It's Cold Outside Baby

Yep. We're definitely in a winter storm. It seems to be a mixture of snow and ice with extra lots of the latter. I'm hoping we don't lose power like we did during the ice storm in Shreveport. 2 weeks with no lights, tv, heat, appliances, etc. s-u-c-k-e-d so thoroughly. 15,000 are without power in a community not far from us, however, so I'm gathering the blankets, candles and canned goods just in case. Seems paranoid I know, but you simply would not believe the amount of straight ice surrounding our house right now; there is in fact so much ice that it is piling up. Summer (who from now on will be referred to as the incompetent snow dork) threw a "snowball", read iceball, at Kenzie's face and about put her eye out. =sigh. silly incompetent snow dork=

I'm finishing up my Christmas to do lists, figuring out the monthly budget (if we hope to go home we're gonna have to cut something out somewhere - I'm thinking red meat is always optional), and having to watch Dexter especially close today as he keeps cutting off his own air supply and waking up sputtering, hiccing and oinking. We really should've taken him to the ER and forced the system's hand to get him a specialist but I had no idea this storm was coming. Now I'm hesitant to do so because getting there would be hell and you know there will be a larger than normal variety of ass holes who have A. wrecked their car trying to go 70MPH in a blizzard of ice or B. shot each other (cold makes people lose control of their trigger fingers for all you non- city livers out there). Shiver, shiver, shiver, BANG. Oh, dang, girl! I didn't mean to do that!

For the time being you can pretend you're here with us and by playing some online snow games. Build a snowflake here or pull an everything else snow related here.... happy evening, friends! Keep warm!

Snow Dorks

Our house is currently vibrating as our three daughters rush from window to window waiting for the arrival of the promised snow storm. You haven't fully experienced winter until you've seen the sight of 3 children who have spent most of their childhood in the South (thus no snow for 8 years at a time) with their little noses pressed against the glass trying to differentiate between sleet and actual snow. In fact Summer and Lily can only recall faintly a snow we had on our first new year's eve in Shreveport, but other than that have no real memory of the Kansas winters and snowstorms of their toddlerhood. Mackenz was a baby during the new year's eve snow, and the boys weren't even a beer induced glimmer in their Dad's eyes yet.

Langdon is undecided as to whether he actually cares or not. I do not think he understands what is going to happen. To him snow is the white spots on cartoons the people forgot to color in. He hasn't a clue. And Dexter? He obviously doesn't care. I am watching him as he sits in his bouncer and valiantly and patiently attempts to lift his cheeks of his shoulders. No wonder he has earned the nickname Chubbilicious. I believe he is well insulated against the cold; in fact, I think polar bears would drool in envy at the amount of insulation that baby is packing. Good thing to as we are keeping the heat fairly "normal" and not pumping it up for the cold snap. Fact is that we live on the third floor (top for this building) and have a great many large windows. We could run the heater 24/7, have a $1200 gas bill and not be any warmer really than we are now. I'm making my special stew in the crockpot (aka the only thing I cook decently), we're all encompassed in multiple layers, they're sipping hot cocoa, and I'm considering looking through cookbooks for reasons to turn on our heat leaking stove.

Anyway, because the girls are not particularly normal children, they have assigned themselves a unit study for the day (we finished our social studies exams early this AM). That's right, ASSIGNED THEMSELVES. They are doing a group report with each of them addressing a different aspect of snow (creation, affect, localities). They also have dark colored paper in the freezer getting cold and waiting for the snow to officially arrive so they can capture snowflakes. For crafts they are making origami snowflakes and cut out snowflakes and for music Summer is writing out the acutal lyrics and plans to lead the group in a rousing rendition of "Let It Snow". All of this while all the other kids in the city are celebrating the fact they are getting out of school. My daughters are definitely unique especially with Summer directing traffic; I did not say they are D to the Orks so don't you do so either. At least not out loud. Dex and I plan on hiding from all of the above under a blanket and napping, er pondering the meaning of life.

Fall Of Modern Society Fault of Gnomes & Bionic Woman

The reason civilized world is going to fall and be trampled underfoot lies in family size. Our society is having less and less children while undesirable counterparts (I'll give you a hint: they call us dogs and it isn't an affectionate term for peeps in the ghetto) are actually having more children at an alarming rate. We're talking our meager little families of 2 facing off with families on average of 7 or 8. I won't bore you with the math but even half of those kiddos grow up to be suicide bombers versus business owners then western society and its ideals will be extinct by 2052 (actually I don't have data to back up that date. *wheeze wheeze - Luke I am your father - no wait, I can't back that up either*)

So the question is why is our society in general choosing to forgo children? Hmm? I could point out the obvious like expensive cars, personal freedom, designer clothing, and concert tickets that don't involve the Wiggles, but I say let's dig a little deeper.

The reason we've stopped having children is as follows:

• Gnome Pajamas. No man wants to have sex, thus procreate, with a woman who is wearing flannel button up pajamas sporting gnomes. Therefore I present to you the theory that garden gnomes are partially responsible for the downfall of modern society as we know it.
• The Bionic Woman also carries a notable portion of the blame. Lindsay Wagoner is selling beds that are so comfortable (rumor has it) that people don't want to create little lumps of humanity that force them to abandon their custom sleep number at 2 in the morning for years on end. Damn the Bionic Woman and her Sleep Number Bed!

I know these things. I know these things because my son gets up every night at, oh about, 2:30AM and stays up until 5AM. I have time to work these things out.

Monkey Thought For Tuesday

I read this the other day and I think it's a legitimate question. If we supposedly evolved from monkeys, why are there still monkeys? I mean, think about it, did half the species just not get the memo grow opposable thumbs and exit the trees?

Monkey Thought For Monday

I figured it out.

The difference between you and I is that I don't just go around saying I will someday own a monkey............ someday I really will own a monkey.

Just a thought.

Don't Blink Or I'll Tell My Therapist About The Neighbor's Dog

I've got emails out to several members of my family concerning some genetic information I need in regards to Dexter's condition and I would really, really appreciate it if you would answer it. Thus I am giving notice on this blog that if you don't respond I will publish your name, address, and brief description on the internet telling everyone you ignored me. You don't want this. I have more psycho readers than you think.

For instance, one lady keeps emailing me claiming that she gave me up for adoption 32 years ago and wants to reunite. I'd consider her claim on maternity, however, carbon dating verifies that I am only 28 years old. Unless carbon dating is a flawed science which we all know it is. This would mean that there is a chance I've been lied to about my everything and am now inconveniently late for my scheduled 30 year breakdown and my actual mother sells porcelain unicorn figurines from a roadside stand. If any of that is true blink twice. I am sooooooooo sending you people the bill for my therapy.

Now go check your email.

Black Friday Indeed

Yes, I left the house this morning long before the sun and wandered aimlessly around Target & Wal-Mart bearing witness to the chaos. I also occasionally participated although I assure you it was mainy for amusement value. Normally I'd blather on and on about what all occurred but it was overshadowed by what just happened.............

I'm sitting here playing with my Amazon lists and Summer runs screeching into the room that there is man with a crowbar breaking out our neighbor's car windows. Geez. So Michael and I jump up and go out to the balcony. The thieves didn't see us, but we were at a loss as to what to do exactly. Yell and let them run away? Go back inside quietly and let them continue to damage the car and probably get away anyway? I have no idea when the decision was made, but at some point I yelled something about "Yea you better run M*therF*cker" - which is terrible language - at about the same time the lookout spotted us. And they did exactly that. But not before damaging the neighbor's car and no doubt figuring out which vehicles are ours.

=sigh= So please pray right along with us that these nutsacks don't have the courage to come back and mess up our cars, building, etc. I truly abhor people. Occasionally I look to heaven for an explanation as to why God gave up on the whole 'smiting' thing. It would come in so very handy sometimes.

Note To Self: Don't yell obscenities at thieves with crowbars. Use my big girl manners next time.

Got Milk? Or Should It Be Got Turkey......

..................either way, Happy Thanksgiving from our house to yours!


Now bring on Christmas. Dex wants presents. ;)

Jefferey Is Turkey Of The Year

So far they have watched the Macy's day parade, and consumed in their entirety the cinnamon rolls and massive relish tray. Babies grow up to be children. Children are little oinkers on the holidays. One of them is over their gnawing on the leg of the chair because we ran out of goldfish crackers (I'll Langdon give Langdon you Langdon one Langdon guess Langdon which Langdon one Langdon it Langdon is).

Summer dubbed this year's turkey Jeffrey. I won't tell you why because I firmly believe you should leave this blog with at least the same amount of brain cells you arrived with.

I have done 2 loads of laundry, put together the stuffing, broccolli & cheese casserole, macaroni & cheese casserole, and they are all waiting to go in the oven. I also put together the infamous relish tray (I won't tell you what we call that either - see above). I have done 3 loads of dishes (mostly by hand), 2 loads of laundry and bathed. I also made a Boston Creme Pie.

And I've been up since 2AM with Dexter. Now that I know those noises mean he is struggling to breathe, I can no longer sleep through them. I'm glad to know this so I can consistenly be repositioning him and helping him, but in some ways ignorance was bliss because at least I got SOME sleep before.

Thanksgiving - Giving Notice

One of the neat ladies on our October Babies board posted this and I had to share it here too. I have no idea where she found it originally but it is hilarious. Consider yourself put on notice, people..........


For those of you who are coming to our place for Thanksgiving dinner- Martha Stewart ain't gonna be here!

I'm telling you in advance, so don't act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming, I've made a few small changes: Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make. Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in the decorating by having them track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their idea. The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china, or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas.

Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me it is a turkey. We will be dining fashionably late. The children will
entertain you while you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hot line. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 a. m. upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds.

As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously like a frozen Turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying. We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method. We've also decided against a formal seating
arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where you like. In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room. Next door.

Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any circumstances enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win. When I do, we will eat.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that "passing the rolls" is not a
football play. Nor is it a request to bean your sister in the head with warm tasty bread. Oh, and one reminder for the adults: For the duration of the meal, and especially while in the presence of young diners, we will refer to the giblet gravy by its lesser-known name: Cheese Sauce. If a young diner questions you regarding the origins or type of Cheese Sauce, plead ignorance. Cheese Sauce stains.

Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small fingerprints. You will still have a choice; take it or leave it. Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this year. She probably won't come next year either. I am thankful.

Author unknown

Not So Funny Now, Is It?

Well, friends, Dexter had his 2 month appointment today. It was eventful.

Shots
Got his first set. Let me say that I am still against immunizations. Let me add that DH doesn't care that I am against immunizations.

Weight
The nazi lactivist nutritionist will be relieved to know that Dexter is offically classified as a fatty bo batty. He is perfectly sperical. He weighs 13#. This makes him very high on the chart for size, and finds him very low on the chart for his height. Thus, I repeat, perfectly spherical.


Development
Pedi says he is not where he should be for 2 months. She says he is more like a slow 1 month old. I, of course, took this rather personally but couldn't really argue it. He was, after all, lying there with his eyes crossed and drool running out of his mouth. However, I'm sure this will right itself in time, and I really question there standardized infant performance thingie anyway. Granted, Dex is a little vacant, but we prefer to call it "low maintenance"....

Here, however, is what matters.

The Noise Thing

• You remember how Dex has only cried 7 or 8 times since he's been born (that included his shots today and the delivery room)? Turns out that's a problem. I just thought I was a really good mother j/k but anyway....
• She listened to his cry which is exceptionally low and raspy (he is the baritone of newborns - I always thought he sounded really weird)
  
• Then she listened to the "oinks & snorts" we're always joking about. Um, not good either.
  
• Followed it up with the gasping for air he does when stimulated (in our defense that only became highly noticable in the last week or so and I had an appt. coming up so I waited for that reason)
  

Point is, she believes he has paralysis of his vocal chords to some extent and has referred us to a specialist. She says that jaw problems (his micrognathia) are often hand in hand with throat problems so we should have expected this.

No, I don't want to talk about it. Yes, I'm done having children. I'll let ya'all know when I know something. For the record, I am not amused.

Correlation Between Aging & Use Of Consonants

Dexter looks like his Dad. Dexter naps like his Dad. Dexter has strong opinions on just about everything like his Dad. Dexter currently shares a room with ME like his Dad. This morning at 4AM I found one of the subtle differences between father and son.

Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Me: Will you both please shut up.
Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Me: I hate my life. I'm going to the couch. And possibly running away to play a villain at Disneyland.
Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Husband: Snore
Dexter: Snort
Me: I'm going to go turn the gas oven on and look around inside......... (this was followed by some expletives that I don't have to admit to).

When I grow up I'm going to have my own room. With a memory foam mattress bed that has been pimped out with an adjustable top and bottom as well as featuring the sleep # capability. And it will have flannel sheets which are currently forbidden. And it will smell like apples - also currently forbidden. And I WILL lock the door to said room and press charges against any who enter.

There's A Shark In My Stocking. Or At Least There Better Be.

For my newer friends that haven't been introduced to my obsession with sharks today's your lucky today. Friend? Becca's shark obsession. Shark obsession? Becca's friend. Run, friend, run! My point, lovers, is that sharks eat you. Anyone that tells you otherwise is hoping to inherit your car. Forget all the scientific mumbo jumbo. You are crunchy and taste good with ketchup. They are there to eat you and don't kid yourself otherwise. My theory is backed by the infamous attacks of 1916 and by every other shark attack since, but society is in denial. But don't take my word for it. Go swimming and bark like a seal. Good luck with that, but anyway......

There are moments in life where you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God loves you and wants you to be happy. Those moments are as follows:

• When he doesn't immediately smite you for drinking 3 margueritas and hopping the table
• epidurals - 'nuf said
• Steaks at the Outback, and most important............
  
• When you find out that JAWS has been made into a video game

Click here to go see the trailer for the game. My only problem with the theory behind the game is tha,t as JAWS, you are protecting your home from getting destroyed thus you eat people and destroy waterparks. Oh, PULEEEAAAZE! Your JAWS for pete's sake. You eat people strictly for giggles. Absolutely everyone knows that.

I'll get the game anyway. I just have to. I had sworn off of it when I thought that it was like the long forgotten Nintendo version where you have to hunt the shark. Nerve wracking (I'm a paranoid personality type and can't bear to be pursued even by pixelated fish) and required thought process (I mean, who really can tell north from south and I thought longitude was a type of mood), but if one is the shark and eating people that changes everything completely, doesn't it??

Stocking Schtuffers

Yes, I'm already doing Christmas. I have 5 kids, or have you forgotten? We seem to have a real communication problem you and I............

If you do stockings, or need teacher's gifts, go directly to Target. Do not pass GO, Do not collect $200. They have extremely cool stuff in the $1 section right now. Bath & body stuff, lip balms & glosses, stickers, barrettes, sticker books, and ground cumin. Obviously much better stuff than usual. Okay, I'm totally lying on the ground cumin. Sorry about that.

Seriously, though. Target $1 section always kicks butt in November and then in December it goes to dorky (usually cracked) snowmen mugs and dancing wooden santas that don't dance. Go now. Complete stocking for $12 or less. And buy me something. Thanks.

Suddenly I See

Here's my "thing" for today. I'm short on time as I am training for a job and the amount of courses/modules etc. I am having to work through and test on is enormous. I'm so out of practice with actually using my brain. But I'm sure you knew that. After all, until yesterday I thought Maryland was next to Florida. Yes, I homeschool; don't worry, they have maps and their Dad is a genius.

I removed the video....
one of my favorite songs of all time
but it was slowing load time on the blog
in a serious way.
=sigh=

God Save The Queen

........................assuming my husband is the Queen.

If any of you witnessed the atomic mushroom cloud that just appeared over Kansas, don't worry. It was just my Grandma getting the news that Michael accepted the position in Baltimore, Maryland.

If I had a smilie for this point in my life it would have a hammer stuck in the side of its severed head. On the bright side, she hates my husband more than me. His smilie would have 6 hand grenades taped to its testicles all while melting slowly in an acid bath.

Karma In The Portrait Studio

I actually worked at Wal-Mart Portrait Studios for years, although let it be said that I won several national awards in my time with the company, was a Level 4 and the studios I worked in had the best sales/service/quality averages of our entire districts and usually state. Yes, I'm conceited.

So we went to the Wal-Mart Portrait Studio today. I really, really needed to get Dex's picture taken in a special outfit that his Nana sent (his Dad had his picture taken in it as a baby and so did Lang) before he outgrew it. I labored under no dilusions of grandeur concerning the "portraits", mind you. I hoped for a decent shot or 2 of Dex in his special outfit where he didn't have his finger up his nose or drool smeared across his entire face into both his ears.

We arrived (after calling for an appointment), and were greeted by a very, very, very large woman whose attire resembled Tarzan In The Ghetto (this movie went straight to video and is periodically ran 4 times in a row for 3 days in a row by TNT - j/k). And she was loud, good lord, she was loud. I actually contemplated running away as the idea of going into a tiny space with this woman and a soon to be screaming newborn made me queasy, but I really needed this picture because Dexter literally was in danger of outgrowing this outfit any second. So we go in.

We get the first shot. The infamous "package shot". And I realized right then that karma is a bitch. I always made sure people's package shots sucked so they had to buy the more expensive after shots (hey, we were judged on sales as much as photography and we made commission so cut me some slack). Our package is a picture of Dexter sleeping, cockeyed to the side, slumped over with a huge green pacifier in his mouth and a god awful raggedy grotesquely dirty teddy bear stuffed under his arm all photographed from above thus making his feet the focus of the picture. It was the most hideous thing I'd ever seen, and I contemplated saying No to it, but I remembered clearly the 2 rules of getting discount "portraits" of newborns. For all of my new mommas, here they are from an experienced discount portrait photographer:

1. You can only photograph what is there. If your child is crooked, dirty and ugly to boot, the picture will look show crooked, dirty and ugly. I always enjoyed this rule. I got to sadistically point out to all these delirously happy new parents that the camera wasn't faulty, but there new angel really was that funny looking. Thus, yes, I'm afraid, Dexter really looked like that. Big 'ol huge cheeks sitting on his shoulders with crossed eyes... what can you do, ya' know?
   
2. And rule 2. If you say no to a picture, the next will be 3 times worse, the next 3 times worse than that one, and the next 12x times worse than either of the previous. Don't be greedy. If the child isn't upside down and blue, accept it because your time in the portrait studio is slippery slope.

So I wisely accepted it. And luckily so as he immediatedly began to scream bloody murder. So I feed him a bottle while Summer dresses him (we are the queens of multi-tasking) and we began trying to get the shot of him in the special outfit. I cannot possibly describe what then ensued but suffice it to say it involved a very, very, very large woman in leopard print screaming "SMILE VICTOR!" at my son, whose name happens to be Dexter, all while jumping at him and cussing her cell phone that wouldn't stop ringing. I threw up a little in my mouth.

Dexter did pretty well all things considered. In one shot his mouth his hanging open and he's completely bent in half. In another he is blowing split bubbles and and looking cross eyed at his own nose. In another he his screaming and eating his shirt. In one shot he isn't even in the picture save for part of his bald head and a foot. In the last he is sporting a look of absolute confused terror preserved for posterity (he seems to be thinking, "who is this Victor, and why are you yelling at him??????"). I bought that one.

I'll not be going back there for awhile. There isn't enough Prozac in the world.

This Means War

So I run into the Nazi Lactivist Nutrionist this morning. Not a big deal. I considered making a smart aleck remark about nursing while hanging upside down off a jungle gym but refrained.

She asks about my baby sling - she loves it, blah, blah, blah. She asks about homeschooling - she supports it blah, blah, blah. And then the conversation (per her) turns to breastfeeding. She asks how nursing is going. I tell her for the umpteenth time that I am not able to nurse and rail off the reasons. Again. For the millionth time. Again.

And she says, "Well he'll definitely benefit from your hands on approach to parenting!". She smiles. She follows it up with, "and he'll have all these bright kiddos who WERE breastfed to help keep him company!" In case you can't decipher the message here because her tone of voice is missing from the text, she was taking at jab at Dexter's intelligence because of formula. Again.

This, of course, means war. I'm in all seriousness considering letting the air out of her tires.

Real Men & Rummy

Looks like Rumsfeld has resigned. It's too bad. One of the main reasons I like Dubya is because he surrounds himself with real men like Rumsfeld and Cheney. Real men don't apologize. Real men kick ass and don't bother taking names. Real men occasionally shoot their good friends in the face. You know what? Rumsfeld is a true patriot and he deserves a break from all the bullshit that is modern politics especially with the impending spectacle of the Dems having the house and most likely the senate. God help us all (no, wait, He probably won't considering the direction the Dems will want to take America) and God Bless Rummy.......... we'll miss you.


Also worth noting, real men occasionally eat something the size of their head. I raise real men; none of those pretty boy metrosexuals here. Go Langdon!

Poor Innocent Breastmilk Nazi

Yesterday I recieved a call from a young girl who evidently has decided to make breastfeeding her soapbox. I have no idea how in the world she heard of me, although I suspect the nazi lactivist nutritionist who likes to tell me regularly that Dexter is going to grow up fat and stupid for being on formula (as if I have any control over this as I couldn't make any friggin' milk!).

Anyway, she recommended that I breastfeed Dexter laying upside down off the side of the bed to help compensate for his lack of chin. Yes, she said this in all seriousness. She felt that if more women would look for unique solutions to their breastfeeding problems that they could also breastfeed which offers a unique and beautiful bond that formula feeding just can't compare with. She wanted to give me the opportunity to bond fully with my son. She had so enjoyed the experience with her ONE child. She was just as sweet and innocent as could be; she was absolutely dripping with a sincere effort to save the world through breastmilk.

I was in a piss poor mood and this was just the last straw. I told her that she had interrupted a nap I was taking with the chinless wonder which made it more difficult to smother him in his sleep. I also told her that I was brewing more poison formula in the backroom and she was taking up my valuable time that could be spent attempting to flood my son's system with the formula, er Stupid Juice to fatten him up. I ended my tirade with telling her that I might call her back after I put the animal, er baby in it's cage. I also told her I had 5 children, with 4 of them being breastfed and as soon as she could match that experience factor she should feel free to call me back and we'd have tea. I also added in she should research micrognathia and the ramifications of a massive postpartum hemmorage so she could at least pester people with actual facts and not a telemarketing script on lactation.

And she began to cry. I should feel bad, but I don't. That's not surprising considering what a callous formula feeding biatch I am. As a reformed nazi lactivist myself, I have to say that the tunnel vision it encompasses cannot be defeated until they experience the actual inability to make milk. So I'm putting a hex on her. I hope her boobies wither up and fall off. Good riddance.

Here's pic of my poor, poor abused unbonded with, obese and simple minded child. Poor thing. Life is so damn hard................ ;)

I wonder if I can blame the formula for the fact that his head is perfectly spherical?

Motherhood Complicates The Act Of Blinking

Have you noticed with newborn babies they have the interesting ability to hear adults close their eyes? It's a superpower, and an impressive one at that. And they weild it with uncanny accuracy.

• Baby is so asleep you can shake it upside down looking for spare pocket change and the baby doesn't stir.

• So Mom lays baby down in bassinet &/or crib.

• Mom goes to bed quietly sinks into it and experiences that moment in time (that is unique to new mothers) where laying down in a dark room on cool sheets is so wonderful it surpasses sexual satisfaction, strawberry margueritas, and winning lottery tickets.

And then the fun begins.......

• Mom closes eyes.

• =Baby grunts, grunts, sqallers=

• Mom opens eyes.

• =Baby is silent=

• Mom closes eyes.

• =Baby squallers, screeches, and began sucking its fists. Loudly=

• Mom opens eyes.

• =Silence=

• Mom closes eyes.

• =snort snort chortle moan reooooowrt snort suck suck=

• Mom opens eyes.

• Silence. A pin drops. Mom hears it.

• Mom closes eyes.

• =snort waaah snort chortle suck suck suck reeowrt chortle waah snort snort=

• Mom opens eyes and spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling without daring to blink.

• Baby finally sleeps 5 hours in a row.

The above is a reenactment. The names of people and places have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. No animals were hurt in the process, however, the Mom did on more than one occasion consider putting a pillow over the Dad's face to stop the incessant snoring.

Don't Feed Stray Babies

Michael is home all day today and most of tomorrow so I can take it easy after getting my IUD in this morning. It hurt considerably more than I remember it doing last time, and, in fact, at one point I accused my OB of attempting to puncture my lungs.

We're dealing with city inspections on the apartment and having to finagle the system over the number of people living here (common with a large family in the city). It's pretty terrifying actually (the idea of trying to move right now and even finding a place that's big enough anyway) but I think we've come to an under the table agreement with the city to stay put. It's a don't ask, don't tell situation and I pray it holds. I considered telling them that Dexter was a stray (thus couldn't be counted against us). You know, the whole "we fed him once and he kept coming back" thing...............

Political Pinheads

Have you noticed that every other sentence in an election year begins with "I think most Americans are thinking/feeling..........

Every single commentator has the insight to how the majority of Americans are "thinking". It's terribly interesting and pretentious at the same time. The reality is they are trying to stare down the "other side" by condescension. They are trying to break the spirit of those that feel differently by convincing them they are in the minority and it isn't worth their time to vote because they are going to be violently trampled by the opposite end of the spectrum rushing to the polls.

My question is, who the heck is "most Americans" and how do any of us know if we fit this criteria thus being able to truly bring to light what "most Americans" are thinking?