Friday, February 27, 2009

Traffic Question

This is not about getting more blog hits [waves at the quadrillionth googler looking for a DJ Lance costume] but an actual traffic question.

1. Let's say you're on a multi-lane road (OKAY SO I'M TALKING ABOUT ROUTE 50), traveling at a pretty good clip. You're not barreling along at dickwad speed, but there's no congestion so you're probably exceeding the posted speed limit by 10-15 mph.

The green light ahead turns yellow. Do you:
a) Slow down
b) Speed up

To stop at the light, you will have to brake pretty hard. Probably hard enough to make the stuff on the front seat move. If you speed up a little, you'll get through the intersection as the light is turning red.

The car on your right chooses a) and slows down.

What did you do?

Okay, new question:
2. You are waiting to turn left at an intersection controlled by a stoplight. You will need to cross three lanes of oncoming traffic. Two cars are approaching. The light turns yellow. Do you:
a) Go for it
b) Wait for the oncoming cars to clear the intersection.

Today, I picked b) to Question 1. Someone else answered Question 2 with a).

My brakes squealed and my car swerved and my heart rate doubled and I got a good shot of adrenaline for the day. Luckily there was no car on my left. Everything is fine.

I'd be pissed at driver #2, but honestly, the timing was such that I might have done the same thing, thinking both oncoming cars were going to stop.

I think the universe was determined to see the contents of my bag on the car floor today - one way or another.

Thursday, February 26, 2009


Lumpyhead will probably just give you a withering glare if you make fun of his hat.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Wingo. He Actually Drew Wingo.

Bump leaves notes like these in Lumpyhead's lunchbox.
Apparently my husband's magnadoodle skills are transferable to paper napkins.

Seriously, People. This is what I'm up against in the art department.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Yep, hand sanitizer. That second bottle with the darker green label is liquid hand soap (in case that bar of soap was too confusing, I suppose).

It seems no request is too silly, so today I'm going to ask the nurse for $40.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Honey I Know, I Know, I Know Times Are Changing

I listen to shitty music. There, I said it. Everyone may think their favorite music is awesome, but the kind of music that makes me want to dance in my chair or sing along in the car SUCKS. It's terrible.

I don't listen to music very often.

Note: drinking often turns me into an asshole, but I'm not about to give that up.


My parents arrived on Valentine's Day ready to babysit. Bump and I acknowledged Cupid's holiday by throwing our children into their beds as quickly as possible and running out the door to play poker at Aunt Bob's. I love you Baby, and to show you just how much I am going to beat your flush with this full house. Pass the chocolates.

During a break in the card action, Aunt Bob fired up the 80s music and the wii, and we all did some sappy reminiscing about high school.

I realized that in high school, I never imagined I would be where I am today. On a Friday night, video bowling with my best friend and the father of my three children, I couldn't have been happier about where I landed.

Although in the interest of full disclosure, I had free babysitters and a lot to drink.


[Consider this a placeholder for where I bitch about the NPR pledge drive, which forces me to listen to crappy radio, which makes me realize how much I need public radio.]

This morning I was stuck listening to the kind of shitty music I enjoy, and Purple Rain put me in the same state of mind as Friday night (except with a BAC of 0.00). When I first heard this song, where did I think I would be when I "grew up"? Certainly not here, living this life.

Twenty years ago, I imagined I would end up in the Twin Cities, getting paid lots of money to order people around. I would live in a loft-style apartment with a great view and drive an expensive car. Children, if they existed, were something to worry about later.

While I didn't think I would die young, 20 years ago I definitely never thought I would get this old.


So, how about you? When you were in high school, where did you imagine yourself at this age? How does that compare to where you are?

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Just When I Thought I Was Done Being a Moron

I took Lumpyhead to Disney on Ice on Saturday. As we were getting ready, I felt guilty about leaving Lula at home, so I took her too.

They both enjoyed the show, and were relatively well-behaved, but I know this for certain: as my kids get older, this whole parenting thing is going to require a lot more booze.

Friday, February 13, 2009

I Don't Get It

My office building has a room reserved for lactating moms. It's a lovely little room with chairs and a couch and pretty pictures of the Capitol grounds. There are two hospital-grade pumps, a small refrigerator, and over the past few months someone has been bringing in parenting magazines.

The women who use the room and those who administer the facility communicate via notes. For example, instructions on how to use the complicated electronic lock are left on a little notepad. You'll find a message if something is broken or missing.

Today, I saw this note:

Which I think is strange. I'm not opposed to hand sanitizer, necessarily, but do we need it
in a room with a sink?

A sink, with running water. And soap.

Really? Hand sanitizer? What am I missing here?

Thursday, February 12, 2009

On/Off or Dimmer Switch?

Lumpyhead wakes up in the morning ready to go. The minute he opens his eyes, he bolts from his room at full speed. Bump and I hear his door squeak, immediately followed by the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the boy running down the hall. "Goddamn," we'll grumble at each other over the thundering, "how many children are out there?"

Lula - like her father and me - takes a few minutes to wake up. She's happy to lie in her bed quietly for awhile, spending her first few post-sleep moments drowsy.

What about your kids? You? Do you wake up ready to take on the day at a dead run, or do you scowl at anyone who crosses your path during the first fifteen minutes?

More importantly, will Lumpyhead outgrow this Morning Person phase, or will he be our alarm clock for the next fifteen years?

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


Bump: Ugh. I stink.
Lula: Pee-yew! Do you need a new diaper, Papa?

For the record, he just needed a shower. His pants were fine.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Surprise. Disgust. Relief.

We took the entire brood the playground yesterday.

I'm accustomed to seeing a throng of mildly misbehaving kids with one frazzled almost-adult. I'm not used to a toddler accompanied by an entourage of four adults - two parents and a set of grandparents. There were two such baby rockstars at the playground yesterday, tiny walkers followed closely by two people and watched hawkishly by two more. Bump and I snorted derisively at the excess while being wildly envious of the kid-to-grownup ratio.

The grandparent-types fawned over our children, nodding their approval over our fertility, and making sure the parent-types made note of our situation. You could see the grumbled complaints of "That couple on the playground had three kids. You could have three kids too, ya know" forming in their mouths.

We pointed out a secluded section of the playground for smaller kids - perfect for their royal charges - and eventually the toddler play area had two children under two and eight adults fenced inside.

Bump packed pretzels and sippy cups for the stroller ride back. As we neared the house, Lumpyhead asked his father "Will you take this? I'm not going to eat it."

Bump stopped the stroller, expecting to collect unwanted pretzels.

Lumpyhead handed him a huge booger.

Friday, February 06, 2009

He WISHES He Was That Cool

Lula received a pack of Lego people for Christmas - Lego Dudes, as they are known in our house. I told her one of the Lego Dudes looked like her.
She decided it looked like her cousin Denise. Fair enough.

She soon found other similarities. According to Lula, this one looks like Aunt Bob's Little Guy.

This one looks like me.

Then she brought one to Bump, saying "Looks like you, Papa. Looks like you!"

Um . . .She's given it a lot of thought, apparently, because on several occasions she has picked up that particular Lego Dude and called it Papa.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Listening to Sounds with Lumpyhead's Mom

Indulge me for a moment, but I love listening to my children play together.

Lula will hand Lumpyhead a toy and shout "HERE Lumpyhead" and he'll respond with a grand "Thay-YANK you, Lula" and they both comically emphasize odd words and repeat the process until he's sitting there with 35 toys in his lap and she has run out of items to bring him.

Sometimes she will do something that bugs him and he'll say "STOP, Lula" and she'll get right in his face and implore "Why Lumpyhead, WHY?" and he'll whine "Because I said so," doing his best to avoid her laser-beam gaze.

Or when Lula destroys what Lumpyhead is working on, like a tower or a puzzle, I love the stern mix of disappointment and annoyance with which he says "Luuu-la! No."

And even though it signifies that all manner of hell is about to break loose and Happy Play Time is over, I really love to hear them discipline each other. "No Lula. Time out!" Lumpyhead will shriek, right before the Double Wailing begins.

Or she will growl a staccato "Time. Out." at Lumpyhead right before doing something wholly unacceptable like kicking him in the head.

So, yeah. Other than the crying, listening to them play together is really fun. What was I talking about again?

Sunday, February 01, 2009

That Day Will Come

The day will come when the baby will poop and we will change his diaper and put his pants back on and that will be the end of it; we will not need to pull a shit-covered onesie over his head and replace the cover on the changing table and pre-treat every item of clothing he was wearing and give the child a bath. Every. Stinking. Time.

But today is not that day.