Little boys should come standard with tails.

We thought about taking Connor trick or treating, but he can't eat a lot of candy yet, and he wouldn't understand the process, we thought it would just make us look like a couple of parents trying to use our child to score some free candy so we could sell it at the crackhouse later... so we opted instead to go by both sets of grandparents so they could see him in his pony costume.

I could have watched him run around in it for hours, but I didn't think my heart could take the strain. It was that cute. But cutest of all, was the little 8 inch tail on the back of the costume that swished when he walked. It made you want to pick him up by it and smoother him with kisses. A built in leash. Little boys should come standard with tails.

Dad and Ellen got 1000 trick or treaters, several of which showed up in their school clothes with bookbags, basically just trying to score free candy and other high school students that even dressed up, but remained completely aloof just so you know, that they are too cool to be trick or treating... even if they are wearing a fairy costume.

I think it would be fair to put a sign up that says, no costume, no candy. If you can't bother to dress up, then maybe I can't bother to give you 15 cents worth of candy. Or, no costume gets a Soy Carob bar with a note taped to it that says, next year wear a costume.
After all of the chocolatey goodness is gone from their Halloween bags, there sits the Soy Carob bar... and you know you would have to taste it. That'll teach em.

How to tickle the crap out of your parents

Make a fuss about going to bed, and then when exasperated, they put you into the crib and leave the room, stop fussing, play by yourself a little while and then PUT YOURSELF TO SLEEP.

Without even bursting into flame.

We all went to Mike’s memorial today. First there was mass and then the memorial. During the mass communion was held and I took communion without even bursting into flame. Pattie and Darlene didn’t take communion, Pattie because (she said) she hasn’t been to confession in 5 years and should have started confessing last week if she wanted to make it in time for communion. Darlene didn’t because, well, she probably would have burst into flame and that would have been a slight inconvenience for the people that rode to the church with her, not to mention the clean up.

But I took communion. Mainly because Jeff was going up and I didn’t want him to go by himself, since he appeared to be the only one out of the 20 people we were with that was going to take the long walk up the aisle to absolution. So hopped on up.

I am Methodist. But I take salvation where I can get it, and I don’t think God gets really miffed like that. I mean, it’s the thought that counts, right? Just like when I crossed myself at the appropriate times. Because I know how. So I did. And I even kneeled. And thanks to sporadic visits to the Catholic Lite Church (Lutheran) with Chelvis now and again I also happen to know when to come in speaking with the rest of the congregation. Although I forgot that when you shake the hands of the people all around you, you say “Peace be with you”, so when the lady with the mild moth ball aroma next to me reached over to shake my hand, she looked at me expectantly, I said.

“Hi”, nodding and smiling.
“Peace be with you”, she said, turning back to her husband no doubt mouthing the words, “Methodist” to him while she rolled her eyes.

But no one from our group yelled out “Free Bird” during the gospel songs and everyone teared appropriately during Ava Maria, steeped in tradition as it was, it was a good service. And we are all going to miss Mikey, so very much.

On the floor of the Wal-Mart

When you are one year old there are few things as fascinating as velcro. Especially the velcro on your first pair of denim baby shoes. Because when you tug on the velcro it makes a sound that's a hybrid between paper ripping and the cat coughing up a hairball... both things that fascinate you.
So, you unfasten and refasten your little shoes with much concentration and focus until you are actually able to remove the shoe and throw it on the floor of the Wal-Mart, using the opportunity when Mommy bends to pick it up, to covertly grab a handful of the clothing on the rack next to you and pull it over to put into your mouth.
But then when the "Taker away of all things fun" (Mommy), intervenes you have to give her the special smile. The one where you close your eyes all squinty shut and smile bearing all 14 of your teeth while looking at the ceiling and turning beet-red. Because then she won't get that look when she realizes that you just kicked your other shoe off onto the floor.

And we are all going to miss him very much.

One of the things about Pattie is that she's pretty direct. She's not one to soften the blow when she's giving bad news. She just tells is like it is. She called today to tell me that Mike Crites, was found dead in his apartment yesterday, presumably from going into diabetic shock.
When I was living with Joe, Mike moved in for a few months before I moved out and up to Concord. Mike is one of those guys that has the "it" factor. He had such a persona about him, you couldn't help but love him, he's nice, he's goodlooking, he's fun, he's uber positive and... loves to drink. And there it is. But aren't friends supposed to love each other despite our faults?
And we did. We all loved him. And we are all going to miss him very much.

Where IS that place?

I fainted the other night. Now, it's not that big of a deal, and I'm having it looked into... throughly, but that's not really what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about the dream-like thing that happens when you faint. If you've never fainted before, you won't know what I'm talking about, but if you have... there is a sort of dreamlike state that you move through while you are regaining your consciousness. And it's really odd. It's sort of what lucid dreaming would be like, if instead of being in a dream, I was in this weird static-y dimension where I know something is wrong and I know I am supposed to be aware of something, remembering something, but I just can't quite grasp it. All of this while there is a knowing feeling in the back of all of this, that something is really really wrong. Then reality slides back into view and all of a sudden, you are laying where you fell bathed in a cold sweat, reeling... for me, not from the fact that I just fainted, but because of the freakness from the dreamlike state.
I mean where IS that place? Where is your soul during this time? I mean obviously mine didn't take off because I'm here writing this now. But is it a different dimension or something? It's not like having an our of body experience, although similar in some ways. I have to research this. I'll let you know what I find.

Help me think would you?

It's hard trying to find something inspiring to write about when you just hang with your kid all day. I could of course write copious amounts of prose on the subject "The Fussy Butt " who we affectionately refer to as, Connor. But I really try to write about other exciting life events. So I still remember that I have a life. And because it's good for me to get out of the Mommy role even if it's just for 10 minutes a night and pound out all of my exciting life events. Except I really don't have any exciting life events today that don't involve my child. I'm not even reading anything decent.

sigh.

So here are my exciting life events for today.
- Connor spills 8 oz of coffee on our still newish and unstained sofa
- I made a Dr's appt. One for Connor and one for me
- We went to the grocery store
- I canceled my YMCA membership
- I picked up pictures from Walgreens
- I watched John Stewart and half of an Oprah
- I sat down and had dinner with Jorma

Honest to God, that has been my day. And I don't really crave excitement even, I just want something to write about. So, I guess in lieu of actual events I'll have to start trying to experiments of my own. You know, like smile at every person that I see and see if people behave differently... or if I do.

So that's all I need. An experiment. Help me think would you?

Make weather sexy and tasteful.

Damn it got cold quick. Sunday it was in the 80's, and now the peach juice that runs through my veins is getting a little bit chilly. I went to the weather.com site to check the forecast for the next few days, and there is a web banner advertising, weather.com on the cell phone. It says:

You are on the 4th tee.
Clouds are brewing.
Track the storm on your cell phone.

This makes no sense to me. I mean, how much up to date weather information do we really need. Obviously, if the clouds are brewing overhead, it might rain. And guess what else, when you start getting wet... it's raining. I don't understand people that have weather obsessions. I mean, I understand checking out the 10 day outlook so you know what to wear or whether or not it's going to rain on your beach trip, but do you really need it on your cell phone? Can't you just look at the sky and tell? I really don't get it. Especially since it's a 50/50 chance of the weatherman getting it right. Unless you are a Southern California weatherman, then everyday you get to show up to work with your spray on tan and announce, - No chance of rain - Sunny all week - High in the upper 70's. Now that's a job.

The weather channel actually got sued a while back for demanding that their female metorologists dress a little sexier. I don't care how short the skirt is, you just can't make weather sexy and tasteful at the same time.

So here's my predication for the weather... It's going to warm up in a week, and then spoil us for two until it gets bitter cold and we all wish for Summer, mosquitos and all.

A total ball of nerves.

So we had a party for Connor's birthday today. We meant to wake up at 6, but instead woke up at 7:30, putting us an hour behind schedule. I had food to prepare and a house to clean. I decided I was not going to start stressing out about it. This was going to be an exercise for me. I was going to stay calm. I sat down and fed Connor breakfast, sipping my coffee lesuirely thinking... I like this not stressing thing. When I put Connor in the living room and went into the kitchen to prepare the food, he played quietly alone, for about 10 minutes. Then the screaming commenced. He was briefly calmed by Oobi, then started screaming again. We have kind of a routine in the mornings, and me cooking instead of sitting in the livingroom floor while he crawls all over me for an hour threw him for a bit of a loop. I was just starting to get into my groove of hurried food prep when he came to the wailing wall and started unconsolably sobbing. I stopped what I was doing, made a bottle and tried in vain to get him down for a nap.
I'm telling myself the whole time... I'm not going to stress about this. It's an hour and a half before everyone is to arrive, Connor and I are both still in pj's, and I am falling more and more behind, and realizing that I have more and more to do, that a grocery store trip is needed, and how could I forget to vacuum, and I start to get stressed.
Now I might even bother you with the list that I had to get done in an hour and a half, including get myself ready, but I won't... because I don't think you'd believe me anyway. But because I was starting to stress, I was able to pull it all off. I just work SO much better under pressure. And in my egotistical state, I dare say I could have done it in less time even. Although, I was a total ball of nerves while I was doing it. But that made my first beer of the party, even the sweeter.

Happy Birthday, Connor!

Today our son is one year old. Everyone says it goes by fast when you have children, and I believe it, and everyone keeps saying that they can't believe it's been a year. But I can. Three months of Colic and then teething started immediately after. Moving across the country and quitting my job to stay home with the baby. Trying to learn how to be a mommy. It's been hard.
I don't know if it just comes that easily to other mommies, or if all other mommies lie, but it's hard trying to figure out what that cry means, and how much is too much, and how much is not enough. It's a time of reading and measurement, experimentation and observation. It's a time for laughter and also for tears. I think the first year of parenting lets you do at least one thing, and that's experience each and every emotion in your repatoir. Most more than once. And I mean all of them... even the ones that haven't shown their pretty heads in quite some time.
I think it takes a full year to recover as a first time mommy. I think it takes a year to recover from all of the labor, the sleep deprevation, the new schedule adjustments. It takes a year to learn to just ignore the crying without feeling guilty because you have to pee. It takes a year to stop worrying about SIDS. It takes a year to learn how to move around in your marriage with this new addition. It takes a year to learn that, it isn't just about the baby. It takes a year to be fully struck by the awe that your parents did the same thing that you are doing now. It takes a year to poke your head out in society and see what's going on again. It takes a year to relax.
So, yes, I can believe that it's been a year. But it's been a good year. And probably the most enriching in my life. So I'm glad it feels like a year, because certainly he will be in college before I know it.

Welcome back to the world, Madam!

So, I've decided that I'm going to use our much loved, DVR to start recording the nightly world news. Then I will watch it while I drink my morning cuppa coffee, and Connor bounces on the forbidden sofa, which is the only thing I can do to keep him quiet if I'm watching TV. Welcome back to the world, Madam!
I can't stand to watch the local news. It drives me nuts. It's just so damn... reality show. It's so sensationalized and they use scare tactics to seduce a larger viewing audience and I just can't get behind that. The World News appears to be about the same, but on a grander scale. At least the things that they are sensationalizing affect the nation, and not just the community.
Now the community is important, but tonight's feature on Channel 3 local news was, how to tell where your significant other has been going on the internet. They are teaching viewers how to invade someone else's privacy. I guess they are hoping that some people will actually do this, domestic violence will occur and they can report it, creating more sensational news coverage... see how this works? It's like Starbucks putting heroin in the coffee so you always come back for more... now that's not really happened. But I do have my suspicions.

What the hell DID I do?

At first I was going to work tonight. But after working for a couple of hours during nap, and having an hour long meeting, now I've decided, I've put in my hours today, Jorma is out of town and I have the whole house to myself... (myself and a sleeping infant), I'm going for some me time. But so rarely I get me time anymore, now I can't remember what I used to do when I lived alone. What the hell DID I do? I remember something about staying up really late drawing and then sleeping till noon... and then I remember something else about a bar and Jagermeister shots. And I remember it was fun. And then I remember that both of those won't work out too well with my one year old roomie, so I'll have to think of something else.

So tonight, to celebrate my aloneness I'm eating my microwaved left over Burrito Supreme from Taco Bell and blogging. Yes I know, it's not Jagermeister but it's still kinda fun in a pajama-party-for-one sort of way. Now, off to the sofa for TV watching and chocolate consumption. ooooo and maybe even a hot bath.

Road trip anyone?

We are back from our Alabama reunion safe and sound. Connor did suprisingly well in the car, playing with his feet, talking to Grammie, who sat in the back seat with him, and napping most of the way. He was running before his feet hit the floor when we got there. Staying busy and becoming so tired that he couldn't get to sleep once we got to the hotel about ten.
On the way back, we only had to stop once due to an impending meltdown... we let him run around for about 15 minutes, got back into the car and he was fine. And while I was relieved not to have to listen to screaming for 8 hours, I am even more relieved because now we know that the baby, truely is portable. Now it's not just trips an hour away he can stand, but longer trips. This means it might even be possible to go to the beach. Or the mountains!
Road trip anyone?

It's not profound

See, I knew this Google personalized page would come in handy... a get a new quote every day on my homepage. Now on nights like tonight where I'm too tired to write I can just post a quote.

"When you encounter seemingly good advice that contradicts other seemingly good advice, ignore them both."
- Al Franken

And there it is. No. It's not profound. But if I was going to spend the time to find a worthwhile quote, I could spend the time to write too, eh?

If you are a bra designer

I sometimes wonder what bra makers are thinking. Most bras have a couple of hooks in the back. When when the size goes up to 40, (this is the measurement of the ribs, gentlemen) suddenly there are four hooks there. No matter what the cup size is.
So.
If your average stripper is a 28DD she has two hooks on the back. But if she were a slightly chubby flat chested stripper wearing a 40B, she would have 4 hooks. My question is, what in the hell are the four hooks supposed to do?! Does a B cup (B-cup, think Uma Thurman gentlemen) really need something the width of a weight belt running across her back? It's not like her B cups need the extra strength to support their weight. The bigger around the ribs, the more hooks the bra has.
I know what you are thinking. There are more hooks because the width around is bigger... but that doesn't make any sense either. I mean, what are they thinking that because it's bigger around that it needs the extra hooks, so it doesn't... what? break? Like they aren't making the 40 bigger than the 28 in the first place?
This makes no sense to me.
So if you are a bra designer and you are reading my blog, send me an email to explain this nonsense to me. If you are a bra designer and would like to send me free bras to apologize for this inconvenience, that would be fine too. As long as they have less than 4 hooks.

Now THAT'S safety

One of the things that is a constant fascination to me is my increased paranoid after becoming a mom. I mean, I expected to feel a little protectiveness... you know, like any animal in the wild does, but this paranoia, totally threw me for a loop.
I've tried not to live a life of fear... in my pre Mommy days I've gone to the ATM at night, I've walked out to my car alone late night in a parking deck, and done all sorts of stuff that probably falls into the, It seemed like a good idea at the time category.

So I certainly wasn't prepared, when I caught myself walking down a long steep hill with the stroller in my neighborhood (in the daytime) and wondering... what would happen if I suddenly had a massive coronary.

Why, I would fall down and Connor would keep rolling in the stroller, his velocity increasing to light speed as he barreled into the car full of teenagers that cruises the neighborhood at 90 mph. Then getting tossed stroller and all into the air, landing miraculously unharmed right side up in a neighboring lawn. (Yeah, it's the loony toons version)

But this weekend we went shopping for a jogging stroller, I was kinda on the fence, not 100% sold on the idea of needing one, even though Jorma was happy to hang out in the only manly section of BabiesRus. But then from the one we are inspecting, Jorma holds up a Velcro cuff, with a line that attaches to the stroller. "What's this", he asks, puzzled... since he is somewhat immune to my own paranoia.
And I explain" it must be in case you have a massive coronary so the baby doesn't roll away."
"That's smart", he says probably realizing the added value this could have for a paranoid wife.

And just like that, I hopped over to the other side of the fence and was completely pro jogging stroller. Not just any stroller either, but the one with the anti massive coronary strap. Now THAT'S safety. Now if it will just stop raining so I can test it out.

The code.

So they've found a new project for me at work. And it's a major project. But luckily it has a procedure that is already written and goes with it. That generally makes things easier... you know, step by step instructions. Except for these. This is a 21 step process. Which might not be that bad... if I didn't have 760 issues that had to be run though that process. And, the process contains, about 7 different, acronyms. I mean, what would corporate america be without them? I know that 7 different acronyms doesn't sound like a lot. But I have counted 30 times they are used. This document is ONLY a page and a half. Doublespaced.

Dude.

And it doesn't make any sense. It reads like, George Bush wrote it... Sorry all you Bush fans out there, but todays quote from the Bush-isms Calendar is:
"The basic tenets of Islam is peace and respect and tolerance. And that's what they wanted to make the point to me, that we are - that's the way we are." George W. Bush Oct 22, 2003. On board Airforce One.

But acronyms are the Everdream way. They are the corporate way. It's almost like a Corporate code. Have you ever noticed that the people that know the code the best are the ones that get promoted. For instance, you hear someone say in the breakroom, "hey, ya know we are down with the SE in Surfboard. The OLS, went code and the GM talked to IT and they checked the ECC for the SMA and Asset, but couldn't find it." And you think to yourself. What a moron... to say something that stupid in front of the VP of Operations... that didn't even make sense. But then a few weeks later that person is promoted and you have a long meaningless lunch by yourself wondering what the secret is to failing upwards.

I'm telling you people. It's the code. And that's all it is. Hell, I should know. I speak it fluently.

You should do it too

Tonight I have writers block. So after browsing the web for a bit, I found, www.nanowrimo.org. It's a pretty cool site. Sign up is Oct. 1st. By God. I think I'm going to do it. I meant, my writing can't get any worse right? Hell, maybe by the end of it all, you guys will actually ENJOY reading the blog! I'm going to do it. You should do it too.
More info below.


What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.

Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.

Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from your novel at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.

And hell. I'm still paying taxes

Ok, this is how it started. We recieved an envelope in the mail, requesting donation for Childrens Cancer Fund. I read the literature, just as I have before, but now something is different. Now the Mommy in me, empathizes with not only the kids but the parents also. Oh, what a horrible thing to go through! But when I look at the form for donations, I notice that there is a picture of a bald little boy, that looks a lot like our son. So, of course, I decide to donate.
Now Jorma donates to about anything. He can not resist girlscout cookies, kids selling magazines, candy, raffle tickets or popcorn tins. We have had some of each. Me, I've always felt like, I give to charity because, well... I pay taxes. I make donations to charity on occasion, but am not afraid to smile, and nod politely and continue on my way as a doe-eyed girl scout tries to sell me cookies on the way out of the grocery store. And I have an immunity to all sales pitches. It's a honed skill from years of being broke.
So. We donate. And then, they sent us labels! How sweet!
And then so did St. Judes.
And every other organization in the country involved with sick children. And. We donated, to a couple. And then the outpouring began.
We now have greeting cards, labels and pins from different charities hoping into guilting us into a donation, after all, they went to the time and trouble to send us address labels. It's gotten crazy, almost every day we receive a letter from some organization begging for funds. Even the disabled vets. That one is hard to say no to. It's not enough that the goverment sends them off to war, they get hurt and some can never work again, and have to live on some half ass pension.
I felt kinda guilty at first, using some of the greeting cards and not donating to the charity. But we have SO many. And hell. I'm still paying taxes.

Funkadelic

I meant to report on the playgroup yesterday, but I felt blah all day. I usually like to blog when I feel blah, but yesterday I felt so blah I just went to bed. I knew you'd understand. Connor had gotten up at the crack of dawn, I was stressed about having the playgroup here and it just landed me in an all day funk. Thus I post twice today. Now that's some discipline y'all.

The playgroup was a success. Success meaning, the mouse that sometimes appears in the den didn't come out and Connor didn't arrive in anyone's lap with a cricket in his hand. (I don't know where they are coming from, but they LOVE our den). Connor toddled around the room, always managing to be far enough from me that I couldn't stop him from pulling hair, taking toys or stepping on someone else's child. Right now he's the only walking baby which is kind of a bummer... But I'm willing to hang in there. Once all of the babies are walking... It's going to be a whole different dynamic.

Breathe much?

So tomorrow, the mom's club playgroup is at mi casa and I've been cleaning all day. Well, I've been trying to clean. Connor is terrified of the vacuum so that makes part of it difficult, and him screaming each time I left the room doesn't help any. He did have a great time when I locked him in the bedroom with me to change the sheets on the bed. He found that the blinds in the bedroom, being about a foot too short for the window, which is 3 inches from the floor is the perfect height for him to hang from as he slings his bodyweight from side to side, slamming himself into the wall and shrieking with glee. Miraculously, the blinds held and I got the bedroom cleaned up without him pulling all of the books off of the shelves, which is his favorite bedroom pastime.
At least the house is cleanish, so now I can start the other projects that I have, two websites and six mock ups. And working my 16 hours this week. Breathe much?

Nice to be famous

Sometimes I think it would be nice to be famous... but then today, trying to find pictures of the hairstyle I want, I came across a site dedicated to Lauren Graham, with hundreds of pictures. That was great for me, as she has a hairstyle that I kinda like but it still creeped me out a little bit. Wouldn't that be creepy to have a webpage that was all about you, that you didn't build? Although if I was famous and someone put up a site about me, I would definately have to send them an email or something... from an pseudonym hotmail account though.