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September 2012
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November 2012


God, even *I* can't handle that last post anymore. Subject change! Subject change! I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine hand flaps hand flaps deflecting humor GAH. Moving right along. Some of you may be interested in hearing that yes, I still do have a cat. And he is still as delightfully, clichedly cat-like as ever. He will not hunt mice or stink bugs or crickets, but goddamn it, those motherfucking blind cords are gonna get themselves a vicious mauling and shredding. YOU SHALL NOT MENACE MY FAMILY, BLIND CORDS. He's 14 now, which: Not a fan of thinking about that. His stomach is a lot more sensitive and he's gone from being a solid muscular tank of a cat to one who is...thin. Lightweight. More delicate and bony. He's old, basically. But still happy and cuddly and enjoying his life of non-stop leisure mixed with fresh sink water, uppity fancy canned food and the occasional catnip high. He remains unfailingly patient with the children, especially Ike. (Who calls him "Cah." Usually moments before hurling his body over Poor Cah and grabbing fistfuls of fur.) He will seek out Noah and Ezra for more appropriate levels of affection, and will happily... Read more →

The Man on the Metro

He didn't look like my dad, not at all, really. He had a full head of white curly hair, no beard or mustache and a completely different style of glasses. But he was reading a Kindle. The older kind, like the one I bought for my dad before he got seriously sick but when he was already not well. He needed extra large-print books — hard to find at the library, my mom said, at least the ones he wanted — and even the act of holding up a large heavy hardcover was getting hard on his wrists and hands. So I bought him a Kindle. He was reading it the last time I saw him, or at least the last time I really saw him, before the final sudden and rapid decline. The Metro was crowded and I had to lean away from the people standing in the aisle lest I wanted a messenger bag to the face. I glanced over at his Kindle and noticed he also had the text set fairly large. I didn't intend to be nosy but I immediately recognized what he was reading: Act I, Scene I: Elsinore. A platform before the Castle. "Hamlet!"... Read more →

Red 40, Sugar, HFCS Everywhere, and Not a Drop to Drink

This post is sponsored by the Brita Bottle for Kids. If I may be obnoxiously braggy for a second... AUDIENCE: Oh, just for a "second?" Really? As opposed to... Shut up! You all just shut up. Yes, for a second. Start the clock: None of my children drink soda. See? If you read that sentence fast enough, I am pretty sure you could get through it before the end of one-Mississippi. The thing is, none of my children drink soda because they don't like it. Noah and Ezra have both taken exactly one sip of soda in their entire lives, and to this day remember it as a horrible moment, a total betrayal of their faith in delicious, refreshing liquids. The second the carbonation touched their innocent tongues they shrieked and...well, I wouldn't say they spat it out as much as they simply opened their mouths wide and stared at me helplessly as the soda dribbled off their tongues and all over the table. They both refused to touch anything "bubbly" after that. Which is great. My soda = bubbly. My special wine-juice = oh, you know that's bubbly. Which is great. Soda is terrible for kids. Terrible for...well, everybody,... Read more →

It's Hard Out There For A Baby Ike

No call from the doctor yet, because of course. After briefly convincing myself that the lump was probably going to explode at any second, filling my skull with oozing deadly aneurysm cancer (it's a thing) (that I made up), I have since circled back to "it's just a cyst, dial it down, moron" and calmed down significantly. This concludes today's up-to-the-minute coverage of Amalah's Weird Ear Lump Thing. Anyway, what we really need to discuss is my drama queen of a toddler. Soon. (caption h/t @thesteph on Instagram) Ike is 16 months old now, and has apparently decided to get a head start on his Terrible Two-ing, because OH MY GOD, the dramatics. The dramaaaahhhhhtics. They are at teenage girl levels around here. Every set of photos I take now contains AT LEAST one or two random, out-of-the-blue meltdowns, usually bookmarked by happy, smiling photos snapped a few seconds before and after. PROBLEM: I have just realized I am not standing directly next to the thing I want to be standing next to. SOLUTION: Burst into momentary, hysterical tears, then walk four steps forward to the thing. PROBLEM: My mother has just politely requested that I not eat the cat... Read more →

She's Lump, Part Three

In the continuing saga that is That Weird Ear Lump, I had an MRI of mah head today. Dee, when your ear lump acts up, take out your nose ring! I spent about a half hour crammed in a bionic tube, listening to an unnerving cacophony of clangs, bangs and techno beats. It was like trying to take a nap at a gay steel mill on dubstep night. Still less annoying than the sound of multiple children whiiiiiinnnninggg, though. Anyway, look! It's the inside of my head! Specifically, the inside of my ear. Which looks more than vaguely Ackbar-ish. Tell the truth: how badly do you want to cut-and-paste some googly eyes and type IT'S A TRAP on this right now? Pretty bad, I bet. I am pretty sure this is the best, most flattering photo of me EVER. I should make this my Twitter avatar. Anyway, here's The Lump, after a shot of contrast dye. And while that looks cool and all, I was bummed to see this picture, as the technician explicitly told me that if the lump was in fact just a harmless fatty deposit or cyst, the contrast dye would do nothing to it and it... Read more →

Seven? Seven. SEVEN.

He's a giant tall loud solid handsome boisterous talkative smart but complex confident yet anxious funny lovable loving affectionate impulsive but thoughtful excited opinionated independent Lego-obsessed sometimes fearless other times not so much future dolphin trainer. These days, anyway. I still look at him and see the baby who changed everything for the better, including me. The baby I want to write thousands of lines of tortured flowery prose about in a futile attempt to capture every moment and milestone and the depth of the change, or at least find some tortured flowery song about once a year so I can jerk some tears out of myself. "Use the Ninjago song this time," he ordered. "It's my favorite." Yes sir. Happy birthday, you awesome kid, you. Noah's Seventh Birthday from amalah on Vimeo. Read more →