Consolation Prize

I was going to post pictures of the kids in their costumes, but I got lousy photos at the preschool parade. Lula refused to wear her costume anyway and I realized later that I put Nathan Jr's costume on incorrectly so here's a picture of the baby in a blond wig.

Surfer Baby is angry.

Two Things

1. Lumpyhead somehow managed to set his alarm clock to 3:06am, a fact I discovered just as I was dozing off again after Lumpyhead came into our room. He was whimpering about something or other and instead of sending him back to bed as I should, I lazily let him snuggle under my arm. So while he lay sleeping in my bed, I ran haphazardly around the upper level of our house with my heart pounding, trying to figure out what that goddamn noise was. Smoke detector? Nope. Carbon monoxide detector? Nope. Something outside? Nope, it's coming from Lumpyhead's room and OH MY GOD YOU MUST BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Let's prevent that from happening again, shall we?

2. What time does Trick-or-Treating start on Saturday? I was really happy that Halloween fell on the weekend this year - no Halloween night rush hour traffic, which sucks as much as mary jane peanut butter kisses [and for those of you who are about to comment "I LOVE peanut butter mary janes" don't even bother. They're gross, I hate them, and I've always hated them. If you love them so much, I'll trade you all your milk duds for my mary janes. There, see? You don't love them so much now, do you?] - but this "Halloween on a weekend" nonsense means I'm uncertain about when is too early to send my crew to the neighbors' houses and when I should prepare for little goblins to come to my door and holy shit. Now I've got to have three costumes ready by the morning of Halloween Fucking Eve for the preschool costume parade, and, well, All Hallow's Eve Eve is just wrong.

Dicknostril.

(That's my new favorite word. Beth gave it to me. You like it?)

I guess dicknostril makes three things. You're welcome.

Oh, and I got a new camera. I tried to take a picture of Nathan Jr with a blond wig on his head and he cried. I blame you for making the baby cry.

Wow, I'm cranky today. That's probably your fault, too. But you may be able to foist the blame onto Lumpyhead's alarm clock pretty easily.

Argument

"All in all, I think 'douche' is pretty tame."

"I don't want my four-year-old calling some other kid a douche on the playground."

"It was the two-year-old who said it."

[Glare]

"Douche will probably be prefectly acceptable dinner-party talk soon. You know, there was a time when 'jerk' was considered a vulgar reference to masturbation."

[Pointedly] "Is now that time?"

"It's better than asshole."

"Is that the only alternative you can think of?"

[Long pause] "Yes."

--

Okay, I can think of other words, but asshole is the most apt synonym for douche. What do you suggest? Assume any variant of douchebag is unacceptable to my children's father, as well as anything with the ass- prefix (asshat, assface, asslicker) or the -hole suffix (dillhole, jackhole, jerkhole). It must be a perfect substitute for douche, because otherwise I'm not using it.

Someone Needs to Watch Her Language

Last night, Lumpyhead and Lula were arguing over a puzzle. Lula was working on a section that Lumpyhead wanted to complete himself.

Lula got right in his face. "Don't be a douche to me, Lumpyhead," she commanded him sternly. "Don't be a douche."

Ahem.

While it's good advice, I'm not sure it's . . . appropriate. But the words were pretty funny coming out of her mouth.

And she may have said it because I had just told Lumpyhead not to be a douche. I don't know.

I Suddenly Have the Urge to Call You All Kittens

Be jealous, people.

I went to Happy Hour with Aunt Bob last night, and Anne and VUBOQ joined us. It was great fun, and even if my camera hadn't shit the bed, I still wouldn't have gotten any photos. Because 1) I am a lazy-ass blogger and 2) I was having too much fun to stop and take stupid pictures for your benefit.

And if that weren't enough to blow your mind with the awesomeness, VUBOQ brought me a present.

It's Gorge. Us.

Behold.
(sorry for the crappy camera-phone photo, but as you recall MAH CAMRAH IZ BUSTED.)

VUBOQ said he thought it would fit on Nathan Jr's head - and I think he's right - and as soon as I get a new camera I will photograph the shit out of Nathan Jr's new hat.

Right after I cover the floor under Nathan Jr with bubble wrap, of course, because there's no way I'm letting that little newly mobile poop machine put so much as a teeny tiny chip in Mama's beautiful new bowl.

Yikes

My camera is broken. I thought the display was messed up, but it looks like the camera itself is FUBARed. There are horizontal lines running through all the shots,
and although some don't look too bad,
others are clearly unsalvageable.
Is there some kind of Blogger Disability program for this misfortune? Well, there should be.

Pop Quiz

When was the last time you did something for yourself? Just for fun.

Not on your way to an errand. Not at the same time you were doing something for someone else.

For you. Just you.

What did you do?

Tomorrow night I am having a happy hour with Aunt Bob. We used to do it once a week, and I'd like to make it a habit again.

It's just for fun. It's just for us.

(I don't mean "just for us" as in "you can't come" - because you should totally come - but as in "simply for ourselves." For us, not for our families or our jobs or our [insert other obligation here].)

Now, I just need to work on not feeling guilty about it. Because not only is it fun, it is necessary.

And you should totally come. Especially if you can't think of anything in answer to that first question.

It's a Proper Straw Hat

Worn at a jaunty tilt.
I'm resisting the urge to photoshop a hay stalk in his mouth.

First!

Nathan Jr has definitely begun walk. He has taken a few steps, independent of furniture or other support.

I felt compelled to painstakingly document Lumpyhead's first steps. I wasn't as fervent about it with Lula; but since Nathan Jr is the Last Baby, I feel I should tell you about it. (Aw, poor Middle Child, everyone feel sorry for unfortunate, neglected Lula. As she will one day rule the Universe with an iron fist, use the opportunity to think of her as vulnerable, now, so you can look back on this moment fondly when she's crushing your hopes and dreams as Magnificent Overlord.)

I no longer understand the big deal surrounding the first steps. Unless your child is delayed in some way, it's pretty much a given that he is going to walk eventually, right? What's the big significance in the first steps? Have you missed something momentous if the child takes those first steps in daycare, or somewhere else out of your sight? Come to think of it, how do you know those are the first steps, really? That wily baby could have been testing out that stepping shit for days while your back was turned.

It's not a milestone to be celebrated, once the third baby comes along. It's the beginning of the end. The onset of any type of mobility is a dreaded day, and full-on walking means the battle is lost. Retreat now, for the Small Ones shall conquer us all.

Until they meet Mr. Staircase, that is.

One Way to Achieve Those Coveted Racing Stripes

This weekend I ripped the driver's side mirror off my car. (Which I predicted I would do when we moved in.) However, instead of hitting the side of the garage as I expected, I removed my car mirror using the minivan.
On the bright side, I found a replacement mirror at a salvage yard for $80. The service station guy said he can install it for about $70, which is significantly cheaper than the $350-$400 the Honda dealership quoted me.

If you're keeping score at home, you may recall that I also ran a red light recently. This puts the pricetag for my Dumbassery: Vehicle Edition at over $300 in the last 23 days.

Ten Things. Honestly

Nora tagged me for a meme in which I am supposed to post 10 honest things about myself. Since I don't usually lie to you, Internet, this development doesn't represent a great seachange around here. Therefore I am going to use this opportunity to post ten random things about myself; and there you'll sit, forced to read them.

So: HA! Nora totally gave me permission to bore the everloving hell out of you. Blame her.

1. CSPAN changed the font for its vote tally and it's blowing my mind.
2. That's what qualifies as mind-blowing in my life. I don't know if that's pathetic or really good.
3. My husband left this afternoon for a weekend in Las Vegas.
4. My parents are still here, which means I will have only one night of solo parenting.
5. I'm a very lucky woman to have my parents' help with the children.
6. That much-appreciated help will surely drive me crazy this weekend, so WOE. COME VISIT ME AND BRING WINE.
7. I'm supposed to tag seven other people as part of this meme, but I'm too much of a chickenshit to do it.
8. Nathan Jr doesn't always cooperate when I take pictures of things on his head, so I have a lot of photos like these:





9. Okay, that last one wasn't from an attempt to put something on his head. He just looks at me like that a lot.
10. You probably do, too.

Playroom Nightmares

My mother is appalled that Nathan Jr, celebrity chef extraordinaire, is also kind of a dickhead.

I can't seem to find my hands. And where is my f***ing ladle?

F*** off, you stupid cow. Where's your f***ing brain? My ladle! Fetch my f***ing ladle! F*** you.

Grandma proves that she simply won't stand for such language.

Bluh-ur-gath. What the hell?

Ahem. Fine. Now, about that ladle.

All the Single Ladies

Maybe you know this already and I'm a little late to this party, but here:

A Lesson from this weekend's wedding reception. Let me share it with you.

You know how it is, at every wedding reception, when the DJ plays "I Will Survive" and all the women of a certain age drop their drinks and go running out onto the dance floor, bellowing all the words while giving their girlfriends meaningful looks?

Sorry, Gloria Gaynor. There's a new sheriff in town, and her name is Beyonce.

If you're not sick of that song yet, people, I've got bad news. You're going to be hearing it at wedding receptions for the next twenty years.

My Weekend Was Better Than Your Weekend

On Friday morning, Bump and I got up ass early for our flight to MSP. We crept out of the house just as my mother was waking up with Nathan Jr.

Upon arrival at the gate, we were informed that our plane was delayed an hour. Between grumbling about runway construction at MSP - we could have slept another hour! - and a brush with fame - hello Senator Franken! - we made it to MSP.

Where this happened:

Yeah, that's ElectricYoak.

And THOSE are mini corn dogs.

Your intense jealousy is warranted.

A weekend away without children of course means hedonistic excess. We slept for many hours without interruption. We slept late every morning. We napped on a rainy afternoon. That's right, people, we fucking napped.

We ate good food and drank good beer with good friends. We attended a lovely wedding for a fantastic woman (and her new husband, who I assume is equally fantastic, but let's face it - she's fantastic enough for several people). At the wedding reception the favors were personalized decks of cards and around the corner from the dance floor were darts and cornhole boards. Heh, cornhole.

I miss the tormentors - a little - but right now I'm watching football in ElectricYoak's basement. I'm getting a beer as soon as I finish this mimosa the size of my head, and trying to figure out how to make this weekend last three more days.