>Charlie and Becca and the No Good, Mixed Up Day

>I never should have washed Phent. Karma is pissed.

I left my house to get some work done at the coffee shop. And I was on my way to having a very productive day. The most productive in weeks, probably. I was in the middle of tracking down all the work I’ve done all spring and summer and sorting it so that I could begin summarizing it and maybe even writing some sentences (Nay! Paragraphs! Paragraphs I say!) when Charlie’s parents’-day-out called.

“Has Charlie had any yucky diapers recently?”

Yes, five blowouts in three days, five poops on Monday, two on Tuesday, and three yesterday, each bearing a striking resemblance to Grey Poupon Country Style Mustard.

“Ummmmm, yeah, maybe a couple… why?”

“We’ve had a bit of a stomach bug going around here and he just woke up with a very yucky diaper and he’s also been coughing…”

“Heh heh, well he’s been coughing since May and now he’s on something for allergies.”

“I see….” trails off, pregnant pause

Consider alternatives: Let him stay until pickup (another three hours) knowing that he’s pretty much over the bug he had and knowing how much more fun he has there with all of the giant plastic toys they have and become known as the Mother Who Lets Her Sick Baby Stay at Daycare. Settle into another cup of tea and possibly a scone and three uninterrupted hours of work on my dissertation.
Or…

“Why don’t I come pick him up now?”

“Thanks so much! See you in a few minutes.

We did lots of fun things. We went out for lunch, we played on the floor, he crawled all over the house, he climbed on the couch, we took cars out on the driveway and he crawled all over pulling up on our neighbor’s fence and my car. He was covered in grass and dirt and certainly looked like he had had a good time. But he just wasn’t himself all day. He was quiet and moody instead of loud and happy. At dinner he alternately ate ravenously and then screamed and pushed the spoon away. When I put him to bed he nursed for twenty five minutes and fell asleep. He woke up as soon as he hit the crib mattress. Ten rounds of “House at Pooh Corner” had absolutely no effect. That was forty five minutes ago. I met Ryan at the door like “I don’t know what’s wrong we did so many fun things but he just had a bad day and now he won’t go to sleep please help me I’m gonna cry.”

Ryan’s in the nursery now and they are both giggling.

Charlie and Becca and the No Good, Mixed Up Day

I never should have washed Phent. Karma is pissed.

I left my house to get some work done at the coffee shop. And I was on my way to having a very productive day. The most productive in weeks, probably. I was in the middle of tracking down all the work I’ve done all spring and summer and sorting it so that I could begin summarizing it and maybe even writing some sentences (Nay! Paragraphs! Paragraphs I say!) when Charlie’s parents’-day-out called.

“Has Charlie had any yucky diapers recently?”

Yes, five blowouts in three days, five poops on Monday, two on Tuesday, and three yesterday, each bearing a striking resemblance to Grey Poupon Country Style Mustard.

“Ummmmm, yeah, maybe a couple… why?”

“We’ve had a bit of a stomach bug going around here and he just woke up with a very yucky diaper and he’s also been coughing…”

“Heh heh, well he’s been coughing since May and now he’s on something for allergies.”

“I see….” trails off, pregnant pause

Consider alternatives: Let him stay until pickup (another three hours) knowing that he’s pretty much over the bug he had and knowing how much more fun he has there with all of the giant plastic toys they have and become known as the Mother Who Lets Her Sick Baby Stay at Daycare. Settle into another cup of tea and possibly a scone and three uninterrupted hours of work on my dissertation.
Or…

“Why don’t I come pick him up now?”

“Thanks so much! See you in a few minutes.

We did lots of fun things. We went out for lunch, we played on the floor, he crawled all over the house, he climbed on the couch, we took cars out on the driveway and he crawled all over pulling up on our neighbor’s fence and my car. He was covered in grass and dirt and certainly looked like he had had a good time. But he just wasn’t himself all day. He was quiet and moody instead of loud and happy. At dinner he alternately ate ravenously and then screamed and pushed the spoon away. When I put him to bed he nursed for twenty five minutes and fell asleep. He woke up as soon as he hit the crib mattress. Ten rounds of “House at Pooh Corner” had absolutely no effect. That was forty five minutes ago. I met Ryan at the door like “I don’t know what’s wrong we did so many fun things but he just had a bad day and now he won’t go to sleep please help me I’m gonna cry.”

Ryan’s in the nursery now and they are both giggling.

>Be afraid…

>As I write this Phent is in the washing machine. Charlie had a blowout in his crib last night and since Phent is never far from Charlie’s side, he got a little poop on him. When I mentioned it to Ryan (on the phone when I called and told him I would be buying a new TV today because the NBC premiers are on tomorrow and our TV doesn’t GET NBC at all now) he said “OHHH! Poor Phent!” Ryan should know better than to personify Charlie’s toys around me. I immediately felt like a jerk and pictured his black plastic eyes looking up at me as I sprinkled him with Tide and the closed the li… let’s not go there.

He better by dry by naptime is all I’m saying.

Be afraid…

As I write this Phent is in the washing machine. Charlie had a blowout in his crib last night and since Phent is never far from Charlie’s side, he got a little poop on him. When I mentioned it to Ryan (on the phone when I called and told him I would be buying a new TV today because the NBC premiers are on tomorrow and our TV doesn’t GET NBC at all now) he said “OHHH! Poor Phent!” Ryan should know better than to personify Charlie’s toys around me. I immediately felt like a jerk and pictured his black plastic eyes looking up at me as I sprinkled him with Tide and the closed the li… let’s not go there.

He better by dry by naptime is all I’m saying.

>So many post ideas, so unable to sit up for that long yesterday

>What would you like to hear about first? The dead mouse I found? Or my horror that pleats seem to be coming back into style?

I’ll get to those in a minute. But! Our house is on the market. We even have a yard sign. I had to tell my elderly neighbor that we are moving and she was very very sad. I knew that would happen so I waited until about five minutes before my realtor called to tell me to go ahead and put the sign up in the yard. The neighbor said “I thought I saw that woman carry that sign up to your porch but I thought if I ignored it it would go away.” See? Sad. I felt awful.

Yesterday we had a group of realtors come over to see the place and then a potential buyer. And I was SICK. I was up all night Monday night throwing up about every hour and was generally miserable and unable to sit up on Tuesday. The group of realtors insisted I sit on the couch and not worry about them but I thought I should be gone for the potential buyer so as soon as I saw the big fancy car parked out front I got in my car and drove around the block. I thought about going to the coffee shop but the thought of having to walk ALL THE WAY to the front door made me queasy so I parked across the street a few houses down and watched what was going on (and almost threw up into a Starbucks cup hastily emptied of its original contents onto the curb. Only then did I notice that the door of the house I was parked in front of was open. Awesome). Feeling much better today, thank goodness.

So the mouse! You may remember me mentioning a “dead thing smell” in our kitchen over the last month or so. It was a truly awful smell. Ryan-the-mouse-hunter checked all the glue traps we had in the cabinets but found nothing. Every time the realtor came over we had this candle that we burned to try and cover up the smell because “Great curb appeal! Two living areas! Smells like rotting flesh!” is not what I wanted on our listing. Anyway Sunday night I made pancakes for dinner and before I put the electric skillet back (when Ryan had already gone back to work) I stuck my head in the cabinet to see if I could find the smell.

DEAD MOUSE. ON A GLUE TRAP. RIGHT WHERE THE ELECTRIC SKILLET HAD BEEN AND ALSO ABOUT SIX INCHES FROM MY FACE. I ran all over the house looking for my phone, shrieking “EWW EWW EWW EWW!” Found my phone.

Me: “EEEEEEEECH BLARGH SHITSHITSHIT!!!!”

Ryan: “I’ll be home in five minutes.”

You would have thought he had bagged an elephant on a safari he was so proud. (He’s like the groundskeeper in Caddyshack when it comes to mice. One night last summer he came to bed at two in the morning and said “Little effer stood right in the middle of the kitchen counter and flipped me off.”) He seemed a little hurt that I couldn’t be happy for him.

Now for pleats! I went to Old Navy this weekend as part of a yearly tradition I call “I need a new pair of jeans even though actually shopping for them will make me hate myself, stop eating for a day or two, and then eat wild amounts of junk food for a week before settling into a more normal pattern.” They had tons of stuff on clearance, including some of the knee length denim shorts I’ve been looking for since everyone besides me started wearing them this spring. I found several nice pairs in my size. Only problem? They had PLEATS! A brief check of several other styles resulted in more pleats! What is going on? Didn’t we all agree that pleats are flattering on no woman, no matter what her size (and certainly not mine) like ten years ago? I looked around for the cast of 90210 because obviously I wasn’t in Old Navy, I was in 1994!! I do not understand.

Good news is they had great jeans for cheap cheap cheap and because they seem to have instituted a policy of vanity sizing I wear my old size again. Sweetheart Fit, you are my new bff.

So many post ideas, so unable to sit up for that long yesterday

What would you like to hear about first? The dead mouse I found? Or my horror that pleats seem to be coming back into style?

I’ll get to those in a minute. But! Our house is on the market. We even have a yard sign. I had to tell my elderly neighbor that we are moving and she was very very sad. I knew that would happen so I waited until about five minutes before my realtor called to tell me to go ahead and put the sign up in the yard. The neighbor said “I thought I saw that woman carry that sign up to your porch but I thought if I ignored it it would go away.” See? Sad. I felt awful.

Yesterday we had a group of realtors come over to see the place and then a potential buyer. And I was SICK. I was up all night Monday night throwing up about every hour and was generally miserable and unable to sit up on Tuesday. The group of realtors insisted I sit on the couch and not worry about them but I thought I should be gone for the potential buyer so as soon as I saw the big fancy car parked out front I got in my car and drove around the block. I thought about going to the coffee shop but the thought of having to walk ALL THE WAY to the front door made me queasy so I parked across the street a few houses down and watched what was going on (and almost threw up into a Starbucks cup hastily emptied of its original contents onto the curb. Only then did I notice that the door of the house I was parked in front of was open. Awesome). Feeling much better today, thank goodness.

So the mouse! You may remember me mentioning a “dead thing smell” in our kitchen over the last month or so. It was a truly awful smell. Ryan-the-mouse-hunter checked all the glue traps we had in the cabinets but found nothing. Every time the realtor came over we had this candle that we burned to try and cover up the smell because “Great curb appeal! Two living areas! Smells like rotting flesh!” is not what I wanted on our listing. Anyway Sunday night I made pancakes for dinner and before I put the electric skillet back (when Ryan had already gone back to work) I stuck my head in the cabinet to see if I could find the smell.

DEAD MOUSE. ON A GLUE TRAP. RIGHT WHERE THE ELECTRIC SKILLET HAD BEEN AND ALSO ABOUT SIX INCHES FROM MY FACE. I ran all over the house looking for my phone, shrieking “EWW EWW EWW EWW!” Found my phone.

Me: “EEEEEEEECH BLARGH SHITSHITSHIT!!!!”

Ryan: “I’ll be home in five minutes.”

You would have thought he had bagged an elephant on a safari he was so proud. (He’s like the groundskeeper in Caddyshack when it comes to mice. One night last summer he came to bed at two in the morning and said “Little effer stood right in the middle of the kitchen counter and flipped me off.”) He seemed a little hurt that I couldn’t be happy for him.

Now for pleats! I went to Old Navy this weekend as part of a yearly tradition I call “I need a new pair of jeans even though actually shopping for them will make me hate myself, stop eating for a day or two, and then eat wild amounts of junk food for a week before settling into a more normal pattern.” They had tons of stuff on clearance, including some of the knee length denim shorts I’ve been looking for since everyone besides me started wearing them this spring. I found several nice pairs in my size. Only problem? They had PLEATS! A brief check of several other styles resulted in more pleats! What is going on? Didn’t we all agree that pleats are flattering on no woman, no matter what her size (and certainly not mine) like ten years ago? I looked around for the cast of 90210 because obviously I wasn’t in Old Navy, I was in 1994!! I do not understand.

Good news is they had great jeans for cheap cheap cheap and because they seem to have instituted a policy of vanity sizing I wear my old size again. Sweetheart Fit, you are my new bff.

>Darn it, now I want a hot dog.

>Last summer Ryan and I sat on chairs in our backyard cooking hotdogs on the grill (then using the buns to pick them up and eat them without even getting up from our chairs) and talking about the new little life that would soon be in our home and how next summer we would have a tiny little molded plastic baby pool that he could play in. I envisioned having friends over and we would sit by the pool drinking Crystal Light with our feet in the cool water while Charlie played and looked adorable.

But because of the way this summer has gone we forgot about the baby pool until September and instead gave him a nice cake pan and a hose to play with.

*Note his gameday attire (minus one pair of red shorts that were taken off in the foolish hope that he would take a nap).

**These pictures were taken before victory was so callously ripped from the hands of my beloved University Football Team by the evil Football Team from Another University (and also before my beloved University Football Team forgot to come back after halftime, but that’s neither here nor there. But really.) I don’t want to talk about it.

Blissed out baby. If he had a favorite hobby, it would be “splashing”. Later he would fall asleep before his head even touched the crib mattress.

DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!

New botanical print diapers (with REAL leaves and grass!) now available at a retailer near you!

All things that are like spitting make Charlie laugh hysterically. The only one laughing while I showed Charlie how to blow bubbles in the water was Ryan. And also, grassy hose water tastes exactly the same as it did twenty years ago at the end of the Slip ‘n Slide. Delicious.

Darn it, now I want a hot dog.

Last summer Ryan and I sat on chairs in our backyard cooking hotdogs on the grill (then using the buns to pick them up and eat them without even getting up from our chairs) and talking about the new little life that would soon be in our home and how next summer we would have a tiny little molded plastic baby pool that he could play in. I envisioned having friends over and we would sit by the pool drinking Crystal Light with our feet in the cool water while Charlie played and looked adorable.

But because of the way this summer has gone we forgot about the baby pool until September and instead gave him a nice cake pan and a hose to play with.

*Note his gameday attire (minus one pair of red shorts that were taken off in the foolish hope that he would take a nap).

**These pictures were taken before victory was so callously ripped from the hands of my beloved University Football Team by the evil Football Team from Another University (and also before my beloved University Football Team forgot to come back after halftime, but that’s neither here nor there. But really.) I don’t want to talk about it.

Blissed out baby. If he had a favorite hobby, it would be “splashing”. Later he would fall asleep before his head even touched the crib mattress.

DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!

New botanical print diapers (with REAL leaves and grass!) now available at a retailer near you!

All things that are like spitting make Charlie laugh hysterically. The only one laughing while I showed Charlie how to blow bubbles in the water was Ryan. And also, grassy hose water tastes exactly the same as it did twenty years ago at the end of the Slip ‘n Slide. Delicious.

>He’s turning the toddler corner

>My friend Jenny and I took Charlie to the mall so we could stretch our legs and spend some time together in air conditioned, SPF 1000 comfort. At Gymboree there was a TV right at stroller level playing a Thomas the Train video. Jenny parked him so he could watch, which he did leaning forward in his stroller, not blinking (for his corneas’ sake it’s good we never got into Baby Einstein). He must have been wondering why the TV at our house is never on and when it is (when he wakes us up at 6:00 AM and I’m not feeling so much like continuing the self-sacrifice to the point where I don’t get to watch The Today Show) it is boooorrring talky talky talky because Mama! Talking TRAINS! TRAINS, that TALK! I took him out of the stroller so that he could stand up holding onto a tiny chair facing the TV while I held clothes up to his back. Another group of shoppers snickered when I said to Charlie “Isn’t this a special treat?” in the voice I use when I forget other people can hear me.

He was such a good boy while we dragged him through BabyGap and Children’s Place eyeing the sweet newborn clothes and cooing about how adorable Jenny’s baby (expected in April or May) will look in them (and while I wistfully looked at all the tiny purple dresses and white tights from where I stood in corduroy and denim land) that we took him to the mall’s indoor playground to blow off some steam. I put him on the floor and sat next to him. He took one look at the big kids and crawled into my lap, burying his face in my leg. I turned him around and held him and we watched them play for a few seconds and then he was off, as if shot from a cannon. I’ve seen Charlie happy before, but this kind of joy was new to me. He laughed and babbled and shrieked as he crawled across the mats. He beamed proudly while he crawled through the log-tunnel. He shrieked with excitement when I helped him go down the slide.

After about ten minutes of enthusiastically following him around clapping for him and moving him when he was about to get kicked in the head by someone on the swing I looked around and realized that the mama-protocol was to sit on the benches looking bored and vaguely hostile. They probably thought I was Charlie’s nanny. Whatever.

The next event of Charlie’s Big Boy Day was dinner. We went out to eat because much of our furniture is pushed into the kitchen for the carpet cleaners (who came today and sucked all of our filth through a long hose into a truck). On a whim I ordered Charlie’s dinner from the kids’ menu instead of bringing something familiar along. He ate a whole grilled cheese sandwich and half a bowl of mashed potatoes (and part of a straw wrapper and the edge of a cardboard coaster). With NO BIB. Woah.

I want to buy him some trucks.

He’s turning the toddler corner

My friend Jenny and I took Charlie to the mall so we could stretch our legs and spend some time together in air conditioned, SPF 1000 comfort. At Gymboree there was a TV right at stroller level playing a Thomas the Train video. Jenny parked him so he could watch, which he did leaning forward in his stroller, not blinking (for his corneas’ sake it’s good we never got into Baby Einstein). He must have been wondering why the TV at our house is never on and when it is (when he wakes us up at 6:00 AM and I’m not feeling so much like continuing the self-sacrifice to the point where I don’t get to watch The Today Show) it is boooorrring talky talky talky because Mama! Talking TRAINS! TRAINS, that TALK! I took him out of the stroller so that he could stand up holding onto a tiny chair facing the TV while I held clothes up to his back. Another group of shoppers snickered when I said to Charlie “Isn’t this a special treat?” in the voice I use when I forget other people can hear me.

He was such a good boy while we dragged him through BabyGap and Children’s Place eyeing the sweet newborn clothes and cooing about how adorable Jenny’s baby (expected in April or May) will look in them (and while I wistfully looked at all the tiny purple dresses and white tights from where I stood in corduroy and denim land) that we took him to the mall’s indoor playground to blow off some steam. I put him on the floor and sat next to him. He took one look at the big kids and crawled into my lap, burying his face in my leg. I turned him around and held him and we watched them play for a few seconds and then he was off, as if shot from a cannon. I’ve seen Charlie happy before, but this kind of joy was new to me. He laughed and babbled and shrieked as he crawled across the mats. He beamed proudly while he crawled through the log-tunnel. He shrieked with excitement when I helped him go down the slide.

After about ten minutes of enthusiastically following him around clapping for him and moving him when he was about to get kicked in the head by someone on the swing I looked around and realized that the mama-protocol was to sit on the benches looking bored and vaguely hostile. They probably thought I was Charlie’s nanny. Whatever.

The next event of Charlie’s Big Boy Day was dinner. We went out to eat because much of our furniture is pushed into the kitchen for the carpet cleaners (who came today and sucked all of our filth through a long hose into a truck). On a whim I ordered Charlie’s dinner from the kids’ menu instead of bringing something familiar along. He ate a whole grilled cheese sandwich and half a bowl of mashed potatoes (and part of a straw wrapper and the edge of a cardboard coaster). With NO BIB. Woah.

I want to buy him some trucks.