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December 2012
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February 2013

This Is Me Not Writing About Being Sick; This Is Me Writing About Being an Idiot

I took a couple half-hearted stabs at blogging yesterday — probably out of some pseudoephedrine-fueled psychosis where I believed I could make being sick "funny" — but I kept coughing mid-sentence and losing my train of thought, so all my attempts fizzled out and either became First World Whinefests or kind of gross, full of overshare-y details like what it's like to blow your nose and have stuff come out your tear ducts. (See? Aren't you glad I spared you that one?) (Waaaaiiiiit...) By late afternoon I decided I felt a little bit better and that leaving the house sounded like a nice idea. Putting on pants, even! The sun was shining! It was a beautiful day and I AM SO HOPPED UP ON ADVIL RIGHT NOW WHEEEE. So I took Noah to karate. Minutes after we arrived, I realized my phone (and thus my sole source of entertainment, because no offense, Precious Child o' Mine, but watching the 3,204,280th game of karate dodgeball is no longer the thrill it once was) had died. I also realized that my child was coughing. And sneezing. And sniffling. Profusely. OH COME ON. He'd been completely healthy all of five minutes prior in... Read more →

Baby, It's Cold Outside, But Let's Not Be Ridiculous About It

Oh my God, this week. Fuck you, week! Get off my lawn. I'm concerned I'm becoming one of those bloggers who starts off every entry with an apology/explanation for why they haven't been blogging, which: Shut up. You're blogging right now! GET ON WITH IT. On Wednesday we had the terribly exciting pleasure of getting a new heating system installed in our house. Our heat pump actually died two months ago, but thanks to the mild weather (and occasional use of the emergency heat setting) we were able to procrastinate on the replacement until now. "Now" being when I heard Ezra matter-of-factly explain to a playmate that "the floors in my house are like ice-skating." OKAY FINE. YOU COULD JUST WEAR TWO PAIRS OF SOCKS BUT WHATEVER. So of course, the day we finally scheduled the installation was the week the weather plummeted down to the mid-20s. Holy shitbags, was this house cold. The kids and I wore double-sweaters and basically stayed in bed under the covers all day until the new system was up and running. The good news, obviously, is that we have heat and are grateful and fortunate and blahhhhhh one single day without heat, boo freaking... Read more →

Ezra the Ezra-iest

It was a very Ezra weekend around here, and yes, I AM using his name as an adjective in and of itself. That's so Ezra. What an Ezra shirt you're wearing. This soup tastes Ezra-y. EZRA! First, on Friday, Ezra randomly decided that NOW, THAT MINUTE, he was ready to do karate like Noah. We've done this song-and-dance before, and it's always ended with us showing up to the class, only to have Ezra suffer from an Attack of the Shys and refuse to set foot on the mat or participate at all. (Followed by a spectacular meltdown later in the car, when he would ask where his karate uniform was and learn the bitter truth that we didn't sign him up because he refused to set foot on the mat or participate at all we are terrible monsters of the cruelest order.) TA-DA! He did great and he loved it. So congratulations! You now officially get to spend even more of all of your money on goddamned karate classes. Blark. On the other hand: TINY KARATE PANTS. Size triple-zero. For your household's most fearsome peanut. On Saturday, we had some friends and their children over for dinner, so it... Read more →

The Ike Formerly Known as Baby

Hey, what's going on here? Oh, nothing much. Just my baby checking out his new preschool. WAIT. WHAT. It is true. My baby, who you may recall I just gave birth to all of five minutes ago, is starting preschool. Our childcare woes are very close to being almost-solved: A wonderful part-time nanny will start working for us in just a couple weeks, for three days a week. Ike will attend the toddler program at Ezra's (wonderful, oh-God-we-love-it) Montessori school the other two mornings. Technically, it's a two-year-old program, but they will accept Ike at 20 months (February 1st). I don't know if this is standard practice or if they are making an exception because they loooooove us and because Ike is amazing and awesome and the size of a two-and-a-half-year old already...or because I begged and they felt sorry for the crazy-eyed lady who just spent a morning apologizing for all the shrieking during multiple conference calls. (It was rough going there for awhile, you guys. Occasionally the shrieking even came from one my kids!) This morning I took Ike over for his official classroom visit, something I've done with both Noah AND Ezra at this very school, when... Read more →

On Being Outnumbered, Part Whatever (Of A Never-Ending Series)

In an oddly convenient coda to yesterday's post, last night I got a flu shot while my children watched. I wanted to show them that no, really, shots aren't a big deal. It ended with me almost saying the f-word in front of them, because DANG THAT HURT LIKE A MOTHERHUGGING CHEEZIT CRACKER. ProTip: RELAX your arm. I forgot to do this and remained coiled up and tense, probably since I was so intent on bracing myself to display absolutely no facial reaction at all, because I was trying to be a badass in front of Noah and Ezra and, in retrospect, set up dishonestly high expectations that shots don't hurt at all, when everybody knows they DO hurt and now the next time they get a shot it will further erode their trust in me, forever and ever amen. WINNING! But listen: When I took them for THEIR flu shots a few weeks ago, there was so much goddamn sturm und drang over it — I'm talking children hiding under waiting room chairs while wailing for someone to help them, why won't someone helllllllp them — that I finally turned sweetly to the receptionist and asked that she instead... Read more →

The Hypocritical Oath

Yesterday, I punished my firstborn child for swearing. (Here is where every reader who has ever cringed at or suggested I curb my horrible language and penchant for the f-word lets out a well-deserved cackle.) He said the word...hell. (Here is where every other reader who could not give a flying fuck about my fucking language and who appreciates a good mastery of creative fucking obscenities also lets out a cackle, followed by a sigh and a YOU USED TO BE COOL, MAN.) But yeah. Noah told Ezra to "get the hell out" of the bathroom. Twice! Which, on the one hand: SERIOUSLY. HE WAS GOING. GET THE HELL OUT OF THE BATHROOM, EZRA. But on the other hand: I heard it the first time and sternly reminded him that no, you do not talk to your brother using that kind of language, even though I COMPLETELY feel you, dude. I told Ezra to give Noah his privacy but was still within earshot when Noah repeated the slightly PG-rated command. God fucking dammit, kid. Why you gotta make me give you shit? I felt like a huge, self-aware tool as I sent him to his room and waited outside just... Read more →

I'm Too Embarrassed To Accurately Title This Post Because STUPID

Have we established that our household is especially prone to really weird-ass homeowner-related crises? From multiple extended power outages whenever there's like, wind or a slight drizzle to OVEN FIRES to ZOMG BIRDS/MICE/SQUIRRELS, our house really seems to enjoy forcing us to confront our dazzling lack of adult coping skills. Last night I made some homemade chicken tenders for dinner, and served them with a dazzing array of absolutely not-homemade dipping sauces. (Exotic foodie stuff, like "honey mustard" and "ketchup" and "I think this is BBQ sauce that's been in the fridge since 2008 but the label got pulled off but I'm sure it's fine because bottled condiments last forever like Twinkies, right?") I put everybody's favorite respective dipping sauce into small food-prep bowls, like this one: You may notice the ridge of this particular bowl is a tad beat-up looking. That will be important later. You may ALSO notice (or not, because we sure as hell didn't) that this bowl is almost EXACTLY the same size of the average kitchen sink drain. That will also be important. One of our delightfully helpful children deposited his dinner dishes directly into the sink. Jason proceeded to run the water and the... Read more →

Yes Ike Can

Despite an early surge of talky-ish mimicry, Ike pretty much clammed up and stopped talking altogether around his first birthday. He'd gesture and babble and all that, but it was a long time before we heard any real words from him again. He was testing me, of course. He was waiting for me to say something about it, to put the soupy dash of worry I was stirring around in my brain into words and admit that I was concerned about his lack of speech, especially as he rapidly approached 18 months — the age when Noah was officially put on the wait-and-watch list. (Noah was 21 months when he was evaluated and found to be speech delayed, though by that age some of his sensory issues were already very pronounced — toe walking, texture and oral motor issues, lining up toys, etc. — and it was pretty clear that was all probably related.) I refused to play that game, this time. Instead, I did exactly THE OPPOSITE what I've probably advised a hundred dozen advice-seekers who have emailed me over the years with concerns about their own children's development. I ignored the shit out of it. To be fair... Read more →

Germ Warfare

FIRST WAVE: Child #1 coughs once. Maybe twice. That is the end of it, and also the beginning. SECOND WAVE: Child #2 starts coughing all over the place. Especially at night, or at 5 am in the morning. They also develop a runny nose. Any tissue that touches even the outermost bare edge of their nostril is immediately discarded in utter disgust because BOOOOGERS. Yet there is no such similar aversion to walking around with their sleeve as a reusable snotrag all the livelong day. THIRD WAVE: Child #3 comes down with the bug just as soon as Child #2 has thrown out the last perfectly usable tissue, and comes down with it HARD. Coughing, hacking, sneezing, wailing, gnashing of teeth, tearing of garments, hurling of sippy cups, etc. Maybe they toss in a fever, just for fun. Sleep goes all to hell, unless Child #3 is held upright by you, with your shirt/skin/hair as the resuable snotrag while they sigh and moan pathetically. You perform this job gladly, of course, because snuggles are snuggles, bitchez. And hey! At least it's not barf. This time. Yet. Oh, God. (Note that if you make it through this wave without a middle-of-the-night... Read more →