topographical map that clearly showed where the object of his search--Coke--was located. As the son of a "wealthy Ecuadorian businessman" who seems to have made his money from some indeterminable manner, I'm guessing that "Coke" would be pretty easy for Basabe to find. The only thing shocking was that he was unable to contact someone with a helicopter to pick him up so he could look for the bucket from a vantage point whereby he is most comfortable--above everyone else.

Will Alex Quinn save himself for Brittny Gastineau or will he continue to pass the time with Courtenay Semel? Will Fabian continue to threaten to sue everyone and to make random calls to 911 when he gets pissed off?

Will I ever get a life?

I knew I would find some of me in him

The kid may look like a carbon copy of Derek, but he is all me.

We went to Gymboree and the movie today. One of those theaters that provides the free Gymboree every other week to all those moms out there that are cheap asses and don't want to pay $17.80 a session to have someone blow bubbles over the top of the kid's head. For $17.80, I want you to nurse my kid for me AND teach him how to do his own laundry. I can do bubbles at my own damn house. But free is good.

The kids were playing in the center of the parachute and off squirrels E. Right over to Logan (who is a girl, for those of you who weren't sure--I know this because she was wearing a dress). He put his arms around her and gave her a big wet kiss on the back of her head. All the moms "ooohed" and "aahhed" and Logan just swatted the back of her head like she was trying to rid herself of a pesky fly.

Pulling Rico Suave off of the girl, I gave him a short lecture on showing decorum or at least obtaining consent prior to any and all public displays of affection.

He was then off to kiss Marissa. The child is 7 months old and has now kissed half of the amount of girls his father has ever kissed. Now his mother, on the other hand, well... let's just say E is well on his way.

Notes to self (continued):

4. When Father Paul walks by you and the sleeping baby at Viewing #2 and says, “Ah, the sleep of the innocent,” go with the second comment that comes to mind (“Finally….”) and just let your first reaction (“I think he is sleeping off all his evil deeds for the day”) go. Father Paul is nice but I am guessing his sense of humor wouldn’t go as far as yours would.

5. Don’t worry about the red tank top/potential haunting incident from Sunday. Thanks to the Olsen twins in matching midriff tops on Sunday and twin #1’s hot pink peek-a-boo bra under the blank mini tank top from Monday, Grandma has her haunting work cut out for her. Special thanks to the girls for giving us a veritable runway show of what’s new a Wet Seal this fall. I wasn’t up on the latest funeral ‘ho wear…

7. When discussing the funeral arrangements for the next morning and your best friend says, “the service isn’t at my church,” don’t say, “don’t you actually have to GO to a church to call it YOUR church?” At least not in a public setting. This will not be considered funny by anyone other than yourself. Further, don’t add, “and you are probably so going to hell for not going” either. Just don’t.

8. When your best friend’s “third-time-heartbreak-had-better-be-the-charm” ex-boyfriend shows up and you have been required to be pleasant to him as part of your contribution to this depressing affair, allowing him to watch the baby for two hours will soften your heart towards his pathetic situation. He will not be forgiven, but he will no longer be threatened with handguns in dark parking lots. You got a break, for heaven’s sake. Who cares if he put the baby’s ass on top of the shooting button of Centipede so he wouldn’t have to get carpel tunnel from pushing it?

Three wakes and a funeral

Note to self:

1. Wearing a red tank top under your black suit at Viewing Session #1 will get you strange looks. Especially when the woman you are honoring has promised in advance that she will come back to haunt everyone who dresses inappropriately at her final hoorah. OK, so you may have done it on purpose, hoping to get one last rise out of her. At least you aren't like the cousin who is threatening to wear a brown suit to Viewings 2 and 3. She is SO gonna get it. Bad weather and bad hair days for year for that sin.

2. Put socks and shoes on your infant before going to a funeral home. Otherwise he will look like a little Amish baby sans straw hat. Actually it is probably important for your child to own socks and shoes. Or even just socks. Or be prepared for a barage of wrath from Aunt Margie about people that don't dress their kids properly. As she is standing beside Grandma's casket. With 20 other people. And everyone turns around looking at you like you are obviously NOT FROM JERSEY and NOT ITALIAN.

3. Just buy the damn shoes, even if they are from Payless, they are $12.99, they don't fit him and he screams so loudly when you put them on him that the nice man who works at Payless is torn between coming to see what is going on or calling 911 to report your abusive ass. Overlook the fact that the baby got a crazed look in his eyes and started pulling the shoes off with his teeth. He'll be fine.

It's going to be quite a day.

The End of an Era

I was lying in bed after my long shift at work when I heard her come in the door at quarter to twelve. It was a common Saturday night occurrence. The 25-year-old tenant lying in bed alone, after a dateless evening, while the 80 year old cruises in after her weekly date with her 82-year-old boyfriend Benny. “He is no Mel,” she said, “but he drives a Cadillac, buys me dinner every Saturday night and takes me dancing too.”

True he was not the love of her life like her husband had been for several decades before he passed away, but Benny sure liked her. As the door slammed, I could hear them arguing in the kitchen. The door slammed again and Benny was gone. About three minutes later I heard a knock at the back door. But what happened next you could not make up.

“Ann, I just want a little love,” Benny said with a whine.

“You get out of here. GET OUT OF HERE!” she said.

Then came the crash of the furniture and the sound of him chasing her around the kitchen table.

She told us later that he was trying to feel her up. As I recounted the story, obtaining the perfect reaction from her horrified middle-aged children at a family gathering, one asked me if I had contemplated going downstairs to help her.

“Hell, no. Would you get between your mother and a good fight? She is a 5 foot nothing Italian grandmother that could kick your ass to Timbuktu and back. She knew that there was a ‘no boys in the house’ rule. That and I was having too much fun listening to her.”

For three years I lived with her. She used to give me crap about store bought spaghetti sauce and for dressing like, and I quote, “a hobo.” Once she even called me a “sporty girl,” whatever the hell that meant. She wanted me to dress more like my best friend, her granddaughter B. I told her that I didn’t have that amount of class. She used to laugh.

When I got engaged to Derek and she met him for the first time, I caught her flirting with him like he was a flyboy home from WWII. I overheard her asking him if he knew how crazy I was. He replied that he did and that he loved me anyway. She then regaled him with stories of every stupid thing I ever did while living at her house, to include her favorite story of me falling down the stairs while carrying a mattress.

I loved her like she was my own. She leaves behind a son, two daughters, her very favorite granddaughter and five grandchildren. But now she is with Mel. She threatened us for over a decade that she wouldn’t make it another year without him and she finally made good on her promise.

You will be forever missed, Ann, and the void you leave behind will never be filled.

Rest in peace.

It's all about the presentation

Barrrrrrrrrrrring! Barrrrrrrrring!

There it was on caller I.D. The number of my spineless, lazyass, "I-have-9-months-to-retirement-so-don't-give-me-any-trouble," "I-don't-know-what-you-are-talking-about-but-you-can't-work-part-time-now-and-you-have-to-come-back-full-time-as-of-next-Monday" second in command of yet another worthless governmental entity formerly known as my employer before I got the huge shaft.

K: Hello?
SL: Hey, Kristen. It's Spineless Lazyass. How are you doing?
K: I'm doing well. How are you? (getting excited because I'm sure he is calling to grovel)
SL: Well, we were thinking that you have the manuals that you were working on updating before you left and we hope to get them from you.
K: (thinking that the depth of his daftness had exceeded my every expectation) Of course I brought the manuals back on my last day of work.
SL: Well, bipolar, pathological liar, "Is-it-OK-to-purchase-anti-depressants-from-those-emails-that-I-get-even-though-I-run-a-law-enforcement-department," "what-are-you-talking-about-I-never-would-have-told-you-that-you-could-work-part-time-after-you-had-your-child-even-though-you-left-a-better-job-to-come-here-because-of-my-false-promise," bigoted ex-boss of yours looked on the shelf and didn't see them.
K: Wow! Let me guess. She took three seconds to look for them on one shelf and then called it an 8-hour day. Tell her she can find the manuals where she left her integrity. Oh, that's right. She never had any. You are giving me a hard time because of that comment I made that the only thing that would make her and the job tolerable would be to have Prozac put in the water cooler. Funny that you got rid of me because you needed the work done in a short period of time and couldn't afford to let me work part-time and you haven't touched the project in five months.

What a piece of crap! It's crap like this that earns the government all its lawsuits. I hope he got hit by a bus on the way home from work. Nothing terminal. Just something to ruin the weekend.

What is that banging?

Disclaimer: For those readers that don't have kids, I am so sorry that you have to be subjected daily to the neurotic workings at Chateau Cookie. I remember when I didn't have kids and I hung out with those people that had kids and I thought, "for God's sake, could you please find something else to talk about other than how the sweet potatoes looked running down Princess's face. Get a life or at least start drinking more." I would KILL for a life right now. A job which would provide me with an escape from the black hole in which I find my self spiraling downward... And I promised my mother I would stop referring to E as "the Monster" or "Satan" or "the Evil One." She thinks it could, like, harm his psyche or something. At least I'm not calling him an "f-er" behind his back like SOMEONE I know.

These baby books are crap. "At so-and-so age, your child will start to exhibit the following characteristics: ..."

Where the hell is the part that explains that the sounds you hear emanating from the room are the entire contents of the crib being thrown across the room and hitting the door. Don't get me wrong. The kid is clearly destined for Little League. I'm on it. But he is 7 months old, for heaven's sake. Why did I think that he would be an infant until he was 1? You know, one of those kids that coos and cuddles and plays quietly in the corner. Maybe even keeps his clothing clean and smiles at the camera occasionally. I know I should be happy that he has the attention span to weather several increments of the Senate Confirmation Hearings on a daily basis and that he can heckle with the best of them. I know, where else in America is a baby being forced to watch the hearings? Hey, he was born into this family so he is just going to have to put up with us--lock, stock and Glock barrel.

On the bright side, I spoke to my friend Becca yesterday and she is 37 weeks pregnant. I asked her if she was contemplating killing herself yet and she said yes. As bad as my life is now, I'm am sure glad I am not 37 weeks pregnant. THAT was the worst. I think I would rather have the entire contents of my house thrown down the stairs than feel that way again.

So Becca, good luck. Just think "Ben and Jerry's." The only two men that never talk back and will truly know how to make you happy for the rest of your life...

Male logic

I have taken lots of hits over the years for my inability to obtain a logical conclusion to any process. "Just because" suits me just fine. I don't need to really, really understand why something should naturally occur as a result of action A. When I decided to go to law school and was getting ready for the LSAT, I realized to my dismay that the entire test is a logic test. My ex-boyfriend, with whom I was still speaking, thought it was just HILARIOUS that I was going to do this.

"How exactly does a person void of logic take a logic test?" said he.

Well, I learned how to come up with the right answer by studying the patterns of the questions. I have absolutely no idea Betty seat should be next if Billy, Susie and Tom are seated first. I just figured it out somehow.

So after all these years of getting crap, I am at a loss for how male logic, or lack thereof, is more logical.

Matt called the other day to tell us that he will drop Zinni's sister Blue off on Thursday night so we can watch her while he goes on vacation to Colorado and Wyoming for a long weekend. Remember Matt? When I asked what his plans were for his trip, he mentioned that he was going to run a half marathon with some of his friends. He also mentioned that he anticipated that this may prove difficult since he tore his Achilles tendon a few weeks ago.

K: Excuse me? You tore your Achilles tendon?
M: Yeah, it's been kind of hard to train.
K: You think? And you are going to run a half marathon on it now?
M: I have to.
K: (thinking all men truly are morons) And why do you have to?
M: I have to cause I paid $40 for the race.
K: Are you an idiot? You are going to run with this injury because you paid $40? I've seen you have bigger bar bills. Do you need the $40? Do you want me to write you a check for $40 cause you need the money that bad?
M: Nah, that's alright.
K: So you are going to risk doing long term damage to your foot by running 13 1/2 miles on it because you paid $40?
M: Yep.

Thanks for reminding me that all men are exactly the same person.

When will the chewing stop?

He's driving me nuts. Phone cords (I know, who the hell still has a phone with a cord), power cords, briefcases, the dog bowl, dog toys, baby toys commandeered by the dog and recommandeered by E upon rediscovery, rubberbands, Tums containers, stray utensils, Microeconomics by Pindyck, clothes, the dog's ear, the vacuum, shoes, toes, homework ("I'm sorry but my baby ate your homework, class"), laptops, dog beds, dvd cases, kitchen tiles, napkins, the television, furniture, the dog's stick, the side of the kiddie pool, grass, and, of course, SAND.

Do you know how bad it is that when you have your friend watch you child, you have to apologize in advance that your son will probably spend the better part of the morning chewing on the legs of her dining room table.

He's not all bad. I should be happy because he did watch about 10 minutes of the Roberts confirmation hearing today and yelled at Ted Kennedy. I was so proud.

But the chewing has to stop. Ever mindful that the baby is frighteningly like the dog (the dog that was included in the "for better or worse," I asked Derek about the similarities.

K: So how long did the dog chew on everything when he was a puppy?
D: Until he was about 6 months old. I saw a marked drop in the chewing between 6 and 12 months.
K: So there is hope for us?
D: Well, in the people/dog years conversion, that means E's chewing should start to wind down at around 3 1/2.
K: Shit.

I'm guessing he's playing me for a sucka

To my husband, who has perfected the "golly-gee-I-guess-I-can't-find-it-maybe-you-could-help-me" syndrome, also known as the "can't-find-my-ass-with-both-hands" technique, you had no problem finding that ham and cheese croissant I hid in the fridge last night behind the cottage cheese and beer.

The croissant that I thought about for 24 minutes before finally dragging my ass down the stairs to discover, to my dismay, that you suddenly can find missing items when it means the difference between eating Puffins cereal or the best croissant this side of the Eiffel.

You suck.

Back by popular demand

I posted the vacation pictures at the photo blog. The vacation was fabulous and my child was his usual entertaining self. I tried to steal someone else's wireless service, but the city was a ghost town. I didn't even have dial-up.

To my son, could you have possibly have smiled in a least one of my photos? What made you wait until I sent your photo to a modeling agent to decide that you didn't want to smile to a camera anymore?

To the woman who walked up to ask me about my sleeping son, thanks for sharing that you were never able to get your kids to sleep on the beach. And thanks for using that loud voice that accomplished your goal of ensuring that I too could not have my kid sleep on the beach. Don't feel bad though. Just because it was the first nap he had taken in 5 days and you woke him up. It's OK, really. Be thankful I don't know where you live.

To the two ladies who graciously agreed to help to get the baby to smile when I was trying to manipulate the reflection disk, make E smile and then take his picture, I will forever be greatful for your help. As you sang and danced and laughed, you made it all worth while. Even though he waited to smile until you both walked away laughing, your kindness will always be remembered as a treasured moment in our lives.

To the Russian working at the funnel cake stand, thanks for flirting with me. I know you were hoping you would get a green card out of it, but I am taken. I noticed that you were over it about an hour later as you flirted with a girl MUCH closer to your age.

To the crusty old man operating the Carousel, thanks for given me and E the only smile you offered for the evening. We knew we could break you.

To my son, you make your Marmie proud by firmly deciding that you wanted to go into the waves and you didn't stop yelling until someone took you into the water. We are very sorry that you haven't learned how to body surf yet but you still have a couple of years.

To my son, after days of the scootch/crawl debate, you decided to just get from point A to point B at the speed of light, whatever the hell we wanted to call it. And way to go for learning to pull yourself up to standing beside the couch. You did make me ill with the up/down/up/down/up/down a million times but I guess that's the way it goes.

To the guy in the arcade, I'm sure I'm not the only mother with a small infant in her backpack who has put too many quarters into Time Crisis III at 10:30 p.m. at night. And yes, I am a very good shot and thank you very much.

To my husband, you made a great sand castle and a great Bloody Mary. Or so the rumor goes...

To the person who said that he would realize how bad sand tasted, on what handful will that happen? I waited. The third handful, seventh handful, how about the 10th? So much sand that the kid had a loofah diaper for the next two days. I had to finally cut him off.

Baby's all growed up

Today was the first day of school. Derek's first day teaching his class on something incredibly boring to me but very exciting to him. And at a very prestigious university, one that neither he nor I could get into back in the day. I should probably remember what his class is, but I was just so overwhelmed by his outfit this morning that I really couldn't get past that.

As he crawled out of bed at some ungodly hour, I asked him if he was going to wear a dress shirt today. His, "ah, no" should have been my first clue.

When I dragged my lazy ass out of bed to make him breakfast (keep your "what a good 1950's wife" comments to yourself. Renee already gave it to me when she heard the story. LOL), I walked into the den to find him wearing a polo shirt with three holes in the back of it. Three holes where the tag probably was at one time.

K: You are not wearing that to class today.
D: Why not?
K: It's full of holes.
D: So.
K: Did you just decide one day that the tag was bothering you so you just reached back and ripped it as hard as you could?
D: Yep.
K: Did you happen to notice the holes?
D: I don't know.
K: Do you think that those kids paying $1200 a credit hour will really respect you with those holes in your shirt? Or those kids getting $1200 a credit hour in loans?
D: I don't know.
K: I know the geek factor is going to be WAY HIGH in your class, but that is too much. Change that shirt.

Renee said that her father can't even get dressed in the morning without her mother's help or he would be wearing ripped up clothes that he found someplace.

So you are saying I have another 46 years of this to look forward to?

Lowest of low

I cannot, nor will I, get political. But I just have to say that I cannot understand the depths people have sunk to in New Orleans. Snipers outside hospitals, rapes, not giving children water, leaving old people to die on overpasses. Blame it on whomever you would like but how can we fix it? How do we give the water to the babies and the old people? Those reporters better start looking more dehydrated. I can't do stand to watch it anymore.

High points and low points

My sister always has her kids tell her their "high point" and "low point" of their day. Something about promoting their emotional knowledge at a young age. So here are mine for yesterday. I have several of each.

High Point
Getting a Job. YIPPEE for me. I'll be an overpaid government contractor writing investigative policy for a small quasi-federal agency. It is only a small step on my way to total world domination.

I'm not quite sure how to write anything without using the word "poop" now. Oh dear.

Low Point
To date, the biggest poop bomb ever. After sitting quietly in his car seat during lunch at Mark's Kitchen, I decided to spring the Boo Boo Kitty from his nest. Except he sprung on me. I had to change his diaper in the trunk of the car. There he was standing in the trunk, buck-naked, with poop which extended up to his ears. After 17 wipes, at least he didn't smell God-awful, but who was I kidding? He was standing in the trunk and I was wiping with one hand and gripping him under the armpit with my other hand. Realizing that my hold on him was precarious at best, he decided to trot out onto the bumper. There he was walking up and down the bumper of the sedan. I was throwing the wipes on the ground because there was no place to put them at the instant time. Of course, I was in the People's Republic of Maryland and people were glaring at me like I had just poisoned a tree full of squirrels for fun. I was gonna pick them up when I was done. Geesh. I then tried to lay him down to put on his diaper and he started to knaw on the trunk latch, which is the cleanest part of the car, I'm sure. He was rolling his naked ass around, all over the binders that I am supposed to review for my high paying contract job. I hope he didn't leave any butt-prints on the Quality Standards for Investigations manual.

High Point
I was walking out of the quasi-government building yesterday while talking smack to my husband about how I was going to make money when I felt the eery sense that I was being watched. I looked down but there was no toilet paper sticking out of my pants or stuck under my shoe. I looked up to see two HOTTIES in suits TOTALLY CHECKING ME OUT!!!!!! After 16 months of being totally ignored, I SHRIEKED and got into the car. It was a high point of my adult life. Imagine if I had my jacket off and they saw my rack?? Derek found this very entertaining as I recounted it live.

Low Point
Laying down to take a nap and having E rip off one of my favorite necklaces and then eating my cell phone as I pretended to sleep in hopes that he would give up and go to sleep. He proceeded to crawl back and forth over me until 3 minutes before it was time to get up. Then he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

High Point
Suprising Mada at the end of her second day of 1st grade by putting E in the bag for the Pack'n'Play so she could unzip it and find the surprise. It wasn't quite a surprise when E realized that there was a huge hole in the bag for the handle and he got both arms out of the bag and was waving them. What kind of people put an infant in a canvas bag to cheer up a 7 year-old?

More conspiracy theories

I am not emotionally prepared to discuss today's poop incident as it involved a public parking lot and 17 wipes, so you'll all have to settle for YESTERDAY's story.

I would first like to say that Dan Brown has it all wrong. You know, that whole conspiracy theory about the Catholic Church hiding the evidence that Jesus Christ was actually married to Mary Magdalene and they had kids and now their descendants are driving 1989 Ford Astrovans with New York plates in the left hand lane on the Jersey turnpike, clogging traffic.

This is not the Catholic Church's greatest sin. The church's sin is the conspiracy it is running with CVS and Blue Cross to deny me MY BIRTH CONTROL PILLS.

My disclaimers up front:
1) I'm not Catholic, but I know some Catholics and they swear to me that the church thinks it is bad news to be standing in the way of prolific procreation ("I know some Catholics" sounds remotely like what you would hear out of a person's mouth accused of being racist--"I was friends with an Asian person once"--sorry to all you Catholics out there.
2) I am not against Dan Brown. I didn't think the book was as earth-shattering as B said it was, but then again, B is Catholic.
3) I am against all people clogging the left hand lane, regardless of race, religion, sex, ect. and do not give a rat's ass about the person driving.

Back to the story...

So I called CVS to reorder my prescription of BCP's. Since I managed to lose 2 months worth a couple of months ago. I ran out 2 days ago so I was already in trouble. I tried to order the generic brand because it is $25 cheaper. And this is how the conversation went with the pharmacist/Satan as I had already explained that I LOST THE PILLS AND NEEDED MORE.

P: This doesn't come in generic.
K: (thinking, nice try, B-e-och, I took a damn FDA law course) Ah, are you sure about that?
P: Oh, yeah it does but your doctor hasn't authorized you to get generic. You have to call your doctor.
K: Fine.
P: You know your insurance won't pay for this because it's too soon.
K: I know. I'm gonna pay.
P: You aren't authorized to get more until September 1 because it's too soon.
K: Once again, I LOST THE PILLS AND I AM GOING TO PAY FOR THIS MONTH. I would just like to get the generic because they are cheaper.
P: Your doctor hasn't authorized generic.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. WTF? I'm off to explain to the nurse why I need generic. She agrees to call CVS and authorize the generic.

I show up at CVS.

P: You know, this is too soon and your insurance isn't going to pay for it.
K: I know, I'm going to pay for it.
P: The insurance will pay for it if you wait until September 1.

It cost Blue Cross $8900 for me to give birth. Do they want to F$#&ing pay another $8900 in 40 weeks? I swear they have to both be working for the Catholic Church.

So I get home and I'm explaining this whole thing to Derek in bed.

K: You would have thought I was trying to get 8 boxes of Sudafed, and 3 months worth of Zoloft, Paxil and Adderall with prescriptions from 3 different doctors. I was just trying to get BIRTH CONTROL. Let's be honest. You-know-who has 2 kids, 13 months apart, and she fantasizes about killing herself to get away from them. Right now I am only fantasizing about being like that mother in the Oprah book club book that gets out of her car and leaves her purse and ice cream on the front seat, never to return. And for the entire book, the family is not trying to figure out why the mother left but why she couldn't have put the ice cream away before she did. Yeah, that's my fantasy.
D: I'm sorry, babe. It is a conspiracy. (as he snuggles closer)
K: WTF are you doing? What are you looking at me for like that? Which part of this story did you miss?
D: (sheepishly) You said you got your pills, so I thought...
K: Two days late. GET THE HELL OVER TO YOUR SIDE OF THE BED AND DON'T EVEN LOOK IN MY DIRECTION. And I am SO blogging this tomorrow.

Things not to be said in public and sanity just in the nick of time

The third tooth finally came in on Friday night. When we were all out on our date. So what if 3's a crowd?

We went to Carlysle Grand on Friday night because I was craving the Jambalaya. Normally a haven for the powerful Shirlington singles crowd, things were quiet and we got a table in the baby corner. At the next table over were three babies.

This is the way the conversation went with the unidentified father at the next table.

UF: How old's your baby?
D: 6 months.
UF: Really?
D: Yeah. How old's your baby?
UF: Five months. (as his baby is bouncing non-stop on his lap, like one of those freaky toys that you just end up taking the batteries out of to regain your sanity)
D: She's a bouncer, huh? You guys have a Bounceroo?
UM (jumping into the conversation): We have a Jumperoo.
D: Yeah, that's what we have. He likes it so much that he gets blisters between his toes.
UF: Wow!

My mortification is now complete. Whispering/hissing, this is how our private conversation went.

K: What the HELL are you doing, telling people that the baby got blisters from the Jumperoo? And it was only one blister.
D: I think it's funny that he jumped so much that he got a blister.
K: Or, that we are awful parents that leave him in the Jumperoo for hours on end, long enough for him to get a blister. As opposed to the 20 minutes it only took for him to get the blister. Do you want those people to call DHS on us for being neglectful parents?
D: He just likes to bounce.

Whatever. Then we went to see Grizzly Man. Instead of just watching a movie about being in Alaska, they wanted us to feel like we were ACTUALLY IN Alaska. It was so cold in the theater that the baby managed to clench his jaws so tight that he sprang a tooth.

OK, I don't know how he did it but that's when we noticed the new tooth. Of course its brother is hovering right behind so it is only partial sanity.

Statistics

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.

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?

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?

Things I've Learned at Hayden Lake, Part F

1. A vacation is not a vacation unless you hire a nanny to come with you on your trip to take care of your child. DaDa will be the first true words out of the baby's mouth, yet where the hell is DaDa, you ask? Fishin' with the boys again. So I am left with the monster and have yet to find a local Teethers Anonymous meeting to attend. Did I mention I need medication?

2. The least helpful person will have the most ideas on how you should get done the things that the least helpful person wants completed.

3. When your husband has a difficult time getting up on the fat ski as the boat zooms away from the beach, yelling "Maybe you've exceeded its weight capacity" for everyone within 3 cabins to hear is not recommended. You will have one of those brief highs with the feeling that maybe you could be a stand up comedian if this whole wife/mother thing doesn't work out, but the look your husband gives you will instantly shrink you to size. The look that you can feel your MIL giving you from BEHIND will make you feel as small as Tinkerbell. Never fear though. As soon as it all happens, you will once again realize what everyone else already knows--you are funny as hell.

4. Perhaps the only thing that feels good on the baby's gums is a wine cork. As he grabs it out of Grandpa's hand, you have a fleeting concern about your child sucking wine from a cork. But as the wailing and gnashing comes to an abrupt silence, your concern shifts that your child's first cork was Merlot and oh, God, I hope the baby doesn't like Merlot. On a phone call later, your sister reminds you that Merlot will probably be all the rage in 21 years and your son will seem cool to his friends.

Things I've Learned at Hayden Lake, Part Cinco

1. Someone will always have a comment about how you constantly hold your child and never put him down. This will normally come from the relative with the least socially adept children. Further, this relative may also introduce her teenage grandchild that will be unable to maintain contact for more than a trillisecond. Your child, however, while been SPOILED ROTTEN, will go to anyone and will talk to the mailman for 10 minutes if you let him.

2. You can regain your sanity if you find the one aunt or one cousin that will take your child for an hour. An hour that will seem like a million years. An hour that will make you feel like time has stopped and that you can actually make it until next Monday without throwing someone off the Point. An hour that will make you feel almost as good as that time you spent the big bucks to get the deep muscle massage AND the facial AND the manicure AND the pedicure at the Regent Beverly Wilshire.

3. If you build it, they will come. Protesting, but they will come. My father-in-law completed the rail that borders the side of the deck. It may block the 270 degree view of the lake by about 1 degree. This will start World War III in the family, but I maintain it will allow the drunks free access from the deck to the illegal patio my father-in-law put in last year. He does these things to make the place more attractive and to drive Uncle insane. Such improvements must be voted upon and discussed for 4 years before commencing. My father-in-law has determined that his 7 second discussion with himself is enough conversation. I hope I have the camcorder when Uncle shows up and sees the latest handywork.

4. Dr. Sears doesn't know squat about teething. The ridge in his gums will disappear before he gets a new tooth, my ass. He will get the bottom two first and then the top two, my ass. The first tooth will be the hardest on you and him but it will get progressively easier (until the molars), my ass. Because the two teeth my child got 3 weeks ago aren't enough, he is now getting a third tooth on the bottom. I have received suggestions for cutting the tooth out, drugging him senseless, waiting it out, and "could you please keep that baby quiet."

My sign says, "will work for valium."

Things I've Learned at Hayden Lake, Part IV

1. Blood is thicker than water. When the 7-year-old demon seed of second cousin twice removed asked, "So, are you a (insert patriarchal family name known across the county)?" My response, "Well, I'm a ... by marriage." With a look of resignation/condescension, "Yeah, that's what my mom is too." And off he trotted. Little bastard. But I guess he was saying what everyone else is thinking.

2. Do your own damn laundry if you want to be able to find anything ever again. And even if you do your own laundry on the regular cycle, small load, you will return 10 minutes later to find the machine on permanent press wash with a medium load. WTF? Further, I spent $6 on two pairs of socks and ONE SOCK IS MISSING. If you want my child to live, stop messing with my laundry.

3. You know you talk like a truck driver when you have to explain the definition of WTF to the aunt who is a school bus driver for a living and has been doing it for like a hundred years.

Things I've Learned at Hayden Lake, Part C

1. Once a mother, always a mother. Derek's father is threatening to take the leftover salmon for lunch tomorrow when the two guys go fishing up in the mountains. After saying 5 times how dangerous the salmon can be and that they should be taking cans of sardines for lunch, she has now packed 2 loaves of bread, a few boxes of crackers, granola bars, fruit, and frankly, enough food to feed the five thousand. The guys, as expected, will leave the bag in the truck, proceed to eat the salmonella-poisoned salmon (no pun intended), return to the truck and throw the bag out before returning. Neither will get ill and no one will be the wiser. Part B--Derek is looking for Tylenol and I couldn't tell him where it his. His mother has mentioned 5 times that she has Tylenol. I finally told him to just go with her and to bring back anything she has that is better than Tylenol. I could use it right now.

2. Surly parents breed surly children.

3. If you don't like someone, that person will do whatever it takes to drive you insane. Wife of second cousin twice removed helped herself to the floatie that I went to great pains to weasel out of a neighbor so E could swim like the rest of the big kids. I thought terrible thoughts (jaime's suggestion of beating her ass with the little blue shovel came to mind) but I let it all slide. She has to live with herself and that is probably more punishment than one person should ever have to endure.

4. If a 4 year old asks repeatedly to go shopping with you, she will only make it 10 miles before complaining incessantly "why do we ALWAYS have to go shopping." She will then be TOO hot, TOO hungry, and TOO tired to make it through the rest of the trip. Apparently McDonald's can fix all of those situations though.

5. If laundry is left to others, your husband will find himself without one pair of shorts to wear. He will then come out to the patio in his boxers because God forbid he ever miss "Happy Hour at the Point" with the rest of the family. As various extended family members appear, he will continue to run in and out of the house to get glasses or whatever anyone needs, wearing boxers. Did I mention he was wearing boxers?

Things I Learned at Hayden Lake, Part Deux

1. If the thermometer reads 48 degrees at 10:30 at night, but your husband says that the t-shirt material your child is wearing to bed, without feet in it, and without socks (because your child doesn't own any) is warm enough, your child will wake up at 2:17 a.m. wailing. When you pick him up, he will resemble a popsicle, but he will instantly go mute when he realizes that your guilt has guaranteed him sleep in between mom and dad for the rest of the night. Said guilt will carry over to his being allowed to push mom to the last 4 inches of bed so he can have lots of space.

2. Your family's reputation will proceed you and will become your own. On the way to Costco with my father-in-law (just the three of us), he stated that if I planned on nursing the baby in Costco, he would like to stop on the way and buy a t-shirt that says "Grandpa" on it. I told him that if I had to choose between a screeching baby and exercising my legal rights under Idaho law, I choose the option that results in silence. He agreed wholeheartedly.

Lessons I've Learned at Hayden Lake, Part 1

1. If you are the second person to go into the lav after takeoff because your infant has, once again, managed to fill his diaper at the most inopportune time, allowing the baby to unravel the toilet paper roll onto the floor while you are changing him is one of the most effective ways to distract him while working to keep poop off of you in a 9” x 9” space they call a bathroom. Environmentally unsound, but who the hell cares if you manage to get out unscathed.
2. When you enter the kitchen at 5:25 a.m. and find your world-renowned trauma surgeon father-in-law standing in front the coffee grinder wearing a sarong, saying “Nice dress” will get you the response you were expecting. You will also have to make your own breakfast.
3. The second cousin, twice removed cousin who was mean to your husband when he was nine will inevitably marry someone who will be greatly annoyed to find you using her child’s shovel at the beach. We are so glad they found each other.
4. If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Or at least remember to turn off the damn cheap ass $34.99 monitor transmitter that your child could scream into it with a wail that would suggest someone is ripping his limbs out of his body and you couldn’t hear if your life depended on it. Said monitor will suddenly become better than a military radio on the combat field and will transmit your bad comments like a loudspeaker into the crowded living room.

To all the readers out there

I'm using dial-up, so I can't really comment on everyone's posts until I get back. I will try to send some stories to entertain Amy, at least, until I get home.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to 'ho I go

Idaho, that is.

We are going for 10 days and I have been looking forward to this for 6 months. It will give me lots of time to reflect on recent accusations that my blog has been "pedestrian" and "mundane." She also said some other things that I can't remember because I couldn't believe, coming off the tongue post, that either word describes my writing of late.

S: You know, the tongue thing is really no big deal because I am from the south and people from the south eat tongue all the time.
K: Yeah, I don't think you should be verbalizing that with what appears to be pride, if you know what I mean.

She would rather hear salacious gossip or politics gone awry. Since it comes from someone who is almost family (and she just realized at the age of 43 that one person in a relationship is always more in love than the other person at any given time and that maybe her problem in relationships is that she is ALWAYS the person who loves less), I will ponder the possibility of embracing the undercover reporter in me...

Everyone be cool and safe and I'll see "all y'all" when I get back. Peach out! (ok, so I was typing Peace out and peach out appeared but I think it could be signatory).

The "shoes" I got at my pedicure today. I have been wearing them now for 5 hours. Derek proclaimed these the worst flip flops I have worn to date. If he had only seen me when I was 10. 

The words you never think you'll hear out of your husband's mouth

We were talking in bed last night about our impending vacation. Our yearly pilgrimage to our Mecca, aka Idaho. For all those of you who are cringing, don't think I haven't brought it up on occasion how creepy Idaho is.

I asked Derek why his sister is always discussing his digestive problems when we all get together. I mean, I have been with the man for 3 years and I have never really witnessed such problems. I cook stuff as hot as can be and never a complaint or reaction to my knowledge.

He said that every once in a while, something won't hit his stomach right. But doesn't that happen to everyone? He blamed it on his evil father who used to make him eat brain, stomach, tongue, liver, ect. But Evil FIL also was cruel enough to deny his children even the right to make a face when something tasted wicked bad (personally I think this is a good thing because there is nothing worse than a child who scrunches up his face and yells "EEEWWW" when asked to try something at the neighbors house).

We started to discuss how tongue looks when you see it in the supermarket. But this is the point of the conversation when everything went south...

D: You know, after reading the Lewis and Clark journals, where they talk about how much they looked forward to shooting a buffalo so they could eat it's tongue, I'm starting to think I might be missing something. Maybe tongue just needs to be fresh.
K: So what does that mean? If we went out and found a beef (yes, this is what I said) and cut his tongue out while he was still alive and ate it, it would be good?
D: Maybe.
K: I am SO blogging this tomorrow.

Paris is a thief

So I was watching Pretty In Pink this morning when I was on the treadmill with the baby. On the treadmill with the baby because God forbid he just fall asleep in his swing BESIDE the treadmill. So, as I was lugging a 17lb. baby, I came across a startling discovery.

"That's hot" or "It's hot,"Paris Hilton's signature phrases, were stolen.

Molly Ringwald beat her to it. Remember when Blane comes into Trax to pick up Andie and he asks her opinion about a Steve Lawrence album.

Her response..."It's hot. White hot." Same pouty lips, same dropped jaw on the last syllable.

I'm stunned. She was 5 years old when this movie came out. At this moment, Abnormal is thinking that the fact that I am stunned is stunning itself because it is Paris Hilton after all.

Poor Molly Ringwald.

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.