Muchas gracias, buddy-o's

Urrgh, so full. Since SOMEONE is working tonight, Norah and I went over to see our friends who have recently moved here from Baltimore. And did they feed me good, yes they did, and did they love on my baby so I could hold a glass of wine instead of her heavy little bod. Wine glass = lighter than a baby! Especially when you drink it all up!

We're home now, though, and the little madam is zonked out in her room. I've been browsing the cable channels (for as much as we pay in a month, you'd think they could turn on something worthwhile, like Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion, which I missed this morning while cleaning the house. WHAT. A. LOSS.) I shall now watch reruns of L&O:CI, and quietly pass out, hoping for a late sleep but not holding my breath. Kiss kiss!

Birthday partied out

It's all too much
The ubiquitous first birthday cake photo - although her birthday isn't until next week, we decided to celebrate it at the same time as Rob's. And it was a smashing success, har har har. Baby likes some cake, she does.

Notes which will mean zilch to anyone but the person addressed

Dear Lisa,

Dude. You live near The Naughty. Your neighborhood whomps my neighborhood's weirdness rating any day.

Love from across town,


Dear Adrienne,

ASPCA is on speed dial. Clearly Britney's stylist is not on hers. Do I look that bad? Seriously, do I look that bad? Because we have so much in common, as we are both new moms and we have committed boneheaded new mom acts like changing our babies right out in public. Oh wait, that wasn't me.

Love from the dirty south,


Dear Rob,

Love you, buddy, as I have every single day for the past four years - happy anniversary. (Okay, it's in two days, but by the time you read this it'll be yesterday.) Now go make me a cake. I made you one. Git.

Love (the squishy kind that Lisa and Adrienne don't get, sorry girls),


Dear God,

GIVING THE BABY EXCESS MUCUS IS NOT MY IDEA OF A GOOD BIRTHDAY PRESENT. Hers neither, apparently, since she basically cried constantly last night and she's well on her way to a repeat performance. Couldn't you send me something else to test my strength? Locusts, or a flood, or perhaps a really embarrassing venereal disease? I would seriously trade for any one of those, because last night? It was THAT BAD.


Silver bracelets for Father's Day

So remember that guy? That guy down the street who is most certainly beating his live-in girlfriend and doing God knows what to her two little girls, who turn up on our porch at 7 a.m.? That guy just tried to have my sweet, wonderful, kind neighbor arrested for larceny.

That Guy bought a kitten for the two little girls, most likely to buy their silence about how he's beating up on Mommy. The kitten grew up a little into a teenaged cat, barely old enough to rebel against her parents or wear make-up, and lo! in a true after-school special moment (side note: best Lifetime movie EVER), she got pregnant. Four new kittens were then deposited into a box under the little girls' shared bed, joining the mother cat, two birds, and the rottweiler puppy, who was allowed to roam freely about the neighborhood, but that is another story for another bout of heavy drinking.

So Mommy and the girls moved out a couple of weeks ago and we all did a happy dance that they were gone and safe and no longer on our porches. However, the pets slowly but surely took over Mommy's abusee role, and strange things started to happen. The birds "escaped," (and if you believe that I've got a pill here that'll grow your penis five inches overnight), the puppy was sent to a new home, and the mother cat was shoved outside to fend for herself. Nice Neighbor Lady started putting cat food on her deck for the mother cat, who slowly became as skinny and haunted as an extra on Animal Cops. And then the final straw: the kittens were locked outside for two days with no food or water. TWO DAYS. And it's been 80-some degrees.

So Neighbor Lady went vigilante and took them to the no-kill shelter in Chapel Hill.

Somehow, That Guy found out, and with the help of his white trash sister, called the cops and had them come here to arrest Neighbor Lady. A very professional female cop showed up, heard the story from Neighbor Lady's sane, sober mouth, and then heard the other side of it from That Guy's shirtless, beer-can-holding one. Thank GOD justice prevailed, and Neighbor Lady only has to return the kitties, assuming the shelter still has them. And once again, I am appalled that someone like That Guy gets to continue breathing my air. Someone needs to bribe him to move - it would only take a sixer of Pabst and maybe some Cheese Nips.

ANYWAY, now that you know that sordid little tale, guess what? It's Rob's birthday tomorrow! I made him a horrific cake tonight, since he'll be working until all hours tomorrow - the poor stupid thing slanted over to one side, and the polka dots I piped on melted in the sun from the kitchen window and ran over the edges. And I had to make it in pie dishes, as my cake pans have mysteriously disappeared and are probably full of tongue depressors or guitar picks out in the shed. So the layers were a little bell-shaped... but I tried, and we ate it anyway, because it had chocolate icing on it. You could put chocolate icing on a pair of bowling shoes and we'd suck those puppies down before you could say "7-10 split."

We're headed to bed, where we will watch the first 10 minutes of Narnia and then pass out, because we're that cool. We may even refill our glasses of milk. Look out, Paris, there's a new party girl in town.

That skirt will never, EVER recover.

Holy cow, Britney Spears is a mess. A MESS. Was she unaware that she was being interviewed by Matt Lauer on national television, and therefore thought that ratty hair and gum-crackin' was somehow acceptable? My mother alert is on red-light high right now... instead of "girl is such a ho," I'm thinking, "Honey, we can just pull that down a little and pull that up a little, and spit that right here in my hand, right here, and thaaaat's better."

Confidential to someone who may or may not remember to check this, but who said "don't you dare blog about this:" Gran Turismo III is SO much funner when you play it in a swimsuit and make up new rules, and drink mucho wine-o. What a good time that was.


Those kids and their darnedest things

Overheard while driving to Target with the kids yesterday:

Kid 1 (who's five): Aww, look! Baby [Norah] is being shy!
Kid 2 (three): She is not. She is not being shy.
Kid 1 (getting defensive about her interpretation of Baby's facial expression): She is too, why do you think she's not?
Kid 2: Are you kidding? She doesn't have a shy bone in her buddy.


Pop quiz

1. If one's husband walks up to one at 9:30 a.m. and says "Hey, you know what let's do, let's go to the aquarium at Pine Knolls! It's only three hours away!" should one assume husband is insane and completely ignore that suggestion?

2. If a car travels at 74 miles per hour and is traveling 173 miles, and encounters 425 red lights along the way because one's husband is a terrible mapper and takes one on a local road the entire way, and then one arrives at the aquarium to discover that the only available parking is a literal mile away, should one then beat husband to death with his own shoe? And if so, what time will we actually be eating lunch?

3. After leaving the aquarium and its piss-poor excuse for a cafe, should one go to the beach dressed in long, somewhat tight jeans? If yes, please explain the logic behind one's decision to roll jeans up only about three inches and then take a wriggling, kicking baby into the waves. (Bonus points if you can name all the swear words used when a large wave caught me in the ass.)

4. Using a diagram, find all the ways that a scenario involving wet jeans removal, riding home pantsless, and hanging said jeans out the window on the interstate to dry could possibly go wrong.

(Fortunately we didn't lose them, but a trucker has now seen my undies.)

What'd you do this weekend?

What the hell is Darlene doing with a stethoscope?

I'm entering day four of my week-long vacation from the extra kids, and for the first time I'm feeling the teeth of the boredom dog bite my ass. But lo, TNT still runs double episodes of ER and L&O every day, so maybe I'll just take the day and slob out. Am disturbed, however, by the presence of Sara Gilbert on ER. She looks so clean and un-angsty in that little white jacket. Sara Gilbert is the epitome of my angsty days, and her cleanliness is really busting my groove.

Yesterday we went to Jordan Lake, where I got sunburned on the fake beach and baby ate about three pounds of sand. My new pal Jasmine, whose husband works with Rob, and her two girls came, so there was much splashing and wiggling and who-can-get-back-to-the-towels-faster-ing. On the way back, all the little girls slept while Jasmine and I ate moon pies and pretzels and talked about our husbands and their respective issues. I needed that, an afternoon with someone who can speak multisyllabic words and whose pants I do not need to change, but who understands the need to change someone else's pants in the back of my car at a gas station because hot car + stinky pants = NOT GOOD THINGS. And moon pies! Who doesn't need a good moon pie now and then? I love the south.

Rob's going to his first eye appointment ever tomorrow, and oh boy is he nervous. He's getting a lot of headaches, so before we perform exploratory brain tumor surgery in the bathtub I made him schedule a visit with Dr. Bahsjarat. Or possibly Dr. Bajsharat. One of those two. You would think I was forcing him to let me drill into his skull, and not that he was going to an office wherein he had to read some letters and answer "Better or worse?" 35 times. As someone who has had glasses since about age 5, I have no sympathy for him. I'll let you know if I end up holding his hand while he cries into the glaucoma tester machine.

Sara G just had to tell a man he had a day to live. Now there's some angst for you.

I made a patio today

For real, y'all! Our deck is lovely to eat and play on, but not so good for keeping the grill on. (It could be the size of a hockey rink - let's go 'Canes, by the way, you take that cup, boys - and not be big enough for the grill, since someone small and squirrely has a tendency to race to whatever's currently on fire and clutch it like a life ring.) So today Mom and I made a 5'x5' pavered patio space between the two big old trees in our backyard. We are feeling delightfully accomplished and utterly crippled. Thank God for the remote and delivery pizza.

At Lowe's, Norah was hamming like she's never hammed before. She was wearing the John Deere outfit that goes with her green hat (although she generally is only willing to wear the hat when she's otherwise unclothed, don't ask me why) and everyone in the garden section had something to say about That Cute Little Boy. Gender issues notwithstanding, the princess flirted and fluttered and slid sly sideways smiles at the old men buying geraniums with their old wives. I now have proof that she is my child - she must be the center of attention at all times, and God help anyone who dares to put her in her car seat and leave her there while trying to load 125 bricks into the back of a Toyota.

Kate is gone, off to visit my dad in Indiana before heading back to Boston. It's quieter here, and remarkably less entertaining. And my mom is leaving for good on Saturday. As some of you know, the 'rents have been trying to sell their house and move here, and my mom has been with us for the last year while my dad waited and waited and waited... and waited... for someone to go ahead and buy the place. It never happened, so my mom is headed home. We're getting our house back. And I am sad.

Hence the patio, hence our pizza (we said it was because we were too sore to cook, but it was a big old lie and we should not kid ourselves). We're cramming as much fun as we can into the next five days, calories and backaches be damned. Tomorrow we may do something completely nuts, like go rock climbing, if I can just get Norah to quit eating the caribeners. Carribeeners. Carribean-ers. Oh, you know.