Thanks, Smartass

My parents are in town for a two-week visit. It is both wonderful and horrible, just as all parental visits are.

My mother hasn't watched Sesame Street since I was little, so did not know who Abby Cadabby was when Lula brought over the doll.

Lula: Abbydabby!
Mom: Who?
Lula: Abbydabby!
Mom: I'm sorry, honey. I don't understand. What is this little girl's name?
Lumpyhead: Her name is Lula.

Steve Songs Is Actually Just Saying Hi to Lula

On Saturday morning we loaded up all three tormentors and headed downtown to the National Book Festival.

Because:
a) I love books.
b) I was dying to see Laura Bush.
c) I am a fucking idiot.

C. The answer is C.

I don't hate books - or Laura Bush for that matter - but I won't traipse down to the Mall on a rainy Saturday for either of those things.

Last year, I took Lumpyhead to a PBS reception on the Hill and he met some walk-around characters and had a great time. He has no memory of it, of course, but we pulled out a polaroid of him (a very tiny him - sniff sniff) with SuperWhy and it blew his fricken mind.

We got wind of the PBS characters coming to the Book Festival, so I convinced Bump we should go. "Sid the Science Kid will be there!" "Even Lula loves SuperWhy now!" "It will be a fun family outing!"

Bump dropped off Lumpyhead, Lula and me near the PBS tent and went to go find parking.

It was fairly miserable. We dressed for "cool and rainy," but got "warm and humid." Bump had the baby and the stroller with him, so I was stuck clutching the sweaty hands of two ready-to-bolt children while we waited in line to meet celebrities like Alpha Pig.

Lula was reasonably happy until it was our turn to meet the characters, at which point she became terrified and refused to get anywhere near them. Lumpyhead spent his fleeting moments with the poor bastards in PBS costumes pointing to the other characters and screaming their names. I'm sure there's nothing better than suffering heat stroke in a heavy costume while some kid exclaims that the guy waiting at the end of the other line is better than you.

(Hey, remember when we went to a children's concert and I spent the entire time thinking inappropriate thoughts about the performer? Well, he was there, too.
He's getting up from his chair so I can lick tequila off him more easily.)

After circling for thirty minutes and nearly getting my ID confiscated, Bump gave up, parked in my work lot, and took the metro to meet us. By the time he got to the Mall the kids were ready to go, so he turned right around and got back on the metro.

Once we were back in the air-conditioned comfort of the van, and Nathan Jr had stopped screaming, I thought, "Well, that was fun."

Kick me if I ever try to do something like that again.
At least Lumpyhead thought it was awesome.

It's a Crazy World

Bump and I seem to be jockeying to be the one to stay up with the baby.

For me, it's not about being a thoughtful spouse and saving Bump from being up all night. It's not for the practical reason that I have to pump regularly and will probably be awake anyway, so I might as well tend the infant. It's not even because when I'm on night duty I get a little sleep, but when Bump is on night duty he gets almost no sleep.

With two parents at home, lost sleep at night can be found during the day. If you're up all night with the baby, your partner will grant you a nap later.

So. You can be awake at odd hours with one child, or awake at conventional hours with three children. The kid you're dealing with at odd hours is asleep most of the time, doesn't talk, and is immobile. You can doze or watch a little TV, even surf the web or write a stupid blog post.

Or, while your spouse naps, you can deal with three kids: one who sleeps most of the time but will wake up at the least convenient moment, squeal piteously, and demand to be fed. The other two must be fed regularly too, but require meals more complicated than slapping a nipple on a bottle. They also harbor staunch and constantly fluctuating opinions on what they're served.

You can referee squabbles, impose timeouts, prevent the infant from being trampled, try to keep them all slightly quiet because "Papa is sleeping," then drop everything immediately at the faintest whisper of the word "potty."

See now why one is more desirable?

(Bump is probably taking the night shift because he's a thoughtful spouse trying to save me from being awake all night. Because he is not an asshole.)

Two Items On Which We Get Very Little Sleep

We spent a whole lot more than we planned on a bed from Ikea. It's a saga that involves more than one trip to Woodbridge, two backwards elbow-joint thingies that remain uninstalled, and a late-night assembly session that involved lots of banging (not the good kind).

I would love to tell you that 1) it is more wonderful than we ever imagined or even 2) it was a huge rip-off. But I can't. It turns out that if you buy a new bed two days before bringing home a newborn, you will never spend enough time on it to properly evaluate the new purchase. So if either Bump or I manage to find a night's unbroken rest in the new bed, I'll let you know what we think of it.

We also bought a couch, one big enough for Bump to lie down on. This we sleep on quite often, as it is a great place to nap when the baby is wide awake at 4am, and it's a convenient spot to nod off during those drowsy afternoon hours when the television is babysitting.

Note to Self: Keep Both Pieces of Backup Outfit Neutral

I put Lumpyhead in a striped polo shirt and navy shorts yesterday and sent him off to school. The shorts fit when Lumpyhead wore a pull-up or diaper - but apparently do not fit over underpants. By the time he walked through the front door of school, his pants were around his ankles. Not exactly the Young Scholar statement I was going for.

Bump changed him into the backup outfit I packed that morning: plaid shorts and an orange tee shirt.

Then Lumpyhead played with the water table, soaking his orange tee shirt and requiring a change back into the striped polo shirt.

It was . . . a whole lot of look.

I'm sorry I didn't get a photo, but Pete took one look at Lumpyhead on the playground and said to Bump, "I guess you didn't dress him today, huh?"

Yep. My son shows up in a ridiculous outfit and one of my best friends assumes I put him in it.

Which I did, but not on purpose.

Umm. . .

Nathan Jr is asleep.

Lumpyhead is at preschool. It is Bump's day to co-op, so he is there, too.

I was planning to have some one-on-one time with Lula, but she ate a small snack and got sleepy; I put her down for a nap.

What in the sam hill am I supposed to do now, Internet? Huh? I have somewhere between three minutes and two hours with no children to tend. I'm kind of lost.

Weak

It's Lumpyhead's first day of preschool tomorrow, and we're not ready.

I don't mean we're all emotional about the start of our little man's second year of preschool, I mean we are actually Not Ready.

The lunchbox I ordered for him over a week ago hasn't arrived. His only pair of closed-toe shoes are a little small. His "Me Page" - the sheet we are supposed to prepare with pictures of his family and things he likes - isn't ready because we ordered photos too late in the day to get them before 11 am tomorrow.

We have two parents at home - full-time - for the moment, and still can't manage to get our shit together. Our AC broke over the weekend, Bump and I are both cranky from lack of sleep, and I still need to register the cars at the new address.

At least Lumpyhead got a haircut today.

Also, I gave Nathan Jr a bath for the first time in like . . . weeks. (I find that whole Floppy Head Thing nerve-wracking, dammit, so he doesn't get a bath until you can smell the neck cheese from three feet away.)

Oh, and what the hell is up with our netflix queue? Why do I put critically acclaimed films on the list, but once they get here I'm all "But where's Nacho Libre?"

Because I Think Round is Funny

His name (drum roll please)
is Nathan Jr.

I Was Not Surprised

What would you do if this came up on your caller ID?
I mean, you have to answer it, right?

I answered it.

It was a telemarketer.