Basement got bat

I have three very nice essays, all handwritten (on my lunch hour at work!) and ready to be keyed in and posted. However, regular programming has been temporarily suspended while I obsess about the BAT in my BASEMENT. Not the nice blue plastic kind that's used to hit a whiffle ball; that one's in our backyard. No, a REAL bat. Brown, winged, about the size of my hand. Seen on Tuesday night, as I entered the basement to do laundry, flipped on the light, and very nearly hit the deck as an unidentified flying creature zoomed around the basement a few times before vanishing. Surprisingly, I did not shriek.

There is a BAT in my BASEMENT. Some bats carry RABIES. Rabies makes people DIE. I've gotten a degree in general bat information from Google University over the past few days, and have run across many sites about Beneficial Bats, and how they eat insects, and really, only 10% of them might carry rabies, and we are all statistially likelier to get hit by cars than we are to catch rabies from a bat. This does not make me comfortable with a family of bats living in my insulation, however. Professional help (of the bat exclusion kind, not the psychiatric kind) should arrive early next week.

Back to continued freaking out over BAT in BASEMENT.

Parenting by the book

Every once in a while, I get the urge to read a parenting book or two. Of the "parenting memoir" variety, that is. I find being a parent a fascinating experience, and obviously I enjoy writing about my kids and my experience. So of course I'm interested in reading about the parenting experiences of others.

Next time I get the urge to read a few parenting books, however, I will announce it here. At that point, please remind me that I should really be doing something else with my time. Like cleaning my basement. Or cleaning the garage. Or even sticking nail files up my nose. Because EVERY TIME I've picked up a parenting book lately, I've ended up rolling my eyes and saying, "God. What a twit. I can't believe someone got paid to write that."

On the parenting bookshelf lately:

Alternadad. I grabbed this book off of the freebie table at my former office, and then didn't get around to reading it for quite a while (mostly because I grabbed it about an hour before the place became "my former office"). If you spend a lot of time online, you've probably heard Neal Pollack's name at some point. He writes for Salon.com, and sometime last year he wrote a piece about his son getting expelled from daycare for having a biting problem. Many, many people had many, many strong reactions to this piece. I wasn't fond of it either; I recall reading it and thinking, "Boy, he and his wife sound like a couple of twits. Really unsympathetic twits, too. And if I were the parent of the other kid and read this story, I would be livid. I can't believe he got paid to write that." (He writes about it in more detail in this book, and makes everyone involved seem a bit more sympathetic.) But he also inserts lots of references to smoking weed, and about how he is a WRITER, and his wife is an ARTIST. It got distracting, rather like the Slacker Mom's constant references to her childhood on a Wyoming ranch.

I'm Too Sexy for my Volvo: A Mom's Guide to Staying Fabulous!. Oh, man. This one is for affluent women who live on either coast, and not for normal people who live in flyover country. She lost me at the part where you're supposed to take the money you'd spend on fine wines, which you're not drinking during pregnancy, and spend it on fifty-dollar soap to pamper yourself.

It may not seem like the two books I'm snarking on here have a lot in common, but. One focuses on being a cool dad with a creatively fulfilling career, smoking a lot of pot and delighting in the kid dancing and saying, "Rock and roll!" And the other is subtitled A Mom's Guide to Staying Fabulous! Seems to be a lot of concern about parenthood not changing Who You Are, and having the need to trumpet that from the rooftops. Perhaps it's because I was never cool or fabulous to begin with, but I was never worried that becoming a parent would drastically alter my personality. Pre-kids, I read a lot, and had a couple of favorite TV shows. Sometimes, I went to book discussion groups, or out to a movie with a friend. Now, I watch a lot more TV (yay DVR), but I'm still reading a moderate amount. And once, I went to a movie with a friend.

The Motherhood Manifesto: What America's Moms Want--and What to Do About It. A foray into nonfiction! This book certainly seemed to have some valid points (American women would probably really love having flexible work schedules, and being able to work from home, and being able to find high-quality daycare that fits their schedule and their budget, and having longer, and paid, maternity leaves to start with). Unfortunately, I couldn't concentrate on those points, because this book was edited by a crew of drunken monkeys. What with the misplaced modifiers, misuse of commas, and general grammatical hilarity, I was too distracted to read more than a couple of pages without giggling, rolling my eyes, or both.*

So, that's enough of that. Until next time, when I pick up a paperback with an interesting jacket design and some intriguing back cover copy about One Person's (or One Family's ) Unique and Special Parenting Experience. Coming soon to a bookstore near all of us, I'm sure.

*If you find a typo here, sorry. I try to self-edit as much as I can, but if you decided that I'm hypocritical and go looking for typos, I'm sure you'll find some. Anyway, keep in mind that this is a BLOG, and it's FREE; it's not an actual published book produced by an actual publishing house, which presumably has some sort of editing process in place.

You can always go...downtown

Today, I re-entered the world of Gainful Employment. I forgot to mention this earlier, perhaps because it freaked me out a little, but my new job is downtown. In the city. In an actual high-rise building. Surrounded by a lot of other tallish buildings. This is somewhat exciting; even before my 19-year-old self headed off to Arizona, I'd never spent much time downtown.

As it turns out, high-rise buildings have their advantages. The one I work in now features an attached parking structure, a small coffee shop, a restaurant, and a convenience store. There are electrical outlets in the bathrooms (er, at least the women's bathrooms); if I were so inclined, I could plug in a curling iron and style my hair right there. (That's a pretty big "if," considering I can't remember when I last used my curling iron, don't even remember where I put it when we moved back to Wisconsin three years ago, and don't ever bother actually styling my hair anyway. But if I wanted to style my hair in my new office building, I could.) The convenience store proved remarkably convenient this morning. I don't know what possessed me to wear a skirt today, what with the six (!) inches of snow we were expecting, but wear a skirt I did, and stick my thumb through my pantyhose I also did. I had just decided, rather anxiously, to arrange myself mindfully so that the large run forming in them could not be detected easily, and then I walked past the convenience store and delightedly beheld an entire RACK of pantyhose. So I bought a pair, and once again displayed a professional appearance. Which lasted until about noon, when I stuck my thumb through the new pantyhouse. There's got to be a lesson in this somewhere; I think it's probably "Don't wear skirts. Stick to pants. And stop telling the Internet about what you wear under your skirts."

So I'll tell you, briefly, about my new office. (But not too much, since now that I have a job I'd like to keep it.) I have a nice cubicle, which is located next to some windows. I can see a good portion of downtown, including some nostalgic landmark-type buildings. (This is a nice change from seeing the parking lot, a dumpster, and some geese.) Free coffee and tea are available in the break areas, and the coworkers appear quite pleasant.

And then we all got home for the evening, and Action Hero said, "Hi! HI! Hiiiiiiiii! Ha! Hai! Hi! Hei!" and waved frantically. Then he climbed up onto the couch and started walking around on it.

Toys in review

Before last Saturday, I thought that we had a fine selection of beeping, talking, musical toys. I now realize, however, how wrong I was. We did not have anywhere NEAR enough. Fortunately, with the arrival of Action Hero's first birthday, which relatives helped us celebrate on Saturday, that terrible lack has been remedied.

The toy of the hour, in fact the toy of the year, is called My First Electronic Ride-on. It looks sort of like this, without the fire engine motif. It does feature some fire-engine sound effects, however, along with some police-car sound effects, a horn, some music, and various other noises. And it does not have an adjustable volume, and its volume is set at Pretty Darn Loud, thanks. I am really happy we got a pushing-type toy, as Action Hero has started pushing the laundry baskets, dining chairs, and end tables around in the absence of noisy plastic push toys. Action Hero loves this toy; he spent much of Saturday evening pushing it back and forth between the kitchen and living room. Finally, as it was getting pretty late, he trundled it into the kitchen...and, to our surprise, came back without it. (Dragon asked him, quite seriously, "Did you go park your car?" He had, under the kitchen table.) Being Action Hero, he has since figured out how to stand up on its seat and wave his arms gaily in the air. Today, he used it as a step, and he can now climb up on both the couch and the futon. Heaven help us all.

Next, he received a toy guitar, which also doubles as a toy violin (complete with toy bow). It is almost as tall as he is, but he likes it. So does Boy Wonder. Conveniently, this one has a volume switch, and is easily kept at a reasonable volume.

Another gift that's appreciated by both boys: a pinball machine. No volume button; riotous music; festive lights.

The musical ladybug pull toy went over well with all of the children in attendance. In fact, little twenty-month-old Cousin M grabbed it nonchalantly on her way out the door, perhaps thinking to slip it under her coat. It is bigger than her head, so that didn't work so well. Action Hero barely noticed the ladybug on Saturday, but by Sunday evening was merrily pulling it around.

A frog book, which says "Ribbit! Ribbit!" loudly, provided ME some amusement last night, as I pressed the button repeatedly and watched Action Hero try to figure out where the noise was coming from. He was pleased to find the book, and chewed off a corner of the cover before dropping the book and heading back to his ride-on toy.

Which, duh. I can let y'all know exactly what it looks like, with a serious driver besides. Here you go.

Happy birthday, baby!

(Disclaimer: I am a writer, or at least I fancy that I'm a writer. I am not a photographer, but I am aware that these photos are not spectacular. If you want clear, striking photography, go see Hawkins.)

One year ago:



Earlier this week:



Yeah. That's the BABY, climbing the STAIRS. He is under the impression that he can climb down stairs as well, but he cannot. His little legs are just too short; he'll place one leg on the step below the one he's standing on, grab the railing, and try to step down, only to discover that his other leg is stuck on the higher step.

Private birthday festivities before this weekend's extravaganza (or, "What the hell is this stuff on my hands?"):

Whoo-HOO! (And dammit!)

Good news first!

In an astonishing change of fortune, the interviewer who said she really liked meeting with me? Twice? Well, she ACTUALLY MEANT IT! Enough to call me yesterday and offer me a job, in fact! I am so relieved that I can't adequately express my relief verbally. As an added bonus, I just received my offer letter (I've never gotten an official offer letter before, so this is very exciting), and received a pleasant surprise: apparently, there's been a change in title. I responded to an ad for a Standard Title, and the offer letter lists the title as Slightly Fancier Title That Looks Much Better on a Resume. (Not that I hope to be getting my resume ready again anytime soon. Aieee.)

(Note to passerby: if you've recently contacted me about freelancing, I'm still interested. Not getting stuck with no freelance contacts again, me.)

And, since the good must usually be balanced with the bad (at least at my house), the bad news. Well, not really BAD bad, just awfully inconvenient.

Into every life, a little rain must fall. And, since it is spring in southeastern WI, plenty of rain has been falling lately. When we bought our house, one corner of the basement was slightly damp due to the heavy rainfalls we had late last summer, but things dried out fairly quickly, and I was hopeful that we wouldn't have any more issues. HAHAHHAHAHA. There I go hoping again! I was merrily going about my morning, getting things tidied up for Action Hero's impending birthday festivities and dragging my work-appropriate clothing out of storage bins. I escorted the work-appropriate clothing to the basement, where I placed it in a laundry basket and went to go remove some items from the dryer...which was surrounded by a wet floor. Further investigation revealed water, and plenty of it, in two additional locations. Ah, the glamourous life of a homeowner. Mopping operations have commenced, I am thanking my lucky stars that we never decided to clean out and use the laundry chute (because we'd have a big pile of gross wet laundry), and my dad will stop by and bring his dehumidifier.

Off to finish the mopping operations, continue birthday preparation, and sign and return my offer letter!

And milestones to go before he sleeps

Eating applesause is a serious business. He did actually manage to dip a spoon in the applesauce, and then place the spoon in his mouth, a few minutes before his photo was taken. Apparently, that was too slow a method for him, and he commenced to drinking the applesauce straight from the container.

More milestones: last night, he drank from a sippy cup. Then he dropped it and said, "Uh-oh." And he can climb a lot more than the bottom three stairs now; he can climb the whole darn staircase. Photos of that coming soon, as soon as I remember to grab the camera when he heads for the stairs.

Whine-o

(This post sponsored partially by Schmitt Söhne Riesling, so please forgive the lack of a specific theme, or perhaps any direction whatsoever. Good stuff, that.)

The verdict on the car: minor oil leak, easily handled by my keeping the oil tank full in the future. (And, presumably, keeping cardboard on my garage floor, lest I be tempted to christen my car Exxon Valdez.) It seems a bit odd that keeping the tank full will cause it not to leak, but it's not too often that mechanics want to NOT fix my car, so I'm going to go with it.

Another float in the Inconvenience Parade: someone at my house, whose name is not Anithe, misplaced a DVD that belonged to the library. (It HAS to be in our house somewhere; the home inspection did not uncover any portals to other dimensions. Unfortunately, I haven't located it yet.) In order to keep making our weekly visits to the library, I had to pay for it, and there was some confusion as to whether I might be able to get a refund once I locate the DVD. A polite email was sent, and a refund shall be mine if I do manage to locate Scooby-Doo Meets Batman. (Of all the DVDs I might have had the opportunity to reimburse the library for, that is NOT the one I would have picked.)

Action Hero's first birthday is in exactly one week, and we shall be having a party in exactly one week and two days. In honor of the occasion, I gave the kitchen floor a good sweeping, even moving the stove and sweeping under the refrigerator, and found all of our missing alphabet magnets, Jimmy Hoffa, and the Holy Grail. (I did not, however, find any DVDs.)

Boy Wonder is currently going through a two-bite snacking phase: asking for something to eat, taking two bites of it, and saying, "Can I be all done now? I'm not hungry anymore." And then, five minutes later, saying, "I'm hungry. Can I have a banola (sic) bar?"

Action Hero can climb stairs, at least the five on our back porch. Oh, and the lower three on our interior staircase.

Note to Boy Wonder's future girlfriends: keep it casual, ladies. This afternoon, Boy Wonder looked up as I walked into the room and said, "Wow, Mommy. You look beautiful!" What had I done? Changed into an old T-shirt and swept my hair into two messy pigtails.

Speaking of sweeping (again), as I was on the phone with the nice lady from the library, I heard Boy Wonder laughing hysterically in the kitchen, and Action Hero enthusiastically whapping his booster-chair tray. After my conversation concluded, I entered the kitchen...and was greeted by a floor covered in corn kernels and buttered macaroni noodles. After some questioning, it was revealed that the one who was responsible was the one who should really have known better.

I am really glad that Rocky was voted off of Survivor tonight, since he spent much of last week's episode wearing his rear end as a hat. Personalities like his are the reason that "reality" TV is not usually my first viewing choice.

I also spent some time on the phone with the nice unemployment lady, who called to make sure that my acceptance of a freelance writing assignment (yay!) would not conflict with my search for a full-time job. I assured her that a full-time, first-shift job was still much desired, thank you.

Speaking of jobs, I should be finding out tomorrow whether or not I will be offered one. To my references: you know who you are. Has anyone called you?

Goodnight, Gracie!

Here in my car...oh, wait

"Mommy? Is this our new car?"

"No, honey. It's Nanny's car, remember? We went to her house yesterday and put your car seats in this car, and then we took Mommy's car to the car-fixing place."

"Oh. Yeah." (pause) "Why do we have to borrow Nanny's car ALL THE TIME?"

My car, it has no sense of timing. In the middle of winter, it started stalling alarmingly at intersections, and was taken to Trusted Family Mechanic, who diagnosed it with a failing transmission. Of COURSE my car needs expensive repairs while I'm unemployed. (It also needed an oil leak fixed, but on the Car Repair Expense scale, that's a $ compared to a transmission's $$$$.) I had a brief panic about what I would drive while my car's transmission and oil leak were being repaired, but then my mother reminded me that my grandmother does not drive anymore and would no doubt lend me her car while mine was in the shop. So we borrowed Nanny's car for a week or so, and Boy Wonder seemed to enjoy it. So did I; power locks are rather easy to get used to, and are quite handy when transporting multiple children and assorted diaper, grocery, and discount store bags. It even has a trunk release inside the car, which my car for some reason does not have.

Last week, I realized that there was once again oil all over the garage floor, and made arrangements to re-borrow my grandmother's car. Then, just to shake things up, my car had a flat tire on Friday. As flat tires go, it was well-timed and conveniently located (after the job interview, before I picked up the kids, and right in front of a Starbucks), but it still meant that I had to spend Saturday getting the tire taken care of, instead of being able to drop off my entire car. With the assistance of my father, who feels strongly about helping his womenfolk out with car issues (Mom never has to fill her own gas tank), the entire car made it into the shop yesterday. And I am once again enjoying the power locks on Nanny's car, although apparently Boy Wonder is not. (Action Hero seems to enjoy it; for some reason, this car inspires him to babble extensively.)

Correspondence course

Dear neighbor across the street,

It's just so...so...BIG! No, really, it's huge. That is one impressive TV you've got there, and you should be quite proud to have it. Now please close your drapes, because I can see your big TV even when my living-room blinds are closed. If I wanted to watch football games and Casino Royale with you, I'd nurture a social acquaintance and wait to be invited.

Cordially,

Anithe

Dear Automated Bill Collection Service,

This is no longer Dennis E.'s phone number. Please stop the thrice-weekly calls. I am mightily sick of having to press 9 and stay on hold forever until a live service rep picks up, apologizes profusely, and promises to clear my phone number from the database.

Irritatedly,

Anithe

Dear Dennis E.,

Being in debt is difficult, I know. Good luck with getting your bills paid. And get your phone number updated in everyone's database too.

Encouragingly,

Anithe

Dear Boy Wonder and Action Hero,

Naps are not a sign of weakness, and they really help to cut down on late-afternoon crankiness. Try to take them once in a while, 'kay?

Lovingly,

Mommy

Dear self,

Before using the large skillet for cooking, remember to wash it well; Action Hero was playing with pots and pans yesterday, and did a little dance in it wearing his outside shoes. (Not that you'll be likely to forget that, since it was awfully cute.)

Amusedly,

Anithe

Once upon a dream

Last night, I dyed my hair electric blue.

Fortunately, it was only a dream. Weird one, too. I had been invited to visit the very impressive estate of a young woman, and I'd been provided with clothing and a fresh hairstyle besides. I found this very exciting, until I realized that my clothing and hairstyle were exact duplicates of hers, and I knew that this meant she would kill me and pretend that my body was hers, enabling her to disappear and take on a new identity somewhere. (This is apparently what I get for watching Bones and a lot of L & O: SVU reruns before bedtime.) So I quickly ran out to the salon and got a makeover and some electric blue hair dye, and the day was saved. And then, in the dream, I said, "Oh, no! I have a job interview tomorrow! I can't go to it with electric blue hair!"

Except for the part about the hair, that last bit is accurate. In a surprising turn of events, last Friday's interviewer ACTUALLY MEANT IT when she said, "I'm sure I'll be calling you back for a second interview sometime next week!" Appendages crossed, everyone: we need some more gainful employment at my house, pronto!

Boy Bruiser

Since Boy Wonder is bent on treating our living room as a Survivor-style obstacle course (and may I just say that he would probably make a great Survivor contestant? He loves the water, will happily sleep on the floor, and would probably have no problem communicating with the other contestants, since a good portion of them seem to act like three-year-olds), he sometimes injures himself. Not badly, and not frequently, but he'll get bumps and bruises.

Generally not twice in one week, though. He currently has a large blue bruise on his forehead, from goofing off near the futon the other day, and a swollen lower lip, which he somehow bumped and bit whilst goofing off on the coffee table today (as I shouted from the kitchen, "Boy Wonder, get off the coffee table! Now! I mean...oh, dear. Honey, your lip is bleeding. Come here."). People who see us in passing must think I am a horrible parent.

From the mind of Boy Wonder

Some selections of what Boy Wonder’s three-year-old mind has come up with recently, followed by explanations—because not everyone lives in my head.


“Grandma, how is your purple Elmo?” (My mother slipped on some ice a couple of weeks ago, bruising her elBOW quite colorfully.)

“Do ogres have big butts?” (This question, along with others along similar lines— “Do all dragons have fire come out their mouths? Why does that monster have two heads? Are there red monsters here?”—inspired by World of Warcraft, which Boy Wonder has taken an interest in watching Dragon play lately. Check back in a few years for Boy Wonder’s new hit single, “Ogre Got Back.” )

“Mommy? I have a sister!” (One would think that one curious baby brother would be enough for any three-year-old, but Boy Wonder seems determined to acquire extra siblings. First, he announced that Other Boy Wonder, a daycare companion who shares his first name, was his brother; now, he has decided that he has a sister. His new “sister,” the daughter of one of my friends, is six; she and her mom came to visit a couple of weeks ago, and I guess Boy Wonder really enjoyed their visit. Fortunately, they’re coming over again on Saturday.)

Other recent topics of conversation have included birthday cakes (he changes his mind every other day, but now seems pretty set on having a Scooby-Doo cake for his birthday, and says that Action Hero would also like a Scooby-Doo birthday cake, because babies don’t like Elmo), days of the week (“Today is Monday! And tomorrow is Friday, so I can go to Grandma’s!”), and seasons (“It is sunny out, so I do not need to wear a jacket! It is summer now!”). Ah, the life of a three-year old: skipping effortlessly from Monday to Friday, thinking that sunshine always goes hand-in-hand with warmth, and having the year's biggest decision be, "What cartoon character should grace my birthday cake this year?"

It's raining clothes, hallelujah

Yesterday, my cousin called. Actually, I think he may be my second cousin, once removed. Or maybe my third cousin...or maybe just my second cousin? (Our mothers are first cousins, so if anyone can tell me how that works, that'd be lovely. Thanks.) At any rate, we're related, and get the chance to cross paths on holidays sometimes. Also, he and his wife have two little boys, aged seven and five, who recently outgrew a bunch of clothing. And another relative said, "Hey, you know, Anithe has two boys! You should ask her if they need clothes!"

Getting free clothes is one of the benefits of parenthood you just don't think about until it happens. Sometimes, it happens unexpectedly, and is badly timed; on a few occasions during Boy Wonder's infancy, I'd stock up on clothing and then go into work the next day and be greeted with, "Hey, how are you? Oh, I'm Lucille, from the sales department. Nice to meet you. So, I've got six Xtra-large bags of Georgie Junior's outgrown clothes in my trunk, and someone said you have a baby boy..." On the other hand, I very rarely turn down free stuff, and free clothing is never badly timed; kids, particularly infants, require frequent costume changes, and doing laundry less frequently is always nice.

Yesterday, though, the timing was grand. I seem to be washing pants for Boy Wonder every other day, and most of those are looking pretty short, at that. But it's almost summer here, so I don't want to buy him too many more pairs of pants...but they'll wear out if I keep washing them...but the only ones that look long enough anymore are the black ones...etc. So I was thrilled to hear that loads of clothing were mine for the asking, and even more thrilled when two super-sized bags were transferred from my cousin's car trunk to mine. And even MORE more thrilled when we got the bags home and opened them, because they contained at least sixteen pairs of pants, most of which look like they will fit Boy Wonder quite nicely. Jeans! Khakis! Sweats! Warm-up pants with stripes down the sides! Along with roughly a metric ton of T-shirts, both short- and long-sleeved, a fine selection of fleecy sweatshirts, and at least a dozen pairs of pajamas, most of them fleecy feetie pajamas with DINOSAURS. As a bonus, we also acquired ssorted mittens, hats, and some extra snowpants that will come in handy next winter. There are even some items that are too small for Boy Wonder but will be just right for Action Hero in a few months.

Boy Wonder is pleased with the haul, too. He helped me open the bags yesterday, anxiously waited for me to wash some of the clothes, and went through three outfits today. ("Oh no, Mommy! You got a drop of water on my pants! I need to go get new pants! Can I wear my new jeans?") Hopefully, he will not wake up several times during the night and ask to change pajamas.

He ain't dusty, he's my brother

I will never know exactly what goes on in my kids' heads, but sometimes I'd really like to.

"Okay, Boy Wonder, help me pick up some toys! I need to vacuum the living room."

"Mommy, can you get Action Hero out of here?"

"Um, why? He's not afraid of the vacuum cleaner anymore."

"So you don't vacuum him up."

I don't know whether to be touched at his protectiveness of his baby brother, or wildly offended at his assumption that, if not watched carefully, I would VACUUM UP THE BABY. Good grief.

Job search bulletin

I was recently tallying up the number of interviews I've had since becoming unemployed, and the results are in: that would be five, ladies and gentlemen! (I am not counting the one where the interviewer began the interview by saying, "So, you can work from 11AM until 8PM, right?" Um, no. Y'all should really mention that in your ad.)

The fifth interview took place today: just about an hour ago, in fact. Good things about today's interview: the job sounds excellent, and the department sounds like a fun group of people. The interviewer mentioned several times that she was really enjoying talking with me, and that it seemed like I have a fabulous skill set. She started to ask, "And how's your attendance record been?" and then said, "Well, really. You showed up early today, and you certainly don't look like someone who has attendance issues." Well hey, I like The Black Suit too. This sounds great, right? Well, sure it does. However. Bad things about today's interview: THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY. No, really. All of my previous interviewers said that they were really enjoying talking with me. One of them even said that she could see me fitting in with their team quite easily. And all of my "Sorry, we're going to move on to other candidates" comments have been along the lines of, "We really liked you, and you have many admirable qualities. But."

I never realized that being sociable and pleasant could actually work against me. Not directly, of course, but please enjoy this latest bout of self-examination right along with me. Now, I can see why people enjoy talking with me. I have a pleasant speaking voice and a calm manner. I'm courteous yet friendly. I can adjust my communication style, going from brusque and no-nonsense to warm and empathetic in the time it takes many people to say, "Gosh, you want to know what my goals are? Well, let's see..." (I started out as a drama major.) I smile frequently, make the appropriate amount of eye contact, and apply (gentle, inoffensive) humor if the occasion calls for it. I think my personality would be a great fit for a lot of offices, really.

Of course, companies don't hire for personality alone. And that's as it should be. Just because I can interact pleasantly with just about anybody doesn't mean that I'm the most qualified candidate for the job. It is, however, discouraging to keep hearing, "You know, I'm really enjoying this meeting here. I think you'd be a wonderful fit with our team of engineers/editorial staff/front office group/battalion of Spartan soldiers!" and waiting to hear back about that vaunted second interview...and then waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more. And then getting the "Though we really enjoyed meeting with you and feel that you have fine experience/a wonderful resume/enthusiastic references/admirable qualities/lovely, expressive green eyes, we will be moving forward with other candidates" letter (or email).

So, hurrah for my pleasant, sociable personality and tidy appearance; at least they're complimenting the skills I do have, and I know that I'm not being turned down because of a lousy resume, bad references, or unpleasant body odor. And hurrah, too, for my adaptability, sense of humor, and ability to hit the ground running, because those are awfully useful traits to have when the "Thanks but no thanks" letters come.

World views

"Mommy? Mommy? I drew you a picture! This is your world!"




"Mommy? And this is your office!"




(I've looked at the above image carefully, to see if Boy Wonder is actually a remote viewer, or having premonitions, but it doesn't seem to resemble any company logos.)

Kitchen table whimsy

Posts detailing Boy Wonder's verbal abilities coming soon. Until then, please enjoy photographic evidence of a moment of giddy whimsy I experienced one day during breakfast preparation. A few minutes after I took this photo, Boy Wonder came into the kitchen and demanded his own "clown hat." He was provided with a coffee filter, which he wore with flair.

Action (Hero) - adventure stories

Action Hero has had quite an eventful month, which I've been meaning to blog about for a while now. Without further ado, here is what he's been up to lately.

Celebrating "R" Virus Awareness Month:

First, he got rotavirus, which was heralded by a day and a half of progressively stinkier diapers and an even more impressive vomiting episode. (I'd just finished nursing him, and he'd nearly drifted off to sleep but woke up when the Scooby-Doo theme started playing. I took him into our computer room and said to Dragon, "Darn, he was almost sleeping just now! I don't think he's feeling good, though." Action Hero agreed with me immediately, coughing and then drenching my front with everything he'd eaten that day. And I do mean "everything." I have never had the meaning of the term "blow chunks" made so clear to me.) After a week or so, his stomach (and diapers) finally returned to normal. At which point he suddenly developed a roaring fever that lasted for three days and did not accompany any other symptoms. It broke on a Monday, and he seemed better, but on Tuesday I got The Call from daycare; he had a rash. Then things became clear: textbook case of roseola. We are hoping to avoid rubella and other viruses that begin with "r." Instead, he now has hives, and has had some blood drawn to be tested for food allergies.

Increased playing action:

For a while now, Action Hero has enjoyed picking up objects and marching around the house with them. Recently, this has taken on another element: now, he picks up an item, holds it out toward you as though he's going to bring it to you, and then turns around and runs (no, seriously, it is pretty close to actual running) away giggling. Then, you must chase him, saying "Baby has a box/car/Elmo/cell phone/CD! I must have that box/car/Elmo/cell phone/CD!" as he continues to run around and giggle.

Action Hero phone home (sort of):

He likes to hold my cell phone. It is small, silver, and shiny, so I imagine it is quite alluring to him. And I always wondered what he would do if it chanced to ring while he was holding it. This thought floated through my head as I talked with my mother on the (regular) phone earlier this week, and I vocalized it. She said, "Oh, I'll have your dad get my cell phone and call your cell phone!" When it rang, he looked at it with mild surprise and then turned to me, held out the phone, and began grinning like anything and bouncing up and down. Rather like, "LOOK WHAT I DID I MADE THE PHONE RING!!!!!!!" Gosh, he was pleased with himself.

Baby of bravery:

I can't imagine why I forgot to blog about this months ago, but our pediatrician requests a blood draw at the nine-month appointment. Lab techs do not like to draw blood from infants, due to the high likelihood that the infant will begin screaming like an elf who's just fallen off the bridge at the Battle of Helm's Deep. (I'm reaching here. Sorry.) And so it was with great trepidation that the tech and the receptionist (enlisted to hold Action Hero's other arm as he sat in my lap) approached him for the blood draw. Their trepidation turned to astonishment as he sat calmly in my lap the whole time, looking up at them like, "What's the big deal here, guys?" He repeated the same feat yesterday, when his blood was drawn for allergy-testing purposes. Boy Wonder is not so stoic when it comes to needles, but if I'd had one stuck in my arm when I was six hours old, and then had it left there for a week, I'd probably be cranky about that too. (Will I blog about that someday? Why, yes! Eventually.)

In summary, Action Hero is a lovely, wonderful baby with lots of talents.

Next up: Boy Wonder's latest verbal gems.

The days are just packed

Recently, I had lunch with a former coworker (and current friend). As a working parent, she was quite curious about what the boys and I do at home now that I am unemployed. I don’t think I gave her a very good answer, and have been pondering this topic since. And I’ve realized that I really have quite an extensive infant and early-childhood enrichment program going here. Listed below are just a few samples of my intensive curriculum.

Weekly Nature Appreciation: Once a week , the local horticultural society offers free admission to county residents. During our trips there, we look at trees and flowers (“Wow! Those sure do look like big red pineapples!”), throw pennies in a variety of fountains, and sit on a variety of benches.

Sports and Recreation, Indoor: When Action Hero is napping, Boy Wonder and I play Candyland.

Sports and Recreation, Outdoor: Pretty darned infrequent these days. However, if Action Hero takes a long nap and the temperature is above 30 degrees, Boy Wonder and I visit our backyard, where we kick and throw balls, fling snow in various directions, and dig holes in previously mentioned snow.

Art (and Art Appreciation): As Action Hero observes from his high chair, Boy Wonder explores artistic methods and materials, including Play-Doh, watercolors, poster paints, and finger paints. Note: as of January 2007, the poster-painting portion of the class has been placed on hiatus (“Mommy? There’s something cold in my mouth!” “Uh, yeah, that would be THE PAINTBRUSH FULL OF GREEN PAINT. You are done painting for the day.”)

Classic Animated Series Viewing and Critique: Boy Wonder watches Scooby-Doo DVDs, and I note that there seem to be two different theme songs. He prefers some episodes over others, and explains his reasoning (“The Tar Monster is not really scary. Neither is the vampire one. But the scary snake one is scary today.”).

Library Science (cross-referenced with Appropriate Public Behavior): We visit the library, and peruse a variety of educational books and movies. All while listening to Mommy, not running, not shouting, and waiting for Mommy before we get on the elevator. (Boy Wonder learned that last one the hard way.)

Health: Frequent tips on health, fitness, and proper nutrition, repeated often at high volume. (“Get your finger out of your nose! Wash your hands after using the bathroom! No, wash your hands NOW! I meant that about the finger! Cheese curls are not for breakfast! You just had a huge bowl of popcorn; you do not need a snack!”)

Foraging (cross-referenced with Adult Reflex Development): Action Hero finds Cheerios and bits of crackers in various nooks and crannies of the living room and kitchen. I try to stop him from putting them in his mouth, and make notes to vacuum more frequently.

Culinary Arts, Beginning Through Advanced: Beginner Culinary Arts involves showing Boy Wonder the proper method of placing two toaster waffles in the toaster and then pressing the lever. Intermediate focuses on pouring macaroni noodles into boiling water, and Advanced teaches the techniques of applying sauce, pepperoni, and cheese to premade pizza crusts. I am currently researching more Advanced topics, as Boy Wonder sure likes to make pizza.

Consumer Science: Now that I am home nearly every day, we can go grocery shopping on Double Coupon Day, which falls midweek here. Sometimes, we go to the DVD rental store and get half-price rentals.

New course suggestions are always welcomed, although I do hope that by the end of Spring 2007, my curriculum will be once more confined to evenings and weekends.

An immodest proposal

To whom it may concern,

I am writing regarding employment with your company.

For the past four months, I’ve been unemployed and job-seeking. Even for the first six weeks, when I had severance pay and was not required to look for work, I applied for jobs. I want to work. Unfortunately, your company – along with several others – has declined to hire me. What’s more, nearly three dozen other companies have failed to respond to my resumes and cover letters at all. This is discouraging. I know that you are busy. People with jobs generally are. However, I am sure that I’m not the only job seeker who would like to receive a response – any response – to my query.

What does this have to do with anything? Well, I’m seeing a need here – a need that many HR departments are likely too busy to fulfill. And, let’s face it, no one likes to be the bearer of bad news – except someone who really needs a job. With my seven years of creative writing and editing experience, preceded by nine years of dealing with the general public in retail and customer service positions, I feel that I am uniquely qualified to assist you in this matter. Simply provide me with a list of the addresses, email or otherwise, of your rejected candidates, and I will draft a personal response for each interested applicant. Below are some samples.

Courteous and encouraging:

Thank you for your interest in Our Company. After reviewing your credentials, we have decided to focus on other candidates. We wish you the best of luck in your job search.

Brutally honest:

We don’t regret to inform you that you are not in the least qualified for this position. Seriously, did you even READ the ad? We wish you the best of luck in your job search, because you're sure going to need it.

Mystical:

Fortune Cookie Say: You will have good luck in your personal affairs. However, you will have lousy luck in your business affairs. Starting now, in fact.

Fortune Cookie Say: Wealth without wisdom is a fool’s paradise. Since you do not have wisdom, you will receive no wealth from us.

The Magic 8-Ball says: “It is certain” that you will not be hired by us. Do not “ask again later,” either.

Literary:

The CEO's daughter
Just got her B.A.
Position has been filled

Our ad says "Degree required"
We are not kidding
Call when you earn one

Before working for us
Try working on your resume
‘Cause it blows

You say you're a writer?
My dog could write
A better cover letter

And one for after the first interview:

We said we liked you
But we were just making
Polite conversation

There are plenty more where those came from, believe me. Should you review my qualifications and determine that we are a good fit, I would expect a competitive salary, a fortune cookie allowance, and a Magic 8-Ball for my desk…and, of course, an explanation of why you didn’t hire or call me in the first place.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you this time.

Sincerely,

Anithe

Requiescat

And now for something completely different.

Going on fourteen years ago now, my great-uncle (my grandfather's older brother) passed away. The eulogy the funeral director gave was a bit clunky and stilted, but it got the point across: he had been much loved, and would be much missed. I hadn't known him all that well, but something I heard at the funeral home made me cry. I'd heard someone mention a special two-dollar bill, and wondered what that was all about. Apparently, Grandpa and his brothers had each carried a two-dollar bill during their service in the war (WWII), and none of them had ever suffered an injury of any sort. The two-dollar bills was an important family talisman. So, one was torn in half. Half was placed in my great-uncle's suit pocket, and the other half was given to Grandpa. And Grandpa said, "We can't spend it until we're together again."

In early (very early, like just after New Year's) 2005, Grandpa was experiencing enough shortness of breath to go to the hospital (he didn't like to complain, so we knew he must have been feeling pretty bad). There, the family doctor diagnosed him with congestive heart failure. He was ready to get rid of it, telling the doctor that he really wanted to be around to celebrate his sixtieth wedding anniversary. Surgery was scheduled, and everyone became very worried: after all, he was 84 years old, with a chronic health condition on top of the CHF. What if he didn't even make it through the surgery? But he did, and everyone was very happy, and preparations were made for a joyful homecoming.

But his recovery was slow, and full of difficulties, and he ended up being hospitalized for quite a while. This was hard for him, of course, and tough for his wife and daughters too. Finally, the doctors sent him home to continue his recovery there, since the rehabiliation sessions at the hospital didn't seem to be helping much. He was glad to be home, of course, but physically he wasn't very comfortable, and had terrible trouble sleeping. He was ready to rest, he told my mother.

Several days later, he was readmitted to the hospital with a roaring fever. The day after that, a Sunday, I briefly visited his hospital room (Boy Wonder, almost two at the time, had been jumping around and had smacked his face into the coffee table, biting through his lower lip and bleeding all over the place), where one of my aunts sat red-eyed by his bed. I could tell by looking at him, and by looking at her, that he wouldn't be going home this time.

That Thursday, my father called around five in the afternoon, and said that my grandfather had begun experiencing irregular heart rhythms, and that he would call when he had more news. He called about five hours later.

My grandfather died on March 3, 2005, with his third daughter by his side and the rest of his family thinking of him. Hopefully he and his older brother spent that two-dollar bill shortly thereafter. We miss him – even Boy Wonder, who still recognizes pictures of him and asks about "Papa" from time to time. And I've left the "in pace" off of this post's title; he was a peaceful man in life, and I'm sure his peace continues, wherever he is.

Requiescat.

That blows

It snowed. And then it snowed some more. And then it snowed AGAIN.

"Mommy? Look! That man is mowing the snow!"

"Well, sort of. That's called a snowblower, and grownups use it to clean up snow."

"Oh. Wow." (pause) "I sure wish I had one of those, Mommy!"

"Yeah. I bet Daddy would really like one, too."

Say what?

Like any kid who gets to watch too much TV while his baby brother naps and his mom job-searches online, Boy Wonder can quote from a variety of movies and shows. He appears to have inherited my prodigious memory, because he's very good at remembering exact quotes. This is usually sort of cute, and sometimes even quite funny.

And sometimes, it's utterly wacky. This morning, Boy Wonder was playing a game on my computer, and picked up one of his books that was sitting nearby. He assumed an air of nonchalance, leaned back, casually leafed through the book, and waited for the computer game to give one of its verbal prompts ("Remember, click on the animals that match!") before saying...

"Hel-LO. I'm picking out my prom dress."

There's just something amusing about an almost-four-year-old boy, wearing a glaring yellow T-shirt, red sweatpants, a red, gray, and white sweater, and socks printed with shamrocks, imitating a cartoon teenager who's picking out a prom dress.

O brother, WHO art thou?

Several weeks ago, during one of our Commute Conversations, Boy Wonder suddenly announced, "Mommy, I have two brothers!"

Now, I may not be certain of a great deal lately, but I am quite certain indeed that I've only given birth to two children. Thinking that he might perhaps mean his cousin, I said, "No, J3 is your cousin, not your brother."

"No, Mommy! I have two brothers. Action Hero and Other Boy Wonder. At school."

Things were getting clearer. Other Boy Wonder, another kid at daycare, has the same actual first name as Boy Wonder. My Boy Wonder is about eight months older, so they're only in the same class for a few months out of the year, and this is the time of year when their paths cross.

"Oh, I see. Well, just because he's got the same name doesn't mean that he's your brother. Action Hero is your brother, but Other Boy Wonder isn't really."

"Yes he is. He will come to our house and play with my toys and eat dinner with us."

Other Boy Wonder's mom, who happens to work at the daycare, was quite entertained when I told her Boy Wonder's thoughts on brotherhood. She also has another son, who's a couple of months older than Action Hero; we briefly wondered why Boy Wonder hadn't tossed him into the scenario as well.

Fever in the morning, fever all through the night?

So today, Action Hero was rather irritable, and did not wish to do anything except eat and sleep. Twenty minutes after he woke up from a nap, he would be yawning and rubbing his eyes (and pulling on his ears, too, which he does rather heavily when he's tired). I chalked it up to his getting over a virus (more on that whole episode later), and comforted him as best I could.

But, duh. Had I actually bothered to, I don't know, TAKE HIS TEMPERATURE, he probably would have been feeling better. I finally realized this at about 5:00 today, by which time he had a fever of 102.6. Twenty minutes later, after an appropriate dose of fever-reducing medication, he was happily pushing a toy truck around the living room, dancing around with musical toys, and rolling a ball around the living room with Dragon.

I got nothin'

I've formulated a wide variety of witty, entertaining (at least to me, and possibly to a certain select audience) posts in my head over the past couple of weeks, but due to circumstances have not been able to muster the energy to craft a single one of them. So in brief:

Action Hero is not feeling well this week.

Boy Wonder is rambunctious.

We're starting to experience real live sibling rivalry here. Oh joy.

I still don't have a job. I had a two-week temporary assignment with a great company. It's over now, but they seemed to like me. (Not enough to keep me on permanently.)

I thought I'd investigate finishing my degree online, and found a great program. However, the price tag makes further investigation impossible. If I had that much money to spend, I'd use it to pay off half the mortgage.

The weather warmed up, but it's going to start snowing again soon. Damn.

Curses! Foiled again!

Boy Wonder has been cursing a lot lately. Not, you know, actual CURSING cursing, in which he repeats things he hears me say when someone cuts me off as we're about to turn into the library parking lot. (Whew. Although, a while back, he did casually inqure, "Mommy, can I have my damn sweater please?" And then, after we talked a bit about language, he took great delight in saying, "Mommy? We shouldn't say 'damn'! 'Damn' is not a nice word! No one should say 'damn'!") Little-kid cursing, in which the kid echoes the sentiments of cartoon characters.

A recent selection:

"Aw, pickles!"

This one is from Higglytown Heroes, one of the Disney Channel's weirder offerings.

"Oh, barnacles!"

"Oh, barnacle-head!"

"Oh, tartar sauce!"

The above three, with their seafaring flavor, are from . . . well, he lives in a pineapple under the sea. Enough said.

"Oh, bodda!"

It took me a few minutes to get this one, until I remembered that several Winnie the Pooh movies have been in the rotation recently. Oh bother, indeed.

"Jinkies!" (var.: "Zoinks!")

Scooby-dooby-doo, where are you . . .

"Oh, toenails!"

Your guess is as good as mine.

A name, it is a-changin'

When I first began blogging, Baby Boone was a scant two months old, and received the moniker "Baby Boone" because he was, well, a baby, and "Boone" provides a slight clue as to what his real name might be. (Actually, when I first began blogging, I had just learned that I was pregnant with my second child. But that blog was beyond boring, and I took it down. [The Peanut Gallery will kindly refrain from saying, "Oh, just that blog was boring?" Thank you. Mgmt.]) I knew that I wouldn't be able to call him Baby Boone forever; indeed, since he's been toddling for a month and a half now, he could reasonably be considered a toddler, not an infant. I think I've got a new name for him now, though.


This evening, Boy Wonder was watching a movie upstairs. Dragon was watching that annual football game thingy in the living room, and Baby Boone was toddling about, playing with various toys, and trying to grab my shoes off the shoe rack so he could lick their soles. (Ew. Don't worry, I'm trying to figure out where to move the shoe rack so he cannot access the shoes anymore.) I was cooking dinner in the kitchen. Dragon came into the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and I poked my head around the corner to see if any interesting commercials were airing. I did not see Baby Boone on the floor anywhere, and then I said, "Whoa!" and vaulted over the baby gate. For lo, the baby was sitting by himself on the futon.

"Whoa what?" Dragon said. I turned to him, about to say something along the lines of, "Dude, don't leave the baby by himself on the futon! He could fall off!" when Dragon looked around the corner too. And said, "Oh my God. I put him down on the floor. I swear I did. How on earth did he get up there?"


So. The baby, who will be ten months old tomorrow, climbed onto the futon. Let me say that again: THE BABY. CLIMBED. ONTO THE FUTON. All by himself. How he managed, we have no bloody idea.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present: Action Hero.

Cracking the baby code

I am pretty sure that Baby Boone is trying to tell me that he's outgrown the high chair and would like to sit in a big-boy booster seat instead. One that can be hosed down with bleach or wiped clean with those nice little disinfecting wipes. Not one with a cloth cover that must be removed and laundered, thereby rendering the high chair inoperable for a while.

Or, he's just experiencing some gastric distress. Either way, it's pretty gross.

Boy Wonder on teething

"Grandma? When I was a little baby and growing MY teeth, I didn't cry at all. I just sat and looked."

Well, I'm glad that Boy Wonder has such pleasant memories of teething. However, I am here to tell you that he cried, a lot. And cried some more. And didn't want to drink his bottles at daycare. (Right around this age, he started ignoring his bottles and scarfed down jarred baby food instead. This left me a bit discouraged, as I was still pumping faithfully and sending bottles with him every day.) I think there were even a couple of fevers involved. Not that it was The Worst Time Ever, because overall he was still an easygoing baby, but teething did give him quite a bit of discomfort.

Baby Boone has two teeth so far, and doesn't seem to be in too much discomfort, but is a bit clingy. Just about all the time, in fact. As for his diapers: they're improving, I think? After changing his outfit twice this morning, I put him in pajamas, which are far easier to remove if befouled by Diapers of Doom. He seemed to really feel the pajama vibe, because he soon settled down and took a three-hour nap. So clearly, he wasn't feeling his best. I hope that tomorrow finds him feeling better!

Uh-oh

Baby Boone is showing signs* of having a GI virus. He's been running through diapers a little more frequently over the past week or so, and I was hoping that it was just due to teething and extra drool or something. But Dragon couldn't leave well enough alone**, cheerily saying in the car yesterday, "I can't believe Baby Boone hasn't been sick! He's hardly been sick at all, compared to Boy Wonder at this age! It's so great!"

Me: "Shhh. You'll jinx us and he'll get sick a bunch. Probably right after I get a job, whenever that may be."

Dragon: "Oh, he will not. I wonder why he hasn't gotten sick, though?"

Me: "Shut up! Seriously!"

Perhaps I am a little paranoid. But Baby Boone is just at the age that Boy Wonder was when he embarked on a months-long Viral Stampede, consisting of a GI virus followed by RSV + pneumonia + an ear infection followed by another GI virus followed by a couple of feverish colds followed by croup. I think I can justify my paranoia here.

*Six befouled items of clothing (his outfits, my shirts), one gross high-chair cover, and a couple of unpleasant towels. I am the Laundry Goddess today.

**Not that this is actually his fault. But the Irony Gods are laughing at me.

Accentuate the positive

Today is not a good hair day for me, so I dug into the box of mostly-unused hair accessories, pulled out a couple of ponytail holders, and put my hair in low pigtails to keep it off my face as I go about my various housewifely chores.

And heard, "Mommy! Nice hair you got! I love your new hair! Give me a hug and kiss," from a beaming Boy Wonder. Clearly, he doesn't see it as a bad hair day.

The affair of the earring

Last year, I received a pair of diamond earrings for Mother's Day. I'd been realizing that having two children left me even less time to accessorize, and I was never big on accessorizing to begin with. So I wanted something I could wear all the time, that would go with anything, and Dragon was kind enough to oblige. And I did wear them all the time.

Shortly after Adventures in Unemployment began, I was supervising Boy Wonder as he bathed one Friday evening, and absently began twirling a lock of hair near my ear. With shock and horror, I then realized that I was only wearing one earring...and I had no idea when the other one had gone missing. I checked everywhere I could think of, but no earring was to be found.

Today, I undertook to clean the bathroom with the new sink, particularly the bathtub, which had been serving as a repository for discarded bits of pipe, a bucket, and general plumbing muck. I decided to wipe out most of the muck with a paper towel first, to avoid clogging the drain. As I did so, I heard something click against the side of the tub. And I lifted the paper towel to investigate.

And beheld a diamond earring, sans back. Grimy, certainly, yet recognizable as the one I lost in November.

It's currently enjoying a leisurely soak in hot, soapy water. It will then undergo another couple of cleansing treatments. Then it will be fitted with an earring back of appropriate size.

And then it will be worn to my interview this afternoon.

Because if that isn't an omen, I don't know what is.

I've got a sink-ing feeling about this.

See the old sink. It is pink. It is not all that attractive, I think.




See the new sink. It is not pink. It is shiny and fresh and appealing, I think.

Yesterday, we welcomed the first component of a shiny, attractive, and conveniently arranged bathroom. As you can see from the wall behind the sink, we've got a ways to go.

It all started with a leaky faucet. Dragon wanted to fix the faucet, but the old sink was....well, old. And sort of weird. The guy at the hardware store said, "You want what, now? Wait, how old is this house? I've never heard of that." We'd been looking at sinks earlier this week anyway, and Dragon called from the store and said, "So. I can just buy that sink we were looking at, right?" It was the most inexpensive sink available, but it suits our purposes nicely. And it is far more attractive than the old sink, which has been relegated to the basement for the moment.

Additions to the list

6. I can keep up with the dishes.

Every apartment we've ever lived in had more counter space than our house does. The vast majority of those apartments had dishwashers. Our house does not have a dishwasher. So, when the dishes pile up, they do so in a profoundly grand fashion, taking over the kitchen and giving it the feel of an unsavory restaurant kitchen. Now, I can wash dishes several times during the day, thereby ensuring that our foot and a half* of counter space is kept free. Of course, it always fills up rather quickly. With dishes.

*Not an exaggeration.

7. I can watch as many Nick, Jr. cartoons as I want to.

Wait, this isn't actually a benefit. Never mind.

Journey into the imagination

"Mommy? Today is a very special day!"

"Oh, good. Why is that?"

"Because you're not going to pick me up at school today!"

"Oh? Who is, then?"

"Grandpa will pick me up at school today!"

"Uh. Well, I'm sure you'd like that. He probably would too. But Mommy is picking you up today."

"No! I will call Grandpa on the phone and ask him." (sound of pretend phone being dialed) "Hi, Grandpa? It's Boy Wonder. Are you picking me up at school today? You are? Okay, great! See you later!"

Maybe he dreamed that Grandpa would be picking him up today; he seemed quite convinced. My dad certainly got a kick out of hearing it!

Make a list

In an effort to cheer myself up, I've decided to look on the bright side, and embrace the positive aspects of being unemployed.* Please enjoy the following list.

1. I get to spend more time with the kids.

Duh. The kids are great, and I enjoy spending time with them. And, no matter how many times I need to send Boy Wonder to time-out, I'm sure that one day I'll be wearing my rose-colored glasses and waxing nostalgic about The Time I Got To Spend More Time At Home.

2. The dress code can't be beat.

I've always dressed like a scruffy college student on the weekends; now, save for interviews and resume drop-offs, I can do it all the time. I can also experiment with makeup; I've always secretly wanted to wear really dramatic eye makeup every once in a while, and now I can, because the circulation aides at the library and the clerk at Target sure don't care if I'm wearing too much eyeliner. (I've also always wanted to get funky-colored highlights, but as those do not wash off every evening and I am still looking for a professional-level job, that's right out at the moment.)

3. I can sleep late. Uh, relatively speaking.

Baby Boone is a fine sleeper, and Boy Wonder is happy to watch cartoons until 7:30 or so. It's been some time since I've slept this late in the mornings.

4. I don't have to pump much.

Pumping (of the breast variety) was always easy for me, but it is nice to only do it a few times a week now, instead of twice a day every day, with a load of bottles and pump parts to wash every evening and a bag to carry out the door every morning.

5. I don't have to worry about getting The Call.

The Call, otherwise known as "Anithe? Hi, this is Daycare Center Director. Boy Wonder just barfed into his cereal bowl/spiked a fever of 103/is wheezing like an accordion. You'll need to come get him, and he can't come back tomorrow" is not currently a concern. The boys are still in daycare one day a week, but even if The Call comes, it's not like I have anything going on the next day. On a related note, doctor appointments, for me and for the kids, are easy to work into the schedule right now as well.

That's about all I can think of for now! Applied for four jobs today; anyone want to bet how many of them will actually call me?

Anyone?

Are those crickets I hear chirping?

Anyway, I promise that Happy, Optimistic Posts About My Gorgeous and Brilliant Sons are coming soon.

*This is my little reverse psychology trick. Generally, if I am comfortable with my employment situation, that means a change is coming. So, if I act like I'm totally okay with my unemployment situation, the universe will notice, and a change will come! Right? Right? Ri.....hey, where are you going?

Just GO already

I am confident that I am not the first person to blog about this; in fact, I'm confident that I'm not the thousandth person to blog about this. So my apologies to those who have blogged before.

But, boy. What is up with three-year-olds blithely ignoring the call of nature? Boy Wonder has been wearing big-boy underwear featuring a variety of different cartoon characters since August, and he's been doing very well. Frequently, however, he waits until the last moment possible. Every parent in the world is no doubt familiar with a certain kind of dance that preschoolers frequently perform, involving much crotch-grabbing and bouncing from one foot to the other, that inspires the nearest adult to say, "Hey. I think it's time to go potty now, Junior." When my cousins and I were growing up, our elders called it, crudely but accurately, the PeePee Dance.

Well. This morning, shortly after waking up, Boy Wonder let loose with what was not so much a Dance as a whole goshdarned Recital. With several encores. Yes, there was crotch-grabbing and bouncing from one foot to the other. There were also deep-knee bends, amusing facial expressions, and screaming denials. ("I DO NOT HAVE TO GO POTTY! I DON'T NEED TO! NO POTTY! NO!") Amazingly, the screaming denials continued as he hopped, bounced, and grabbed his way into the bathroom, used it, flushed, and washed his hands.

Sleep, interrupted

Well, I do have a teething nine-month-old; my sleep is interrupted pretty frequently. The most recent interruption, however, was more dramatic than usual.

A while back, Boy Wonder woke up in the middle of the night with an attack of croup. Early this morning, it was Baby Boone's turn. I woke at 3:00 to the sounds of a greatly distressed infant, screaming his little heart out and coughing like a little barking seal in between screams. To add to the indignity, he was soaking wet. He was mightily upset when I put him down to go secure a fresh diaper and some dry pajamas, but calmed down a bit once he was warm, dry, and fed. A breathalyzer* treatment was given, and the cough returned to being a normal cough instead of a croupy one. I took him back to our bed, since it was 3:35 and I couldn't muster the energy to go change the wet sheets in his crib. He was briefly quite energetic, wanting to pat Daddy's face and babble at me in a whisper, but was soon lulled back to sleep.

Yawn.

*Sane people call these nebulizer treatments: asthma medication is put into a little plastic thingie and then converted to a fine mist that small children can inhale easily. However, one day when Boy Wonder was small and wheezy, my dad said, "Will he need a breathalyzer treatment while he's at our house? Wait, I mean a...." Too much NYPD Blue, perhaps? But lo, the name stuck, so my kids get breathalyzer treatments.

Child labor

Boy Wonder just came in, as I sat at my computer surfing the local job-huntin' Web site, and handed me some papers.

"Here are some pictures for you!" he said.

"Oh, thank you, honey." I said. "They're very nice. I'll keep them right here, okay? Maybe I'll tape one to my computer monitor."

"Okay. I need to go draw more pictures. I'm WORKING now. I'm very busy working."

Well, at least SOMEONE is working around here.

(And now I feel horribly guilty. I'm sitting here thinking, "Why in the name of all that is holy does he not just take a nap already?" And he's sitting in the living room drawing a big stack of pictures. For me.)

Sometimes I hate being right

And sometimes, I hate being right with the white-hot flaming passion of a thousand burning suns.

I've got mail. And wouldn't you know it? They received a number of highly qualified applicants, and thought I brought a wonderful resume and great character references (thanks, Hawkins). And, of course, they wish me all the best in my job search! Which will, of course, be continuing. (It would have been continuing anyway, of course, but unfortunately it will continue without benefit of a conveniently located part-time job.)

The waiting game

Yesterday, via email: "I enjoyed speaking with you as well, Anithe. We'll be checking references today, and hope to make our decision tomorrow."

What's that? No, I haven't been checking my Yahoo mail or my cell phone messages every ten minutes. Thanks for asking. I've applied for several positions via the local job-huntin' Web site, and scoured the employment classifieds for a third time. I've cleaned both bathrooms, done all of the dishes and several loads of laundry, and created places to hang the mop, the broom, and several jackets. I took care of rearranging the living room yesterday, otherwise I'd have done that too. At least suspense enhances my housekeeping skills.

I get the feeling that bad news, if that's what's coming, will be in the form of an email, much like the letter I received last Friday. And good news would likely be in the form of a phone call.

Email option
"We were fortunate enough to receive a large number of qualified applicants."
(I imagine you were, since another company in our field closed its local office in December, and there are now a blue million people with similar quals bouncing around the city's job market.)

"We thank you for your interest and enjoyed meeting you, but feel that you're overqualified for this position."
(Because you sort of hinted at that in last Friday's interview. I hope I did a good job of addressing that, and that my follow-up email served as more proof that I really WOULD like this job. Who cares if the job consists of tasks that are somewhat mundane? Not me. It's a paid position, not volunteer work. I find that sufficient motivation.)

Phone option
"Anithe? Hello. We've checked references, and found yours satisfactory; we feel that you'd be the best fit for this position. Can you come in on Friday for some preliminary paperwork, and begin officially on Tuesday?"

Place your bets now! Email or phone, good news or bad. I'm sure you know which one I'd prefer. For now, I am going to go acquire some mundane yet needed household items, which will at least keep me away from the computer.

Conversations with Grandma

I

"Hi, Mom. How are the boys doing?"

"Great. Baby Boone is sleeping, and Boy Wonder is writing you some letters. Aren't you? Are you writing letters to Mommy?"

(in the distance) "Yeah."

"Are you writing letters that say, 'I love you, Mommy'?"

(in the distance) "No, Mommy is kind of mean."

"Well, I'm sure Mommy only hollers at you if you act naughty. And you can sure act naughty sometimes. Hey, what do you think of Grandma? Is Grandma mean?"

(long pause)

"No. But really I like dinosaurs better. Stop asking me questions, Grandma."

II

"I don't want to paint anymore! I want my mommy!"

"Well, Mommy and Daddy are out seeing a movie and having a special dinner.* They'll be back soon, but for now you can visit with Grandma."

"I don't want to. And Baby Boone wants to go home too. He wants Mommy." (Apparently, this was followed by the sounds of Baby Boone laughing with Grandpa in the living room.)

"I think he's having an OK time, actually."

"Grandma? I'm sleepy."

"Really? I never would have guessed that, honey."

*Thanks for those restaurant gift cards and movie passes, relatives! As we drove to the theater yesterday, I realized that I hadn't seen a movie since May. Wow.

Foreheads on ice

Earlier this week, Baby Boone received his first bruise. Boy Wonder, being very interested in tents, had draped several blankets over the coffee table. Before I could tell him that this was not a great idea, Baby Boone had launched himself toward the bright, pretty blankets which to him must have appeared to be miraculously floating in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, since there was still a coffee table underneath them, he bonked his forehead but good. Many tears and an ice-pack session ensured, and he ended up with a good-sized bump on the right side of his forehead.

Apparently, my subconscious felt guilty about this, as I have now managed to give myself a similar bruise. Baby Boone woke up at 4:15 this morning, much distressed and crying loudly, and I raced into the boys' room to tend to him before Boy Wonder woke up. Baby Boone was already standing up in his crib, so I picked him up and headed for the door, casting a glance over my left shoulder to make sure that Boy Wonder was still asleep. He was, but the over-the-shoulder glance threw me off balance. Instead of making a neat exit, I ended up whacking my left temple on the doorframe. (Fortunately, I am right-handed and carry Baby Boone on my dominant side, so he was unharmed. Although I'm sure he was mildly startled when I stopped and began quietly swearing like a sailor.) As an added bonus, this moment of gracefulness also left a large bruise on my upper left arm.

Not-so-good housekeeping

Back in the day when I was employed, Boy Wonder and I discussed all sorts of important issues on the drive home from daycare--age ("I will be four on my next birthday! How old will I be after that? Five! And one day I'll be 30, like Mommy!"), family relationships ("Yes, Cousin and his baby sister are both your cousins. You can have more than one cousin."), reality vs. fiction ("I don't care if Other Kid says you only have one eye. He's being silly. You have two eyes."), and other assorted topics ("Seriously. I don't know where the billboard with the dancing man went."). Since we're down to one day of daycare per week, we don't have too many of these conversations anymore, but the one on Thursday was somewhat memorable.

"Mommy? Is that the dryer store?" (We were driving past a laundromat.)
"No. That's a place with washers and dryers for people to use, if theirs are broken or they don't have any."
"Oh." (long pause) "It's hard to cook outside, isn't it? It's hard to cook without a house. You should never cook outside the house."
"Uh. Well, Daddy uses the grill to cook dinner sometimes, and the grill is outside."
"Oh. OK." (long pause) "You should never cook without a DRYER, then."

I tried taking a logic class back in college, and the results temporarily crashed out my GPA. Clearly, Boy Wonder takes after me.

Resolved

Yes, I know it's January 5th. I like to procrastinate, so I've just made my New Year's resolutions.

#1: Find job.

This one is the priority, obviously. And how's it going? Could be better. Top Choice Company has not deigned to contact me yet, and one of the positions that I applied for is no longer listed on its Web site. Company with Rockin' Benefits just sent a letter saying, "Thanks, but no thanks! Good luck!" I have not heard anything from Company I Interviewed With Way Back in December, so I'm guessing that's a no-go as well. And I had another interview today, for a position I'd like very much. It's part-time, it's two frackin' blocks away from the boys' daycare, it's got a casual atmosphere, and I'd still be able to look for full-time work. But I am rather frightened that they'll call me up on Monday and say, "Thanks, but no thanks! Good luck!"

#2: Spend more quality time with Boy Wonder.

#3: Spend more quality time with Baby Boone.

#2 and #3 will be sort of challenging, really. Boy Wonder is quite demanding of attention lately, as the average three-year-old is, and Baby Boone has turned into a very interactive, mobile little guy who is not keen on napping and likes to put everything into his mouth. So playing with one of them while the other does his own thing is not really possibly anymore. Baby Boone is very interested in everything his older brother does, of course, and Boy Wonder alternates between "I want to share my toys with him! Baby Boone, come play on the blanket with me!" and "I don't want him here! These are MY TOYS! NOT YOURS, BABY BOONE!"

#4: Stop yelling at Boy Wonder so much.
Unfortunately, I've heard that many three-year-olds go through a big selective hearing phase, when they blithely ignore Mom unless she's shouting. This seems to be what's going on here. Plus, if he didn't do things like try to run off in parking lots, knock his brother over, and attempt to turn the coffee table into a jungle gym, I wouldn't be inspired to yell so much. But again, he's a very physically confident three-year-old.* I will buy earplugs for my neighbors.

#5: Make concerted effort to fit into array of smaller trousers filling storage bins in closet.
My work wardrobe, if I EVER have occasion to use it again, would quadruple.

#6: Write more.
(Get ready!)

#7: Keep house clean and organized.
You can always give an apartment a cursory cleaning, move to another one, and still get most of your cleaning deposit back. Houses require a bit more attention.

Yeah. We'll see how THAT goes.

*I was startled to find out that not all three-year-olds are physically confident. A former worker mentioned that she'd enrolled her son in a gymnastics program after noticing that he was crazily verbal but not all that enthusiastic about running, jumping, or climbing. It worked out quite well for him and now he's much more confident. I wonder how one gets a three-year-old to display less physical confidence; not even whacking his head on the coffee table seems to deter Boy Wonder. In fact, he's started taking Pretend Falls (thunk. "Oops, I fell down! HAHAHAHAHHAHAH!") lately.

Thanks, kid

Boy Wonder this morning: "Mommy? You're the best mother in the deep blue sea!"

Way too much Spongebob around here lately. WAY too much. Still, I appreciate the sentiment.

You can't go home again

Especially if it wasn't actually where you lived. But visiting is still nice.

Becoming unemployed three months after acquiring a mortgage sucks like a Hoover. Or a Dyson. Or perhaps Jenna Jameson. However, it does give one the leisure to say, "Hm. Can the boys and I come along?" when one's mother says, "Your dad and I are making the drive to visit your grandparents." And it gives one the leisure to pack a load of duffel bags, backpacks, and laundry baskets full of toys, books, and tiny outfits, borrow a portable DVD player to keep Boy Wonder happy on the four-hour drive, and go.

Visiting my paternal grandparents was always an event. We drove down every year on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and stayed through the long weekend. The train tracks are visible from the house, and my cousin and I slept on the sun porch, so we got to watch (and listen to) the passing trains. The day after Thanksgiving, my mother would head out shopping with her two sisters-in-law. After my cousin and I hit junior high and got interested in shopping, we'd go too. Before then, we'd hang around with Grandma all day, eating leftover turkey and playing Scrabble, Yahtzee, and all sorts of cool card games. On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, we'd all go see a movie, and I still remember the year my dad and uncle picked the movie and we saw Highlander II. My cousin and I hadn't seen Highlander, and since we had no idea what was going on, who any of the characters were, and why so darn many people had to be decapitated, we found the sequel pretty disturbing. Anyway. Last time I visited my grandparents, things were a bit different. It was 1995. I was 19 and majoring in English. Working two jobs, still living at home, and beginning to wonder if I was really accomplishing anything. I had just started dating Dragon.

My grandparents' house hasn't changed very much in twelve years. The sun porch is still there, but no one slept there; it had been converted to the smoking lounge for the duration of our visit. (Grandpa: pipe; Grandma: cigarettes; Anithe & Co.: asthma.) Reader's Digest condensed books fill the shelves, but this time I didn't have time to read any of them. (Or anything else, for that matter.) The cuckoo clock is still on the wall of the second spare bedroom, which the boys and I took over, and it still, thankfully, doesn't cuckoo. There's still a park at the end of the block, within easy walking distance.

Of course, being there feels different. Growing up, Thanksgiving at Grandma and Grandpa's house was always a special, carefree time for me. Well, of course it was. I wasn't the one making the mortgage payments, or worrying about how to keep a kid occupied on a four-hour drive, or looking at the giant wooden play structure and wondering how many splinters my kid was going to get. Now, "carefree" is so far removed from the realm of how I'm feeling these days that I go off into gales of laughter just thinking about it. I can't help but wonder if Thanksgiving was always a special, carefree time for my parents, too, or if they were usually consumed by thoughts of work, finances, and other assorted grownup things.

And of course, we had a nice time anyway. Boy Wonder did very well with the drive, chattering away and then happily watching movies, and Baby Boone alternated between sleeping and babbling happily in my general direction. My grandparents found them both charming, and decided that Baby Boone is the happiest, smiliest baby in the world. And, although the Worry Train is running endlessly in my head, my kids weren't worrying about anything. Boy Wonder loved the long hallway in the house, the blue swing at the park, and the geese at the neighborhood pond. Baby Boone hardly cried at all, unless I left his field of vision (Velcro Baby is teething).

And the train still passed by and whistled at night, and a faint odor of tobacco smoke still hung in the air. And, for a moment, I felt comforted and secure, just as I used to feel after my cousin and I finished chatting about boys and clothes and settled down to sleep.

For a moment. And then I ruffled a sleeping Boy Wonder's hair, hugged a sleeping Baby Boone closer, and vowed to do my best to make their childhood holidays special and carefree.

Variety show

Baby Boone news
Still walking. Four or five steps at a time, even! He is also babbling a great deal, saying, "Na na na na!" so much that I expect him to launch into "Hey, Jude" fairly soon.


Converation with Boy Wonder
"Mommy? I lost something. I lost my driver's license." (Not sure where he got that turn of phrase. Dragon and I have not misplaced any licenses lately.)

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I lost my driver's license in the woods, so we need to go find it. But we need to watch out for the bear. Bears are angry when you wake them up. Especially when they live in the jungle."

"Uh-huh."

Christmas decorations, inappropriate use of
I was attending to Baby Boone in his highchair when I heard, "Mommy, thank you so much for these Christmas boots! They're just what I always wanted! I love them!" from the living room. Now, there weren't actually any boots in the living room, as far as I remembered, but sometimes Boy Wonder will forget about something he hasn't worn for a while and it will be "new" again--I thought he was talking about his Thomas the Train slippers. Until I walked into the living room to see him walking around in his underwear with a Christmas stocking on each leg. The stockings reached fully to his hips and then some, and he was strutting around like a cowboy wearing heavy chaps. (Very festive chaps that would have gotten him laughed off the range.)

I ain't no fortune-ate one

Here is what yesterday's fortune cookies had to say!*

"Seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion."

Well, shoot. I can't tell you how absolutely useful this advice is in my current unemployed situation.

"The world is always ready to receive talent."
Uh-huh. I don't think the place I interviewed with is ready to receive talent, because I haven't heard from them yet. I haven't heard from anyone else yet either.** I expect the anxiety dreams to start any second now. Possibly even when I'm awake.

"Your playful spirit heals and inspires others."

How heartwarming. Well, I was cracking jokes nonstop as I packed up my office. I sure hope someone found them healing and inspirational.

*Yeah, I ate three fortune cookies. With the mood I'm in, I'm lucky I didn't run behind the counter and grab them all. I would have analyzed all the fortunes, too.

**Except the pizza place. I use my Yahoo email for ordering stuff online (um, when I'm ordering stuff online, which is not now), and also for my resume. Unfortunately, this means that I'll see that there are new messages, get all excited, and then crash when I find three coupons for cheese sticks and the Big Giant Pizza special.

One small step for a baby...

... one cry of "HOLY HELL, WHAT NEXT?" for all mankind.

I mean, seriously. Baby Boone rolled over the day before he turned three months old. He started crawling at five and a half months, on a Saturday, and by the following Monday he had figured out how to pull up to a standing position. He has spent the last few months doing the walking-while-holding-on-to-furniture thing, and his latest trick involves happily pushing a laundry basket around the room, shopping-cart style. And yesterday, at the age of eight months and seven days, he took his first steps. Tiny, shuffling steps, but steps nonetheless.

I am a bit afraid about what this means for the future. Boy Wonder climbed out of his crib two months before his second birthday, and he walked at eleven months. If Baby Boone is walking at eight months, when's HE going to climb out of his crib?

Random acts of grossness

Yesterday, Boy Wonder came running into the kitchen and said, "Mommy! Mommy! Baby Boone has a snot bubble!" He did indeed, and was not best pleased when I attempted to remove it with a tissue. He also let loose several Sneezes of Terror, and found those somewhat distressing as well, freezing in place until I raced for a tissue to wipe his face. Fashion tip: if you have a sneezy infant, DO NOT wear a black shirt.* Your infant will leave very visible snail trails all over it.

Later in the day, we went shopping. Boy Wonder jumped into the front of the cart, bent down, and, to my very great horror, picked up a piece of popcorn from the floor of the cart and put it in his mouth, all before I could react. Oh, man. I managed to stop him from picking up the second piece of floor popcorn, and we discussed appropriate reactions to seeing popcorn on the floor in a public place. (There's only one appropriate reaction, in my opinion: LEAVE IT ALONE.)


*I can't actually follow this advice myself, since we have a lot of black clothing around here. Black clothing that needs to be washed frequently.

Sorry, wrong number. No, really.

We've now had our non-cell phone hooked up for a few months, and have been getting the usual assortment of wrong numbers--mostly, people who haven't updated their address books and are trying to reach JaVon and Queena. However, this time we get a bonus. Apparently, someone named Dennis used to have our phone number. And apparently, Dennis had some outstanding debts. We have gotten a load of those "Hello! This is Debt Collection Agency! Call me at 1-800-COUGHITUP immediately!" calls, and I have had the very great joy of calling these numbers to get our number taken off of their lists post-haste. It doesn't seem to be working.

Compare & contrast

Around this time of year, my father-in-law and his wife head off for a nice tropical vacation at an all-inclusive resort. This year, it will be even nicer than usual. On Thursday, his wife called to tell me that they'd arrived safely...and that their room had been upgraded four levels, so that they have a particularly luxurious suite with free room service and a free in-room bar for the duration of their ten-night stay. I am immensely happy for them, and hope they have a wonderful vacation.

Also on Thursday, I think our high here in town was fifteen (15) degrees. Boy Wonder spent the day producing Sneezes of Terror ("Oh, honey, don't cry; I'll wipe your nose! No, don't use your hand...oh, gross. I'll get a washcloth. Hold still, OK?"). Baby Boone didn't fall asleep until after 10PM, and shortly after I placed him in his cozy crib, Boy Wonder woke up screaming with an attack of spasmodic croup, and I was up until midnight comforting him and trying to get him breathing comfortably again, and then Baby Boone, who had of course woken up screaming about twenty minutes after Boy Wonder started screaming, had to be comforted (by me, because for some reason he was having none of Dragon) and placed back in his cozy crib. Which happened sometime around 12:30, I think. Poor guys. I thought croup was supposed to fade away as kids grew older and their airways got bigger, but I'm pretty sure that's what it was. I guess Boy Wonder is just lucky!* And I still have no job, of course, and have the added bonus of being in Interview Limbo--I had an interview on Monday, which is of course great, and it seemed to go just fine, but I have now thought of approximately 567 things that I should have said during the interview.

On the plus side, I have now thought of 567 things that I should say during my next interview, whenever it may be and whoever it may be with. Boy Wonder appears to be feeling better now, although he still sounds quite congested and was extremely cranky at bedtime. Another company expressed a vague interest ("We'd like to see some writing samples, please"), which is reassuring. And I may not have a free in-room bar, but I am having a beer.

And we'll go to Story Time next Thursday, I think.

Snow, man

Overall, I like living in Wisconsin. It's an interesting mix of cities and farms. A friend who moved to Washington, D.C. mentioned that she kept getting lost while using the public transportation; she'd stay on the train for a few extra minutes and wind up in front of the Treasury Department. That sounds pretty exciting, actually; in Wisconsin, getting lost gets you to several cows and a grain silo. Unless you're downtown in the city, in which case you'll run across every one-way street known to humankind. But the lake is beautiful, the skyline ain't bad either, and there are trees everywhere. I like it here.

Good thing, too, otherwise I would be entirely distraught when we get days like Friday. In case you live in a bubble and did not hear any news about The Storm that Slammed the Midwest, we had quite the blizzard on Friday, with twelve inches of snow falling in our very own neighborhood. As first-time homeowners, we went through the special experience of having to do all of our own snow shoveling! And my car got stuck at one end of our alley, and I had to dig it out! With the assistance of some of my new neighbors, and a police officer! And then Boy Wonder's boot came off as we walked through an alley full of snow, and he absolutely lost his tiny mind!

He was better on Saturday, though, when the snow had stopped falling and we went outside to play in it. Unfortunately, our foot of snow does not consist of the kind that's good for packing into snowballs and snowmen. At least we tried...