Numerology

Today my life can be summed up by a number: 0. ZERO.
Details, for your reading pleasure, in the form of a list!

• Number of naps this baby has taken !
• Number of thoughts that I have had that do not involve either coffee, chocolate or suicide!
• Number of husbands/fathers in this house this week!
• Number of words that I have been able to spell correctly, even after serious thought.
• Number of molecules in my body that aren't screaming with fatigue.
• Number of times I have reconsidered my crush on Bear Grylls.
• Number of times I could accurately recall the date (and/or day of the week).
  

A Day in the Life...

It is 10:20am on a Saturday. So far today we have had a breakfast of Pillsbury Orange Rolls (Jack ate two!), coffee, and milk; watched two horrible children's shows on PBS Kids; and made paper airplanes. After the careful construction of the paper airplanes, we had a naming ceremony where each plane was inscribed with it's fitting moniker. We each got to choose one and they ended up as: "The Hulk," "The Corn Dawg," and "Star Wars."

Now for some reason Jack has a little trouble with the 'w' in Star Wars, and ends up pronouncing it as 'star whores.' This is fine because usually it remains a topic only discussed in front of the television--AT HOME. We did run into a glitch this year at Jack's Halloween parade at school; his friend Aiden dressed up like a Storm Trooper. When Grandpa (who was visiting for Halloween, and a guest at the parade) asked Jack who Aiden was dressed as, Jack simply replied "Star Whores." Although no one else overheard, Grandpa didn't miss a beat and responded with "I'd like to see that movie!!"

Minor Threat

Dan has been talking about starting his "own blog" lately, to write about our family (wherein he will undoubtedly deny most of the things that I write about him here--THEY ARE ALL TRUE). He has declared that he will call it, "How Can I Keep From Killing Someone?"

Three Little Words...

WARNING: This post is not going to go how you expect it.

Jack hates dinner. We don't know why. He hates not getting to choose his food, and usually puts up quite the drawn-out drama when confronted with a plate full of SOMEONE ELSE'S CHOICES. Last night he excused himself to go to the bathroom (which usually happens mid-meal) and was gone for quite awhile. I didn't notice how long he'd been gone because I was busy gobbling down my food before "that baby" could wake up and ruin my meal. Dan frowningly marched into the bathroom (amazingly, the door wasn't locked--sometimes that happens, to my amusement and Dan's fury) and I heard the three little words that no one wants to hear uttered in the bathroom...

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!?!?" Dan asked loudly. Then, silence. I cringed, waiting for the inevitably gory details.

Apparently he had walked in on a semi-nude Jack, on his hands and knees, cleaning the toilet bowl with one of the hand towels. We still don't know what events led to this situation, but eventually everyone made it back to the table, and dinners were finally consumed. Some under duress.

Like mother...

Last night at dinner, while Dan walked around with Porky-Pants, Jack and I ate tacos. He paused mid-bite to ask me, "Hey Mom? Can you give me a favor?"

Immediately curious, and amused by his grown-up parlance, I agreed instantly.

"Could you please shut that cabinet?" he asked, gesturing to the partially open kitchen cabinet that houses our dishes. I shut the cabinet for him, wondering if he was worried (like I was) that Dan would not see it and whack his head on it, or if he is just super-anal and it bothered him that everything wasn't JUST SO. It occurred to me that when everything is JUST SO, there are a lot fewer injuries in our house--a good excuse to give Dan when he groans about cleaning up the house. Thank you Jack, you little Type A.

How Can I Keep From Working?

The date is looming...the go-back-to-work-date. The re-engage-your-brain-date. Ugh. x500. It's not that I don't like my job, I really do love it, but when you have a tiny young infant, you feel like keeping that needy being alive is your job. Mostly because it consumes 140% of your waking (and sleeping) life. So the thought of trying to cram anything else into my constant vigil against this child being hungry/wet/poopy-loop, just seems impossible. And exhausting.

Meanwhile my success story (Jack) actually asked me if he could do chores last night. It's that time of the year again--when his school collects cans of food to donate to the local food bank. His class this year devised various ways that the kids can help out in order to earn money or the rejects from your cupboard. We try to do a little of each: de-canning (sorry chick peas!) and shopping (hello chili!). In order to help out last night Jack fed the dogs. It's his favorite chore (probably because it's the only one that gives him an audience). Now this sounds very simple, but he has managed to turn it into a multi-step process that includes him conveying the kibble into the two dishes in a rather convoluted manner and usually picking up a great deal of dropped kibble and plunking that, piece by piece, into the respective dishes. Luckily the dogs are not impressed with MERE DRY FOOD so they just watch this process instead of knocking him down and eating their dinner like most other dogs in the Universe would. (Silver lining people, silver lining.)

StarDate: Sometime in late 2009

OK so I am slow with the updates. Mostly because the time that my butt has been allowed to touch any sit-able surface these days is pretty much down to less than an hour per day. I knew that prematurely hopeful post a few weeks ago would karmic-ally ruin any possibility that this child, PLEASE LORD THIS ONE, would be nice! Yeah, that all went straight down the pooper. She has her evening fussies, just like Jack, from about 8pm to midnight. This girl likes to party.

On the bright side, Life (yes, capital "L") is starting to resemble some sort of pattern, which always makes you feel better when things are super-chaotic. That is the worst part about infants...you can't rely on them to do anything but poop and eat and cry. None of those things are useful. Unless you're in a big fight with a neighbor. Then you can spray-paint their house yellow.

Sydney is growing increasingly heavy and hungry...girlfriend can eat! During the day she eats every 1-2 hours and can go up to 3 hours at night. She is finally settling herself to sleep (ish) in her co-sleeper which means that Dan and I are sleeping somewhat better. The problem is that this child makes the most ridiculous noises when she sleeps and dreams. It is like listening to a goat have sex with a pig. I don't know if you've ever attempted to sleep in a cross-species-breeding shed, but I can imagine how it would sound. Plus trying to relax and fall asleep during goat-pig relations is really hard. It is LOUD, and it makes you feel kind of dirty. Oink-naaay.

Jack is still hilarious as ever (thank God). He told me that if I kept making him eat all of his dinner that he would grow so big that he wouldn't fit through the door. I told him, no worries, we'll just move your bed into the garage. That shut him right up.