You will be assimilated.

I try to write about exceptional things that happen in our household, and this week something exceptional did happen. Connor got to meet one of his Dad's best friends, fresh off the plane from Colorado, Larry.

Larry is so full of cartoon character voices and a willingness to play the "Surprise!" game, that Connor loved him instantly. Instantly means of course, after taking about an hour to determine that Larry was not going to wipe his nose, make him eat green beans or feed him to wild monkeys. Once he discovered that Larry liked playing with his toys almost as much as he did... it was on.

It was almost like Connor sensed it. Sensed that Larry was in that vulnerable place where you start thinking about kids of your own. And he went in for the kill.

Connor was nothing but completely charming the entire time. He sat in Larry's lap, he made his special squirrel-face for him, he didn't rub peaches in his hair while he ate and he even lunged out of my arms to get Larry to hold him. His poop didn't smell as bad, he didn't come up to us with a dead moth in his mouth and he listened when I said no.

Our child was so unbelievably cute that Larry's biological clock started ticking, uterus or not. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.

SunCom gets it after all.

To SunCom's credit, they sent a text message this evening that said that our contract has been terminated. This makes me happy. I wasn't necessarily pissed about the service on the account, just the fact that they had us in a contract that we did not sign. I guess maybe SunCom gets it after all.

SunCom doesn't get it.

Today I sat on the phone with AT&T/Suncom/Cingular for two and a half hours, trying to get someone to believe that I did not renew my contract with AT&T when we called to have our address changed after moving to NC.

In fact, they do not have a signed contract from me. In fact, if there is no signed contract, they can only hold me in contract for one year. In the beginning, I didn't really care that much about leaving or staying with SunCom, but by the end of my customer service experience with them, I completely want out of my contract. I won't give all of the details, but know ye this. I wrote a two page letter and attempted to assume the naming convention for their CEO, CFO, VP of Ops, Senior VP of OPs, and the VP of legal affairs. Plus, every category that I was able to find on the Contact Us portion of the website. It's things like this that make me wish I had gone to law school.

If you aren't willing to hire a lawyer, and no one responds to your letters what power do you have as a consumer? The BBB? I don't have much power, but I have a blog, and a website, and plenty of people read both. I also have both the ability and the audacity to create and wear a SunCom has displeased me T-shirt as I go about my daily tasks... grocery, mall, ect. I could make Connor a T-Shirt that says, Mommy doesn't like SunCom, but I hate it when people use their children for political gain, so I'll not be doing that. Who knows, maybe he'll grow up and be the CEO for SunCom... if that happens I bet, THEN they will listen to me when I call them.

Connor, I'm sorry.

Connor, I'm sorry.
For grabbing the vacuum which you are terrified of, and putting it in front of the baby gate so that you would stop shaking it and yelling while we ate breakfast without you in the room with us, (for once). We did get a few minutes of silence as you ran for your life across the living room away from the vacuum, our brief respite ended however, when you stood in the middle of the living room, crying because you wanted to watch us through the baby gate, but were too afraid of the vacuum.
Nothing like a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit seasoned with little guilt for breakfast. I hope you know when I gave you that Oreo four hours later, I was still feeling bad about the vacuum incident.

Holy Shit, Mom

Today was concussion day in our household. The boys were a little bit accident prone. Connor ran into Jorma's foot as Jorma was swinging his foot over the baby gate, knocking him, (Connor) backwards and launching a meltdown any drama queen would envy.

Jorma while trying to fix the office desk, was laying on the floor and leaned his head down quickly towards the floor where it was quickly introduced to the corner of the drawer he was fixing, resulting in a bleeding cut behind his ear.

I only bring up these two incidents to lessen my own guilt, as I almost dropped a DVD player on our child's head. I had it on top of the TV which is on top of the chest of drawers in our bedroom and was kneeling on the floor trying to get more length from it's plug that lives in the socket behind the same chest of drawers. The DVD player fell from the top of the television, bounced on the chest of drawers and came hurtling at light speed towards me and Connor, who was hovering behind me like a dimpled, rosy cheeked leech. We were saved from it's murderous attempt by me barely catching it by the cord before it made contact.

I looked at Connor and although he can't talk yet, what he was thinking was clearly indicated in his expression. He said, "Holy Shit, Mom".

I love a Holiday.

We were at Mom's house for about 1 minute last night, when my Step-Dad, Chuck reached to turn on a light and the whole lamp shorted out. Sparks shot out the top like a Roman Candle, filling the house with the smell sharp smell of electrical smoke. He unplugged the lamp and took it out back, since it was on fire in the middle of the living room, and grabbed a fire extinguisher which he couldn't get to actually work. Mom came out with the spray bottle and misted it, until Chuck, grabbed the house and doused it. At least it didn't damage the lucious chocolate pie she had prepared for dessert.

Thanksgiving dinner was wonderful, Turkey, Sweet Potato Casserole, Broccoli Casserole, Dressing, Cranberry, with Chocolate and Pumpkin Pie for dessert. Mom cooks food the way that food should be cooked, with lots of butter in vast quantities. We ate until we were in a food coma, Connor eating so much that he later spit up while destroying their house a short while later. What the hell, it's not Thanksgiving unless everyone is miserable, full, right?

Connor was well behaved at the table, focusing all of his attention on the broccoli casserole and dressing in front of him. Although he was full and playing with his food, by the time dessert rolled around, we were able to tempt him with pumpkin pie, chocolate pie and a mound of Cool Whip on his high chair tray. Cool whip is fascinating when you are one year old...

This morning Jorma took off at 5am to hit the sales at the mall. I would have gone too, but we of course wanted Connor to sleep as long as humanly possible, so I took one for the team and stayed curled up in a warm cozy bed, sleeping off the second helping of dressing until 7am and having a yummy breakfast of leftover Chocolate Pie. I've done the Black Friday sales many times, so I was able to give Jorma some advice. The most important being, "I highly advise bringing home Starbucks."
I love a holiday.

BOOK REVIEW: The Four Agreements | Rating: *

This book got fantastic reviews and I'm not sure why.
I'm going to make this one brief. Imagine the Celestine Prophecy only astronomically more stale.

Let me save you $12.99.
1. Don't gossip
2. Don't make assumptions
3. Don't take things personally
4. Always do your best

Do this, and have a happier life.

And there it is. There are some good things about this book. For example, I have to remember that everyone is part of their own set of experiences and not to take everything personally. That is something that I already believed, but needed to remind myself.
If you haven't read a great deal of New Age Self Help books, you might like this one. Better though are books like Shakti Gawain 's Creative Visualization, which gives you the power to transform all of parts of your life, rather than using four specific agreements.

Now, I'm not saying that this book is a load of crap, I definately think if you follow the agreements it would simplify your life. But it's kind of like a diet. Any plan will work, you just have to stay on it.

Rating: *

It's hard thinking.

It's really hard keeping a blog. It's hard thinking of things to write about on a regular basis when you're life is grocery trips and diapers. But I really think it helps keep me sane. A few minutes of alone-time each night should be compulsory for anyone that reads "That's not my Dinosaur" fifteen times in a row.

Tonight when Jorma came home, I cornered him in the kitchen and breathlessly babbled about each item I had purchased at the grocery store, while he smiled and nodded. I even lead him over to the pantry to show him the Frappacino. I started to go into a rant about how Food Lion doesn't have the fruit cups of apples and peaches in 100% juice like Harris Teeter does, but his eyes were starting to glaze over at this point, so I spared him. He never looked at me like I was crazy once though. Which just makes me love him all the more.

Now that it's just Connor and me during the day, I really look forward to Jorma coming home so that I can tell him about all of the laundry I've done and how many diapers I've changed. And then because he's actually left the house, he has exciting news and information from the outside world. News about spreadsheets and lunch at Wendy's. His life is sooo much more exciting than mine. I get to hear words like, ass-rocket and Active Directory... although usually not in the same sentence.

For me, by the end of the day it's a struggle to find what is good and funny and interesting to write about. But I like finding the bright spot, it keeps me sane. Or maybe it's just the time alone.

There's just something about a man in a skirt.

2005's Sexiest Men Alive | Matthew McConaughey : People.com

People Magazine has just declared Matthew McConaughey the sexiest man alive. To which I would like to say, Bravo. That is one sexy man. And a lucky one too, because apparently his look only requires shaving once a week.

When I was reading his article on People Magazine.com, I couldn't help but get sucked into some of the other links on the page. Like the Top 20 Sexiest Geeks alive. Ok, this I had to read. Number two. Clay Aiken. When in the hell did Alfred E. Newman get sexy? And Beck. Beck was number 9. That boy needs to eat a damn cheeseburger. He looks like he should be working the catwalk.

And Jon Stewart was number 5. Jon Stewart totally deserves the hottest geek award. What is wrong with those people?

They also gave Mel Gibson the number one sexiest man of all time award. I could get behind that... I mean without Braveheart, we'd never know that there's just something about a man in a skirt.

Dreams.

Last night while completely asleep, Connor rolled over yelled "Dada!" and then started snoring again. To me this is further evidence that babies dream. Probably when he starts crying in his sleep, (which happens about once a week) he's either dreaming that Mommy is trying to wipe his nose, or Daddy came home, but didn't throw him up in the air, not once.

Last night I dreamed that I was trying to introduce Jorma to everyone in Connor's playgroup, but forgot everyone's name. There was just this awkward silence while everyone stared at me and waited. Finally, Jorma got the hint and just asked everyone for their name, while I sat there, stunned in humilation.

I used to have dreams where I was in a meeting with the CEO at work, and couldn't pull up the presentation I had worked so hard on because my laptop wouldn't stop running the matrix screen saver. Oh, how times have changed.

So lovely.

There was never a child so lovely, but his mother was glad to get him asleep.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

A shiny trail of dried baby snot

Connor is sick today and I think he might have contaminated me as well. I took some Alka-Seltzer Cold Plus and drank a cup of coffee, as I'm not sure if I'm sick or just tired as hell. I figure between the two, I'll break even.
He has a runny nose, which means snail trails all over our living room. I just bought new sofa pillows yesterday and by 9am this morning, they had a shiny trail of dried baby snot across them. What was I thinking? I should know that we can't buy anything new until he goes off to college.
Maybe we could have BadMadMatt rig up a carwash type sprayer triggered by our front step that scotch guards everything and everyone that comes into the house. Y'all wouldn't mind, would you?

How my day is going.

I can survive anything.

Today I had the dreaded Tilt-Table Test. I've not been looking forward to it and made an appointment as quickly as possible last week, when I realized that my apprehension could soon turn to white knuckled fear, if I allowed a month to work myself up. I was afraid that I would fail the test, argue with the Dr. about beta-blockers, possibly lose my drivers license and as a result, get attacked by a rabid opossum one dreary morning as I walked to the Harris Teeter to get tampons. Clearly, this had to get taken care of ASAP.

For those of you that watched, House MD with the tilt table test, it was nothing like that. I personally did not see that episode of House, because we moved it out of our DVR rotation. I know that Dr. House is supposed to be a misunderstood brilliant Dr, but to me... he's an ass. A few people mentioned this episode to me, "a few" being enough that I could carry on a conversation with the nurse about it, having never seen it myself. The nurse I had was fantastic, keeping me calm and laughing when I started singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the wall.
But, I digress.

During the test I was strapped onto a table, complete with BP cuff, electrodes and an IV. Then I laid on a table for 15 minutes and then was quickly raised to an 80 degree angle. This did not make me faint. 20 minutes later I still had not fainted so they had to step up the process by giving me nitroglycerine, which gives you that, 4 shots of Tequila on an empty stomach followed by a White Russian, sort of feeling. If you can imagine that feeling, while strapped to a catapult.

I still did not faint. So I got to stand there for another 20 minutes. Nothing. After all of that in addition to, not allowing me to eat or drink anything after midnight they realized that their evil plan was foiled and I was released.

Now, according to the good Dr, if I don't faint on the table, I don't have this neurocardio thingy. Which is what we wanted! In retrospect, I should have not been afraid at all. Sleep deprivation, no food or water, standing for long periods of time, drugs - it's like working May Race at the Speedway. And if I can survive that. I can survive anything.

Larry's Magical Commentary

Larry left this comment in the previous post but it's too funny not to post as an entry.

Larry Says:

"You've no idea the danger you've just put yourself in, encouraging such a habit in your husband.

Collectible Card Battle Games are the scourge of modern society. It has been estimated* that over 300 acres a minute of rain forest is destroyed just to keep up with the unholy demand for such card games as “Magic – The Boredom”, “Yugi-o”, “Iraq: Quagmire Magic!” and “Lovable Dance-Dance Battle Worship Master Satan”.

They have an awful influence on today's youth, and an even worse effect on the nation's husbands.

I should point out that Jorma once possessed a distressing amount of these cards. When he moved to California, he gave me what I honestly believe to have been around 35 – 40 pounds of the things in a few gigantic cardboard boxes, and bid me give them to Jay.

There had to have been /thousands/ of cards. During the middle of a hot and hellishly humid day, the likes of which only Charlotte can seemingly produce, Jay and I had to make multiple trips to my VW Beetle, hauling boxes out of the back seat, climbing the three flights of stairs to his pad, putting them on the floor, and repeating. The last trip was the worst; one of the boxes ripped open and cards went everywhere. Once Jay noticed that a few of these were “rare”, he went crazy.

Here's the image. Two grown men. In 95-degree heat. On their hands and knees, in a parking lot, on scorching asphalt, manically digging cards off the ground as fast they could, lest “Forest of Dread” or “Magic Dungball Summon” melt.

We both had to change clothes and shower after that. Jay sweat at least five pounds of body weight. For about three months afterwords, I'd randomly find a magic card under the drivers' seat, in the glovebox, wedged in the gear shifter.

The fact he's once again amassed such an army, nay, and armada, of these things scares me. Beware, Janice! He's CRAZY! Don't let them suck you in with their silly card games. Do something healthy, like play “Final Fantasy X” for 300+ hours. :)"

Funny stuff.

Magic: The Gathering

So I found Jorma looking at Magic: The Gathering cards online a few days ago much the same way that I still wistfully look at stickers. I like to look at them even though I haven't collected them since I was about 12. I never buy them, because, well, what does a 33 year old stay at home mom need a pack of stickers for?

But later I saw him looking at them again. When I asked if he wanted to start playing he responded that there wasn't anyone that he could play with. To which I said, I bet we could find some 10 year olds up the street.

He is somewhat used to my sense of humor but for some reason didn't think it was as funny as I did, and then got a look on his face like a sad and dejected puppy. Intentional or not, the look worked and I felt mildly guilty for the next couple of days.

So, to placate my wearied soul I told him that if he really wanted to play, he could get us both a deck of cards and I'd play it with him. He didn't wait for me to tell him twice, by the end of the day he had in possession about 400 cards.

I mean, I can play cards... Uno, Poker, War you know... cards. I mean how complicated can it be? Well apparently, quite.

While His Majesty, Connor was having his bath that evening, Jorma sat on the sink and explained how a few of the cards in the game worked. This took several minutes and there are a bizillion cards, he was just explaining a few of them. I tried really really hard to pay attention, I tried to store it all in that little bit of space left in my brain that isn't used for rationing Cheerios and chasing around our child all day long. But when I try to replay it in my brain to write it out here, it only comes out as, there are land cards and you are playing with a green deck and you can tap cards and something about hits and spells. But I do remember looking at the cards. They have illustrations and some of them are foiled.
oooooooo. Shiny.
Teaching me to play this game may be the biggest challenge that our marriage has ever faced. Maybe we could collect stickers together instead.

It's not a pet, it's an INVESTMENT!

Today we went to the Renn Fest where we drank beer, toured the wares, petted sheep and rode a camel. Jorma stayed with the little one and I rode the camel. Riding a camel is one of the things that was on my "To do before I die list", which was quite lengthy and has since been lost in one move or another.
I've always wanted to ride a camel because I've heard that they have a strange side to side gait and that it's harder to stay on. The gait is a large sway but it wasn't hard to stay on. It was kind of scary being up that high on an animal, but it was fun just the same and I wasn't worried about the camel bolting in it's little pen.
I feel sorry for the Camel just the same and hope that it lives a happy and placid life somewhere out in a field when it's not on the job. They must have made a fortune though, because it was 3 bucks a ride, and they rode people three at a time. And they had two camels. Maybe Jorma will let me get one. No honey, it's not a pet, it's an INVESTMENT!

The Dewchild Chocolate Milk Challenge

In the interest of fairness, I have tried both the Promisedland and the Hershey's Chocolate milk.
And I have to say, I could tell the Promised Land Chocolate Milk was going to be better just by looking at the label. One, it actually has photographs of cows and comes in a glass bottle. Two it proudly boasts "All Natural and No Hormones". So it's HEALTHY chocolate milk. However, the Promised Land brand is very thick, which makes me think of cow mucus, which is what milk IS anyway but it has sort of a mucus-like consistency. But it's forgivable because it's just SO chocolatey good. And it makes one hell of a Mocha. Half Chocolate milk and have Coffee. Tasty good, my friends. It's also quite pleasant with Peppermint Schnapps.

The Hershey's does have sort of a watery flavor and while it IS quite tasty, it still has a residual hint of carton. It's also more expensive than the Promised land, but you get more in the carton, so it's probably cheaper ounce for ounce. I think the Hershey's might work out well for the white wine chocolate cake I've been developing. And it's better with baileys.
See, all of the taste testing sacrifices I make for this site?

So, in my book the Promised Land is better, but if you want to try it for yourself, come on over. We have plenty. We'll take your picture and post it on the site. Hell, maybe we'll get you liquored up while you're here. We have Bailey's and Schnapps.

My child is a genius.

Today when I was trying to cajole Connor into saying ma-ma for the five billionth time, he looked and me and clapped his hands. Not my hands. His hands. If you remember from a previous post we have been working on this for quite some time. I guess it was his way of saying, "Will you leave me alone with the ma-ma thing already? Here, watch me clap. Maybe that will shut you up."
I was thrilled. He was thrilled, that I was thrilled. I was thrilled, that he was thrilled, that I was... well, you get the picture.
My child is a genius.

The fussy butt machine

Connor is sick and since has forgotten that he just lays in his crib and goes to sleep on his own now. Instead, tonight he opted for the 3 hour scream-a-thon, just a brief sample of the glorious life we will be living once he hits his terrible twos. Now we didn't leave him in his crib for three hours crying... we left him for FIVE minutes. Five minutes was enough to get the fussy butt machine reved into high gear and then it was off and on crying for the next three hours. Towards the end, he was actually asleep and still unmercifully sobbing.

And with no segue we move to:

Jorma bought chocolate milk for The Dewchild.com Chocolate Milk Taste Test. (Way to take one for the team, babe!) Promiseland and Hershey's. The Hershey's is expired however. Luckily, we were able to dig the receipt out from under the babyfood jars and dirty diapers in the trash so that we can return it. So tomorrow, I will load my child into the car go to Harris Teeter and return my milk. And I will not be happy about it. But I'm going to practice my new customer service method which is being nice, THE WHOLE TIME. I'll let y'all know how it goes.

All hail the power of Ibuprofen!

My shoulder is feeling better - All hail the power of Ibuprofen! It's still sore, but at least I can open the door on the minivan. Not that I tried today.

Today was a no laundry, no errands, just let the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed turn into a small mountain range sort of day. I fully intended to take it easy, but ended up pulling out the stroller and taking the little one for a walk.

I did think about actually not leaving the house all day, but finally determined that if tomorrow it became cold and rainy, that'd I'd feel so guilty for wasting a perfect day that I'd end up feeding Connor Low-Fat Strawberry Pop Tarts for breakfast. I know that doesn't sound like a bad thing, but certainly it would begin a cycle of refusing to eat oatmeal that would last untill he hit his teens.

He's already determined that whatever Mommy is eating has GOT to be better than the green beans on his tray, and watches me with interest when ever I'm eating. If I'm eating in the den and he's not strapped into something, then he's standing at my knee begging like a puppy. Those puppy dog eyes... who can resist?

Pushing through.

I somehow managed to hurt my shoulder yesterday. Despite my (now) daily walks around the neighborhood with stroller, or my attempt at eating better and cutting back on the smokes, I can not raise my shoulder above my chest. Apparently healthier lifestyle has little to no jurisdiction with the muscles inside of the shoulder joint.

It's been hurting for a couple of days now, but I'm one that believes the best thing to do for soreness in the body is to work it out and push through. So yesterday while I was pushing through at the park, I was holding Connor on my left hip, with the left arm and he decides that he wants to get down. The way he has decided to demonstrate this is to simply throw his entire body weight towards the ground, so naturally I throw up whatever hand is not supporting him and catch him. Moving him back up and into the "on" position.

Although yesterday when I caught him, something snapped. Something in my already sore shoulder. This snap resulted in me not being able to get open the mini-van sliding door without some significant pain or work the auto gear shift with my right arm at all. Everytime I tried it felt like my arm was having a contraction.

So I did the alternate hot-cold thing, took some Aleve and whined to Jorma when he got home, all making my arm feel a little, but not much better. So this morning it still hurts, Connor is coming down with a cold and wants to be picked up constantly... the thing about being a Mommy is you never get sick days.

Laugh and Learn Puppy

Amazon.com: Laugh & Learn Learning Puppy: Toys & Games

Pattie gave Connor this toy for his birthday. Jorma swears that it's the toy that's going to one day grab a steak knife and run through the house on a rampage playing it's "Hug Me!" soundbyte.

In the interest of fairness.

It's been a great weekend. Last night we went over to Mike and Robyn's housewarming party, baby in tow. He did great for about an hour and a half and the Jorma took him home and I stayed on, bumming a ride from home Sammie.

It's amusing me to hear people argue when they are drinking. Pattie and Laureen argued about which Chocolate Milk was better. PromiseLand, (Pattie's pick) or Hershey's (Laureen's pick). The conversation got louder, and louder until is actually turned into a debate. One side arguing that PromiseLand makes Hershey's look like watered down chocolate water, the other arguing that the entire staff of Harris Teeter is addicted to Hershey's.

So. In the interest of fairness I've decided to solve this debate by tasting them myself. And then of course, posting the winner here. It's a good excuse to buy some chocolate milk anyway. Connor's never had it, I'll bet he'll suck down a sippy cup of it in record time. I bet Jorma will suck down half a gallon in record time.

Maybe we can have Connor taste test them too. See which sippy cup he prefers. I'll do just about anything that involves procrastinating laundry.

Numb with fear.

Remember that fainting thing we discussed and I said I was having it looked into? Today I had an appointment with a Cardiologist. He thinks I have something called Neurocardiogenic Syncope. I have to wear a monitor for a month, have an echocardiogram and a tilt-table test but that's not what scared me. What scared me the most... was the waiting room.

Everyone in the waiting room was in their late 60's to 70's. I sat down prepared to make the most of my child-free waiting room time but wasn't able to read my book, because I could not stop eavesdropping on the group of about 6 people behind me. They were discussing people that they knew collectively, who had cancer, who was on 16 kinds of medication, who had heart problems, who died and then went around each telling what was wrong with them personally. At one point an elderly man came out of the office into the waiting room, carrying a ziplock bag so full of medication that I almost offered to carry it for him. He happened to know everyone that was sitting in the quilting bee behind me and walked over to say hello and discuss all of the different medication he was on. Which he was sort of forced into as when he was in the checkout area, all of the people behind me were loudly commenting on how much medication was in his bag.

It scared the crap out of me. I was honestly numb with fear. Because at that moment it occured to me, that someday, I too will be old. Holy Crap! I have to do something about this! I'm 33 years old and I'm ALREADY sitting in a Cardiologists office. And I smoke. And I don't exercise. And I forgot to take my vitamins today. What in the hell is WRONG with me?! I need to get moving. This. Is. Important.

This isn't about fitting into a little black dress, this is about never having to be in a Cardiologists office again. This is about survival. This is about the Cardiologist telling me that it wouldn't hurt me to lose 20 pounds... (and do you know he said it nicer than anyone else ever has) but if I wanted to eat french fries to go right ahead, just make sure I load it up with salt.

You know, I may not be able to give up Reece's Cups and I do love a grilled cheese sandwich, but I have GOT to start exercising. Or else one of you may have to carry around my bag of pills for me and I'm just way independent for that crap. Yeah. It really scared me THAT much.

There will be no sleeping when the cat has to poop.

Our cat prefers to poop outside. Could be there just isn't enough privacy in the back corner of the laundry room, nestled behind the door and next to the washing machine, completely concealed so that there is a perfect cat sized crack to waltz through when he finally decides it's time to go. Maybe he's telepathic and knows how much I hate scooping the box. Maybe the neighbors yard just is better than his box for covering up the glittering jewels he leaves for them. Whatever the reason... it's starting to get annoying.

Pink knows that he must take drastic measure to roust Jorma, (HA! You thought it was me?) from the bed at 5:30am to let him out. First he starts his threatening meow. It isn't the actual meow that that's threatening, it's the position he is meowing from.
He starts in the kitchen, having somehow associated meowing with Tuna, in hopes that one of us will leap from bed to feed him before letting him out. But then slowly moves in the hallway. Stopping in front of Connors room.

He did the same thing when we were living in California.
When I was pregnant and sleeping he would go to the foot of the bed and scream until Jorma opened a can of tuna for him. This of course started a trend and now, the cat is holding us hostage. There will be no sleeping when the cat has to poop. He's ensured this, by threatening to wake the baby who if awake, also allows no sleeping.

He never meows consistantly enough to actually wake the sleeping child but long enough for Jorma to stumble out of bed, scoop him up and throw him outside, before the Kracken awakens. This isn't because he isn't trying to wake the baby. This is because his brain is the size of a walnut and he's not so much with the rationalization. But, this works for Kitty.

Although for Jorma, not so much - he's one of those people that can't go back to sleep once he wakes up.
I know, RIGHT?! I married one of THOSE people! But hell, he gets up at 5:30 am to let the cat out... what's not to love.

Well, no shit.

Scotsman.com News - International - Terror suspects held in secret CIA prisons

I came across this article today and I would just like to say, Well, no shit. (That was sarcasm for those that do not know me). Of COURSE there are secret CIA prisions. It's the CIA for God's sakes and we are the United States of America. Does anyone really believe that we really play by the rules. Does anyone believe that anyone else does? France might, but we just let them live in their own fantasy world, military and all. Didn't these people ever watch the Ex-Files?
If this article would have said, there are no secret CIA prisons for Terror suspects, THEN I would have been like, wtf?! I mean it's WAR people, not a freaking game of bridge. God the media drives me nuts.

He doesn’t have time for my nonsense.

Sarcasm begins at an early age. I know this because we are trying to teach Connor, nose, chin and ear. We point to our nose and say, “nose” and then point to his nose and say “nose”. So when I ask Connor where is Mommy’s nose, he takes my finger in his hands and points to my nose with it. It’s his way of saying, “Well, you wanted me to copy you exactly, right?”

Clapping is the same way. He takes my hands in his and claps them together. If I try to get him to clap and sit on my hands, hoping that he will make the leap of understanding and clap his own hands, he looks down at my hands and then back to me and then gets up and walks away. He doesn’t have time for my nonsense he has a cat to chase.