Bump Is So Proud of Him He Can Hardly Stand It

Yesterday afternoon Lumpyhead was sitting in his high chair when he asked "Can I give you a cuddle?" He raised his arms and waited.

I walked over from the kitchen. "Of course!" I said happily.

He leaned toward me. When I reached him, he grinned and said "I farted."

That announcement was unnecessary; I would have figured it out all by myself a half-second later when I got a face full of stink as I hugged him.

Not only did he set a stink trap, he baited it with affection. And that little "lean" thing? It wasn't to get closer to me like I thought. He was raising one butt cheek so he could really let 'er rip.

Is It Unreasonable to Hate Bangs This Much?

Hey, remember back in February and March when I was complaining that Lula needed a haircut? Guess who still hasn't gotten a haircut?

While part of me recognizes that she needs her first haircut, another part of me screeches "NOOOOOOO don't cut her hair!" at the top of its lungs. The screeching part wins.

The problem? Lula refuses to wear hair accessories. Yanks them out immediately. So I'm left with a kid with hair in her eyes. And a husband who constantly threatens to cut her hair, but backs down when the screeching starts.

I hate bangs. Growing out bangs sucks. Once little girls have bangs, they're stuck with them. I don't want her to have bangs.

I've tried complimenting her. We tell her how lovely she looks every time I put a clip or elastic in her hair. She smiles prettily after I've wrestled something into her unruly mop and she says "Lula booteefew." Then she immediately claws out whatever I've put in there and hands it to me, helpfully pointing out - in case I hadn't noticed - "Lula take it owt."

I've tried scolding her, but then immediately feel like a jerk. Suddenly I'm the asshole yelling at her kid over a damn barrette.

I've tried grabbing her hand, but she's faster than me. And more determined. If I manage to stop her the first time, she'll just pull it out later when I'm not looking.

Instead I plead with her. "Lula, you have to leave that in or Papa is going to cut your hair."

That doesn't keep her hair accessories in, but it's working on Bump. It will probably postpone my baby girl's first haircut for a few more months.

What are you talking about? My hair is fine.

Oh. That.

A Post About Doody that has Nothing to do with Poop

In January Bump received a notice that sometime during this calendar year, he would be summoned for jury duty.

He was all "Crap" and I was all "HA hah" and then we found out that if you're the primary caregiver to small children, you can be excused from jury duty.

Then we moved and forgot all about it until a few weeks ago we got the summons forwarded from our old address. Bump sent the form back, informing the court that he had moved out of Arlington County.

We got a call this afternoon, and apparently the Arlington Circuit Court district includes our current non-Arlington address.

And that whole "primary caregiver" thing? With me on maternity leave, he really can't use that excuse.

The nice lady at the courthouse basically said, "See you Monday, Sucker."

Here's the thing: I think the Civic-Minded Geek in him is actually looking forward to serving.

I Love My Mom Too

Problems with irregularity? I suggest you visit the elementary school playground near your house. It seems to work for Lula anyway. Son of a -

Also from the last trip to the playground (you know, something besides the big steaming load Lula left me):
Yeah, that's graffiti.

Sure kid, you gained some badass points by tagging the playground equipment. But you lost points with what you wrote. That would be negative badassery, right there.

So, if you were this child's mother, would you be pleased by this or not?

He Went Up a Couple of Cup Sizes

Yep, I'm still immature. In case you were wondering.

I Hope Julie and Robert Will Be Very Happy Together

We got a wedding invitation in the mail, addressed to our landlord. Bump and I were all "Pffft, they must be very close - they don't even know he moved." He moved in with his girlfriend, with whom the marrying couple is also obviously very close assuming her given name is "and Guest." The envelope flap had torn off in transit (seriously! Although we are totally not above opening mail that's not ours) so I HAD to check out the invitation and judge. And Boy Howdy did I judge.

Bump and I joked about how we should send a gift. Or (along the lines of sending holiday cards to people we don't know [which! I'm totally up for doing again if you send me a name and address]) rsvp to the invite and show up at the wedding of Julie and Robert - who together with their parents sent a kind of shitty invitation - but then we would have to find sitters and endure a ceremony and rubbery chicken in uncomfortable clothes just to get an open bar and oh hell, I'll just buy some liquor and drink it at home.

The next day the mailman delivered what looks to be two birthday cards from Landlord's grandmothers. I am above opening a man's birthday cards from Grandma and stealing the cash.

So we'll give Landlord all his mail the next time he comes by to change the furnace filter or whatever. But DUDE, tell your Grandma you moved. Tell both of them. You might wanna mention it to your friends, too, or at least let the post office know. Because I'm attending the next wedding you and "and guest" get invited to.

I will always let my grandmothers know my current address.

A Lumpyhead's Mom PSA

When your friend comes over and you're talking about your COLOSSAL EPIC FAIL of a morning, do not describe your toddler's huge inconvenient poop as "between the shoulder blades" when in fact it just oozed four inches or so over her waistband.

Because the minute you utter those words, your baby will unleash a gigantic shit that winds up literally between his shoulder blades.

And then the water company will turn off your water for several hours, and you will be stuck with only wipes to clean the baby off and no method of soaking the his clothes - which by volume may now be comprised of more poop than fabric.

Maybe that won't happen every time you make such an exaggeration, but really, once is enough.

You're welcome.

Blogging from the Playground

Today officially begins my Gravy Time (the requisite three months of maternity leave are over, the period between now and the end of the year are all gravy).

I was feeling a little cooped up this morning, so I loaded Lumpyhead and Lula into the stroller, put Nathan Jr in the bjorn, and walked to the playground.

Bump stayed up with the baby and let me sleep all night (All! Night!) so I was feeling energetic. I was also feeling a little critical of Bump for never taking the kids anywhere. I packed some snacks, dressed the kids, and let Bump nap in a quiet house.

Full disclosure: I came up with this idea and started getting ready around 8 am. We finally got underway after 10. I spent none of this prep time on my personal hygiene - I am here with unwashed hair and wearing my pajama bottoms.

I've walked to the playground with Lumpyhead and Lula before, but this morning's trek seemed much harder. I didn't think the addition of 12 lbs. strapped to my chest would make such a difference.

Now Lumpyhead is complaining that he wants to go to the OTHER PLAYGROUND, Lula's nose is running, and Nathan Jr is starting to fuss. I don't have any kleenex or a burp cloth.

And the stroller has a flat tire. Maybe two. The difficult walk here had nothing to do with the addition of the baby.

This is why Bump leaves the house with the kids only when it is absolutely necessary. Because he is a wise man. A wise man who is napping peacefully.

And even on a full night's rest, I am an idiot.

Update: LULA JUST POOPED. I HAVE NO DIAPERS. OR WIPES. MAYDAY. MAYDAY. AM CALLING BUMP RIGHT NOW.

Further update: OF COURSE she stuck her hand down her pants while we were waiting for Bump to come rescue us. OF COURSE SHE DID.