Lumpyhead is forever losing his socks. If he's not pulling them off to suck on them, he's kicked them off. We're always looking down to find one or both of his socks missing.
I don't think he hates wearing them, it's just that pulling them off is so blasted fun. We've tried several different brands, the only difference seems to be the number of seconds it takes for Lumpyhead to remove them. Old Navy socks are off in about two seconds, and then are easy to kick off because they're all stretched out. Target socks stay on for about ten seconds, but Lumpyhead rubs his feet together twice and they're gone. Baby Gap socks? There's no point in putting those on his feet - might as well just throw one on the floor and stick the other one in his mouth directly from the drawer.
Oh, and forget about shoes. Lumpyhead cannot be distracted from the deliciousness of shoes. If you show him a toy, he'll forget about his socks for awhile, but if there are shoes on his feet, nothing is more interesting.
Nobody half-asses it like me.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
The Great M&M Caper
To recap: Bump was eating the M&Ms one color at a time.
I re-introduced the missing colors. It looked like this.
Was Bump confused? Suspicious?
Neither. I blew it. Bump caught me red-(and orange M&M) handed. The next day I came home to this:
He's such a dork.
But a loveable dork.
I re-introduced the missing colors. It looked like this.
Was Bump confused? Suspicious?
Neither. I blew it. Bump caught me red-(and orange M&M) handed. The next day I came home to this:
He's such a dork.
But a loveable dork.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Patrick's Birthday Party
I’ve described Patrick as Aunt Bob’s 3-year-old, but he doesn’t officially turn three until tomorrow. He had the first of two birthday parties this morning, with the children from his preschool as guests.
My office was closed today as a reward for the crazy hours we’ve logged this week. Bump and Lumpyhead were on the guest list for Party I: The Preschool Edition from the get-go, and since I was off today, I crashed the event.
Eight of Patrick’s eleven classmates, their moms, and one sibling attended the party. Bump, Lumpyhead and I walked into controlled chaos: nine three-year-olds and one fourteen-month-old were hurling toys, shrieking, and flicking cupcake icing under close maternal supervision.
I met most of the moms, and all of the kids, but can only remember a few of their names. The mothers were bright, hip, and unflappable. A couple of them were pregnant. The children were polite, cute, and age-appropriately rambunctious.
As I surveyed the destruction, I sized up these other mothers. We were the same demographic, for the most part; they were probably a lot like me.
But I felt nothing like them, these assembled mommies from a nice preschool. They all seemed so serene in the face of the unfolding madness, so blissfully happy in their mommyhood. They exchanged precious anecdotes about children, babies and pregnancy. They chatted sweetly while hawkishly monitoring toddlers and cheerfully averting disasters.
I felt the strong urge for a good, stiff drink. But it was 11:30 in the morning, so I kept the sentiment to myself.
By 1:00pm, the guests had left and Patrick’s gifts had been opened and recorded. Patrick was down for a nap, and Lumpyhead was asleep in my arms.
Bump brought me a vodka and grapefruit juice.
Aunt Bob sat down for a beer before going back to work.
And as the four of us sat around and snarked over our drinks, I realized I belonged at this party after all.
My office was closed today as a reward for the crazy hours we’ve logged this week. Bump and Lumpyhead were on the guest list for Party I: The Preschool Edition from the get-go, and since I was off today, I crashed the event.
Eight of Patrick’s eleven classmates, their moms, and one sibling attended the party. Bump, Lumpyhead and I walked into controlled chaos: nine three-year-olds and one fourteen-month-old were hurling toys, shrieking, and flicking cupcake icing under close maternal supervision.
I met most of the moms, and all of the kids, but can only remember a few of their names. The mothers were bright, hip, and unflappable. A couple of them were pregnant. The children were polite, cute, and age-appropriately rambunctious.
As I surveyed the destruction, I sized up these other mothers. We were the same demographic, for the most part; they were probably a lot like me.
But I felt nothing like them, these assembled mommies from a nice preschool. They all seemed so serene in the face of the unfolding madness, so blissfully happy in their mommyhood. They exchanged precious anecdotes about children, babies and pregnancy. They chatted sweetly while hawkishly monitoring toddlers and cheerfully averting disasters.
I felt the strong urge for a good, stiff drink. But it was 11:30 in the morning, so I kept the sentiment to myself.
By 1:00pm, the guests had left and Patrick’s gifts had been opened and recorded. Patrick was down for a nap, and Lumpyhead was asleep in my arms.
Bump brought me a vodka and grapefruit juice.
Aunt Bob sat down for a beer before going back to work.
And as the four of us sat around and snarked over our drinks, I realized I belonged at this party after all.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Deficits, Schmeficits
Yeah, so that whole "I won't be blogging much"? Turns out that was a great big lie.
So, the federal deficit for 2006 will be $423 billion dollars. Kinda makes you feel better about your checkbook, eh?
The deficit I'm worried about, though, is Bump's sleep deficit. These long days have turned me into a total absentee parent. I get home from work at midnight, play with Lumpyhead for maybe an hour, then go to sleep. Bump told me he had a long nap with Lumpyhead on Monday afternoon, but I'm afraid he's going to end up sick unless he gets more sleep.
What else? We have a little candy dish in the dining room with M&Ms in it. Bump has been methodically eating only one color at a time. It's a little OCD, but it's kinda funny to come home and see that all the orange ones are gone. Then the reds.
My plan: buy a pack of M&Ms at work and slip a couple of the missing colors back into the bowl. This will either: 1) drive Bump nuts, 2) confuse the hell out of him, or 3) convince him he's not doing a thorough job when attempting to make a color extinct.
Or he'll be on to me immediately.
So, the federal deficit for 2006 will be $423 billion dollars. Kinda makes you feel better about your checkbook, eh?
The deficit I'm worried about, though, is Bump's sleep deficit. These long days have turned me into a total absentee parent. I get home from work at midnight, play with Lumpyhead for maybe an hour, then go to sleep. Bump told me he had a long nap with Lumpyhead on Monday afternoon, but I'm afraid he's going to end up sick unless he gets more sleep.
What else? We have a little candy dish in the dining room with M&Ms in it. Bump has been methodically eating only one color at a time. It's a little OCD, but it's kinda funny to come home and see that all the orange ones are gone. Then the reds.
My plan: buy a pack of M&Ms at work and slip a couple of the missing colors back into the bowl. This will either: 1) drive Bump nuts, 2) confuse the hell out of him, or 3) convince him he's not doing a thorough job when attempting to make a color extinct.
Or he'll be on to me immediately.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Can't You Feel 'Em Circling Honey?
"Remora Baby!"
Lumpyhead has become a face-sucker.
He'll grab Bump's head by the ears or mine by the hair and attach his little maw to our faces. It's both icky and cute and the same time.
Bump loves it. He calls them "baby kisses" and doesn't mind getting smothered in slobber.
I lean more toward the bleechy side of the ledger, but I'm usually too busy trying to unwind my hair from his tiny balled fists to worry about the yuck factor. Once my hair is free, I can usually detach Lumpyhead from my cheek or chin, then towel off.
Maybe we need to feed the child more.
Lumpyhead has become a face-sucker.
He'll grab Bump's head by the ears or mine by the hair and attach his little maw to our faces. It's both icky and cute and the same time.
Bump loves it. He calls them "baby kisses" and doesn't mind getting smothered in slobber.
I lean more toward the bleechy side of the ledger, but I'm usually too busy trying to unwind my hair from his tiny balled fists to worry about the yuck factor. Once my hair is free, I can usually detach Lumpyhead from my cheek or chin, then towel off.
Maybe we need to feed the child more.
Monday, February 06, 2006
So Please, Give Generously
NPR is holding a pledge drive. I just can’t bear to listen to familiar NPR personalities sound like they’re on the home shopping network, so I’m left with the barren radioscape that is Washington, DC.
DC is Clear Channel’s bitch, so I have my choice among several radio stations that will bring me crapulent pop music sandwiched between a gang of chirping morons. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out.
Yes, I’m old.
I feel like once I’ve made my annual donation, I shouldn’t have to listen to the pledge drives anymore. I don’t want a coffee mug or a tote bag, I want a secret passcode that gives me my radio back.
I’m always mildly horrified by the NPR extortion, reminding me how important they are to me by withholding programming. And the blatant “shorten our next pledge drive by giving today” tactic astounds me. Is that even legal? Is “Make a pledge today or the bunny gets it” next?
I have a Sirius radio at home, which I could take in the car with me if I’d just remember it in the mornings. But I can barely get out of the house in shoes that match, so that seems like a pipe dream.
Which leaves me stuck listening to Steve Inskeep browbeat me into submission.
DC is Clear Channel’s bitch, so I have my choice among several radio stations that will bring me crapulent pop music sandwiched between a gang of chirping morons. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out.
Yes, I’m old.
I feel like once I’ve made my annual donation, I shouldn’t have to listen to the pledge drives anymore. I don’t want a coffee mug or a tote bag, I want a secret passcode that gives me my radio back.
I’m always mildly horrified by the NPR extortion, reminding me how important they are to me by withholding programming. And the blatant “shorten our next pledge drive by giving today” tactic astounds me. Is that even legal? Is “Make a pledge today or the bunny gets it” next?
I have a Sirius radio at home, which I could take in the car with me if I’d just remember it in the mornings. But I can barely get out of the house in shoes that match, so that seems like a pipe dream.
Which leaves me stuck listening to Steve Inskeep browbeat me into submission.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Hell Week
I'm stuck at work today, and will probably work all day tomorrow. Next week is typically the busiest week of the year for our Committee.
This means a) I won't be blogging much, and b) I won't see much of Lumpyhead.
Blog? Whatever. But I miss Lumpyhead already, and it's only going to get worse. Last year I was pregnant during the crazy time, at the start of the "money" second trimester. I was no longer puking every day, I wasn't uncomfortably large, but I was big enough to warrant special pregnant lady treatment. As I've said before, politicos fall all over themselves for babies and babies-to-be, so a pregnant lady might as well have a "worship here" sign on her shirt (except she'd get kicked out of the House chamber).
I look forward to spending all day with Lumpyhead on Saturdays and Sundays, and feel a little cheated today. I resist going to sleep on weekdays, even when I'm exhausted, because I feel I'm cutting short our time together when I sleep.
So I miss the little guy. And Bump's not getting a break. And it's going to get worse before it gets better.
This means a) I won't be blogging much, and b) I won't see much of Lumpyhead.
Blog? Whatever. But I miss Lumpyhead already, and it's only going to get worse. Last year I was pregnant during the crazy time, at the start of the "money" second trimester. I was no longer puking every day, I wasn't uncomfortably large, but I was big enough to warrant special pregnant lady treatment. As I've said before, politicos fall all over themselves for babies and babies-to-be, so a pregnant lady might as well have a "worship here" sign on her shirt (except she'd get kicked out of the House chamber).
I look forward to spending all day with Lumpyhead on Saturdays and Sundays, and feel a little cheated today. I resist going to sleep on weekdays, even when I'm exhausted, because I feel I'm cutting short our time together when I sleep.
So I miss the little guy. And Bump's not getting a break. And it's going to get worse before it gets better.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Korean American Staff Lunch
I attended a luncheon hosted by the Embassy of Korea yesterday. I usually don't get invited to free lunches because lobbyists have figured out that staff on my Committee don't actually have any power. Darn.
I was invited to this luncheon soley because I'm Korean. I went because my friend Travis - who is also an adopted Korean from Minnesota - wanted me to. This is the second "asian thing" I've attended at Travis' request, and I honestly feel a little weird about it. I'm being invited to something not because of my position, my skills, or my friends - I'm being invited only because of how I look.
Travis sees it as a neworking opportunity - he's a much better networker than I am - but I wonder why I would want to network with people who have self-selected on a basis as flimsy as appearance. If you want to argue "heritage," then fine, I think you've got a point, but then I really have no business being invited.
Another reason I find these things creepy? They make me think about things like racial identity, which is something I typically don't spend much time on. I think the world would be a better place if no one thought about race again, ever, but that's probably a long way off.
Also, the people I meet at these functions expect me to speak Korean. They expect my last name is my married name. They ask point-blank if I'm adopted. That's weird, right? Do you usually attend lunches where the second question you're asked is whether on not you sprang from your mother's womb? Yeah, me either.
Maybe I just got stuck beside a particularly rude woman. Come to think of it, she was a total social dimwit. This was her exchange with Travis:
TSD: Are you full-Korean?
Trav: (casually) I'm not sure.
TSD: You're not sure? [I can't do the inflection justice. Imagine Travis had just said "Sometimes I like to eat babies."]
Trav: (stunned)
TSD: How can you not be sure?
Trav: (graciously) I'm adopted.
TSD: Oh. [again, the inflection. Imagine the previous line was, "Terrorists killed my dog."]
Sigh.
Oh, and she kept checking her crackberry. During lunch. I can't tell you how much I hate the rude blackberry user. (In the interest of full disclosure, I have a blackberry. I use it, but I consider myself a recreational user.)
The rude blackberry user is so ubiquitous on the Hill. Maybe it's because so many people are self-important. "Look how vital to the operation I am! My office has provided me with a special emailing device, so I'm never out of touch."
Dude, your boss knows you're replaceable. She knows you think she can't live without you, but she's just letting you believe that so she can continue to pay you slave wages. You're a sucker.
It's like during the anthrax scare, when everyone wanted to be on cipro to show how important their job was.
[Talk about timing! The office annunciator just went off. It was a only a test. How bad would I feel if during an actual emergency, I was making fun of cipro?]
I was invited to this luncheon soley because I'm Korean. I went because my friend Travis - who is also an adopted Korean from Minnesota - wanted me to. This is the second "asian thing" I've attended at Travis' request, and I honestly feel a little weird about it. I'm being invited to something not because of my position, my skills, or my friends - I'm being invited only because of how I look.
Travis sees it as a neworking opportunity - he's a much better networker than I am - but I wonder why I would want to network with people who have self-selected on a basis as flimsy as appearance. If you want to argue "heritage," then fine, I think you've got a point, but then I really have no business being invited.
Another reason I find these things creepy? They make me think about things like racial identity, which is something I typically don't spend much time on. I think the world would be a better place if no one thought about race again, ever, but that's probably a long way off.
Also, the people I meet at these functions expect me to speak Korean. They expect my last name is my married name. They ask point-blank if I'm adopted. That's weird, right? Do you usually attend lunches where the second question you're asked is whether on not you sprang from your mother's womb? Yeah, me either.
Maybe I just got stuck beside a particularly rude woman. Come to think of it, she was a total social dimwit. This was her exchange with Travis:
TSD: Are you full-Korean?
Trav: (casually) I'm not sure.
TSD: You're not sure? [I can't do the inflection justice. Imagine Travis had just said "Sometimes I like to eat babies."]
Trav: (stunned)
TSD: How can you not be sure?
Trav: (graciously) I'm adopted.
TSD: Oh. [again, the inflection. Imagine the previous line was, "Terrorists killed my dog."]
Sigh.
Oh, and she kept checking her crackberry. During lunch. I can't tell you how much I hate the rude blackberry user. (In the interest of full disclosure, I have a blackberry. I use it, but I consider myself a recreational user.)
The rude blackberry user is so ubiquitous on the Hill. Maybe it's because so many people are self-important. "Look how vital to the operation I am! My office has provided me with a special emailing device, so I'm never out of touch."
Dude, your boss knows you're replaceable. She knows you think she can't live without you, but she's just letting you believe that so she can continue to pay you slave wages. You're a sucker.
It's like during the anthrax scare, when everyone wanted to be on cipro to show how important their job was.
[Talk about timing! The office annunciator just went off. It was a only a test. How bad would I feel if during an actual emergency, I was making fun of cipro?]
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Weight, Weight, Don't Tell Me
I throw away $16 a month on a gym membership. The House of Representatives started subsidizing Gold's Gym memberships a couple of years ago, so I joined.
I went pretty faithfully for awhile. I wasn't committed to dropping pounds, but wanted to get in better shape, and if I lost some weight, it would be a nice bonus. I stopped going before I was pregnant (so I can't blame the laziness on that) and I haven't darkened the gym door since.
Last weekend I considered putting my membership to use. Our plumbing had backed up. It wasn't an emergency kind of backup, so we decided to wait until Monday to call a plumber. I was gonna go to the gym to use the shower.
The thought of getting on the treadmill before hitting the locker room never once crossed my mind.
There are a couple reasons why I'm not concerned about my Unused Gym Membership.
Reason #1: I could throw away $16 a month on dumber things. For example:
Reason #2: Shooting all this milk from my chest has really melted away the lbs.
I'm not telling anyone to buy the line about "nursing will help you get back your pre-pregnancy figure." That's crap. Pre-pregnancy figures don't return without surgery.
But . . . burning extra calories a day + the absence of oral contraceptives = rapid weight loss. Add "drinking in moderation" (as opposed to what I used to do) and you've got yourself the prescription for a 60-pound weight reduction from the day Lumpyhead emerged. I'm down to my college weight. Of course, everything has shifted to different places.
Added Bonus: I can eat like a linebacker.
Bump decreed that my body has decided it's done losing weight, and now wants me to maintain, so ramped up the appetite. I can consume comical amounts of food and still be hungry.
Big Down Side: none of my clothes fit.
I hate to shop. Shopping for clothes is like some sort of punishment. Plus, buying an entire new wardrobe is not really in the budget - the total UGM wouldn't cover more than a couple cheap suits.
My colleagues are not charitable about my clothing. This ridicule is much-deserved, as Bump will often ask gently if I'm really wearing that. If I manage to escape the house without Bump's critique, I'll get it at work. Over the past five months I've actually been told:
So back to the UGM, which I'm not cancelling. I like to think that on the great "someday," I'll start going again. Someday when I decide to turn this new skinnier-but-flabbier me into a MILF. Someday when I no longer equate "every minute not at work" with "time to spend with Lumpyhead."
Besides, $16 is worth the peace-of-mind that I've got an alternative place to shower.
In the end I didn't use the gym shower. I just went to work on Monday kinda stinky. I don't think anyone noticed; I was wearing new pants.
I went pretty faithfully for awhile. I wasn't committed to dropping pounds, but wanted to get in better shape, and if I lost some weight, it would be a nice bonus. I stopped going before I was pregnant (so I can't blame the laziness on that) and I haven't darkened the gym door since.
Last weekend I considered putting my membership to use. Our plumbing had backed up. It wasn't an emergency kind of backup, so we decided to wait until Monday to call a plumber. I was gonna go to the gym to use the shower.
The thought of getting on the treadmill before hitting the locker room never once crossed my mind.
There are a couple reasons why I'm not concerned about my Unused Gym Membership.
Reason #1: I could throw away $16 a month on dumber things. For example:
- I don't get designer coffee any more. I got off the caffeine wagon when I was pregnant and haven't gotten back on. (The alcohol wagon, yes. Caffeine? Oh no, caffeine is the Devil's beverage.) That daily buck-fifty alone is worth twice the UGM.
- I don't hit happy hours any more, where I could throw away $16 on two drinks (or less).
Reason #2: Shooting all this milk from my chest has really melted away the lbs.
I'm not telling anyone to buy the line about "nursing will help you get back your pre-pregnancy figure." That's crap. Pre-pregnancy figures don't return without surgery.
But . . . burning extra calories a day + the absence of oral contraceptives = rapid weight loss. Add "drinking in moderation" (as opposed to what I used to do) and you've got yourself the prescription for a 60-pound weight reduction from the day Lumpyhead emerged. I'm down to my college weight. Of course, everything has shifted to different places.
Added Bonus: I can eat like a linebacker.
Bump decreed that my body has decided it's done losing weight, and now wants me to maintain, so ramped up the appetite. I can consume comical amounts of food and still be hungry.
Big Down Side: none of my clothes fit.
I hate to shop. Shopping for clothes is like some sort of punishment. Plus, buying an entire new wardrobe is not really in the budget - the total UGM wouldn't cover more than a couple cheap suits.
My colleagues are not charitable about my clothing. This ridicule is much-deserved, as Bump will often ask gently if I'm really wearing that. If I manage to escape the house without Bump's critique, I'll get it at work. Over the past five months I've actually been told:
"You look like you're wearing your mom's suit."These comments spur me to acquire clothing that doesn't look silly. I know this because when I come to work looking even slightly foolish, I'm told, quite candidly, that I look like a clown.
"Those pants are waaaay too big for you."
"You really can't wear that any more."
"Fuck you, you skinny mini." (from the woman who's always on a diet. I actually hear that last one a lot.)
So back to the UGM, which I'm not cancelling. I like to think that on the great "someday," I'll start going again. Someday when I decide to turn this new skinnier-but-flabbier me into a MILF. Someday when I no longer equate "every minute not at work" with "time to spend with Lumpyhead."
Besides, $16 is worth the peace-of-mind that I've got an alternative place to shower.
In the end I didn't use the gym shower. I just went to work on Monday kinda stinky. I don't think anyone noticed; I was wearing new pants.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Don't Mess with Mr. In-Between
I think of myself as a "glass half full" kinda gal. (I just typed "gal." I'm so sorry.)
I try to focus on positive things and find a happy spin on bummers.
Optimism isn't about how the economy is doing or consumer confidence going up or if I feel secure in my job.
This is optimism:
I try to focus on positive things and find a happy spin on bummers.
Optimism isn't about how the economy is doing or consumer confidence going up or if I feel secure in my job.
This is optimism:
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