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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So my sister bought me an eyebrow pencil, which has been useful to me since I have pale hair and my eyebrows tend to wash away into my pale skin (oh, to be Peter Gallagher with his ridiculously discernable eyebrows).
Anyhoo . . . I have amused and delighted myself playing with my new found cosmetic toy! Changing the shape of your brows can completely alter the look of your face. For example, yesterday I drew in some magnificent-high-archers and spent my entire Sunday with my face in a constant state of delightful SURPRISE!!!!
My point is that we tend to take our eyebrows for granted, and underestimate their tremendous power. Just look at what a slight change in brow contour does for the Muppets cast:
Dear Shoes. Com,
You keep sending me emails indicating that you have taken the liberty of making New Year's resolutions on my behalf.
How can I say this nicely? Back the hell off, Shoes.Com. I can make my own New Year's resolutions, thank you very much.
I won't deny the nobility of your proposed resolutions: love the Earth, stay in style, "in with the New ... Shoe!" As a new parent, however, my priorities have shifted. I have more pressing and more serious matters in my life in need of resolution than your proposed shoe-centric aspirations.
Here's just a sampling the stuff I need to get worked out in my personal life. For 2008, I resolve:
What is my point, Shoes.Com? Buying environmentally friendly or stylish shoes are matters I can't begin to tackle for at least the next 18 years or so.
I think what I am getting at here is that I wish to be removed from your mailing list.
Yours resolvedly,
Kerry
if your baby has moved past his 15 minutes of teething
Gucci Gucci Goo!
a graceful transition from strained winter squash to raw fish
This book didn't seem to fit the douchebag criteria, at first, and then I flipped it over . . .
Your little darling deserves the very best, so feed them more than caviar from that silver spoon. Nurture them with ART! It's never too early to be a Petit Connoisseur.
(Nor is it ever too earlyto cultivate a Petit Douchebag, apparently)
Oh, and let us not forget about this fantastic little nugget . . .
Because our little guy is contemplating crawling, the time has come for us to contemplate baby-proofing our home.
Researching the matter, I came across this chilling little item:
How can our company guarantee the safety of this wonder-product? Extensive toddler testing!
Research & Development went through 15 prototypes, 27 children, and 8 screwdrivers before they got the design just right.
This lucky little girl (more commonly known as Number 28) can gouge away at this outlet for hours on end with any conductive toy while her parents relax, secure in the knowledge that little 28 has a very low(ish) risk of electrocution.
What if I put you back in the sink for the night. We can do this tomorrow . . .
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This beverage line always makes me giggle a little bit, especially since "naked juice" is a crude euphemism my sister Amy and I have used for years (much to Mom's horror and dismay).
Dear Homes.Com:
I was visiting your website today to look at home listings when I noticed your logo:
Because it is such a fantastic graphic, I propose you keep it -- don't touch a thing. Rather, change your name.
Now that go-getter-swimmer of a "dot" makes MUCH more sense.
Good luck as your company reorganizes as a fertility resource website.
Yours helpfully,
Kerry
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - UPDATE - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Response from Homes (squiggly dot) Com :
So while there is no current plans to reorganize their site . . . I suspect such plans may be forthcoming!
I'm encouraged by their response to my letter. I think I will try to resubmit a previous Letter to my utility Company.
I still remember celebrating Halloween when I was in first grade (ah . . . the golden age of Trick~or~Treating). That year we got to develop our own Witch's Brew.
I focused on conjuring the most sinister and frightful elixir imaginable for my brew. Especially since some of my more manby-pamby classmates were listing ingredients such as marshmallows, crayons, and ham in their pithy concoctions.
Unfortunately, my overambitious recipe horrified and embarrassed my mother when the local paper published our brews in the news.
I suspect it was the "little kid's kidneys" part that she found to be objectionable.
We were sitting at the breakfast table before school when mom burst out, "LITTLE KID'S KIDNEYS?! Why would you want to put little kid's kidneys in your witch's brew?! People are going to think I have raised a ghoulish little girl!"
I suppose -- as phrased -- it is rather chilling, particularly where the recipe calls for both kidneys from a singular kid. I can't remember if that is a misplaced apostrophe or if I saw fit to completely eviscerate the renal system of just one particularly rotten child.
In all fairness, though, how is that worse than that Kyle kid who would commingle eyeballs with his chili? SO much more stomach churning than my brew.
Recently, Matt and I took a quick trip to Wyoming where Max met much of his family for the first time -- including cousins! We got to spend some time in the car with my sister's kids while we were back home.
We kept pulling out all of our "A" material to keep Jordan and Connor entertained during the 100 mile trip. We knew we were skimming the bottom of the barrel when Matt said, "Hey, did you guys know your Aunt Kerry can put her whole fist in her mouth?!"
When they didn't respond, I turned around in my seat and found out why they were so quiet:
Gifted. The members of this family are abundantly gifted.
No matter how educated or accomplished you may be in life, you can never escape your high school loser status.
I was reminded of this fact today while clearing out my junk mail inbox. The good people at Classmates.com felt it important to remind me that I was not the coolest kid in school. Not even close.
Screw you, Classmates.com.
What's Jennifer doing that I'm not?!
If adult life is anything like our high school years . . . I would suspect that Jennifer is throwing crazy keggers while her parents are out of town and servicing the JV basketball team. Pretty creepy for a 30-year-old woman if you ask me.
I guess I'm just not that motivated to increase my number of Classmates.com visitors.
Now that I am a mother, I find myself swapping stories with other mothers. I was talking to other women who also had their babies by C-section, and we were discussing the down-sides of the procedure.
One woman said the worst part was the unsightly scar.
Another said the worst part was not being able to get around very well after her kid was born.
I still maintain that the worst part wast that uncomfortable cone they made me wear to keep me from gnawing out my stitches.
iTunes has a neat feature where it provides an "Explicit" material label for items that contain obscenities or mature content. Often, there is also a "Clean" alternative that has been edited or sanitized for more sensitive consumers.
For example, below is a great song "I hate Everyone," that you can purchase chalk-full of the F-word -- or, if you prefer, you can buy the version that uses more friendly terms like "ticked" and "jerk."
When I was pregnant, I discovered this whole new awe and respect for life and all living creatures. Motherhood made me all warm-fuzzy-squishified.
My little sister Amy is expecting her third baby in January -- she CLEARLY has not had the same maternal experience as me. Pregnancy, it seems, has inspired some sort of horrific gestational bloodlust.
She just sent me an email with the subject line My First Antelope.
The message simply read, "He isn't very big, but he'll do."
Holy Shit!!! I cannot believe this woman and I sprang from the same womb. She's a friggin' barbarian! (I wish you could see her belly a little better)
Okay, okay, okay . . . I take my barbarian comment back. I need to be supportive of my little sister while she is in that most beautiful of motherly ways.
As a show of my support I will volunteer my services in decorating the new baby's nursery. Here is my proposed motif . . . alphabet blocks and family photos!
I wonder if I can find a Precious Moments figurine to compliment the decor. Something in a "Baby's first slaughter" perhaps . . .
I have made a major life decision: in December 2009, we will buy Max a bulldog puppy for Christmas.
The puppy will be known as Milquetoast.
The neighbors will ask us, "Who is that freaking adorable toddler & his dog walking down the street?"
We will answer, "Why, that's Max and Milquetoast."
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SO SHALL IT BE!
I found something rather troubling in the refrigerator of our office's kitchenette.
Lysol in the fridge? Huh.
I wonder if this mix-up explains why the toilet seats are so sticky and smell of Sunny Delight?
