Whereas

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

In Case You Forgot

Nathan Jr blah blah blah threat blah blah blah hat.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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?

Reminder

Nathan Jr will fuck you up if you make fun of his hat.

Overheard

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.