Hee Hee Hee, Ho Ho Ho

And lo, holidays are upon us. For some reason I am more seasonally inspired than normal. I'm actually ready for the shopping and the decorating and the baking and the parties and the parades and parades of family. Surprisingly I'm not exhausted by the five holiday parties I've attended in the last seven days, nor am I daunted by the five family Christmas celebrations I'll be attending in the next seven. I have no idea why this is, but I'm certainly enjoying it.

I've been trying to indoctrinate the Little Man in the traditions of winter and Christmas, but with limited success. He likes (read: demands) to have the tree lit, and MUST have a certain drum ornament in his hot little hand NOW if he catches sight of it. Beyond that and playing with my giant 2-foot nutcracker, he could care less about the decorations. Christmas books are shut as soon as they are opened, unread, and pronounced "The End". Santa merited a hug the first time they met, and a screaming fit the second. Sledding is ok, but watching mommy slide down the hill alone and almost land in the drainage ditch is worth doubled-up peals of laughter. (he is JUST like his dad)

Baking is a hit. He likes cookie dough. He likes cookies. He likes banging on all unused (and in-use) bowls. He likes the hand mixer. He likes the stacking and the knocking down of various ingredient bottles, boxes and tubs. And he likes eating cookies. Really. Likes. Eating. Cookies.

His best holiday skill, though, is one that he came up with himself. I don't know if Elmo showed him this, or daycare, or Daddy, or Grandma, or if he just invented it out of his little head. When you say "Hee hee hee" he will reply "Ho, ho, ho", and vice-versa, to infinity. I don't care who taught him, I just care that I can get him to do it over and over and over until I bust out laughing. Ho, ho, ho.

10 Lovely Things

Reviewing my past few posts, I notice that you poor readers end up being fed fountains of negativity, primarily as a result of my unwillingness to poney up for actual counseling. So in the spirit of the holidays, a happy post!

My Little Man gets more and more fun the older he gets. Here are 10 lovely things that he's been doing lately to make his mama giggle.

10. He nests at night. He takes every cover in his room (last count: 6) and piles them on one end of the bed, then plows into the huge nest of fluff until he gets comfortable and goes to sleep.

9. His favorite TV show is Little Einsteins, which he watches with rapt attention. He has the sense to not care about horrid drek like the Doodlebops and the Wiggles. Boy's got taste!

8. He loves to drum. Everything is a "bum," as he calls it: pots, pans, walls, tables, plates, glasses, mommy, the cat, even his tummy.

8b. A direct effect of this obsession is that all the grown people around him end up saying words like "bum" "bumstick" "bumming" and "the little bummer boy" with a straight face (except for me, who is sniggering in the background).

7. He body-tackles the cat to give him hugs.

6. He LOVES his new fake Crocs, and they look so cute.

5. He's surprisingly good with babies. He saw his one-month-old twin cousins this weekend, and he didn't get at all jealous of them. He'd cruise by and pat or kiss them on the head occasionally, and even lean into their crib and say "Bye!" when he'd leave the room.

4. Sometimes he sits beside me, pats my arm, and says "Mommm-uheeeeeee", over and over and over. It melts the heart, it does.

3. Every time he enters a room with people in it, he says "Oh, Hi!" with a big ol' grin on his face.

2. He blew kisses to me over the speakerphone when he stayed at his grandma's.

1. If something really strikes his funny bone, he laughs the best deep belly laugh ever.

I sure love that Little Man. Who wouldn't?

My Life Could Be a Country Song

There's a lot of steel guitar in this one, and a seriously tinny, nasally voice involved as well. Oh, and grammar has been appropriately crucified for the occasion.

I'm sick - sinus infection got me down;

My kid's sick - fevers and tummy aches is goin' round;

My cat's sick - stopped eating for no reason and lost 3 pounds;

My husband whines - don't want to get sick.

My brother's hurt - he's ankle's twisted;

My dad's morose - job's gone all wicked;

My other brother's freaked - work's not going as intended;

My cousin's in shock about her new babies' health.

And my damn property taxes went up AGAIN.


I didn't say it was any GOOD, just genre appropriate. I'm thinking I'll start walking around backwards and see if things improve.


P.S. Even though things could be going better right now, I am still thankful, especially at this time of year, for my family and all that is going right. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Halloween Hijinx

We took a very reluctant pirate to a local mall to trick-or-treat on Halloween. The Little Man got into his costume and underlying garb with a minimum of tears. He flat-out refused to wear the hat for most of the evening, though. So much so that I have only a series of ten blurry, uncentered photos to commemmorate the occasion. He didn't really get the concept of trick-or-treat - when one nice lady handed him the candy instead of plunking it in his pumpkin, he tried to hide it in a CD rack. He did, however, understand the end result because he begged us all the way home for Tootsie Rolls.

(I finally did catch him with the hat, but only from the side)

The Little Pirate

Work 'N' Stuff

Housekeeping item: It seems that my blog is a bitch in heat to the comment spammer dogs of the world. Grrr. I hate those guys. I hate them A LOT. I'm seriously considering taking comments off entirely. Anyone else with this problem? Does it help to actually have a Typepad account? Anybody?

Now that that's off my chest, on to work-related news. The "big change" in the air a couple of weeks ago was the purchase of my small, beloved 18-person new media shop by a gargantuan 300-person Ad Agency. We attended seminars the first couple of days at the new joint that drove home to me that all of a suddon I'm now an Ad Man. I actually changed majors in college because I didn't want to be That Guy - the Ad Man. And yet, by default, here I am. I've been working for dot-bomb startups for 6 years, so my self-view is full of scrappy and underdog-ish images. And now I feel like I'm really working for The Man. Philosophically, this is a BIG shift.

It's not that the Big Bad Ad Agency is really that bad, or that big for that matter. They have taken on all of our staff in the purchase, including me at my part-time status, and at the same salaries. They are able to afford things like company retreats and have an actual pub on premesis. They have FIVE DEPARTMENTS of people who split out the job I have been doing. I'll be able to do better, cooler things, I'm sure.

But, I'm stuck in the I-don't-wanna phase. I've tried the head-in-the-sand-and-maybe-it'll-go-away tactic. No dice. I've also clicked my ruby slippers. Kansas has yet to appear. Yet every time I try to pull myself into a happy frame of mind about the change, something happens to cause backsliding. I guess the best thing is that it IS happening. Like a black hole coming inexorably closer. I just have to stick around, get sucked in, and see where it goes.

Besides, it might be refreshing to work for a company that could still be in business when I might eventually leave. The last five - yes five - companies that I've worked for are no longer around. For a variety of reasons. Really! It's not just me. I swear.

Verklempt

I'm quite sure that's not how you actually spell that, but it applies anyway. There are some major changes happening at my work that are making me uber depressed. My workplace is changing significantly, and, for all intents and purposes, I'll be getting a new job, even though I didn't feel finished with the old one yet.

I like my job. I like the people I work with, and the stuff I do, and the environment in which I do it. My workplace has been through several significant periods of change in the last couple of years and it had recently (I thought) settled down again. But alas, no. More big changes. And I don't wanna!

Maybe if I try the Little Man's tactic of screaming, carefully laying down and banging my head against the floor repeatedly, I'll make it all stop. It never works for him, but for me? Maybe.

I'll let you know how it goes.

I See Stain People

I can't remember a time when I didn't see people in the stain on doors. It's kind of like seeing shapes in clouds, only with wood grain its easier because it doesn't change shape and there are some doors that you end up staring at a lot (bathrooms . . .)

When I was growing up our bathroom door had what looked like a man in a hooded cloak imbedded in it. Over the years he was a monk, a wizard, the grim reaper - whatever I happened to be into at the time. My bedroom door housed a couple of gorillas.

I find it oddly comforting to be able to see images in the wood grain. That's one reason why I prefer houses with stained wood. It gives a place personality.

I still see weird things in doors- in the bathroom door at work there is a cartoon goat in the corner of the door, and right smack dab in the middle is what appears to be a woman in labor (or as Mr. Me would say, "waiting for a bus"). I have to admit, it's a bit unsettling to have to stare at that every time you sit down for a tinkle.

Next time you see a stained door, stare at it for a minute. What do you see?

More Tidbits

I'm so very out of vacation mode. So the promised vacation stories, they're not coming. I live in the here and now, baby, and since I didn't write them down at the time, they're lost. The end.

Oh, my Little Man. What a character. He grew at least 3 feet when we were gone, and aged 5 years. I swear! I wouldn't exaggerate these things to you. When we saw him for the first time after our trip I actually didn't recognize him for a moment or two. And when I did, my internal monologue was saying Really? Surely not. That looks like someone else's kid.

Happily, it was our adorable little guy. He did cool things for the grandparents, like climbing into the full bathtub fully clothed, and bringing Grandpa his shoes every morning.

Since he's gotten home he's developed an intense fascination with my chest. Especially when I'm wearing only a bra. He pokes, and prods, and pinches until mommy says "stop! that hurts Mommy's boobies" This morning, he morphed his new word of the day - happy! - into boobie! And now he wanders around saying "Happy! Boobie! Happy! Boobie!" I don't think he remembers nursing, but if he does, the memories are fond ones.

Addendum

In addendum to yesterday's post:

1. As was so handily pointed out by Cagey, I stand corrected - the Caribbean is a sea, and the Gulf of Mexico is, well, a gulf. The Atlantic and Pacific are the only REAL oceans on my list. They're salty and watery and big, so in my uneducated world they count, dammit!

2. Note to self: when you feel like "writing" stop immediately! There is no need to torture readers like that.

3. Note to readers: previously threatened additional torturous "writing" has been permanently cancelled. Come back! There will be less bleeding from your eyes caused by future posts. Promise!

The Old Men

Hey, we're back! Had a fabulous time. Turns out that if the Little Man isn't around, vacations inspire me to write things in my head. So, here's the first of several posts courtesy of North Carolina.

We visited the beach several times because, hey! We were on an island, and it was close. Being a white girl - key word WHITE - I don't tend to be much of a beach bunny. Just looking at the summer sun causes my skin to crisp and, conversely, I hate the smell and feel of sun tan lotion. So I tend to hibernate in the air conditioning in the summer, waiting for the blessed other three seasons where a girl can go out-of-doors without being baked alive.

Our first trip to the beach was supposed to be a sunset stroll through the surf. It was sunset, and we did walk through the surf, but the Atlantic had other ideas than to just docilely tickle our ankles. By the time we were done with our little walk we'd both been splashed up to chest level by several rogue waves. The sea seemed just a bit pissy that evening, roiling and choppy and petulantly slapping the shore with strong waves now and again. Showing its muscle to the Island that it just missed getting the smackdown from hurricane Ophelia.

Subsequent trips were in the morning. Being a water lover (and not a sun worshipper) Mr. Me and I spent the entire time playing in the shallows. The Atlantic was feeling more benevolent, maybe a little playful. Like my Grandpa playing "Eee-hawww" (his version of 'gotcha'). We walked around in the water, picking up shells, standing up to the surf. I stopped counting the number of times the Old Man in the Sea knocked me on my ass. He would catch me just off guard and send an extra strong wave to push me into the sand. We ended up soaking and wet and exhausted and exhilarated, with suits full of boulder-sized grains of sands. Man, I love playing with the ocean.

To me, oceans have distinct personalities. Hailing from a landlocked state, I'm not much the expert, but I've visited four and whenever I visit an ocean I just can't keep personifying adjectives from springing into my head. I must say, I'm not a huge fan of the Atlantic. So much anger, and crappy Florida beaches. The North Carolina beach was lovely, but the Florida Atlantic beaches are harsh, with course sand and choppy, cold water for the most part. I like Florida beaches on the Gulf side much better. Water so laid back you can envision Jimmy Buffet staring out over it and writing Grapefruit, and lovely, soft beaches. I've only been to the Pacific once, but I think Neptune must live there. It's very powerful and stern. (Neptune's younger, less straight-laced brother must live in the Atlantic - same feel, less "umph")

My very favorite ocean is the Caribbean. It's beautiful and clear and blue, and it could very well be run by mermaids. The surf is low-key, and the beaches are breathtaking, dazzling white and soft as the Little Man's behind.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. . .

All this ocean talk is making me want to go back Right Now! So I'm stopping. Stay tuned for more vacation snippits!

Vacation

I'm not the smartest of people, that I freely admit. Take for instance that I scheduled 2, yes TWO, vacations in September. Turns out they are less than 1 week apart. Doh! I didn't mean to. Really, it just seems to have happened. But this error has left me poorer. And weary of cleaning the house and doing mountains and mountains of laundry for vacation. And, yes, tired of vacations.

And then there's the location of Vacation 2. We're going to Kitty Hawk, NC. Beautiful wilderness location in the barrier islands. Yes, the ones that are currently being pummelled by hurricane Ophelia. And, you guessed it, it's not refundable. Wheee! This should be fun! Motion sickness girl in stormy airplane ride.

So, we are in preparation. Packing. Cleaning. Laundering. Finding suitable (read: willing, reliable and breathing) cat sitters. Dropping off the Little Man with the pre-arranged sitters (there are higher qualifications for the Little Man sitting): the Grandparents. Supposedly Ophelia will have taken her leave when we get there on Friday. Supposedly it will be hot and humid the entire time (SIGH) Here's hoping that the Weather Channel is right, even with the hot and humid part.

I'm so not ready for this. I guess I'd better call the resort and see if they're still there. Cross your fingers for me!

At least one line is inspired by Monte Python

Hard to post the regular blather when Katrina is top-of-mind, yet so many others have said it so much better, and so much more. Bottom line is, give and pray, 'k?

And now for something completely different. . .

We recently returned from a week's vacation in good ol' Branson, MO. Is this the vacation destination that I would like to define me to people on the Internet? Oh Lord, please no. Is it a somewhat close location that we could rather inexpensively vacation with family? Yep, that's why we've been more times than I'd care to ennumerate.

We went for a week, with different family members joining us for different parts of the week. 'Twas lovely, though lots of work for a vacation what with the Little Man and all. Some highlights:

• Watching the Little Man chase geese night after night in the lawn behind our condo. He would run after them with arms outstretched, looking like he was trying to give them hugs. Then he would invariably fall again and again in the goose-poo covered grass. Yum!
• The term Baldknobbers is not just a made-up word to post on billboards and make tourists snigger. It has actual meaning - who knew?
• Ripley's Believe it or Not is a giant rip-off - buy a copy of Guiness Book of World Records and feed your cravings to gaze upon oddities that way.
• Got the coolest new jewelry - a magnetic hematite piece that can be necklace/ankle bracelet/bracelet/whatever you wish. Great to play with in meetings!
• I-am-so-sick-of-buffets.
• The Little Man was sitting at the top of a craft-mall aisle in his stroller pushed by his Grandma. When Mr. Me and I turned the corner to see him, he stared at us, expressionless, and raised his eyebrows twice. I doubled over laughing - ornery little stinker.

That's it, that's all I got.

Random

We've reserved some vacation condos in a nearby town for a little trip over Labor Day. So far we've been turned down by my in-laws, my brother, my cousins and my brother-in-law to accompany us. Maybe I should change my deoderant?

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After I picked-up of the Little Man's room yesterday, I returned to it later and was shocked to see that I had inappropriately placed a lascivious blow-up giraffe behind the rocking horse. The giraffe had a big grin on its face and its tongue was sticking out. And the horse, he was smiling.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My son decided that, of all the shoes in our closet, he needed to wear my beaded acid-green wooden-soled flip-flops this morning. As cool as they look, they are a bitch to walk in, and the Little Man agrees. After several attempts to walk and keep them on his feet, he screamed, plopped down on the floor, and promptly bit them on their beady green straps.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Oh to be a cat. She's sitting on the cushion beside me, lounging. Eyes half-closed, paw extended, just touching my leg. Purrrrrring. She's all spotted, relaxed loveliness. She loves quiet evenings when the Little Man is asleep. Me too.

Is there a method?

On the Little Man's most devilish day of the past month, we went to my mom's house to pick up some tickets. The Little Man was an absolute terror. He hadn't had a proper nap, and was cranky and into every no-no he could think of. I was completely exasperated - my mom kept saying "put him down in the spare bedroom for a nap" and I kept assuring her that he wouldn't go for it. I did finally try and, as I predicted, he screamed and squirmed for 15 minutes until I relented and let him up to continue spreading gloom around the house. Pretty soon Mom said "Here, let me try," laid a quilt down on the floor and told him to lay down and not to get back up. And he didn't! He cried like his little heart would break for a complete 45 minutes, but he didn't once even TRY to get up from that quilt until his grandma gave him permission. I was amazed. Her answer to my astonishment was "He'll do what you expect of him. I expected him to stay there, so he did."

Days like that have inspired me to seek help with my parenting technique. Mom's all about the expectations thing, but, I ask, does anyone out there actually do this? It seems to work out for her, but I'm convinced that she emits laser beams of pure will from her eyeballs that make children behave- after all, I remember all to well having them directed at me during my childhood. However, there is something to the theory that if you think it can happen, then it can. So I've tried it in a couple of instances with the Little Man, to very limited success. Maybe I'm not expecting hard enough? Or my will lasers aren't calibrated properly? Eh, who knows.

Another friend swears by Love and Logic. Her sister's kids - on whom she bases her opinions - are very well-behaved, so I did buy a book. I started the book tonight and like the basic principles, but am unsure of my ability to execute. First of all, the suggested dialogue includes the word "bummer" in such quantities that I keep envisioning Shaggy delivering the lines after a particulary smoky session in the Mystery Machine.

Secondly, I'm not sure my temperament is well suited. One of the scenarios pictures the perfect Love & Logic parent calmly talking out solutions with her son to atone for cutting his sister's hair into a mohawk with the scissors. I keep trying to figure out how I'd peel myself off the ceiling long enough to calmly deliver the loving lines to my son. I haven't figured that part out yet.

As with most things, I'm sure I'll develop my own mishmash of a style eventually. I hope I get it at least partially down before I manage to screw my kid up too badly. And, just as a backup, I am going to keep working on those lasers.

Career?

The Little Man has been an absolute angel the last couple of days. He's been very cute, and minding his mommy for the most part, and not throwing toys so much during temper tantrums. Though he did make a call from the lab tech's phone at the Dr's office this morning, at least he didn't start screaming when I took it away from him to tell the other party that it was "wrong number". In short, I'm having fun being his mom this week.

This is quite a pleasant shock, because last week he was such a little devil the days I was home that I was contemplating going back to work full time (obviously he behaves much better at daycare or else she'd have thrown his Imperialistic butt out months ago). I work 3 days a week (yes, for you mathematicians, the Snow Day we had Wed. did eat up a third of my working week, and yet I was glad for it!) and spend 2 days home with the little guy. I just returned to this schedule after a 6-month stint working 4 days a week because of loads-of-work-at-work reasons. And last week I was oh-so-regretting it.

This week I'm enjoying it to the point that I have false hope I could be a full-time stay-at-home mom if something happened to my job (the rumor-mill has been churning as of late . . .). I admire full-time moms because man, do they have their work cut out for them, but I doubt my ability to be a successful one. At least with my job I get to have entire workdays where I can actually concentrate on and complete one (or two) tasks, and get to have conversations with adults where my mind can truly be on the conversation. I can also base my self-worth on producing things other than a clean house and good meals, which I've never been any good at, and a well-turned-out child, which I constantly question my ability to do.

Always I wonder if splitting my time is just making me worse at everything. At my job presently I really have no career track - being part-time, I'm stuck at this level for the foreseeable future. And I'm not home with my son to see every milestone (he started waving bye-bye last week for the sitter, though I've been practicing this with him for months!). But then I know that work keeps me sane, and having extra days at home with the Little Man staves off the mommy guilt of being away from him, so I am always able to content myself that I'm doing the best I can.

And that's got to be enough, doesn't it? Constantly wrestling with this, constantly.

Snow Day

In July! Courtesy of a construction crew hitting a water main beside our building. As I work for a Web development company, no phones, no electricity and no Internet means no work for us. Well, ok, I did work most of the day from the comfort of my couch, but still, it's the THOUGHT of having a snow day that counts.

Finally, after months and months and MONTHS of putting up with annoying noise and dust and closed streets, the construction crews finally gave back a little to their neighbors. Thanks, guys!

Dancin' in the Rain

After days and days and days and DAYS of hot, hot summer, we finally had a lovely rainy day this weekend. Though I thought he was too young, the Little Man acted EXACTLY like the bored kid in the "Rain, Rain, go away" nursery rhyme. Finally I let him go outside, figuring after the first drops hit his precious little head he'd fold and want to head back inside. But no, he just stood there. Slowly he descended the steps to the driveway, loudly resisting any attempt to remove him back to the dry comforts of home. He held his little hand out to catch water in it, and touched everything to see how it felt, a look of wonder on his face the whole time.

Once he reached the driveway, it was full speed ahead to the garage doors! And Daddy's car! And the tree! And the little garden patch where hey! There's mud! And it doesn't taste so good. But it looks great smeared on Daddy's car! And then he danced in puddles with his mommy and laughed his little wet head off.

We had a gay old time for almost an hour while we investigated rain and got steadily soaked. Then the Little Man started shivering and I realized that the neighborhood was getting a free show through my white t-shirt, so we finally retreated to our dry house.

I really do love a good rainy day, and I'm so glad that the Little Man does too.

Hot

The Little Man is learning words right and left. His most-used conversation starter is "S'Dat?", said in a very (calculatedly) cute, high-pitched voice. You would have to have a heart of stone not to answer. Even after the 810th time, you still answer, but the answers are fabricated for the sake of personal sanity. "That's the Rock of Gibralter son" "That's what Mommy would buy if she won the lottery".

He gets quite a bit of new word-fodder from S'Dat. Some of them he says and keeps, some of them he tries out and discards - he'll say one fairly clearly, like "dirty", then it will be abandoned for a few days in favor of the gobbeldy-gook which he seems to prefer. For some reason he'll pick up words oddly, like he calls one of our cats "Ca" (for cat) and the other one by his name, "Da-in" (Darwin). And, though we live in the non-accented speech center of the Midwest, he pronounces Hi like a Southern Belle, complete with high pitch and inflection on the "a" (and sometimes a small limp wave).

One of his favorite, and most useful, words that he has latched on to is hot, pronounced "Ha" - always very loudly. (for some reason pitch and volume matter to him in pronunciation, no idea why.) It astonishes me, but he actually uses it in various contexts - he'll stand across the room when I'm opening the oven screaming "Ha! Ha! Ha!" He'll also point at my morning coffee and yell "Ha!" Also, if the car is warm and his car seat is toasty, it's Ha as well. The one I really wasn't ready for, however, was when we were watching TV the other night, a scene with a big house fire came on. Of course my child is sitting there soaking up the rays of the screen, all of a sudden he points at it and yells "Ha! Ha!". NO idea how he put that together - 'tis a mystery. All I know, if he starts pointing at the honeys manning the hostess station at the next restaurant we go to and calls them "Ha!", someone's going down.

BlogHer?

A couple of friends, Average Jane and Cagey, went to the BlogHer convention in San Jose over the weekend. As the name implies, it was a convention specifically for female bloggers. Not being big into the blog scene, it sounded interesting when they first mentioned it, but didn't spark an overwhelming desire to go. Now that they've come back, having met some of my favorite online funny ladies, like Dooce and Finslippy, I must say I'm quite jealous. It sounds like it was a way fun trip, and fairly inexpensive to boot!

The schwag was cool (in a tech-geeky sort of way which, of course, I'm all into) and the seminars sounded very interesting. I do take small issue with any amount of feminazism that was behind starting it (I read some things about "empowering" women bloggers - please, sistah, we have and can get all the "power" we could ever want). Also that apparently "mommybloggers" - of which I guess I am because I 'gasp' write about my kid - are a) labeled and b) the Rodney Dangerfields of bloggers. Figures - have a kid, love him, like to talk about your life with him, and you're a pariah. The parental glass ceiling strikes again - no longer does it just dwell in the workplace!

Well, I've never accepted being limited by anything except my own energy levels (which are bad enough by themselves), so I think I'll not start now. I declare that It's Only Me is a Blog, unlabeled and here solely for my enjoyment (and yours if you like).

I may have to look into attendance at next year's festivities. Who knows what this blog thing will have morphed into by next year?

Not Fun, and Scary to Boot

Friday morning was errand-filled, as many Fridays are. Had a Dr. appointment in the morning, then I needed to get the car's oil changed. Couldn't easily find daycare, so the Little Man was along for the ride.

The Little Man has been displaying his rapidly developing personality by having a very, VERY strong opinion about most things lately. Naturally, the opinion of hanging in the waiting room at the Dr.'s office and in the office itself was a resounding "Forget This!" No amount of cleverly packed snacks or toys could appease him, and I ended up with "that" kid in the waiting room (you know, the one who throws multiple tantrums as the old ladies look down their noses) and having to ask the Dr. to repeat herself several times in our appointment. Not fun. So not fun.

After promising myself to try much harder to find daycare for any future appointments, we got to the car and I noticed that the low gas light was on. I remembered that it had gone on after work the day before, so I thought I'd better fill up at the nearby station. When I drove into the Shell station, though, I saw that the price was $.12 - Twelve Cents! - higher than I had seen elsewhere in town. I was headed in the direction of the cheaper gas anyway, and my car had only dinged the "hey, I'm getting low on gas" and not the "look, I'm really, REALLY running low here" ding, I drove by the expensive pumps intending to fill up elsewhere and headed toward the highway.

Naturally, I ran out of gas. After 15 years of fine-tuning, my fill-up tactics of filling up at the last second, but never too late, had failed me. Also, my trusty car had failed to deliver the special ding to let me know it really, Really was time. I was robbed.

And scared. It's a terrible sound to run out of gas - first the loss of acceleration, then the last gasping sounds of a good car fighting the good fight and losing. And the place where my car coughed its last gasp was, naturally, in a busy intersection. Busy as in 4 lanes of traffic, right before the entrance to a highway. I managed to limp my wheezing car into the right-hand turn lane so cars could still get around, but it turns out I should have blocked the lane because I got tired of counting the semis that passed mere inches from my car. In addition to the traffic, it was in the high 8o's and it got toasty in the car fast.

I swallowed my pride and called Mr. Me. He was working from home and had an appointment himself 30 minutes after I called, but he promised to come to our rescue with a gas can as soon as he finished a work call. I then wracked my brain and called four or five other friends that lived or might have occasion to be in the area, but no dice. As I sat there in my hot, hot car with the sound of traffic and the sound of my babbling (thankfully, not screaming) child in my ears, I looked around to see if there was any hope of taking the baby and walking somewhere without getting squashed flat (none!). The only sign of gas I could see, off in the distance across the highway, was for that damn Shell station with its expensive gas. It was peeking up through the trees, mocking me. Sigh.

After an hour - AN HOUR - of sitting by the side of the road, exactly 5 people (including one cop) had stopped to check with us, which was a rather higher percentage of good Samaritans than I had expected. What with work, obtaining gas, and my substandard directions, Mr. Me arrived 5 minutes after my mom who had come from another town (she was headed in my direction anyway). I haven't been so happy to see my mommy since my dad forgot me at piano lessons when I was 10. The Little Man (now naked after drenching himself with his drink) and I went to sit in her nice, cool car while we waited for life-saving gas.

Can I just say that I've been successfully converted to a quarter-tank filler?

Namely Confused

Family lore has it that when he was four, someone asked my cousin what his name was and his reply was "Danny Dammit." Knowing my cousin, and his father's likely response to his very busy personality, this isn't such a big surprise. It does make me wonder, however, what the Little Man's response will be to the same question once he gets a little older. Not with the "Dammit" so much, but we (and the rest of his family) have so many little pet names for the guy that I wonder how many times he hears his actual name in a given day.

He earned his first nickname of Little Bird in the hospital because of his "Hey, I'm ready to eat" look. That expanded to (Given Name)-Bird. And Baby Bird, and Big Bird (because naturally, he's getting bigger). Then there's Bub (why? don't ask me, ask his dad). And Bubba-Boo, Bub-bub, Bubs and Bubby. Then the actual perversions of his given name, like adding "y" and "man" to it, or going with the shortened version. Not to mention pairing his given name with "Charles" "Bart" and "David", none of which appear on his birth certificate. And of course Baby Boy and Big Boy. Recently, with his assertion of independent will, "Kid" has made an appearance more often as well.

Only 17 months, and so many names. If we can come up with all these, and we're just his lame family, I can't wait to see what his buddies print on the back of his shirt in high school.

All Boy

The Little Man has started showing his colors as a true Little "Man". No longer the sweet little baby, he has for weeks been showing the signs that yes, he really is a boy. Cases in point:

• He L-O-V-E-S to drive. He sits on his grandfather's lap and drives the boat at the lake, insistent upon honking the horn constantly and that NO other hands are on the wheel but his. He'll stand behind the wheel in a parked car for an entire hour abusing the steering wheel, flipping levers, pushing buttons, and, of course, saying "di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-" (which seems to indicate that he's got only a 2-cycle motor under the hood, which is fine by me!)He drives his little cars in the house. He drives his trike outside of the house. He drives plates. And collanders. And frisbees. And the wheels on the dishwasher baskets. And the little round steel plate that sits behind the bathtub faucet (that doesn't even move!). He loves to DRIVE!


• In the same vein, he loves cars in general. He'll spend 20 minutes at the park on the playground equipment, and 30 minutes in the parking lots, trying to open car doors and touching the wheels.


• He completely dances like a white boy. Legs bending in deep bends off time to the music, feet never moving, arms flailing wildly. Love him, but we're going to have to seriously work the education in this department.


• Lately, he hates to take a bath. Why, I cannot yet determine, but I'm going to go with the obvious - that he just doesn't care about being the smelly kid in daycare.


• He's started to identify body parts; sometimes he'll point to the part asked about, sometimes asking "'Sdat?" when he points. Guess what he asks about most often?

But the kicker, the proof of all proofs, happened this morning. The Little Man was hanging out in bed with Mommy & Daddy after topping off his morning bottle of milk. He flipped over, crawled over to give Mommy a kiss, and burped. Mommy made an "Ewww" face, which he thought was hysterically funny. So he came a little closer, and burped again. Another "Ewwww" face, and more giggles. Then he tried to make himself burp, because, you know, burping is SO. COOL. And he threw up All Over His Mommy. And that, to this BOY, was funnier than all the rest combined.

The Times, They've Already Changed

Oh, it was fabulous. A Be-A-Utiful weekend. First, wonderful, wonderful Harry. This book ranks as one of my favorites. I was slightly non-plussed on the first reading of Harry Potter 5 (the Order of the Phoenix) but this one was fantastic. The only problem is, I can't wait for the 7th now!

Secondly, as I was waiting on my book to arrive Saturday I decided to stop wasting my day and went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with a girlfriend. It was good, though I never can get all that enthusiastic about Tim Burton movies. He's just a little too, well, Tim Burton for me. It was lovely to see my girlfriend, though, and to actually BE able to go see a movie and not worry about a sitter or anything.

Then, after a few hours of blissful reading, I went out to see my brother play at a local bar. He's been playing coffee shops and clubs for a couple of months - accoustic stuff with his buddy, and he's pretty good. He's played guitar forever - the one who ended up with my mom's musical talent - and he's decided to start playing publicly. It was fun to sit back and listen to good tunes, chat with their groupies (my sister-in-law & her friends) and sip a margarita. Ahhhhh.

Sunday was lovely and lazy - got up at 10 (TEN!), finished up Harry, and straightened up the house a little while I watched some forgettable movie. Then Mr. Me & the Little Man came home and took me to dinner. Perfect end to a perfect weekend.

It amazes me that I'm writing like this is such a big deal. This type of weekend used to be fairly common. And then, the Little Man. I love my Little Man, but man, did he mix things up! It's amazing the things I look forward to now (Dooce says it best). Hopefully Mr. Me gives me another one of these lovely weekends to look forward to sometime soon!

Takes One to Know One

I am sitting in my living room waiting with bated breath for the UPS fairy to deliver Harry Potter 6. This is SO EXCITING! It's 7:00 in the morning and I have already checked my shipment from Amazon, and have already cursed UPS because Amazon told them my book was ready to be picked up at 5:00 AM and it's not been picked up yet. Lazy bastards!

This is a very special weekend. I arranged with Mr. Me a month ago to have this weekend off of all duty and responsibility because I must sit and read! Until it is all done! All 5 inches of book in smallish type and single spaced! I must know what happens. So Mr. Me will be packing up the Little Man and hitting the road the minute - The Minute! - that UPS comes to our door. They shall go to the land of Grandma and Grandpa and I will be left in peace to bury myself in a book. Which is my definition of a perfect, wonderful weekend.

Yeah, I realize that Mr. Me is married to a geek too. And I don't care!

Snippits

The Little Man is growing in leaps and bounds it seems. He's really started to crack me up. Some of my favorite moments . . .

• I learned that he is starting to pay attention to body-part labels when my cousin walked in during bathtime and said something about him having his daddy's ears - and he pointed to it! So far we're good with ear and belly, and sometimes nose and mouth. He normally stick his finger UP his nose to point it out, but that counts in my book.


• I was trying to sleep in one Sunday morning on my dedicated morning off of childcare, but I about rolled out of bed laughing when I heard the Little Man thundering down the hallway with his father in hot pursuit yelling "Put . . . the pizza. . . down" in Gene Wilder style from Young Frankenstein (except he was talking about a candle)


• The Little Man vocabulary is growing, but limited. I'm hoping it's this - and not pig-headed stubbornness - that makes him think everything is a ball. Moon, wheels, anything remotely circular is christened a ball, and he'll argue with you until he's blue in the face defending his point.


• My Little Man has decided he is Trader Vic. I have no idea where he got this concept, but if you have something he wants, he'll go get another item that he thinks you might want and see if you'll trade him. If you have the toothpaste tube (that you've taken away from him for the 108th time), he naturally wants it back and so will go get your keys off the table, bring it in and see if you'll give up the tube for the keys. In his concept of trading, this works with food too. If you have sausage - his favorite - on your plate, you can rest assured that if he's in arms length you'll soon see a grimy piece of potatoes/egg/grapes on your plate and the sausage will be gone, gone, gone.

This child has more personality in his little finger than any one person is rightfully allowed. Man, do I hope I'm ready for him.

Geeks Anonymous

Oh dearie dear, how I have not posted in the while. I have had several posts written in my little noggin, but I'm currently sharing the laptop with the wireless connection with Mr. Me and it has been Questing night after night after night. So, no posting for you.

Yes, I am married to a geek. A true blue, tech absorbed, game playin', Cheetoe munchin' geek. So much of a geek that my cousin got me a t-shirt that says 'I *heart* my geek' on it for Christmas - and I wear it in public. Why deny the painfully obvious, eh?

When I came home from work the other night he was the most excited I had seen him in quite some time. I asked him what his deal was, and he said "I'm growing potatoes". Now, you must understand that as far as the both of us are concerned, gardening and outdoor work in general is for the birds. We manage to keep the yard mowed (more often when the neighbor boy stops by and offers to do it for us) but that's about the size of our outdoor effort unless something is an obviously falling apart or might get us turned into the city.

So, you might understand why the growing potatoes thing did not compute. Until he informed me that he's now allowed to farm online in the game he plays. "I've got 19 potatoes so far - they're all in little bags ready to sell. Isn't that cool?" Gardening is all good - even exciting! - when done electronically.

And I'm so very sure this won't be the last time I shake my head in disbelief at my husband.

Yup. I was right.

Tonight's Festival of Bedtime started at 7:30 with a nice warm bath. It was followed by wrestling the Little Man into clothes, and an attempt to "wind down" playing with the Poker Chips in a Coffee Can toy. Then, to the bed. At around 8. And then the game was on.

First Quarter: Mommy plays bed goalie. She plays music, says soothing things that include "nigh-night" every-other word, and makes sure all squirming body parts remain on the bed. All while enduring ear-splitting screaches, and "you've broken my heart" crying, complete with the "I-can't-catch-my-breath" sobs. Oddly enough, the only thing that actually calmed him down was his little praying frog his Grandma got him. I guess you probably do need the Lord the second night in your Big Boy Bed.

8:30, and Little Man is at least calm enough that 100% of his body parts are no longer moving 100% of the time, signaling . . .

Second Quarter: Mommy covers the Little Man up, and plays Referee at the door. Referee involves standing at the door saying "don't get out of that bed" "Get back in that bed" and "Mommy's watching you, you'd better stay in that bed". Over, and over, and over, and over. Much more crying and throwing of body down on the bed ensues.

Half Time: Daddy decides that the Little Man has been crying entirely too long, and Mommmy just isn't doing it right. Daddy tries being the bed goalie, only nicer. Half time ends when Daddy yells "we've got a runner!" and washes his hands of the whole mess.

Third Quarter: Involves Refereeing again. The Little Man put up more of an offense, involving sliding slowly off the bed so the Ref wouldn't notice and covering up and covertly peeking out to see if the Ref was still watching. Not so much crying - except when Mommy deployed her secret weapon of a tap on the bottom. Finally, after stepping out of line-of-sight for over 1 minute with no movement, Mommy declared victory.

8:43, and Mommy mistakenly forgets that there's always a

Fourth Quarter: Three successful breakouts were staged. Parental defense was laggerdly (the Little Man got all the way to the kitchen and grabbed a sippy cup with water in it on one forray). However, we finally wore him down.

9:05 and it is finally Game Over. The Little Man is asleep. And we are tired of this hour-and-a-half Festival of Bedtime. Hopefully over the next few days we can turn it into more of just bedtime.

Shah, right. As I said. We are SO screwed.

Oh. We. Are. So. Screwed.

The Little Man reached a milestone tonight for which Mr. Me and I oh-so-weren't prepared. He climbed out of his crib.

Gulp.

Actually, the "climb" was more of a "fall". Thankfully, it wasn't directly on his little noggin. Mommy wasn't home at the time, but Mr. Me tells it that he fell on his back and bounced up like an India rubber ball, grinning for all he was worth about his new-found skill.

Because of his less-than-graceful crib exit strategy, Mr. Me made the executive decision to remove the side of the crib and turn it into a daybed. Good thing that Mr. Me was feeling executive, because truth be told, Mommy was at the bar having a well-earned margarita on Work, and wasn't up to being the executive. Actually, being well into her third margarita when she heard the news, she reacted less with executive aplomb and more with "panicked hampster running on wheel" with "Oh, shit, what are we going to do now" racing around her head.

It seems that what we are to do now, according to those online in the know and, of course, the revered Parenting Books, is enforce staying in bed with, Gasp!, discipline and repetition. No more lovely wooden slats to help us to enforce the concept that hey, it's bedtime! We're on our own now. Gone are the days of retiring to the sitting room and Deadwood at 8:05 sharp with great relief (and small amounts of Mommy Guilt for the 5 minutes of pre-sleep crying coming from the bedroom). Judging from this evening, the new routine consists of bedtime story and milk followed by 30 minutes to an hour of Bed Goalie - accompanying the Little Man back (and back, and back, and back . . .) to his newly made Bigger Boy Bed.

Boy, did I pick an appropriate night to start drinking.

Newer And Better Mobility

So the Little Man is now a walker. He walks. Or, maybe, totters like a drunk is a more accurate description. But still! Walking! A crowning achievement.

Not only does he walk, but he must carry as he walks! Empty milk jugs filched from the recycling bag are the perrinneal favorite. Preferably two, one for each hand, but one milk jug and one detergent jug will do in a pinch. Or a ball. Or cup. Or anything pinched from the center of the table or the counter-top, which he can now reach (to his mother's acute dismay).

This walking thing has made for several amusing changes around the house.

When the Little Man escapes off Mommy and Daddy's bed after his morning bottle, I can see his little tow-head bobbing past the end of the bed as he goes from one adventure to the next instead of straining my ears to hear what he's gotten into. It reminds me of a hunting dog's tail flagging his position in the weeds. (The eyes in the back of your mother's head weren't eyes, they were ears. My hearing is getting so acute that I can tell exactly which toy has been thrown at the wall from what position in the room just from the sound it makes)

He's developed a new talent - he plays "fetch". He doesn't quite get rolling or throwing the ball back once a ball is thrown to him. Instead, he'll run after the ball, bring it back and hand it to you. Multiple times in a row. And we didn't even have to get a dog!

He's now on even mobility footing with the WWE wrestler at daycare. Look out, buddy, turnabout is fair play.

Questions Asked

So it appears that I do have one victim - er - volunteer for the Question Game. Ok, Goofy Girl, here goes:

1. What is the thing you miss most about being a DINK (dual-income, no kids) family?



2. What is the most extreme sport that you'd be willing to try?



3. What has Goofy Jr. done to earn mom's tears (of joy, frustration or otherwise)?



4. Is your screen name at all Disney related? If not, what's the background?



5. White, dark or milk chocolate? And what does this say about you?

Older, and still they call me Grace

On my birthday I went to an electronics store to get an accessory for my new iPod mini (thanks Mr. Me!). I happened to be talking on my cell phone as I walked towards the store (I know, kiss of death). And completely missed that there was a curb in front of the store - the clue of BRIGHT YELLOW PAINT apparently wasn't enough. Boy, did I bite the dust but HARD. Completely crashed, sprawled on the ground, without even any defensive wounds on my hands from trying to catch myself. To put the icing on my roadkill cake, as I lay there, groaning, unable to get up despite a few feeble attempts, the electronic doors that had luckily opened when I fell kept trying to close on me. They'd get a few inches from my face before they realized that hey! There's a person in the road! Don't crush her like a bug.

I lay there groaning for a good five minutes before I was finally able to slowly move toward my feet. About the same time, a store employee FINALLY came running out the door. Luckily, he didn't see my graceful trip to the pavement, but he apparently noticed the doors opening and shutting around me. And came to check to see if I was literally roadkill-they had had recent problems with customers geting hit by cars in front of their shop. No, no actual problems here, just lots and lots of clumsiness.

I think this successfully proves that just because you're a year older does not make you exempt from doing stupid, kid-like things (I'm sporting a skinned knee for the first time since I was a teenager). Actually, it makes getting older just a little bit easier.

Questions Answered

One of my favorite bloggers and friends - Average Jane - introduced a blogging game a couple of weeks ago (and is this similar to a drinking game? Or at least can I drink while playing?)
ANYWAY, the gist is that she gets to ask me questions and I, in turn get to ask questions of any willing guinea pigs who sign up here in my comments.

So, to my belated list of answers:

1. What's the sneakiest thing you've ever done to get your husband to eat vegetables?

This odd question becomes not-so-strange when you learn that Mr. Me's idea of the sum total of edible vegetables consist of peas, corn, and potatoes. This is to the exclusion of everything - and I mean everything - else.

The sneakiest thing I've done to get him to eat vegetables is to mince them into meals - chili, meatloaf, etc. Except, I got caught. He can detect the slightest iota of onion, pepper, or squash and a hour of cooking is kicked to the curb in a matter of minutes. If he knows there's a non-approved veggie lurking on his dinner, he'll decline and go fix himself a hot dog.

This forray into forcing health down Mr. Me's throat occurred within the first year or so of marriage. In the years since, I've decided that it's more important to me that the stuff I cook gets eaten than embarking on a crusade to improve the health of his meal choices.


2. How are you most different from the rest of your family?

Hmm, this is a tough one. I guess mostly because my family is so diverse that it would be much easier to answer this about one member than the whole (very, very large) group.

The only answer that comes to mind is that I'm snarkier. And have a blog. So, that's gotta be it then.

3. Carnival/fair food on a stick: delicious or disgusting?

Depends on time of life. It was one of the most delectable, delightful treats of my younger years to eat anything on a stick (or off, as long as it was fried) at the State Fair. It was actually something I looked forward to all year (we always spent at least a week at the State Fair helping my Grandpa show his dairy cows).

Now, though, I'm finding that my aging stomach can't handle those treats of yore. Whenever I try one of these items that should just be awesome - like cotton candy, or fried Wisconsin cheese on a stick, or fried pickles - I get myself all excited about the special treat, and my mouth waters in anticipation, and my gastric system makes me pay for days. So, on the whole, now it's mostly just disgusting.

4. If you had the choice between another baby or another cat this time next year, which would you choose and why?

I notice that neither is not an option here . . . Probably another baby. The cats have taken to peeing in my office, and I have been tempted to round them up and take them away more than once recently. Not that the baby doesn't pee in inappropriate places too - the bathroom floor, on my clothes, in my face - but there is a glimmer of hope that in a few years I can make him (ok, and the new one too) understand that peeing is done in diapers or potties, and no-where else. The cats will always have that dumb "who, me?" card they can play as they'll never talk back (though I SWEAR they understeand what I tell them).

5. Via what medium do you get most of your news?

The Internet (Yahoo mostly), the radio and Newsweek. Sadly enough, though, I am having less and less time to soak in news from any source, so I am becoming stunningly uninformed. My new source is beginning to be friends that tell me what's going on.

And, if you're interested, here's the official game rules:

The Official Interview Game Rules

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."


2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.


3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.


4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.


5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Entertaining

My entertainment schedule has become significantly more delightful recently. I went to a movie--Sideways--within the last couple of weeks (yes, that's recent according to my current schedule). Not always a big indie film buff, but it was excellent. There are also a few other films out that I want to see, mostly mainstream stuff like Hitch and Ms. Congeniality 2 - I'm not holding my breath that the stars will align for that to happen. Also purchased the Incredibles - it was as cool as I remembered, and great extras!

The big news is in my TV world - Deadwood is back! I'm again being assaulted weekly by terrible language and debauchery, and I'm loving it. I've also become quite fond of a new find, House. The writing is just too fun - the lead character is a grade-A smart ass and I love him.

And of course, there's Desperate Housewives, which I've been in mourning for new episodes for the last few weeks. And another guilty pleasure - Boston Legal. I know, I know, it's The Practice + Ally McBeal= yet another David E Kelly cookie-cutter production. But Shatner over-acts his character perfectly, and I like the addition of Candice Bergen to the cast. What's with her always wearing turtlenecks or really chunky necklaces? Did she have a tracheotomy at some point? Or does she have some severe "wottle" that she's hiding? Inquiring mind wants to know.

I bought the soundtrack to Garden State, which is good. And have started using iTunes as one of the last true holdouts. I LOVE it, and now I'm coveting an iPod and more new CDs (curse you Steve Jobs!)

And finally, books. I've read a new one from James Patterson, and an older Mercedes Lackey within the last week or so. I've also started reading the new Super Nanny book - gotta get some advice on those tantrums. I need to come up with a few new reads while I'm awaiting the new Harry Potter & Stephanie Plum books this summer (So Excited!) Also looking for the new Jasper Fforde to come out sometime.

What have you been doing lately? Any shows, movies, books, cds that I need to add to my list?

Can you Fire an Uncle?

Went to dinner with my brother the other day and he informed me that the Little Man is "cute again". When pressed about the meaning of this, he said that for a few months there he looked at photos of the Little Man - MY LITTLE MAN - and said "poor, homely kid". But now, he's cute again, so there's no worries.

This is the same uncle that gave my son the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition for his first birthday, and has been trying to get him to say "hooters" since birth.

I think he's officially fired.

Egad!

This past week has been full of Egad! moments. A select few. . .

• The Little Man decided to start throwing throw-himself-back-kicking-and-screaming tantrums on his very first birthday. I thought these weren't due for another year or so?



• Talking to my best girlhood friend this week, I realized that under her influence I am able to contemplate having another Little Person without covering my ears, screaming and running from the room.



• Talking to the same girlfriend, it occurred to me that she was in some ways reminding me of her mother. And it also occurred to me that maybe I am starting to remind people of MY mother. Which I immediately decided that I really don't want to know.



• Studio photography prices are INSANE! Sticking with Penney's from here on out, thank you!



• I now unfortunately have first-hand knowledge of the inspiration for the Exorcist vomiting special effects. Funny, they didn't show the cleanup of that in the movie, which is actually the scariest part.

One, Little Man

The Little Man is ONE today, yeah! I can't tell you amazed I am at that, and how proud (and secretly relieved) that he's a healthy, happy, handsome little guy - and still alive despite my clumsy parenting skills!

I've read countless wonderful, sweet, full-of-love-and-joy Happy First Birthday son/daughter messages on various parental blogs. I was really planning on writing my own sappy, full of love message to broadcast to the world at large as well about my Little Man's first year, but I just don't have it in me tonight.

For starters, the Little Man decided to wake up at 5:00 a.m. this morning and not go back to sleep. So, he screamed in bed on and off for an hour-and-a-half (thank you, Ferber) before I finally decided to get my lazy bones up for the day and ease his misery. Took his now-crabby self to daycare early with hopes of leaving work early and taking him to a local kiddie joint that has an area for crawlers to go wild in. Of course, I didn't end up getting off work until 1/2 hour before the kiddie joint closed, topped off with a very dissatisfying conversation with a co-worker before I left. So, this afternoon ended up with Mommy guilt topped off with disappointment and a little dash of Gee, I hate my job today. Not a recipe for a great birthday evening.

Yet I soldiered on, still trying to find someplace to take him to have some fun. Too cold for the park, the newest kiddie gym in the area doesn't open for two weeks. Aha! McDonalds PlayPlace! We met Mr. Me at McDonalds, where we ended up with the very most unhealthy dinner ever (as you get at McDonalds) and it turns out that you must be 3 in order to play in the playplace. Not that I was terribly heartbroken as the Little Man still has a tendency to mouth everything and EEK! the germs in that place, but still, NO fun to be had on the birthday. Yet another wave of mommy guilt.

So, we ended going home and playing with new birthday toys at home. Not a horrible day, but not as special as I wished my Little Man's first special day to be. With any luck, though, I'll have lots and lots of chances to get it right.

Happy Birthday, my darling Little Man. I love you very, very much.

Birthday Parties

The Little Man will be one-year old next week. I can't believe it, but the baby has crept away to be replaced by a busy, curious, adorable little boy. Cliche, but my, how time really does fly.

With a one-year milestone comes, of course, the inevitable party. For some moms, this is the highlight of parenthood. Not so much for me. I hate, *HATE* planning events. It showcases my lack of organizational skills, and, as a special treat, highlights my utter dirth of planning ability.

Still, this is an important milestone, so party we must have. I won't go into the sordid details, but after two weeks of stress, and 3 days straight of cleaning, the party is over and all is well. The balloons are listing, the streamers drooping, but I'm still standing, as are most of the attendees and the Little Man. Well, he's actually now crashed as a result of not enough sleep combined with way too much cake and company. But, we're reasonably sure he'll be his regular old self in the morning.

More later, but phase one of Happy Birthday Little Man is complete. Whew.

Clothing Speaks Volumes

Went shopping for clothes last weekend in a boutique I sometimes go to. The way the sizing normally runs, I wear a one-x. However, for some reason the tops weren't fitting quite right so on a whim I tried one sized zero-x. Fit like a charm! I ended up buying a couple of tops in that size and going home with that little glow that only finding a twenty in last winter's coat or that you can wear a smaller size can bring.

Arrived home with a springy step, whistly toon, and got out my new goodies to show the hubbie. And caught a glance of the tag on one of the tops.

OX.

I hate it when my friggin clothes talk back.

Dissed

As an update to the crabtacular post of yore, I must say that I am finally feeling better. Mr. Me has seen the error of his ways and has been very supportive of my needs for extra rest the past few days. And the Dr. doled out the good drugs, so the cold is finally being beat into submission.

Now, on to the main subject of today's post.

The Little Man and I went to the library the other day to check out the play area and see what books they had available for little guys. As we came upon the play area, the Little Man saw the play tables with puzzles, activities and a train, and the kiddies playing therein, and he started to squirm and squeal in excitement. I put him down at the entrance to the room and he burned up the rug crawling to the nearest table full of kids and toys. The kids at the table were between 2 and 6, and they looked down their little noses at my boy as he pulled his beaming little self up to the table - and they LEFT! They all just left the table en masse and went to some other activity. THE LITTLE BASTARDS DISSED MY BOY!! My poor Little Man's face was crushed, and I felt like my heart would break watching his little smile fade into confusion. I wanted to throw social caution to the winds and make the evil tykes go back! And play with my boy! Who is sweet and wonderful and the funnest person to play with ever! But then, they would have kicked me and mine out of the library, and we can't be having that just yet.

Geez. I knew that I'd be witnessing social failures and successes along the way, but he's not supposed to be branded a pariah at 11 months! Yes, yes, I know it's not fun to play with "babies" when you're a big person of 3 or 4, but they should be making exceptions for my boy!

So, the Little Man was forced to resort to playing with Mommy. Not such a bad end, as long as he's not still falling back to that when he's 30 with social problems.

The Worst Part of Being a Mommy . . .

. . . is being a sick Mommy. The Little Man is practicing sharing again in the form of sharing germs. He's sick. I'm sick. Sickness makes him crankier, but no slower. Sickness makes me cranky and virtually grind to a halt. But no! There is no halting! We must go go go! Do do do! Learn learn learn! (yes, he is virtually Seussian) So I drag my crabby, sick self around after him, Momomying.

You'd think that Mr. Me would clue in to this situation and, say, let me go to bed when I get home from work freely and happily. Or, gladly and with some show of concern take the night wakings, or get up with Sonny Jim at the crack of 6:45 when the "Get me out of prison!" wail goes off. You'd think. However, his attitude is more "Sucks to be you" and "Your sickness is not my problem". The guilt trip to pass out alone for 30 minutes after coming home from work last night should have earned enough frequent flyer miles for 5 free tickets.

I realize that Mommy Martyrdom is not attractive. Truly. However, in my mucus-addled state I'm having trouble finding the fine line between being a martyr and simplifying life by not causing and dealing with Spouse Pout.

Stay tuned for more editions. With 50% less whine!

Sampler

I am the ultimate product tester's fantasy. I'll try pretty much anything new from a recognizable brand. If I'm in the store and it's New! and Different! I'll pick it up and give it a whirl. All the new candy - inside out, upside down Oreos, taken-apart-and-put-back-together-again-with-chocolate Kit Kats, all flavors of Coke, you name it, I've been there.

Some products have been stunningly sucktacular, like low-carb chocolate of any ilk or purple ketchup from Heinz. Others, ok for the moment - Holiday Spice Pepsi, Chocolate Cookie Kit-Kats. And a rare few have gotten me hooked forever - God bless the product teams that came up with Lysol wipes and Diet Coke with Lime (though curses on the ad agency who did the horrid radio spots to promote it - A Diet Coke with Lime thing? Really, people, Coke paid good money for this, put in a little effort.)

So, knowing my weakness, you will now understand why I feel I scored the coup of the month with a variety pack of all the new Crest toothpaste flavors - for a DOLLAR! I was actually excited about this purchase, even more excited when I saw the same pack for sale at Hen House for $3.50. I've brushed my teeth faithfully with a different flavor each night to test them out. The citrus is downright icky. The Vanilla Mint and Herbal Mint good, but not fantastic. My favorite is the cinnamon - 'cause I'm a sucker for cinnamon - but they could kick the cinnamonyness up a notch or two.

Any other great new products I should be aware of? Lemeknow - I do so hate to be behind in my product sampling.

Posessed

The Little Man got a wonderful toy for Christmas from his uncle PD. His name is Tad, a Leapfrog product that has been my salvation since we got him. He lives in the Little Man's crib and sings him to sleep every night, and entertains him in the morning until his lazy parents get up and rescue him from crib prison.

This evening, the bedtime routine went along as normal until we heard strange, strange sounds wafting from the Little Man's crib after lights-out. It was the sound of Tad, except posessed. Lullabys sung by Satan. Mr. Me and I raced to the nursery, ready to wrest the Little Man from the strangling pads of Tad-Gone-Chucky. Fortunately, all was well with the sleeping Little Man, and the exorcism was performed quickly courtesy of three new Duracells.

All I have to say is Hey, Leapfrog! Product testing should include what happens to the product when the batteries run out! Stop creeping us poor consumers out.

Short and Sweet

Here's the thing. I've been trying for 20 minutes to make this into a clever story, but it remains but a cute paragraph.

The Little Man goosed the waitress at dinner the other night. Actually made her jump. In front of his parents and Grandma, no less. Yep, that's my little ladies man.

See? That's all I got. The end.

Aghast

Oh. My. Goodness. I'm starting to get that panicy feeling again like you get when you just come back from the hospital with your child. You know the one that goes "What have I Done? I can't do this! I sometimes can't even get matching shoes on my feet in the morning, how did I think I was going to raise a child?"

Yesterday I came home to my child wearing his Halloween costume, which I had sent to the daycare as his backup outfit to be put on in case of emergency. "Emergency" normally consists of spit up or a diaper way too dirty for words, so normally it's not a cause for concern. However, when I asked Mr. Me what had happened, he said, "Wait until you hear what YOUR child did today". When he refers to the Little Man as "my" child, nothing good ever comes of it.

During nap-time yesterday at daycare, the daycare provider went into the nap room to discover the Little Man soaked and pantsless. Apparently he had painstakingly removed his sweatpants, unsnapped his onsie, and taken off his diaper, and proceeded to firehose the entire area. All without making a peep to clue the sitter in to the fact that anything was going on. Luckily the sitter took it all in good humor, even though she had to clean up the pee-soaked bed, bedding and floor.

I am aghast. And a little terrified. MY CHILD. IS A NUDIST. ALREADY. I expect forrays into nudity from a 2-year-old. I get that little kids just like to be naked. However, NOT at 10 1/2 months. If this is the kind of stuff he's pulling now, what actually does happen when he gets to be 2? Streaking through the neighborhood is a daily event? Will I be able to buy, make or even think of a piece of clothing that will keep Mr. Winkie covered? Egads, What have I DONE, having this little naked-loving child?

Maybe it was just a one-time experiment, to see if his little friend was still there when his clothes are on, and to see what he does for a living. Yeah. That's got to be it.

I'll be dressing him in overalls for the next several days anyway. Just in case.

Gone to Pot

For some reason, if one part of my life spins out of control, everything just seems to go to pot. The last four weeks have led to mounds and mounds of dirty laundry, clutter strewn about the house, a desk I can no longer see (both at home and at work), a car that is an absolute pit, and friends that I'm sure are ready to give me up for lost. I wish it were in my personality to go partly to pot. But no, I must do all or nothing.

I finally started to dig out over the weekend. My house is starting to shape back up, I'm feeling a little more in control at work, and everything is starting to settle down in general. This will keep up for about, oh, two weeks. Then I'll start getting lazy, and be able to use this same post again in another month. How very efficient of me!

The Good News Fairy

The Good News Fairy has visited today, hooray! My brother, PD, who has been improving wonderfully, actually will get out of the hospital on Thursday! He's likely going to gain 100% mental and physical function back, and I'm beside myself with relief and happiness. His doctors say it's amazing that he's going home at all, especially with an intellect above that of a 12-year-old. And in under a month! He's a super healer.

It's amazing to see him now - he's very close to being his old self. We sprung him from the hospital on a day pass on Sunday (who knew you could get a day pass from the hospital?) and took him shopping. He was so happy just to get OUT, he was in a great mood, and dealt with his pain and his wheelchair really well. He maneuvers his wheelchair well, too, using just his left foot. Really, it's just nice to be around him.

That sums it up, except for one thing . . .
A big shout out to PD's overactive guardian angel. May you have a long, well-deserved break.

The Little Man

It occurs to me that with the crappy start to the New Year, and the long absence before that, I haven't devoted much time to the doings of the Little Man. This shall now be remedied!

For starters, the surgery went swimmingly. The worst part was trying to keep the Little Man occupied and quiet for two hours while waiting for them to come get him (we turned the faucet on and off in the bathroom for a full half-hour!). He was gone from my arms for exactly 20 minutes, including anesthesia, surgery and recovery. Unfortunately for us, one of the side effect options from the anesthesia was hyperactivity and Ding Ding Ding! That was our winner. He was a whirling dervish the rest of the day, but his eye has looked fabulous ever since, and he is cuter than ever, if I do say so myself.

This week alone he has learned to slither down stairs all by himself AND to drink from a straw. He says "kkkk" in a guttural German way for "kitty" and "ca" for "cat", always with an inflection that reminds me of Ken stuttering toward the end of A Fish Called Wanda. "Mama" and "Dada" also pop up repeated over and over, though never upon request. That Little Man knows how to do way too many things for my comfort, including shoot his father and I a dashing little grin over his shoulder as he continues on with whatever no-no activity he is engaged in. He's not yet walking, but stands alone if he's not thinking about it, so it likely won't be long. And Mr. Me and I will be SO TIRED once that happens.

Another recent, major Little Man milestone - he located his "little friend". In the bath, where little boys are wont to find it, with no diaper and all. It was amazing, watching the development of this burgeoning relationship. He was very still in his bath that day, with his hands mostly beneath the water, saying "howdy" to his newfound buddy. When he did start to play, every time he sat down from crawling or standing up, he'd reach down to make sure his friend was still there. Cracked me up way more than his dad, though.

The most amazing thing, however, is the super-powers he appears to be developing. He's almost 3 feet tall, and has stretch-Armstrong arms that can reach clear to the middle of my kitchen table to grab items of interest. He moves like Flash, especially toward forbidden areas like an open toilet bowl. And he has for several weeks now been perfecting an ear-shattering screech that will any day, I'm sure, shatter glass (or deafen dogs, I'm not sure which).

If he starts to develop x-ray vision or to fly, I'm buying some Kryptonite or there will be no disciplining this child at all.

Under the Knife

The Little Man goes in for surgery in just about 7 hours. It's a minor thing, but they still put him in a little hospital gown and knock his little ass out with Nitrus. Thus, we still have to withhold food from him for hours in advance, which I'm not looking forward to in about (eek!) 5 hours when he wakes up for his early-early morning bottle.

I'm nervous about this procedure, as you would be. Mr. Me maintains that they'd better be passing the Nitrus around to keep him settled. I'm not thinking I'll require chemical sedation necessarily, but I can't think about it too hard or I start to feel ooky. My father-in-law has been nice enough to volunteer to come in and set with us in the waiting room. So, it will be a well-attended little event in any case.

The Little Man should sleep or be drowsy for most of the day after the surgery. Can I say that I'm kind of looking forward to that part just a little? I know, this makes me a horrid parent, but as he's always so, so, SO busy, it'll be nice to have him quiet and cuddly for a day. And, he'll get eye drops we have to give him for 5 days that the Dr says will make him "sleepy". The thought of this just makes me smile. (Bad mommy!)

This will make the third hospital I've been in in the last 2 weeks, all as a visitor, thank goodness. I'm becoming quite adept in waiting rooms. I don't like that my life has included so much illness and trauma lately. But again, I much prefer being the carer than the care-ee.

Updates to come . . .

New Year Blues with a Possibility of Silver

It's been a crummy new year. Lots of hours at the hospital, the Little Man is starting to feel the stress and develop an overwhelming case of parental attachment. And I slid into a car in the ice the other day and the end result seems to be four-hundred-smackers. And there's stress at work. My office-mate and I have spent a large part of the last two weeks heaving heavy sighs.

However, my mother-in-law called today to let me know that my horoscope said I should have a good week. Apparently it runs from the middle of the week to the middle of the week, which is why there's no evidence of it yet. Not normally the call I would get from her, but I'll take what I can get. So, I fully expect an upturn starting tomorrow. Wish me luck!

I'm a Hacker

My brother has been moved to a private room in a different part of the hospital, and lo! My uber-smart computer has hacked into some sort of wireless network here. So, I'm able to surf, blog and listen to my brother give his nurse hell.

He's awake and talking, a good thing. However, he's a very, very bad patient. He's offered to pay the nurse $1,000 to take the restraint off of his arm. One time they did that, he ripped the resperator out of his lungs. Another time he ripped the feeding tube out. So, his hand is remaining firmly restrained to the bed. The other arm is broken, or I'm sure he'd have used that one. He wants badly to leave. He tries to get out of bed about once every 30 minutes or so, which usually culminates in him banging his leg on the bed and yelling Ow! So, he's on 24-hour nursing care and a family member is staying with him day and night as well.

Unfortunately, he didn't escape his accident with just broken bones. They say he has some damage to his brain, though it's going to be months before it can be completely assessed. I tell you, I've laughed at Bill Cosby's "Brain Damage" bit time and again, and joked with people about riding the short bus, but these things are suddenly not so funny.

One of the results of the damage is that he says random, funny things like "I need a tarantula" or "reindeer". Other side effects include things that I think he would have done anyway, like call his nurse names and try to escape his bed, and yell "Ow! My Ass!" really loud. He doesn't know where he is, and thinks he is working on a lift the majority of the time. But, at least he knows his family, and there are brief periods of lucidity. And, though his condition isn't, and he can't help it, he is damn funny sometimes.

It's time to leave off, lest the hospital CIS police come to nab me. More news to come.

New Year, New Post

Ahh, well, it's a new year, so it's probably time for a new post.

My first gift of the New Year, courtesy of my little brother, PD, starting at 1:30 AM on 1/1/05 has been countless hours spent in hospital waiting rooms. He has had yet another car wreck and has been unconscious and broken in a hospital bed for most of the week. Thank God, he has finally started to come out of it today, and thanks to PD himself, he is now devoid of many of the tubes and gadgets that made things look so very scary. (He decided to rip them out himself yesterday morning) He's not yet out of the woods, but he's made vast improvements the past day. To the point that he was actally able to utter "Ow, my ass" loud and clear when the nurse adjusted him in a way that didn't work out for him.

The second gift, courtesy of the first and, again, my little brother, is that I realize how very, very lucky I am to have all the little things I take for granted. Like health insurance, and a healthy, happy son, and a wonderful husband, and a nice warm home. And family, lots and lots of annoying, boisterous, loving family. And, most of all, no giant waves crashing through my home and leaving wreckage through my community and my country.

So, greetings, 2005. I'll do my very best to heed your first lessons and avoid hospitals as much as possible. Oh, yeah, and relish every precious moment, whether it's spent washing dishes, rocking my baby, or whatever my wonderful life dishes out.