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March 2007
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May 2007

On having a boy

I wanted a girl. Oh, God. It HURTS to type that. To admit that. It's one those big secrets of motherhood that nobody ever talks about, right up there with pooping on the delivery table. That you even had a preference in the first place, much less that you had a strong preference and cried when you found out you weren't getting what you wanted. Like I did. Oh, God. And then I spent the rest of my pregnancy feeling so guilty about it and alternating between "oh shit, I'm having a boy" and "oh shit, I don't deserve to have this boy because what kind of horrible mother thinks that way?" I wanted a girl for all the normal stupid reasons -- the clothes! the hairbows! she'll be my best friend and we'll go shopping! -- and because I felt so incredibly incapable of raising a boy. A BOY. With sports and bugs and aiming at Cheerios in the potty and...yeah. That was about the extent of my boy-raising knowledge. Probably still is, actually. My friends tried to tell me how amazing little boys were -- how incredibly precious and special the mother-son bond can be -- and I... Read more →

Letters to Grocery Stores are a Sign That Perhaps a Small Part of Your Soul Has Died

Dear Trader Joe's: FINE. You have won both the battle AND the war. I cannot deal with your wafer-thin shopping bags with the handles attached by Post-It glue. I cannot deal with begging you to double-bag my groceries, with watching the face of the perky cashier (who was just raving about your delicious store-brand pear sauce!) go dark and angry when I out myself as an earth-raping double-bagger (who does not DESERVE your delicious store-brand pear sauce!), when all I want in the world is to get my groceries to the car before the handles break off and the bottom gives and the pear sauce goes splat. I cannot quit you, Trader Joe's, and I think you know that. You know I am a hopeless yippie (huppie?) who cannot bear the thought of my child consuming partially hydrogenated oils or high-fructose corn syrup or non-organic milk. You also know that I cannot live in a house that does not contain at least one full bag of potato chips. You know I cannot live without your pizza bagels and you know my child would have a wicked case of scurvy by now if it were not for your gross-looking (yet delicious-tasting!)... Read more →

Where iz ur cat be at?

Several readers have expressed concerns re: Max's whereabouts. Poor Max. He is fine. And to prove his fineness, we had a little photo session in our bathroom this morning, because that's exactly the sort of classy operation we run here. He's a liar. Also smooshable and purry. He's finally at a healthy weight, and it only took eight years of dieting. And a little help from Ceiba, who figured out that Max likes to take two or three bites of food, go poop, then return and eat the rest of his meal. EVERY TIME. And no matter how many times he returns from the litter box to an empty bowl, he will not alter his poop schedule in the slightest. Then he eats Ceiba's food instead. I vaguely remember a time when I used to give a shit, but at this point it's hard to even care whether it's Noah or Ceiba who actually eats Noah's waffle, and seriously at this point I am ready to throw all of their food into a big trough every morning and let them duke it out. Puppy made it through the move intact, and I still hear Max singing to it every morning.... Read more →