Tonight...

Me: First we need to put the dishes away, wrap the baby's Christmas presents and find out what time Church is.

Not the Momma: 49 degrees.

Me: ?? I said (using American Sign Language as well as English), find out what time Church is. Not find out what the temperature is.

Not the Momma: Oh. I wondered why you wanted to know what the temperature was.

We're Here. We're Alive.

What a trip. We got here, and although we're alive, we're not necessarily sane after listening to Little Monster whine and squeal for three and a half days straight. We are waiting on housing because some dork on some foreign country didn't include a piece of paper in the husband's paperwork. Nice, huh? I just hope we get into the house we wanted, without issue. It seems to me that the priorities that are supposed to be in place, aren't really there, but oh well. For now, we have a home, even if it is on wheels. We are in a nice place, and though it is chilly at night, it is not by any means cold. I will be back later to talk more about our trip across country, but for now I must rest. I just didn't want my readers to think that we'd gone too far west and driven into the Pacific.

Learning Explosion?

For some reason I had the impression that children learned things gradually through exploration and observation. Except that for some reason, Little Monster has suddenly learned all kinds of things, EVERYTHING. The amount of sudden "understanding" is amazing! The other day he performed his new trick of "Where's the ear, where's the nose." Today. Today the dogs ducked, because our socks were knocked so hard that they went flying across the room. Why?

Grami: "LittleMonster, why don't you let me change your pants?"
Little Monster, who is playing with his music table, looks up.
Grami: "Go get me a diaper and bring it here so that I can change your diaper."
Little Monster leaves his most beloved of music tables where he is rocking out to the tunes of "Jimmy Cracked Corn" and the "ABC's." Begins to walk towards the area where his toybox and diapers are kept.
Grami & I share a look that says "If he actually does that it's going to knock my socks off."
Little Monster goes over, and digs in diaper box. Pulls. Out. A. Diaper.
Another look is shared between Grami & I. We take off our shoes so that no one is injured *just in case* he actually follows the directions.
Grami: "Little Monster, bring me your diaper. I'll change your pants."

And then it happened. It's a good thing we removed shoes. Windows could have been broken from the force of the flying socks.. and that would have let all of the snow in.

Yes, he brought the diaper to my mother. Then let her change him without making a fuss.

I think I'm too easy on that kid. If he can do that, shouldn't he be able to fix his own food? What about let the dogs out? Can he pack the boxes and supervise the movers? If he can do that, he should be able to go to the store and get his own milk. Because it's snowing. and it's cold. And my Passat doesn't like to be taken out of the garage in all of that cold. And if that's the case, I might be able to get some work done around here.

For my fallen neighbors

I am having a hard time wrapping my head around what went on in Omaha yesterday. When the news blurb came on the radio, interrupting the Christmas music dance section with Little Monster, we thought it had happened somewhere else. It always happens somewhere else. But when they said "Westroads" a sick feeling erupted in my stomach. Fun Christmas dancing was over. We turned on the news and heard about the sad events that had taken place. This is the second deadliest shooting spree in Nebraska. The deadliest in such a short period of time. The worst shooting spree was spread over a few days. I know people say it whenever something like this happen, but people, things like this just don't happen here. I will not publish the name of the killer, because I don't want him to be famous. That's what he wanted. Some of his last words. My mother and I were talking about the number of victims today. The number is so close to the deadliest, that we think perhaps he was counting. He'd done his research and knew what it would take to get him a place in the history books as the shooter in Nebraska's deadliest shooting spree. He fell short (thank God), but enough people were injured that perhaps he thought he had done the job.

It was a very scary day for all of us in southeast Nebraska and western Iowa. I was grateful for the move I am in the midst of. Thankful that work has been so busy that I haven't had time to edit the 30 blog posts I have saved on my computer. Thankful that I had something to do besides sit around think about what had happened. This area of the country is very close-knit. Omaha is less than an hour from here. I go there often because they have the nearest military base. It is basically home. I was at that mall a few weeks ago. We entered and exited through Von Maur. As I end this, I don't want to focus on the person who committed the crime. I want to focus on my neighbors. Because as the days go by people will talk and we will find out how we are connected to our neighbors that were witnesses and our neighbors who became victims:

Gary Scharf, a 48 year old man is from Lincoln. The same town I'm from.
John McDonald was shopping with his wife. His life was cut short. 48 years old.
Angie Schuster was only 36 years old.
Maggie Webb was 24 years old. She had barely begun to live!
Janet Jorgensen was 66 years old an was an employee at Von Maur.
Dianne Trent, 53, was also an employee.
Gary Joy, another employee was 56.
Beverly Flynn was 47. She worked part-time wrapping gifts, probably so she could get some"extra" gifts for her three children.

Amazing, Truly Amazing.

Tonight Little Monster was running around, like he always does: getting into everything, throwing newspapers around, chasing the dogs, etc. He bent down at one point, touching his toes, which led me to make up a little impromptu song: Touch your toes, la la la, touch your nose. His response: He. put. his. finger. ON. HIS. NOSE. Maybe this makes me a bad mom, but I had NO idea he would actually listen to the words of the song and then follow the directions... correctly. I was floored. After we cheered his ability to follow those directions (and partially to get his finger OUT of his nose) I added to the song "Touch your ear." He did that as well. He had done that a few days ago, but I thought for sure it had been a fluke. He refused to show us his ear again until tonight. In one moment, I realized how stupid I've been for underestimating how much Little Monster actually understands.

This motherhood thing, it's amazing. How can one job make you feel like the biggest idiot that ever walked the face of the planet, entertain you with such simple things and at the same time make you feel like the most important, most loved person ever. Ever. I love it. It's amazing. Truly Amazing.

Temper Tantrums?

When I took the baby to the doctor, a nurse said "He might begin throwing temper tantrums now." I laughed, because I honestly thought I had experienced Little Monster's temper tantrums. Oh, how wrong was I. I now believe that until that moment, he didn't know he could throw temper tantrums. He heard her say that, took it to heart and began practicing the art of throwing temper tantrums immediately. After watching him the past few days, I'm sure he is still perfecting the art of throwing himself to the floor and screaming a sound so shrill that only dogs can hear. Its no wonder the poor creatures have been running around looking like they are going to throw up. They think they are being summoned by some new sort of satanic dog whistle.

That very afternoon, he got on the floor, grabbed both of my ankles, one with each arm and proceeded to scream and cry when I took something away from him (even though I said please and thank-you), thus beginning the "temper tantrum" stage. He hadn't quite perfected the art of getting to the floor. Initially it was more of a squat, kneel, then lie down. The "landing" has gotten a bit more dramatic in the past few days and now is becoming more of one fluid motion, rather than several awkward steps.

My biggest concern: If he doesn't have the "landing" perfected, is he still working on that scream too? If that scream gets any shriller, any louder, I'm worried that some nuclear missile in some silo somewhere out here in the Midwest is accidentally going to go off. Car alarms all over the city will ring out. If he can make that scream better, I'm doing what the dude at Faslane told me to do if the Nuke siren went off "Go to one of the buildings listed on this card and take cover... but what I really mean is pitch it and run."

All to help out a lover of Chocolate

I mispelled ferrero rocher as ferrot rochet in this post. I didn't even care. So, person who was looking for the nutrition information, here is a better link to that:

http://www.peertrainer.com/DFcaloriecounterB.aspx?id=7494

You're welcome.

Moving Mayhem.

Tonight at 6:30PM I had the following telephone conversation:

Me: Hello?
caller: Hi I'm *name* from Moving Company B. I'm calling about the packing you have scheduled for tomorrow.
Me: No. I don't have packing scheduled for tomorrow, I have packing scheduled for Thursday. Who are you with again?
caller: Company B. We're calling on behalf of Company C.
Me: I do NOT have any idea who you are or who Company C is.
caller: I'm going to make a call and check into that.
*click*

Why is that a problem? We have a pack-out scheduled with Company A. I called Company A to let them know about the mystery telephone call from a company I'd never heard of calling for a company I'd never heard of. I have been dealing with Company A since we first filed paperwork. Company A is the company the military told me would contact me. They didn't know why Company B would call me, but they did know that they were a legit moving firm that often worked with the military. What is going on? I don't know. The military liaison at Company A is supposed to call me back "first thing in the morning." I am not sure if this is a scam, or what, but calling someone at 6:30 really sucks, because everyone else has gone home. There was no way I could call anyone to confirm anything if I wanted to. Even though the person I talked to at Company A did tell me that Company B does a lot of military moves, I'd never heard of them, they are not who the military told me would be handling the move, nor was the company they had mentioned. Two companies, neither of which I know anything about, neither of which I have heard of. Needless to say, I'm a bit on edge about the possibility that someone is going to come pack our stuff and relocate it... somewhere other than where its real destination should be. Not to mention the fact that they're coming in TWO days to pack and no one seems to know what anyone else is doing.

Want to know the next wonderful thing I found out? Even though I had a conversation with the gal at Company A two weeks ago about how it would only take one day to pack everything, and they were going to do that Thursday, we are scheduled to have a pack-out on Wednesday and Thursday. I am not ready for a pack out. I could be ready by Wednesday, but that's pushing it. Not to mention that I had to ask for someone to come help watch the baby so that I can properly supervise the pack/inventory that needs to go on. I don't have anyone to watch the baby Wednesday. It's about 30 degrees outside, so I can't even let him play in or around where we'll be packing in the garage. What a MESS! At least I don't have to re-pack most of this stuff myself.

Yes, when you are in the military, they pay for the movers to actually do the packing for you. After all, you move A LOT. --My husband and I have moved six times. We moved in together(we moved ourselves this time). Six months later stationed in RI. Six months later stationed in VA. Six months later, we bought a house (Another one we did ourselves). 2 1/2 years later, we packed everything we owned into a POD and the back of the truck and shipped me home to Nebraska. -- The packing is nice, but it isn't like you can just keep on living, and have them pack. You have to get everything ready. They won't actually unplug anything, they won't take hazardous chemicals, etc. for obvious reasons, etc. Silly things that you think would be fine, but sometimes can be a hassle. Then, you have to consider how long it will actually take to get your stuff back. In our case this time, we don't know exactly where we're going to live. We'll probably end up in housing, but maybe not. So, we have to have enough stuff to get us through the week between pack out and leaving here, the travel from here to California, and the weeks we'll spend running around Salinas arguing about why I don't want to live 30 miles away from where Not the Momma works, arguing about why it wouldn't be responsible to buy a foreclosure and renovate it waiting to get into housing. Then there's the wait for the people to get off their duffs and bring us our stuff. There's a ton of politics and rules involved in that whole mess too.



To top it off, while I was carrying a box -- our big Dell box -- I fell onto a cement anchor with two one-foot pieces of rebar sticking out of them in the garage. This is only one of the souvenirs from that. I am pretty much bruised or scratched from the hemline of an immodest mini-skirt down to my knees on both legs, and down to the sock line on my right leg. That pic is from my right back thigh... About 4 or 5 inches below my derriere. The "plus" looking sign in the midst of it? I'm assuming that's what it looks like when bone stops rebar. That is how far the rebar actually jammed into my leg. It's probably a good 3 or 4 inch diameter bruise. It hurts badly enough that I can't put pressure on it when I sit down. I must look pretty funny because when I sit I try to lean a bit to the right but any time I try to cross my legs I mash a bruise on my thigh or my shin. That usually leads to some fun noises and commentary. Hopefully the baby doesn't start copying those words.


As if the moving, and the bruises and all of that aren't stress enough? I just had to register both of our vehicles, I have a to-do list about two weeks long, and three days to get it done... AND Not the Momma is coming home. He'll be home sometime Saturday (only 4 1/2 more days! DID YOU HEAR ME 4 1/2 DAYS!). Hopefully. If everyone actually does their job which, well, let's just say I'd bet they'll hear me scream 7000 miles away if someone screws this up and he doesn't get home Saturday. I'm really excited about that, but there's a bit of anxiety involved with that too. We haven't actually lived together for over 18 months. The last time we lived together it was in our own home and I was pregnant.. only sort of showing at about 19 weeks. Things have changed a bit, and that reunion, while it will be wonderful, is also a bit scary too... But that's a post for another day. Oh, did I tell you that I'll be kissing Not the Momma in 4 1/2 days? I'm not excited. Not at all. I just will be hugging and seeing and talking to Not the Momma in person in 4 1/2 days. And he'll be home for a little over two years... in 4 1/2 days.

Indeed, it has come to this.

This, being that I have found so many fun and interesting blogs to read, that my favorite links are overwhelming. I wish I had the time, money and drive to buy my own domain. Then, I could have my own link page. That would be nice. I guess I could link to my old angelfire page or something! But then, I would have to learn HTML all over again. Wait a second. I'm getting confused, so I'm sure you are. But then again, it could be the wine. Let me start over.


It has come to this: I have so many sites I love to visit (I'm sorry I haven't updated my blogroll in my sidebar lately... It's a lot of work) that I have decided to use... a reader. Google has made it easy, though, and though it doesn't always work the way I would like it, it works often enough for me to think it's freakin' awesome! How many nights have I spent clicking down my list of sites, only to find that the author hasn't posted for the day. It's kinda like TiVo for blogs. I don't have to waste time clicking through if there hasn't been a post, or watch commercials. I know, I'm behind the times here. Hopefully (and this is sort of a test) I've gotten the whole thing figured out enough that I can have my blog fed right into BlogHer, so I don't have to go in and post there too.

I used to be opposed to readers, because, as a blogger, I like to know who is reading my site. I do collect stats for my site, so I can kind of guess who is reading, etc. Especially important considering what Not the Momma does for a living. That, and it sort of skews your stats. My poor friends (you won't wonder anymore) are probably wondering where I've been the past two days, because I haven't "acutally" visited your sites. (Don't worry, I'm still reading!) The best thing is that because I'm not clicking through so many sites only to be disappointed that other people have lives outside of the internet and the warm glow of their computer monitor that they haven't updated their site yet. (Nope, not now either. Still haven't. ) I love that all this free time means I have time to comment when my friends post, because I don't have to wonder if this blog or that blog has a new post. It means I can share that much more love. But I'm the kind of freak that is just going to end up adding a bazillion more blogs to my reader, putting me into the same situation I just got out of.

It's a serious addiction, these blogs. I have no idea what I am going to do in two weeks, when we head for the wild and untamed west. I won't have internet access --I actually had to stop typing just then to mourn the loss of all of that instant gratification -- at least not consistent, reliable internet for a while. I am still trying to convince Not the Momma that we can't go back to dial-up. That's crazy, right? I mean dial-up? Do people still use dial up? I'm totally blaming the need for high-speed internet on the design work I do from home. I can't very well email those photoshop files with dial-up. yuck! This addiction, though, it's serious. Really serious. I get all antsy when I don't know what Chuck and Leta and Heather and Jon are up to. I mean, how can I get through the day, when I don't know what funny things have been piled on that dog's head? But it's much much worse than that. I have given up...(I'm ashamed to say it) Grey's Anatomy. Well, not given up, but just kind of.. forgotten to watch it. It has a teeny bit to do with the loss of Isaiah Washington, and a LOT to do with the introduction of Brooke Smith as Dr. Hahn. Not that I don't like Brooke Smith, more that I don't like Dr. Hahn yet. I wonder if it is something subconsious, having to do with the fact that she was Catherine Martin, the girl trapped in the pit of Buffalo Bill's house.



At any rate, two major changes for me in the past few months and many, many many more to follow.

I have no idea...

...what is going on with my banner photo at this moment. Please excuse the yucky-ness of it all until I have a free moment to try to figure it out.

Also, I updated my initial post about BlogHer again. :)

Oh, and yeah! Nablopomo is over! I can resume normal function again! (meaning sleep.)

Only 8 days until Not the Momma is home. And before you get all up in my comments about violations of certain rules about disclosing information. This is not a violation. I am not risking any critical or non-critical mission by leaking information about when a ship is going to return. He's not on a ship remember? He's flying home. On a plane. At least, I hope he'll be coming home in 8 days. He might have changed his mind and decided to stay where the cold 70 degree weather is chilling his bones through instead of coming home where the balmy 43 degrees yesterday had me wondering whether I really needed a coat.

The post that is going to get my.. uh, butt kicked.

I watched a news piece about a family who had two girls, looking to be ages 3 and 5, where Dad worked, Mom stayed home, and they couldn't afford to buy toys for Christmas. So there is a program set up where Police Officers take those children shopping for some toys since they won't be getting any under their tree. The kids they showed picked clothes and shoes, because they needed them more than toys. This put two thoughts into my head. The first was that the kids really felt that they were in need, and were being frugal. That thought made me want to cry. The second was (and here is where you begin hating me) "Why in the world doesn't the mom get a JOB?" I mean, I know I stay home, but most of the time, we can afford that without worries about where our next meal is going to come from, or whether or not the next growth spurt is going to put us in the poor house. (Not the Momma -- Please note I said most of the time. I am fully aware that your child will very soon begin eating food. For real. And when that happens, I'm prepared to start hunting rabbits and squirrels so we don't have to give up TiVo, and so that the baby can wear pants that actually hit his ankle rather than the kind that make you think you should be building an ark in preparation for the big flood.) My initial thoughts were: This lady was accepting charity because she couldn't afford clothing and toys for her kids, but she doesn't have a job? Something seems a bit off about that. I mean, really, surely she can find a job so that they can afford to buy their kids clothing....


My problem is that they don't have enough money to clothe their children, yet the mother chooses to be a Stay at Home Mom. There is something wrong with that. Now, before you go all crazy and start hurling those rotten tomatoes again, remember that I stay home. (I work, but don't make much, my money goes for fun stuff, like my clothing. And shoes. And Starbucks. )Remember, I am a stay at home mom. I understand the need to work to support your family, I am not trying to pick on mothers who work, even if they don't have to. I'm not trying to pick on mothers who stay home when money is tight. I have issues because the family was seemingly having trouble affording to buy clothes for their children and was receiving charity because of a choice the family had made.



I understand that in some cases, it isn't possible for both parents to work, because it isn't cost effective. I know that if the SAH parent could only make minimum wage, and the children have to go to daycare, forget it. You're actually losing money on the deal. I know that. We only have one child, age one. When we starting trying to have kids (oh... almost five years ago now) I spent a lot of time thinking about this issue. I made multiple spreadsheets comparing how much money I would actually make after considering all of the costs associated with working (work clothing, lunches out, daycare, lost time with the baby, gas spent driving to/from work, etc.) I figured out then that I had to make around $10/hour to break even until the baby grew up enough to get past that expensive "baby" phase at daycare.



When I looked at the amount of money I would actually bring home at the end of the month, it didn't seem worth letting someone else raise my child for 50 or so hours per week and giving up all of those hours when the baby was awake. (And now that I am a mommy, I think about the hours and hours of extra sleep I've gotten because when I've needed to I can nap when the baby naps. That makes everyone's life around here just a bit better.) Another thing to consider, my husband is in the military so he's never home. And by never, I mean, NEVER. Not, he works 80 hours per week, like, Next Tuesday he's leaving for six, no wait, eight, no, I take that back, 18 months. Over those 18 months he will often work 100+ hour weeks, 16+ hour days, sometimes 24 hours per day. That kind of Never. Never, like something on the ship broke, and they need it fixed yesterday, so sorry about that birthday party, or anniversary, or planned trip to the amusement park never. Never, like, he's really physically UNABLE to be around to do things like go to doctor appointments, school programs, take care of sick children never. We decided that one of us has to be available to be around for the important moments, and because his career has the health insurance and retirement plan, we picked his over mine. Oops, I'm rambling again. What I was saying is that we weighed the options. He agrees (or at least he used to) that staying home was the best option for our family. However, I know, that if money got so tight that we were tempted to rely on charity to provide things for our children, I would no longer be staying at home. The baby would be going into daycare, and I would be finding a job. At least until things got better.

I thought I finally figured it out... (updated...again.)

(New/edited content in PURPLE) (Even NEWER content is in this color)

I have been trying to figure out the whole BlogHer thing for months. MONTHS! Well, last night, after navigating through the difficult terrain of their website and finally figuring out how to post there, I figured it out. I, then, very stupidly, back-posted for the month of November, not realizing it was actually published so prominently on the front page, not realizing it would be seen as Spam to some members. So, to those members who flagged my content as Spam, I apologize. I certainly did not intend to do so. I didn't realize that my posts even appeared anywhere on the site, until after I had posted all of my entries. My feelings are a bit hurt, but that's only because I'm human, and has nothing to do with the very kind and polite email I recieved from a staff member letting me know they were removing my content.

Now, for those of you who are reading this, and don't use BlogHer, don't sour your opinion based on my first "real" experince. While, I am a person who tends to believe first impressions, I'm going to let this one slide. After all, this wasn't my first impression, it was really my 30th. It was just the first time I'd posted anything. The staff member was very polite in her email and I can definitely understand that I could have irritated some people by making it difficult to get to anyone else's posting efforts. I hate it when people post so much that you find it hard to see any content besides theirs, and, although unknowingly, that is what I did. I spammed their site. ::tear:: But really, it didn't seem like one of those "automated" messages, cold and heartless, the moderater was actually HUMAN, and sounded like it! :) <--Positive thing about BlogHer. BIG BIG positive thing about BlogHer!

However, if you are not an internet genius, and You're seeing this and thinking, Hey, BlogHer, an internet site for women who want to blog! Get a blogger account. Give up doing much with BlogHer. (Unless you're like me and REFUSE, even if it is only stubbornness. Initially, I found it to be a very difficult site to use and navigate. Perhaps I'm just not in the "in" crowd there, and I'm out of some sort of telepathic "loop." I have read the FAQ's, I have done my best, but I am having a hard time figuring out the semantics of it all. Thousands of other women, have figured it out, though, so why can't I? I am NOT an internet genius, but I am most definitely not one of those people who confuse my monitor's power button with my computer's power button either. I work on the computer - I'm a graphic designer (of sorts)! I've worked primarily on a computer for the better part of the last seven years, three of those actually helping idiots learn how to work theirs. I would say I'm above average in terms of my knowledge of how to use a computer. I'm only an average writer, though. I wonder how many above-average writers they are losing because you have to be an internet genius to navigate their site?

I digress. My point was an apology (to those who aren't reading this site)for being a spammer. I hate spam, even the canned kind. I am very embarrassed that I have been labeled a spammer. Hopefully I'll wake up from my BlogHer fog, and realize that I'm a complete idiot (it has happened before on other sites), and realize that I just wasn't looking at the page right, and BlogHer can be navigated by monkeys without thumbs.

Once I really started digging into the site, I found a lot of helpful, informative, inspiring and creative content. I know this post seems to be a bit negative, but I don't want it to be. The more I dig around on BlogHer, the more I like it. The more I feel another internet addiction coming on.

Bring on that internet addiction Baby! Even if my initial (well, 30th) reaction to BlogHer was a negative one, it was my fault. That seemingly "non-automated" email message was an email from a real person, who came here (Hi Denise!) and read my message. She offered even more help. So, if you are thinking about joining BlogHer, and have read my blog and are worried about it don't be. If you have trouble, just use that "Contact" link at the top and email and ask for help. Or use the "community" link and post in the forum. I would be willing to bet that you'll have an email from a friendly LIVE human being to help you out!

Now, if you think this is a blog bashing BlogHer, you should realize that I wouldn't have linked to their site a bazillion times if I hated them. I am not bashing them, nor do I hate them, I am going to try to figure the whole thing out. I am going to do it. Because I am stubborn that way.

Funny Searches and Other boring stuff.

I am really copying just about anyone on the internet whose website has been found using a search engine. I do spy on you readers, just a bit. I know when you find me through a search, and where you live. I don't know exactly who all of you are, but I can guess based on your ISP, IP address, and your location. So, the secret is out, you all know. I am flattered that all 20 of you read my webpage. Seriously. There's probably 20 regular readers. So, for you regular readers, would you like to know some searches that have found my page? Only a few of them are funny, some of them are logical, but at least one of them blows my mind.

Search LEAST likely to find my blog, but does:
"fedex -xanax -cialis –pharmacy", in google, under blog searches. That is how someone found my page. I still haven't found it that way, but hey. I have never (before now) talked about my habit of buying prescription drugs on the internet, but hey secret's out now. No, I'm kidding. I have no idea why this search brought up my blog.

Scariest Search ever to find my page:
"he tied me, he raped me" or just simply "he tied me". (I assume it has something to do with this post.

Someone got the wrong idea!
"Dealing with Rotten Family." Never once have I called my family rotten, or talked about how I have to "deal" with how rotten they are. Perhaps it was my "rotten" tomato comment? I don't know, but I thought it was funny, being as this blog is mainly about my family and my life. But, seriously, my family is not rotten, and I don't have to "deal" with them, I live with them and I love them. Really. I do.

Someone got it right!
"Mothball in shoes" That's right. Someone else is married to a man who likes to keep mothballs in his shoes so as to poison his loving wife. yup. I'm not the only one. I can only hope that this person learned about how much better Cedar balls are.

Duh, We know why these brought us here:
"Pregnancy, Muslim" "Baby big chip tooth" "Man who sued God"

and finally.

The longest set of words EVER.
"baby not sleeping because he learned to pull himself up in crib"

It is fun to go back through and "search" using these terms and find my page. I wonder what future searches will find my page. I'm pretty sure some prescription drug abusers will probably stumble upon my blog now that I've used a couple of key terms, but oh well. I will save searches up again and see what crazy things people have found my site using in the future. In other news, I have updated the site a bit.

I've made it a bit more "festive" for the holiday (OH NO, don't let the American Family Association hear me say HOLIDAY instead of CHRISTMAS, they might boycott me). I'm still working on a new working title. "Just the baby and me..." won't work anymore because, well, the husband is coming home. So ideas could be helpful. I have changed the title for now, but I'm not sure I like it. Just be nice, especially if I don't know you, because, remember, I know what city you live in and have a close personal relationship with someone who can cause lots of damage with the accidental push of a button. But I'm not threatening you, or saying that anyone I know would be willing to risk their career for something stupid like that.

TWO DAYS LEFT!!!

There are only two days left of Nabloplomo. I am pretty proud of myself. Even on days when I have been unable to post to the internet, I have written something to post. There has been something each day, and I haven't resorted to photos or one-liners, most of the time.

I must apologize that as soon as Nabloplomo is over, the posting will probably slow down A LOOOOOT. You see, we have movers coming next week, Not the Momma returns home next weekend (not this one, the next one.) We have another week, then we're off to CA. I can only hope that I won't be trapped without internet for too long, but then, who knows?

Oh, and for those of you who are interested: The baby weighed in at a little over 24 pounds, a little over 31 inches, and is doing great. No anemia, etc. yada yada. The shots however? They sucked. DO NOT watch them jam the three inch needles into your baby's thigh. You will think they have scratched the bone. The finger prick and squeeze was the worst. He was traumatized by that. Every time he saw the band-aid on his finger the tears would resume. It has been pathetic.

Why I'm going grey before 30:

Just a few minutes from my day today:

12:20 PM: On the phone with work, trying to work out a design "crisis." Baby is smearing peanut butter all over his hands, but making mmmm sounds because he likes it sooo much.

12:35 PM: Baby is done with lunch, but covered in peanut butter. Start bath water.

12:37 PM: Take down baby gates so as not to kill self/baby while carrying him around.

12:39 PM: Remove tray from high chair and put in sink to rinse contents.

12:40 PM: Get baby out of high chair carefully, so as NOT to get peanut butter all over myself.

12:41 PM: Get baby in bathroom, unsnap top of outfit. Doorbell rings.

12:42 PM: Race stupid dog to the door, kicking him off of the baby and me while trying to figure out who in the world would be so stupid as to show up NOW.

12:43 PM: Watch the FedEX man run away after he left package at door. Set baby down for ONE SECOND to open door and grab box, while trying to beat off the dog who really wants to attack the FedEX man and smother him with kisses.

12:44 PM: FedEX man drives off, dog busts through the door and finds a technician from the city's electric company to bark at while chasing their truck/trailer. Hang up on poor guy from work, pick up baby, because there are NO baby gates up, and the bath water is running. I pick up peanut butter covered baby, run outside screaming like an idiot at the (*&#@^* dog, who instead of going inside when I threaten to send him to Doggy Heaven runs the other way. Continue this for what seems like forever. In my pajamas and slippers, in front of the guys from the electric company, the neighbors, and God. Continue screaming and chasing dog until he realizes that certain death is near if he does not GET BACK INSIDE THE HOUSE YOU STUPID DOG! RIGHT NOW! I MEAN IT! YOU GET BACK INSIDE THIS VERY INSTANT BEFORE I KILL YOU! BUSTER! GET INSIDE NOOOOOOW! INSIDE! INSIDE!INSIDE NOOOOW!

12:53 PM: Finally get stupid dog back inside, shut door and get baby into the bath. Notice the house looks like a herd of tazmanian devils have torn through it. Forget about the mess and bathe the baby.

12:54 PM: Baby decides he is done with the bath and tries to climb out of the tub, but slips and barely misses having his precious head smashed into the floor.

1:10 PM: Baby is washed, cleaned and dressed. I can finally relax. RIIIGHT. I still have to clean up the lunch mess, pick up toys, shower, dress and become presentable, finish up the "design crisis" artwork, call work back (because I hung up on them, remember?), email about 4 other clients back about their design work and go grocery shopping, all before 4:00 so that I can leave to head to in-laws for dinner on time.

That, my friends is the reason for the big grey hair in the middle of my forehead. The one I want to pluck, but am afraid to for fear that seven friends actually will show up to mourn its loss.

What could be more fun than...

...having my fingernails ripped out one at a time, followed by my toenails?** (DISCLAIMER: Please excuse any overuse of capital letters and exclamation points. I believe I have been poisoned.)

Unpacking boxes jammed with mothballs. I hate the things. They smell disgusting, are incredibly toxic, and did I mention the smell? The stench they produce is so strong, I swear it overpowers fresh skunk spray.

If I hate the things, why would I be unpacking boxes filled with them? I don't exactly know WHY. Some would say because "they" want to make sure the bugs are dead. I'm not exactly who "they" is, but that is why there are mothballs in the boxes. I opened the boxes yesterday. Since then I've had headaches, nausea, dizzy spells, etc. I have had no clue why. But perhaps, JUST MAYBE someone is trying to POISON me with MOTHBALLS. Mothballs in shoes, every stinkin' bag of shoes. All 10 of them. Mothballs buried in the bottom of boxes, mothballs hidden in folds of clothing, in shoes. in all of the damned shoes. Blasted shoes. Shoes that CANNOT be washed in the washer, so the smell CANNOT be rinsed out of them. SHOES made out of suede and leather. HOW IN THE WORLD DO YOU GET MOTHBALL SCENT OUT OF COWBOY BOOTS?!

After spending an hour digging through all of the clothing, while trying to keep the baby from helping, (so as not to let him DIE from MOTHBALL POISONING), I think I finally got rid of the last one. I thought that once I had gotten rid of the things, that the smell would go away. Maybe the smell is just BURNED into my nose FOREVER. Maybe it has soaked into the carpet that the stinky mothball infested clothing was sitting on. All I know, is that the smell, it's still here. It hasn't gone away, and I have a headache, and I feel like throwing up again. Good thing I'm not pregnant. My fetus would be crying right now.

Just some things to consider in the future if you ever wanted to use mothballs:
1)MOTHBALLS ARE TOXIC. TOXIC means DEADLY to BABIES and PETS. Babies and pets who accidentally ingest mothballs, mistaking them for, oh, the candy they resemble, suffer from the following symptoms before DYING: eye, nose, throat irritation, respiratory problems, vertigo*, confusion, headache*, nausea*, vomiting, and/or fatigue*, convulsions, hemolytic anemia, and in long-term exposures, dementia and cancer. (* denotes symptoms I have had in the past 24 hours.)

2) MOTHBALL alternatives include: CEDAR, a natural pest repellent, smells nice. Is sold in balls, blocks and disks. Re-usable, and just as easy to use as mothballs. Leftover Soap slivers can also be used. They smell MUCH nicer and will repel pests just as well. Simply put them in a vented bag. Sachets full of things such as rosemary, lavender, lemon peel, and rose petals. They repel bugs as well, and smell very nice.

I swear that if I find ONE more mothball, I am going to find a way to get to where they originated and, well, I don't know what I'd do. But it might not be pretty. And then when that is over, I could commence to re-arranging some furniture, especially bedroom furniture. Please, for the love of GOD tell me that there are no more mothballs. I hate mothballs. Did I mention that I hate mothballs? I think the dementia is starting to kick in.

But Polygamy would have been so much fun...

A long time ago in a land far away, my friend, also known as “glitters” and I made a pact. We had discussed what would happen if we didn’t meet someone to marry. Neither of us liked the idea of living alone so we decided that when we turned 40 (because when you’re in high school 40 is practically dead) if we hadn’t married, we would “marry” each other, buy a house, and live together. We spent the summers she was home from college running around together having a good time. People often thought that Glitters and I were sisters, because we look alike, dark hair, freckles, etc. The best “sister” incident was when we were approached by the manager of “The Night Before,” who apparently thought adding sister act to the club’s repertoire would be good for business.

While Glitters was off at school, I met this guy. 10 months later, we were married, and getting ready to move to Rhode Island. Glitters, graduated from college, was getting ready to head to Australia for her next stage of schooling, but wanted to meet some friends on the east cost before taking off for the land down-under. Because when you move for the military, they don’t move your vehicles for you, my husband and I had to drive separately Glitters came along for the ride, so I wouldn’t go crazy in the car all that way by myself.

While on this trip, our pact came up. I had ruined it for poor Glitters, who was now destined to live alone when she got old turned 40. My husband, overheard our conversation, and being the generous man that he is, offered to become a polygamist when Glitters got old turned 40 if she hadn’t found a mate. (Ha-ha, no pun intended.) That would allow her to marry into our family, so that I could stay married to my husband, and honor the pact I’d made with her. For the week that she stayed with us, he had a good time pretending to be married to two women.

He had such a good time pretending, that for the past five years, he has counted down to the day that he would get to marry Glitters. At least once a year, he’d bring up how many years he had left “Only 14 more years until I marry Glitters.” I had to break some sad news to him the other day. We got a wedding invitation from Glitters and her fiancé. Glitters is getting married; so my husband doesn’t get to be married to two women. I’m sure he would have regretted that decision eventually anyway. After all, once you’ve been married to one woman for a few years, you learn one is plenty, especially when she has a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day and threatens to move to Australia.

Not the Momma for the last time:(

I know I know you all are thinking "what is Not the Momma blogging about now" well... not much. I am just trying to fill a spot during a day so DW can get her quota in for the month.

OK... So here DH is walking to work wearing a long sleeve shirt because the temperature dropped to a brisk 75 degrees today. Yes, DH knows a long sleeve shirt in 75 degree weather is insane DH promises DH will wear a jacket next time because DH almost froze to death while walking. DH's hands and feet were a little chilly.

Anyways DH was going to pick up some movies for himself and gifts for the family. While DH was walking to the store DH seen the most interesting sight DH has ever seen.

Before I get two far into the story I need to remind you that DH is in a Muslim country we will call the Island.

In front of the store there is a court yard and in this court yard is something that didn't belong. DH is in the desert and to date the only plant life he has seen is some shrubs the "Tree of Life", I know you can look up where DH is in google, and some palm trees that were Planted by DH's work. So any ways as DH is is walking and there taller than all the buildings is a 30 foot pine tree.

DH knows that Christmas is coming because while at work DH watched all the people try to kill each other to get the black Friday deals on FOX News. DH does a lot of TV watching and Internet surfing while at work, DW hates him for it but that is a blog for future DH.

DH walking by this tree starts to chuckle. You see all the Dirty Jobs done around where DH works are done by TCN, third country nationals, in other words Muslims. You see there must have been twenty TCN's working to put up this tree. Adding lights, ornaments and all that Christmasy stuff to the tree. The best part is, DH is thinking, that half of the people putting up the tree does not even know what Christmas is and the other half only know that Christmas is the time of year when DH's coworkers spend more money in 40 days then they earn in a year. And still they are the ones being forced to put up the Christmas tree for minimum wage.

Now do not get DH wrong he was not laughing at the people putting up the tree he was laughing at the world that would place these people in the position to have to put up the tree. Yes DH knows you have all seen the flicker pictures and are thinking DH am one to talk... but living here has really opened DH's eyes to the haves and the have nots. On the Island you either have it all or you have nothing. Back in home the lines are a little more blurred. DH will save the hole political speech for DH's own blog if he decides to write one.

So DW should be back to posting full time later today. I hope you all liked reading my posts. This is Not the Momma signing off until next time.

Black Friday.

On the way to breakfast on the day after Thanksgiving:


My Grandpa: Just don’t order the 8 egg omelet.

My Dad: Unless you want to fondue it. With three or four forks.

Me: You mean share it?

Dad. Yah, that’s what I meant.

Because today is Thanksgiving…

Thanksgiving was always a special holiday growing up. If my mom had found out that someone was spending the holiday alone, they’d be invited over. She was big on that. No one should ever spend the holiday alone, eating some lame TV dinner. When it was time for dinner, we’d all sit down. Before we were allowed to eat, we would have to say one thing that we were most thankful for. When I was a kid, that was easy. I was usually thankful for friends and family, and those sweet potatoes with their marshmallow topping, crunch and gooey at the same time; pure magic that dish. As I got older, though, I learned a bit more about how cruel the world can be, and learned how grateful I really ought to be that I had a warm home, great family, and was never short of food to eat.

This year, will be the hardest yet, not because I can’t think of something to be thankful for, but because I have been blessed in so many ways. I have too much to be thankful for to put it into one short and sweet little comment. This year, I have learned to be thankful for every day. All of the little things that I usually take for granted. The fact that I wake up every morning, have food to eat. I am thankful that I live in a country where I am free to wear what I choose (without being stoned to death), where I can leave my house and go anywhere I please (without a male escort, because my one year old son can go out without an escort, but some women aren’t allowed out without a man).

I am thankful that I have a wonderful, loving husband who has given up so much and worked so hard to provide the life that we have been able to live. He works more hours in one week than most people do in a month. I take him for granted every day. Everyone says to me “oh, it must be hard having your husband gone.” The truth is, that he has it harder than we do. I am thankful that he will be home soon, that we can restart our lives together after eighteen months apart. I am thankful that his career, while some may not agree, has allowed us to have all that we do, our rights, our privileges, and firstly, our freedom.

I am thankful for my beautiful, healthy baby boy. He is alive, with 10 fingers, 10 toes, says Moma and means it. He blows kisses, says good girl and gives GREAT snuggly hugs. I am thankful that he is able to remove all of my books from the cabinet, unfold an entire basket of laundry, dump a glass of water and try to eat a battery all in 30 seconds, because, while it may be aggravating, it means he is healthy, with full use of his body. The baby is thankful that he has learned where his nose is, and that it contains two holes just big enough for his finger. He finds those holes with his fingers often, and usually makes a honk sound to let us know exactly what he is doing.

I am thankful for my family; my wonderful family who has been there for the baby and I over the last year. Without you all, I don’t know if we would have made it through the separation from the husband. You have made the past eighteen months go by more quickly than I could have imagined. I am thankful for all of you, Mom, Dad, Mom R, Dad R, close family friends, brothers, sisters, Waterski Family, friends, and internet buddies. Family to me isn’t defined by marriage or blood, but rather who is important to you. I have learned in the last year that I have a much larger family than I ever imagined.

I am thankful for so much that my heart swells and feels like it is going to burst. I simply cannot list everything that I have to be thankful for, because I have SO MUCH. I am so privileged that my life has become more than I had imagined it would be.

Posts from the weekend.

I hope you all are enjoying the posts my DH is providing you with. I think he should post again one more time. Maybe. We'll see. My posts are not nearly as funny as his, however, they are the posts I wrote this weekend while I was away.

What the DW is Thankful for!

Hello all it is me Not the Momma again with another days blog for the DW while she travels. Today we will see what the DW is thankful for this Holiday season.

This year the DW is thankful to be alive after her visit to DH. You see DH lives in a far away land where everyone speaks a funny language... No not California someplace farther and a lot friendlier. Yes, I know that is anywhere else other than California, by the way be nice the DW was born there the only thing she has going for her is that you can't choose where you were born, but the very, very, very, did I say very sunny and very, very, one more very HOT place we will call the Island. Some of you might think oh this is DH making up places, just like in his comic books, but I swear to you that this place does exist in the world today. Imagine a land so baron that you can see where the earth curves to meet the sky. This country is also so small that it is the size of Rhode Island.

But I digress we were talking about DW and her wonderful trip to visit DH. Well one day DH comes home and says well I promised you cheep GOLD and today is the day we are going to the souk, (سوق, also sook, souq, or suq) is a highly fashioned caravan. In the modern Arabic the term refers to markets, to find it.

So the DW, DH and Kid load up the car and head out to find the Gold Souk in their rented car. The thing about the Island is that no one follows the driving suggestions. Thats right the DW and myself believe the Island cops just pull people over at what ever time they like. So after driving like a crazed man for about an hour DH believes he has found the right street.

Now you need to understand the map that DH was using was an artists rendition of the streets of the Island. The actual streets were once one lane Camel paths between buildings that someone paved over. And the Islanders, since there are no rules, park on both sides of the road meant to walk Camel carts down. So this leaves inches on each side of DH's rented car. DH is also driving like the locals, remember there are no rules, so he is doing about 60kph down this road where there are inches of room. By the way DH is going to have fun back in the states driving his big blue truck, so if you see a big blue truck you might want to move or DH might pass you on the shoulder doing 80mph.

Ok, DH is driving down this road looking for his turn to take him to the Gold Souk when all of a sudden the street gets smaller and smaller and then out of the blue there is an opening, with a Mosque with about 10 black flags flying around it. Now you see a little explanation needs to happen now. The Island is split into two parts the for US part and the Not for US part. The Not for US part is partitioned with black flags and if you look like you are from the US then you really shouldn't be there especially in the center where the Mosque was located. At this time DH swears silently under his breath knowing that he most likely just killed DW, seeing as DH believes that even carrying Kid he can still out run DW, since she would be over ran by the crowd while DH and Kid got away. Hearing DH swear DW stops looking at all the buildings from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" you know the part where they are running down the street with the girl in the basket, and starts looking at where they are. DH being the dumb@$$ that he is told DW all about the Black flag places and what they represented. Well DW starts saying "that person was staring at me" and "that person was flipping me off". To this day DH does not know how DW seen all these things since everyone was covered head to toe with vales over their eyes.

Any how DH finds the road that will take them from this area and starts driving away at an even faster clip. Finally once clear DH starts making his way back towards the roads that will take them back to the Gold Souk to try again because DH is sure that he knows where he missed his turn. Well that turned out to be just as bad the roads they ended up on this time were even smaller than before and did ninety degree turns around tight corners. By this time DH looks over at DW and sees that she is trying to pull her shirt over face and pull her arms into her shirt. DH laughing asks what she is trying to do an the responce is "I feel naked and these people are judging me because of it"

Once again DH finds his way to a road that looks familiar and starts the long trek back to the road that will take them back to the Souk. DW realizing this states "We do not need to go to the Souk! I am so nervous that my palms are sweating". DH realizing DW is probably right heeds her advice and starts the trek home.

So that is the story about how DW is thankful to be alive.

What did we learn from this? DW learned while in a distant land to have accurate road maps before getting in the car with DH. DH learned that if you want to get out of buying expensive Jewelery for DW drive through the ghetto to get there.

Good night everyone. I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving and did not get Malled on black Friday.

This is Not the Momma singing off. DW should be back tomorrow to write about her trip.

A real Time for Thanks!!!

Hello all it is me Not the Momma again. The DW informed me that I needed to tell you all what I was thankful for So...

There once was this guy, we will call him DH for now, who had this big meeting with his boss, and if you knew DH's profession you would know this was a big meeting. Well to prepare for this meeting DH took his Uniform over to the Dry Cleaners. A couple of days later, the morning of the meeting to be precise, DH returned to the cleaners to pick up his Uniform. He paid the clerk and when to his office space to change.

DH has the same routine, comes from a mundane job, of showing up 10min before he needs to be there. This gives DH just enough time to get dressed and make it to where he is going without waisting any valuable "DH" time.

So there DH was in the Head, the restroom in sea jargon, changing his clothes. DH hangs up his uniform fresh from the cleaner and removes the protective plastic bag they put on it. Then removes the uniform from the hangers and lays it out on the bench. First DH pulls off his Civies then adorns the uniform completing his transformation to his work persona. Except that day DH notices that his pants look a little smaller while holding them up. DH thinks to himself that this must be an illusion and commences donning the pants. DH soon learns that the pants not only look smaller but they are smaller... considerably smaller. Now you already know that the clock is ticking down from 10min. At this point DH starts to panic. DH has two options 1) try to explain to his 8 bosses, yes "I have eight bosses Bob", that his pants shrunk in the cleaners seeing that this is a pair he has never warn before, and try to reschedule with the big boss. or 2) wear the pants as is looking like he sprayed the pants on and he plans to trek through the a swamp, a reference to how high the pants road up.

Well being in partly the Work mode DH decides to suck it up and wear the pants chalking up the experience to ensure that he will always be early from now on... at least on days where important meetings are being conducted.

Now you are all probably wondering what this has to do with being thankful... Well you see DH took a big blow to his ego. His job has always said he was fat being 6'5" at 250lbs. This and the ribbing DH took from his peers really crushed him.

Then a few days later DH gets an email that says "DH my name is HD and I believe I have a pair of your pants". DH rushed home to check the name on his pants. And there it was as big as day a spelling of DH's name but spelled HD. DH realizes then that these are not his fat pants and he actually fit into pants two sizes smaller than what he normally wears. This was like a weight lifted off DH's shoulders. DH had thought those were his skiny pants from a time long lost.

So you see there is something for DH to be thankful for this Holiday season. Thats right DH does not have spend $'s on new pants.

Happy Thanksgiving from Not the Momma, DW and Kid

Not the Momma filling in again:)

Hello all. Yes it is me Not the Momma once again. While the DW is on vacation I am filling in. Before I forget Happy Thanksgiving! And do not worry about me they had turkey at the food court and people also brought turkey to work. Buy the end of the watch everyone was so hopped up on triptiphan (sorry about the spelling) that all anyone could do was sit in their chairs and moan and pray that our reliefs came soon.
Well I need to go to work. Happy Thanksgiving all!
Not the Momma away!

From the Road.

Have I told you how much I love Hampton Inns? For the price of a Holiday Inn, you get so much more. And nice big fluffly beds and duvets. mmmmm duuuuveeeeettts.

I apologize if the post yesterday sounded so serious that some of you are thinking that I need help. My mom read the post and within seconds was on the phone, calling me to see if I was okay. I feel bad about that. She thought that, perhaps, I was trying to be funny. In no way, shape, or form was that meant to be funny. It was meant to be the dead truth, but it wasn't meant to cause alarm. These episodes don't happen often, just more often when I'm stressed. Stressed? Am I stressed? Why would I have reason to be stressed?

1) We are traveling in the winter time for Thanksgiving, NORTH to Idaho.
2) My husband is coming home. To live with us. non-stop. For 2 years. No matter how much I love him, and how much I am waiting for that day, there is stress involved with that. I haven't lived with him for more than a few weeks for a years.
3) We are getting ready to move half way across the country.
4) We are going to be traveling with a fifth wheel, in the WINTER for about 2000 miles.
5) My husband is going to be pulling a fifth wheel.
6) We are moving.

Yeah, stress? that's not even all of it. So yeah.. and to top it off, we drove in the snow last night through part of Wyoming. That was fun... NOT.

Panic Attacks

Lately, I've been a big ball of stress just ready to explode. We saw that the other day, when I went crazy and tried to organize the pantry. It is odd to feel the panic bubbling up inside. Your heart races, you start sweating. That, I can deal with. The worst part is when your mind goes so fast through so many things that you can't concentrate on anything. When I get like this, I'll start on one task, and get partly finished, when I'll think of something else, and maniacally decide I have to move on to the next. This sometimes helps me to get the house clean, but usually not, because when I'm in this mode, I tend to clean like a tornado. I'll get some of the mess clean, I'll get started but move on to the next before I've finished.

I don't know the best way to describe the feeling, and maybe I'm the only whack job who gets this way. Imagine my body is a glass jar. I can feel the stress start in my feet, and as things get worse, it bubbles up, like a boiling liquid. I start to panic when it gets to my stomach. If I don't do something to release the stress, or get some time to relax, it bubbles up to my chest and into my neck. When it gets to that point, I start doing crazy things, like re-organizing closets and losing my cool. That is how I let off steam. If I don't do something, It reaches my brain and I explode. Really, I do. I start crying and can't stop until I fall asleep.

I suppose some would say this is ADD, or some crazy form of manic depression, some might say I'm just crazy. I don't know what it is, but I've been dealing with it sufficiently enough for the last 27 years. But lately, this has been happening more often. I can't say that it isn't without reason. The holidays are fast approaching, I have a giant move to coordinate, along with the return of my husband after 18 months of living apart. He isn't returning to the skinny wife he left, but a chubbier version, who is ruled by the one-year-old in the family. Work has also been busier. I have been working close to 40 hours per week designing, WHILE tyring to keep the child entertained. That in itself, isn't easy. Right now, we are at about belly-button level on my stress-o-meter. Hopefully by the time we leave for Idaho today, I'll be back down into my knees, even if it is only until Monday.

iGo a No-Go, but Radio Shack.. yeah.

After the great computer disaster of 2007 (the power cord going kaput in Bahrain), I got home and bought an iGo power cord. It was about 30 bucks more than buying the actual cord from Dell, but the iGo was better. The Dell cord was 80 bucks, and it was only the converter, the power cord that goes from the wall to the converter was not included. The Dell took several days to ship. The Dell only worked in a regular plug. The iGo, I can buy that at Radio Shack. I could have it NOW, it had both cord pieces, AND it came with a handy-dandy plug for the car as well. This morning I got up picked up my computer and noticed that the plug for the computer was busted. How in the world that happened I have no clue. I figured it was no big deal, they sell those tips, I should be able to go to Radio Shack, pick up a new tip for about ten bucks. Smart person that I am, I called them first. I explained my situation, how I was going to cry, because I do all of my work from the laptop, yadda yadda. He looked up where I could buy tip 103 for the iGo. Apparently tip 103 for the iGo, is a NO-Go. You can ONLY buy that tip with the cord. The one I bought. The most expensive cord set they sell. Great. Nice. Wonderful. After my sob story to the clerk, he said that I should bring in the "faulty" set, and he would exchange it for me. That is something they aren't supposed to do. But really, I'd only had the thing a week. Guess I need to be more careful with my cords. I love the new iGo. It will be great on car trips, but those tips. They need to be sold seperately.

Ugh.

We're back to typing out a post, deleting it, starting a new one, deleting it, etc. I really should carry a notepad around with me so that I can write down my sudden epiphanies and thoughts. I can't count the number of times, I've thought "I'm going to write about that tonight." Then, "tonight" comes, and my thoughts are gone. I had three seperate "blog thoughts" today.

And now, the baby wakes, and I must leave you. I will write more tomorrow. Hopefully. If the baby doesn't eat my notepad.

YOU pick the Topics!!

Someone suggested that I let you, my friends, pick the topics that I will write about. After writing three seperate entries for today, and trashing them all for various reasons (including but not limited to: 1) no one cares that the generator tipped over in my car and leaked gas all over the back, eating the rubber backing on the mat. 2) no one cares that I bought a generator. 3) I can't really write about the baby again, because while he is terribly cute, I can only write mushy things SO many times before people think I'm a total dork and 4) If my husband finds out the generator tipped over and spilled gas in the car, he might have a heart attack, and that might kill him, so then he wouldn't come home, and that would suck, and 5) I can't remember the funny conversation my parents had this morning. I can tell you it was similar to the "fart" conversation from the other night) , I have decided that letting YOU pick the topics is one HECK of a GOOD idea! Of course, I'm not going to be mean to anyone (except Ernie Chambers), I won't divulge anything too personal, and if it involves my family, I will have to get permission before I share anything with the world. Here goes.

The first hmmm.. I don't know.. TEN people to comment with their request will be the winners. Of course, if you request something unreasonable, I'll move on to the next person. I'll post the winners when there are ten requests, well, as soon as I have ten reasonable requests.

Thanksgiving Woes.

I had planned on NOT bringing my computer with me when we leave for Idaho on Thanksgiving. That means there are a couple of options:

1) I can just forget about nablopomo, and not blog for Wed thru Sat, and possibly Tues and Sun.
2) I can try to write up that many posts, and have them sitting "stand-by" and ask my most wonderfullest husband ever to log in and click "publish" for me again.
3) I can just trust my husband to blog about something in my stead for those days,

or 4) I have to bring my computer and find internet and publish my blogs myself.

Here are the problems with each option.
1) I am totally committed to this. It has been a challenge to come up with something to write about every day, and I would hate to have such a long lapse.
2)There have been a few days when it has been hard to think of something to write. I would have to come up with 6 posts ahead of time, and then have them waiting. Work has been out of control busy, and so I haven't done much besides sit in front of this computer all week. It would REALLY be nice to get a vacation where I don't feel obligated to work.
3) My husband has in issue with the word "trust." In this case, I would be concerned about what my husband would write. But then again, it could be VERY humorous. But, I don't know if he would agree to this.
4) I have to bring my computer and publish blogs myself. and possibly work. I want a break. :)

Here's the fun part... You tell me what I should do. You have until Tuesday at Noon. Then I'll tell you what my decision is. Are you on pins and needles yet? Oh, and I will be weighing comments based on how much I love you and how much cash you send my way. So, make sure when you comment that you tell me who you are, even if you are posting "anonymously."

Funniest thing I heard all day:

Me: Is that you I smell or is that the dog?

Mom: Are you sitting by her and FARTING?

Dad: I haven't farted in a LONG time, and I don't smell anything.

Me: Oh, so it's the dog?

Dad: Must be.

Mom: (mumbles) A skunk doesn't smell his own stink.

Bad Days Happen.

Bad days happen to everyone, including toddlers who are barely a year old. Bad days happen to mommies who have too much to do, and too little time to fit it all in. Yesterday started out as a bad day. Nothing terrible happened, so I really shouldn't complain. We are all healthy, we are all happy. Life is turning up, Daddy is coming home.

Yesterday was the begining of the pandemonium that is the pre-move anxiety for me. I had been able to put off the anxiety on some level, until yesterday. I started cleaning out my closet so that I could put away my summer clothes and get out my fall clothes, in combination with doing what I like to call the "pre-move sort and discard." I got it started, got well into it, when the baby decided he was not so into that. Our morning went something like this:

I cleaned up the main area and put out some toys for him to play with. Daddy called and I had to do some graphic design work. Baby decides toys are for the birds. He will only be satisfied with computers, remote controls and telephones as toys. Oh, and wires. Anything that is a wire was acceptable as well. He cried because I wouldn't let him play with them.

Work slowed down a bit so I started sorting clothing and getting laundry ready to be washed. Baby unsorts clothing. While he unsorted the clothes, I'm picked up the books from the bookshelf which fell off of the wall, and put them away in a cabinet. I started re-sorting clothing. Baby took the books out of the cabinet I put them in and threw them around the room. After telling the Baby NO about the mess he'd made, I put him out to play with his toys and went about picking up the books again. Things got quiet. I went out where he was playing to find he had decided to "sort" all 30,123 DVDs that we had on shelves. He sorted them onto the floor. I picked up all 30,123 DVDs and put them back where they go, while baby went back into my room and unsorted the clothing, took all the books out of the cabinet, and dumped my glass of water on the carpet in the middle of the room. Then he made a very stinky poop. I decided that perhaps it was naptime because I was going to lose it. So, I changed him and put him to bed. I got all of the things (things I'd already cleaned up at least twice) cleaned up and put away. I started putting laundry into the washer. Then the baby woke up. He had slept for 20 minutes, and was done. He had decided not to nap. I tried and tried to convince him that he should nap longer, but he was done. I decided perhaps he was hungry, so I took him up to make lunch. I opened the pantry to see what I could make for lunch, which he took as an invitation to grab all 30 soda can "coozies" and throw them around the room. He then grabbed the toaster by the cord and tried to drag that off along with a bag of dog treats. While he swung the toaster around by the cord, he also shook the bag of dog treats loud enough to wake the dead from here to Timbuctoo.

I pretty much lost it at that point. I strapped the baby into his highchair and fed him Cheerios while I went ape in the pantry trying to organize the contents. I frantically needed to feel as though I was getting something done. I needed to regain control of something. About half way through the pantry organization, that perhaps I was what was out of control, not everything else. I put things back into the pantry, fed the baby a REAL Lunch and tried to relax. It didn't help that while I was in the middle of all of my frantic frenzy, I was in the middle of a big battle of the CC emails with people at work.

Things settled down, and I realized that most of the frenzy was not about the baby, a mess, or moving, but really about my anxiety level. I have too many things going on in too short of a time, and sometimes I just have to sit back and let things go. Today I am still working on the pre-move sort and discard, but I'm much more realistic about it. Surprisingly, I've actually gotten more done today than I did yesterday. It doesn't mean the baby hasn't unloaded the shelves of the DVDs. It doesn't mean that he didn't take all of my books out of the cabinet. It just means, that I gave it up, and let him. I cleaned that up while he napped, and tried to make the best of things. It's all about attitude, and yesterday, my attitude was not in the right place. Yesterday was a bad day, but today is ooooh so much better.

Watch for rotten tomatoes as they're hurled towards me!

I'm having a bit of trouble today with this post. I've been agonizing over how to put this without sounding like a complete cold hearted witch. It's totally not going to happen. I'm going to sound terrible no matter how I put it, so here goes.

Last night I watched a piece on the news about a military family made up of two service members and a baby who appeared to be about a year old. They were interviewing the father because the mother was on deployment. They talked about how hard it is to be a "single" parent, even while you are married, the long separations, (that family had been together a total of 8 months in three years), how the child didn't know who Mommy was because she'd been gone so long, etc. It went on like that for a while.

I have a problem, mostly because they didn't point out any of the positives. Because they focused mainly on the negative aspects of being a military family it sounded more like whining than anything else. It sounded like "Feel sorry for us. Our life is hard." I don't think that most military families have the "feel sorry for us" attitude that this family was made out to have. I'm not even sure it was the family's fault. A lot happens on that editing room floor. I'm rambling now. I'll get to the point.

This piece tried to get pity from the public for the family. Military families don't want pity. We don't want people to feel sorry for us. I don't want you to look at me and say "aw how rough." It has been rough, but that's life. It's the life my husband signed up for. When we got married, I agreed to be a part of that life, and make those sacrifices with him.

I'm tired of the media making it out like we all want hand-outs and tears, because we don't. I'm not sure I can tell you what we want, but I do know I'm tired of getting that "poor you" look when people ask about my husband. I'm not poor, I'm not unloved, I'm not unhappy. It really sucks sometimes when he's gone, but he's doing it for a good reason. I hope someday I can teach my son that we don't get to be pitied because of what Daddy does for a living. We are just normal people trying to live a normal life, we are not better or worse-off than anyone else. We don't expect sympathy. We just live. Day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute.

I also have an issue with this piece, because they were trying to extract EXTRA pity for having a family with two military parents. If there are two military parents in that family, and they have spent 8 months together in the last three years, they should count themselves in the lucky few. Many families with two military spouses spend only weeks together each year, when they can manage to coordinate leave. They should be happy that they've gotten to spend such a large amount of time together.

My family, with only one service member has spent no more time together than they have. Our child knows who Daddy is only because we've worked really hard at it. I've flown half way around the world twice with the baby in order to be sure that the baby and Daddy get some bonding time. Daddy spent hours and hours taping himself reading stories so that I could play them for the baby in hopes that he would recognize Daddy when he came home, hoping that he would remember his face and his voice. Daddy didn't get to see many of his firsts in person either, but he's not going on National TV to complain about it. We have spent no more time together as a family than they have. Our lives are no different, but you don't see me calling up Channel 8 to tell them how rough I have it, and please feel sorry for my baby and I.

If you really want to know, my husband and I have been married for 5 1/2 years, but we've lived together for about 2 1/2 years; 6 months in Rhode Island when we were first married, and a few months together here and there for the rest of our marriage. I have spent most of our marriage alone, dealing with things on my own. I have replaced a kitchen floor, redecorated a house, managed to carry toilets up stairs, and install them, moved half-way across the country, delivered and raised a baby all on my own, and traveled half-way around the world and back... twice. ALL of that I did with help from friends and family, but mostly by myself. And I don't ask for pity. I am a stronger person for it. We have a friend whose seen his wife even less than Husband has seen me. I don't see her on the national news complaining. Another friend of mine has an awesome career, and if she wants to live with her husband, she'll either have to start over every time he moves, or give it up. A third friend is having to deal with trying to explain to her son about deployments because her husband has returned to sea duty. ALL military families do this. We all make these sacrifices without asking for anything in return, least of all, pity. It's just what we do. It's just who we are.

Oh, and the toilet? I did that one ALL BY MYSELF. And if you've ever carried a toilet, if you know me, you're probably laughing right now trying to figure out how in the heck I got the darn thing up the stairs, into our tiny master bathroom, and onto the teeny tiny little bolts in the floor.

Good Intentions...

I had good intentions of typing up a great post, full of witty remarks and clever content. However, my need for sleep is greater than my need to write this evening. You see, when you travel half-way around the world with a baby and disrupt his sleep schedule, you're eventually going to pay for it. I have been paying since we got home. Every morning, 3:30AM comes, and every morning at that time, the wailing human alarm clock that is my son goes off. Unfortunately, he doesn't have a snooze button. Well, I guess I could just give him a good ol' bop in the head, but I think CCF might have issues with that. He isn't really awake, he just thinks he should be. So he cries, and I wait, hoping he'll go back to sleep. We spend the rest of the morning, waking, crying, soothing, and trying to get him back to sleep. He does OK if I bring him to bed with me, but I don't get any sleep either way.

Speak of the little Devil, and his sleeping habits. He is sounding the alarm now. Only six hours early tonight. Nice.

It's all HIS fault.

I don't have anything to write about today. Well, really that isn't true. I have something to write about, but I'm not allowed to. It's nothing important, nothing big, but because it involves other members of the family, I had to get permission. Permission was denied. It really isn't fair either. I wasn't about to divulge any national secrets, I was just going to talk about an experience we had, and how it effected our lives, and some decisions we have to make eventually, but NOOOO... He had to go and put the kabosh on it.

And now I have to change my blogger password, because the husband has it, and has threatened to delete any posts that I put up about the forbidden topic. And I guess this would technically be a post about that specific topic, even though you all are in complete suspense as to what that topic would be. So, if you want to know why I have nothing to blog about today, talk to my husband.

Stress Much?

So yes, thank God we are home safe and sound. I wasn't so sure we were going to make it all in one piece for a while. The plane we fly on is basically a bus. It stops in a few places and people get on or off while they refuel and cater the plane. We got to the first stop and as I was chatting with some of the other families that had come out to visit I found out a few disturbing things. First, the plane had some issues on the way out the week before. They almost had to stay the night in one spot while the plane was repaired. As they were talking about that, the people who had gotten on in the first spot mentioned how "exciting" it was when the airplane CAUGHT ON FIRE on the way to pick us up. YES, CAUGHT ON FIRE! They weren't exactly sure what had caught on fire, or how badly, but something had ignited. Every time we stopped from then on out, they were "fixing" something or another. I didn't think too much of it until our second-to-last stop. While we were there, they announced that they were changing the location. Instead of stopping outside of Poland, we were going to Ireland. Why? Because the issues with the plane would not allow us to fly over open seas. I'm going to repeat that. We were not allowed to fly over open seas. Yeah, that's scarier than the phantom green light, even if it had been some freaky secret internet porn camera. They had to have a Plan B, because the chances were that we may have to make some sort of emergency landing, and the chances of having an emergency landing in open seas? Not good. I felt a lot better knowing that we were flying over land though. Really. I swear.

TRYING TO HELP A TRAVELING WIFE

Hello all, this is the DH filling in for the WH while she and the baby travel back to the states. Just to let everyone know they are safe back in the US and tomorrow the wife will resume her posts.

Since I was accused of posting about comic books already there can not be Double Jeopardy. So who out there has been reading the "WORLD WAR HULK" series? It is assume. The wife lets me buy them so when I die she can pull a "40 year old virgin" and sell all my comics so she can live well.

This is DH signing off from the future. Hope to have the chance to post again.

If all went well...

I am sitting on an airplane with the baby. Hopefully he's not screaming his little head off. Let us now begin to flop our schedules back to our regular time.

What is the husband doing? Probably sobbing in a corner with relief. He can finally go back to eating nothing in an attempt to lose weight to be in compliance with the Navy's height/weight standards. Or maybe he's upstairs working out, because he hasn't done that since we've been here either. Perhaps he's sleeping. Whatever he's doing we miss him already.

The baby has most certainly formed a bond with Daddy this time. That was the whole purpose for the trip. Baby knows that when he sees Daddy the thing to do is grab his nose and squeeze. That will for sure get a fun sound, whether it's a HONK or an AAOOOOOGAH. He'll get some sort of fun noise, and then probably a bunch of silly kisses all over, because the Baby loves those. Daddy likes those too because he gets the crazy cackly giggle.

(Oh and if you start seeing lots of posts about Marvel, DC Comics or Star Wars, my husband is probably pretending to be me and making crazy posts. He has the password to my account now so that he could post this for me.)

Window -1 Overactive Imagination -0

Just in case you were all worried we were being taped with some crazy hidden night-vision camera, we figured out the source of the phantom green last night. When it appeared for the third (noticed) night in a row we did some investivative work, including covering up and shutting off every light source in the room. I went upstairs to the gym to make sure that there wasn't some crazy pin hole in the concrete letting light in. When I walked upstairs to solve that problem, and the lights were off, I nearly wet my pants in fear. I was certain it was some creepy camera, or worse, something from the paranormal just waiting for me to fall asleep and then it was going to get me. (Yes, I'm 5.) Finally, I moved the curtain to the room. That made the "phantom green light get bigger." It was then that we noticed a light from outside was sneaking behind the curtain and bouncing around the mirrors in the room until it finally landed on the ceiling. Yes, proof I am a whack job and unfit to be a mother because when my kid complains about monsters under the bed, I'll probably have a heart attack or end up in bed with the child crying with fear as well.

Phantom Green Light.

I've always been scared of the unknown. Aliens, ghosts, basically anything I don't have control over. Combine that with an often run-away imagination and you've got trouble. Especially when there's a phantom green light glowing in the middle of the bedroom ceiling. In my mind this light has been a camera for the landlord to spy on us (I can only hope we don't end up a part of some crazy middle-eastern Internet porn), an alien probe, a terrorist spy microphone. It has been all kinds of things. What is it? We have no clue. The light is unable to be seen when the lights are on. The ceiling just looks white. If ONLY I had seen it, only one night, it wouldn't be an issue, it would have just been my imagination. But my husband sees it too, and it has reappeared for the past two nights. Who knows how many nights we've just not seen it. I tried to think of things that it could be that were logical. Perhaps a nail hole of some sort, allowing light from the gym above our room to seep through the drywall and paint? Daddy says that can't be it, because the floors/ceilings here are made of cement. All logical thoughts about the phantom green light went out the window along with any possible sleep I may get in the next few nights.

Our nights haven't exactly been full of sleep anyway. We aren't sleep deprived because of, um, recreational activities either. Instead, it is nightmares about aliens. Nightmares about the baby breaking his precious little head on those white marble stairs. Then there was the first few nights, when I was so tired that I had brought the baby to bed with us for a few minutes to calm him down before putting him to bed in his crib. Several times each night my husband would wake up to me pummelling him in the chest repeatedly because I was looking for the baby (who had in my mind fallen off of the bed and broken his little head.) Never mind that all that pummelling would have broken the baby had he actually been in the bed. Finally, FINALLY we got our schedules all worked out, got the baby to sleep all night. Then, the green phantom light appears. I have to be dead tired to fall asleep, and if I wake up in the middle of the night and see it, it's all over. I'm awake.

Just in case you care, my sleep forecast doesn't look so hot for the next few days anyway. We will be anticipating the sadness of leaving Daddy, on a plane, or in a hotel room for the next few days, so it isn't looking great. Add to that, the fact that the baby's sleep schedule will be flipped for a few days, and we're looking at possibly insane mommy.

Fake Thanksgiving.

I tried to make a Thanksgiving dinner for the family. I started yesterday with my signature piece. Pumpkin Pie. I don't mean to brag (well, really, I kind of do), but I make KILLER pies, pumpkin being the best one. I'm not sure if it was the frozen crust I used (I usually cheat with the rolled kind in the refridgerator case) or perhaps a failed temperature conversion, but something went wrong. Something went terribly wrong. The second pie attempt (pies 3 and 4) turned out better. At least I assume so, because Daddy has eaten an entire half of one of them.

As for the baby, I'm not sure if he enjoyed dinner or not, but he's sound alseep now. We're hoping to get on the airplane home the day after tomorrow, but there's no guarantees. If we don't we will be spending the money I'd had set aside for my new washer and dryer on two one-way tickets home, but then, we'll probably have to stay a bit longer too.

This post a day thing is harder than I thought it would be. I don't have much to say today that is witty, or comical. I really don't have much to say at all. Hopefully I'll have something better to write about tomorrow.

It's 10am here...

and already I've given my husband evidence that the grey hair in the middle of my forehead is in fact, blonde. Our conversation:

Husband: "Oh, you opened up another window."
Me: "No I didn't."
Husband: "Yes you did, I can see it."
Me: "That's a POP-UP window!"
Husband: shakes his head in disbelief that the brunette he married has truly gone blonde.

It's only 10am. The baby didn't start screaming at the top of his lungs when he woke up this morning. In fact, he didn't even cry. We started to worry around 9 when he hadn't tried to call camels from the south end of the island with his crazy screaming. So, I checked on him, and found him... sitting up... in his pack and play... playing with his teddy bear and his blanket. Crazy stuff, crazy stuff.

O Glorius Radio Shack,

retailer of all things electronic and good, distributor of adapters of the ac variety that will work with any laptop comuter, how do I love thee.

Yes, in the bottom right hand corner of my computer there is a little lightning bolt, along with a power cord. No grey battery with a dim sliver of blue reminding me that I have exactly 30 seconds left before my computer dies.

I will be able to add some photographs to my flickr site now, which means I'll be able to add photos to my posts again. Aren't you just so happy about that? I'm sure you are.

All Done! -- updated

The baby has really taken to signing "all done." I started out teaching him this in order to curtail temper tantrums in his high chair. I would wave my hands back in forth in front of me and say "all done" every time I took him out of the high chair. Once he started doing it, I would require that he say "all done" before I would remove him. That way, he learned that he had to say "all done" to let me know when he was finished. It was great. He'd say "all done" when he was full, and we'd clean him up and he'd get out. Now, he has learned to apply this "all done" concept to other areas. For example, last night, he started frantically saying "all done" in the bathtub when he was done with his bath. Great, another tantrum avoided. The big problem is, that sometimes, like this morning, while he was playing, he suddenly started saying "all done." My thought is: "All done, what?" What did I do? I thought that maybe just maybe he's all done being awake. Maybe he's tired and wants a nap. So, I tried it. I put him down for his nap. He whined a little and protested for all of about 2 minutes. He's now asleep. My child just told me he wanted a nap. He wanted to give me some free time to do dishes take a shower sweep the floor read a book do something productive play around on the internet. He's the best. And because I made him, so am I. The BEST thing I ever did was teach that child "all done."

Update:

He's taken the "all done" theory to a new level. He tells us every time he's all done with anything. Today he told us he's all done with the following:
I'm all done being awake.
I'm all done sleeping.
I'm all done eating this.
I'm all done NOT eating that.
I'm all done waiting for you to give me that french fry.
I'm all done sitting in this stroller
I'm all done walking.
I'm all done crying in my crib.
I'm all done sitting in your lap.
I'm all done playing with this toy.
I'm all done being washed for my bath.
I'm all done playing in the tub.
I'm all done waiting for my bath.
I'm all done NOT playing with that toy.

Basically, the child is always "all done." He tells us so all the time. I'm all done talking about being all done.

Writer's Block?

Already? I have writers block. The pressure is getting to me. When I don't NEED to say something, you can't get me to shut my mouth.. or pause my fingers. But tell me that I have to write something for my blog every day, and all of a sudden, I'm thinking "Who wants to read about that?" Add that to the fact that I can type about sixty times faster than the letters appear on the ancient computer, and we have trouble. My brain goes too fast for my fingers anyway. Trying to slow down my thoughts to match this computer is akin to trying to push a semi uphill. (I'm not trying to say that I'm smart, I'm trying to say that I'm scatterbrained and crazy.)

Today the baby was playing in the cupboards, against the rules, when he pulled out a pot. The lid fell off and landed on his foot. I knew he was hurt, but didn't realize how badly until a few hours later. His middle toe is black and blue. Daddy wondered why he was fighting having his shoes put on. The most amazing thing to happen today: The baby listened and followed directions. When did that start?? He was being naughty and getting into the utensil drawer. I told him no, told him to put the spoons back in and shut the drawer. Wanna know what he did? He put the spoons back in and then shut the drawer. It blew my mind. He also knocked over the stroller. He would have righted it, except for the backpack that was strapped to the handlebars. I know you're all tired of hearing how amazing he is. I'm sorry. Maybe someday I'll get a life outside of my kid. But even if I did get a job outside the home, I wouldn't talk about it on here. I learned my lesson. Have you ever been to Dooce's website?

That brings us to the computer update. No. It didn't magically start working again. I was really hoping it would. Tomorrow we're going to rent a car and head to the mall so that I can look for a new ac adapter. I'm having serious withdrawals from my daily dose of dooce. I'm also tired of waiting for the computer to catch up with me. So much for writer's block, huh?

First Day of NaBloPoMo

It is officially the first day of NaBloPoMo. While I try to update my blog on a regular basis, sometimes I get lazy and quit posting for a week. or two. or three months. That won't happen this November! I am going to do my best to post at least once per day during this most magical of months for bloggers. Now, I already have some posts written for days I'll be traveling back to the United States. My husband is under the strictest of orders as to when to log in and find the posts and click "Publish Post." We'll see how he does. (Now that I've told all of you about it, he'll probably do great. He might fail me, but he wouldn't want to face all of YOU!)

A quick aside:
While I've been typing this, I've been a neglectful mother. My child has succeeded in opening the wipes and spreading them throughout the room. He has also slobbered a gallon of spit into his brush, and brushed his hair. I think he's going to need a bath. Now he's trying to figure out how to get his CAT truck out of the third story window so he can play with the strangers walking around on the street. He's also yelling "Daddy" out the window. Either Dad is really outside, or he knows that Daddy is out there somewhere, and most likely never coming home. At least not until Pirates of the Caribbean can get a decent ending.

Snack Mix, Legos and colorful birds.

In the midst of all of the mourning the loss of my computer, and hence, MY internet, the baby made a mess. a colossal mess. He found a baggie of snack mix. Cheerios, raisins, goldfish crackers, dried fruit, etc. and, well, Let's just say that stuff can FLY and cover an entire floor. Then, what did he do? He proceeded to pick it all up. He's a clean freak like that. Does it matter that he decided to eat it instead of throwing it away? Not really. Then he did the cutest. thing. ever. He walked over to the window, looked down at all of the lucky people who actually got off of work at a reasonable hour (unlike his poor father being trapped in that building thanks to stupid jerks who sail around with parrots), and waved at them. Then he ate a lego.