fun stuff to do with your kid

...while you're on acid.
Magic Milk

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back in the olden days before we had color in the world I was happy watching my grandpa put cream in his coffee. I still think it is one of the most beautiful things to watch. Don't know what I'm talking about? Get off your computer and go make yourself a cup of coffee. Don't stir the cream right away, enjoy the show.
Liquid nature is fascinating.

professional courtesy

A friend of mine is going through a rough patch, and told me all about it over drinks the other day. Typical crappo life stuff, nothing major or revolutionary unless you're going through it yourself, and I'm sure you either have or will at some point.

If I were her social worker, I'd have a million ways of dealing with the issue. There is some sort of professional flow chart ingrained into my brain, and all I have to do is ask the right questions in the right tones of voice to make is seem like I really really care and if the answer is "yes" I say one thing, "no" I say another and then all of a sudden things don't look so bleak and there is a plan of action to take that first little step towards sleeping a bit better and feeling empowered to take charge of life and all that Hear Me Roar stuff.

But I'm not her social worker and I can't bring myself to go through those motions with someone I actually have a real vested personal relationship with so I have no idea what to do or what to say or where to look so I hold her hand and give her an extra long hug and feel totally hopeless and inept. The kicker is that her therapy and helping skills are far better than mine. She has more pieces of paper on her wall and more notches in her superhero belt than I do, yet she turns to me. Well, me and a pint of booze.

A good number of us in the biz have extremely effed-up kids. Even more have terrible relationships with others- be it family, friends, the guy at the corner store. Some have addictions far beyond those they are getting paid to help. We can save the world from nine to five but can't seem to get it together behind our own front doors from five to nine. It's scary stuff that makes me want to crawl in a hole.

learn

I'm not sure how old I was-probably around nine or so- but I remember sitting in the dogwood tree with a big gob of Oreo cream on my finger. My grandfather was standing next to me, and I asked him if he dared me to eat a fingerful of paste.

You remember that paste, don't you? For some reason the glue authorities thought it would be best to give kids stuff that smelled like cinnamon toast and tasted so miraculously smooth and creamy that no child could waste such a tasty snack on school tasks.

He said to me something along the lines of "go ahead and do whatever you want. You're old enough to know the difference between right and wrong and you're going to do a lot of things you know are wrong in the future, so you may as well start now and get some practice at what it feels like. Doing wrong things will probably make you sick or sad, but you'll keep doing them anyway. Eating paste won't kill you, so I won't stop you. I'm just going to say that you know it isn't the right thing to do.".

Old people know everything.

over it

Christmas was good, but I'm ready to have my house back. Anyone want to come over to help undecorate?

Despite our best laid plans for Jake to have one big thing and a few little things, my entire bay window was packed with gifts. The red chair from Santa went over well, the loud big wheel from Uncle John has been all over the house, the wagon from the grandparents is doubling as a toy box in Jake's room. Jake is the luckiest boy ever and scored a 16" Fuji bike, which was a nice surprise. I never win anything. Jake wins the world's flashiest kid bike evah.

Jake got so many clothes that I took almost everything out of his wardrobe and replaced it with new stuff. Those 24 month clothes that were hanging in there were working overtime to cover his wrists and belly. Nothing hotter than a baby boy in a midrift top. In December.

My mom is in town so Dave and I went out for dinner (Chinese, of course) and the intention of seeing a movie. We love Jewish Christmas. The theater was packed so we drove around town looking at the lights and scoping out prospects for a new house. We aren't looking looking to move, just looking. Something built after 1900 would be nice, with off street parking. Maybe in a couple years.

I hope everyone got out of Christmas alive. We had some blood and tears here, but everyone pulled through like a champ.

Hear hear's to Boxing Day. The best day of the year because we can drop the Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas crap and just say Happy New Year and no one gets offended and everyone brings their extra holiday/Christmas treats to work and we can all pig out and pretend to work and generally enjoy the lull before credit card bills cram our mail slots.

this song of mine, in three-quarter time

The gifts are wrapped and stacked in the Pelican Room.
Christmas music is on. The standards of course.
The house is somewhat presentable.
Santa is being tracked.
I've managed to wrangle my boy home following his three day trip around the tri-state area to visit family and tear open pressies and he is finally napping upstairs- no idea what the next twenty-four hours will hold for him. There is an awful lot of pressure on this little kid to make every one's Christmas the merriest damn Christmas ever.
Dave is on his way home from pheasant hunting.
I'm showered and shaved and thankful that I cut all my hair off short enough that I don't have to bother with combing it.
I know what I'm cooking for dinner, and I just put some red on the counter and white in the fridge.
My mom will be here in two hours, and we will meet the in-laws at Jake's great-grandpa's house soon thereafter for some beers and catching up before coming back to my house and throwing all the food on the stove.
Crab cakes, boiled shrimp, Caesar salad, and fettuccine with a pesto alfredo sauce is what we're having. Come by if you are interested.

Merry Eve to all.

certified mail

Dear Santa,
I'm obsessed with buses and trains and airplanes and bikes and cars and motorcycles and trucks.

I love Dora, Diego, Mickey Mouse, Super Y, Bob the Builder, Boohbahs, Teletubbies, Curious George, and Sesame Street.

I want more stuffed animal buddies so I can kiss them and hug them and throw them around. And my own phone.

I don't have a football and I lost my basketball.

I'll eat just about anything you can cram in my stocking.

I keep growing out of my clothes.

I can't wait to open presents. It's all I talk about. I listen for waynedeer on the roof every minute of the day.

Love,
Jake

is it any wonder, i reject you first?

I'm going to shake up the Sacred Sisterhood of Mommybloggers and go ahead and say that I am not a big fan of 90% of the well-known mommyblogs out there. I've recently started checking out blogs of note and buzzblogs and such. I have yet to be totally impressed by any of the famous mommybloggers (read: those who host their own site between batches of cookies and creating crockpot dinners that can be frozen and eaten later- like on the one night a decade mom gets to skip her duties because she is at a PTA function). If I don't know you or your kid or we haven't been brought together by some accidental cosmic blogging force, you kinda suck to me.

Confession: I care more about Chuck than I do Leta.

I don't get the whole "me and my seven kids and our suburban split-level are the most wonderful things in the whole world and my angels are beautiful and motherhood is a precious gift and my SUV is sometimes dirty and I secretly didn't wipe out the silverware tray before the Christmas party so I'm going to write about it and pretend like I'm divulging super huge Stepford secrets and the grocery store is not easy to navigate when you have eight kids in a cart and Walmart is fabulous because it allows me and my family to save money so I can maybe someday get a boob job because I breastfed until my kids were in highschool so I would feel like I had a purpose on this Earth and now my tits are lowslung but my plasticine husband doesn't mind because he is a man of God with a corporate job and a new Taurus and he loves me no matter what. psst- he was my first! and only! sometimes I let him do it to me with the lights on!)".

Why do these people have more feed subscriptions than we do? No wonder normal people hate mommyblogs. They're worse than network television.

I'll be sticking to my locals and loved ones from now on. We are way more interesting than everyone else and our kids are cuter and smarter and more polite. But I'm always looking for additional reading materials, so if you know of any good blogs, let me know. God knows I don't want to get any real work done. I'm sure you hate to work too, so I'm sharing what I'm reading to the left, under "sustained silent reading".

Enjoy my friends' brains.

Views expressed may not be shared by the management, but they are enjoyed.

magic

I grew up in the snow belt (and the frost belt and the rust belt. All one place). There was no such thing as a non-White Christmas. I find it almost impossible to even begin to feel Christmassy without at least a foot of snow on the ground and at least one elderly relative in the hospital with a broken hip incurred on the front steps.

So sad. The no snow part, I mean. Busted up old people are par for the course up there.

How do you explain sleighs and big red suits and reindeer to your child when it is a balmy 50 degrees outside, too hot for hats and mittens and Scandinavian animals?

punitive measures

Today's meme is all about parenting. I can't get away from parenting. All day long I teach and learn about parenting, all night long I try it out. Discipline is one of my favorite parenting topics. When I say discipline, what do you think of? Spanking? Time outs? Yelling? Grounding? All bad stuff, probably. But discipline includes good stuff like rewards and hugs and other positive reinforcement. There is a pretty good little article here on the subject, in case you are an over achiever and want to read all about it. Or you're an under achiever and you don't feel like getting up to do any real work.

When I'm doing actual work at work, a lot of my time is spent monitoring the teachers who spend their time teaching alternatives to spanking and yelling and carrying on like maniacally insane people to parents who are unhappy with their children's behavior. Another big chunk of the day is devoted to giving parents ways to cope with their maniacally insane frustration levels when their brats act like savages. We all want to hit and scream, but it just isn't the right thing to do. We have to be grown ups about the whole thing.

Because I'm me, I have formed some opinions about the whole thing and I'd love to share them with you. I find great joy in going on and on and on and on about me and my thoughts and how my thoughts influence me and how my thoughts about my thoughts further influence me and me and me and me.

I ran across the following meme earlier this week, and thought it would be perfect to work on this morning. Without further ado...

1. Do you feel that children these days are disciplined enough?
Surprisingly to most people, yes. I feel that children these days are disciplined constantly. I also feel that the discipline that is doled out to these kids regularly is the wrong kind of discipline.
On one hand, you have your super strict/ mean parents (we call them "brickwall parents" in the biz) who punish their children for everything and have so many rules that no one in the house can keep them straight. There is an awful lot of yelling and grounding and bad stuff going on here. Take the city bus to Walmart on any given day if you want to see some of this going on in your own town. Brickwall parents love love love to show the world how well they can keep their children in line, and they tend to do so on public trans and discount shopping marts.

On the other hand, you have those hippy dippy/ anything goes/ not-my-baby parents ("jellyfish parents") who think that their little Johnny is the greatest, most responsible little human being on Earth and Johnny should be able to express his emotions in whatever way he feels comfortable and make decisions for himself because the worst he can do is learn from his mistakes but he is so smart that he would never hang with the sex drugs &/or rock and roll kids unless he was handing out condoms or giving rides home to the drunk losers. Johnny gets lots of positive reinforcement. You can see these types in coffee shops and upscale kiddie boutiques and ritzy downtown community center Mommy and Me classes all over America. And in crack houses. Another form of jellyfish parenting happens in houses where mom (and dad, but come on- everyone knows that there are no dads in crack houses. Right? Am I right?) doesn't have the capacity to tend to her children. Substance abuse and mental health issues tend to produce parents who are not able to set and enforce guidelines for their children, and the children run amok. Another way to say jellyfish parent is neglectful parent, no matter how much money the family has.

The happy medium is backbone parenting. Get it? Strong yet flexible? The rules are clear and concise and reviewed on a regular basis so everyone understands the limitations. Punishment always follows rule violations and children understand why they are being punished. Punishment comes in the form of TEASPOTS and discussion and affirmation (You know pushing religion ain't my bag, baby. That's not why we're here. I don't discriminate on race creed nor color. Calm down and read it, it's a great blurb. Proverbs never hurt anyone.) Schedules are adhered to, healthy meals are provided and shared at the table, homework is done and checked, values and morals are taught, and parents practice what they preach.
At least when the kids are around.
It's all very squishy and Brady and ideal and it doesn't always work all of the time, but it's a good thing to strive toward.

2. What are your thoughts about the "time out chair?"
I'm a big fan of time out. My mom put me in a corner. I used the playpen when Jake was littler, but now he gets duct taped to the couch. Kidding! I would never put duct tape on my new couch. It leaves those sticky grey trails. I don't think you need a certain "chair", just a kid who understands that time out means deep breaths and quiet reflection.
"They" say that your child should be put in time out one minute for every year old they are. I call b.s. Sometimes it takes longer than ten minutes for me to not want to punch a ten year old child in the windpipe. Time outs should last long enough for you and your kid to settle down and stop the crying and the rage. Time outs are just important for parents as they are for children.
Sometimes you just have to hang up the phone on your mother while the mortgage foreclosure guy is measuring your front door so he can come back with the big bolt locks because you needed to fix your car so your house payment was late and your dinner is burning on the stove and your tub is leaking into your dining room all over your grandmother's table that she brought over from Scottland and you've had enough of Elmo and his effing goldfish for the day and you're lucky that you broke all your nails off when you were reattaching the dryer hose to the little hole in your house or you would gouge your eyes out and poke your thumb nail through your jugular but not necessarily in that order because you might just feel better at the sight of all that blood so you may as well save your eyes for second. It's okay to say to Mary, "Mommy needs a time out. Can you play nicely while she chain smokes a pack and a half of filterless Pall Malls and downs a glass of whiskey?". And Mary says "yes Mommy. I love you so much. Remember to take deep breaths between ciggy drags and I'll be right here for you when you calm down" because that is what you say to her when she has a melt down and Mary learns best by watching you. So behave.

3. When YOU were a child, what form of discipline did your parents use most often?
Let me take a moment to unrepress...
Ah, yes. My dad would lecture. And lecture. And lecture. Then he would totally freak out and lose his shiz. He still does this today. When I was a kid I thought it was totally pathetic. I've never been one for the freak out, I think it is SO juvenile. Now that I'm grown up I understand that something probably happened during my father's upbringing that taught him it is very civil and WASPy to talk things out. Well, that doesn't always work and when things don't work out one tends to explode. Lectures can be very effective, when done quickly and clearly. Kids don't have very good attention spans, and they have important things to worry about like whether their jeans are too dark or too light and whether they should wear their blue shirt tomorrow or their green shirt and are banana clips out and did anyone notice that they had the same shoes on both Monday and Tuesday and what about that math test and that cute boy in Social Studies. He probably notices the dry skin patch on their hand that is a little bit scratchy no matter what. Or maybe that was just me. I've never been much of a listener past the first twenty minutes.
Another important thing about lectures is sometimes parents forget that children listen with their ears, not with their eyes. When a child lowers his eyes when spoken to, it allows their puny brains to focus on the words they are hearing, not the scary fire in their parent's eyes or the spit coming out of the corners of dad's mouth. Oh, maybe that was just me again. Kids shouldn't be watching television over your shoulder, but it's okay if they are playing with the buttons on their shirt.
My mom was the spanker and the grounder. She whipped us all soundly and sent us to bed. There were always about a dozen wooden spoons just waiting in the wings for our rear ends. Guests in our house must have thought we ate a whole lot of stirrable foods. Although I preferred this over lecturing, it tended to make me angry and spiteful. Spanking doesn't work. Your kids will feel bad, you'll feel bad, the dog will be confused, the cats will run under the couch, the next morning everyone will just stand around and look awkwardly at one another. It's all bad. Spanking should be reserved for consensual adults who take great pleasure in giving good healthy cracks to one another. With the business side of boar bristle hairbrushes.

4. Did your parents have to constantly remind you of the guidelines they set for you, or did they just have to LOOK at you as a "gentle" reminder?
I knew the basic rules, I worked on avoiding home as much as possible so I didn't have to be looked at. And I bet you thought I was such a well rounded individual because I worked at Baskin and Robbins three weeknights and all day on Sunday, I ran Cross Country in the fall, participated in Indoor Track in the winter to prep for the regular spring Track and Field season, and joined the summertime rec soccer league, I volunteered at Asbury Woods all day Saturday after spending Friday night bumming around town with my equally over achieving friends and I still managed to get A's in all my classes because I went straight to my room after school/practice/work to study for an hour or two before falling asleep.

5. What are your thoughts about screaming kids in public places?
Has anyone ever said to you "oh, you are just complaining because you don't have children of your own. When you have them you'll see it isn't that bad and there isn't much you can do about it anyway."?
Guess what, now I have child of my own and I hate it even more because I realize how easy it is to remove your child from the cart/table/movie theater/pew/my house and take it outside for a minute. There is no excuse to have a screaming kid in a public place. Ever. Parking lots are made for screaming, and they just happen to be a convenient place to leave your car too.
Schedule outings around your child's naptime (infants can be carted around in their sleep, toddlers and preschoolers travel best when well-rested), bring snacks, or leave your damned brat with someone else while you run your errands if you have such a bad kid that they can't stand to be away from home for more than twenty minutes. No one else loves your kid like you do. We don't want to hear it.

6. What do you feel is the BIGGEST mistake parents make when it comes to disciplining children?
I feel that the biggest mistake parents make when it comes to disciplining their children is the screaming and hitting. No matter who you are, you tell your child not to scream and hit, but so many parents react to unpleasing behavior in this manner. All you are doing by screaming and hitting is teaching your child that it is acceptable to scream and hit when you don't like something. Watch your child for one day, and pay close attention to the number of times that she mimics your behavior. Our kids are looking to us to learn about the world. Whatever you say or do, they take as gospel. Don't bite your child back, slap your child back, or push your child when they push you. You are responsible for teaching them how to treat others. Say no and explain why it is wrong to hurt other people. Babies don't get it, but that's okay. Tell them anyway so by the time they are four they've heard it a billion times.
Give your children "positive strokes". Hugs, kisses, giggles, compliments, tickles, attention, and most importantly quality time. They will learn to treat others with love and respect and great care.
And isn't that what we want? Isn't that the whole point of being a good parent?

rules of addiction

1. Coffee is to be utilized only on Saturdays and Mondays. Saturday coffee must be from home but all is fair on Mondays.

2. Only two slices of pizza are to be consumed in one sitting. Two for lunch and two for dinner is acceptable. So is two cold ones for breakfast the next day.

3. Beer should be consumed out of the bottle rather than the pint because labels can be peeled off and put aside. That way, the number of beers can be monitored. An exception applies to better beers, which should be poured from a tap. In this case, all cocktail napkins will be saved and stacked under the most recent pint. This is called "drinking responsibly".

5. No more than five cookies shall be eaten per day. Effective tomorrow.

6. There will be no more than thirty but no less than five rolls of toilet paper in the linen closet at any given time.

7. Toothpaste will be squeezed from the bottom. Any excess tubage will be rolled up and secured with a bobby pin.

8. All bagged food will be tightly sealed and any spare baggage will immediately be cut off and thrown out. Food must be sealed with twist ties or binder clips. Rolling and/or folding is not acceptable. Gum and candies shall not be kept in original packaging if there is less than half a pack. It shall be kept in decorative tins such as Altoid or York boxes.

9. Towels will be folded as such: In half to make a square. Then in half again directly below the first fold. Then folded into thirds. The trim edge of the towel must be showing and the tag must be tucked into the towel so it is not hanging out.

10. All soup and vegetable cans must be stackable. If the brand on sale is not a stackable brand, it will not be purchased.

11. All bedclothes must be 100% cotton. All underpants must be 100% cotton. All overpants must be no less than 97% cotton. A little bit of stretch goes a long way, sometimes a girl could use a little suck-it-inability. Scarves should be, but are not limited to, cashmere and/or silk. Shirts, sweaters, and other tops will be purchased in navy, green, brown, or orange. Never pink or yellow, seldomly black and white, sometimes maroon or eggplant. Pants are acceptable in any color other than black. Black pants are for waitresses, and usually either smell like salad dressing or evoke memories of pants that smell like salad dressing. Dress shoes shouldn't be blue, pantyhose shouldn't be white. Pantyhose sounds like a euphemism for penis.

12. The gas tank must never dip below 1/4 full.

13. Dish sponges will be replaced on the 1st and 15th of every month. White socks and underthings, as well as hair and body products will be replaced/rotated on the solstice. This includes shampoo, cosmetic colors, deodorants, lotions, and soaps. Spring and summer products are lighter, with the exception of soap and deodorants which will be stronger. Fall and winter products must include extra moisturizing properties. Furniture will be re-arranged on the Spring and Autumn solstice.

14. Don't step on cracks, it is bad for your mother's back. Cracks may be stepped on out of spite.

15. All lists must end on a multiple of five.

That's all I can think of off the top of my head, but I know there is more. What quirks have you noticed? Please comment.

na-nu na-nu

I idolized Mork when I was four. I talked like Mork, I acted like Mork, I dressed like Mork, I Morked like Mork. I figured that since I was Mork, and Mork was a boy, I should probably start standing up when I pee. That's a real bad idea when you are wearing your favorite suspenders and baseball tee and your best corduroys and you are rushing to pee during a commercial break and get back to your show and your Mandarin orange snack. And you have a vagina.

It was everywhere, and I had to tell my mom that I peed all over the floor and she made me put on my pajamas early and she didn't let me watch the rest of M&M.

will we have rainbows, day after day?

Thanks to all those who have asked, but there is still no real news about Brian's kid. Round one of testing caused concern, round two showed a whole different set of problems. Next week Adrianne goes in for more prodding and then maybe we'll know something.

I haven't published details because I don't know how public this info is. There is a blog, but it isn't tellall. When the news breaks there I'll break it here. There are manners in the blogosphere, after all.

I chose not to have any genetic or ultrasound testing done. I had an ultrasound at 12 weeks when I was bleeding like a stuck pig because they wanted to find the heart, my insurance mandates a 20 week ultrasound where they measure stuff and find the organs and assess the brain and spot the boy parts, then I had the one done at 37 weeks when the hot doctor was alarmed that I was only measuring at 27 weeks despite the fact that I was measuring 10 weeks behind the whole time. If they would have measured my ass instead of my gut they would have known I was carrying a normal sized baby .

I requested that no further testing be done because I figured what the hell am I going to do anyway? Worry about my possibly defected baby? No thanks. I'm already neurotic, I don't need reason to flip psychotic. And I certainly wasn't getting a needle in my uterus to verify the ultrasound and blood test results.

Back in the olden days when I was saving formerly homeless women I had a client who had a daughter, Aaliyah, with Type II Lissencephaly. Mom had no idea anything was wrong during her pregnancy nor for the first few weeks after the baby was born. She had decent pre-natal care, was in her early twenties when she was pregnant, and she wasn't aware of a history of any genetic problems in either family. Any differences between Aaliyah and her older brother the client attributed to Aaliyah's birth, which happened on a cold basement floor because her grandmother locked her down there because she felt that she was a shame to the family. Grandma was crazy. My client told me a story about how Gram pistol whipped her the first time she was pregnant. I've seen the police and hospital report.

Aaliyah was five and six when I had the case, but she never advanced past the level of a three month old baby. She couldn't hold up her head, roll over, nor eat solid foods (she was able to taste things, but the degenerative nature of her disease weakened her sucking reflux so she ate through a tube in her belly. A nutrition bag was hooked into a little valve that stuck out of her skin). Her favorite toy was a light and sound Fisher Price ring stacker, and she was so fascinated with her hands that her mom put bracelets on each wrist. Aaliyah would see her bracelet, laugh, and reach for it with the opposite hand. Her short term memory was so short that she would be distracted by the hand that was moving toward the bracelet, look at it, laugh hysterically at that bracelet, and reach for it with the other hand. She would do this for hours at a time, and she was thrilled with her game. Every five or so minutes she would look for her mother and when she spotted her a huge smile would spread across her face and she would coo and wiggle her fingers. In the 18 months I knew her, I heard her cry once when she had the flu. Aaliyah was the happiest person I have ever met.

When I closed the case, I told the mom that I had learned so much about love from watching her. Aaliyah was so full of life and was so excited about every single thing that went on around her that it was impossible to be near her and not notice all the little things she was constantly taking joy in. Her life was so regulated and she was so simple that she only knew happiness. Her diet plan didn't allow her to be hungry and the temperature gauge that was part of her medical hookup didn't let her get cold. She slept when she was tired and found play in everything. Lissencephaly isn't a painful, uncomfortable disease like so many other problems, so there was no need to feel pity for the little girl who would never grow up. She isn't able to comprehend that she is different. The mom proved to me that no matter what happens with your children you love them and they love you and life keeps living. Daily life was grueling for that mom, but when she looked at Aaliyah you could actually see the entire world melt away. Her face would soften and her shoulders would drop and her voice would drop so low that you would have to really concentrate to hear her. I told her that even though I didn't want children (she knew this from before, I didn't bring it up then. That would just be weird) I wouldn't be afraid of having a special needs child if I ever got pregnant because I have learned that everything turns out okay no matter what.

I couldn't find the words then for the revelation I found in the year and a half I spent with the family to tell her and I can't find them now to tell you, but it is so nice to know that things always turn out okay, even if they turn out to be different than you plan.

Que sera, sera.

alors je t'ai accompagnée, on a chanté, on a dansé

Go ahead and try to hate this song. Sure it's in Fronch. Er, sorry- Sure it's in Freedom, but it is the happiest song that has ever played on the loop in my head. Maybe I'll get creative one day and do a short film about the Parkway set to this song. It is the Champs Elysees of Philadelphia after all. It will be great. A study of the sculptured beauty beside the homeless camps. Don't steal that idea, I'm totally going to do it.

stick a needle in my eye

And by the way, if Jake is at your house and he runs around screaming "momman fockel" he is saying Mom Mom and Freckles. It took us a few days to figure it out too. Luckily he usually follows it with an "and pop pop. and cookies!" or we would have gotten out the soap.

We still haven't figured out what "oh, thit" means, but I have a pretty good inkling because he says it when he drops things.

For the record, we don't say that in our house. We say "dammit" when we drop things but I've been working on "darnit". I get it right one out of ten times.

Progress.

meat and potatoes

Take off Jake's diaper and he looks down, waves, and says "hi penis!". Put a clean diaper on and he waves and says "bye penis! see ya!". He does it with his armpits("oooh, my pits!"), hands (wheresa hand? there it is!), and toes ("hey! is my pigs!") too, but no one gets offended when he does that. Penis isn't a bad word, folks. I'm okay with my kid saying the word penis. He doesn't say it unless it is hanging out. Don't worry about him saying it in front of your friends.

Yet.

There are lots of cutesy names that people use to teach their children the names of body parts. My kid calls his toes his pigs. I understand. I don't know who taught him that, but he loves it so I let him say it.

I cringe a bit when I hear of people teaching children alternative names for their genitals. Years ago, when I was saving the world from inside people's homes, a little girl whispered to me that her uncle couldn't keep his hands out of her pocketbook. I told her that she should keep it in her room, away from her uncle.

Two weeks later when I was visiting the home, the little girl pulled me aside and told me again, her uncle kept putting his hands in her pocketbook. I told her that she should tell her mother, and maybe her mom could talk to the uncle.

The next time I came out the little girl mentioned it once more. I brought it up with the mother, saying that I don't mean to pry, but the uncle may be stealing from the daughter's pocketbook.

The police were there in a half hour. Turns out this mother teaches her daughters to call their vaginas their pocketbooks and never taught them the proper word. An entire month and a half went by, and I didn't help this little girl.

You would have thought that all my time spent with the sex offenders would have taught me a thing or two. We had lists of nicknames for vaginas for and penises. I guess pocketbook wasn't on there. Nor was jewelry box, sugar bowl, or cookie jar. I picked those up along the way. There are some pretty comprehensive lists available to you if you click on "vaginas" or "penises".

On the words! Click on the words! Not your... get your fingers out of there.

So, do what you want when naming your kid's private parts but be sure the rest of the world knows what your brat is talking about, just in case.

it's beginning to look a lot like tuesday

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? I love to wrap presents more than anything because it is so conducive to my anal-retentive tendencies. But how nice is a gift bag when you use algorithms and geometric principals to meticulously fluff the tissue paper?

2. Real tree or Artificial? Artificial. Real ones aren't guaranteed to be symmetrical and 99.9% perfect, and we can't have that. Oh no. We can't have that. It's Christmas after all, and we all know that the holiday has everything to do with the show that you are able to put on in your home.

3. When do you put up the tree? I used to put it up the day after Thanksgiving, but that changed this year. We just bought a new one and we threw it up before we hit the bars last Friday night. It was perfect since it is pre-lit, comes in three pieces, and Jake was on vacation that night. Speaking of just throwing it up, the tree was also a nice edition to my raging hangover the next day. Nothing says peace, love, and comfort like the view of your new cashmere-tipped, wonderfully-lit tree out of the corner of your eye while your face is jammed in the garbage can that you have dragged out and put next to the couch. Drinking is cool. You know what's even more cool? Washed up boozehounds who can't handle three drinks over six hours. I'm blaming the Chinese food lunch and the subsequent lack of dinner due to the nauseating effects of the MSG. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

4. When do you take the tree down? I used to take it down New Year's Day while Dave was out Mummering, but we'll see now that Jake is around. It may have to wait until New Year's Night.

5. Do you like eggnog? More than anyone ever should. My arterial walls will be screaming by December 27th.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Wow, this is a hard one since I have successfully repressed most of my formative years. I'm sure there was something good in there somewhere, I'm just not sure what, where, or when.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? I have one of those Home Interiors ones but I don't put it out. I broke Joseph one year while I was cleaning out my basement and I don't want the Baby Jesus to look like a bastard child. That would be blasphemous and surely buy me a quick trip south in a handbasket. I guess I could put out what I have and just tell everyone that Old Joe is out back taking a leak.

8. Hardest person to buy for? Dave's dad.

9. Easiest person to buy for? My mom.

10. Worst Christmas gift ever received? People tend to think I'm a big girl, so I've gotten a lot of XL sweaters in my day. Turns out that they make great presents for homeless people, so everyone wins in the end. It's just my mouth and a few other choice parts that are big. The rest is pretty smallish.

11. Mail or e-mail Christmas card? I used to send about 100 Christmas cards, and they would all be addressed by Halloween and stamped by Thanksgiving. Now you're lucky if I wish you a Merry Christmas when you're at my big Holiday Extravaganza. If I was a better mom you'd all get photo cards, but I suck.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? Oh, you know I can't sit through a movie. I like the classic tv specials. Charlie Brown, Rudolph, and the Grinch rock. Frosty is a bit queer. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I'm a Certified Professional Fag Hag but I can't stomach that frozen flamer. I think there is a message about AIDS in that show, I just can't pin it down. Something about melting being symbolic for some sort of Sarcoma or something.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Labor Day. I'm a victim of the early marketing.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Of course! My Christmas gift from you makes a great housewarming gift for my friend that you don't know and have no chance of meeting! Thank you for being my personal shopper. I owe you one!

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Cookies

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I like the coloreds but the one I have at home is white. I could totally work in a "just like I like my men" joke somewhere in here and we would all laugh but I can't get the wording just right so I'll pass.

17. Favorite Christmas song? I love the standards. If it is written or produced after 1976 I hate it. Especially the one about the little boy asking Jesus to kill his mommy now that she has pretty new shoes and he has to wear rags. That's an instant classic. One I really want Jake to listen to so he has visions of dead mother dancing (in spectacular shoes) in his head every Christmas Eve from here on in. Figures that it is by the same guy who sings the song about a daddy making out hardcore with his daughter because she looks just like her mother. Country music is so fun.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? I always stay the elf home. You are more than welcome to come over, there will be movies and tons of Chinese food. It's a great place to hide out from your crazy family. I won't tell.

19. Can you name Santa's reindeer? Vixen is my favorite, naturally.

20. Do you have an Angel on top or a star? Nothing. I have yet to find a tree topper worthy of my tree. But angels with trees in their arse are weird.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? I like waiting for morning. More suspense that way.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Traffic and jerks and the guilt I feel every time I pass a bell ringer for the Salvation Army.

23. Ugliest Christmas Decoration ever invented? Christmas tree angels are creepiest, but I'm not much into doll things anyway. I hate those Hallmark things that play Christmas music and dance. I'm big into kitchy elegance, and those are neither kitchy nor elegant.

25. Which looks best theme trees or homey trees? I like anything, as long as it is at your house. I hate a bunch of junk tossed onto my tree. I don't care if your brat made it for me or not, it's garbage and I'll put it on the fridge.

26. Gingerbread or sugar cookies? All sugar all the time.

27. Do you like Fruitcake? I skeered.

pants on fire

Jake got a hold of a pen this afternoon and took it upon himself to do a little re-working of the paint job near the front door. When I saw it I asked him what it was. He looked at the ink,he touched it, he looked back at me, and said "is a bug. i skeered." and ran away.

Liar! I can't believe my boy lied right to my face. He knows very well what it was and that he is only allowed to write on paper. And thus it begins. I just wish he didn't love cleaning up his messes so much. Punishment isn't supposed to be fun.

white christmas

We picked up Jake's gift and a couple stockings at Pottery Barn Kids last night at the Promenade in Marlton, NJ. There is nothing like being shuffled around by giant Louis V bags and the self-important women who have them, your flesh gouged by enormous diamond rings, tow headed children who have been taught since birth that they have the right-of-way no matter what shoving you into displays of quilted toys, small pink babies screaming in Peg Peregos making your ears bleed, and puking in your mouth just a little bit at the dads who just bounce around the store because their Type A wives haven't told them what to do next.

So, you know, now my general disdain for white people has been reinforced and taken to a whole new level.

Ahhh, Christmas.

And of course because I had ill-will in my heart karma is punishing me by the fact that they gave us the wrong chair and I have to go back sometime next week to get the correct size. And of course they don't have any in stock right now so I am at the mercy of the PBTruck. Sometimes it is so hard to be me, in my ever ending quest to be the best Santa ever.

Oh, and cookies are done if you feel like dropping by for a cup of coffee and a dozen or so cookies. Milk and hot toddies also available on demand. I've got oatmeal Raisinette, oatmeal with butterscotch chips, chocolate chip, cranberry almond, peanut butter, and cut-outs. All recipes are available here.

black barred

Glamour Magazine ran a huge Do's and Don'ts spread, and they included Charleston, SC in the layout.


No wonder the Ladies of the South looked at me a little funny. If only this was in last month's Glamour I'da been so much better off. One even said "Iah liake ta dahress liake my dawatghters. It's soo cuate that you an your liddle sahn dahress just ahliake too.
You see, up here in Philthadelphia, camo cargos, baseball tees, Adidas sneaks, and pigtails are pretty typical in the thirty-something previously-Indie-rock alternaset. Down there, by the time you reach my age apparently it's mandatory to shop at Ann Taylor and have your hair set at least once a week.

Next time I travel I'm doing some research on local culture. That way I'll be ready to totally immerse myself in the scene. Some real "when in Rome" stuff.

It's so hard to be a jetsetter.

indicator

You know you are doing a bang up job as a mommy when you pull the Land O'Lakes butter out of the fridge to make Christmas cookies and your baby gasps and runs from the dining room screaming "OOOOOOHHHH BOOOOOOOBS! Gimme da boobs, please." and when he wrassles the box of boob butter away from you and he can't find the boobs anywhere he gives it back to you and runs back to his toys making that totally non-p.c. ab-ah-bah-bah-bah sound with his hand and his mouth that we used to make in the olden days when we played cowboys and indians.

In all fairness, I learned that boob trick from my mom. So it is kinda like an heirloom or a heritage or something.

moms vs. non-dads

I was changing Jake on the floor at Tommy's house last night about an hour after the boys decided to feed my poor child a bag of microwave popcorn.

Me: Hey Tom, we finally got a new rug for our living room.
Tom: Oh yeah? Good, I'll come over to your house, poop really bad in my pants, and then have someone take care of the mess right on your new rug.
Jake: POOP!

coo coo ka choo

When I was about seven years old, I suggested to my Sunday School teacher that we could sing Mrs. Robinson when she asked if anyone had any special requests. She stammered and said that she wasn't familiar with the song so I stood up and sang a little of it, singing extra loud when I got to the part about heaven holding a place for those who pray and Jesus loving her more than she could know.

Whoa whoa whoa.

Did you know that it is said that the song was originally about Eleanor Roosevelt, but the guy in charge of The Graduate had Paul Simon change the lyrics to fit the film? It kinda makes more sense if you think of it that way.

I heart Paul Simon more than anyone my age ever should.

shucks

Two friends of mine completely floored me in the last couple days. I always find it strange and a bit uncomfortable when someone gives me a heartfelt compliment. I'm okay with the nice sweater, love your bag, where did you get that couch? variety, but the big ones always get me a little teary in that Its A Wonderful Life kinda way.

Thanks, girls. I really needed this. I'm posting them here because yes, I do read my own blog (frequently) and I'll skip down to this post any time I'm having a "maybe I should take a trip to the old rickety South Street Bridge" moment. Kidding. I'm not much of a jumper. I'm just saying.

"you know, i never read the bulletins or blogs or any stuff like that because i always have computer trubs or have to catch up on my notes. but this one i had time to read. i have to say, "ha" even though that is one of your peeves. . . you have to become a writer. every time i do get a chance to read one of your blogs or messages i come within a pubic hair of pissing myself. and it's odd but i come out having learned something too. whether it is some deep philosophical lesson, a nugget about a social issue, or how to masturbate more effectively, there is always something. i just had to say that your talent with sarcasm and metaphors rocks my world. when i need a pick me up and am online, i read one of your writings and i'm good again. miss you and love you lots."

"Got a huge laugh out of your meme on the blog today. What I wouldn't give to have had a couple extra months in Philly to just follow you around and live vicariously through you. You are such a spark of life! I think envy you because you're already what I think I want to be when I grow up. And you look good doing it. Sigh."

mr manners

In my teaching teachers class a few months ago, we learned the importance of letting your children trust their gut instincts about people and situations they encounter. As parents we like to force our child to be nice, polite, and sweet to everyone. If our children are good, we are good, and who doesn't like to be good? I like to be good.

Jake is the most outgoing, chatty bratnik you've ever seen in your life but there are a few people he just doesn't take a liking to. So what is a mom like me to do? I tell him to be nice and say hello and shake hands. Then I make up some sort of excuse that he just woke up or he's hungry or some other line of bull just so someone doesn't walk away from the whole thing thinking that I have a rude kid. Or worse, thinking that I am a horrible parent.

When I little I was really weirded out by my Aunt Trudy. I don't even know who this woman was, but she wore brightly colored polyester pants and thick ankles and she had a auburn bobbed haircut and I can picture her in a hospital cafeteria, in my grandpa's rocking chair, and in a foyer. I don't think she was my real aunt. Family friend, I'm guessing. I don't know what ever happened to her, but I remember making a concerted effort to be nice to her so she would think I was a good girl and I wouldn't get yelled at when we got in the car.

There are a few other people that creeped me out (and still do), but I'm not listing them here. None of the creepy ones read but some of you readers actually found it in your hearts to love those horrid people and some of those horrid people are dead now and I once learned the hard way that it is okay to totally bash someone who is alive but after they die they achieve some sort of sainthood and all earthly evil doings are eradicated so you can't speak ill of them or they will come back to haunt you by throwing away one of your favorite socks, leaving the other in the drawer as a painful reminder of what you once owned and everyone alive will hate you. Not because you only have one sock but because you reminded them that their sweet dead aunt was really a frigid old conniving bitch. With lipstick on her teeth and a fart in her gait.

Digression, digression, as usual.

Because Jake uses manners and social graces 90% of the time, I am going to skip the "say hi, shake hands, how about a high five then?" formalities and go straight for the naptime excuse. That way we look like a normal mommy-baby combo and Jake doesn't have to go against his gut and talk to weirdos.

shagadelic

My hair is falling out. A lot, all at my temples and widow's peak.

Could be hormones, could be stress, could be rheumatic, could be age, could be a horrible enfeebling illness that has yet to be discovered in the medical field because it sure as hell isn't my thyroid which I had tested a few months ago.

All I know is it sucks and if it keeps up I may have to break my resolution and buy some really nice Pucci scarves. I'm totally going 60's mod if I go bald.

switch

This is the time of year when we all take a look at what horrible people we are and make plans to change all that once December is up.

I'm vowing to downsize my stuff in 2008. Because I am a mental patient I have stockpiled a ton of stuff just in case the market crashes. Literally. Like the grocery store caves in on itself and takes out the neighboring drug store on its way down. I have no less than five bottles of my shampoo and three of Jake's. Jake's are about a gallon big. My linen closet holds a dozen bottles of lotion, about twenty bars of soap (two gallons of liquid), bales of cotton balls, a gross of Q-tips, eight sets of sheets but only two that fit our queen-sized bed, and enough perfume, nail polish, and make-up to run a cathouse. We can stay relatively clean and pretty through at least September, I can assure you. I will continue to buy deodorant and feminine products for the good of others if for nothing else.

I'm going to eat all of the rice and pad thai and risotto I own before I buy any other side dish. In my house there is no such thing as side dish. It's just dish. I don't cook meat and acceptably fresh meal-worthy vegetables are hard to come by in this town unless your daddy is a millionaire. It isn't rare for me to eat couscous for dinner. I don't need thirteen boxes of pasta. I used to only eat fresh pasta and I think I remember being happier back then.

As much as I love decorating and redecorating my house, I'm done buying new decorating stuff. When I get my real house I'll buy new stuff. I may buy new Christmas stockings if I can find ones that meet the high standards I have set for myself and my child. A stocking is the best part of Christmas morning, after all.

I have four sets of dishes. I bet Dave didn't know that when I bought the new brat-proof Corelle. One is vintage, the other Christmas, and then there is our wedding stuff and now the new ones. That's plenty.

I'm going crunchy and I'm going to use vinegar and water and newspaper instead of Windex and papertowels and I'm going to stop buying new cleaning supplies because I think my house will be cleaner if I own them. The only way that my house will be cleaner is if I clean it. I can't decide whether I am proud or ashamed to admit that baby wipes have done 95% of my housecleaning in twenty ought seven.

Sugar and olive oil makes a great exfoliator.

And the big one is that I'm not going to buy any new clothes for myself in 2008. Or shoes. Or purses. I have the luxury of a casual workplace so I don't need fancy things. I wear the same cargo pants every night and weekend in the winter and the same cargo shorts every night and weekend in the summer. My cute girly work shirts look awesome with my butchy pants and my butchy weekend stuff is superadorable with my girly work pants all year round. What I have will do just fine.
I have thirty some pairs of shoes but I only wear my brown flip flops, my Gazelles, and my Justin's.
If you added up the net worth of my pocketbooks I'd turn red. You'd be green. Some of them are fabulous. Maybe I should give them a chance to see the light of day.

I'm going back on my budget and I'm going to stick to it. And I'm keeping an expense log. And my expense log will be kept in one of my six pre-existing notebooks. I have this thing where I feel like every new venture deserves a new pad of paper. Not true.

I'll keep you posted.

all up in my space

Every Monday I avoid actually working at work by spending some time filling out surveys on My Space. I think every Tuesday I'm going to not work at work by doing a blog meme first thing in the morning. Then if you like it, you can do it and nothing will get done anywhere. if not working is the American Way, than I'm the biggest spreader of patriotism you'll ever know. Because I haven't properly researched for this today, I'm cutting and pasting my Monday Morning MySpace Meme- not because it's all that great, but because I'm all that lazy.

You'll notice that several numbers are missing. That means that the questions were way too intense or personal for someone so they deleted them. Not me. I'll answer everything because I know that you are dying to know this stuff about me.

1. Introduce yourself.I'm sure you are all pretty familiar with me by now
2. It's Thursday at noon, where are you usually?trying to figure out how I can get out of work at a reasonable time. Like 2pm-ish. For the rest of the month I have a standing appointment Thursdays at noon, so I guess I'll be there from now on. I probably won't have enough time in my day to go back to the office. So if you want to catch a quick drink or grab a cup of coffee at 4 or so, lemme know.
3. Who are the last four people to send you a text message?the usual offenders. My friends don't like to talk to each other because we are way too busy with our kids and our lives and our skin care rituals, so we just text each other. Do you remember in the olden days before texting when you would talk on the phone in the morning while you were getting ready and you had to make the person hold on while you put your shirt over your head and then you had to listen to your friend try to tell you about some sort of crap that happened to her last night while she was brushing her teeth? Yeah, I'm so glad that I live in the golden era of non-verbal telephonic communication.
4. Which Shampoo is in your bathroom right now?Aveda Sap Moss and Bumble and Bumble English Rose Curl Conscious Shampoo. Also Suave Daily Clarifying that I use from time to time to totally strip all the gunk from my hair.
5. Honestly, if you could have ANYONE in the world, who would it be?me. I want another me to have and to hold from this day forward and we would be hilarious and we would understand each other and never have to have "that talk" about the current state of things and we could share clothes and make up and do each other's hair and we would be totally honest with each other about what we looked like from behind. We would know exactly how and when and where to touch each other and there would never be any disagreements about dinner or movies or radio stations. If we got bored at work we would just switch jobs for a few weeks to mix it up a bit. We would play all sorts of neat tricks on you because we would look alike and talk alike and walk alike. Doesn't it sound wonderful?
6. What are you listening to right now?Eight people speaking Spanish and two people speaking English. When the hell did all this happen? It's a wonder that I even have a job anymore.
7. Do you watch MTV anymore?hardly. I'm officially over it.
11. How do you feel about your hair?It's great today because I decided that I'm cutting it all off. Short in the back and long in the front. I'm going to rock the hair I had in grad school because maybe it will magically transform me into a 24 year old again.
12. What time do you wake up for school?I wish. I wake up when Jake wakes up, usually sometime between 7 and 7.30
13. What movie is in your DVD player?I don't have a DVD player. Come on. Me? With a technologically sound device? As if. I'm afraid that it would make my house explode. Growing up Amish really did a number on me.
14. Last two numbers in your phone number?03
16. What side of the bed do you sleep on?there are sides to the bed? What is this you speak of? I just take the entire thing and own it. I think it is weird that we are given our own bed our entire lives and then we are supposed to share it with someone when we are grown up. Where is the justice in that? I don't like it, not one bit and I do not subscribe.
17. Do you like roller coasters?only good ones at Cedar Point. The rest blow.
21. Whens the next time you'll kiss someone of the opposite sex?probably sometime before I do any same sex kissing. Although if I play my cards right tonight, Diane will let me give her a nice sloppy hello kiss. And maybe if I get enough booze in her I can give her an even sloppier goodbye one.
22. What do your parents look like?me. They look nothing like each other but they both look like me.
28. What are your plans for Friday?certainly nothing like last Friday. Saturday effing blew.
29. What is the dumbest thing you have ever done with your cellphone?I'm so responsible with my cellphone that I should be ashamed. Coolkids lose them and break them and do all sorts of terrible things with them. I had mine thrown at me in a fight once. That was pretty badass.
35. What do you usually order at Taco Bell?Meximelts and Mexican Pizzas. I'm really upset that there is no Dr. Pepper at TB any more. Nothing quenches your thirst after making a run to the border quite like it.
36. Have you ever sat all the way through Gone With the Wind?no, but I read it all the way through. I loved it. It made me want to go South and prosper.
37. When was the last time you were up all night?I'm not sure. I used to do it all the time but now I'm old and tired. I was up until 3 on Friday and I didn't like it at all.
39. Where is your favorite place?bed
40. Do you ever think about the price of gasoline?No. I rarely drive anywhere
41. Do you sleep with a fan on?in the summer because I am much too delicate to sleep with the air conditioning on.
42. What is the best thing about winter?lots of blankets and flannel sheets. And knee socks and cute boots. And luxe scarves. And comfort food. But other than that, I hate it.
43. How often do you hold back from saying what you are thinking?More often than you think I do. Believe it or not, there is a filter. You don't want to know the 75% of crap that I actually keep in my brain. You'd be afraid, you'd be really afraid.
45. Are you currently planning a trip?there are a few in the works.
48. Have you ever googled your name and found somebody?no. I'm the only one. There are a million and seven people with my last name in Argentina, but none of them are named Lora.
49. Whose number one on your top friends?dave
50. Why are they number one?it's in the myspace rule book
51. What makes you feel like you are young again?making out to zeppelin records
52. Do you ever type "kik" instead of "lol"?I never type lol so I wouldn't make that mistake. I hate the lol's and the ha's. If what you said is truly funny, we will all laugh without being told to.
53. Do you know how to play chess?no way. chess is for dorks.
54. What's on your mind right now?my complete annoyance at people who leave urgent phone messages but they don't tell me where they are from and they mumble their names and numbers. So I have to spend my valuable time tracking that person down when I could be filling out space bulletins.
55. Do you want to take something back that happened in the last week?No, if last week could be totally eradicated from existence I'd feel a lot better though. It sucked. This week is going to be better, I can feel it.

big boy bed

Saturday night found Jake in a three-sided cage. I took the front of the crib off in front of him so he could see what what was going on and as soon as it was down, Jake was climbing on and off, talking about his "iggyboy bed! yay! up, down! good job! good boy! i jump! i no jump. sit down. good boy."

When I checked on him at about 2am he was on the floor, but he did okay the rest of the night. Last night he was sleeping with his feet on the floor and his body on the bed at 10, and he woke up on the bed at 7.30 this morning. I was going to get one of those safety rails, but I think I'll just let him go. The room is carpeted and it is a very low bed anyway, so if he falls there shouldn't be any permanent damage to the floor or the boy.

Jake's bedroom door makes a really loud noise if you even manage to get it open, so I think I'm going to skip the baby gate and see how it goes. I thought I had a doorknob safety latch, but I can't dig it up right now. It's in the dark recesses of my basement, and it can be scary down there if you are in the house all by yourself so I'll wait for backup before I brave the cellar again.

I'm trying to stick to our little bedtime ritual as much as possible, I like that we can sit on the bed and read Goodnight Moon, and then I rock him while we count to 25 and hold him over my shoulder for 26-50 then lie him down so his head is in the crook of my arm for 51-75. He's getting a little too big for that, since his legs are flying around randomly while I engage the ever-so-gentle mommy-loves-her-baby baby-restraint system to get him to go to sleep. The best part is that I can lay next to Jake and pat his butt from 76-100. No more lightheadedness from leaning into the crib to do that.

I've moved some toys into the room and removed all the knives and razor blades and noxious chemicals that I had stored in there so Jake can roam free in his room, which is good. But now Jake wants to be in his room all the time, which is not so good. I broke down and we played in there on Sunday morning. And by played I mean that he opened all his drawers a hundred times and I camped out on his bed with one eye open. Jake decided that it was my bedtime so he brought me Bear, his Phillies blanket, and brought Goodnight Moon over and he pointed out the balloon, comb, brush, mush, clocks, fire, socks, kittens, moon, cow, light, books, and window before he gave me a kiss and said goodnight. It was the sweetest damn thing ever.