There are days when I look at his face and wrinkle my brow. My God, how he's changed. What happened to my baby? When he was born, he had brown hair and an impossibly round face. I never remember how dark his hair once was, or how delicate his body once seemed. Sometimes I feel so sad at how quickly it all went by, and I pledge to remember more, to videotape more, and then I clench my fists and close my eyes and try to forcibly burn this moment into my brain: how he looks and sounds and smells in this very moment, even though I know the memory will morph into a thousand tomorrows, and I will one day look at photos of his downy blond head and chubby thighs in surprise, because they are long gone. There are days when I look at his face and see glimpses of the little boy...the big boy...the teenager...the man he'll become. And the enormity of my task as his mother takes my breath away. My task is more than providing love and sustenance and dry diapers -- I am raising a man, a human being, who may one day change... Read more →

Or maybe just me. But maybe we'll give it one more week to be sure. We did indeed make it to Gymboree yesterday, and the whole getting-there-and-back-again only cost me about four hours. FOUR HOURS. And I swear to God, that doesn't include a single minute it can be blamed on my signature brand of must-get-there-several-years-early crazy. THINGS WE CAN AND DAMNED WELL WILL BLAME IT ON: No morning nap. Nooooooo morning nap. Why nap, when grabbing Mama's coffee cup and shaking it like a maraca is so much fun? Cold, stale coffee on carpet, couch, wall. Also on baby's outfit and head. Mad dash for paper towels that resulted in me knocking a half-full baby bottle (I know. But I was DESPERATE for that nap.) onto tile floor. Did I mention it was a glass baby bottle? Because of course it was. Walking. Sidewalks. Other damn people. Broken elevators at Metro stations. Construction. Closed sidewalks. Republicans. El Nino. Mel Gibson. Gymbo, that fucking clown, who I am considering buying just to have it around the house to randomly kick the shit out of. And of course, while the one redeeming aspect of last week's experience was that Noah had... Read more →

So today is Gymboree day, and guess what! My car! Is dead! Again! And I am overusing! Exclamation! Points! The battery keeps dying blah blah blah new battery or alternator problems blah blaaaah. Whatever. The point is, POOR ME. So I will once again be relying on public transportation to get me to a spot that is not ultra-convenient for public transportation (See: bus transfers, burning hatred of), which brings out the Crazy Hysterical Traveler in me, which means I will have my ass out at that bus stop no less than three hours before Gymboree starts because what if I miss the first seven connecting buses? WHAT THEN, INTERNET? (It's a 15-minute car ride, by the way. FIFTEEN MINUTES. And I could so make it in 10 if I had too.) In the meantime, if any of y'all would have any interest in seeing me make an absolute dithering fool of myself in front of an audience, perhaps you could stop by the SXSW panel picker and, as Sweetney puts it, pick the hell out of the panel "Parent Bloggers 2.0: Diaper Diarists or the New Blogebrities?" under the category "Blogging." You don't even have to be going to... Read more →

Well, I totally can't move now. Our toilet paper holder broke ages ago. I think I was still pregnant. We made a couple half-hearted attempts at replacing it, only to find that we needed some kind of specially-sized plastic tubey rod thing that did not exist at Lowe's or Home Depot (Regular AND Expo-Snob Strength). So we gave up and just kept the toilet paper on the back of the toilet, all classy like. Of course, our realtor kind of pointed out that most of today's discriminating condo buyers are fans of the toilet paper holder, and also enjoy light sockets where you just pull on a chain instead of screwing the lightbulb in and out by hand, which kind of sparks when you touch it and also burns and sears your flesh a little bit. So FINE. We'll try Ace Hardware. $3.89 later we have a working toilet paper holder. And a new toilet seat, just for the hell of it. Just for the sheer LUXURY of it. I could sit in there ALL DAY. ALSO: CHECK OUT THIS INSANITY... On Saturday morning the child just stood the hell up and starting walking all over the place. Yes, blah,... Read more →

I'm sorry I didn't post very much this week, but I've been too busy KICKING THE SHIT OUT OF MY HOUSE. So not ready for its 360-degree virtual-tour close-up. The tire would like someone to send help. And donuts. Read more →

Could someone please tell me why everything has to be such a goddamn hassle all the time? (takes deep breath) (Internet rolls eyes, refills coffee and sits down, because HERE WE GO AGAIN) So I signed Noah up for Gymboree. I don't think I can adequately describe just how jazzed I was about starting Gymboree. It just sounded so...parental, you know? So very responsible. So very concerned about my child's enrichment activities, which prior to Gymboree have involved chewing on books and breaking into child-proofed cabinets. Also a pantsload of television. But Gymboree! Fun! Socialization! And...I didn't really know what else, because the Gymboree website wasn't exactly helpful. It placed Noah in the Level 3 class, which is described as follows: Children this age are adept communicators. They show what they want or need through actions, such as pointing at a toy or leading you by the hand to open a door for them. Um. They do? Noah still takes a more...vocal approach to demonstrating his needs, although I suppose his ability to throw his arms up in the air so his armpits or any other grippable part of his body disappears into a single slippery, dead-weight torso is a... Read more →

We went to Jason's company picnic on Saturday. It was raining. It was alcohol-free. It was at the fucking zoo. Soaking wet and sober is no way to spend a weekend. When you add in the smell of monkeys and forcible posing with a giant stuffed panda, well, hello! Welcome to hell. Please to enjoy this commemorative Polaroid of your visit. (On the plus side, how styling does Noah look? He's wearing head-to-toe gifts from Miss Zoot, who alone ensures that my son has something else to wear besides prune-juice-stained onesies.) Exhibit A: Chug! Chug! Chug! By the way, do you see that? THAT RIGHT THERE? With the sippy cup? That is a child who is breaking my heart, is what that is. No more bottles. AT ALL. Not even before naps or bedtime anymore. He's done. I had a full-on freak-out about a month ago when I thought about even attempting to wean Noah off bottles. He switched to mostly whole milk around 10 months old, but he would have NOTHING to do with sippy cups. Formula, milk, juice, water -- all were met with a dribbly open mouth of disgust and then hurled across the room. Bottles were... Read more →

(Hint! "Right Now" equals 1:32 a.m.) We both fell asleep on the couch. We do that a lot. We're either very lazy about that damned flight of steps, closet narcoleptics or just hopeless drunks. Suddenly, Jason gets up and enters the nursery. There is much stomping. Possibly some glomping. He exits, slamming the door behind him and comes back to the couch just as the first screams erupt. I ask him what in the sam bloody hill he was doing in there. "What?" He looks at me like I'm crazy. I get up and enter the nursery. Noah is standing up in his crib, howling. I pat his back until he calms down. As I creep back out, I trip over Jason's shoes. I go back to the living room and repeat my question. What in the sam bloody fucking hill was he doing in there? And what's with the shoes? "What?" His face is all, "CRAZY TALK. GOING BACK TO SLEEP. MARRIAGE EQUALS CONSTANT STRIFE." Noah is screaming again. I brush my teeth and wait the Ferber-approved five minutes before re-entering to comfort him again. Jason still hasn't moved from the couch. I shake him. "What?" "Dude. What the... Read more →

Hey, remember the time I posted a little video clip of Noah laughing his little head off? Remember how mildly amusing that was? You think I could get away with posting another little video clip of Noah laughing his little head off without seeming repetitive and indulgent and lazy? No? Well. Fuck you then. I could listen to that laugh ALL DAY. Plus, this one has fancy dissolve-y TRANSITIONS and shit. I totally could have done a star wipe but, you know. I wouldn't want to blow your minds too hard with my crazy mad skills or anything. Bubbles on Vimeo We were watching some bizarre little intershow short on Noggin involving handpuppets (no, seriously, they are actual hands with plastic eyeballs) who were blowing bubbles. Noah was a big fan of the bubbles. He is clearly less of a fan of the big punchline, which was another handpuppet coming up and being all, "Bubbles! Bubble BATH!" And then he splashes in the soap while the other handpuppets shake their heads at this poor stupid puppet, even though none of them really strike me as the roundest wands in the bubble dish, you know? Um. Anyway. Noah thought it was... Read more →

We bought our little condo five years ago, back when the real estate market had fully lost its goddamned mind. Places went under contract within hours of being listed or while we were looking at them. Everything sparked a bidding war and went for thousands above the asking price. You didn't dare ask for an inspection. "Termites? Who cares about termites? They just mean your house is delicious." "We'll take it!" We finally lucked out on our place because the sign for the open house had been knocked over and nobody could find the listing. We spotted the lock box on the door and wandered in. We met a very confused-looking realtor. "I don't know where all the foot traffic is today," she clucked as we signed her completely empty guest log. "Usually these open houses are wall-to-wall people." We murmured in fake amazement, took a quick lap around the unit and went outside to call our agent while casually sitting on top of the flattened sign and glaring at some young couples who were wandering around with realtor.com printouts and staring at the maze of identical buildings and doorways in confusion. We had every intention of staying here until... Read more →