Mine mine mine, all mine

move over betty crocker

Drew's daycare is having a Halloween party today. In order to assist in what I'm sure will be a bacchanalian celebration of fall, we parents were asked to sign up to bring something for the festivities.

Now, I could have wussed out and signed up for "napkins" (*cough* Brandon's mom *cough*) but no. Brazenly, I penned us in for "cookies."

Sure, I could have popped into Wal-Mart and scooped up a bag of orange-and-black decorated pre-made cookies. I could have easily done that. Easily. It would have been so easy. Very very easy.

But no.

I decided to be creative.

You might think that being creative at 7 p.m. on a Sunday night when you still have to pick out what to wear tomorrow, make your lunch to take to work, wash some underwear since you just realized you don't have any that are clean and get your son fed and ready for bed would be a bad bad idea.

But the gods of creativity were with me, and they saw that my heart was in the right place and they took pity upon me. (and so did Charles, who graciously fed and got Drew ready for bed while I cursed in the kitchen)

And I made ghosts:

And pumpkins:

Admittedly, I did not make the cookies from scratch. I said I got creative, not suicidal.

The ghosts are actually Nutter-Butters that I dipped in melted white chocolate. I used a frosting pen for the eyes and mouths.

The pumpkins were a little bit more difficult. They are made out of Nilla Wafers, but trying to get melted white chocolate to turn orange was a bit of trial and error. I first ended up with a whole bowl of red chocolate goo - it looked, and had the consistency of, a giant blood clot.

Come to think of it, I should have taken that in. "Look, Drew's mom brought us a giant chocolate blood clot! Yay!"

Once I finally got the right shade, I had to play around with the frosting pen so as not to make my pumpkins look like big, red smiley faces.

Just so you're not completely jealous of what a perfect Martha-Stewart-esque mother I am, here's a picture of some of the rejects. On the left is the smiley-face pumpkin. In the middle is the blood-clot pumpkin and on the right is a ghost whose chocolate covering didn't get melted enough and turned into a sugary, powdery glob of unspreadable nastiness.

Our greyhound greatly enjoyed the Halloween cookie rejects. No, I didn't give him the bowl of blood-clot goo; I wanted to treat him, not kill him.

So, that was my adventure in creativity. Just don't ask me to sew any costumes.

2005 Weasel Awards

Dilbert creator Scott Adams currently is taking votes in the fourth annual Weasel Poll. It appears from the results of past polls that most Dilbert readers are rather left-leaning, so I really gotta throw in my 2 cents worth in a probably vain effort to balance the scales.

Here's who got my votes in each category:

Weasliest Organization: The ACLU. Will whiningly protect all the poor, downtrodden child molesters, but God help you if you display a cross in public.

Weasliest Country: It was a toss-up between France and North Korea, but I finally went with North Korea. France is too pathetic to really rate, whereas nuke-hound Kim Jong Il is actually kinda scary.

Weasliest Company: New York Times. Leftist hype-machine thinly masquerading as a news organization.

Weasliest Profession: Again, a toss-up, between politicians or oil company executives, but I decided to go with the execs. Politicians are all such weasels it felt like throwing my vote away for something so obvious. Price-gouging oil company execs should rot in jail.

Weasliest Individual: Cindy Sheehan. This woman is so morally repugnant for pimping her son's death to any camera that will give her airtime. Even her own family can't stand to be around her.

Weasliest Behavior: Gas price gouging. I don't care how much they pay for it in Europe - oil companies are reporting record profits and we're paying through the nose.  That's odious.

Now, go vote.

would you like some cheese with that?

How bad of a mom am I if I feel like pinching my son's head off? I bet every mom has a minute, or hour, or day, or week, when she feels like she's going to snap and just start screaming and never ever stop if her child doesn't Stop. The. Incessant. Whining.

He doesn't have a fever. He's not sick. He's being fed, bathed and played with on a regular basis. But still, he whines. He's been whining pretty much every five minutes since Monday.

If I'm holding him and I put him down, he whines. If I try to dress him, he whines. If I don't feed him fast enough, he whines. When he's tired, he whines. When the wind blows, he whines. When the temperature drops one degree, he whines.

I had a nightmare last night that I was locked in a small room painted all white with no windows and no doors. The only thing in the room was a large speaker strapped to the wall. Issuing forth from this speaker was the sound of Drew whining. And God said, "Thou hath displeased Me greatly and thusly art thou doomed for all eternity."

And I said, "Why God why?"

Up until this week, Charles and I had been occasionally debating whether or not we wanted Drew to be an only child.

Apparently, Drew does not desire brothers or sisters.

On a more positive note, he has started this week learning how to use a spoon all by his big whiny-boy self. Monday night, he spooned up Gerber Broccoli-Cheese and spread it, carefully, on a fragment of Zwieback toast, then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. That's a taste combination that would choke a mule, but apparently the fact that he could feed himself without any help from Mom made up for that.

Last night, he fed himself five spoonfuls of Spaghettios. Then he shampooed with two spoonfuls of it.

Then he whined.

i'm a possession

This morning, I was being "the book lady" again to a small assemblage of toddlers - we were reading "Brown Bear Brown Bear" yet again...it's one of their favorites.

Anyhow, so there I am, sitting on one of those miniature toddler seats, you know the ones that are really low to the floor upon which no developmentally normal adult can sit gracefully or comfortably, let alone a 5'10" adult wearing a skirt? Yes, I'm sure I was flashing them all, but hey, the oldest one is only five years old so I'm sure I didn't scar him for life or anything.

So there I am in all my gawkish ungainliness. Drew is standing on one side of me, clutching my arm in rapture and glee at being read to. Three toddlers are crouched in front of me and, on my other side, there stands a little girl - just a bit older than Drew.

The little girl edges closer and closer and finally presses up against my side, clutching my non-Drew arm.

Drew goes from happy to nuclear in 0.3 seconds.

The corners of his mouth turn down, his brow furrows, his lips tighten...and then he leans across me, grabs the girl's hand, removes it from my shoulder and shoves it into her lap.

Undaunted, she places her hand back on my arm.

Now Drew starts growling, low in his throat, like an angry puppy. Grabs her hand and pushes it off me.

I can almost hear him saying, "Look, bitch, that's MY mom. You can listen to her read, but NO TOUCHING."

He gets so irritated at her repeated attempts to touch me that he starts crowding into my lap, which is where the book is, so now I can't read it since it's being obscured by Drew's butt. This sends the other children into a frenzy of action. The ones who can talk are helpfully exhorting me to "Keep reading! Keep reading!" The ones who can't talk are contriving to remove the book from under Drew's posterior - although Drew has no intention of budging from his perch, where he can keep a close eye on any potential Mommy-touchers.

And I'm sitting there shaking my head, wondering how Story Time went so maniacally wrong.

the book lady

Hahaha! Last night we had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep! I'm positively dizzy and giddy from all the sleep I got.
What did we do, you ask breathlessly, to make our once-recalcitrant non-sleeper perform such a miraculous feat? What kind of brilliant parenting coup did you score? What, you wonder, is the secret of your magnificence?
I have absolutely no idea!
We didn't do anything different. We fed him (grilled cheese, his new favorite food), we read to him, we played with him, we bathed him, we put on his PJs and he went to sleep. And he slept. All. Night.
His grandmother says that maybe he was sore from trying to walk.
This past week, he's been tentatively taking some steps. He'll take between three and five steps, look all excited, and then collapse to the floor on his butt. Of course, when Charles and I start cheering and standing him back up to do it again, he turns into a noodle, slithers through our grasp and crawls away from us as fast as he can.
Yeah, I can see how that would be tiring, most definitely. But see, when I'm tired, I do this crazy thing called sleeping. Apparently, in Drew's world, the answer to "tired" is not "sleep" but rather "scream."
Anyway.
I've earned a new title at Drew's daycare. No, it's not what you're thinking; it's actually kind of a nice title.
I am...the book lady.
This all started last week; Charles has to be at work at 7:30 a.m. whereas I don't have to be at work until 8:30. In the interest of saving gas money, though, we decided to carpool. Since I have an hour to kill between when I drop off Charles and when I have to be at my desk, I've started hanging out with Drew at his daycare.
That early in the morning, only a few kids have arrived, so they sort of lump them all into one room. Usually, there's two or three one-year-olds, a couple of 3-year-olds and two first-graders who, as they smugly informed me, do not go to "this baby school" but rather were waiting for the bus to take them to "big kids school."
So one of the rituals I developed was to pull a book off the shelf and read a story to Drew before I left for work. We'd read "Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See?" or "Good Night Moon" or "Mother Goose" or whatever caught my fancy that particular morning.
What I didn't realize, having never had another child before, was how captivated children are by the simple act of having a book read out loud.
The first time I did this, I was sitting on the floor with Drew in my lap; I was looking down at the book and, when I glanced up while turning a page, I noticed with a start that I was surrounded by suddenly-quiet, raptly attentive children. It was endearing and frankly sort of creepy at the same time.
The two first-graders soon began "helping" me read the books by turning pages, pointing out various features of the page ("that's a red bird! that's a blue horse!") and, lately, they've been making requests as to which book they'd like me to read.
This morning when I arrived with Drew, one of the first-graders was already there. When he saw me, he ran to me and said, "It's the book lady! Will you read us a book?"
That's me; the book lady.
At least it's not the "always forgets to bring extra diapers" lady or the "is always 2 weeks behind on her tuition" lady.

midnight and 4 a.m.

These are the times that our precious, once-perfect child has decided are prime wake-up-and-cry times.

Last week, we enjoyed six nights in a row of completely uninterrupted, cry-free sleep. This week, we're waking up at midnight and 4 a.m. We don't know why. Drew won't tell us.

Consulting the Internet was fruitless. According to the experts, he's suddenly waking up and crying for one of the following reasons:

1. We recently changed his routine or schedule
2. We haven't changed his routine or schedule enough
3. We're making the mistake of picking him up when he cries at night
4. We're making the mistake of not picking him up when he cries at night
5. He's teething (isn't he always?)
6. He's going through a "leap in development" (isn't he always?)

So, that's been helpful.

Consulting with other parents online also has been fruitless, as we're either A) the worst parents in the world for trying to let him cry it out or B) the worst parents in the world for picking him up and "spoiling" him.

I mean, man, I didn't know how sharp the division was between the "cry-it-out" moms and the "pick-them-up" moms. One day, these two opposing factions will have a civil war and life as we know it will be forever altered.

Me, personally, I've decided to be a "do-whatever-makes-the-baby-shut-up" kind of mom.

I mean, I guess I could look at it this way; when he turns 18, he's moving out, so after that I can get all the sleep I want. OK, so 17 years to go!

Support Jessica's Law in South Carolina

Support Jessica's Law in South Carolina

Go check it out if you live in S.C. or if you know anybody who does.

Drew's Big Day

We ran him ragged today, with minimal napping, so if he doesn't sleep through the night tonight, I'm moving out.

First stop on the agenda, Drew's first haircut.



He was a bit wary at first. We ended up having to bribe him with donuts.

Yes, I know some of these are out of focus.

Apparently it's hard to take a picture and eat a donut at the same time. (yes, Charles, I'm talking to you - the donuts were for the toddler...)

After that, everything was peachy keen.

"Hello? Where's my donut?"



"Um, yeah. I'll look at it, but you aren't using that on my head, thanks."



"Nobody listens to me. Where's the love?"



"Are we seriously about done here? I need some more donuts. And a nap."


Once we got Drew looking all spiffy, we decided to go to the zoo. Because who better to appreciate his manly new haircut than a bunch of caged animals?



Armed with a bag of "animal food" that we bought at the front gate, we stopped by the mountain goat pen, where we were immediately accosted by a herd of animals who hadn't eaten in TWO WHOLE MINUTES and were STARVING.

They butted each other out of the way to get at my outstretched hand. Drew found this interesting, but kind of in the way that you find a car wreck interesting. It's engrossing, but you're really glad you're not directly involved.

My question, "Do you want to pet the smelly goat?" was met with a dumbfounded stare and a wrinkled nose.

OK, moving right along.



The tiger actually held his interest for quite a few minutes. Mainly because she was moving around, unlike most large cats at the zoo who are usually doing something stimulating and educational like sleeping. And they're usually sleeping behind the only large rock in the whole pen, so all you can see is the tip of a tail or a paw or something and you end up going, "Oh, look at his cute tail and what big paws he has" just so you can feel like you actually got something out of the exhibit.



This is Drew watching the monkeys. Most of the monkeys were just sitting there looking really bored (my guess is they're thinking, "if that kid throws that "animal food" at me ONE MORE TIME...") but there was this one baboon who got quite upset when we stood in front of his pen.

He started grunting and pacing and I had a moment there where I thought, "we are so going to get poo flung at our heads" but Drew thought he was just riveting and actually laughed out loud. Yeah, it's all fun and games 'til the doody starts flying.



This is Drew with Bo, the boa constrictor. There was this little pavilion in the center of the zoo where a staff member would put on an "educational show" every hour or so. Basically, this involved bringing out different animals, telling us a little bit about them and then letting the audience touch the animal if they wanted to. Nobody asked the animal if it wanted to be manhandled. I guess that's part of the price you pay for a cushy free ride at the zoo where you don't have to hunt for your food or worry about getting eaten by a lion.

So Drew got to pet Bo and he also got to pet an opossum, which was kind of a ripoff since I could find one of those on the side of any major highway.

He also got to pet a camel, but I don't have any pictures of those because somebody forgot to clean off the camera lens and all the camel pictures turned out wonky.

Oh, it was also Drew's first day wearing shoes. He found shoes very troubling and kept trying to kick them off or, on occasion, bite them.

So, that was Drew's big day, brought to you by the numbers 1 and 4 and the letters B and O.

ahahaha, no more Ramen for me

Whatever would I do without my mom? My mom, who, when she heard we were out of money and subsisting on Ramen and stale hamburger buns, graciously bought us a week's worth of groceries.

OK, we hadn't really resorted to eating the stale buns yet, but it was coming.

Anyway, so, now we are well-fortified until we get paid on Friday. And yes, I do feel like quite the loser for being 34 years old with a child and having to ask my mom to buy me groceries, thanks for asking.

You know what I'm really enjoying lately? Feeding Drew table food. Some of his expressions are absolutely hilarious. I like to try all sorts of new things with him, just to see how he'll react. Some things I expect him to love, like cupcake frosting, he turns his nose up at, while things I expect him to hate, like olives, he smiles and begs for more.

Last night we fed him some of our cheddar-potato soup, green beans and a piece of Zwieback toast. He liked the soup, was so-so about the beans and demolished the Zwieback. Yeah, let's eat cheese and carbs and avoid anything green. Just like his daddy.

Tonight we're having chili, so I'll probably let him try some, as long as it doesn't turn out too spicy. (yes, I'm making it from a mix and not from scratch, haha, chili from scratch, yeah right that'll happen)

Oh, and Saturday and Sunday night, Drew slept ALL THE WAY THROUGH. That's right. From 8:30 p.m. to 6 a.m. without a peep or a mumble. I do not know what sacrifice we offered to God that pleased Him so much, but perhaps He will let me know so that I can offer it again. I will gladly offer Him a sacrifice of kitty flesh if need be. (bah, don't call the aspca. we won't really sacrifice our cat. well, maybe just a little bit of bloodletting.)

So now I'm trying to decide what to do with Drew for Halloween. He's too young to go trick-or-treating, but I still feel the need to dress him up in a cute little costume and take him somewhere fun.  I'm trying to convince Charles to dress up as Barney Rubble or Fred Flintstone, and I'll dress as Wilma or Betty and we'll dress Drew as Bam-Bam, but Charles said, let me see if I can quote him correctly here, "Hell, no."

What a party-pooper.

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Oh oh oh. If you get bored at work (why am I saying if?), check out this site:

Cate's Garage Sale Finds.
I laughed so hard I snorted Diet Coke out of my nose.

thank god this week is over

First of all, I hate rainy days. The lack of sunshine, the gloom, the damp muggy nastiness - it all makes me feel really blue. And then to top it off I keep having to listen to people say, "Oh, but we need the rain!'

Since when am I surrounded by farmers?

Also, Drew keeps waking up at 4 a.m. Practically on the dot. Every. Single. Morning. What is that? The pediatrician says it's just become a habit by now; he's not really hungry or thirsty. OK, great. But how do we get him to stop? We've tried ignoring him, and he'll cry and cry until it's time for us to get up at 6 a.m.

And of course, we can't sleep with all that caterwauling going on.

If we pick him up, he thinks it's playtime.

So, either way, nobody's getting any sleep after 4 a.m.

I'm open for any advice whatsoever, no matter how crazy it may sound, although I'm thinking the best advice is going to be "suck it up and deal." Isn't that true of so many things in life?

In addition, remember me telling you about Charles getting hired on permanent status at his job? Yay yay great, right?

Turns out, though, this company likes to hold back the first paycheck. They say it's so they'll have money to give you when you leave or something really wacko like that but I think they're just really sadistic. Basically, this means that we're having to go almost a full month with no paycheck. Yeah yeah, I make money at my job, but my last paycheck went to the mortgage, so it was almost like not getting paid at all.

So, here we are, eating Ramen noodles and grilled cheese sandwiches until we get paid again next Friday. I feel like I'm back in college, only with three times as much responsibility and not nearly as much alcohol. (because let's face it, beer is expensive)

However, not having any money for food is definitely a good way for me to drop all the pounds put on by having to finish off Drew's birthday cake by myself. Come on. It's a mortal sin to let birthday cake go stale. I think I read that in the Bible somewhere. "Yea thou shalt verily eat thy son's cake, and though thou shalt expand forthwith in the region of thine buttocks, I shall richly reward thee in heaven with an 18-inch waist."

Anyway, it's a really good thing that my son is easily distracted. He's been extremely clingy this week when I drop him off at daycare. I put him down on the floor in front of an enticing-looking toy with bright lights and funny noises and wheels and all manner of baby-friendly gadgets, and he turns around and shimmies up my leg like a monkey.

While he's crying and fussing, one of the Daycare People will pick him up and show him something. It doesn't really matter what it is - a Halloween decoration, a ball, a toy truck, a booger. Whatever. What matters is, you are showing him something, and therefore it must be important, because certainly nobody would waste his time with something trivial. So while he's intently peering at whatever it is he's being shown, I'm able to slip out the door unnoticed.

He's also going through a Mommy Is Queen Daddy Stinks phase, wherein I can do no wrong and Charles can do, well, nothing. It's very disconcerting for Charles, but I tell him to shut up and deal, because one day Drew will be all about Daddy Daddy Daddy take me fishing/hunting/to the ball game and I'll just be boring old Mom, so I'm trying to enjoy this favoritism while I can.

Enough rambling. Someone tell me how to make my child sleep through the night without resorting to making him move out and get his own place.