Previous month:
January 2007
Next month:
March 2007


Hey! Remember when my baby was a just a wee turtle, and I was all, "Oh my God, thank goodness for this baby swing, I don't know what I'd do without this baby swing, what with the massively time-consuming job of parenting a small blobby-like child who doesn't roll or walk or run or flip over the back of the couch headfirst for fun." Remember that? Aww. Bald and toothless and already giving his mother the stink-eye. Anyway, we're getting ready to stash the swing and other assorted baby gear in our attic, but Noah decided he wanted one last ride. Hmm. What's this? Are there any additional fabric choices? Perhaps something in a barnyard print? What about a matching ottoman? Because I could definitely use an ottoman. You know? It's not half bad. I'll take it. Oh Noah. I love you so much. What else is there to say? Read more →

A Major Award

Our local Gymboree started doing weekly raffles for toys or something. I don't know. They told me to write Noah's name on a piece of paper and I obeyed. And then they called and said we'd won. We won! A prize! I am the best name-on-paper-writer EVER. My choices were a giant Gymbo doll or a mini-parachute. And since I do not allow clowns or clown-related accessories into my house, I opted for the parachute. I figured: mini! We could toss it over some chairs and make a fort! Or a cape for Gay Pride Man! Or we could stage an elaborate production of Noah and the Amazing Technicolor Parachute, except that Mama will play all the parts while Noah is napping! Uh. The "mini-parachute" is gigantic. I don't have a frakking clue what the hell I'm supposed to do with this thing. In Gymboree they make the adults stand around and hold the edges for a variety of activities, all guaranteed to terrify about 75% of our toddlers, but what's the damn point of this thing at home? WHY, I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED: Option One: Makes a lovely slipcover! Relive the magic of a Gymboree parachute ride... Read more →

Vindication's Day

(Yes, yes. Valentine's Day was amazing and all, but I still have the right to make fun of my husband a little bit sometimes.) THINGS JASON SAID TO ME OVER THE WEEKEND: When I attempted to explain why I recently had to turn down additional freelance work: "It just doesn't seem like you're that busy during the day." When Noah chucked his sippy cup behind the television stand: "Seriously. You cannot let him do stuff like that. You need to pay attention to him." THINGS JASON SAID TO ME YESTERDAY, WHILE HE WATCHED NOAH FOR A FEW HOURS SO I COULD GET SOME WORK DONE: At 10 am: "Are you done yet?" At 11:30 am: "Are you done yet?" Pleadingly, at 12:30 pm, by which point Noah had eaten a handful of Teddy Grahams but no lunch and was pitching a massive tantrum: "Can you come downstairs?" At 12:45 pm: "Hey, have you seen Noah's sippy cup?" Read more →

MulletWatch 2007: OVER

Or, the Return of the Littlest Mormon Republican. We opted to get his hair cut for reals, at a for-reals hair cuttin' place where you can git your hair did up right, mostly because Jason instinctively wrapped his arms around Noah's head and shrieked GET AWAY FROM MY CHILD whenever he saw me approach with the scissors. Whatever, the shaking totally stops once I get some vodka in my system, but Jason insisted. So FINE. Fifteen minutes and seventeen damn dollars later, Noah's hair is all business, no party, and 37% less likely to contain hummus from last night's dinner. Pros: Dora the Explorer on television to stave off meltdowns. Cons: They made Noah sit on the lap of some random goober in a striped sweater the whole time. Yeah, her level of excitement over Dora's goddamn backpack totally creeped me out too. We brought the lip gloss from home. It's his most favoritest thing ever, especially when I give him all the various lip glosses that I carry around in my purse at the same time. Then he gets to build a fort! I am posting this one only because I want someone to explain what the hell that... Read more →

The High Hallmark Holiday

Another weird thing for the list: When I was pregnant, I had a plantar's wart on the bottom of my foot. Gross, right? I swear it appeared about two days after my positive test, and it hung around until right after I stopped breastfeeding. I wasn't allowed to use any over-the-counter wart remedies and my dermatologist wouldn't touch it. "It's probably hormonal," she said. "It'll go away on it's own." Well, FINE, IT DID, but in the meantime I was so horribly embarassed about the disgusting thing on my foot that I refused to get pedicures, despite that being everybody's suggestion to pretty much every pregnancy complaint on earth. Feeling fat? Treat yourself to a pedicure! Stressed? Swollen? Anxious? 400 years pregnant and not dilated at all? A PEDICURE WILL FIX EVERYTHING. I did get one prenatal massage at some point, but I lied and told the masseuse I'd sprained my foot so could she not rub that one at all? I remembered this sort of randomly yesterday, right when the massage therapist flipped back the sheet and started to work on my foot and I involuntarily flinched because OH NO! HE'LL SEE I HAVE A WART AND THINK I... Read more →

Different Year, Same Recycled Pile of Neuroses

Hello! I have been sick as a dog since...oh, Wednesday night or so. And contemplating that great mystery of motherhood, the way your child gets a slight runny nose -- an almost poetic runny nose, like a single tear on the cheek of a romance novel heroine, dampening the shoulder of her star-crossed lover like it slimes your shirt and upholstered furniture -- but then 24 hours later you're the one hacking up a damn lung. I'm feeling better today, except for having absolutely no voice left. And laryngitis plus a toddler? Boy fucking howdy, let me tell you what an awesome combination that is. Amy: Noah! Stop climbing on that! Sit down! Bottom down! No! No no no! Phonetic version: Noaacch! Steeehhdat! It! Ot! Naaeeegh *fit of coughing* I've taken to pelting Fisher Price Little People at his butt to get his attention, and don't you fucking judge me. I will come to your house and lick your telephone, swear to God. Anyway! Absolutely nothing of interest has happened to me in days, except for my triumphant achievement of playing Trivial Pursuit with other adults on Friday night and remaining relatively low-key throughout the entire affair. (I am disgustingly... Read more →

A Letter to the Myself of One Year Ago

Dear Self of Last Year, Oh, dumb girl. I know. It's tough. You've made it through the first month of working full-time and it's still really, really tough. I know you feel exhausted and overextended. You feel like a failure. The futility of pumping and the dwindling milk supply. The mistakes, the typos, the meetings you can barely stay awake for. The short temper, the sigh of relief at Noah's bedtime, and the crushing guilt over not enjoying every moment you spend with him. I know that you dread tomorrow, because it's going to start all over again. I know you feel like you're missing out -- that you'd give anything to rewind all those hours and see what you missed. I know you think that if you could just stay home it would all be different. That you'd never miss another moment. That you'd learn to not even blink, lest he grow up too fast. I know the love you feel for that baby has knocked you senseless. That it's the most wonderful, marvelous thing you've ever felt and you're compelled to constantly try to put it into words. I know you're frustrated with the limits of the English... Read more →

Reader Survey

For all of you stay-at-home or work-at-home types. (The rest of you may return to your precious dignity now, thank you.) Question 1: When you are at home alone during the day, do you close the bathroom door? A) If yes, skip to Question 2. B) If no, do you ever forget and leave the door open when your significant other is home? 1) If no, skip to Question 2. 2) If yes, do you ever leave the door open when your significant other is standing like, right there? a) If no, skip to Question 2. b) If yes, do you at least apologize? i) If yes, skip to Question 2. ii) If no, hi. You are officially gross and sad. Like me! Let's make out. Question 2: WELL LA DEE FREAKING DA, ISN'T YOU ALL KINDS OF FANCY? Read more →