*****

LET ME JUST GET THIS OUT OF THE WAY.

Penny was a duck/chicken (chucken?) for Halloween.

Do you love it? I love it. I love it so much that when we have her 6 month portraits taken this weekend, instead of being suckered into the “Holiday” backdrop they are pushing on me so hard, Penny is being a duck-chicken. A dicken. A 6 month old dicken.

*****

I haven’t done Penny’s 6 month post yet, but here’s a brief synopsis: she yells, she’s pleasantly fat, she can roll back to belly and shriek mightily once she arrives there.

She has a test at Phoenix Children’s Hospital tomorrow, one we fully expect to come up negative, but we like making her miserable, so we’re doing it anyway. You should just have us arrested. We’re terrible parents.

Don’t worry about Penny, though. She’s never had good parents, so she doesn’t know any better.

*****

You know, I haven’t been around here too much lately, and you know what it is? I’m enjoying spending time with my kid, which tells me that I’m finally starting to arrive in the time I’ve been looking forward to.

Noemi talked about this the other day, and I feel the same way – ending breastfeeding has really improved my relationship with Penny. Ending it was the right choice for us for a lot of reasons, and while I definitely don’t speak for everyone, it has really turned out to be extremely beneficial in a lot of different ways. The main one being, of course, that I actually ENJOY PENNY a hell of a lot more than I did previously.

With no struggling to feed her, no watching the clock for the pumping schedule, no washing pump parts, no waking up in the night to deal with any feeding-related activities — well, you know, it’s just better. Phil splits the feedings with me. I can leave the house without Penny and not worry about rushing back. I can leave the house WITH Penny and not wrestle with feeding her in public – like Noemi, nursing was never graceful or easy, positioning-the-baby-wise for me.

So, while I do believe that breast milk is certainly the best choice for a baby if it is available, not breastfeeding has been just about the best thing to happen to me since this damn wiener child was born.

*****

A few days ago, Phil accidentally left the lid of the washer up with our bedsheets sitting inside soaking in fabric softener. He asked me if soaking too long in the fabric softener would ruin the sheets, but I wasn’t sure – mainly because in my entire life I’ve caught the rinse cycle in time to add fabric softener about four times, so I don’t have too much experience in the field of softening.

He put the sheets on the bed and made up the bed for the one time it gets made each week and I didn’t noticed anything until the next day, when the blankets were pleasantly running amok and askew, as is my preferred state of the bed. On my side, right about there my butt usually is, the fitted sheet had a different texture than the rest of the surface. On closer inspection, it was full of tears, kind of like a run in pantyhose.

“So, it looks like the fabric softener did ruin the sheets. It really seems to have damaged the more worn spots – I’m pretty sure we’ll have to throw these out.”

“Oh, that’s where your butt goes. Your butt must have put extra wear on the sheets.”

“No way! My butt didn’t — wait, can that happen?”

(You’ll understand that here, of course, I had a moment of insecurity – see: double pear, Two Butt – and, okay, I had a bit of a gassy pregnancy, but not any more gassy than – okay, maybe SLIGHTLY more gassy than the average person, but could that really RUIN the SHEETS?)

“Yep. Your butt put a weak spot in the sheets.”

“WAIT a second. If you flip the sheet around, this spot is where your disgusting, scaly MONSTER FEET would be.”

“Oh. Huh. You’re right.”

“Ha!”

“But your butt finished them off.”

*****

I’m planning something and it’s kept me pretty busy lately, and I expect it to keep me busy for a while longer yet. I’m pretty excited about it, but as with everything I do and cook, there is still the possibility that it will all blow up in my face or otherwise go terribly wrong, so I’m not quite ready to share all the details here yet. If it appears that all is going to go well with my small test group, I will, of course, let the rest of you know about it. Once danger of explosion has passed.

I hope it works out, though. It’s one of those things that I talked about the last time I got around to writing something here. One of those things that you think is something that only other people do, but it suddenly dawns on you that you could do it to, if you wanted to. So, aside from the silly stuff like getting married and having a baby, this is inarguably one of the “biggest” things I have ever done. And if it goes wrong, it will be the biggest thing I’ve ever fucked up. And if it goes right, I AM A HERO.

Well, not a hero. More likely briefly, but SIGNIFICANTLY AND SINCERELY celebrated. Which is probably as close to hero as I will ever get, unless someone who weighs very little needs to be awkwardly rescued from an extremely and freakishly slow burning building and there’s really just no one else at all around who can handle it.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I just! Need! A minute! Alone! I just want her to be put down!”

“I’ll put her down. Hey, Penny! You’re small! And you smell bad!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My foot fell asleep on the toilet!”

“Well, that’s why you shouldn’t sit there that long.”

“Look who’s talking!”

“I’ve practiced.”

“You’re pretty funny.”

“I know! Sometimes, someone says something that I said and they say that I said it, but I don’t remember that I said it, so I’m all, ‘Damn, I’m funny!’”

“Yes, you’re funny.”

“Anyway, so I was reading Sarah’s — you know, LG’s mom? LG? Her mom? The one who sent the matching outfits for LG and Penny and Olivia? Olivia is Noemi’s — hey, are you listening? — Olivia is Noemi’s baby. We sent them Penny’s clothes? LG sent some, too. Well, Sarah sent some of LG’s clothes. Hey. HEY. HEY ARE YOU LISTENING?”

“Yes. YES. Sarah. Olivia. LG.”

“No, Olivia is — okay, whatever. So I was reading Sarah’s blog, and in the comments, you know PinkieBling? She sent the burger diaper? You know her?”

“Oh my god.”

“So, I was reading Sarah’s blog and in the COMMENTS, PinkieBling said something like — wait, I can go look it up — okay, never mind, I’ll just say it. She said something like, ‘I like Temerity Jane’s approach – if you’re not laughing, you must not have heard me correctly.’ And I read that, and I was like, ‘I said that? That’s funny!’ Hey. HEY. HEEEEY. ARE YOU LISTENING?”

“YES.”

“She said that I said that if you’re not laughing, you must not have heard me correctly!”

“Yep.”

“That’s funny! I said that one time, I guess. And then PinkieBling repeated it, so I was like, man, I forget some of the funny stuff I said!”

“Mmm.”

“It’s funny. Because if you’re not laughing, you must not have heard me correctly.”

“Mmm.”

“HEY. HEY. DO YOU GET IT?”

“I get it.”

“You’re not laughing. Let me explain it again. So on SARAH’S — wait, come back!”

I’m very tired and very resentful in ways that can’t be described due to the ability of the general Internet (not you, the rest of them)  to laser in on such posts to leave comments about what terrible, ungrateful parents anyone who posts such things must be, so let’s just leave it at that. Tired, resentful, willfully deaf to any crying that doesn’t sound urgent enough, at least for just fifteen goddamn minutes PLEASE.

*****

You know what else I found myself kind of resentful about this weekend? Breastfeeding advocates, specifically on the Internet.

We’ve talked about this before, I am all for breastfeeding. I’ve even made myself aware of a lot of the ridiciulously named “booby traps,” things people and doctors and society and whoever say and do to prevent, hinder, or otherwise discourage breastfeeding.

However, a lot of the “breastfeeding at all costs” type of information being given out has really obscured a lot of necessary information I was trying to find this weekend, and I am pretty cheesed off about it.

Now, I am about to give examples, and they are examples of the situation, not questions I want you to answer in the comments, okay? Please do NOT talk about my boops in the comments. I like you, but we’re not that close. Seriously, please don’t, because I will probably not be able to stop myself from responding, and it will likely be really bitchy, and you’ll be all, “I was just trying to HELP, I am never coming here AGAIN” and I honestly WILL NOT CARE because I am holed up in the bedroom right now while Phil is home for lunch and in a few minutes I have to go back out there to that baby and the drool mark on my shirt won’t even be all the way dry before she redampens it and I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT TODAY.

There’s some pretty common questions, I think, that new mothers tend to ask – how do I know if the baby is eating enough? How do I know if I’m making enough milk? I think they’re pretty common, at least.

Which is why it’s so weird that it’s almost impossible to find real answers. I understand that a lot of women think they can’t make enough milk, or are told they don’t make enough milk, and that it’s not true nearly as often as it is said. And I understand that a lot of new mothers are worried when their baby shortens nursing sessions, and that’s just a thing that babies do. Yes, those things are true.

But when you are looking for the answers to these questions, it would be nice if they were actually THERE, in addition to the standard “DON’T LISTEN TO WHOEVER IS TELLING YOU THAT!” reassurance. Without fail, even on LLL sites, all I come across are answers like, “It’s normal for a baby to eat for only a couple of minutes” or “As long as the baby is nursing often, you’ll make enough milk,” or the very common, “If there are an adequate number of wet and dirty diapers and the baby isn’t losing weight, you’re fine!” And nothing beyond that.

Except sometimes? The baby IS losing weight. And sometimes, someone is asking how to tell if their milk is drying up because IT JUST MIGHT BE, not because some horrible outside force is trying to convince her to supplement with the evil formula. And sometimes a lady is familiar enough with her own goddamn baby to KNOW it absolutely IS a problem that she’s only nursing for a couple of minutes per side and NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Yet all this information is hard to find on the Internet, buried beneath tons of “IT’S FINE! DON’T LISTEN TO ANYONE WHO SAYS IT ISN’T!,” if it’s even there at all.

I’ve written before about breastfeeding “experts” (and I use quotes to indicate not that I don’t think such a thing exists, but that among the true experts, there are many people who are in-quotes experts) and a couple of situations in which I felt their failed to properly push for and advocate for breastfeeding by providing ALL the relevant information, correctly. And now I find myself almost on the opposite side, looking for these people who are supposed to have ALL the information, not just the information relevant to their almost political-ish opinion on the necessity of breastfeeding, crowding out the whole of my search results with “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine!” with no instruction or help on how to figure out if it’s actually NOT.

And we ARE working with a doctor and I KNOW I can go see a lactation consultant in person and a whole host of other solutions, I’m just expressing my annoyance that the information I need is seemingly not available on the Internet – instead, there’s a whole lot of “don’t trust your friend who said this, don’t trust your doctor who said that, don’t trust your instincts that say whatever,” if “this,” “that,” or “whatever” are at all indicative that maybe breastfeeding should stop or maybe formula supplementation should start.

Again, I’m not really looking for help on my issue, I’m just annoyed all over again at what a goddamn mess just trying to do the right thing by your baby ends up being a lot of the time.

*****

Phil doesn’t really talk about his past or growing up a lot. He doesn’t really have a great memory in general, and isn’t really the type to recount his whole life to someone. I know him now, and I know the vague outlines of his past, and in day to day living, it’s easy to kind of forget, in a subconscious way, that I don’t really know everything there is to know about him, or at least, his life and what’s gone on in it, until he reminds me in a hilarious manner.

Phil’s the type of person who doesn’t really always remember that not everyone is aware of what’s going on inside of his head or privy to all of his thoughts at all times. He’s the type that just picks up in the middle of a conversation and is kind of annoyed by your blank look, until you point out to him that the first 15 minutes of the conversation took place entirely in his head and it would be nice to be brought up to speed before being expected to give a response.

This whole “not everyone just knows everything” is especially funny when he throws out some random memory or experience from his childhood or past like it isn’t even a THING, and is surprised when you’re all, “Wait, WHAT? Did you just say, ‘Well, that time I got hit by a motorcycle…?’ Seriously? You’re just going to drop that out there and act like it’s not even RIDICULOUS to just SAY?”

In a way, it’s almost more fun to NOT ask Phil about his past and then just sit around and wait for the rare moments he decides he’s going to talk. Like yesterday, when Aerosmith came on my Pandora station.

“When I bought my first CD player, I bought this CD.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. And then the first chick I ever did it with stole my CD player. It was a boom box.”

“Were you mad?”

“Well, kind of, but that’s not even the weirdest thing that happened with that girl.”

“Oh?”

“Nope. The weirdest thing was that I had sex with her twin.”

“You did WHAT?”

“And she was watching from the closet.”

“That HAPPENED?”

“She said it did. And then suddenly she was a triplet.”

“I don’t even –”

“This is the one I met when I worked at Baskin-Robbins, because I called a radio station to request a song while we were closing up and then she called the store because she heard me on the radio.”

“I DON’T EVEN –”

“She also faked a pregnancy and that was a whole other thing. Hey, do you want lunch?”

*****

I would normally put a picture of Penny about right here, but I don’t actually have any. Just take one of the pictures you’ve already seen and draw some angry, Oscar the Grouch-style eyebrows on it, and maybe some rage lasers shooting out from the general facial area, and then find the most grating sound you can and crank it up to full volume.

Enjoy.

*****

Hey, I am going to The Blathering, and there’s still 10 spaces left, I think, so. You know. Think about it.

*****

We are so sick of Arizona and so sick of our every attempt to get out of here being denied that we are at the point that Phil is seriously considering putting in for an unaccompanied short tour – Korea, or Diego Garcia, or something like that. He’d be gone for a year, without us, as the word “unaccompanied” implies. Before he even left, we’d know where we were going next, and people returning from short tours or overseas or whatever get a slightly higher preference on the base of their choosing. Of course, the base of their choosing is “chosen” from a list of what’s available, which is not guaranteed to not be even more hateful than where we are now.

And here’s the thing with doing a short tour – does he go now, and miss a year of Penny’s tiny babyhood, in hopes of getting us where we want to be, or does he wait and miss a year a little later on, one that Penny will remember?

Or, we can stay here in Arizona and keep requesting a Base of Preference, knowing that as long as we stay here, we’re likely stuck here for who knows how long, but as soon as we move, Phil will be right at the top of the list and will likely deploy to Afghanistan or Iraq pretty shortly after our arrival? (Don’t get me wrong – everyone deploys and we know that Phil WILL deploy at LEAST once in the remainder of his career and we KNOW that and we accept it, but it’s not something we actively WANT.)

I don’t know. Arizona itself isn’t THAT terrible. It’s just not the life we want to be living right now.

*****

Imagine I said something else right here, some long, elaborate description of a problem that you can’t actually help solve, so we can just make this whole package a nice, round downer.

“I charged yours. And yes, I’ve been experimenting with it.”

“I’ll experiment your FACE.”

“Your face IS an experiment.”

“Yeah, of AWESOMENESS.”

“That failed?”

“Auuuughhh.”

You two assclowns deserve each other.

*****

Speaking of times Phil is wrong, I want to recount the argument in rhyme Phil and I had last night, but I am pretty sure he won, so that has no place here on my blog. Also, I have a suspicion that you wouldn’t be so much awed by our verbal skills as you would be kind of repulsed.

Though, while he may technically have gotten the last word, I do think that rhyming “socks” with “fart box” was slightly more brilliant than his pairing of “face” with “cock mace.” Because a cock mace isn’t even a thing.

My first word is going to be “emancipation.”

*****

You know what’s terrible? When you get a new notebook (of course you not only have plenty of half-used notebooks and also don’t have a specific purpose in mind for a new notebook) and it gets ruined.

You take it home and decide on its specific purpose, and how it will only be used for that purpose. And how you will use the new pens you bought, because of course you got new pens for your brand new notebook. Nice pens.

And for a couple of days you use it for that purpose, and then you have to SCRIBBLE SOMETHING OUT, because of course you were writing in pen – you got NEW PENS. So you rip that page out and write the whole thing over, EVEN IF it was 3/4 of a page and only one tiny mistake.

And then you’re on the phone or something and accidentally jot something down on one of the pages, and you can’t rip it out, because there’s other stuff on the page, the stuff that is supposed to be in your new notebook. So you rip out that corner.

But then you have to write a shopping list, because there is suddenly NO OTHER PAPER IN THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE, and you flip to some random blank page in the notebook to write it. And then a couple of days later, you flip to some random blank page and write another list. Maybe a to do list.

And then you have another HALF USED, RUINED NOTEBOOK littering up your house, and they’re EVERYWHERE, except none of them will be anywhere close at hand when you need to jot something down while you’re on the phone or write a new shopping list, and you will ruin your NEXT brand new notebook.

Yep. That’s terrible.

Let’s be honest – a headband on me is like tits on a bull.

*****

I’m tapped out on content right now, because Sheldon is standing at the back door and YELLING, I am not even kidding you, and I can’t even think of any words that aren’t “Goddamnit Sheldon!,” but I do have one last picture of Penny and no unrelated block of text to pair it with, so here it is.

EVIDENCE:

After taking, watermarking, and uploading that picture, I realize that you probably would have taken my word for it. I should have let you take my word for it, because I waited until two hours in to said nap to start writing this post. I spent the rest of the time tiptoeing down the hall and peering around the door frame. Baby naps are such an unproductive waste of my time.

Also, have I said enough times yet that Penny’s blanket was sent to her by Rhy?

Or that it has seen her through a lot? Or that Rhy has a yarn store right here? (Which I was just looking at and realized that we probably lived, like, 8 minutes apart before I came out here to AZ.) Or that we call it Special Blanket? As in, “Where’s Special Blanket? She needs Special Blanket.”

Anyway, all of those things.

So. This weekend.

*****

Decided to start the process of getting the dogs interviewed and approved to hang out at Camp Bow Wow.

Guess who apparently was not impressed with our plans?

Well, too bad, Sheldon, because you are going to the freaking camp and YOU WILL PLAY, because any weekend that sees me shrieking at the top of my lungs,

“STOP IT STOP IT STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT YOU GUYS HAVE GOTTEN SO RUDE I SWEAR I AM GOING TO CALL CESAR MILAN AND YOU ARE GOING TO GET WHISPERED YOU ARE GOING TO GET WHISPERED SO FUCKING HARD.“

is pretty much a come to Jesus moment about the dogs and their need for exercise or at least TIME AWAY FROM ME.

*****

Packed up to scale Everest.

I KID. Obviously. Because, HA.

That’s all the stuff we packed to take Penny to her first movie – Harry Potter at the drive in!

She clearly loved it, as you can tell. Do we count that as her first movie, or is her first “official” movie one where we take a small yet conscious child to sit in a seat for an hour and a half and shush her through a stupid movie we don’t even want to see in the first place?

Not important. What’s important? I loved it. It went so fast, though, didn’t it? I mean, I know there was a lot to cover in the last book, but man. It just blew by. Like any other fan, I would have been pleased as all hell for them to go into all kinds of crazy detail and gone to part 3, part 4, part one jillion. Seriously, I could happily watch Harry Potter for as long as they want to draw it out. Except, they aren’t drawing it out. So. It’s over.

BUT, back to the movie. Snape, you guys. Right? RIGHT?

*****

This is where Penny finally woke up, I went and got her, fed her, changed her, dressed her, put her in her baby chair, went to the kitchen, stood in front of the stove where a diet soda cake is hanging out, and ate some cake with a fork right out of the pan.

Like you’ve never.

Don’t worry, I’m cancelling it out with some frozen grapes.

That reminds me, though, of my first real experience with the SO SO SO SO SO HUNGRY phase of pregnancy, when one morning, AFTER I ate a granola bar and a banana, and WHILE my waffle was in the toaster, I stood in front of the same stove, where some brownies were hanging out, and ate some. By fist. I was so frantically, panic-ly hungry that I ate brownies by the fistful during the seemingly unending Eggo toasting process.

I don’t have pregnancy as an excuse right now, but I do have a serious case of don’t feel like getting a plate.

******

I did not buy another adorable pirate-themed fitted diaper this weekend.

But I did get the one I bought last weekend in the mail.

*****

Penny learned to stick out her tongue and hasn’t stopped since, which is adorable, until you are the one returning her pacifier to her mouth every 5 minutes between 10pm and 2am.

In case it wasn’t clear, I am the one. I am the one who is returning the pacifier to her mouth every 5 minutes between 10pm and 2am.

*****

Lastly, the toilet paper argument was once again rehashed.

The toilet paper issue, you see, is two-fold.

First, we can’t seem to agree who is at fault for the fact that we go through nearly an entire roll of toilet paper per day.

“Maybe if you didn’t need to roll a 3 inch thick catcher’s mitt of toilet paper around your hand every time you used the bathroom, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“First, I don’t make a poo-mitt. Second, YOU PEE FIFTY TIMES A DAY.”

Second, we can’t agree on when it is time to change the roll. I’m here alone, and I keep the toilet paper supply at an adequate level for my anticipated needs. Even if that means just leaving one or two rotations of paper on the roll until my next visit. (WHICH IS SO NOT FIFTY TIMES A DAY.) Phil doesn’t like this, though. He thinks that I should ANTICIPATE that he might arrive home sometime between the last time I went and the next time I’ll go. Therefore, since he MIGHT arrive, toilet paper levels should be keep adequate for HIS NEEDS at all times.

This has lead to a lot of him coming home, grabbing PC Gamer, heading into his lair, and huffing back out mere moments later to glower at me as he grabs a fresh roll. I inevitably bellow back at him, “THERE IS PLENTY OF TOILET PAPER IN THERE.”

I know what you’re thinking. Men and women have different toilet paper needs (Phil did not, at first, know that even if a diaper is only wet, areas must still be wiped down well, though who would really expect him to), and I should maybe go ahead and change the roll if there are only a few inches left, even if those few inches are adequate for me. You’re siding with Phil.

Except, no. Because this is what PHIL considers to be an inadequate amount of toilet paper left on the roll, necessitating a roll change as soon as I become aware, by all of the lights and sirens, that we have reached DEF CON LEVEL toilet paper emergency situations:

DOES THIS LOOK LIKE AN EMERGENCY TO YOU?

Anyway, we’ve made no progress on this argument since the last time I told you about it over a year ago, so there’s really no reason for me to include it here, except that I feel like you guys deserve updates on things you’ve taken the time to read. Just a service I like to provide.

So, to sum up:

Update – Phil still ridiculous about toilet paper.

]]> http://temerity-jane.com/life/things-i-did-this-weekend-camp-applications-harry-potter-argued-about-toilet-paper/feed/ 51 http://temerity-jane.com/life/chocolate-chewbacca-credit-my-mom-on-facebook-and-the-only-picture-of-me-and-penny-youve-ever-seen/ http://temerity-jane.com/life/chocolate-chewbacca-credit-my-mom-on-facebook-and-the-only-picture-of-me-and-penny-youve-ever-seen/#comments Mon, 11 Jul 2011 15:44:37 +0000 TJ http://temerity-jane.com/?p=5379 My mom sent Phil a chocolate Chewbacca on a stick for Easter and it’s sitting in a bowl on our kitchen counter.

I’ve been over and over it in my mind, and the only way I can think to demonstrate to Phil just how LONG I’ve refrained from eating HIS chocolate Chewbacca is to eat it and then, when he notices, demand credit for holding out as long as I did. I’m not getting any praise with it just sitting there.

You’re not getting any praise for this outfit, either.

*****

Last night, Penny and I went to bed, as we do, and waited for Phil to join us. It got later and later and eventually I realized that he was going to be REALLY annoyed in the morning if he didn’t come to bed soon, so I went to find him. He was sacked out on half of the couch (because baby stuff takes up the other half), and it took a ridiculous amount of convincing to get him up and moving to bed. He just kept looking at me and going, “I quit!” and falling back asleep. Totally out of it.

He did get up, though, and let the dogs out and came to bed. I said to him, “Did you remember to let the dogs in?” He said he did, just as Brinkley came lumbering into the room. I’m obviously including that detail for a reason.

Three or so hours later, Penny woke up to eat. I got up to go to the bathroom and realized I only stepped over Brinkley. I scanned the rest of the bedroom – no Sheldon. Came out to the living room, hoping he’d be asleep on the love seat – no Sheldon.

At that point, I immediately freaked out, because Sheldon is known to jump our fence and he’s a black dog and it was night time – a combination for awful disaster. I saw that the back light was still on and ran towards the back door. I spotted a big black lump leaning against the sliding door and was so relieved. I opened the door and was hit in the face with the still almost 100 degree heat and let him in. He almost knocked me over getting to the dog water fountain (yes) and completely drained it, then flopped down on his stomach on the floor while I refilled it for him to drain again.

I stormed into the bedroom and starting railing at Phil, because COME ON. You KNOW he escapes. You KNOW it’s hot out there. He was too asleep to respond in a way that I felt was appropriate, though, so I waited until this morning to demand that he apologize to Sheldon and check on him.

Phil says, “It was an accident. Oops.”

And I say, “It was hot! He could have escaped! He was SO THIRSTY.”

Phil says, “He seems fine.”

And I say, “He was almost dehydrated! He could have gotten VERY SICK. Or? Escaped and gotten hit by a car! There was a TERRIBLE thunderstorm after I let him in.”

Phil says, “Accidents happen, and he’s fine.”

I get that he’s fine and I get that accidents happen, and I kind of get that there’s no reason to dwell, but I feel like I need Phil to mull over each and every possible disaster scenario that could have occurred before I can get over the situation.

Kind of like how when I’m showering, I think about being negligent in my soap removal and then accidentally not drying my soapy arms well and picking up Penny and she slips right out of my slippery arms. I feel like these things need to be acknowledged. As stuff that COULD HAVE HAPPENED.

Basically, Phil is not fretting over things that didn’t happen enough for my comfort.

This is awful! I hate this! Pick me up, you assholes!

*****

I can always tell when my mom has made her once weekly visit to Facebook by the two page list of notifications alerting me to the fact that she has “liked” everything I’ve posted in the last 7 days. Except for the status updates that contain foul language, and a complete refusal to acknowledge any captions on pictures of Penny that contain the F-bomb or the asshole-bomb.

Example: Picture of Penny, captioned: “I hate you, get the fuck out of my face!”

My mom’s comment: She looks so happy! She must be looking at her mama!

She also comments on old status updates, which is especially funny in the case of my brother, who would post something like, “Tired” during his college finals. There’d be a little back and forth between his friends in the comments, then three days of nothing, then my mom posts, “Why?”

It’s weird, because my mom has a completely fine grasp of technology (except for prevention of the ass dial – you have NEVER been pocket dialed as many times as this woman is capable of. If you get a call Saturday morning and hear the inside of my mom’s purse, prepare to spend the next 45 minutes picking up the phone nearly constantly, bellowing, “MOM! MOOOOOOOM! STOOOOOOOP” and hoping she hears the disembodied voice of her child coming from inside of her purse. Things, admittedly, did get a little better when she got a touch screen phone, but mindbogglingly, it STILL HAPPENS reasonably regularly.)

AS I WAS SAYING, she has a completely fine grasp of technology, she just puts her own mom twist on it. Like replying to Facebook statuses as if she’s in a personal conversation with the poster. Or? OR? When I text her pictures of Penny? She calls me to discuss the picture.

******

Penny, right after that whole tummy time business:

Not cool, guys. Not cool.

*****

I wanted to roll a new toon in WoW last weekend, but whenever I try to do it myself, no combination of class and race really appeals to me. While I was feeding Penny, I told Phil to just go ahead and create something for me.

I came back to find a warlock named Lwaxana. Er, no. Delete. I should have known he’d make a warlock, considering he has 75 warlocks himself, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Plus, Lwaxana? No.

He asked for another chance, though, so, fine. I was out of the room for a bit and came back to find myself standing in the human starting area as a paladin named Sumki.

“What the shit is a Sumki?”

“I used Google Translate! I thought you’d get it…”

(Years of Russian come back to me.)

“Sumki? As in, the plural of sumka? Like, purse? Purses?”

“It’s supposed to be bags.”

“… you’re an asshole!“

*****

You know what is a serious boner killer? When you’re in the car and the Proclaimers come on, and you’re listening to I’m Gonna Be, and you think that you and the other person in the car are on the same page.

You think that, at least, until you bellow out the first “DA DA DA!” at the top of your lungs, and he DOES NOT DO the echo back “DA DA DA!”

I swear, nothing has ever made me question my marriage more.

*****

These are your parents, Penny.

Too bad.

“I don’t open soda cans wrong!”

“You do.”

“The point of opening a soda can is to get the soda out. If I can get the soda out, I haven’t done it wrong.”

“Isn’t the point of toothpaste to get some toothpaste onto the brush?”

“Yes… ”

“Then squeezing it from the middle isn’t wrong. I can get the toothpaste out.”

“Squeezing from the middle is WRONG.”

“And thus, so is the way you open soda cans.”

“It’s DIFFERENT.”

“Nope. I’ve made a valid comparison.”

“You haven’t. It’s not the same.”

“I’ve shut you down with an irrefutable argument.”

“I don’t open soda cans wrong!”

“Point, me. Winner, me.”

“YOU SQUEEZE FROM THE BOTTOM. IT’S DESIGNED TO BE SQUEEZED FROM THE BOTTOM.”