Nathan Jr's Birthday

Tuesday is Nathan Jr's birthday.

Like his siblings', his birth was induced at 38 weeks. There was very little uncertainty about when he would be born. The obstetrician scheduled an appointment with the hospital, labor was induced with pitocin, and grandmothers' flights were booked well in advance.

I realized at the time that because we could schedule his birth, perhaps we should take advantage of the calendar and give Nathan Jr a cool birthdate: 08-08-08.

You may recall that I'm not a very happy pregnant lady. I'm sick for the first half and GINORMOUSLY HUGE for the second half. I spend the last month or so experiencing constant contractions which enable me to walk into the hospital already 4 to 5 centimeters dilated. (On the bright side, that makes delivery pretty fast. Nathan Jr was out on the second push.) Then there's that whole "sober" thing that doesn't mesh well with my lifestyle or personality.

Someday, when I'm far enough removed from the horror of pregnancy, I may wonder why we accepted the first available time slot on the 3rd. Why didn't we request the 8th? Well, Future Me, allow me to respond:

Reason 1: Bump's birthday is the 10th.

No one wants to share their birthday, and a full week between Bump's Special Day and Nathan Jr's Special Day seemed reasonable. That gives me a whole week to recover from planning Nathan Jr's birthday party and to prepare the Absolutely Nothing I typically shower on Bump.

(Yeah, I kind of suck. At least I make a cake, though, and seven days guarantees that Nathan Jr's cake will be completely gone and Bump will get his own damn cake.)

Reason 2, aka the Actual Reason, and Waaaaaay More Compelling Than That First Thing: There are FIVE days between the 3rd and the 8th.

If you had suggested to me - pregnant and contracting and extremely unhappy me - that I wait five (5! FIE-HUV.) whole days to get that baby out, just so he could have an amusing birthdate, I would have punched you in the throat.

If you had suggested it via telephone or email, I would have walk-waddled to your house and then punched you in the throat, muttering the whole way about what a fucking idiot you are.

So Happy Birthday Nathan Jr. I suppose I could have used this post to marvel that you're already two, to describe how awesome you are and what milestones you've reached, or to imagine the incredible man you will become.  But I didn't.

I'm glad you were born. On the 3rd.

I'll Need to See Your Referrrrrrrrraaaaaal . . . .

Nana came for a short visit last weekend, and we miss her already.

Among other things, she told us there are lots of film shoots around New Orleans right now. Some of her friends - the ones with lots of time and patience - have enjoyed serving as extras. She tried to get Doc (her husband) to answer a casting call for "big guys" to be zombies.

And then we laughed and laughed and laughed.

Doc is quite tall, like his son was, with the same lineman's build. He certainly fits the "big guy" description, but the hospital might not like scheduling around his budding acting career.

I should probably point out that Doc is a neurosurgeon.

"Yes, Thank You for Noticing" Might Have Been a Better Reply

My toenails and fingernails are currently the same color as Lula's.  On Sunday, a very sweet 20-something woman grinned at us and asked, "Did you get manicures?"

"Well," I said, "if by 'manicure' you mean sitting on the bathroom counter and painting under duress, then yes."

"Duress?" she asked warily.

"She was yelling and I tried to shut her up with nail polish," I explained while darting off to prevent one of my children from causing yet another disaster.

"Oh," the poor girl said softly.

I think she was imagining the lovely world of having a daughter, where charming mommy-and-me outings for mani/pedis precede baseball games. I probably shouldn't have burst her bubble.

Squick

I went to a Big Box Hardware Store this afternoon to buy paint. Bump is refinishing furniture for Lula's room, and we were negotiating color choices this morning. I was being difficult because the correct shade of pink was not among the 45 frillion color chips he brought home (That's too light! That's not red enough! I want it to match the super-cute rocking chair Nana sent!) so Bump threw up his hands and sent me to the damn store myself -- well, with the chair.

I eventually found the right hue and collected all my purchases while lugging around a child-size rocking chair. I got tons of comments about it (it is super-cute, after all) and realized that my quasi-standoff with Bump about which of us was trudging back to the damn store with the damn chair to find the perfect damn pink probably ended the right way. While he is physically better able to carry a piece of furniture like a handbag, socially it was probably less awkward for me to haul a wee pastel chair around in public.

All the attention from strangers about the chair meant I wasn't alarmed when someone approached me in the parking lot with a smile.

"Are you Vietnamese?" he asked.

"Nope," I chirped. I always find that question a little weird. Sometimes I go out of my way to avoid satisfying random obnoxious curiosity, but I was feeling generous. "Korean."

I put the chair in the passenger's seat. By the time I got behind the wheel the guy was next to the car, waving expectantly. I rolled down the window.

He was earnest and stranded. His car had broken down. He called his friend but it had been over an hour and his friend hadn't arrived.

I offered him my cell phone.

He declined. He worked at a National Gas/Service Station Chain (a work shirt bearing the company's name was draped over his shoulder) and really just needed a ride. Did I live around here?

They're Half Dutch, You Know

On my side. Yeah, it's confusing.

You can't accuse Lumpyhead of jumping on the bandwagon - it's the 2006 uniform.

Parental Relativity of Time

5:38AM - Baby cries

If you're the one getting out of bed, the baby woke up at five-thirty.
If your spouse got up, the baby woke up at quarter-to-six.

And that, my friends, is absolute.

Pissed Off One

Dear Volkswagen,
Your current ad campaign resurrecting the Slug Bug/Punch Buggy concept is very cute. The SuperBowl ad featuring Stevie Wonder made me laugh out loud. I spent many childhood hours sucker punching my brother or rubbing my arm in the back seat. So kudos to you for an effective blend of nostalgia, humor, and brand identification.

But for placing your ads on Nick Jr - and thereby teaching my children to beat the crap out of each other while howling "BLUE ONE!" - I hope you die in a fire.

Slowly.

Love,
Lumpyhead's Mom

P.S. You know what Nick Jr? Fuck you for this, too.

I'm Not a Big Fan

1. I'm pretty sure Delta Airlines is fucking with me.

After being really, really, stupendously shitty about my flight to Sioux Falls, the airline was fantastic about canceling my parents' flight. They rebanked the miles I used to purchase the tickets and even refunded the $10 fee. What the hell?

Also, five days after I got back to DC - still complaining bitterly about the stinking $150 I had to pay to redeem miles on short notice - I received this email:

See? They're totally fucking with me.

2. Bump's family is coming to visit in a few weeks, which means seven more people (aged toddler-ish to eighty-ish) will be in my house. This spurred a frenzy of furniture shopping and money hemorrhaging, and while I knew we would need these items eventually, OMG holy sudden cash outlays.

We got a bunk bed for Lumpyhead. All three tormentors are very excited about it, but for now no one is allowed on the top bunk. We haven't placed the top mattress yet to further discourage climbers.Why buy a bunk bed and not use half of it? Well, because the room has a ceiling fan.

I know, I'm an idiot, right? We need to do some creative arranging, because right now a child going for the top bunk is destined for a head thwacking, absent some masterful timing and lightning-fast reflexes. While we can situate the bed so that a climber is not automatically imperiled (which is the plan, obvs), the fan will always be within reach of the top bunk.

Is this a non-starter? Can a child be convinced to leave a ceiling fan alone? Will one good thunk-thunk-thunking make the point in spades? Do we have to take down the ceiling fan or unbunk the beds? I need an answer before my sister-in-law arrives with three more heads and thirty more fingers to jeopardize.

Camp Lumpyhead Update

Bump took the tormentors to a new playground yesterday. It was a beautiful day, and he took full advantage of one of the few not-too-hot days that we get in the DC metro region.

Then they had fast food for lunch. And everyone took a nap.

The kids were more excited about the chicken nuggets and french fries than they were about the awesome playground. Bump was really excited about the nap.

In my attempt to contribute to Camp Lumpyhead, this morning I gave Lula a craft project and Nathan Jr an activity to help develop spatial relations and fine motor skills. For I am awesome.

. . .

Okay, FINE. I didn't put milk on their fruit loops.

Then I gave Lula a string to make a necklace, and Nathan Jr an empty bowl into which he could transfer his cereal before eating it.

Nobody half-asses it like me. Don't even try.

Camp Lumpyhead

Preschool ended last week. Today was supposed to begin a glorious two-week period wherein visiting grandparents provided childcare while Bump and I frolicked, responsibility-free, for a fortnight.

Bump planned to complete all the projects he cannot undertake with three kids around, and scheduled a butt-load of doctor's appointments. Ha! Butt-load. (It's funny, because one of those appointments is a colonoscopy. HA!)

But my father's kidneys failed last month, and while he's feeling much better, his doctor was not amused by the idea of his just-released-from-the-hospital patient leaving town for two weeks.

So, today begins Camp Lumpyhead (with apologies to Stimey - who does actual, theme-based days with her kids and is awesome). If I were running Camp Lumpyhead, it would go like this:

• call Grampa and Gramma at regular intervals and have the children tearfully ask "When are you coming to see us?" (evil villian laugh)
• resolve to go to the playground. Take one step outside and determine it's waaaay too damn hot to go to the playground, and return to the fiftieth consecutive episode of the Backyardigans.
• decide to go to the pool. Gather pool items, change kids into swimsuits, slather sunscreen on floor while trying to splotch a few drops onto a pack of rabid alley cats, pack snacks, wait for child to use the potty, remember forgotten swim goggles,wait for other child to use the potty, start out the door, discover smallest child has gone and had hisself a little old rest stop, change smallest child's diaper, curse swimmy diapers, change smallest child's swimsuit, head for the car again, realize it's too close to naptime to go to the pool, and opt to spray children with the garden hose.

I can't wait to check with Bump to see how the real Camp Lumpyhead is going.