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July 2009
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September 2009

Public Service Announcement

It has been brought to my attention that reader Kari declared yesterday's post "the EXACT OPPOSITE of birth control," and that many, many of you agreed with that assessment. Did you not read the part about the screaming? The terrible, terrible screaming? That he does in lieu of using anything remotely close to the English language? All the time, for everything and sometimes for no reason at all? Oh, I see. The photos of the happy, angelically cute baby distracted you from that part. Well then. I'm afraid I'm going to have to break out the big guns. For your sake. For the overpopulated planet's sake. YOU MUST HEAR THE TRUTH. Why You Should Not Have Babies, Exhibit #342 from amalah on Vimeo. I think he's saying he would like more cantaloupe. Or maybe more souls. Could really be either. ANNOYING DISCLAIMER: I gave him more cantaloupe. I did not purposely withhold cantaloupe for the purposes of this video, or sit there eating cantaloupe in front of him like Kate Gosselin.* He was simply expressing his supreme displeasure over my refusal to give him more than one piece of cantaloupe at a time, because if I gave him six pieces... Read more →


How big is the baby

So big. So, sooooo big. (This one is pretty much 99.9999% Baby Photos Without A Point, so you may want to move along if that's not your thing.) (Oh, I know it's your thing. I know.) He spends most of his time like this, upright, standing. He steps from ledge to ledge, furniture edge to furniture edge, lapping the entire room like so. Chair, couch, obsolete piece of baby equipment, ottoman, table, TV stand juuuuust out of reach...floor...uh-oh. He is an explorer who has no patience for toys or books or TV. He wants to know what's in that corner, under that table, inside that drawer. He wants power cables, wall outlets, precarious heavy things thoughtlessly left on surfaces that he is suddenly-just-today tall enough to reach. He is the polar opposite of his sensible, cautious older brother, and we haven't the faintest idea what to do with him. It's a nightmare. He's a dream. He knows the sign for "milk" -- I KNOW HE KNOWS IT -- but he'll only use it as a last, wailing resort. He prefers, when he wants your attention or whatever food that is you are eating giveitgiveit, to scream an ungodly, unearthly scream... Read more →


Weekend Vignettes

For reasons that I believe can go mostly undocumented, we thought the dog had salmonella on Saturday. We found stray mussel shells from a disastrously ambitious dinner scattered in the yard; puddles of sick scattered pretty much everywhere else. She's actually just fine, but I just wanted to mention it anyway because I had to clean up a LOT of barf. You know. Just in case Ceiba ever reads this website one day. I cleaned up your barf, and I didn't like it. And now you never call! Ingrate. *They ALL DIED before we could cook them. I set them on a paper towel for ONE MINUTE and every goddamn mussel decided to commit ritualistic suicide rather than face the hot pan of death. I was going to drown you in WINE, you bastards. WINE. We should all be so lucky to die such a death. *** In other best-left-to-the-imagination news, we have a mouse in our kitchen. And clearly, the most useless-ass pets EVER. *** Scene: Every Saturday Morning In Our House, Ever Jason: Anything you want to do today? Amy: I want to go to Ikea. Jason: We're not going to Ikea. Amy: (dramatic flailing) Fin. *** You... Read more →