Monday, October 30, 2006

Halloweeeeeeeee!

Halloween is so great. It's the best holiday ever. Can't beat it. Candy. Costumes. Scary movies. Of course the scary movies are on in full force the weekend before Halloween. It was a great opportunity to see cheesy old movies/stupid new sequels I've never seen before/wouldn't pay to see and revisit my faves. So that's what I was doing all weekend-lounging around scaring myself.

There's only one bad thing about watching 8,420 scary movies over the course of two days-your next door neighbor might drop by unexpected to show you the costume he put together for a Halloween party that night. And you might open the door without checking first, see a horrifying ghoul standing there, scream, jump up and down, slam the door, make your husband run in from the other end of the house to see if the baby is still alive, realize that the ghoul kind of looked familiar, open the door and face your neighbor, and have to apologize for being a pussy. That might happen.

Monday, October 23, 2006

The Lion, The Witch, and The Doorway

Since we’ve only got one and don’t have any (current) plans for another, I’m always afraid if we don’t socialize him enough, the baby will turn out weird. You know. He won’t be good around other kids, won’t know how to share, etc., if we just keep him all to ourselves and his other adult relatives as he gets older. So I stuck the baby in an adorable lion costume and we happily went off to a baby Halloween party this weekend (and by “happily” I mean “screamingly” because he had missed some nap time that day).

Once we arrived, the screaming stopped because of all the other fun things to do there. You know, like see other babies, poop your pants and crawl around on someone else’s bed with a naked butt because you think diaper changing is a game, and try to drink Mommy’s “witches brew” (and by “drink” I mean “stick your grubby little fingers inside the cup to touch the floating sherbet”).

Since the idea of the baby sucking on paintbrushes and pumpkins didn’t sound that appealing, we forwent the pumpkin painting and instead busied ourselves with a toy doorway. Yes, that’s really what I mean. It was like the front of a house, and had a door that opened, and you could go through to the “inside” of the house. There were all kinds of cool lights and sounds too. An almost-nine-month-old’s dream. So there was my little lion, playing away, looking so cute. From his own baby cuteness, because we had to lose the actual lion costume five minutes into the party because of heat issues. So he was a lion in spirit. The little girl whose party and doorway it was played with him for awhile, and much to my delight, he didn’t try to injure her in any way. Just as I was beginning to think there’d be no problems on the playground for us, a witch happened by.

She proceeded to bash the lion’s head with the door and close it into the doorway.

He was unfazed. All those falls off the bed were good for toughening up the old coconut, it would appear. It’s not like an 18 month old can slam a hollow plastic door that hard, but I held onto it to prevent the baby from looking like the found-out rat in a gangster movie. When the witch realized she could no longer bean his little angelic head, she changed her tactic from brut violence to psychological torture-stealing his plaything.

It happened to be my keys. You’ve never seen a baby happier than the baby with my keys in his mouth. Sure, they may be germy, but they occupy him long enough to let me fold some laundry. The keys had fallen out of my purse, and he found them, of course, his favorite toy. Apparently the witch wanted to share. And by “share,” I mean, yes, you know, “take.” They had quite a tug of war going for awhile until that little witch finally got the better of him. She does have nine months on him, after all. She got the keys then proceeded to dangle them tantalizingly above his head.

My mother lion instincts almost got the better of me, but I really wanted to let it play out parent free, so I didn’t do anything. The baby seemed to care less than me, though. He just turned around and started playing with something else. Oh, peaceful lion.

“I think these are yours,” the witch’s dad said proudly. He held up they keys he’d retrieved from his hastily retreating daughter who was on her way to find weaker prey. Thanks, Dad, way to be on top of things when your kid was SLAMMING MY KID'S HEAD IN A DOOR.

What I learned from the Halloween party: the baby’s tougher than he looks, and putting spider rings in the “witches brew” makes for fun drinking and party favors.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Creamy Goodness


I have a confession to make. I've been eating whipped cream. Out of the can. Several times a day. It took me a week, but now it's gone.

I found it in the fridge at work. A while back someone had brought fruit and this delightful, whippy topping. The fruit? Long gone. The topping? Still there(heh. WAS. Now it's gone.)

I thought back to lazy childhood summer days of ice cream and whipped cream straight out of the can. You know, you could do that as a kid. Looking around and seeing no one, I gave a cautious little "sppflpt" onto my finger. Delicious.

Things went this way for the rest of the day. I would find excuses to sneak into the kitchen. By the end of the afternoon, I was shooting it directly into my mouth.

Today, as I polished off the rest of the can into a coffee mug to eat with a spoon, I realized how much I'll miss seeing that little Land of Lakes Indian chick, and shooting the white sploogy goodness into my mouth.

Maybe I'll take the empty can home to get high off the nitrous. Whipped cream-the gift that keeps on giving.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Boobies!

I read this interesting article that says breastfeeding doesn't actually increase your baby's IQ; breastfed babies are smarter because mothers who choose to breastfeed are generally more intelligent and provide a good learning environment for their child. That's interesting. It still sounds kind of like a chicken and egg thing to me.

I do know, though, that it burns 200-500 calories per day, and it's easier than going to the gym, so I'm still a fan.

Friday, October 13, 2006

1+0+1+3+2+0+0+6=13!

Isn't that crazy? 10/13/2006-if you add up the numbers, it makes a slightly freaky day a little freakier. And this is the first time this has happened in over 40,000 years! Or maybe 400. Whatever, it was like 8:00am when someone told me that this morning.

I called the husband to tell him, because, I just can't keep interesting things to myself.

"Can you believe that!?!" I said. "Isn't that freaky!?!"
"I guess."
"And your brother's flying into town TONIGHT! Wow! I wouldn't want to fly on a freaky day like today!"
"Wha...aw, why did you say that? Now I'm going to worry."
"Oh, don't worry. I think it's statistically impossible for anything bad to really happen today. How FREAKY would it be if something bad happened today of all days? I mean, it's less likely that something bad would happen today than on some normal, less freaky day. Freaky Friday day. Thing."
"...Yeah..."

Have a good one, and try not to synchronize your thoughts with anyone!

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Cheese!


He smiles for pictures now! And can pick up little pieces of food and feed himself! Next stop, college. I can't believe he's already this big! Eight months ago all he could do was cry and look around.

(In case you were wondering, this picture was taken like four months ago even though I posted it yesterday)

I snapped this picture with the camera phone this morning at Denny's when we sent off the in-laws. I'm so sad they're gone. They live pretty far away, and they're so awesome. This year we've gotten to see them on three occasions, which is pretty good, considering they live at the end of a 10 hour drive.

But how CUTE is he, really!?!?

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Solution? (knock on wood)


Ladies and gentlemen, we have sleep.

The other night I got the novel idea to rock the baby to make him sleepy. He's had a love/hate relationship with the rocker. When he was really little, he liked it. It would never put him all the way to sleep, but it calmed him down. Then he got a little older and would not have it. He'd be like, bitch why we rockin'?? And he'd try to climb over me and onto the floor. So we abandoned the rocker for awhile. But you never know with stuff like that, so I tried it again, and lo and behold, he got sleepy!

The trick is to hold him in my lap facing outward and let him look around. If you cradle him in your arms, he knows you're trying to get him to sleep, so he squirms and fights and screams. But facing outward kind of tricks him. He's all, ok, I'm just looking...around...eyelids...droopy...hmm...zzzzzz...

So when he fell asleep in my arms the other night, I started having all these fantasies of putting him in his own bed. He must be ready! I thought. That's why I'm having such a hard time getting him to sleep in our bed! He wants to be on his own. Visions of cuddling with the husband and rolling around the bed with aplomb danced through my head. So I slooowly got up, walked towards the crib, gently set him down...

WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ok, maybe not so ready yet. However, the rocking thing is a nice addition to the bedtime routine, because it makes him almost ready to sleep. Then we go to our bed and he's out pretty quickly.

Next stop, Ferberizing (yeah right, like I have the balls for that).

Monday, October 02, 2006

Fuck You, Cinnabon At The Mall (a shallow personal rant)

The in-laws are in town, and I'm so stoked. They insist on buying us things and holding the baby constantly so we can take much needed showers. And clean things! The house has never been so germ free.

We went to the mall yesterday, and my father-in-law had just bought us up a storm at Old Navy. When we first got married, I felt bad letting them buy me a lot of stuff, like, oh, don't waste your money on little old me. But now I realize they like doing it, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, etc., so I am now the new owner of some very cute pants.

Anway.

So we went to the mall, and I was DYING of thirst. That thirst that only happens to those of us who are breastfeeding and dehydrated and are tempted to lick that sweaty man in a tank top over there just to get some liquid in our mouths. The food court was upstairs, kind of far and a lot of trouble to go find the elevator for the stroller, but right around the corner was...Cinnabon! Surely they could help me out. I didn't have any cash, but since all I wanted was a cup of tap water, I figured they'd oblige. Also, I didn't want to make a further dent in my father-in-law's wallet, so I went to Cinnabutt by myself.

Me: Hi, can I just have a cup of water?
Stupid Cinnashit Kid: $.38.
Me: $.38 cents? Just for a little cup of tap water?
SCK: Yes.
Me: *rummaging through purse* Hmm...it looks like all I have is $.12.
SCK: Sorry.
Me: Yeah...see, I'm breastfeeding, and that uses up a LOT of water in your body, and I'm dying of thirst here. Do you think you can make an exception?
SCK: No, the owner's here right now, I can't do that.
Me: Ok, can I ask the owner?
SCK: MOM!
Mom approaches the counter

Me: Can I just have a cup of water? I don't have any money, I'm sorry, but I'm really thirsty.
Evil Owner Mom: No, I can't. I lost a lot of money giving away cups for free on tax free weekend.
Me: Please? I'm really thirsty.
EOM: No.

Since I have no balls and I'm a weak pacifist, I walked away without using my best sailer cursing on SCK or EOM. But what the fuck? You can't give a thirsy BREASTFEEDING woman a damn cup of water?

My husband (who used to manage restaurants) later told me that a paper logo cup like that goes for about $.7. That's right people-SEVEN. That stupid bitch would rather save SEVEN cents than give a thirsty woman a cup of water. Plus, they were trying to make $.31 cents off my thirst? Vultures.

So I ended up going to the food court and practically sucking on the worst water fountain ever. Good times.