When we were little, my mom used to entertain me and my sister by showing us how to cut out snowflakes to decorate the windows over Christmas break. And here’s why I love the internets: there’s an online version! Lookit what I made:
Try it. It’s addictive.
Today is Wednesday, which means the Hatchling and I have our weekly playdate with P and her daughter. We decided to lunch at a chi-chi little mall in Uptown and then do some Christmas shopping until the girls gave out. As I left the house, baby in tow, it crossed my mind that I hadn’t charged my cell phone in a while … but I was running late and didn’t have time to do anything about it. Anyway, I thought, I’ll be fine. I won’t need it. Got out to the car and the key wouldn’t turn in the ignition. This has happened before, though not in months, and a quick jiggle of the wheel-tilt mechanism usually solves it. I jiggled, the key turned, and we were off, only a little late. Got to the shops, met up with P, and strolled over to the Vietnamese restaurant we like. Had a delightful lunch; both babies were extremely well-behaved; all was going well. It was my turn to get the check, so when we were done I went to grab my wallet out of my copious purse/diaper bag … and it wasn’t there. Huh. Checked again … and nope. No wallet. Awesome. Must’ve left it at home. P graciously picked up the tab and promised to loan me enough money to get out of the parking garage. By now I’m feeling like a REAL genius, but am hoping a little Christmas browsing will make me feel better. We ding around a couple of the shops, and then it’s time to get the babies home for their naps. P slips me a $10 (bless her) and we part ways. Get in the car, and lo! The key will not turn in the ignition. Jiggle the wheel tilt, and lo! It still won’t turn. Fabulous. By this time the Hatchling is seriously ready to be in her crib, sleeping, so she cranks up the pipes. Speaking in soothing tones, I start jiggling the CRAP out of the steering wheel, moving it into every position it will go into and several that it probably won’t. I try shifting the car into neutral to see if that makes a difference. I start to lose my mind a little and put the emergency brake on and off, turn off the heat and radio buttons, open and close the doors – anything to voodoo my piece-of-crap automobile into succumbing to the key. Nothing doing. I go into the back seat, comfort the Hatchling until she calms down, and then try the whole rigamarole again. Having pushed both of our patiences to the limit, I give up. I’ll have to call AAA. Oh … except I don’t have my wallet, which has my AAA card in it. Fuck. OK, I’ll have to call Mr. Squab. Oh … except my phone has no charge. Fuckety-fuck-fuck. To infinity. Right. Get out of the car, get very cranky Hatchling out of the car, and trudge back into the mall to use the pay phone. Thank Christ, I actually have 50 cents in my pocket for the phone, and thank Krishna, Mr. Squab is actually at his desk. An hour later, we’re back at home, Mr. Squab having made arrangements to meet AAA at the parking garage at 7:00. Still can’t find my wallet, anywhere; realize I must have lost it yesterday when running errands at Target, and somehow didn’t notice because I’M INCREDIBLY STUPID. Argh. Mr. Squab gets home and takes us out to dinner at Famous Dave’s, because I need me some damn barbecue. The car gets towed to the mechanic, we call Target and they actually have my wallet, which I just got back from retrieving. All of which only proves that there really are guardian angels for the mentally deficient. OF WHICH I AM ONE.
Do you think if I stay in bed tomorrow I can avoid any more of this crap?
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Posted in Uncategorized
OK. So since I last posted, I’ve been whiling away the Thanksgiving holiday, sleeping in, reading novels, stuffing myself on leftovers, and – oh yes! – finishing up the last of my Christmas shopping. No time for blogging! Too much fun!
Yeah, that’s a good one. What actually happened is that I woke up Thanksgiving morning with a raging cold, which at 12:30 am Thursday night morphed into virulent stomach flu. The purging from various bodily orifices lasted all that night and into the morning; the rest of the weekend was spent either lying in bed, whimpering, or on the sofa, taking baby sips of gatorade. On the one hand, it’s a blessing that this happened while Mr. Squab was home anyway, so he could watch the Hatchling non-stop while I recovered. On the other hand, WTF? This was supposed to be a fucking fun family weekend! Rip. Off.
But whatever, at least it’s over now except for the mucous-that-never-dies which has taken up permanent residence in my respiratory system. What I REALLY wanted to say was: Today, for the very first time, the Hatchling fed herself an entire bottle, all by herself. She grabbed hold, sucked it down, and then handed it to me as if to say, no biggie, mom, ready for my nap!
So, you know. At least one of us has been making progress.
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Posted in milestones, trials and tribulations
One of the best side-benefits of being a SAHM is that I’ve started cooking again, which I enjoy quite a bit. We hosted the family for Thanksgiving this year, and I went all out (with some ample assistance from my sister and stepmom). Here’s what we had:
Turkey
Corn Bread Dressing
Boiled Shrimp with Pink Sauce
Sweet Potato, Apple and Cranberry Casserole
Green Bean Casserole
Cream Cheese Corn
Collard Greens
Hard Rolls
Mashed Potatoes and Gravy
Cranberry Relish
Ambrosia
Various Wines
Bourbon Pumpkin Cheesecake
Apple Pie with Ice Cream
Coffee
Hot Cider
Don’t you wish you’d been at our house?
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Posted in holidays
Why do we abbreviate “combination” as “combo?” Why not “combi?”
Comments Off on Things that keep me up at night
Posted in Questions
Dearest Hatchling,
This last weekend, you turned seven months old. They say seven is a lucky number, and it must be true where babies are concerned, because this definitely feels like the golden time of your infancy. You’re still cuddly and sweet, and you haven’t yet introduced us to the terrors of having a mobile child, but you’re learning new tricks all the time and getting independent enough to entertain yourself – and us – more and more.
You haven’t indicated any interest in crawling yet, but you sure do like to have us walk you around the room. It didn’t take you long at all to get the hang of the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other shtick, and if your balance is a little nonexistent, you more than make up for it with the huge smile and coos that tell us you’re extremely pleased with yourself for figuring this out. You’re also absolutely entranced by your own reflection, so one of your favorite places to “walk” to is the mirror in the living room, where you can lean in and give your reflection an open-mouth baby kiss. Which is so damn cute I just about implode every time you do it.
Speaking of cute, I’d like to go on record right here and now that your besotted parents are not the only ones who think you’re the sweetest little bunch of yumminess since baby fairy penguins. (Seriously: Baby. Fairy. Penguins.) A few weeks ago we were making one of our regular pilgrimages to Babies R Us for numerous items, including a dress for you to wear to your aunt’s wedding in December. While we were there, we stopped by the “Kiddie Kandids” (I know: gag) to see what their prices and packages were like, since we’d been thinking of getting some formal photos done. The staff took one look at your little face and another look at the frock we were getting and said “You have to let us take a picture of your baby in that dress! For free! We’ll give you an 8 x 10!” Half an hour later, you’d done a whole modeling session with set and prop changes and two different outfits. Of course, they knew perfectly well that we’d never walk out of there without several copies of every pose they shot, so they had a slight interest in telling us how cute you were – but it’s also true that I can almost never go anywhere with you without someone stopping me to say that you’re so precious, or pretty, or darling.
We think you’re going to be shy, like I was when I was little. You’re extremely gregarious when it’s just us and the cats at home, or with a few select relatives, but you’re pretty wary of unfamiliar faces. Strangers are more likely to get the inscrutable stare than one of your neon smiles, and if they get too close too fast, tears will be just around the corner. You don’t care too much for anyone but me or your daddy to hold you right now, though you’ll occasionally tolerate the arms of a doting aunt or grandma. But along with being shy, you also already seem to have a sense of politeness. It’s like you know when it’s important to behave, when I have to drag you to a meeting for the theatre company, or when we’re standing in a long line at the airport, or going to a doctor’s appointment. Even if you’re tired and off your schedule, you mostly keep it together until you can get home and have a bottle and a nap. I imagine that this pliancy won’t last once you hit the “terrible twos” but lord knows I’m grateful for it now.
Things you especially love this month: baths – oh, how you love your baths! cookies you can eat by yourself (and by “eat” I mean “apply as a facial”), grabbing the cat in the face, drumming your little hands on your highchair tray, and your nice blue blanket to snuggle. Things you hate: having your face washed, tummy time, changing clothes, and being bored.
You’re growing like crazy both physically (you’re bigger than several one-year-olds we know) and in your personality. You’re developing a fine sense of humor, and a whole new vocabulary of baby sounds, including shrieks that could probably shatter glass and certainly my eardrums. Your whole face lights up when your daddy comes home, and when you’re tired you like to bury your face in my neck and burrow. In short, you’re one highly satisfactory kid. Keep up the good work.
Love,
Mamala
Delightful. Not a week after the international breastfeeding icon is revealed, Delta airlines kicks a family off one of their flights because the mother was breastfeeding. Now, to my mind, it ought to be perfectly acceptable for nursing moms to go shirtless on planes while they’re feeding their kids, but I recognize that’s not everyone’s view. However, in this case, the woman was sitting in the second to last row of the plane, in the window seat, with her husband sitting next to her. In other words, she was about as discreet as you can get when you’re nursing. But apparently it wasn’t discreet enough for the flight attendant:
A flight attendant tried to hand her a blanket and told her to cover up, Gillette said. She declined, telling the flight attendant she had a legal right to breast-feed her baby.
Moments later, a Delta ticket agent approached and said the flight attendant had asked that the family be removed from the flight, Gillette said. She said she didn’t want to make a scene and complied.
Jesus. Look, nursing, especially during takeoff and landing, is the best way to ensure that the kid isn’t screaming its head off on the flight. As the veteran of two long flights with an infant in tow, I can tell you there is NO WAY we could have done it without nursing. I guess Delta just isn’t interested in selling tickets to fertile women.
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Posted in current events
I’m a material girl. I admit it. I love me some stuff. But I mo-specially love clever, cute stuff. Which is why I’m sorta wishing I lived in the UK today (ok, let’s be honest: I always wish I were living in the UK), because HOLY CRAP is this some cute and clever stuff.
For instance, dig these rockin’ gender Tees:
I mean, how cool is that? And then there are these fairly stellar sets for daddy and baby:
I mean, hello! You are so getting a free beer with that combo!
But the one I really must have is this:
Seriously – even if you don’t have a kid, you gotta check out this site. Tewtelly. Ass-ome.
Mr. Squab and I went to see Borat last weekend. I was a little nervous about the film, because although I think Sacha Baron Cohen is a comic genius, I’m not a fan of prank humor in general. Johnny Knoxville, Crank Yankers, Bam – I just don’t like ’em. To me, it’s not funny to prank someone just for the sake of pranking them. Even those stupid radio morning show prank calls – I just feel like, what’s the cleverness in that? Of course the person you’re calling believes you – they have no reason not to! It’s not funny to make fun of them for “falling” for the joke, it’s just mean. And after reading some people’s take on the movie, I was afraid that Borat would be that kind of humor.
However, after seeing the film I can happily tell you that it’s much smarter than that. It’s true that, in a sense, the whole movie is one big prank – Cohen isn’t Borat, after all, and he’s not really filming a documentary for Kazakhstan. But the conceit of the movie is less a vehicle for mindless making-fun than it is for allowing people to reveal their true selves. A lot of them come off as real assholes, but it’s clear that Cohen/Borat isn’t making them say that stuff; it’s just that his foreign-ness and apparent lack of importance lets them take their guard down long enough to display what they really think, and often that’s pretty shocking and embarrassing stuff. The guy at the Rodeo who tells Borat to shave his mustache so people don’t mistake him for a muslim/terrorist? That guy deserves all he gets! And the couple who runs the antique store where Borat “accidentally” trips and breaks a ton of stuff? Well, they also proudly display a ton of secessionist, southern pride, confederate flag crap, so I don’t feel too sorry for them, either. And don’t even get me started on the drunken fratboy jerkoffs. In contrast, the people who come off the best in the movie are the group of young black men in a scary Atlanta neighborhood who give Borat directions, and the prostitute Borat hires to accompany him to a dinner party. They’re genuine, and they don’t presume to be better than Borat, and you end up liking them a whole hell of a lot more than the more educated, priveleged “upright” citizens Borat encounters.
So, yeah. I liked the movie. It had some narrative issues, and the naked wrestling scene was purely gratuitous (and may give me nightmares for the foreseeable future), but mostly I thought it was extremely clever social commentary. Also real, real funny. I’d love to hear what other people thought of it – anyone else seen it?
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Posted in Pop Culture
Born and raised in the southeast + middle and adult years in the upper midwest = northeast accent? Say wha?
| What American accent do you have?
Your Result: The Northeast
Judging by how you talk you are probably from north Jersey, New York City, Connecticut or Rhode Island. Chances are, if you are from New York City (and not those other places) people would probably be able to tell if they actually heard you speak. |
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| Philadelphia |
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| The Midland |
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| Boston |
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| The Inland North |
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| The West |
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| The South |
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| North Central |
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| What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes |
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OK, for some reason the red bars won’t show in blogger, but take the quiz anyway – it’s interesting.
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Posted in quizzes and lists
