And Then I Threw Up. The End.

So I went to New York City on Thursday. You know, just the random sort of glamorous day trip that is so typical of me and my fabulous jet set lifestyle. Or train set lifestyle, I guess, since I took NJ Transit, and probably had a Thomas and Percy floating around in the bottom of my bag. And I made the train on time and did not get off at Newark by accident and it was all fabulously boring, though I like to think that the baby strapped to my chest in an Ergo carrier paired with high-heeled boots and a ridiculously overstuffed diaper bag added a little bit of intrigue. Will she fall down? Get stuck in a sidewalk grate? Leave behind a trail of wadded-up bumGenius diapers* all over the East Side? DUN DUN DUUUUN.

The Whole Point of the trip was an extension of the Hewlett Packard Moms for Simplicity ad campaign that you are probably currently using an ad blocker on, and was supposed to be about moms momming around and using the latest in mom technology to make their momming easier and simpler and 75% more mommier. This included meeting Olympic champion swimmer (AND MOM!) Dara Torres and watching her swim LIVE AND IN PERSON, while we all stood by the edge of the pool and took pictures of her. God, it was embarrassing, the way we all stood there taking pictures of her.

 

An alternate-reality "oh god where are my pants" nightmare for anyone but Olympic champion swimmer Dara Torres.

 

He judges your fangirling.

I almost did not get to meet Olympic champion swimmer Dara Torres because of...wait for it! you just fucking wait for it!...technology. As I have no use for your mere mortal PAPER, I did not print out a copy of the day's itinerary, which had been emailed to us all a few weeks ago. Instead, I figured I would just look stuff up on my phone whenever I needed an address or phone number or...hmm. Why won't Gmail load? Why won't anything load? And that's how Tracey and I ended up smack dab in the middle of Manhattan tilting our iPhones this way and that, trying to get usable signals or remember anyone's stupid phone number because we had absolutely NO idea where we were supposed to be headed after a meeting with our ad people**. Except that it had a pool. Our cab driver found this to be supremely unhelpful. Look, dude. I once mistook Newark for New York. You're lucky I didn't direct you to the sprinkler system in Central Park.

We eventually got there, of course, and then after the pool thing we went to lunch and were offered the chance to sit and interview Dara one-on-one for a few minutes, and because I really care about bringing you guys nothing but the most top-notch content, I panicked and said no, thank you, OMG. What would I say, I have no idea what to say, me and my extra mom chins will just sit over here with my mom arms, hardcore momming, feeding my baby edamame paste from the bruschetta, and after the event was over I realized I also had avocado all over the crotch of my dress. AND my bra was showing all day because my dress did not have nearly the post-nursing elasticity that I thought it did.

 

I had a really handsome dinner date, though. We ate at one of New York's finest dining establishments, and I mean that, because I can at least rule my sister's kitchen out as the place where I got a touch of food poisoning, leading to an entire night on the floor of the bathroom at my in-laws' house. Which was awesome! See post title, fin.

*Speaking of cushy corporate blogging events, I was recently invited to one by a diaper company. And I was all, "I'd love to go! But, hey, full disclosure and stuff, I use cloth diapers most of the time now? Eh?" And then I was promptly uninvited. I am being persecuted for my principles! Denied fabulous getaways in...Ohio, I think it was. Barred from the exciting Powerpoint presentations! No swag bag for you! Oh, woe.

**And at that meeting with the ad people, after drawing a blank on any sort of "sponsorable" content (bleeeargh) ideas, I ended up describing the Deodorant Wars entries. And that's about when Ezra spat up all over my arm and I tried to be all smooth about wiping it up and ignoring the looks of horror on the faces of the young hip sales staff, and for some reason it wasn't until that exact second that I fully grasped that I 1) had brought a BABY to a BUSINESS MEETING like an ASSHOLE, 2) was discussing TALKING DEODORANTS as a viable form of conversational marketing, and 3) was sweating profusely from engorgment and said baby was pawing furiously at my chest. So I got up and hid in a closet for awhile. Buy ads on my webbity blog, companies! I am an opinion influencer! I am authentic! I AM A MOM TO THE EXXTREME.

Because the world should stop, just for a moment or two

I've been working on a post all day. A sentence here, a sentence there, half a sentence interrupted by someone who needs something and the perfect punchline ruined by an inexplicably truncated nap and whoo boy, I would probably make one hell of a prolific mommyblogger if it weren't for all these damn meddling KIDS.

But. Then. I cannot stop thinking about baby Maddie and now, oh no, not more, not again, baby Thalon and my hands pull away from the keyboard and wrap themselves around my baby's fat little body instead, my strong, solid, healthy little boy who is drooling all over my arm -- he of course prefers my arm over the dozens of toys and rattles and lovies I've tried to tempt with today -- and I try not to imagine all the ways things can all fall apart, all the unhappy endings and missed miracles and the idea that your own heart will just stupidly KEEP BEATING even after your baby's stops and OH YEAH, let me get right back to working on a post about some dumb thing I said or did because oh, that Amalah! What has she gotten herself into now? It feels wrong for that, today.

Others have said more, and said it better. I just needed to say that I am so sorry, Heather and Mike and Shana and Rich. I am so sorry.

Home Sweet Wine Rack

Well. So. Despite the weirdest trip to New York ever and a brief detour into FOOD POISONING*, I am back at home, finally. What's this thing, here, on my lap? A com...pooter? Internetty? Blawgs? Twitter? Facebook? Twitface? What the fuck?

Noah's Easter egg hunt this morning consisted of a dozen plastic eggs filled with pennies and leftover Halloween candy. I am pretty sure this might be a new record in half-assing.

Big shout-out to my sister, who so nicely provided little Easter baskets for both of my children, without which my children would have received NO Easter baskets, because you know what you get when you go to Target the day before Easter in hopes of stocking an Easter basket? You get empty shelves and some irregular bunny cupcake mix. Possibly some Christmas tinsel.

I did eat both of the Cadbury Creme Eggs from the baskets, though. I had to. Those things are terrible for children.

Noah has been wearing an Easter sticker on his nose all day. I don't know why. It's like his parents let him eat chocolate lollipops for breakfast, or something.

Ezra did not get any chocolate, but he did wake up with a whole other tooth. So that's also something. Something straight from the bowels of HELL, that is. But still, something.

And now, a Ball Poppers Are Serious Business Interlude:

The It's Past Noon But We're Still In Our Jammies Brain Trust begins the experiment.

One's an engineer in the making, while the other has spotted his reflection in the TV cabinet.

Dude, I think a ball rolled over this way oh wait look my thumb yay never mind.

*Oh, but more on THAT LATER. ACK.

Oy

Oh, God. I seriously just typed, "Hi, we're all still alive" without thinking about it, because I wonder if some of you are expecting someone to NOT still be alive, which is like, heavy and bleak and depressing, especially since we are all MOST EMPHATICALLY ALL STILL ALIVE.

In fact, as evidence for the "I am perhaps made of magic after all" theory, I think my father has improved dramatically since I got here on Monday night, when he was thin and frail and shaking and I honestly didn't recognize the little old man wearing my dad's glasses. Then I made spaghetti and meatballs and he ate two helpings and I figured out how to TiVo the Phillies game even though the guide wasn't showing that there even WAS a Phillies game (leave it to my dad, though, to still know exactly when the Phillies are playing despite being bedridden since January), and today I brought him a terribly unhealthy lunch of a bacon cheeseburger, like do I know how to help a cardiac patient or what, and he ate that too and played lots of peekaboo with Ezra and declared him "human cuteness personified," which is English professor speak for NOM NOM NOM ON TEH BAYBEE.

On Tuesday his pulmonologist told us there was essentially nothing more anybody could do: it was up to my dad now. The body vs. the spirit. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm so glad I brought along these two handy dandy reminders that life is worth living.

 

 

 

On the Road Again

I'm loading up the boys and the suitcases and the crappy laptop and the car and trying to remember how to dismantle the damn Jumperoo lest I drive up to Philadelphia with it strapped merrily to the roof of my car, blaring Old MacDonald Had a Farm all the way up I-95. I'll be spending the week with my parents, and...gah. I don't know what to say about it anymore. It's...really, really bad, you guys. I would say more than that, but my mom reads and I don't think it will help anything to have it all spelled out here in black and white, and I'm guessing y'all can get the general idea of what's going on without me saying any more than that.

Anyway, my mom mostly comes here to look at baby photos because they cheer her up.

Therefore!

Sitting! Sort of.

Suspicious! Very.

Ridiculous rattlely socks! Chompy.

Sweet potatoes! Joyous.

Two teeth nubs! Juicy.

Big brother! Ignoring me.

Rocket ship! Blast off!  And other long-winded details re: plots of recent Little Einsteins episodes.

 
Handsome! And oh, but I am doomed.

I hope that helped, Mom, a little. I'll be there soon. We'll eat some brownies and have lasagna for dessert.

The Life Less Documented

Funny thing about using this old laptop: I don't like using it, therefore I turn it off and put it down a lot. I wander away from it -- and the Internet -- in favor of shit like laundry or unloading the dishwasher or those-bananas-are-ripe-I-should-make-some-banana-bread-type whims. And while I doubt anybody is coming here to read about my super-extra-hot-damn-exciting life or anything, believe me when I tell you that WOW, this week has been boring. I've been boring. I've transcended boring. I've actually died of boredom and then risen from the dead to become boring's own personal messiah.

Although last night Jason and I had a date night, and on the way home Jason was challenged to a fistfight on the Metro by a tweaked out meth head who thought it would be a good idea to start calling a fellow white dude the n-word and then scream I'M FIVE FOOT EIGHT, MOTHERFUCKER repeatedly until the next station stop, where Jason told him to get off and wait for him on the platform. "I'll be right there," he said. "And we'll go at it."

The guy did, although his hopped-up excitement quickly turned to confusion as he watched the train pull away and leave him behind. Jason merrily waved at him through the window while I finally got brave enough to pull my head out of my handbag, where I had been "busy" looking for my "phone" during the whole ridiculous encounter.

***

Ezra would like to report that he discovered his toes, and they are FABULOUS. He is also blowing raspberries, eating us out of house and home (I'm glad I pledged to make his baby food this time because this kid would have a serious 10-pack-a-day Gerber habit), and just being all-around fabulous in general.

Significantly less fabulous: his two (TWO!) bottom teeth making a joint appearance, green beans (whatever, dude, I'm hiding them in your yams and there's nothing you can do about it) and any moment in time where Noah is not in his line of sight because Noah is TOTALLY the coolest.

***

Noah would like to know why nobody ever told him about Little Einsteins. Mommy would like to know who the fuck thought up the concept of a cartoon rocket powered by preschoolers patting on their thighs and the rocket has a jet for a nemesis and they plant seeds that sprout fucking harpsichords and why is the theme song so damn catchy and seriously, if I ever meet the person responsible on the Metro I actually WILL meet them on the platform and go at it.

("We're going on a trip in our favorite rocket ship." It's DRUGS, people. DRUUUUUGS.)

***

And here is where I was going to include a cute little video as atonement for the silence-y week around here, but it turns out my camera hates this laptop as much as I do. I've spent 45 minutes trying to at least get the two of them to acknowledge each other to no avail, and look, there's banana bread in the kitchen and you're lucky I've managed to pay attention to this post long enough to finish this last sentenc