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September 2011
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November 2011


As of this morning, we were all just about fully recovered from Thursday night's excitement, AKA The Night I Panicked, Ran Into a Wall, Landed Butt-First In Dog Food, Narrowly Avoided Burning the House Down But Thoroughly Traumatized My Children Anyway. Jason and I replaced the fried oven coil over the weekend and scrubbed and re-scrubbed fire extinguisher residue off a truly mind-blowing number of surfaces and kitchen items. The one thing we HADN'T done, however, was actually turn the oven on. That was like, Advanced Placement PTSD level shit there, and every time I thought about it I decided that I could totally cook healthy meals for my family in the microwave. Or by shoving pizza slices into the toaster. I finally caved this morning and turned the oven on so I could bake a loaf of bread. (Because apparently I now BAKE BREAD. This just happened, you guys. I've even gone and acquired an attitude about bread machines, preferring to bake bread the frustrating, old-fashioned way. What the fuck kind of prairie-ass nonsense is this, I ask you?) Anyway! I preheated the oven and everything seemed to be pretty okay in there, at least in the "Is There... Read more →

This Mortal Coil

I dropped my mom off at the train station yesterday, and she fretted over leaving so soon. Jason wasn't going to get home until the wee hours of the morning, so was I sure I would be okay without her that night? All on my own? I laughed. Come on, Mom. I can handle one measly night alone with my own children. I've done it before, you know. That's the conversation that kept running through my head a few hours later, when the oven caught on fire. I'd just finished heating up some fish sticks for the boys -- the nerdy homemade kind, full of vegetables and healthy crap that always disappoint Noah because what happened to the rectangle kind, Mom? From the bo-o-ox? -- and was starting to steam some broccoli for my dinner. (Broccoli that I was planning to utterly drench in cheese sauce, however, lest you think I'm some kind of healthy wizard, or something.) I heard a loud pop, like a blown light bulb, and saw a bright white flash from the general direction of the stove, like metal in the microwave. Something had sparked in the oven. Something was still sparking and hissing and glowing... Read more →

Blessed Preshus Milestones of Doom

One... Two... Awfuck. So. That started happening. The worst part is that he's almost simulaneously mastered flipping back onto his belly, which means he'll soon be doing that thing where I leave him on the floor for three seconds and then BAM, he's wedged underneath some nearby furniture. The best part is that I can start dressing him in a layer of Swiffer cloths and stop vaccuuming under the couch. Read more →

Ike, Instagram'd

Every photo I take of this baby is immediately my most favorite. We've officially entered the Four Months Old Ball of Sunshine & Glee stage, where almost everything is worth smiling at or over because WHOA CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS NONSENSE? I'M SITTING UPRIGHT KIND OF! THAT TOY MAKES NOISE. MY FEET ARE IN MY MOUTH. BOOBS CONTINUE TO EXIST. Yeah, he's very caps-locky right now, sorry. Just be glad I'm sparing you my version of I'M ON A BOAT entitled I'M IN A STROLLER., anyway. (Just need another verse's worth of lyrics. THEN WATCH THE FUCK OUT.) (Wooden teether/rattle from Little Alouette, a gift from HeatherB, better known around here as Ike's Boombox. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is his jam. Pump it up! He's in a stroller! Mommy thinks she's funny! Etc.) We're also in the midst of the four-month sleep regression, which for Ike has taken the form of refusing to go bed, at all, ever, until he basically gets ridiculously, irrationally exhausted around 11:30 at night. At which point he screams in fury at me like, DO SOMETHING, right before finally passing out cold. I AM doing something, child! It's called drinking. Go to sleep. Oh,... Read more →

Blood Around the Edges

Jason is at a software conference in California all week, and apparently can see Disneyland from his hotel. My mom is in town to help me out with the kids, or at least that's the idea: Please come and save me from my own purposeful decision to have this many children, ay yi fucking yi. Today is (was? would have been? no, let's stick with is) my parents' wedding anniversary. I'm glad she's here. She says she's glad she's here, too. She had flowers and a card delivered to his grave this morning, though. Her grief is...still intense. Raw and fresh and liable to bubble over at any second. The kind of grief that can make people uncomfortable because it's just so real and there. And then there's me. I'm fine! And good. What's for lunch? I should go to the store. We need cat food. Jason says I keep hitting the snooze button on my grief. On grieving. Which I suppose is true, like I keep expecting there to be a time when I can pencil in a good cry and some Deep Thoughts between 11 and 1 next Thursday but oh, crap. I have that call with the... Read more →