Random Shit Thrown Together to Create a Post

As I was commenting on Aunt Bob's site yesterday, I realized I had a lot of stuff to talk about. Of course, as I sat here looking at the blanky whiteness of the new post screen, I was all "hmm. . .Lumpyhead blah blah sleep blah blah no nap blah blah hates mommy blah blah." (Booooring! Almost as boring as blog insecurity. Instead, I will try to make my life look fabulous and then lord it over all of you. How about that?)

So . . . Stuff You Missed Out On Over the Past Week Because You're Not Me (also: Ha Ha, You're Not Me)

Aunt Bob's Kentucky Derby Party
Juleps = deelish

Also, children everywhere. WTF? When did that happen? (she asks, knowing full well she's contributing to the trend)

During Aunt Bob's last Derby Party, there was a freak out-of-nowhere rainstorm. All the guests grabbed something and ran inside. Within two minutes the entire backyard had been moved indoors, and the julep bar was up and running in the little guest room. I imagine it's what a good logistics officer in the military can make happen on a regular basis, except we did it for boozy, minty goodness over shaved ice in silver tumblers, not patriotism.

Bump and I won half the horse wagering. Hooray! The other half went to a woman in a fabulous hat. She obviously had the best hat at the party, so I'm glad she won something.

I would have spent more time mingling with the other guests at Aunt Bob's party, but 1) juleps = deelish so more juleps = intense deliciousness and excusemebutIneedanotherone; 2) I was so busy shoving food into my mouth that I couldn't speak without spraying little half-eaten bits of miniburger or pecan tart crumbs on whoever had the misfortune of conversing with me; and 3) we had to leave early for a friend's birthday party.

Because of Lumpyhead's sleep difficulties, though, Bump went to the birthday party alone and I stayed home while the baby slept. Can you say "depressing"? Ugh. (oops, less than fabulous. I'll try again.)

Five Pound Bass Season Opener
Our softball team played its first game, which we won, and plenty of beer was had by all. We had nineteen people on the team, which, honestly? Is too many. And nineteen does not include Lumpyhead and Aunt Bob's Little Guy.

The nice thing about 19 people on the team? There's always someone to watch the babies. The bad thing? I always feel like a total heel when I ask someone to watch my kid so I can go field or bat. Even when it's Aunt Bob or Pete who do it. Because nobody comes to softball to babysit. Nobody.

You missed the following exchanges at the softball game:

Pete: Do you want some snacks?
Aunt Bob's Little Guy: Uh-huh
Pete: Okay, sit down.
[ABLG sits in his folding chair under a parasol, eats snack]
Laura [to another teammate, longingly]: I wish I had someone who would bring me snacks. "You want some snacks?" they would ask, and I would say "Yeah, I want some snacks," and I could just sit down and have some crackers in a baggie. That would rock.

It would rock. But no one lets ABLG have any beer. That would suck.

-Tangent: A Trip to Trader Joe's
One day last week, Lumpyhead would only eat finger food. Nothing from a spoon. Spoons were for sissies, that day. He doesn't feed himself, yet (he throws very well though, thanks for asking, which is related to the not feeding himself note) but would only open his mouth for non-spooned items.

I decided to take him to Trader Joe's to buy some Veggie Booty, which the Internet told me was great stuff. This was a big deal, the Outing with Mama. I've been gun shy since the last disastrous solo outing (Which was how long ago? Damn, you complain about some weak shit, Woman) but I decided it was time to buck up and try again. It went quite well, considering that I was out of the house for a total of 35 minutes, tops. (Still! Success! Bump got a little break, I managed not to be a complete hapless mess, and I even came back with dinner. Dinner. . . that Bump then had to cook. ("Break"? That what you call a break? You suck.) But still! Success!)

Well, sort of a success, because Trader Joe's doesn't carry Veggie Booty, apparently. They do have Pirate Booty, though, so we took that. Lumpyhead loves the Pirate Booty. Maybe more than Cheerios. And I worry. Because Pirate Booty is made from corn and rice, and anything we put into Lumpyhead that's not fruit or vegetables makes me worry about constipation, and rice? oh my god. So I worry. But we still feed him the booty, because he loves. the. booty.
-End of Tangent

We took toys and snacks to the softball game for Lumpyhead, including Pirate Booty.

ABLG, upon spying the Pirate Booty: Is that popcorn? (eyes sparkling)
Me: Well, sort of -
ABLG: (brightly) Popcorn . . . my favorite!
Me: Would you like some?
ABLG: [Nods vigorously. Gets Booty. Is unimpressed.]

Let me say for the record, I know popcorn is not ABLG's favorite. Not by a long shot. And I tried to warn him that it wasn't really popcorn in the first place. But he was fishing for an offer, because he's too polite to simply ask if he can have some of Lumpyhead's snacks, and it was just too damn cute. Plus I've never heard the enthusiastic "my favorite!" from him before.

(Okay, that was cute, but maybe not fabulous. The softball team is undefeated, though. Don't you wish you were me?)

Cousin Ryan Visits
My cousin Ryan lives in Minneapolis, but was in town for a work conference earlier this week. He came over to our house for dinner on Sunday night and was able to meet Bump and Lumpyhead for the first time. I asked Aunt Bob and Pete to come over for the cocktail portion of the evening, just in case I ran out of stuff to talk about. Both Aunt Bob and Pete could hold at least a three-minute conversation with a tree stump, so they were my safety net. I didn't mean to disinvite them for dinner, but dinner is usually served after their Little Guy's bedtime, so I figured they wouldn't be able to spend the whole evening with us.

Ryan was a bit quiet at first, but seemed comfortable and confident. He's from the crazy side of the family (that would be my side - both maternal and paternal. Nuts.) but is remarkably normal. And funny. Before Aunt Bob and family left, ABLG had a near-accident in the living room, so we had incontinence to joke about for the rest of the evening. "Poopy wants to come out"? At parties? Always a hit.

On Monday, Ryan sent me this email:

Hi:

Thank you so much for last night: Bump is an amazing cook and a great guy to boot. I'm not trying to move in on your territory, but if he ever wants to switch things out, well, I'm just sayin' is all... and you mix a damn good martini-it's probably best that we don't live anywhere near each other or I'd be checking into Betty Ford!

How sweet is that? Nothing like your gay cousin trying to move in on your husband. So there. Somebody wishes he was me.

Now that I think about it, my cousin is handsome and successful. Maybe I should watch out. Anyone in the greater Twin Cities area know a nice guy we can set Ryan up with? I'm looking at you, Electricyoak. H? Any ideas?


Finally, a matter of housekeeping . . .

I need a new name for Aunt Bob's Little Guy. I've used his actual name a couple of times - no fair searching old posts to find it - but Aunt Bob doesn't use it on her blog so I want to use something else. I called him The Chicken for the first few years of his life. Nana V used Chicken as a term of endearment, and ABLG loves to eat chicken (that may, in fact, be his favorite. Or maybe pepperoni and cheese) so The Chicken seemed like an obvious blog name. But now that he's older, it seems derogatory, like I'm calling him a scaredy cat or something. So I need something else. Muppet, maybe? Suggestions? What you got, Internet?