Dr. Teeth

Remeber him? The Muppet? Aah, teeth. A whole new chapter in the book of breastfeeding. I've mentioned before that I didn't nurse my son for very long, so I've never dealt with this part of it before, but here I am at five months with my daughter and we're still chugging along. Although lately you might say one of us is chomping along. New teeth are adorable, yes, but someone here is using them for evil instead of good.

There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. All of a sudden, WHOMP here comes the toofers. Ever see video of a great white coming out of the water to wrestle some meat off a big hook out on the open sea? That, my friends, is why I call my sweet, innocent little baby The Shark. And she has the audacity to act surprised when I'm snapping up my nursing tank. Shah, girl, bye bye boobie. I've instituted a "one bite and you're out" rule. If things continue this way, I'll be shaking up a lot more bottles. In a few years, though, when it's time for her to learn about the Tooth Fairy, I'm having those little teef gilded and I'm making a necklace. Is that weird?

Sleepytime

Today is a blur. Kids are both sleeping in my room in their pack n' plays. I'm about to head to bed, just finishing up watching this week's Entourage. I miss my house. I miss hubby. The babies totally held me together today. Just them needing things and wanting to have their normal day and take up all my attention kept my mind off of things. Maybe a little too well, because I'm going to bed without doing a lot of the things I planned on accomplishing today. I guess that's not much different from any other day, but I do still have to figure out where I stand with bills and cancelled utilities and the budget and what has been spent since Friday.

I've been up and down so many times lately. Happy, excited, upset, and downright miserable. Too busy, too lazy, too confused, and waiting for pieces to come together. Then one of the kids laughs, or they both start giggling together, or somebody cries, and that's the only thing that matters. I keep thinking about how happy I am that I have both of them here with me. This is the first week Frank is staying with George and Irene, so it's lonely. I'm going to miss the mom's group meeting tomorrow because I have to go home and get some of the kids' gear, like Nico's sofa, Livi's jumperoo, and blankets and loveys. I also gave Frank my iPhone charger in the car this morning, so I have to borrow his until Friday. I can't believe it's just past midnight. I'm tired, but I'd really love to stay up for another cocktail. Just in case Livi wakes up, though, I'm going to call it a night and head off to bed. Oh shit, Ferris Beuller just came on. Serious dilemma.

One last night

We wound up staying here again tonight. There's no furniture, except the crib and toddler bed. I left for Mom's this morning with the very bare essentials, meaning diapers and baby monitors. I'm amused at myself for having the presence of mind (or lack thereof) to take the outfits I had packed out of Nico's backpack and replace them with all his toy cars and farm animals. Oh, and I also put Olivia's 3-tiered pink tulle crib skirt in there. Talk about essentials. Have tulle, will travel, I suppose.

So with no clothes, no toothbrush, and no make-up bag, I decided to head back. Frank thought it best to hang onto that rented cargo van overnight, so we have to take that back in the morning on the way to the bus station. Glad to see I'm not the only one flaking out a little.

Goodnight to you, dirty fireplace. Sweet dreams, spackled spots on the wall that need sanding. By the time two weeks have flown by, you'll be clean and smooth, and I'll be gone for real. I'll miss you, recessed lights with dimmers. So long, ceramic cook top stove. Adios, master bedroom window seat. I never did make a cushion for you, and for that I apologize. I promise right here and now that I'll treat my next window seat much, much better, and I'll make a cushion in your honor and I'll read books there and drink iced tea and hang lovely curtains. Maybe The Dude will have a cute butt like I do, and maybe she'll treat you like you deserve to be treated. Just always remember, I loved you first.

Boxing

Here we are, on pretty much the last night we'll all be spending together in our condo. Hubby and I are splitting a noodle soup bowl that he spiffed up with some shrimp, and there's what I understand to be some good boxing on HBO. Mosely and somebody else? I don't know, I'm paying attention to the soup. We already have a bunch of boxes moved over to the storage unit, and in the morning Frank's cousins will be here to do all the heavy lifting. Sofa, bookcases, etc., etc. We'll go out early and get breakfast for everyone, and they should be here by 8:30am. The hundred little things I could be doing instead of sitting here writing just don't seem worth the worry. Much of what remains unpacked is stuff that will either be following us to Mom's or getting tossed out as trash.

You know, come to think of it, we spent the greater part of today acting like there was nothing much to be done. In the morning we went out to sign for the storage unit, opened the bank account for The Big Jebowski's security deposit, and stopped by the U-Haul place. Papers, papers, signing names, and more papers. A phone call to our realtor, a chat with the neighbors, some Inca chicken for lunch, the Barcelona game, family nap time, and then out to pick up the rental cargo van for some pre-pow-wow hauling. Tonight we watched the new Chris Rock special and shuffled some empty boxes around in mock productivity. When my son wakes up in the morning before the crack of dawn, it'll be serious "go time" around here. Tomorrow evening, this place will look empty. I'm not sad now, just interested in making the day go smoothly and helping out by keeping myself and the kids out of the way. Maybe we'll head over to Mom's and scope out the situation there. Now, though, it occurs to me that packing the diaper bag for the morning will be a big help. So I'm off.

Pork chops, juice box, Extra Sugar

The kids are asleep. I am sitting on my bedroom floor, eating leftover pork chops for lunch, and enjoying my last moments as my street's nosiest resident. Across the road I see Extra Sugar's parents helping him inside. Sometimes he can make it out to the car and back alone, but I guess on his bad MS days he needs help ditching the walker at the front door. Often times Minnie brings out a cup of coffee for her son to drink while he sits in his driver's seat, smoking his Marlboro Lights, banished to the outdoors because Raul has emphysema. There goes Minnie, off to the market, wearing her Gilligan hat to keep from catching cold until the hair she lost during chemo grows back.

G.I. Joe is taking out the trash. Yesterday I talked to Mrs. Joe, and Nico and her daughter ran around in the grass together as we chatted about how it's a shame that we were getting to know each other better just in time for me to move away. And here I go with the water works... I didn't think it would be so difficult to leave this place. Finally I have all these people in my life, dare I say new friends, and just like that it's time to pack up and move. If ever there were a time that I would really like to stay put, it's now. It didn't seem to matter before I went out and found a life for myself and the kids. The sign language groups, the mom's club activities, play groups, making friends with neighbors... I didn't mean for roots to spring out under our feet while we were standing around planning this whole move, then waiting for a tenant. If I've learned anything about myself so far this year, it's that I do have it within myself to get out there and meet people and make life a richer experience. I'm shy, and it's not easy, but I'll go out and do it again without thinking twice.

Last night I caught a brief chat with my sister as I was welling up, packing boxes in the kitchen. She told me to stop crying, called me Weezy, and said we're movin' on up. It was just the pep talk I needed, and I just repeated it to myself as I'm looking out the window slurping on my juice box. The Jefferson's theme song has been stuck in my head all day. Ok... I'm pulling myself back together, closing the blinds on the bedroom window, and ending my four year stint as the mayor of D Street. I'll miss it here, but I'm Weezy and I'm movin' on up. Now gimme the damn packing tape, for Christ's sake.

Thoughts while packing

I'm going to get back to packing up all the useless shit in my kitchen, just as soon as I get a couple of things off my chest. Firstly... Dear John McCain, you are a toad. Secondly... Dear Sarah Palin, you are a douche bag and if I were McCain, I'd also try to avoid letting Biden kick your Alasska in a debate. Am I feeling particularly mature tonight? Obviously not. I just finished watching my new favorite show, Tabatha's Salon Takeover, had myself some leftover shrimp and broccoli, and now I'm debating having a beer. Also, I have decided that after all this moving business is done, I am calling Dr. Rey. I've always wanted to visit California anyway.

Ugh... back to packing. I am now at the point where I will pay any one of you a thousand dollars to come over and do this chore for me. I've had enough and now I'm waving cash at you so I can sit on the sofa and watch tv, and drink that beer I just decided I deserve.

Delivery from Chopstick House

Last night's fortune: "Redecorating will be in your plans."

That is one smart cookie.

Brother and sister, mister.

I see a really cute brother and sister bond between the kids lately. Nico is constantly giving Livi his cars and farm animals, and helps feed her bot-bots and oatmeal at lunch time. She smiles whenever he's around, and she loves when he talks to her and holds her hand. He has taken to sitting on her legs and feet every chance he gets, and she always seems delighted about it even though I freak out and enforce my "no sitting on the baby" policy.

The other day I had Livi in the pack and play, where she was lying on her tummy, and Nico tossed a few cars in right on top of her. I had to gently remind him not to drop things on the baby, but I secretly thought it was the sweetest thing ever. Even more precious was the way he laid down next to the crib after I gave him back his cars. He sat there for a good 20 minutes or so, looking lonely, seeming to wish for the days when she'll be able to run screaming around the house with him. I've got a feeling those times aren't too far off. Livi is halfway to crawling.

Chops

I just had the best pork chops ever for lunch. Made by Frank, of course, who is working from home today. You know chops are good when you actually enjoy scarfing down all the fatty parts because they're nice and crispied. Mmm num num num. Plus rice and beans. Quite tasty, indeed. I had to pull myself away from the chops, though, when I noticed I was gnawing on a piece of bone, feeling like I'd been raised by a pack of wolves. It wasn't pretty. But it sure was delicious.

The Dude, man.

Ok so it turns out our tenant's last name is really, really similar to Lebowski, except it begins with a J. Thus, she is know by me and hubby as The Big Jebowski. Each time we discuss anything having to do with our new landlord status, it ends in giggles with the two of us repeating back and forth "The Big Jebowski" and "I'm The Dude, man." Hopefully I'll be able to keep it professional and hold myself together when it comes time for me to handle business.

Packing is going great. I can't wait for The Dude to move in. She seems like a nice enough girl. For anyone who doesn't already know, The Big Lebowski is one of our all-time favorite movies. So the fact that The Dude's name is so similar is being taken as a good sign.

Teef

Finally, Olivia has cut her first tooth. It's so freakin' adorable, too. She's a little shy about showing it off, but man it is the cutest tooth I've seen since May of 2007. Nico's teeth all appeared in pairs, so it's funny to see Livi with this lone chopper. Surely it will have company any day now.

This leaves me with a weird personal dilemma. I had planned on nursing the baby until she was four to six months old, or until she started getting teeth. For whatever reason, those were my two goals/guidelines for when it would be ok to change over to bottles. Now that she's five months, and the aforementioned tooth is present, I've got mixed emotions. She will drink one or two four ounce bottles a day, and she's loving oatmeal, but most of her diet still comes straight from the milkbar. I just can't see forcing her to switch completely to formula right now. And for what? She loves the boobie. When I give her bottles, even though it kind of gives me a break (especially with the tooth thing now), it's not as great as I thought it would be. She doesn't look at me the same way, she doesn't burp the same way, and she smells different.

Nico was a formula baby. I nursed him a few weeks, but my body was destroyed after his pregnancy and he had acid refulx. Our attempts at nursing were extremely difficult for both of us. Being able to breastfeed Livi has mended the broken boobie-heart I'd been carrying from my failed attempt with my son, and maybe that is what makes me want to keep on going. That whole 'look what I can do!' feeling. With so much else going on in the next few weeks, I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing in this department. Once we get settled in at Mom's, it will be time to start the baby on fruits and veggies. Oh, how the time flies...

Join me!

In light of these "blacks against Obama" shenanigans, I am starting a new group called "whites against McCain". You don't have to be white to join, so come on.

P.S. Does it occur to anyone else that someone paid people to pull that stunt, knowing it would be splashed all over mass media? Duh.

TCB

My motto for the weekend is "A little less conversation, a little more action please." Sing it like Elvis.

New business idea

I have to tell you, I am the best packer upper ever. It's a life size game of Tetris for me, and just as addictive. For the next few weeks I will be obsessed with what to fit into which empty box, and how. Tonight I'm getting some of my fragile things out of the way so I can do more of a storming, sweeping type of pack-up next week. I should make a business for myself and call it "Girl who comes over to pack up all your sh*t so you can move" or something catchy like that.

On the menu here I have eight vintage juice glasses emblazoned with what seem to be Dutch inspired red roosters. Eight glasses, four squares of bubble wrap, and four pieces of packing tape. Voilá. They'll be living in the Gordon's London Dry Gin box along with my small but heavy rooster lamp with its fabric shade, my favorite tea pot (orange, black, green and gold roosters, stamped USSR on the bottom), and a fanciful but somehow masculine looking bird carved out of wood and painted about a hundred different colors. And by bird, I mean rooster. In you go, birdies. But honestly, you should see how nicely this is done. If hubby were doing this, I would be pulling my hair out by now. Here's what would go in this box: eight vintage juice glasses (unwrapped), a lamp with the bulb still screwed in (shade in a different box), and some ketchup and mustard packets from a drawer in the kitchen just for the hell of it. Because we have to save the condiments. You think I'm kidding, but this is a man who puts pottery in a duffel bag, flies home from Peru with it, and is shocked when he opens the bag to see just how ungentle the baggage handlers were.

It is nearly impossible for me to oversee every single aspect of this move. Frank and his friends/cousins will be handling the large/heavy objects -- sectional sofa, television, dresser, cubby wall, dining furniture, bed. That stuff is best left to the boys, and I am fine with that. I just threw a bunch of brick-a-brack in the trash can and I have to put that in the dumpster before Frank gets home tomorrow, lest he talk me into keeping it, in which case I can just picture unpacking it and being angry that stuff I don't really want has followed me to yet another destination. Some things I just didn't have the heart to get rid of for a few years. Seriously, why am I still clinging to the metal cork toppers from the Veuve Clicquot bottles from my wedding? Rest assured I will pop Veuve upon Veuve when we buy the next house, and I can use those cork toppers to make magnets for my fridge. What is the logic here... that by throwing away the wedding champagne bottle decorations, I am really throwing away my wedding? Oh, please. Honestly, that's why I used to save things like that. For fear of what it looked like I was getting rid of. Well, hubby and I are stuck with each other so I'm not too worried about trashing those little pieces of tin. He'll be married to me long after Waste Management hauls them away. Isn't that romantic?

Ooh-la-la!

Aw, Swisscake Mama, you're almost off to Paris. I just want to let you know that I will be suffering terrible loneliness while you're away, but just dreaming about what a fabulous time you're having will more than make up for it. Have fun, try not to worry about the girls, and enjoy the wedding (tell the bride congrats for me). Take lots of photos and get a nice shot of yourself with Swisscake Papa at the top of the Eiffel Tower. You are one magical mama and I hope you make lots of wonderful memories. Have some bags and cheese for me!

I sure hope this is normal

This morning very tired. Last night no sleep much. This happened:
12:30 -- went to bed.
1:30 -- Nico crying, needs hug.
My thoughts: N-n-no. Shut up, go back to sleep.
What happened: Went in, gave hugs, kiss on the cheek, tucked son back in.
2:00 -- Livi wakes, babbles, and growls.
My thoughts: N-n-no. Shoosh. Sleep, you.
What happened: Baby wants to eat. I feed baby, put her back to sleep. I fall back to sleep after grinding teeth for 10 minutes.
3:30 -- Livi wakes again, babbles, growls.
My thoughts: Oh HELL no. Go the f*ck back to sleep.
What happened: Livi shouts, wants milk. I pick her up, grumble, curse to myself, go to living room for clean diaper. Back in bedroom, I throw clean diaper at my pillow and tell baby shoosh. I ask baby why she is hungry. Baby growls. I tell baby to be quiet and stop ruining my life. I ask baby why she insists on waking me continually to drain my soul. I offer baby a thousand dollars to go back to sleep. Baby declines, claiming she can't count and doesn't know what dollars are. Baby shouts, smiles, and grabs at my tank top. I feed and burp baby, change her diaper, and put her back to bed.
3:55 -- Baby fussing, needs another burp.
My thoughts: Great. Just great.
What happened: Pick baby up, baby cries, then cracks loud burp. I say comforting words, give hugs and kisses. Baby finally satisfied.
4:00 -- Too exhausted to be angry, I resort to more grinding of teeth. Spend ten minutes reminding self to say curse words only inside my head, and be nice to kids.
My thoughts: It has been over three years since my last vacation. Must get away. Alone. To deserted tropical island. Ok, not alone, take family, but for the love of God, need vacation.
7:15 -- Nico awake. Day begins. Must eat, get dressed. Dryer repair person arriving between 10am and 2pm. How convenient. Hoping repair person will be here on the early side. Would like to take kids out for a walk. Mom coming over tonight to go over moving plans. Will ask Mom if kids ruin everyone's life every now and again. Pretty sure Mom will know kids aren't really ruining my life. Hoping Mom will say, "Yes."

Cheese! and more mango

Today Nico started purposely smiling for the camera. For the first time ever, when I asked, "Nico, say cheese?" he said, "Seeeese!" and flashed his pearly whites. In this picture, you can see he's signing "more" with his hands because we're having mango for dessert and he's still hungry. Smart and good-looking? He really does take after his mother.

Come and knock on our door

Big official news of the day: in four weeks and two days, there will be a tenant living in our condo. And paying rent, even. I'm just... I don't know... blown away that this is really happening. Moreover, I am trying to map out the whole packing and moving process that has to happen in the next few weeks. And the storage. Oh, the storage.

I've already resolved myself to throw out most of what isn't truly worth moving along to the next destination, and I'll tell you how I'll determine what stays and what goes. Say I'm packing up various chatch from around the house, and I can picture myself opening a box up six months from now and wondering why the hell I bothered to pack and move said chatch, then I'm nipping it in the bud and throwing it out right away. No questions asked. Trash. I think this system is going to work out just fine, because my garbage can is almost full and this is only the first day.

So, yes, this was a big day. Big, big, big. I'm still too shocked to think of anything more descriptive.

I am not a crook

So it turns out I went back to the store to pay for those pajamas. I wanted Mrs. Joe to have the gift receipts because I had a feeling the size 2T jammies would be too big for the baby, and it turns out they were. I may be a thief, but I'm not a total asshole who would send someone back to the store to try to exchange for a smaller size and have to argue with customer service over why only part of her gift was included in the receipt. Cause that's just not cool. Not to mention it's bad karma to dress other people's kids in your stolen goods.

I brought the gift receipts over to the Joe's earlier and it was pretty clear the baby needs 18 months size. So it all worked out for the best. It's a total bummer when your kid gets clothes that are the wrong size and you have no way of exchanging. It's basically a waste. And these pj's were way too cute not to be worn immediately.

In my few spare moments today, I got to know my new phone a little better. Frank has decided I am more excited than he is about the new phones.

Ok I'm sorry, this is a bad time for me to try to write... I'm totally hooked on the new HBO series "True Blood" and I've been watching it the entire time I've been writing this. Anna Paquin is one of the few actresses I really like, and when I see her in a new role I can't see any of her old characters, I just see the new "her". I'm also totally into "Bill" in this show. More later. Show ending. Must make drink and watch "Entourage".

Birthday droolfest for Frank the Tank

Today is The Hub's 38th birthday. This post is a tribute to him, so haters, haters, turn your eyes away and come back tomorrow. I shall now present anyone left with a laundry list of reasons why I love my Love.

He could be a professional UFOlogist. Hours upon hours are spent watching anything involving aliens, UFOs, outer space, government aeronautics masquerading as normal activity in order to carry out evil schemes, etc. I really love it when we're outside and Frank looks up at the sky and scoffs, "Chemtrails -- you bastards motherf*ckers!" and then speculates on which town they're trying to poison from above.

New technology. I fight him tooth and nail over buying anything I deem not completely necessary for the sustainment of human life. I don't know why I do it, and I don't know why he puts up with me. Initially I say no to just about everything under the sun... the over-sized flat panel LCD, the multiple PowerBooks, the iPod collection, the TiVo, and the iPhones (a battle I just lost, and happily it turns out). He's not one to give in, though, and eventually whatever he wants finds its way into our hands, home, and hearts. Without Frank, I would be a total technogranny. Actually, I might already be one... he did bust on me continuously while I was trying to figure out my new phone. I guess I made the "Huh?" face one time too many.

He has the music library of a single, childless dude. And that's just sexy.

Frank is super smart, adventurous, and works hard to get what he wants. He has lived more than one lifetime in the past 38 years. Arriving alone in Los Angeles from Peru at age 18, knowing next to no one, speaking no English, he has serious guts (or "tripes" as he likes to call them). With a revolutionary for a father and a Buddhist Inca for a mother, daily life during his childhood involved things like bombings, exiled family members, power outages, and earthquakes. Yet here he is, a successful artist with a career path that is the envy of many an animator. And talent coming out his ears.

His jokes. Here's my favorite: Two friends are walking through the jungle when they stumble upon a bridge guarded by a tiki. The tiki says, "You may cross my bridge if you go into the jungle and bring me an offering of fruit." The men leave, and when the first one comes back with grapes, the tiki says, "Thank you. You may cross, but first you have to stick the grapes up your ass." The guy says ok, and as he's putting the grapes up his ass, he's laughing hysterically. When the tiki asks what is so funny, the guy says, "My friend is coming back with a pineapple."

And finally, but certainly not the end of the list, I've found in him the perfect person to run through this life with. He's a wonderful father, a fun husband, the perfect match, and my exact opposite. He shouts, he argues, he laughs and he protects. He works and he criticizes, he reads and he dreams. He's rich and famous. He's got soul. He's got vision. He enjoys going to parties. He likes things, he hates things, and he loves a lot. He believes in God and science and Heaven and aliens. He believes in himself and in everyone else. He watches cartoons and mixes three kinds of cereal into one bowl. He's my chef, my chauffer, my carrier of heavy objects, and my opener of sticky jars. He believes we knew each other in our former lives, and that we'll be together again in the next one.

Happy birthday, Franky bug. You make the world go 'round.

Ring-a-ding-ding

Welcome home, new iPhone. Mama will take good care of you. :D

Targuilt -- or not.

So I mentioned last night that Nico is invited to our neighbor's daughter's second birthday party tomorrow. The other day, Mrs. Joe (GI Joe's wife) came to the door and invited the four of us, and I was delighted to accept. Actually Nico is the official invitee, since he's also about to turn two, but he kind of needs one of us to drive him to Chuck E. Cheese. Anyway, Frank has his Rooftop Cosmonaut party with his birthday buddies George and Eric who also turned one year older this week. Yes, I assure you, my husband is in his late 30s and not 12 as the party theme would indicate. Anyhoo, Mom is coming over to babysit Olivia while I take Nico to the party.

Last night we had someone come to look at the condo, so we passed the time by going to get Frank's birthday gift at Tarzhé. Once he picked out a suitable digital movie camera, we decided to stroll around the store and I realized it would be the perfect opportunity to pick up a gift for tomorrow. They had really cute pajamas sets for winter snuggliness, so I picked out two and headed to the register. I guess while fumbling with the gift bag, card, and tissue paper, the salesgirl missed out on the fact that I had two sets of jammies. When she said the grand total was just under $20 I didn't argue, but when we got outside I checked the receipt and sure enough she only rang up one. In the car, my main dilemma was that I wanted to put the gift receipt in the bag in case they wanted to exchange anything. Eek. Frank's solution? Don't give them the receipt, just say here's some pajamas, happy birthday, you're stuck with 'em. Hmm... works for me!

Ok so technically I stole pj's from Tarzhé. The original fault was not mine, but I did realize the mistake and I chose not to go back. I'm not questioning whether I did the wrong thing by not twirling back through the sliding doors and over to guest services, and insisting they allow me to pay for items that had just been "given" to me by one of their own. What I am asking is, would you have kept them? Be honest. Either way, I will be partying down with The Chin tomorrow. Skee ball, baby. Skee ball.

Thinking back, thinking ahead

I was going to leave off with the post about my little ones tonight. I just keep thinking about 9/11, and I've been reading everyone's posts about where they were, what they did that day, and how they are feeling about all of it seven years down the line. I'm not sure why it wasn't my initial intention to post my own experience and thoughts from this day in 2001. Maybe I still don't know how to put my feelings about it into words. Sometimes I feel like this country has been drilled so deep into the ground that I need a ladder to see the light of day. Other days, I feel like we really don't have it so bad, compared to what other people on the planet deal with day in and day out.

The greatest good I can do, I suppose, is focus on good things for the future and get some Obama Oval Office manifestation happening.

Adorable child update

Ladies and gentlemen, this here is a little baby I like to call The Shark. Also known as The Viper. How a kid with no teeth can do such damage is beyond me. Lucky for her, she's cute. Our topic of the moment is weaning. She's totally into formula in a bottle (but no more than twice a day) with oatmeal for a snack. Tonight she scarfed down two little servings and I was so excited that I would have been cheering if she hadn't fallen asleep in the chair. She was doing full-on sleepy time at 8:45pm. Woo!


And now put your hands together for The Shark's big brother, Mr. Chin. He can be seen doing such entertaining things as dancing to Queen in the electronics section at your local Target store, dancing to Ray Barretto at his grandmom's house, and dancing to Black Sheep's "The Choice is Yours" in his very own living room. He feeds himself little cups of yogurt using colorful spoons, he makes crayon murals, and does the most realistic dinosaur sounds this mama has ever heard.

I could go on and on telling you how much I love these kids, but it would never seem like I've said enough. Livi is rolling over and trying her darnedest to crawl. Nico just got a birthday party invitation from one of our neighbor's kids. They both make me so proud, and I keep thinking to myself, wow... this is life, and this is love. Me likey!

Ricardo is the new Esteban

Last night I had a brief, late chat with Swisscake Mama and could not, for the life of me, recall the name of one of this "Weeds" season's main characters. I was asking Mama what she thought about a certain event in the show, and was completely shocked when I forgot Esteban's name. I kept thinking "Ricardo? No. Um... Ricardo? No. Um... eh... not Ricardo, right?" I didn't feel quite so off when Jen called him the president instead of the mayor, and we had a good 'hehe' at how we were both feeling completely stoned and there wasn't a doobie in sight.

In last night's post, I believe I called my computer's power cord my "charger cable" which I suppose is technically correct, though I've never called it the charger cable before. And a few weeks ago I saw someone on Facebook and was telling Jen about how this person was "one of my physics experiment group people" in high school. I was trying to find, buried somewhere deep in my brain, the words "lab partner" and that other phrase was the best I could muster. I think someone has snuck in and rearranged my brain Rolodex. When I find out who has done this terrible, horrible deed, you are so in big trouble!

My pooter isn't workin'

My friend Jen always refers to her laptop as her 'pooter' and it cracks me up. Because of this, I also like to call mine my pooter, but I only say it to Jen. Or when I say it to someone besides Jen, I exaggerate it a lot and use a southern accent. "Mah POOH-der." So say it like that when you're reading this.

For many months, I've been using a messed up charger cable. The part I plug into the side of mah pooh-der is wrecked, because Godzilla (Frank, who trips over everything) kicked it out accidentally a while ago and bent the circular metal part. I've pliered the poor thing to death finally, and all I get when I plug it in is a dull buzzing sound. The light comes on but the battery remains lifeless. *sad face* So tonight I'm using heez pooh-der and jeez aren't I fancy. I've said it before... I hate using other people's electronics, especially pooh-ders. Online time is getting cut short so I can contemplate tonight's Weeds and figure out who told the Mexican police to show up down there. Ugh... I'm hearing complaints about the groceries that are still on the kitchen floor. I guess that's my cue to shut Frank's pooh-der. He hates sharing just as much as I do.

Not quite clicking here

I'm having a weird spell. Nothing is quite clicking with me the past few days. Been a little off, and I am chalking it up to a lot of little things happening all at once. First let me say that I cannot believe we are well into September. Second, Livi seems to be getting a lot bigger the past few days, and Nico has been very clingy and wants lots of attention. The other side of that coin is that when he's not hanging on my leg, he's playing happily with his cars and trucks on his own.

With Livi's growing, the weaning is coming along as well as I had hoped. Except that it freakin' hurts! Owwww... I'm making a pouty face right now. We're starting three bottles a day this week. My body has been wacky, then fine, then I was having a lot of nausea and thought I was pregnant. EPT tells me I am not *phew*, but wouldn't that just be the funniest thing ever! Ha! In retrospect, the nausea was probably because I came in contact with hot dogs and hot dog juice (double quease), and then a package of mushrooms (eh... fungus). And then having to rush out the door while very, very hungry. I've also been forgetting my vitamins, and I feel very disorganized. Trying to pack has become a non-chore since I'm not doing it even though I have enough boxes here to make a decent start. We haven't gotten as many people through to see the condo as we expected, so our realtor (who we love) is going to lower the amount we're asking per month just a little and hopefully that will help.

Honestly I think I have been eating not so well lately, too, and that's having an impact. I don't know, I guess I just feel all over the place. And I'm tired. And I really, really, REALLY am at the point where I need to get into a bigger house or I will go ape sh*t. This place is just. too. small. Even when everything is put away, there is still sh*t everywhere and I am at my limit. Oh, and another thing. When I walk somewhere, it's like my brain hovers in the air at the place where I had been standing, and it takes a minute for it to realize it's floating, naked, out in space before it hurries to catch up with me. Like wait, wait, I'm here! Oh, brain, come on. Everyone else is on board here, can you just put in a little effort and act like you have it together? Thank you.

I guess this means no cake at the party tomorrow...

Big news for today. I'm cutting out white sugar. That is all. Oh, and I'm switching back to tea. Earl Grey and I are best buds once again. That is all.

*Late note: Now in need of cookie recipes that use fun things like brown rice syrup. Email me, yo.*

Outdoorsy on the second floorsy

My garden used to be a lot more organized than this. Tomatoes here, various delicious herbs there. Lemon verbena, a pot of marigolds, a Buddha, a Celtic cross. Big hunks of amethyst and rose quartz scattered about. This year, the morning glories and a pot full of shamrocks are the only survivors. Check out what is now known simply as "The Tangle". There are a few more pots to the left, and the mornings have gloried themselves on over there as well. Funny thing is, it feels really peaceful to sit out there and I'm enjoying the hell out of it.

Word of the day

I can only say one thing about what happened today, so I'm making a 'word of the day' and I kind of promised I wouldn't elaborate on it. Actually I can say something about how I feel today, which is that I'm really grateful to The Hub for volunteering. And I can also say that I got emotional, which I didn't expect. Not sure if he even noticed, thanks to his one Valium and also because I had on my sweet D&G shades, but I was crying for about ten seconds right before we pulled into the parking lot. Then I looked in the back seat, saw the kids, turned back around and looked up at the sky and saw the prettiest blue ever with perfect clouds floating by. And I thought, ok, this is it, and this is right. I don't have any doubts and I feel a huge weight has been lifted. So thanks, Love.

The word of the days is... snip.

Did he just say, "Warshington D.C.?"

"Meet the Press" used to be on our viewing agenda every Sunday morning. It went something like this: a $4 coffee, a take-out breakfast sandwich with two hash browns, a little Charles Osgood, a little Bob Schieffer, and a little Tim Russert. Not always in that order, because we can be a little TiVo happy. Depended on what time we woke up. These days I'm lucky if nobody disturbs me before 7 AM, and I spend $4 on a week's worth of coffee, but I digress. While we still squeeze Charles in somehow, and only catch some Bob here and there, it's Tim who's been on my mind these days.

I loved Tim Russert, and I loved watching his show. He made all this political hoo-ha a little easier for my soul to bear. Thanks to the up-close and personal style in which they shot the segments, there was one thing I always got to do during his show, which was to exercise my weirdo habit of judging people on the appearance of their hands. Years ago, John McCain was on and I was half way to liking him when I caught a glimpse of those mummy paws. It's nothing to do with anything other than natural shape of his fingers and the texture of his skin. In my opinion, not good on both accounts. Don't try to defend him with the whole prisoner of war injury bit, that has nothing to do with what I'm judging him on here. By no fault of his own (or his captors), John McCain will never win my favor due to the fact that I find his hands to be completely unattractive. And because of this, he will never be my president. This, and the fact that he just called our nation's capital "Warshington D.C."... too familiar a slip for me to ignore.

FYI

Kids can cost you money. Before they're born, even. With Nico's pregnancy all the hospital time and testing racked up over $50,000 in medical bills, plus the actual delivery and time in-house afterwards. My insurance copay was a mere fraction of that, thankfully, so I got off that hook fairly easy. With Olivia the grand total was just your average c-section charge plus a three day hospital stay. I had the same copay and they wasted no time sending me the bill a month after we brought her home.

For a couple of months, this bill sat (semi-forgotten) in my pile o' stuff on the kitchen counter until last week when I got a call from what basically amounts to a collection agency. Oopsie. I was nice to the woman on the phone because I do owe the money, and I hate to shoot the messenger. I asked if I could get back to her in a few days, and when I called back yesterday I was connected with a very nice man. I'd heard from a friend that my hospital reduces bills by 15% if you offer to pay what you owe in one lump sum. Feeling particularly ballsy, I asked this gentleman how much he would be willing to reduce my payment if I forked over the cash at once. I told him I wanted to know if there was a real minimum, and pay the least possible amount of money they would allow, and he said he would take 30% off. 30%? Thirty? Three-zero? Yesss.

Let this be a shining example to you, dear readers, that from time to time, forgetfulness is rewarded and if you are nice to people and take a second to ask just how much they would be willing to help you out, you might be pleasantly surprised. Now get out there and try it for yourselves. Go forth and save.

Thank you, TiVo

Watching the RNC. TiVoing back and fourth to check out Republican fashion sense. Or severe lack thereof. I've decided this is actually a repeat of a broadcast from the 1950s and nobody bothered to mention it. The speeches are so boring and wordy (yes, imagine that, wordy speeches!) that I can barely follow along.

I was going to bust on Cindy McCain following the lame duck description of her given by Laura Bush. Then I Googled her and found out she's one chickadee who's kind of got it goin' on. Kind of. What started out as a scathing review shall be merely a warning that I will whip out the former prescription painkiller addiction thing and use it against her if I see her doing anything else the least bit inappropriate. So... watch it, Cindy. Yeah. Watch it. I can see a few weird things going on behind your eyes and I don't care how successful you think you are. I don't trust you.

Ah, so... that being said, I'm off to paint my nails and try to erase from my mind the dowdily cut houndstooth blazers and styrofoam barbershop quartet hats that pass for Republican "style".

Back to school

I just went through and counted up in my head that I know 11 teachers. For many of them, today is the first day of school. I just wanted to send out some good thoughts for everybody, especially to Jackie and Shawn, the teachin'est, rock and rollin'est husband and wife in Jersey. Super proud of you both.

Go out and shape some minds and guide some youth in the right direction. Hopefully one day my kiddies will have teachers like all of you.

Email me... and my husband

There's something many of my friends do that I could never, and that little thing is to share an email address with my husband. How exactly does this work? Is that silly of me to ask?

I just happen to be a freak about having my own things. Wait, no, it's more like I am a freak about having everything to myself. I remember being a little kid and asking my mom if I could put a deadbolt on my bedroom door, and have my own key. She said no. Maybe she didn't realize how much I wanted to pretend I had my own apartment. Now that I'm a grown-up, control issues invade all corners of my life. And while I'll bitch and moan about being the one who 'has to' take care of paying all the bills, I secretly like it. When The Hub needs to sign onto any of the credit cards or bank accounts, he either asks me for his logon info or he asks me to find what he's looking for and report back to him. Fine by me.

So the email thing... everyone these days seems to have a joint setup. Good for checking and utilities, I say, but even though I leave myself logged in and hubby need only flip open my laptop to see what I'm up to any time of any day (he does the same thing), I don't think you could pay me enough money to put both our names on one account. What really gets to me, though, is when the husband's name is first on the email. I have no idea why this bugs me so much. No idea. So please, joint account holders, don't hate me for these thoughts. Remember you're talking to someone who has two secret celebrity boyfriends (and one on again/off again secret girlfriend), and whose husband does the lion's share of the cooking. I also ask dear hubby to stay the night with our friends in Brooklyn from time to time. So there are some wifely rules that just don't apply to me. The shared email thing is just one more item on the list.