Charity By Force

As I was leaving the YMCA this afternoon, a woman stood between me and the exit. She was asking people, in a some what forceful, not-gonna-take-no-for-an-answer kind of way if we'd like to participate in the annual Giving Tree Christmas Extravaganza. The gist of it is that you pull a random star off of a tree and buy the child that corresponds with the number on the star a gift from their wish list. Now I may not agree with the woman's tactics, but honestly, how can you argue with buying a gift for a child in need? So I pull me a star, and they rifle through their big book and give me the child's wish list. I got Girl 17, who is 14 years old, and for this Christmas she wants:

1. An iPod
2. A pair of K Swiss sneakers, white, size 8
3. Gift certificate for 1 or 2

I'm not trying to be evil or anything, but is this kid for real? Maybe she thinks that because this Y is located in a very affluent area, dropping a hundred bucks is no big deal to most people. She's probably right, but I'm not one of those people! We aren't even buying Christmas presents for each other because funds are a little tight, and Sam's really only getting what his grandparents bought for him. (Which is plenty for a kid who lacks the ability to grasp the concept of Christmas anyway.) We usually don't even spend that much money on our siblings.

So now I'm faced with a dilema. Do I suck it up and fork over the dough for this kid? Or do I just get a gift card for $25 to Lady Footlocker, like the YMCA charity bully suggested when I balked at the list? Help me Internets, help me!

Hold Your Breath, Make a Wish, Count to Three

Children of the Depression

Every time I go to my grandparents' house, they give me fifty dollars. No matter how hard I protest. If I try, as I have done in the past, to accidentally leave the money some where, say under a newspaper, they find it and give it back to me. Once, they put the cash in one of the tiny pockets on Sam's outfit and I didn't find it until I was undressing him that night.

My grandparents aren't poor, but I often wonder how they have all this extra money. They have eight children, twelve grandchildren, one great-grandson and another great-grandchild on the way. If they're handing out fifty bucks as often as it seems, I figure they must be loaded. Then I saw their shower. My grandparents are in great shape for their age, but they are still, well, old. So it's difficult for them to step over the side of the tub to get into the shower. To remedy this, my grand pap installed a shower in the basement that just has walls around it. I was down there looking for some old toys of mine and I saw the medicine cabinet where they store their shower supplies.


Not only do they have ten million bars of soap, they make sure that they use them in order of their purchase.


Seeing this made me understand a lot about who they are, and appreciate the things they do for me and my family. I don't just mean the money, either. My grandmother will spend her entire day making pierogies from scratch for me when I'm coming to visit, even though she's seventy-six years old. She'll spend weeks knitting blankets for Sammy. My grandfather, who can't hear barely at all, will call me to say happy birthday.

This is a part of who they are, and in turn, it's a part of who I am, and I'm glad to have learned that.

Day Is Done

All of the relatives have been visited. All of the food has been eaten. Hugs have been passed, hands have been held, and kisses have been planted. Goodbyes have been said. We leave in the morning. For the place where we keep our belongings. I hesitate to call it home, still. But this place isn't exactly home either. I leave this place more certain of out future, though. For that, and for many other reasons, I'm glad to have made this jorney.

Over the River and Through the Woods...

We will be visiting five grandmothers today. By the time we get back to my parent's house, it is likely that I will have consumed more cookies than permissible by law. I might have to be rolled back to Georgia. Well, at least that might qualify as exercise, right?

Still, Life?

My mother-in-law put these pears on the windowsill to ripen in 2003.

Gobbledygook

See, it's an indication of the nature of this post, but it's also a tie-in to the whole Thanksgiving thing, too. You know, because turkeys say 'Gobble' and whatnot.

I'm blogging here at my mother-in-law's house. I am TIRED. I cannot sleep. A benadryl has been ingested, but I have to wait a wee bit for it to kick in. Today was insane, but in a good-crazy kind of way, which is not what I expected.

The son was nearly perfect, despite being deprived of an ounce of peace for nearly twenty four hours. He tolerated being held by twenty two different strangers. I didn't even know some of them.

I remember last Thanksgiving, when I was a measly thirty weeks pregnant. We slept in this same bed, and I had trouble getting in and out of it because it's low to the ground. I remember not fitting between the table and the hutch at my mom's house because of my belly. I remember my maternity pants were just starting to transition from awesomely stretchy and comfortable to constricting and unbearably painful.

It's funny how much can change in one year.

And how one little creature can change the outlook of a grown woman, set in her ways. Ways that usually don't include enjoying huge family affairs at her in-law's house.

It's an awful lot to be thankful for.

Gratitude

On monday, Sam and I were at the park. As we strolled, I noticed two small children out with their father. I had seen them there before. The little girl was about three and her brother was a few years older. As I was approaching them, I noticed that the little boy was wearing a santa hat, and I hollered to him that he looked great. He turned to me, spread his arms open wide, and exclaimed 'I look like Christmas!' His face was shining and his eyes were bright, and then he ran over to me and gave me a huge hug. A second later his little sister joined him. I had to pause to keep the tears from spilling over. Something about the pure joy in their expressions really touched me. Throughout the week, whenever I had a down moment, I would recall their faces and I would feel lighter right away.

Thank you.

Nine Months and Counting...

Hey Sammy -

Happy Nine Months! This month's birthday is a big one for me. It marks a turning point. From here on out, you will have been alive longer on the outside than on the inside. It's funny because it seemed like forever when I was waiting for you to be born, but since you've come home these nine months passed quicker than the blink of your little blue eyes.


There were a lot of changes this month. Your teeth have come in like gang busters. You now sport two bottom and two top teeth, with two more top teeth terrorizing your poor little gums. Not only have you grown some teeth, but you actually understand how to use them! You love food that requires chewing. Bread, cheese, crackers, macaroni and cheese, star snacks. You love it all. Thank god you'll still eat smashed and pureed food, too, or all of my freezer stockpiling efforts would have been for naught, and I would be very bitter. Every night before bed, your dad brushes your tiny teeth, and you laugh uncontrollably. It's one of the best parts of the day for your lame parents.

You can pull yourself up to a kneeling position now. You can sometimes even get up on your feet if the object assisting you is the proper height. Standing is all the rage in our household. Any time you get fussy, we just prop you up on the coffee table and all is right with your world. If we put Sesame Street on, you would probably stand there all freaking day. You stand in the tub, you stand in the pack and play, you stand on the couch. All standing, all the time.

There is a great deal more chatter going on these days. You'll look me right in the eye and say, 'Woo! Blah blee blee, da da da de. Nana say te?' And then you wait for my response. While this delights me to no end, It's becoming a struggle to think of new and clever-ish retorts. And if, for some reason, I have no reply, you get indignant and start pounding your tiny fists like some sort of small dictator.

You have rock star hair. I vow never to cut it.


Your curiosity about your surroundings continues to skyrocket. So much, in fact, that we now live in a apartment with gates in almost every doorway. There is a gate blocking the kitchen, another one blocking the hallway to the bathroom with the cat box in it, one barricading the office, and several keeping you from climbing the steps. Your father and I (and the cat) will be in very good shape from hurdling these baby obstacles once we move out of here. We do let you explore some of these places (not the cat box) when we can sit and make sure you aren't going to put any wires or Drano in your mouth, so it's not like we have you penned up. Well, maybe we do a little bit, but it's for your own good, damn-it!

Mostly, though, it's the changes in your personality that amaze me. You've become such a complex little person that it makes me happy one minute and achingly sad the next. Every day you get farther and farther from being my little baby, and in some ways I'll always miss that. But the anticipation of watching you grow into a boy, and then a man, is thrilling.

Besides, we both know that a teeny part of you will always be my little baby, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it!


I love you, bug!

Mama

Christmas Time Is Here...

Happiness and cheer
Fun for all
That children call
Their favorite time of year
... See my Tabblo>

Picture Day

Today we had our first family picture taken. Two days after I got my period, which equals serious bloat and loads and loads of pimples for me! Including three on my décolletage area. And? Sam decided to get up four fucking times last night, so in addition to the water weight and pizza face (and chest), I had huge dark circles under my eyes. Thank god I spent all of those years working in the theater. I got out my spackle and special brushes and went to town on the face. The end result was satisfactory, I suppose. Also, since the bloat spreads around these days my lovely lady lumps were plumper than usual, so I made a special effort to emphasize them. Hopefully they sufficiently distracted from me and not from Sammy.

Why My Husband Is Sleeping On the Couch Tonight...

His most recent google search.

How To: A Mother's Guide to Finding Lost Toys

It's been quite a while since I've passed any pearls of wisdom on to you, and I thought this helpful little tip might come in handy for those of you with little ones. Or cats. Or both!

Step one: pour yourself a cup of coffee in the biggest mug you can find. Be sure to fill it right to the very lip of the cup.

Step two: park ass on couch.

Step three: place very full mug of coffee on the aptly named coffee table, taking extra care to insure that power cord for your laptop computer is behind the mug. See diagram below:


Step four: pull laptop towards your lap, spilling coffee.

Step five: panic and do nothing for at least 10 seconds, allowing the liberated coffee to run under the couch. (Note: this works best if you have hardwood floors. If you have carpeting, just increase the amount of coffee by double.)

Step six: Move couch in order to mop underneath. Discover two blocks, a ball and a rattle that have been missing for weeks.

Well, I hope you found this to be informative and useful. Tune in next time when I tell you how to get coffee stains off of baby toys!

North VS South: A Cop Out

I try and write my North VS South posts on wednesdays, but it is just so crummy here that anything I would attempt would just end in a totally unfair victory for the north. Look:



See, now don't you want to fetch me some hot cocoa?

Taking Stock

I mentioned the other day that I'm going to Dinner A'Fare, which is one of those places where you make a shitload of food and then freeze it for future dinners. I love the idea of this because #1: I hate chopping things and #2: I have little or no creativity when it comes to cooking. I only make the things that I make, if you follow my meaning. If I taste something I like at someone else's house, I might try and repeat the recipe at home if, and only if, it would be simple enough for a one-armed six year old to make.

I have run into one slight problem, though. We have a fairly small freezer, and a few weeks ago I went berserk while grocery shopping. You see, Lean Cuisine was majorly on sale, so I bought, oh about twenty or thirty of them. Add to that the seven hundred freezer bags full of multi-colored cubes of baby food (Yes, I am that mother. Don't hate me, please.) the two wine chiller thingies, and the frozen core for the ice cream machine that Dr. SOB insists on keeping frozen AT ALL TIMES (even though we haven't made ice cream since we moved here five months ago) and I have no place to store the food I just paid $147 dollars for.

To remedy this situation, I took inventory of all of the Lean Cuisines and formulated a meal plan for the next week and a half. During the day, I will continue my Special K diet, but every night for dinner I will feast on Lean Cuisine. I will mix some things like Santa Fe Rice and Beans and Three Bean Chili together for a Tex-Mex style dinner. Also, because I tend to buy two of things I know I like, I'll just cook up double for a dinner-sized portion some nights. The good news is that since they are true to their name, i.e. lean, even a double portion keeps me well within my Weight Watcher's points range.

The Dr. is happy about this solution. He is glad that I am so resourceful to have thunk up this grand scheme. He's also glad because he gets to eat Wendy's, or whatever else he has a yearning for, every night until I free up the freezer space. It's a win/win in his mind.

More Than Meets the Eye

On Thursday night, I will transform into a babysitter. I am going to watch a friend's (I have a friend!) 14 week old baby so that she can enjoy a romantic meal with her husband, and then she is going to do the same for us in a few weeks. Lovely. And? I'm nervous as hell.

I was a constant babysitter in the days of my youth. I started with cousins, and moved on to kids from church and the neighborhood and so on and so on. During college, I was a full time sitter for two of the most rotten kids on the planet. To say I have experience is putting it lightly. However, having my own kid has really changed my perspective.

The degree of trust involved with leaving your child in someone else's care is of a magnitude that I have never known before. When we left Sam with my parents, who never killed any children that I know of, I called every 45 minutes or so to check that they weren't poking him with sticks or anything. Because I am so aware of this in my own experiences, being on the other side of the fence is oddly terrifying. I am solely responsible for someone else's baby, even if only for a few hours. This child is the most important thing in these peoples' lives, and they trust that I will protect him and meet his needs in their absence.

And I will. It's not that I don't think I'm up to the task. Hell, I have my own kid, and he was that age just a short time ago, so I think I'm fairly well suited for the job. It's that I never before realized (as most teenagers probably don't) the enormous responsibility involved in caring for children.

It kind of makes me wish I could go back in time and give myself a good talking to.

Severed Head

I saw a severed head once.

It was the summer before my senior year of high school. We had only been on summer vacation for about two weeks, so most of the kids who had recently graduated were still around, enjoying their last days as social kings and queens before heading out to college. I don't remember what day of the week it was, or what time of day. You'd think that those kind of details would stick in my mind.

Terry was going to college on a full football scholarship, so his parents used some of the money they had saved for his education to buy him a graduation present. A Kawasaki Ninja. Every day he would go to the YMCA to lift weights, and his route went right by my house. The main road through our little town was two lanes in one direction and one lane in the other. Terry was travelling on the side with one lane, riding uphill, just before a bend in the road. He made a move to pass the car in front of him, and just at that exact moment, a semi came from around the bend. He never saw it coming.

We all ran out of our houses when we heard the crash. My house faced the road, and the row of houses across the street from my house had the road against their back yards. There was a cluster of people back a ways from the accident scene, and as I walked over I wondered what they were doing. There was a huge crowd of people a hundred feet away, so why were these few standing back? My parents were at work, or they probably would have stopped me from going outside. I walked over and followed their gaze to a helmet, and then to a red line that went from the helmet to the blond hair about three feet away. The face was turned away from us. Fortunately all we could see was the back of his head.

I ran home as fast as I could to keep my brother from going outside. I don't remember if I was sick or if I cried. The next few hours seem to have faded from my memory as well. But some parts of that day will always be with me.

See, Lora, some fears aren't as unfounded as you think.

Double Duty

This morning Sam and I went to Stroller Strides, and then this afternoon we went to the Y so I could work out and Sam could play. If you don't hear from me again it's because I've collapsed into a heap and was unable to de-heap myself. I am so drained that I cannot for the life of me think of anything to blog about.

Who am I kidding? I have plenty to blog about, just nothing very interesting. Unless you're my mother.

Like how I woke up at 3am with my right boob on fire for no apparent reason. It was all swollen and throbby, and I was achy all over. I took some tylenol and applied warm compresses, and it's feeling a tiny bit better. If I have mastitis nearly nine months into this whole breast feeding thing, I'm going to be pissed.

Like how Dr. SOB broke my jogging stroller last night because men know everything about mechanical things like pumps and tires, except for when they don't.

Like how silly Sacha Baron Cohen has been getting the shit end of the stick for making one of the funniest movies ever. Reportedly. I haven't seen it yet because, well, you know.

Like how I spent an hour making a delectable piquant cheese sauce for macaroni and cheese only to find out that we have zero macaroni.

Like how I inadvertently scheduled a mom's night out at Dinner A'Fare on the same day Sam will be getting his nine month vaccinations. Dad will not be happy.

See, I told you it was boring. Will this make up for it?

It's Comcastic: Lesbian Vampire Edition

Tonight, utilizing our On Demand, we watched a movie called Vampyros Lesbos. It's a 1971 European horror lesbian erotic art film with scorpions and big seventies bush. The credits are in French, it's set in Turkey and they all speak German. I followed the plot, um, not at all. Check it out:




It was the best movie I've ever seen.

The Joy Is Contagious

His smile infectious

The laughter is transmittable by air

That sparkle in his eye is catching, too

Be careful or you might get it
... See my Tabblo>

Scam-A-Licious

In order to get to the nearest Babies R Us, you have to take a toll road. It's fifty cents each way, and there are several toll booths. Some are exact change, and some have cashiers. The last time I went there, I only had dollar bills, so I went to a cashier. As I was driving away, I noticed that she had given me one quarter and one nickel instead of two quarters. Not a big deal. I used to work at McDonald's, and occasionally a nickel or two would get mixed in with the quarters because of their similar size.

Interestingly enough, the same exact thing happened today when we went to Babies R Us. The way we figure, if these cashiers are pocketing twenty cents per car coming through their toll booth, they could easily walk away at the end of the day with ten bucks in their pocket. Honestly, how many people do you think are going to throw their cars into reverse on a busy road for twenty cents? Pretty fucking smart.

Fatty Fat Fat: A Micro-Update

I lost five pounds this week. Special K Red Berries, you are my new god.

You Can Take the Girl Out of Philly...

Last friday night, we went out to dinner with Sam in tow. It was an experiment that had me more than a little stressed. It took forever to get to the restaurant because of traffic, so we arrived later than we would have liked. Once we got settled, though, I was able to relax. We had a really nice pinot, and mostly tasty food. Sam was getting a little restless and the place was getting a bit fuller once we finished our entrees, so we got dessert to go.

Because the restaurant is on the corner of a wonky five-way intersection, we had to cross a handful of streets to get there from whence we parked. We headed back to the car via a slightly different combination of streets, and came upon a short section of sidewalk that was closed. There were big orange and white barrels and that orange construction fence all around it. Because it was only about two car lengths from the cross walk, we just waited there until the light was red, the cars had stopped, and walked in between them. It was a very well lit intersection and both cars we walked in front of waved us on. So I was quite surprised that after we were about fifteen feet away, the one car rolled down his window and said something to the effect that we should just use the crosswalk next time.

My eyes began boiling with rage.

One thing I will say about the people in Atlanta is that they do not, by and large, know how to cross a street. This seems like a simple skill, right? They even changed the old 'Walk' or 'Don't Walk' signs to pictures, so you don't even have to be able to read. A big red hand means STOP and a walky white person/guy means GO. I think they teach it on Sesame Street. So why does no one here understand that?

I figured that this guy was probably a northerner, like me, and thought I was a local girl completely unable to figure out how to cross the street on my own. I made it about five more feet before turning around and yelling, 'The sidewalk is closed, asshole!' and giving him the finger.

Last night, Dr. SOB came home from work and informed me that someone came up to him at work and apologized for upsetting me so much. Turns out, the crosswalk man is a physician's assistants at Dr.'s hospital. He saw SOB and was trying to make a joke. Obviously I had never met the man before, therefore the joke was lost on me. Dr. admitted that, at the time, he though the guy looked familiar, but he didn't say anything because I was so angry and he didn't want me to be embarrassed, too.

Suffice to say, I am never leaving the house again.

Decompressed

One hour and $140 later, I feel a smidgen of hope for me and this muddled mind of mine.

I had a phone session with my old therapist. It went well. It was one of those things where I just needed someone else to verify the things in my head. Someone professional. Someone objective. There were no earth shattering revelations, but I feel very satisfied with the outcome. We're not going to talk again, but I am going to try and find someone here to talk with, even if only for a few weeks. I am going to ask Dr. SOB to step up his parenting game. And I am going to join the YMCA.

On to other matters of business.

If you know me and I usually buy you a christmas present, please have mercy on me this year. Just tell me what you want, and I'll buy it for you. If you know someone that I usually buy christmas presents for, please PLEASE pass this message along to them. Even if I don't know you or usually buy you a present, if you just come out and tell me what you want, I will be so grateful I might end up buying it for you! I cannot fathom even thinking about shopping, let along actually leaving the house and going to a store. Or even shopping online, for that matter. I think the issue is more that I don't have the energy to try and think of perfect gifts for people. So heed this warning: If you don't tell me what you want, you'll likely end up with some Isotoner Slippers if you're female and some Old Spice if you're male.

Default gifts, from my youth, to my grandparents. In case you were wondering.

North VS South: A Two-fer

Well, I was planning on doing my North VS South post this week on politics, in light of yesterday's elections, but then I realized that I know very very little about Georgia politics. The only thing I could come up with was that they have more conservatives and republicans, and to me, that equals bad. But I don't want to write an ill-informed post and I also don't want to take time to do the required research to write said post. So? New topic!

This week, we will focus on community/neighborhoods and, as a bonus, the pests that live in them! Two things which I have a great deal of experience with, as I have lived places and also I have had other species living there with me.

Let the games begin!

Philadelphia and it's outlying suburbs are very neighborhoody, for lack of a better word. Each part of town has it's own unique identity and vibe, as does most of the towns in the suburbs. Artsy? Go for Northern Liberties, Queen Village or New Hope. Rich as all hell? Then you want Rittenhouse and Gladwynne. Young and hip? Give Manayunk and Conshohocken a try. No matter where you are, though, you can always find an interesting place to live. Part of the charm of Philly, in my opinion, is that it wears its age well. Yes, there are new condos going up all over town, but it's still very easy to find streets like Camac, which is only wide enough to accommodate a horse-and-buggy. There are row homes and old trinity houses, which may have been remodeled on the inside, but the exterior looks the same as it did hundreds of years ago. Even though all of these neighborhoods touch and sometimes overlap, there is an overwhelming feel of community. Yes, there are occasionally disagreements where boundaries overlap, but it's because the city is such a huge part of who the people of Philadelphia are. It's a part of their lives that they are more than willing to fight for.

While Atlanta does have quaint little neighborhoods and some towns out in the 'burbs that have a nice local feel, between them are vast roads and massive developments that cut the communities off from one another. I would love to spend more time in places like Little Five Points, Midtown and Decatur, not to mention the million places I don't even know exist yet. But then there are places like Atlantic Station, where you live next door to Ikea, Old Navy and California Pizza Kitchen. Since when did people live in malls? There is nothing wrong with places like this, per say, but they lack a true identity. Atlantic Station could just as easily be Lake Michigan Station or Puget Sound Station. Overall, I think that this hurts the population of the city. I rarely hear people say they are from Atlanta. I can think of two people I know that would say that, and despite the fact that I have few friends, I have met a lot of folks.

Finally, the pests. I have had personal experience with both kinds, and all I need to say is this:

VS

No fucking contest.

Winner: North

P.S. As always, I am more than happy to entertain your suggestions for topics in the North VS South debate. Bring it.

So Happy!

Fatty Fat Fat: Part Three (and Some Other Randon Stuff)

Remember last time how I was soooooo excited that I lost three pounds? Well, I was so excited that I went out and gained them back, plus one! I guess unhappy me + 117 chocolate chip cookies from Publix = four pounds. God damn those things are tasty. So to combat the rouge poundage, I am on the Special K Red Berries diet, where you eat Special K Red Berries for breakfast and lunch and a sensible dinner. Also, and this is important to note, you never poop again. Not really, but when you switch from Fiber One to Special K, things tend to get a little, um, backed up, if you get my drift! Anyway, because I do much better with these kind of things when I am organized, I spent Sam's afternoon nap portioning out 14 servings of cereal into baggies, that way all I need to do is grab one, splash on some milk and have at it. Today, I plan to portion grapes. Isn't my life so exciting? Please god, for Christmas someone please buy me this!

In other news, have you noticed my pretty new ads? Don't you just feel compelled to click on one? C'mon, click one, you know you want to. All the cool kids are clicking them. Click one, damn you, or we're not friends anymore!

Just kidding! We're totally BFF, right?

Another way I'm trying to make me some money is by whoring out my kid. Also kidding. We sent in his pictures to a few local talent agencies and he's generated some interest! I fielded a phone call today from an agent hoping to get him work soon, and then we'll be able to buy some new and exciting things. Like baby gates. Whoopee! We've decided to take the lazy parenting approach and instead of affixing each cabinet and drawer with a lock, we're just boarding up all of the areas where any perceivable hazards could exist, i.e. the kitchen and bathrooms. We're quite clever!

Well, that about covers it. Tune back in tomorrow to hear me bitch about how much I hate our apartment!

I Have No Job, and Yet I Have a Severe Case of the Mondays

Let's start at 4:39am. No, wait, it actually began somewhere in the three o'clock hour. All that I did was roll over. Sadly, the fitted sheet on our bed had a small tear in it. The Ralph Lauren fitted sheet which goes with the whole set we got as a wedding present that I love, oh god I love, and is part of the only complete set of bedding we own. Well, the tear happened to be just the same size as my toe, and when I flipped, the whole thing made this horrible riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip sound. Seems as though my wretched toe tore the whole sheet end to end on the bottom. Somehow I manage to fall back to sleep, despite being depressed that the only grown up bed clothes we have are now ruined.

So we're back to 4:39am, Sam woke up, howling his tiny head off, which continued nearly unabated for the next 82 minutes. He would fall asleep in my embrace, which is always sweet no matter what time of day or night, but wake up mere seconds after I would lay him down. Coincidentally (or not) he would usually realize he wasn't nuzzled in my warm bosom the same second my foot climbed the last step back up to my room.

Finally, at 6:01am he stayed asleep. I reasoned that since he had been awake for so long, he would probably sleep in a little, right? WRONG! At 7am sharp the boy was up and raring to go. Grumpily, I trudged back down the effing steps, and as I opened his door, I saw something odd in the dim morning light, on the floor right next to his hamper. 'What is that?', I wondered. I flicked the light switch and was greeted by a huge dead cockroach. Seriously. Luckily, as it was on it's back, I was fairly certain it was dead. I got a million tissues and picked it up. I gave it a little squeeze, just in case, and threw it into the diaper pail. I figured if somehow it wasn't quite dead, the smell in there would finish it off.

I picked up the screaming baby and tended to his needs, thoughts racing about prehistoric insects crawling over my dear boy during his slumber. Once he was well suited, I went in to brush my teeth and such. When I glanced in the mirror, I noticed my nose was missing. Upon further inspection, I found it wasn't missing, it was just merely obstructed from view by the massive pimple in front of it. I dabbed some zip cream on it and tried to pretend it wasn't there.

Sam and I then headed downstairs, which is a dangerous place if one's house may or may not be infested with roaches. I figure that if there was one roach upstairs, where there is no food at all, there is likely to be hundreds, if not thousands, of roaches downstairs in the kitchen, where a free standing dish of cat food is like an all-you-can-eat buffet. I didn't see any bugs, but I was still a little twitchy. So very twitchy, in fact, that when the cat jumped on the coffee table, my efforts to shoo him away resulted in the knocking over of a 32 ounce cup of water directly onto the laptop, my cell phone, and Sam, who was on the floor. Probably playing with dead roach legs.

As you can see, the computer is fine. The cell phone, too, is in proper working condition. Sam is napping and I just got up from a nap. I decided that I wasn't leaving the house until I started this day over. So far, not nearly as bad! I cheered myself up a little by re-watching Beck's SNL performance from this past weekend. Check it out!

Daddy Dearest

I went to the store for about an hour today and left Dr. SOB home with the boy. While I was gone, surprisingly, the Dr. fed and bathed Sam and changed him into his jammies. I was quite pleased with this development, and we spent the rest of the night playing and rolling around with him. Finally, when it was time for him to go to bed, I took him up to change him and put him down. I unzipped his pj's and saw, on his chest, a small-ish red-ish painful looking spot. I touched it, and Sam began howling. I calmed him down and got him off to sleep. When I came back downstairs, I casually mentioned the spot to Dr. SOB. After a moment or two of looking sheepishly into his Chinese food, he admitted that he accidentally got a little of 'the fleshy part' of his chest caught in the zipper when he was dressing him.

I'm not mad at him. It was an honest mistake, and I know he was upset enough with himself for the both of us. But let me ask you this: exactly what part of the chest is fleshy?

Methode Champenoise

My son, future oenologist.

Oh Happy Day! (And I'm Not Even Being Sarcastic!)

Good news! Today at Stroller Strides I got me some digits! Of nice, cool people! Three nice, cool people. And I think they think I'm nice and cool, too! At least I hope they do. As a bonus, one of the girls suggested we work out a baby sitting exchange, so Dr. and I might actually be going out for a nice romantic dinner alone some time soon! Hoo-mother-fucking-ray!

Also, it's Bathrobe Friday, which means that after my shower, I sit around in my bathrobe all afternoon. Then, when Sam goes down for his afternoon siesta, I follow suit. Naps for everybody!

Also also, all three of us are going out to dinner tonight. Actually, this afternoon. We try and go as early as possible, without appearing to senior citizen-ish, when dining with Sam. We'll probably head to dinner around six or so. Early enough that most places won't be packed with hip young hipsters that will stare at the baby as though he were an alien life form, but late enough that we don't feel 76 years old. As a double bonus, because Sam seems to enjoy the scenery at restaurants, he is usually quite well behaved. So then he gets to stay up a little later than usual, which frequently means that he'll sleep in a little tomorrow!

What a great way to start the weekend!

P.S. I'm not bi-polar or anything, it's just that I'm finally in a mood that isn't blah and I'm totally stoked about it! Enough to use the expression 'totally stoked' even.

Friends In My Head

Well, I missed it again this year. October 26th, according to some online sources, was annual delurking day. Some others say it is January 5. Others still say August 9th. Since I need all the love I can get, I'm going to celebrate on all three days, albeit a little late on the October one. Drop me line, say hello! Doesn't everybody love comments? I've got to get going. I have a lot of commenting to do elsewhere!

North VS South: NFL Smackdown

(Yes, I know this is late as all hell, but given my sour state lately I thought it best to put off the comparison until my mood improved, even slightly. I would have only bored you with the inevitable 'wah wah wah, the south sucks, I hate it here, etc.' Please forgive me.)

We started out this season so giddy and full of excitement. Despite the Eagles poor performance last year, fans were hopeful that without the distraction knows as Terrell Owens they would be able to get it together for another stellar season. Who knows? Maybe another trip to the Superbowl! Probably not, but a girl can hope, right? But now they're four and four, with the two most recent losses to Tampa and Jacksonville! Thank the christ they don't play Miami, because surely they would lose and get a hat trick dick slap from America's wang. They have the top ranked offense in the NFL, so WTF guys? How could you not score a touchdown against a crummy team that had half of it's defense on the sidelines with injuries! Where is the offensive line? Donovan got sacked four times last week! I can only hope that you are spending this bye week thinking about all of the ways in which you've let me down.

You know who else has let me down? The mother fucking Pittsburgh Steelers. Two and five bitches. That's all I need to say. Ben, check yourself into some sort of convalescent home and get healthy because you are flushing this team right down the toilet. Troy Polamalu, getting tackled by your hair is the only thing that's gotten you mentioned in the headlines. Oh and special teams? You blow goats.

Meanwhile the Atlanta Falcons, and in particular Michael Vick, are the only thing keeping me from weeping openly on Sundays. There was talk in the pre-season about Vick not maturing into a championship quarterback, but lately the future looks a whole lot rosier for Vick and the Falcons. And they are a hell of a lot of fun to watch.
So who wins it this week? It's a tough call because there is still a glimmer of hope for the Eagles if they manage to get their shit together. And while the Falcons are fun to watch, they'll never fill the hole in my heart left by the Steelers.

Winner: North!

One the Bright Side...

As of today, Dr. has completed one third of his fellowship. Eight months to go.