I was starving, I didn't have time leave the office to grab lunch. My Doritos got caught in the vending machine and repeated kicking and punching would not dislodge my would-be-high-sodium-lunch. That left me with the snack of last resort: carrot cake.
Why do bakers find it fit to put vegetables inside of a desert? Carrot cake makes about as much sense as mixing broccoli into chocolate cupcakes. I am also not a fan of the raisin, which I regard as the chewy ruiner of otherwise yummy oatmeal cookies.
By the time I navigated the carrot and raisin landmines, and ate the morsels of iffy cake in-between, this was the the carnage left behind:
We are a sleepy bunch in our household. I keep reassuring myself that sometime between now and Max's high school graduation (Class of 2025!!), he will sleep through the night.
When Max started teething, he got up so often at night, that we said "good parenting be damned" and moved him right into bed with us. At present his crib is serving as a laundry folding station. Now Matt and I are trying to figure the best way to get Max back out of our bed. Our prolonged sleeplessness has resulted in virtual zombification.
Not only are we painfully aware of every sneeze, gurgle, and kick, Max wakes up in the middle of the night and early morning and delights in messing with us. He has awakened Matt more than once with the old slap and chuckle, which is consistently comprised of the following three elements:
1. A single SMACK! square on the face
2. Parental response,"What the . . . ???"
3. Giggling
As for me, I am still dealing with the trauma of awakening to find my nose being probed and explored by tiny-nostril-diameter-fingers. Most recently I woke up at 5:30 a.m. when Max was trying to cram his pacifier into my mouth.
My point is we need to figure out a better method, because every creature in this house is pooped.
Even Mae can no longer deal the prospect of facing another early morning without her hefty dose of caffeine.
(That's a grande, double shot, bassetchino)
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It is apparent that I have not mastered the manly skill of undressing attractive women with my eyes.
You will never guess what Max said for the first time this morning!!!
That's right. He said "MAMA."
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So it went down like this:
Me: Good morning Littleman!
Max: Mama.
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BOOYA!
I . . . Am . . . Mama.
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He's been saying "Dad" for months. You wouldn't believe the sense of validation I have now that he has personally addressed me as well.
Question regarding responsible parenting: Is it too soon to get this tattooed on my kid?
It's tricky coming up with masculine Valentine's day gift ideas. One year I just bought Matt a pair of shoes that he liked, stuffed them full of flowers and called them sporty vases.
This year I thought I was on to something clever, a cookie bouquet! True, it is mushie like a bouquet of posies, but that mushiness is tempered by its high caloric snackiness. This is perfection. What could possibly stop me from making this purchase?!
` Ah . . . it's February again. Time to start making plans for Valentines Day.
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