It's funny, as he gets older, my determination to stay away from mushy, embarrassing sentiment wavers more and more. He's no longer a baby or a toddler but a KID, and yet when composing this entry in my head, my first impulse is to fill is chock full of pet names and flowery goopy declarations of love and pride. "Mo-oo-oom," I can already hear him saying...but when? Two more years? Longer than that? Less? We spent so much time this year focused on the future. Worrying about it, planning for it. Determined to prepare him for the next step, the next year, the next experience. We became Mama and Papa Bear, growling at anyone who dared question the potential of our cub, demanding that the forest clear a safer path for him...while also tearing our fur out because holy crap, this is hard. And yet, oh, this boy. He is still my heart. He is still so smart and adorable and funny. He is such a kind, loving big brother and a kind, loving person. He surprises me every day, every hour, sometimes, with the things he says and thinks and can suddenly DO, just like that, and I am... Read more →

So Noah fell off his scooter yesterday. Skinned both of his knees up. And you know, THE END. Unless you are his father. Remember the fruit sticker? This was way worse than the fruit sticker. Because not only was a fall off a scooter -- a three-inches-off-the-ground scooter -- the worst thing that could ever befall one's precious snowflake offspring, it was totally MY FAULT, YOU NEGLIGENT MONSTER. My fault, his version = holding precious snowflake #2 at top of a deceptively slopey hill, allowing precious snowflake #1 to fly past me on scooter, shouting at him to "turn into the grass" when he picked up a little too much speed instead of...I DON'T KNOW. Dropping the baby on the curb to run after Noah, perhaps hurling my body onto the pavement underneath him at the exact second of impact. Stopping the scooter with my mind powers, thus revealing ourselves to be a family of telekinetic mutants to the entire neighborhood. Writing letters to the county four years ago to have the sidewalks replaced with packing peanuts. Because I really should have seen this coming. My fault, my version = I think he was mostly mad because I was entirely... Read more →

A couple years ago, shortly before we moved from DC to the Stupid Suburbs, my recently-transplanted-from-California friend sent me a camera phone photo and a hysterical text message. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FUCK YOU EAST COAST The picture was of the most hideous insect I had ever seen. Including the time I found a cockroach in my bathtub. (Although cockroach encounters are almost like a bizarre form of street cred for City People. It reaffirms that yes, I am so hardcore in my desire to Walk To Things (translation: Starbucks) that I am perfectly okay with spending half a million dollars to live in a 800-square-foot hellhole.) Anyway, this bug was ugly. It was obviously some kind of beetle but the kind of beetle that would eat ladybugs for lunch and then poop out some kind of flesh-eating disease. All over your face. While you slept. I texted back. HOLY FUCK KILL IT KILL IT I AM THROWING SHOES FROM HERE. My phone was silent for a few minutes. And then. FUCK IT CAN FLY IT CAN FLLLY FUCK And a few minutes later, she called. "Cilannnnntrooooo!" she wailed. "WHAT?" "Cilantro! I squashed it with Skip's shoe and now... Read more →

And then, there's this guy. He's good. He's real, real good. Some people like to remind me that his first birthday is coming up soon, but I heard that those same people hate America and God and puppies who wear American flag bandanas as collars. In other words, I don't want to talk about. Also, die in a fire. So. Ezra. What are you up to these days? A new EP, perhaps? Drawing on your latest obsessions with Live at the Greek, That Singing Dog Thing and the theme from Blue's Clues? A little Vampire-Weekend-slash-Mozart-Magic-Cube fusion? Working on some new performance moves, then? Pointing, clapping, signing "more" and "all done," playing "soooo big" and throwing your arms in the air like you just don't care? Making a "wah wah wah" sound with the back of your hand until all adults in the area are mimicking it like it's the goddamn macarena? Or maybe you're on a bit of a science kick? Conducting important research in the fields of How Fast Can The Baby Get Halfway Up The Stairs Before Mama Notices OMG or Uncovered Electrical Outlets And Oh Look A Fork? I know we, your devoted constituents, are especially looking... Read more →

The Out-of-Sync Child describes a child with dyspraxia as the "I Can't Do That" child. They sit on a bike but have to stare at their feet to get them to pedal...stare at their hands to make sure they are steering...and when they raise their head to see where they are going...the pedaling and steering stop, and the bike doesn't go anywhere. They climb stairs slower, they jump later, and the worst part is, they know it. Their friends can draw things that actually look like things with crayons, their peers skip happily around the playground, the toddler next door races around on his tricycle, and they know it. They remember the frustration, the falls, the failure. So they look at the bike and say, "I can't do that." And the parent of a child with dyspraxia shrugs, and says okay. He can't do that. Or he won't do that. Is that the same thing? Are we expecting too much or too little? We ask the teachers and the therapists and get different answers. He can't process who/what/when/where/how questions. He can't pedal a tricycle. Eh, that's pretty common. I wouldn't worry about it. Here, practice some writing some letters with... Read more →

And here we go again, with your weekly update to When You Marry. I'm skipping ahead to the "Where Babies Come From" chapter, mostly because the previous chapters (on marital strife and quarrels) were kind of normal and borderline helpful, especially if you need to know EXACTLY how to verbally abuse your wife over her bad cooking. (HINT: Tell her "Get a cookbook, sister, get a book and start studying. This is the last lousy meal I'm eating here, understand?") (No, seriously. That's totally marked as a productive approach to quarreling. And here I thought this class was gonna be an easy A. Stupid girl-brain!) Anyway, despite the chapter title and all the many touchy-feeling reference to intercourse found elsewhere in the book, NO WHERE is there any actual description of...you know, where babies come from. Sperm meets egg in his local fallopian tube...somehow...and then ta-da! A brand-new American citizen! I guess they cut out the facts of life chapter (which exists in the 1953 version) to make more room for all the talk (SO MUCH TALK) about genetics and skin color, as white people in the 60s apparently lived in dread fear of Spontaneous Black Baby Syndrome. (On that... Read more →

So...yeah, OBVIOUSLY it went way better than that. I mean, I knew it would, even while lying in bed at 4:07 A.M., all saucer-eyed and tense, like WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT, because I honestly had no idea I was that worked up over it. This is...what? Evaluation number five or six this year alone? The seventeen-dozenth since this all started over just about two years ago? Up until last night I hadn't even double-checked the appointment time, so I guess my subconscious decided to SURE SHOW ME how entirely NOT used to this shit I am after all. Triple-check and obsess while you're AWAKE, next time, sweetcakes. Or face our nocturnal wrath. And...imaginary stressful haircut scenarios. (I have been putting off getting a trim for a few weeks, actually. Maybe I should put a reminder in iCal, just so I don't have to wait for my brain to inform me that my hair looks like ass.) ANYWAY. It went well, as they tend to go whenever I am left out in the waiting room rather than brought along to sit there and apparently provoke all kinds of horrible uncooperative behavior. We get the full report tomorrow (TOMORROW. as... Read more →

It starts off badly, right in the parking lot. It's crowded, very crowded. I see someone pulling out of a spot on the end and am halfway in before another car appears out of nowhere, honking and yelling. I protest meekly before backing out and taking another spot down the row, only to realize that it's too narrow and I cannot open the doors and get the boys out of their seats. I stand there, panicking. We are going to be late. Suddenly, three girls appear and offer to help. They know our names and I realize they know us from my blog. Somehow, we're all inside. It's bigger than I remember -- more like a cavernous warehouse than a waiting room. There are dozens of people milling around rows of chairs and cafeteria tables. I check in with the front desk (Noah Storch, speech evaluation, 1 P.M.) and we're instructed to wait and listen for our names. We wait. And we wait. There are books and toys but neither of the boys wants anything to do with any of them. Names are being announced over an echo-y loudspeaker that I can't understand. Noah has climbed up a bookshelf and... Read more →

Or, What Happens When You Let Your Wii Bowling Pro Status Go To Your Head Or, Not To Be Overly DRAMATIC, Or Anything Scene, Bowling Alley, Saturday Night Amy: Ew. Bowling shoes? Hasn't technology rendered community shoes obsolete yet? Jason: Wait, did you forget to wear socks? Amy: *pause* Amy: Yes. Jason. EW. Amy: Also, none of these balls have sparkly stars on them. Jason: And? Amy: So how will anybody know how awesome I am? That I am their better? They should put my face on a blimp, at least. Game One Amy: *bowls* Ball: *gutters* Amy: *bowls* Ball: *gutters* Amy: *makes lighthearted jokes at her expense, trying to mask how DEEPLY and GENUINELY rattled she is, OH MY GOD, she cannot LOSE AT THINGS, gaaaaaaah* Ball: *gutters* FINAL SCORE: 34 Game Two Two couples arrive, including one guy who is already slurring his words at the top of his lungs, and are assigned to the lane next to us. The one we share tables and a score machine with. I am immediately thrown even further of my game by the presence of other actual human beings who are not part of my Mii gallery and shockingly, do not... Read more →

Okay, so I know it's 5 pm on a Friday and there's absolutely no point in posting at 5 pm on a Friday but I cannot stand leaving that pointless, neurotic post up all weekend and anyway I spent all afternoon scanning and it always takes so much longer than I think to produce four minutes' worth of entertainment but what I am trying to say is that I updated the When You Marry gallery with two more chapters. Newlyweds and Money Matters. New additions start here. Also, a reader found the original 1945 edition online for a DOLLAR, and I ordered it and I was all excited but then I got an email from the store and they said that it had already been sold but they were trying to find another copy, and then it arrives and I was all excited AGAIN, but then I realized it was the 1953 edition, not the 1945, and I composed this long complicated email to the store about why this wasn't right (especially since it is virtually word-for-word IDENTICAL to the 1962 version, which means all the crap in the forward about being completely re-written and expanded for today's modern American... Read more →