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November 2009
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January 2010

Portrait of misery, and a dog who could not give less of a shit, please just make that thing stop whining already. So Ezra is either teething again -- canines? is it too early for those? my children seem to sprout teeth at a hyper-accelerated schedule, as most of Ezra's playmates have like, three teeth and he's sitting in his high chair expertly gnawing on a Porterhouse with his back molars, and expresses his affection for people by trying to eat them -- or he might just need to poop. Yes, it's a real medical mystery over here. Symptoms include truncated naps, general fetchiness, insatiable appetite for pot roast. Oh, and this. This? I do not mind so much. In fact, I think it's time for some more of this, since he looks like he's about 30 seconds away from falling asleep fast first in his pot roast and peas. He's all smelly and meatgreasy. Delicious. PS. Don't forget to enter the Shutterfly contest by Monday morning. Since yes, it requires ACTUAL EFFORT AND THINGS, your odds of ACTUAL WINNING are really good. Plus, it's fun to snoop through y'all's photo books. They're like medicine cabinets, in a way. PPS.... Read more →


Cocoon

On Saturday morning, I wrapped Noah up in two layers of outerwear, a musty-smelling scarf around my head, some vaguely Christmas-y paper around an awkwardly-shaped birthday present and headed out in the snow -- our first of the year -- to attend a preschooler's birthday party. Also our first of the year. Save for the occasional laid-back house party, we've politely declined all birthday invitations. I know I wrote about Noah and birthday parties -- my memory is suggesting that I very much watered down just how awful our last attempts were, but I simply cannot bring myself to go hunting up the entries to confirm that. Awful. The helpless shock of seeing your child behaving in a way that suggests he has been set on fire, instead of being asked to come sit on a brightly-colored parachute for a minute. The confusion of not knowing what's wrong, the hurt of knowing that whatever it is, your child lacks the verbal skills to tell you about it, and of course: the searing, shameful embarrassment of knowing that all eyes are on you, the parent who cannot control their child. We were, not surprisingly, never a very popular playdate choice at... Read more →


This is a sponsored post/contest from Shutterfly. They bought ads from me and want to give Free Stuff to you. Hooray! Everyone's a winner!* *Well. Not "everyone." There will be only one winner. Everybody else? LOSERS.** **Well. I think you're all winners, if that makes you feel any better. Okay. So! It's a contest thing. I don't usually do these, and much like every blogger who doesn't usually do contests I feel compelled to remind you of that fact. I NEVER GIVE YOU FREE THINGS. IT INTERRUPTS MY VALUABLE TALKING-ABOUT-ME TIME. Plus, the FTC totally triggers my imaginary-authority-figure paranoia. So allow me to over-over-disclose. Media buy, sponsored contest, this post includes discussion of Stuff I Got For Free Too. As part of the contest agreement, I was asked to create and order a complimentary photo book. I know! My life! Is hard and taxing. But seriously, I cannot even tell you the amount of stress I managed to create for myself around a FREE PHOTO BOOK. I could not choose photos. I could not even find all my photos. I went through about seven different versions of the book and at least three nervous breakdowns because I just couldn't get... Read more →


I should really know by now that the best way to fuck shit up is to put said shit in the form of a declarative sentence. Scene: Like, Yesterday Amy: You know? I NEVER get migraine headaches anymore. I haven't had one since I was pregnant. I am cured! Hooray for having babies! Scene: Today, Now, This Exact Moment In Time Amy: OW. OH MY GOD. KILL ME. FOR REAL. So. Yeah. Today is fantastic. Really, really great. I hate everyone and everything and why did I ever think a white MacBook was so cool and clean when really it's just so WHITE and BRIGHT and BLINDING and assaulting the inside of my skull with a pointy stick as we speak. Wait. I take it back. I don't hate you. Probably. Maybe. Whatever. Mostly, I just really, really, really, really, really hate that blasted fuckerbitch of a Ball Popper. I am alone in that hate though. At least in this house. I likewise do not share his enthusiasm for banging balls against the Ball Popper... Or the walls... And come to think of it, this noisy VRROOOOM VRRRRRROOOOOM* ride-on thing doesn't exactly have my everlasting love either... This one is... Read more →


But I Know One Thing

Scene: Car. Interior. Jason runs into store for essentials (wine, more wine) while Amy, Noah and Ezra wait in the car. It's a nice night, so he cuts the engine. The iPod goes silent. Noah: No! No! I want the blue song! I need the blue song! Amy, who less than like, 24 hours earlier wrote about this very quirk, complete with the words "songs are rarely blue" because OF COURSE, quickly turns the car back on. "Bust A Move," as sung by the cast of Glee, starts up again. Noah: No! That's the orange song. I want the BLUE song. Amy starts going back through shuffled songs they've listened to already. Noah: NOT THE RED SONG! I need the blue song, Mommy! Amy starts playing random songs that he might have heard recently, then a bunch of his favorites. Four or five yellow songs, two pink and another orange song are all emphatically rejected. Noah; BLUE SONG. BLUE! Amy: I don't know the blue song, Noah. I..I don't hear songs the way you do. Oh awesome, and now he's crying. Amy: I don't see colors for songs, baby. That's a really special Noah thing. Can you sing it for... Read more →