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April 2006
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June 2006

Who Needs Actual Writing When You've Got Very Small Shoes?

And in case shoes aren't your thing, here are some pictures of his very large head. He is Mahir! He kiss you! (PS. I can SO still string a complete sentence together! Nyah! Behold: the Wednesday Advice Smackdown.) (PPS. What? I didn't say they were GOOD complete sentences.) Read more →

Everything to Everyone

So. It's been almost two whole weeks since I set foot in an office. I still haven't unpacked any of the crap I dragged home with me and there are still three picture frames and two desk lamps in the trunk of my car. I still check my work email every day. I still haven't taken the dog to the vet for a way-overdue checkup and I haven't mailed the boxes of baby clothes to my sister. I haven't taken Noah to the park once and haven't even started looking for a playgroup. I still don't get enough sleep or drink enough water. I forget to eat lunch a lot. I still can't get Noah to eat anything besides fruit. I leave the Food Network on all day for company. I still haven't worked out a regular schedule with a part-time nanny, and I still feel really weak admitting that I need a part-time nanny. Noah still watches Baby Einstein at least once a day. I love writing for Alpha Mom. I love writing the ClubMom blog. I still haven't gotten used to surfing blogrolls beyond my own. I'm not used to seeing myself discussed on other blogs like a... Read more →

Urban Babies Have Lawyers

First, I wish someone had alerted me to this Mother's Day business earlier. It's like a whole other birthday! Or Christmas, without having to buy anything for somebody else, which is such a drag. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. Jason said Noah tried to lick this one in the store, so he guessed that meant he liked it. He has lovely penmanship for a seven-and-a-half-month old. And looks aside, I can now prove that he is indeed my child by the red ink on his nose. I've been there, baby. At least no one was trying to wipe it off with their own spit. (This time, anyway. Mama was too busy eating donuts to clean you properly.) The rest of my first Mother's Day weekend was chock full of examples of Really Fine Parenting, like the following: 1. I changed a very very VERY poopy diaper in the Smallest Restaurant Bathroom Ever, like it was seriously four square feet wide and I whacked Noah's head on the sink. Twice. 2. I spilled a hot latte on him in the middle of a crowded Starbucks. Oh yes, I did. This would probably be vaguely forgiveable... Read more →


My whole life, I wanted a baby with hair. Hair I could play with. My Little Pony habits die hard, apparently. The dream of braids and ribbons and wee plastic combs took a bit of a hit when I found out I was having a boy, but was revived with the thought of having a little hippie baby with long flowing hair -- hair that would drive his grandparents nuts because I should cut it off, he looks like a girl, and instead I would dress him in organic cotton tie-dye and teach him to pluck a single daisy from behind his ear and hand it to his grandpa while making a little peace sign with the other hand. Then maybe he could say something inflammatory about Bill O'Reilly. Or! Or! Maybe he'd be a Mohawk Baby and I'd dress him in little punk rock onesies with bad words on them and he'd have a pair of tiny high-top Vans and his first word would be "anti-establishment." Sigh. Instead, I got a baby with a hairline so groomed and perfect it looked like he'd gotten a buzzcut in utero. It naturally parts on the side. It won't grow past his... Read more →

My Moment of Triumph

Or more accurately, My Moment of Dork. A film crew from some kind of Internet news channel Internet television Internet thing (on the Internet) came to my house today for a piece about ClubMom. I think I did okay. I think my bangs did that stupid thing they do sometimes. Noah only threw up on camera once but they said they could edit that out. Look at me! I am typing on my blog! My blawwwwwg. Oh dear, this is very very awkward-like typing and I keep hitting the backspace key. Can they tell that I am hitting the backspace key? Will someone be watching this and go, oh my god, the girl can't type for shit? Shit. Can I type shit while on television? Shiiiiit. Ha. I just typed shit on international internet television! Now they are filming a close up of my veiny veiny hands. Oh God. Better not type any bad words or people will know. THEY WILL KNOW. I feel sweaty. Oh god, I am sweating. Pit stains. Pit. Shit. Git. Please let me stop typing now please please please. Read more →

I Love You Too. Now Please Go Elsewhere.

1) It's the Wednesday Advice Smackdown, bitch! 2) Hello, I am a Survey. Would you please take me? Please? I am a Very Important Survey, because I will help make Amy a goddamned millionaire. Or at least a hundredaire. Okay, how about a nickelaire? Nickels are shiny. (Yes, it's a survey for advertising. The idea is better ads, however, not more. Targeted! High CPM! Web-based strategic synergy with out-of-the-box initiatives! PLEASE TAKE THE SURVEY. I WILL WITHHOLD BABY PICTURES IF YOU DON'T TAKE THE SURVEY, SO HELP ME GOD.) (Survey!) 3) Durrr...Flickr? Read more →

Because I Needed Both Hands to Type & Was Tired of Picking Up the Damn Plastic Keys

First and foremost, Internet People, I really owe you an apology. The stuff I've been posting the past week has been shameful. Horrible. It's the kind of stuff I get tempted to sneakily delete from the archives after a couple months go by and I think no one is looking. It's the kind of stuff that makes me deeply embarrassed by the number of comments I get, because eeesh. There is hella better stuff out there. I had all these grand plans for once I became a real-live "writer" (or writeur, to be said in a snooty accent while pinching a monocle), and instead I've been like, "Durrrrr...Flickr?" The truth is I'm having some trouble adjusting to this new life. Which: duh. You just can't go from merrily trotting off to work, to a career, to a place that was like a familar little groove in your sofa, year after year, to suddenly trying to get just as much work done at home where there is no accountability other than NOT GETTING PAID, while trying to keep a suddenly ridiculously mobile and demanding child (a child! a child who ate my baby!) entertained and non-injured, without having a few moments... Read more →

OMG Flickr!

Baby's First Ballgame Uploaded by Amalah on 8 May '06, 12.00pm EDT. And with that, I relinguish my status as Last Blogger Standing, or perhaps Last Blogger Who Was Too Damn Lazy and Possibly Too Embarrassed To Admit That She Just Didn't Really Understand How Flickr Worked Because She Is A Big Stupid Dumbass Moron. Read more →

So It's Come to This

Lists! Am writing lists! Oh my hell. Highlights from my first day home included: 1) The babysitter never showing up. Awesome. 2) A creamed spinach raspberry blown square in my face, hitting my eye, which taught me the REAL reason they tell you not to add seasonings like onion powder to baby food. 3) A business call where the person on the other end asked, "Could you turn down the Baby Einstein? It's kind of making my teeth rattle." 4) Meeting a lead for MORE freelance work while walking the dog. Honestly, if I knew paid writing jobs were being handed out on the street like free shampoo samples I would have done this ages ago. 5) More mucus and drool than I ever thought possible. While the appetizer of plastic fishballs is indeed delicious, Noah eyes the main course of sauteed ratdog and salivates profusely. Spring Break 2006: Wet Onesie Contest Insert snark here, because: honestly. Read more →