I'd never admit it, but

I hate my baby.

If you're ever in the area

My brothers are opening a brewpup in Virginia. Old Cranky Brewers

Request a lava cake if you stop in. Damn!

Dear God, we're in trouble

He Just Rolled Over. Okay, actually, it was the day before yesterday, but still. He. Rolled. Over. Front to back. Aaaaaaaaah! Fear strikes my heart. If he can do this now, what will he be able to do at 6 months? My aunt walked at 7 months. Could he be gearing up for a reign of terror unlike any since Vlad the Impaler? He shows no signs of wanting to torture the populace but you Just Never Know. Maybe when he's 3 he'll steal Perp's trike and cruise the neighborhood looking for victims.

It could happen.

My son, the impressionist

He totally just did De Nero face. Normally it's Bruce Willis, you know, that little butt mouth? but tonight he stepped it up. He also just burped like an Oscar was on the line. Full of pathos and eloquence. So proud!

Tryouts

AMP is totally practicing for his Rockettes tryouts. He's got a high-kick that will blow your mind.

It's funny how fast the stages pass. For the first 6 weeks, he did this uncanny baby goat imitation, bleating away when he was hungry or upset. He also did a mean Joe Cocker but that's being replaced by a pretty decent Buddy Hackett. I remember the Joe Cocker stage with Perp but not Buddy, at least I don't think so.

Perp is in a weird place where we'll put her down for her nap or bedtime, and she'll be perfectly happy, saying bye-bye or night-night, then as soon as our asses hit the couch, she goes ballistic. I'm giving her one go-back to see if she's dropped one of her toys (detailed list to follow) or needs a hug. It's generally enough but I wish she'd just get her shit together when we're in the room at the start of bedtime.

I figure it's a phase; pretty big shakeup with AMP's arrival, occasional night at the ILs', etc. They seem to have a lot of phases, these kids.


Things In Perp's Crib:

Blankets:
One (1) woven cotton blanket
One (1) fleece blanket with flowers
One (1) fleece blanket with stars
One (1) flannel blanket
One (1) quilt

Books:
Baby Faces
Puppies
Goodnight Moon
Baby Words
I'm a Big Sister

Articles of Clothing (on a rotating basis):
Pink hiking boots
Green frog boots
Pink rain boots
Pink sunglasses
Purple slippers

Misc:
Cow puzzle piece (wha-?)
Old out-of-service cell phone to call Daddy
Pillow
Silk scarf
Doggiepants (stuffed)
KittyHat (stuffed)
Cordelia (stuffed)
Tucker (stuffed)

It's a wonder she can fit.

Time to hit the gym

Seriously, people. Perp just woke up from her nap. She's still nursing a few times a day, and I guess she had a bad dream or something because she wanted a hit as soon as she woke up. I was lying on our bed and she pointed to my stomach and said, "Na-na?" When you gots wicked bad muffin top, bad enough that your child thinks you've magically sprouted a new, more southerly set of breasts, it's probably time to put the cookies down and pick up some weights. Doncha think? oh god how i hate to exercise maybe i'll just stop eating and hope it all goes away

I've been really lucky with both kids in that I pee off like 95% of my pregnancy weight. Seriously, 25 lb of piss. That's what, 2.5 gallons or so? Impressive kidneys I've got, what?

What I'm stuck with, here, is about 5 pounds from Perp, nursing fat, and your typical flabby post partum belly. So I'm not bitching about the extra weight; I can fit into my jeans and I know better than to push my luck. What I hate is the sag. Well, duh, I had a nine-pound person in my abdomen, things are going to be a little ... loose ... for a while. But because the weight goes so fast, I tend to expect my skin to go back to normal just as quickly. Not so fast, Grasshopper. When I bend over to, say, turn on the shower or pick up the baby, I have a pouch that hangs down. It's demoralizing. It didn't completely resolve after I had Perp, so I expect it will be worse now. Yet I can't pump myself up to *do* anything about it because I am terminally lazy and would rather just come here and bitch.

Hey, Self: Do a fucking sit-up, why don't you?

Nah.

The Blogosphere and The Girl

Perp is in love with Alison Krauss. I can hardly blame her, since Krauss is, in fact, a goddess. I've got a bunch of Krauss and Union Station on my iPod and Perp asks to hear it a lot. She's taken to signing "girl" for some reason. So when Krauss and Union Station were on Austin City Limits this week, I saved it on TiVo and we watch it at least once a day.

She also loves Thomas the Tank Engine ("Pa-moose, pease?"). I am utterly freaked out by Pa-moose. Why do none of the characters' faces move, aside from their creepy, rolly eyes? Why do none of the people move at all? And then there's the narrator... .

Children's television is, shall we say, a wasteland for the most part. I offer exceptions for Mr. Rogers (of course, Jack's Big Music Show, and, though it isn't made for television, Signing Time. Television taught Perp her alphabet. With no help from me, she now recognizes almost all the letters. Thanks, Signing Time! Yes, she watches enough tv on a daily basis to have learned something that complicated. I was probably surfing. *sigh*

I'm sure I spend more time online than is healthy. I suspect this is a hazard of the blogging business (as if! I've been doing this a week, that hardly qualifies as bidness). What with doing my own posting, and reading through my favorites list, it's easy to spend several hours a day just glued to the little screen in my lap. It's also monumentally depressing. I see, on a revoltingly regular basis, some of the best writing around. I suppose that much of that comes from writing on a daily basis, which I think is essential to improving your chops. But most of it, I think, is innate skill and enough brain power to dredge up the necessary vocabulary to communicate with people what can read. Alas, it seems that with every child I deliver, I also give up a section of my brain. Maybe it'll grow back, maybe it won't. But I'll try to keep on ... see, I can't even come up with the word I want. Fuuuuck. Stupid babies. Stupid whatever the word is for not having the word you want...

If you need me, I'll be in the dictionary.

HBD!

Happy birthday, L! Hope your mama doesn't melt down over how old you're getting, and how fast.

...not that I'd know anything about that kind of thing.

When celebrity comes to town, we get a babysitter

Friday night, Husband's parents came over to babysit. Can you say Date Night? I knew you could. (I :heart: the ILs!) He and I met friends for dinner and went to see David Sedaris. In DULUTH! Minnesota! I've heard him on the radio, I've got him reading his things on tape, and I've heard recordings of his readings, but there's nothing like seeing him live.

How someone his height can slouch so much is beyond me. I do believe he could walk the streets of New York (not like that, gutter brain!) and not be noticed. That's actually a useful trait for a writer, but really, it hurt my back to see him.

Did you know he wrote poetry?

Dachshund Skip from Winnipeg
Loves to hump his master's leg.
Every time he gets it up, he
Stains Bill's calf with unborn puppy.


Oh, it is to laugh.

It was an exercise in editing for me. As in: edit your shit and it will be better. I know this. I know that just barfing my posts out like I do isn't likely to produce anything spectacular, but you shouldn't edit your journals, right? The important posts I can work on and shape them carefully, but the daily "Hey, guess what happened?" posts seem like they should be off the cuff.

So they are. Suck it.

At any rate, he read the first line from a story he'd been working on but said it wasn't going in the direction he wanted, and I though to myself, "Self, he edits his work. You, too, could be like David Sedaris if you'd get off your lazy ass and put some time into your writing." So maybe I will. Watch this space for it. Maybe.

Department of Labor

There was a show on Wisconsin Public Radio Tuesday on men and housework. Most of the discussion (what I heard, anyway) was about how couples talk about how many kids they'll have/not have, whether either parent will stay home with said kids, religion, even money, but not about the division of labor in the household. I'll admit that we fall into that category. Okay, we didn't discuss religion other than agreeing that it's not really our thing but if the kids are into it, fine. We've mostly fallen into a gender-defined pattern, he works the paying job, I do the homefront stuff. We have a cleaning lady come once a week, and I think Husband would give up his beer money before he'd let her go. Correction: I'd force him to give up his beer money before we'd let her go. Luckily it's not a decision we have to make. Having someone come do the general big stuff every week makes both our lives better. I don't have to clean the toilets and he doesn't have to hear me bitch about cleaning the toilets.

But we never did discuss the division of labor in the household. To be honest, it never occured to me to do so. We just fell into a routine of cleaning like frenzied crackheads whenever we got too freaked out about how trashy the place looked, and basically left it at that.

When we moved out to our new place, it was essentially the same: doesn't look too bad, let's ignore it. Wait. The place looks like hell. Let's do something about it. Then I went on maternity leave and it got bad for a while. I was too miserable to do much cleaning and never got nesty, alas.

Now I'm home with both kids and I'd say, I think without fear of contradiction, that I do the bulk of the cleaning that Jeannete doesn't do. I do most of the laundry, sweep and/or vacuum between Fridays (unless Husband runs the Roomba), dishes, etc. I don't mind, really; it's just part of my job, like dealing with assholes is part of Husband's.

I know that the place could be cleaner. Wait. No, it's clean, it's just not tidy. It could for sure be tidier. We're both terrible pilers. We had a lenght of countertop at least 10 feet long until we built our pantry, and the only thing we used it for was to hold up our massive piles of shit. So we got rid of it and put the shit behind the pantry doors. Problem solved! So, yeah, it could be tidier, but with a toddler and newborn on the scene, it's not realistic without endangering my sanity. What little remains of my sanity.

What kills me is that no matter who does the cleaning, when guests come over, if the woman sees clutter or dirt, her automatic reaction is (probably, I don't want to speak for everyone, just most everyone) is that the woman in the relationship doesn't keep house very well. It's almost enough to make me want to be that Crazy Cleaning Lady. But then I'd have to cut down on my Internets. AhaAHAhaAHahahaAHAHAahaha!

I'm a housewife. I'm actually okay with that, though I think may prefer Domestic Engineer or Head of Production and Education at P. Companies or some other kicky euphamism (I just turned to Husband and asked, "What's that word that you use when you want to... here just read this." My brain is melting!). I do wish, from time to time, that I were better at it, either than I had the training as a child/teen, or the general inclination to be better at it, but I don't. I don't think my marriage or children suffer for it, at least I hope not, but the urge to try to change surfaces now and again. I can generally smother it with chocolate.

Kwitcherbitchin

here's your cake

..and I didn't have a camera ready

I posted this over at the parenting board I frequent, but I figured I'd put it up here, too, since I'm less likely to be charged with neglect. I have my fears that some of the moms are going to react less than graciously about it, but hey, I didn't drop him on his head, so I'm already ahead of the game.


So I have AMP in the bouncy chair with the vibrator on (let's not get into how odd that sounds) and I needed to take P upstairs for her nap.

First off, let me get it out of the way and say I'm a Bad Mommy because I don't have him strapped in. I figure he can't roll, he can't walk, so it's not necessary yet. Now I get why it is:

I have a sheepskin in the bouncer so it's a bit more comfy for him, and just 'cause it fits so well. The only problem is that it it's more likely for him to slide down a bit and end up more toward the foot end of the seat. So I generally have to rearrange him in the seat after he's been in it a while, but that's no big deal.

I just came downstairs from putting P down and he had slid, asleep, all the way down to the foot end. His legs and butt had slid right off onto the floor so his head and shoulders were on the seat but nothing else. STILL ASLEEP!

I give myself points for taking the bouncer off the table before I went upstairs (yeah, I know, don't put it on the table). I guess he'll stay on the floor from now on, even if I'm right there, cause he doesn't seem interested in staying put. I'll also be using the belt. All the time.

I know that there are women who like to compare their parenting skills against those of other moms, so hey, maybe I'm making someone's day by giving her a big gold star for her record book. But I like to think that more commonly, women like to hear of other moms doing dumbass shit and having everything turn out okay. So this is my humble offering to them. Today I did a dumbass thing. But everything turned out okay. Go forth, and be amused.

Company! I'll bake a cake.

... but it's virtual. So are you, though, so it all works out.

So, hey, wow, I've got readers. And comments. This is Very Cool. I feel like I've been sitting alone at a bar, talking to myself, and someone just came and at next to me and joined the convo. Finally, the opportunity to look sane!

Confession time: I blog because I'm a

I thought I'd make scrapbooks for my kids, hahaha, and after spending Idontknoworwanttothinkabouthowmuch money on supplies, I have, literally, one picture cropped and placed in Perp's book. However. Since that picture is this one:

I feel I should get credit for two pages.

So this blog is basically my attempt to keep some kind of record of their childhoods. Check me out, I've only missed two years of Perp's so far. *sigh* Better late than never and all that shit, right?

The fact that other people have started reading it is gravy as far as I'm concerned. I know that at some point I'll write about things that piss some people off, and if I get enough readers, I'm sure to attract trolls, but I suppose that's the risk you take when you put your life out in public. Just look at Brit and her little visit from DCFS (note that Forbes is reporting. Will Sean Preston's head injury affect the Dow? Tune in at 6 for the details!). So I expect to get shit from someone for something, sometime, and if that's the price I have to pay to actually have a record of the cute things my kids do, I guess I can deal.

'cause they do some cute-ass shit.

It's sprung!

Spring, that is. Has sprung. Yesterday: April 11, 2006, 70 degrees. IN NORTHERN WISCONSIN! Yes! Wisconsin! Seventy degrees! Plus? We had a thunderstorm.

I don't know about you, but I have a thing about thunderstorms. I love them. Adore them, even. I love how it gets dark as night, how the feel of the air changes as the storm approaches, and the smell of it. There's also the thunder. That's the best part. Is it going to roll over the house like a giant wave? Crack suddenly as if someone were snapping a giant whip over us? Swell and fall in the distance like the tide? You just never know. It's like storms have a personality and you only get to see it emerge as it approaches. Kind of like a baby.

We're seeing AMP's personality emerging a little bit day by day. Last night I discovered, much to his relief, I'm sure, that by about 6 o'clock, he needs a period of total and absolute silence to wind down from his busy day of sleeping, farting, and eating. Every other day, you can throw pooping into the mix. I had my suspicions on Monday, when I had the radio on and the Roomba going (I love you, Robot!), and he was fussing something awful. I turned off the radio and he calmed down quite a bit, so I took a flier and turned off Robot. Aha! Calm descends.

My biggest clue that he's about to melt down is that when he nurses, he keeps popping off and on like there's nothing in there. I know this is not so. Hell, I got 5 ounces out of the right breast yesterday, and if the pump pulls that much, he can sure as hell get more. So it's not a supply issue. But you turn off the background noise and it's like you've clubbed him over the head.

He also sleeps much better if I swaddle him. Not that he isn't a good sleeper, we've been blessed that way. But he's so ... loud otherwise. He snuffles, wheezes, grunts, moans, and even giggles in his sleep. But if you swaddle him, silence reins. So you can be damn sure I swaddle.

Nice baby.

Also a big baby. He's two weeks older than EBB here, and I'd put him at about 4.5 lb heavier.

Power to the babies!

Last night was moms night out with the Meetup group. I think we had eight members show up, which is a HUGE turnout for us. Spring/summer tend to be bigger turnouts, so I'm hoping for better showings in the next few months.

I talked too much and too animatedly, as usual, but hey, that's me, get used to it. I guess if people had that much of a problem with it they'd bug the hell out of the group, right?

Sure.


No babies were harmed or posed in the making of this post.

Reagan would shed a tear of joy

Perp just snorked down a forkful of ketchup. Of course I am appalled. A FORK?! Where is her spoon in all this?

Oh joy, oh rapture unforeseen!

My in-laws have just returned from a 10-day visit to their daughter, who had a baby a few weeks after AMP was born. Hi, SIL!

I knew Perp missed them because she'd ask to go visit on a pretty regular basis, but she seemed okay with it when I explained that they weren't home but we'd see them soon. They called from the road today and I asked if they'd like to come over for dinner. As they were tooling up the drive I asked Perp the standard "Grandma and/or Grandpa is here" question: "Who's here?!"

Okay, so I knew she'd be excited to see them. And I knew that it would be cute to see her reaction. I only wish I'd thought to film it. I'm willing to wager she was actually incontinent with joy. Such shrieking and hopping about was never before seen chez nous. My eardrums are still vibrating, in fact. She busted out a few of her new words (see what I do now, I talk!) Then she just about passed out in her high chair after dinner. It's hard work freaking out on that high a level.

Verbal diarrhea

So. Perp hasn't been much of a talker so far. Sure, she's got the essentails: Mama, Dada, kitty, ball, hot, etc., but beyond that, not a huge vocab. And she's been doing the cute sorta-stutter kids do when they have a lot to say but are too excited to get it out: "Uh-uh-uh-uh baby eye! Mama baby na-na!" Stuff like that.

So imagine my surprise whwn she started saying like as many as 8 new words a day. Seriously, if I could learn at that rate, I could be a nuclear physicist by the end of the month. Or at least a regular physicist.

Thus far, in one week she's started saying: book, kick, sit, duck, teeth, play, house, pig, egg, bike, bus, lake, bubble, nuk, doggy (doggeek, aww!), leaf, pink, help, sit, tree, out, please (unpromted!), pull, apple, and bath. I'd call that a language explosion, how 'bout you? I'm not sure how long I'll keep track of the daily progress. I wish I'd kept track of what she was saying already, so I could compare. *sigh* Alas, Bad Mommy syndrome strikes again and this is basically the only record of her childhood I have. Well, this and all the pictures. I suck!

My new hero

This may well be the coolest thing ever. If you're snarky (like me) and crafty (unlike me), it may well be the perfect time waster. I'm going to give it a try. Maybe this will be the hobby I stick with. Hahaha.

Smiles, everyone, smiles!

Okay, so I have yet to actually catch him doing it when the camera is on and in my hot little hand, but AMP started smiling yesterday. Smiling! Gummy little smiles with his yap wide open, so cute! If I ever snap a picture of it, I'll post it here. Don't hold your breath.

It snot what you think it is

Two kids. Two colds. Infinite jest.

This cannot end soon enough. To subject a child to this kind of shit before it can blow its nose is purely sadistic. Without a powered suction device like you see at the dentist, ain't no way I'm getting all that snot out. It's ENDLESS! On the plus side, I'm constantly going around humming the Maxwell House jingle (you know the one: the music plays as the percolator bubbles merrily along? perk!). So there's that.