Disturbia

Last week, I was subject to a number of freakishly wrong circumstances. The kind that you hope never to find yourself in, ever. Like on Friday, around 4 in the afternoon, when I realized that the baby had hidden the remote, and that Oprah really did intend to have one hundred Osmends on her show. Singing.

And maybe it was Tuesday last week, when I heard an inordinate amound of cursing and yelling, such as might be inspired by a bad dog, from the backyard. The ruckus eventually migrated to the front yard, where I saw out the living room window that Carl had clipped Duke to the line at the tree. I watched him spray the dog with the hose for a while, then stamp around in little circles, gesticulating wildly and moaning something inarticulate at the sky, then spray the dog some more. This went on for some time, Duke all the while pacing the limit of the rope in a miserable attempt to skulk out of range of the icy hose water, tangling up his legs in the process, and looking generally pathetic.

Carl finally came in, still muttering to himself. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID!"

"no. what." He had his really really crazy eyebrows on, so I knew it had to be bad. Probably something to do with Dog and cat shit.

"HE ROLLED IN THE GROUNDHOG!!"

"...um...what?"

"That groundhog I buried. Something. Dug it up. Rotting. Carcass. I didn't see what it was in time. He Just Had To. And then he shook himself off! disgusting! gore! flinging! F***ING DOG! HE JUST ROLLED IN THE FETID DISGUSTING GROUNDHOG CARCASS! OH MY GOD DOGS ARE DISCUSTING F***ING DOG!! DOG!! DISGUSTING!! DOOOOOGGGG!!"

".........."

"I'm getting the dog shampoo."

So yeah. I know. Donnie and Marie singing "Paper Roses" to Oprah versus rotting groundhog bath. It's a close call.

My Peep

Before we get to far away from the event, BEHOLD!! THE CUTENESS!!!!

The conversation wherin I suggested that I would purchase Wendy's first Halloween costume for ten dollars at Old Navy, Carl suggested that I make her a costume, and I suggested (using only my left eyebrow) exactly where he could put that suggestion? Well, that conversation was completely and absolutely over as soon as he saw how totally devistating to an adult's central nervous system a chicken outfit coud be.

And not that I really have a moral quandry over using my baby to extort candy from

strangers, but I thought it would be nice if I showed some effort toward the haul that I would be gorging myself on later. Yes, it's a mommy-baby theme. (The sad part is that my little farm girl outfit is comprised of items that I actually wear. I mean, I hardly ever wear them together, and hardly ever while carrying a bait bucket, but...um, yeah. My hick/trailor is showing. I know it.)

Anyway, I went over to Bethany's neighborhood, and she even accompanied us around a couple of blocks of trick-or-treating. (I didn't quite have to yank her away by the collar when some 9 year old uncouthly called her clearly Roman period outfit Greek, but almost.)

As it turns out, 11 month olds don't really know how to trick-or-treat (damnit!), so my arm was falling off by the time we filled our bait bucket. It was definitely worth it, though. Free almond Snickers and Dots, just for owning a cute kid in a chicken suit. Can't beat that.

Also, the look on her face when the wearwolf with the candy bowl wandered up and petted her was priceless. (She wasn't scared, just kind of incredulous. Like, "Is this one of those Plushies and/or Furries you were talking about?" I told her it was a puppy dog, but she didn't buy that either.)

Yay First Halloween!

Things About Carl

He looks nice whilest walking through the rain in a kilt.

He has an affinity for strange little critters.

He's helpful with babies.

And today's his birthday!

Happy BD, Lov.

Wherin I Calibrate My Fat

Technically, I had my fat calibrated for me. Because I joined a gym. A yuppie, upbeat kind of gym where they offer lots of services so as to make you feel like you are getting your money's worth, and one of those services happens to be fat calibration. This is immediately followed by goal assessing.

It is a hand-holding kind of gym.

Happily enough, one of the other services they offer is $1/visit daycare. I actually went to this gym on Friday to look into getting Carl a membership for his birthday. After getting the walkthrough tour, and seeing the happy little daycare room with it's pleasant (though surprisingly butch) daycare lady, and after realizing that the two of us would actually cost less, I wrote a check for us both. (I really do not envision Carl putting up with the fat pincers and Q & A stress evaluation. I predict he will buck the system and walk their treadmills with his fat unassessed. Cause he's a rebel like that.)

Now I'm all starry-eyed with visions of zoning out for a few hours a week with very little baby attatched to my hip. This is extremely exciting to me. Rejoice.

waiting...

The Thing She Does

I am seriously considering a store-bought baby-chick costume from Old Navy for Wendy's first Halloween. The magnitude of unoriginality that this suggests will also suggest to you how far beyond caring I am concerning quippy blog titles.

So there's this thing she does now, where she flops over on top of and cuddles all things soft/fluffy/cute/small/in her way, and I'll tell you what. It is the frigging most heart-melting thing to watch. She even has this little lilting "ahHH" sound that goes with the cuddling, as in, "ahHH, little stuffed whatever-you-are, I love you so much. There, there," while she gathers it to her neck and snuggles it's worries away.

We were out on a random mental-health stroll through the strip of shops between Toys R Us and Old Navy yesterday, and found ourselves in a Carter's baby clothing store. It is a store. With clothes. Just for babies. This is fun for me, shut up. Anyway, I was looking to my left at a display of baby shoes, when Wendy suddenly tried to pitch herself out of her perch in my right arm. We both wobbled to the right, and crashed into a wall display of forty different kinds of smushy soft cute fluffy toys, where, unfazed by our near floor-eating experience, she attempted to cuddle them all at the same time.

After prying every one of her eleven hands from the curly tails and floppy limbs, rehanging several questionably neon elephants, and digging a sodden chunk of paper tag out of her mouth, we discussed the purchase of one of these items.

"Do you like these guys here?"

"awwwhhh!" *reaches for white puppy*

"Ok, the puppy?"

"AAAWWWHHH!!" *reaches for green horsey*

"The horsey?"

"dibbledibbledibble" *puts finger in nose*

"Your nose!"

"leebblelebblelebble" *puts finger in my nose*

"My nose! very good!"

"aaaaHHHHHHWHH!!" *lunges for pink bunny*
"Right. The matter at hand."

After some deliberation, we decided on a pink and brown teddy bear that plays the same tinkleing lulleby that this other teddy bear we have used to play before it had it's unfortunate accident involving Mommy's last nerve and a short airborn adventure into the wall.

She fell asleep neck-snuggling her new lulleby bear in the car seat on the way home. We both feel very good about this purchase.

Tales From the Park Side

So, here's me, pushing the baby in her stroller through the park which is beautifully situated around the resevoir about five minutes from my house. I am wearing jeans, a three-quarter tee shirt, white sneakers and a ponytail that suggests I am a perky and playful young mommy, out doing healthy Mommy things:

La, La, stroll, stroll. I can't believe I don't do this more! I could really get in the habit of doing this! What a great day to be outside! What a great day to take advantage of this great park! I think I'll stroll all the way across the bridge to the other playground, that's how great I feel!

Oh, lookey! Other mommies and thier kids! They look kind of nice! I really need to meet more moms. Maybe I'll make a friend! Ok, lets just use this baby swing that just so happens to be near them...

Wholesome Other Mommy #1: I mean, when it comes right down to it, women just need to feel secure in a relationship, period. Like, no matter how burned the food is, or how nutty she gets, she needs to know she is loved.

W.O.M. #2: Totally.

Right, right, I'm with you on that...

W.O.M. #1: ...and what I didn't understand before is that the man just needs to know that he is respected.

W.O.M. #2: Right!
W.O.M. #3: Right!

...Ok, we all want respect....

W.O.M. #1: I mean, I know the whole "he's the head and I'm the heart" thing-

uh-oh.

W.O.M. #1: -but what I really had to understand was that he will only feel safe giving me the unconditional love that I am waiting for, and I will only really deserve it-

-wait-

W.O.M. #1: -if I just let it go, break the stubborn cycle first, and unconditionally submit.

Oh no! STEPFORD! UTAH! LOVE-HONOR-OBEY-BOTS! HOLYFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!!

W.O.M. #2: Wow. What a great blessing that God has given you the opportunity to learn that now, instead of later, when it's harder.

W.O.M. #1: Oh, my gosh. So. True.

W.O.M. #3: And it's such a comfort when you finally accept that. Like lately, I've been pushed so far with Mike, like, we don't want to do things together, or watch the same things or eat the same food, and I've even had all these thoughts like, are we even compatable? But finally, I had a breakthrough, when I realized that, like, we're married! It doesn't even matter!

W.O.M. #2: Right! You make this committment, and that's what that means. You have to make it work, one way or another, so all of that stuff-what he wants, what you want- it doesn't really matter!

It'll matter when, like, Mike leaves your ass for someone who does want to see the third Resident Evil movie while eating pulled pork out of the pool boy's belly button, or whatever it is that Mike has in mind...

W.O.M. #3: I tell you, it's just ME that gets in the way, and there is such peace in getting my whole...self...out of the equation.

Yeah. That kind of peace is called being dead.

W.O.M. #1: Knowing this really makes you greatful for all the blessings we have, right?

Actually, it really makes me want to go put on my Betty Paige shirt and burn some bras or something. C'mon Baby. Lets go over there where you can eat some leaves and I can read you a few Vagina Monologues.

Constructive

It has been a whole month since I've posted. A lot has happened in that month, including a Jaimie's visit, reading Harry Potter, and taking an eight month old (and my mother) to Pennsic. Boy do I have some pictures to show you.

Pennsic was over a week and a half ago, Jaimie and Eddie left yesterday, and today I finally finished (and savored oh. so. deliciously.) the last chapter in HP. I feel like I'm kind of bobbing to the surface for breath after swimming a long way. Through seaweed. Like some sort of porpoise, maybe?

After finishing HP this afternoon, I was having a hard time deciding what to do with myself. It was too dreary for the park, or for doing anything that required being cheerfull. So I spent a very constructive hour sorting through my underwear drawer. Here's a picture of Wendy helping me decide which lacey panties, matching bras, and other vestiges of my youth I could probably do without. She disapproves of my professed need for seven black thongs. The whole ordeal turned out more stressful than constructive, so I went to the store and bought myself some pop tarts, chai tea and expensive cookies.

And ate them.

The end.
(more pics to follow soon.)

Priorities.

I'd like to tell you.

There is so much to write about. About Wendy, and her new sharp little fang. About how suddenly this week she decided that crawling really is the most efficient mode of transportation, especially toward cats. About how a few days ago, just as Carl was saying "I bet if she just got her hands up on the rail, she could stand..." she did just that.

I'd like to write about how excited I am to see Jaimie and Eddie in a few days, and how he is going to be three soon and how breathless with vertigo that makes me, seeing as it was only a few weeks ago that he was born, right?

I'd write all about the financial miracles that have been serindipitously bestowed upon us to allow us all to go to Pennsic this year, and the mad frantic sewing that I am trying to do beforehand.

But I just don't have the time. Because right now, I am walking out the door to go pick up the LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK, and that just takes prescedent over everything.

I know you understand.

I'll curry you.

Look. It's the sleep deprivation that really makes you lose your f***ing mind.

It makes harmless phrases like, "Ok, I have to go to work now" sound exactly like "Gee, I know you were up seven times last night, and I'd really like to stay and help out, I would. I'd love nothing more than to stay at home all day and play baby games and spoon out mashed sweet potatos, or even just watch her for a few hours while you get some rest. Heck, if it were possible, I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat! But gosh, darlin, that just isn't the way the world works. So, sadly, I have to go to work now, and leave you to all the fun."

Sleep deprivation also leads to really lame, really housewifey revenge for these imagined condescentions, like slipping jalepenos in the lime chicken, making curries and hot italian sausage and nachos full of peppers and so on until he begins suddenly disappearing for lengthy spans of time, only to reappear in the doorway completely naked, sweating, and disturbed. It's the "shock and awe" portion of our meal. It comes about ten hours after desert. Don't look so bewildered. You know what you did.