He doesn't move his butt, rather shakes his head back and forth to get it to rock. He's very proud of himself.
Except that. . .
Yeah. . .
AAAAHHH!
Nobody half-asses it like me.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
The Chair of Heart-Stopping Terror
Nana V gave Lumpyhead this great chair. She painted and decorated it for him, and he loves it.
He doesn't move his butt, rather shakes his head back and forth to get it to rock. He's very proud of himself.
Except that. . .
Yeah. . .
AAAAHHH!
He doesn't move his butt, rather shakes his head back and forth to get it to rock. He's very proud of himself.Except that. . .Yeah. . .AAAAHHH!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
A Friend From A Lifetime Away. And Two Blocks From Here
One of Fuh’s neighbors held the front door open for us as we left. Someone was smoking a cigarette on the stoop. Ten steps away was Bob, walking toward us.
“I know you,” I announced.
Bob looked up, as stunned as I was.
It was such a strange coincidence. We were in Brooklyn Heights for two hours, outdoors for less than five minutes. Had we not hurried away from Fuh’s to make a clean getaway after sticking Lumpyhead’s poopy diaper in Buttmunch’s pocket, we would have missed Bob by twenty steps.
The entire encounter was surreal. I stammered and repeated myself. I couldn’t remember Bob’s last name. It never occurred to me that Bob didn’t know Bump and I should have introduced them until Bob stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Bob.”
I neglected to give him my contact information and didn’t get his, except to learn he lived two blocks away. He was still a teacher, and on his way to meet his wife and child.
Bob looks exactly like he did ten years ago.
I used to equate New York with Bob. Brooklyn, in particular, Brooklyn Heights specifically. He was the first of our friends to move there, and John went to see him whenever he could. On Sunday as we drove to Fuh’s place, I never thought, “that’s where Bob lives.” I’d forgotten him.
I lost touch with all of John’s friends not long after he died. The last time I saw them together was New Years 1996. The time before that was John’s funeral, when six of them made the trip to Arkansas to say goodbye to him.
The New Years celebration was planned before John’s death, and he was looking forward to it. I felt I needed to attend, for him, even though I didn’t particularly want to.
I did not make the gathering merry. Had I not been there, John would have been missed, but I think his friends would have enjoyed each other’s company and had some fun, not focused on him the entire night. Without me around, they could pretend their friend was just absent, not dead. Instead, I was a constant reminder of what they had lost.
There was no escaping John’s death for me. For them there was, or at least there could be, but not with me sitting in their midst. While they always welcomed me warmly and supported me in any way they could, I hated being a vestige, a painful presence that made people cry. I liked them all very much, but they were John’s friends, not mine. I lost them when I lost him.
In a similar way, the friends we went to see in New York last weekend are Bump’s friends. While I never feel like an outsider and I adore them, I realize their primary connection is to Bump.
That parallel struck me as we walked away, and I glimpsed a life in a different present. I saw a trip to New York to see a different set of friends. I was two blocks away, leaving Bob’s house in the rain instead of Fuh’s. John had not died; I had a different son on my hip. A different child in my belly.
It was chilling.
I like my life and I’m happy with it. The path I took to get here had some hardships, but those events have made me who I am today. If I had the option, now, of avoiding certain horrible things, would I take it? What if it meant I became a different person? What if it meant losing what I have and love?
All this is silly, of course. I can’t make a choice and change the past, resurrect someone and fill the space of the last ten years.
But the idea that my current life could be very different if not for a single event (if the passing of a loved one can be considered a single event) makes me cherish what surrounds me today.
A chance meeting. An untimely death. Gratitude for what is mine.
“I know you,” I announced.
Bob looked up, as stunned as I was.
It was such a strange coincidence. We were in Brooklyn Heights for two hours, outdoors for less than five minutes. Had we not hurried away from Fuh’s to make a clean getaway after sticking Lumpyhead’s poopy diaper in Buttmunch’s pocket, we would have missed Bob by twenty steps.
The entire encounter was surreal. I stammered and repeated myself. I couldn’t remember Bob’s last name. It never occurred to me that Bob didn’t know Bump and I should have introduced them until Bob stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Bob.”
I neglected to give him my contact information and didn’t get his, except to learn he lived two blocks away. He was still a teacher, and on his way to meet his wife and child.
Bob looks exactly like he did ten years ago.
I used to equate New York with Bob. Brooklyn, in particular, Brooklyn Heights specifically. He was the first of our friends to move there, and John went to see him whenever he could. On Sunday as we drove to Fuh’s place, I never thought, “that’s where Bob lives.” I’d forgotten him.
I lost touch with all of John’s friends not long after he died. The last time I saw them together was New Years 1996. The time before that was John’s funeral, when six of them made the trip to Arkansas to say goodbye to him.
The New Years celebration was planned before John’s death, and he was looking forward to it. I felt I needed to attend, for him, even though I didn’t particularly want to.
I did not make the gathering merry. Had I not been there, John would have been missed, but I think his friends would have enjoyed each other’s company and had some fun, not focused on him the entire night. Without me around, they could pretend their friend was just absent, not dead. Instead, I was a constant reminder of what they had lost.
There was no escaping John’s death for me. For them there was, or at least there could be, but not with me sitting in their midst. While they always welcomed me warmly and supported me in any way they could, I hated being a vestige, a painful presence that made people cry. I liked them all very much, but they were John’s friends, not mine. I lost them when I lost him.
In a similar way, the friends we went to see in New York last weekend are Bump’s friends. While I never feel like an outsider and I adore them, I realize their primary connection is to Bump.
That parallel struck me as we walked away, and I glimpsed a life in a different present. I saw a trip to New York to see a different set of friends. I was two blocks away, leaving Bob’s house in the rain instead of Fuh’s. John had not died; I had a different son on my hip. A different child in my belly.
It was chilling.
I like my life and I’m happy with it. The path I took to get here had some hardships, but those events have made me who I am today. If I had the option, now, of avoiding certain horrible things, would I take it? What if it meant I became a different person? What if it meant losing what I have and love?
All this is silly, of course. I can’t make a choice and change the past, resurrect someone and fill the space of the last ten years.
But the idea that my current life could be very different if not for a single event (if the passing of a loved one can be considered a single event) makes me cherish what surrounds me today.
A chance meeting. An untimely death. Gratitude for what is mine.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Somersaults
The New York weekend was fun.
Scrubly recently moved to a new house with his wife and two kids: Supermodel, who is almost five, and Tumbler, who's almost two. The place is great. It’s beautiful, in a great location, and huge. They have a rental apartment upstairs, which needed some work before they could lease it. We cleverly timed our visit to the precise moment after the work had been completed but before they found tenants, so we stayed in the empty apartment. Luxurious digs, for certain.
Lumpyhead even slept well the second night. I attribute it to having his own dark, quiet room to sleep in, where he didn't have to deal with his stupid parents traipsing in and out and waking him.
Buttmunch and BoingBoingFuh joined us on Saturday morning, with Buttmunch’s wife and two kids (a year older and a year younger than Lumpyhead) meeting up with us later.
Saturday afternoon we went to the park where we saw a birthday party with lots of children and pony rides (Supermodel: “Horsies!”) and balloons (Lumpyhead: “Ball! BALL BALL MY BALL!”) and a large Spongebob toy (Buttmunch: “That’s one ugly kid over there. He’s very square.”) that turned out to be a pinata (Bump: “Cool! You get to whack Spongebob with a stick, and then he spews forth candy from his open wounds.”).
We kept having to re-direct our kids from the mind-blowing fun. “Those balloons aren’t for you.” “No, I’m sorry, we can’t go ride that pony.” “I keep telling you, there are some things in life you’ll never have, but other people do, because they have more money than us. Which makes them better people.”
The children burned off energy and the adults who weren’t chasing kids threw a football and frisbee around. It was a good afternoon, even though it rained a little and the grownups are so old and out of shape that a) they looked a little ridiculous demonstrating their athleticism and b) there were sore shoulders and legs Saturday night.
We went back to Scrubly’s for pizza and bedtime and poker, which was interrupted by an emergency room visit. Lumpyhead was on the second stair when he slipped and bumped his head. He was fine but I felt awful, and after Bump took Lumpyhead up to bed (where he slept like a drunk college freshman for twelve hours), Tumbler showed us how someone who is serious about falling down stairs gets it done.
He hurled himself, face forward, from about 3/4s of the way up. Thank goodness the basement door was closed, or he would have gone down another flight. It was a horrible thing to see: the outline of this little guy through the banister slats, doing no-handed cartwheels down a staircase accompanied by loud thumping noises. He cried instantly, never passed out, and didn’t throw up. He had scratches and bruises on his face, which started to swell, so Scrubly and his wife took Tumbler to the ER while Buttmunch and I stayed with Supermodel.
Scrubly called from the ER to report that the boy was obviously fine. He was climbing on the waiting room furniture, jumping around and laughing. They were waiting to see the doctor anyway, to rule out any facial fractures and relieve their fears. The next morning, Tumbler’s face looked much better than I could have hoped, and he was perfectly cheerful, despite battling a long-running cold.
On Sunday we went to Fuh’s new place for brunch, where we also saw Ridgey and his wife, who is pregnant with their first child. Over eggs and bagels and juice and coffee, the assembled group talked about pregnancy and birth plans and child care situations. We discussed whether Bump would be able to hang on to second place in the roto league, while doing our best to keep toddlers from screaming and/or destroying Fuh’s modern, tasteful decor. I just realized right now that there was no alcohol served. A few years ago this fact would have been grounds for every person in attendance to storm out in a huff, or at least to make his or her exit as quickly as possible, before it was polite to leave. Yesterday no one seemed to notice.
As we left Fuh’s for the drive back home (after leaving Lumpyhead’s dirty diaper in Buttmunch’s coat pocket - pranks! Ha!), I ran into one of John’s closest friends on the sidewalk. It threw me for a loop -- the coincidence of it all, the shock of seeing him again -- and I’ve been a little wigged out ever since.
So we’re back, all fighting off colds from new germs and not quite enough sleep. We saw the top of one of Lumpyhead’s molars (finally. Good god almighty, will you come in already and make the drooling and runny nose and general whining and misery stop? Because damn) and I left a very cranky baby and pretty cranky Bump this morning. I’m still reeling from the chance street encounter and my head has been in a pretty dark place for the last 24 hours. I’ve piled on with the realization that I attended a dry brunch yesterday and just figured it out now. I’m glad we’re not very busy today, because I don't quite feel like myself.
Scrubly recently moved to a new house with his wife and two kids: Supermodel, who is almost five, and Tumbler, who's almost two. The place is great. It’s beautiful, in a great location, and huge. They have a rental apartment upstairs, which needed some work before they could lease it. We cleverly timed our visit to the precise moment after the work had been completed but before they found tenants, so we stayed in the empty apartment. Luxurious digs, for certain.
Lumpyhead even slept well the second night. I attribute it to having his own dark, quiet room to sleep in, where he didn't have to deal with his stupid parents traipsing in and out and waking him.
Buttmunch and BoingBoingFuh joined us on Saturday morning, with Buttmunch’s wife and two kids (a year older and a year younger than Lumpyhead) meeting up with us later.
Saturday afternoon we went to the park where we saw a birthday party with lots of children and pony rides (Supermodel: “Horsies!”) and balloons (Lumpyhead: “Ball! BALL BALL MY BALL!”) and a large Spongebob toy (Buttmunch: “That’s one ugly kid over there. He’s very square.”) that turned out to be a pinata (Bump: “Cool! You get to whack Spongebob with a stick, and then he spews forth candy from his open wounds.”).
We kept having to re-direct our kids from the mind-blowing fun. “Those balloons aren’t for you.” “No, I’m sorry, we can’t go ride that pony.” “I keep telling you, there are some things in life you’ll never have, but other people do, because they have more money than us. Which makes them better people.”
The children burned off energy and the adults who weren’t chasing kids threw a football and frisbee around. It was a good afternoon, even though it rained a little and the grownups are so old and out of shape that a) they looked a little ridiculous demonstrating their athleticism and b) there were sore shoulders and legs Saturday night.
We went back to Scrubly’s for pizza and bedtime and poker, which was interrupted by an emergency room visit. Lumpyhead was on the second stair when he slipped and bumped his head. He was fine but I felt awful, and after Bump took Lumpyhead up to bed (where he slept like a drunk college freshman for twelve hours), Tumbler showed us how someone who is serious about falling down stairs gets it done.
He hurled himself, face forward, from about 3/4s of the way up. Thank goodness the basement door was closed, or he would have gone down another flight. It was a horrible thing to see: the outline of this little guy through the banister slats, doing no-handed cartwheels down a staircase accompanied by loud thumping noises. He cried instantly, never passed out, and didn’t throw up. He had scratches and bruises on his face, which started to swell, so Scrubly and his wife took Tumbler to the ER while Buttmunch and I stayed with Supermodel.
Scrubly called from the ER to report that the boy was obviously fine. He was climbing on the waiting room furniture, jumping around and laughing. They were waiting to see the doctor anyway, to rule out any facial fractures and relieve their fears. The next morning, Tumbler’s face looked much better than I could have hoped, and he was perfectly cheerful, despite battling a long-running cold.
On Sunday we went to Fuh’s new place for brunch, where we also saw Ridgey and his wife, who is pregnant with their first child. Over eggs and bagels and juice and coffee, the assembled group talked about pregnancy and birth plans and child care situations. We discussed whether Bump would be able to hang on to second place in the roto league, while doing our best to keep toddlers from screaming and/or destroying Fuh’s modern, tasteful decor. I just realized right now that there was no alcohol served. A few years ago this fact would have been grounds for every person in attendance to storm out in a huff, or at least to make his or her exit as quickly as possible, before it was polite to leave. Yesterday no one seemed to notice.
As we left Fuh’s for the drive back home (after leaving Lumpyhead’s dirty diaper in Buttmunch’s coat pocket - pranks! Ha!), I ran into one of John’s closest friends on the sidewalk. It threw me for a loop -- the coincidence of it all, the shock of seeing him again -- and I’ve been a little wigged out ever since.
So we’re back, all fighting off colds from new germs and not quite enough sleep. We saw the top of one of Lumpyhead’s molars (finally. Good god almighty, will you come in already and make the drooling and runny nose and general whining and misery stop? Because damn) and I left a very cranky baby and pretty cranky Bump this morning. I’m still reeling from the chance street encounter and my head has been in a pretty dark place for the last 24 hours. I’ve piled on with the realization that I attended a dry brunch yesterday and just figured it out now. I’m glad we’re not very busy today, because I don't quite feel like myself.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Here’s Brooklyn at You, Kid
Tonight we depart for a weekend of fun in New York.
We will visit trendy restaurants and neighborhood pubs. We’ll drink pint after pint of beer into the wee hours of the morning.
[Pop! goes the dream balloon.]
Ahem.
Right. That’s what New York visits used to be like. We’ll be staying with dear friends and seeing the rest of the crew on Saturday - fellow breeders all. Instead of barhopping, playing drinking games, holding long conversations and making stupid wagers, we’ll be chasing toddlers, gauging developmental milestones, comparing children’s television shows and changing diapers.
Some things will remain the same, but the context will be different. Brunch will be scheduled, but this weekend it will occur between the times breakfast and lunch are usually served, rather than at 2pm when everyone’s hangover has cleared. We’ll play some poker, but with baby monitors beside our stack of chips. The question “Who made that smell?” will still be asked, but this time the offender can credibly blame the offspring.
It should be a good time.
We will visit trendy restaurants and neighborhood pubs. We’ll drink pint after pint of beer into the wee hours of the morning.
[Pop! goes the dream balloon.]
Ahem.
Right. That’s what New York visits used to be like. We’ll be staying with dear friends and seeing the rest of the crew on Saturday - fellow breeders all. Instead of barhopping, playing drinking games, holding long conversations and making stupid wagers, we’ll be chasing toddlers, gauging developmental milestones, comparing children’s television shows and changing diapers.
Some things will remain the same, but the context will be different. Brunch will be scheduled, but this weekend it will occur between the times breakfast and lunch are usually served, rather than at 2pm when everyone’s hangover has cleared. We’ll play some poker, but with baby monitors beside our stack of chips. The question “Who made that smell?” will still be asked, but this time the offender can credibly blame the offspring.
It should be a good time.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I'm So Insulted
Oh Tivo, how could you?
I'm willing to overlook that you recorded Survivor. I mean, we watch Amazing Race and Project Runway, and millions of other people like Survivor, it was a reasonable assumption. It was wrong - very, very wrong - but I'm willing to forgive that.
When Bump reported that you recorded a movie on Lifetime starring David Hasselhoff and Kathy Ireland, I nearly threw you out of my house.
Promise me it will never happen again.
I'm willing to overlook that you recorded Survivor. I mean, we watch Amazing Race and Project Runway, and millions of other people like Survivor, it was a reasonable assumption. It was wrong - very, very wrong - but I'm willing to forgive that.
When Bump reported that you recorded a movie on Lifetime starring David Hasselhoff and Kathy Ireland, I nearly threw you out of my house.
Promise me it will never happen again.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
You Might Not Care What I Had for Lunch, But I’m Sure My Husband’s Colon Fascinates You
Bump’s big precancerous polyp is gone.
Bad news? The doctor found two more polyps, and Bump will probably have to do this again in a couple months. Good news? The chances of him dying from colon cancer by the time he’s fifty are pretty low.
As I said in a previous post, I’m not ready to do the parenting thing alone and I’ve got big plans for our life once we get these damn kids out of our hair. Plus, I’m pretty fond of the guy, so I guess this means you can put my vote in the “definite yes” column for the Are Early Colonoscopies Important question.
Which makes me want to get all preachy on you. Have all your loved ones over fifty had their routine screens? Ask them. If they haven’t done it, don’t stop whining until they schedule.
Plus, you'll get to giggle at them when they're enduring the prep.
Lumpyhead the Helpful
“I’m coming, Dad!”
Bad news? The doctor found two more polyps, and Bump will probably have to do this again in a couple months. Good news? The chances of him dying from colon cancer by the time he’s fifty are pretty low.
As I said in a previous post, I’m not ready to do the parenting thing alone and I’ve got big plans for our life once we get these damn kids out of our hair. Plus, I’m pretty fond of the guy, so I guess this means you can put my vote in the “definite yes” column for the Are Early Colonoscopies Important question.
Which makes me want to get all preachy on you. Have all your loved ones over fifty had their routine screens? Ask them. If they haven’t done it, don’t stop whining until they schedule.
Plus, you'll get to giggle at them when they're enduring the prep.
Lumpyhead the Helpful
“I’m coming, Dad!”Monday, September 25, 2006
Shits and Giggles, Round II
I meant to update you on Bump’s colonoscopy results before. I encouraged him to write about it, but my efforts to get him to post more often are still resoundingly unsuccessful. Then I planned a post entitled “Colon Pow!(what the h)ell,” in which I would slyly combine comic book exclamations with our esteemed former Secretary of State. The post would include the pictures Bump received of his colon with lots of “Smack!” “Zwack!” and “Zoinks!”. I was planning to give a nod to the Joint Chiefs and the State Department by using military and diplomatic terms, probably incorrectly.
Except I never got around to it. (Because deploying such terminology is difficult when you don't know what the hell you're talking about.)
So here we are. The defense of Bump’s bottom system required aggressive force in the form of unilateral laser sanctions against two polyps. The doctor opted for negotiations with a remaining polyp, but the channels of communication with the larger polyp have shut down. Attempts at peacemaking and conflict prevention have been unsuccessful. Biopsy results confirmed a harsher course of action - reinsertion and removal - is necessary.
Um, yeah. What I mean is: Bump is having another colonoscopy tomorrow to remove a remaining precancerous polyp. He has to go through the whole pre-colonoscopy procedure again, which is funny for everyone but him. He’s on clear liquids today (aka the saddest group of allowable foods ever) and forgot he shouldn’t have eaten corn this weekend (corn: BWA ha ha ha ha. [wipes tear] Corn.)
The whole thing makes us really, really happy he had the test done in the first place.
Except I never got around to it. (Because deploying such terminology is difficult when you don't know what the hell you're talking about.)
So here we are. The defense of Bump’s bottom system required aggressive force in the form of unilateral laser sanctions against two polyps. The doctor opted for negotiations with a remaining polyp, but the channels of communication with the larger polyp have shut down. Attempts at peacemaking and conflict prevention have been unsuccessful. Biopsy results confirmed a harsher course of action - reinsertion and removal - is necessary.
Um, yeah. What I mean is: Bump is having another colonoscopy tomorrow to remove a remaining precancerous polyp. He has to go through the whole pre-colonoscopy procedure again, which is funny for everyone but him. He’s on clear liquids today (aka the saddest group of allowable foods ever) and forgot he shouldn’t have eaten corn this weekend (corn: BWA ha ha ha ha. [wipes tear] Corn.)
The whole thing makes us really, really happy he had the test done in the first place.
Friday, September 22, 2006
A New Leaf
My life is about to change in a profound way. I understand that, and I think I'm ready for it.
Dear New One,
I'm excited you are part of my life. I'm not a complete novice, but please be patient with me as I adapt to your presence. Others have told me what it will be like to have you around, but I know my experience with you will be unique and special. They say I will think of you all the time, and will be grateful every day that you've arrived.
I don't understand you yet, and frankly, I'm a little frightened. I will enjoy this period of discovery, as we get to know each other. I look forward to the time when you and I are intimately familiar with one another, when I am unable to live without you or imagine life before you.
Love,
Lumpyhead's (and Akutaq's) Mom
Yep, we got Tivo last night.
Dear New One,
I'm excited you are part of my life. I'm not a complete novice, but please be patient with me as I adapt to your presence. Others have told me what it will be like to have you around, but I know my experience with you will be unique and special. They say I will think of you all the time, and will be grateful every day that you've arrived.
I don't understand you yet, and frankly, I'm a little frightened. I will enjoy this period of discovery, as we get to know each other. I look forward to the time when you and I are intimately familiar with one another, when I am unable to live without you or imagine life before you.
Love,
Lumpyhead's (and Akutaq's) Mom
Yep, we got Tivo last night.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Thai Coup Haiku
A few tanks and no
violence make for a peaceful
bloodless takeover.
Why dick around with
an electoral college?
Sieze power instead.
You got one? Bonus points if you can rhyme Shinawatra or Phuket.
violence make for a peaceful
bloodless takeover.
Why dick around with
an electoral college?
Sieze power instead.
You got one? Bonus points if you can rhyme Shinawatra or Phuket.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Show Me . . . You're Nuts
Not "your" nuts, stop being gross.
What's up with the Baby Weirdness in Missouri?
Wasn't there another nutty baby story out of Missouri a couple of years ago? A baby taken from her mother's womb by an internet friend claiming to be a interested in a puppy or something?
I try to block out Crazy Baby "News" Stories, but I admit some particles filter through my all-C-SPAN,-all-the-time brain. God, how sad is it that I just typed that? For the record, I sometimes mix things up by watching C-SPAN2 ("The Deuce") and C-SPAN3 ("C-SPAN Deportes").
I sometimes get random, semi-frantic calls from my mother, in which she yelps "Did you hear about . . ." or "You're not eating spinach, are you?" For certain topics, I enjoy being able to honestly reply, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mom." I'm sure I'll get a call soon warning me not to announce Akutaq's birth in any way to the general public, lest some poor crazy woman try to steal her.
Since I don't live in Missouri, I'm probably safe.
What's up with the Baby Weirdness in Missouri?
Wasn't there another nutty baby story out of Missouri a couple of years ago? A baby taken from her mother's womb by an internet friend claiming to be a interested in a puppy or something?
I try to block out Crazy Baby "News" Stories, but I admit some particles filter through my all-C-SPAN,-all-the-time brain. God, how sad is it that I just typed that? For the record, I sometimes mix things up by watching C-SPAN2 ("The Deuce") and C-SPAN3 ("C-SPAN Deportes").
I sometimes get random, semi-frantic calls from my mother, in which she yelps "Did you hear about . . ." or "You're not eating spinach, are you?" For certain topics, I enjoy being able to honestly reply, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mom." I'm sure I'll get a call soon warning me not to announce Akutaq's birth in any way to the general public, lest some poor crazy woman try to steal her.
Since I don't live in Missouri, I'm probably safe.
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