Spencer Lexicon, v.2

checkup=ketchup
chain=train
chee=tree
happen=what happened?
hep=help
mets or metch=mine
woowoo=train
wiggles= Eagles

There are more every day.

Spencerese on Planet Earth

Arella=Cinderella
Baws=Balls
Increnals =Incredibles
KeeKees = Candy Canes
Krackee=Nutcracker
Srek =Shrek
Tractee=Tractor
Up=Put a movie on

Ok, while I sit here typing, I am watching a DVD borrowed from a friend at work.
The subject? Duran Duran Live in Japan, either late 2004 or early 2005. There was an interview and now we're into the concert.

I'm sorry, but it appears they're just using the Japan shows as rehearsal time and it's all awkward. The energy is lacking, the backing vocals are sampled instead of live, and they all keep checking with eachother - almost like they're testing stuff. Weird. Made me wonder if other big bands do that - go to other countries to "rehearse" their live shows before they bring 'em here. Ok what the...they're singing What Happens Tomorrow and there's a WHOLE bridge/verse/segue thing I've never heard. AND they are really lacking as a live act. They should not have filmed this or let it get out to the public. I've never been so critical. I feel like a traitor. Please forgive me.

Now, on the other hand, Simon's voice is MUCH stronger and clearer than I've ever heard it(despite being pitchy). Would I still like to kiss him? The 13-year old inside me says YES!

When I go to give Spencer a kiss we go "mmmmmmm wa!"
The other day, he kept pushing Guy and I together so we would kiss. It was the best.
What is NOT the best, is when your 19 month old hurls ornaments in the Christmas store.
I have never been so embarrassed or laughed so hard.

Duran Duran, come back and play my town again and take me out dancing.
Spencer, don't grow up too fast.
Katie, go to bed, you're making NO sense.
Domo Aregato

Dental Independence

Well, it's been while. Not all that long in normal human time, but where
toddlers are concerned it's been an age.

This morning, I was summoned to the bathroom by my beaming, foaming at the
mouth husband, who pointed down and to my left as I walked in the room.
There, standing at the side of the sink on a toddler-made stepstool, was my
boy, with my toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, using his hand to make
the motions of a little boy brushing his teeth.

I am flabbergasted even writing it down.
My son was brushing his teeth with his father this morning.
I don't know whether to be proud of this development, or to mourn the loss
of his innocence.

People, my son is a boy.
He even knows the Eagles cheer, except he says "Wiggles" at the end instead
of "Eagles".

Time really does fly.
I'm afraid next he'll be asking for car keys. Oh wait he does do that, only
he hasn't the strength to turn the key in the ignition yet.
I'm sure that will be next week after he figures out how to take milk out of
the fridge and leave it on the floor with the door open...

Dear Frito Lay:

Crunchy Cheetos are potentially the world's greatest snackfood.
I have only one issue to raise: The orange residue or "cheesidue" left on my
thumb and forefinger after delighting in these crispy delectables.

Sirs, we can put a man on the moon, clone dogs and make it seem like pop
stars are singing live before thousands when they are silently miming to a
pre-recorded track. Certainly, you must be able to concoct some formula that
makes it possible for me to snack on Cheetos AND continue working at my
computer without turning the keys a brighter shade of vermillion.

I look forward to your response, and or the release of New and Improved
Non-Shmutzing Cheetos.

Gastronomically Yours,
Hysterical Female

Jaws II Oral Fixation

Say hello to Richard Kiehl. He was the giant actor who played the character "Jaws" in several Bond flicks. Those metal chompers could seriously do damage.

Now, imagine if you will, my reaction yesterday morning when the evil dentist explained to me that the temporary crown I'd be wearing for the next month was going to be made of stainless steel.

Yes, folks, I was a tad distressed. Fast forward to today (now yesterday) and I feel exactly like the picture of Jaws here, only my humour is generally much more sour. One break I suppose: I do not have a lump in the middle of my forehead as far as I know. Regardless, I have as much metal in my mouth as I do on my fingers. That is NOT acceptable.

The dentist told me I'd be experiencing some hot and cold sensitivity.
No duh.
Typically when metal gets hot or cold, things around it get the same. Like, that's why we make most cocktail shakers out of stainless steel - to spread the cold around. When steel gets hot enough, it will actually melt!

Ok and another thing, I can't really chew stuff, so there goes Halloween gorging.
F'ers. I wonder how old I'll be when dentures start to really look attractive. Oh my head.

I saw Spencer for all of 30 minutes this morning. Guy told me today that Spencer is having great bonding moments with his caregivers in daycare. I nearly burst into tears at the thought of some stranger bonding with my son more than I do. Oh, wait, I did cry. Just not out loud. You cannot have your cake and eat it too. It's too much. People who do, have eating disorders and drug problems. I wanted to work full time, so boo hoo.

I need a pedicure and I can't close my mouth. Guess what else? I want to wear my jeans tucked into boots, and all my pants are too flared and sort of too baggy. I need to get snug, tapered jeans. EEEEEEEEEEEEW. Fashion mags are showing tapered jeans slouched/pulled down over flats and heels. It's positively disgusting. Didn't anyone watch the American Bandstand rerun marathons on VH1? Some trends are NOT meant to be repeated. Seriously.

I will now attempt to finish this post before I go totally "cyclops"; meaning I get so sleepy that I can only see out of one eye because the other is closed.

Goodnight and good lunch.

Random Notes

Entertainment:
Napoleon Dynamite is hilarious. See it immediately. You will never look at steak, Kool Aid or glamour photos the same again. A word of warning: If you didn't like Raising Arizona, you definitely will not like this.

If you can't see that, see Garden State. Zach Braff (writer, director and star) has a long future ahead of him IMHO.

I just watched Dolly Parton sing "9 to 5" accompanied by her fingernails on Extra. Oy vey.

Nicole Richie is "bothered" by rumors she has an eating disorder, but, ah, for the record, on Extra there was no outright denial, nor was there an explanation, like "I've been so busy, or 'Simple Life' was all I had and now I'm depressed", or "I have hyperthyroid"...nuttin.

HBO does it again: It took a little bit to get going, but Rome is really getting good. For instance, Cleopatra is a sex-crazed opium addict. You can't miss!

Fashion:
Do not read Lucky magazine. You will start spending money for no good reason.

Why are big belts back, and why did I buy THREE?

Trend alert: Be on the lookout for vest sweaters and cardigans.
fishnet stockings should be all the rage in a month or so and then they'll go the way of the Dodo when women get tired of the pantyhose thing again.

Every accessory addict's dream: www.bagborroworsteal.com

Health and Home:
I hate going to the dentist. Hate it. I can't remember EVER walking out of a dentist's office saying "Wow I feel so much better!"
Speaking of which, when will the Tylenol 3 (with Codeine thank you very much) I took an hour ago fully kick in?

There is a show on HGTV called "How Clean is Your House?": As if most of us aren't already completely self-conscious about how we appear to our friends and neighbors.

My intestines were attacked by a McDonald's milkshake today. No joke.

Codeine update: I think it's starting to set, but I'm not sure.

Best Pizza so far in the area: Cocco's. Don't live near one? Oh well, too bad for you.
Children/FamilySpencer is my son (just in case you didn't know) and he's really cute. He can say "All Done" and "Elmo". He turned eighteen months old yesterday. He's going to a three-year old's birthday party on Saturday and we don't know who the boy is.

Take your kids to Linvilla Orchards before Halloween. They're having a whole pumpkin festival thing with hayrides and apple everything. Just go.

Bono is God (or at least I wish he was)

After much hand-wringing and waiting by the phone, my connection for U2 tickets came through and we saw them tonight. It was their second show at the Wachovia Center, and it was kickass.

Frigging Bruce Springsteen showed up for the first encore. How about them apples? They did some great old songs and of course new ones, AND treated us all to a new song they're working on called "Fast Cars". It had a tango-y Spanish thing going on about it and I'm looking forward to its eventual release.

So we had these crazy nosebleed seats all the way in the top of the joint. I mean it. The very tip top. If you are going to a show there and your tickets are on the mezzanine, you're going to be sitting almost straight up the entire show. I mean, they're playing "I Will Follow" as we're climbing upwards towards our seats, so natch, I turn to Guy and say loudly, "It's more like 'I Will FALL'."

I have to say, I was pretty much on that level of clever all night through.

Something did happen though that's really buggin' me ("I don't mean to bug ya", heh heh). Not 10 minutes into the show, it appears that some ground level section curtains have this weird formation that look like a cross with light coming through. I couldn't stop staring at it. Is this Bono character special in some way? Does U2 have a line in to the big house? Bono is the ONLY rock legend I know of who can sing his face off, keep a beat, engage as many humans in the room as possible and tell you why human rights and world peace are achievable all in the same moment.

I kid you not, the man had a whole stadium full of fans absolutely quiet while he told a story about the song "Miss Sarajevo" and then sang his heart out, including the Pavarotti part! The man can really sing. Brought tears to my oversensitive eyes.

So anyway, back to this cross thing...I've been wondering if Bono isn't the modern day messiah. Then again, I highly doubt the other side of the Wachovia center could see this curtain aberration, so it's probably just me having concert catharsis.

Lesson: When your concertgoing experience leads you to feel as if you've been enlightened, then it probably means it was a good show.

Gettin' My Job On

I am officially a full-time employee.

After a month of building my confidence, contracting at a warm and fuzzy family-like mortgage company, I am now staking my claim to a cubby on the third floor of a very cool office building in King of Prussia. The company leasing this building develops and maintains ecommerce sites for a variety of different retail entities. I'm doing some graphic design for these sites. I suppose you could say it's the icing on the career cake I've been baking for the last five years or so. I'm pretty psyched.

For one thing, I can wear flip flops and listen to music while I work. Sweet. If I am starting to sound like Eric Cartman it's because so far, things are pretty ideal. I know it won't be all roses and rainbows, but this is kind of a dream come true. Here's why:

My customer service skills are to die for, and I can be patient long after others have given up. Perhaps it's the masochist in me, I don't know, but I rock the client relations. And I don't like it one bit. I hate calling people and taking calls. I've mellowed enough in the last decade so that I don't die when I have to do it. There was a time when I swore up and down that I would not work jobs where I had to call people or answer phones and I even vaguely recall my inability to keep it to myself in interviews despite how ignorant I might have sounded.

And now I'm in the position where I don't have to answer phones or help customers directly.
Am I pinching myself? Absolutely. My own cubby for the first time in years, funky cool people with tattoos and decent taste in entertainment, great food and perks...I'm the king of the world!

No I'm not. I am amazing though...
I was thinking tonight, that my body is looking better and better. Then I realized what my body did over a year ago. Along with an eyedropper or so full of my husband's DNA, my body created another human being. A little boy who now says "Elmo", "All done", "Out", "Knock knock"(a variation really(ock ock), but it counts. A little boy who; is learning how to put on shoes, can hold a spoon pretty darn well, runs, draws, tries to read books, rides on the tractor with his dad, pretends to drive our cars, puts on my sunglasses and may actually be forming a real relationship with Mack. He'll be in school in no time and I'll be wondering where the years went.

Halloween is in 16 days, my birthday's in 13 and U2 is in 2.
Tick tick tick tick...

Back to School Smell

It's finally fall. It's cold enough at night that we can close the windows, and this morning, we actually had the heat on for the first time since we moved here. Earlier in the day, I had this overwhelming wish that I could go back in time to high school...

Canine Interruptus: JESUS, mary and joseph! Mack just came clicking in here (bedroom with hardwood floors and no area rug) and flumphed (yes I made it up) down on the floor. If that didn't wake Spencer, nothing should.

Anyhoo, as I was saying before Paws: The Return, I wish I was back in school. High school.
I wish I had books and homework and projects and reports. I can't walk into a single drug store without being attacked from all sides by notebooks of every size, shape and color, and it makes me nuts.

Ok this is lame, I am suddenly falling asleep. Blogger, why do you make me so sleepy? Stop snuggling me!

Ok, now I forget what I was going to write. I actually just tried to write with one eye open. I can no longer think or write.

Long and short of it all: I want school supplies.

GRAVITY SUCKS: A Lecture

I saw it coming but didn't pay attention to my own instinct - trying not to be such a worryer.
I was in Spencer's room, changing the sheets and he was all cute in just his diapers, toddling between his room and the guest room. I checked to see what he was up to and stepped out into the hallway to see him standing at the top of the stairs looking down. I said to him, "You sit down if you're going down. You know how." He seems to always listen when I say that, or turn around and just start getting into position to go down the stairs. This time he turned around all smiley face and went back into the guest room...

I turned to the crib and just got started pulling up the bedskirt when I heard the worst noise I have ever heard in my life: The thundering thuds of my son falling down the stairs. I was out the door and down the stairs as he began to stand up at the bottom, screaming. My brains scrambled in panic as I watched my little boy go through pain, shock and fear all at once.

Immediately I began to check him out and screamed to Guy to come. He came in and picked Spencer up and held him gently. He'd bitten his tongue or lip so there was a little blood on his tongue and was moving his right arm gingerly, but other than that, he seemed ok.

My next instinct was to run to the kitchen to get ice. Why is that? What good is that going to do for a little guy who would just as soon throw it at the dog? Guy took him out to the tractor and sat with him on it. Then he took him inside after some calm settled, and sat with him in front of a picture and part of the alphabet painting I did. I got water and ice cream and we coaxed him back to normal, with some residual sniffles and whines over his sore mouth. He was pretty much back to normal after a little while and went to bed like a little angel.

All fun and jokes aside:

PLEASE put the safety gates up if you haven't already. Even if they're getting really good at the stairs, it doesn't matter. You NEVER EVER EVER want to hear what I heard or see your child freaked out like that. It is the worst. I couldn't even look at the stairs right for an hour. I hated them and myself for not being on top of him to keep him safe.

And that's the deal, folks. You can't always keep them safe, but you can do as much as you can and make sure they know you love them too.

Damn, I love that little boy.

New Kids on the Block Party

Well, we're suburbanites for real now. We experienced our first block party.
There were blockades, but why?
Not ONE car came speeding down adjacent streets looking for a way thru to another road.
We had our grills in the street for chrissakes.

Guy whipped up some ribs, tout suite, and I bought freezer pops and made Bay Breezes. The new kids on the block were a big hit. And of course, Spencer had the run of the land. He was this way and that. I think I got about 15 minutes total for sitting and eating. He likes to go down slides face first, likes to climb under tables and play peekaboo, and is learning how to fake me out when I stand in front of him to block him. If he doesn't become some kind of amazing athlete, I'll be SHOCKED.

I think we're being watched too. One of our neighbors was buddy buddy with the previous owner and she's reporting our activities. Kind of weird meeting a new neighbor who casually tells you she's got her eye on you. It's a little freakish. Like we're under surveillance.
Everyone here is involved in education on some level too. There's like at least 3 teachers, one retired bus driver and a counselor. I have half a charter school in my backyard!

So I imagine there will be much recipe swapping and front lawn chatter in the coming months. At the VERY least, there will be many a neighbor coming by to marvel at Guy's landscaping creations - they're already envying his skill. God help us if the less technically inclined fellas get wind of the craftsman's garage we have going. He'll never get the sawdust out of his ears.

I, on the other hand, am perfectly content looking cute, chasing the boy around and making drinks like a good wife should. If they need a Web site worked on or can't figure out why their computers won't work, they know where to find me ;)

UGH, I caved.

Oy, I'm already making puns...

Ok let me explain:

See, I bought The Happiest Toddler on the Block, by Harvey Karp, M.D.
The gist of this tome is that you need to talk to your toddler like he/she is a Neanderthal.
Basically you go grunting and sort-of mirroring their panic, anger, frustration and pained expressions in order to communicate your understanding of their needs and to help calm them enough to be receptive to whatever input comes next.

Apparently it can look really silly to behave and speak to your child like a child but the good doctor swears your little one will show improvement once he/she feels you are paying attention and know what he/she wants.

So apparently my son is a savage little creature and I'm like the "monster whisperer". It's a job only a mother could love. HA!

He was put to bed an hour early tonight due to technical malfunction - internal systems meltdown, or the dreaded "temper tantrum". He had one yesterday too, so I'm not all that surprised that another one reared it's head today. I wonder if his brain is beta tesing emotional response. He's been acting like me when I'm PMSing. Weird.

Ok here we go again. It's late and I can't even keep my eyes open anymore. This bites it. What happened to all my energy? hmmmm

Feelings...Whoa Whoa Whoa

I'm just testing really. I found out I can basically "phone it in" - I can email my own blog and tell it things. Or rather, tell you, my adoring friends and family things. All day long, from wherever. You'll never miss a minute of my thoughts, ever again.

Whoopdedoo.

Did you know that the powers that be can put a perfect 8-10oz serving of ground coffee in a little space age pack (no bigger than an index card) for you to shove in a machine that makes you coffee at the push of one button? No water is ever seen. You don't even see the grounds. It's like an MRE (Meals Ready to Eat - look for the history of this in the next NYTimes Magazine-thank you disaster buzzwords)- but it's CRD -Coffee Ready to Drink.

There is a mystery though. I can 't figure out what the Espresso button is for. There is no "Espresso" style coffee pack. Could this be the key to another dimension? Stay tuned.

Oh and another thing. They're trying to kill us with powdered coffee creamer. Doesn't anyone know that stuff is more toxic than a McGriddles?

Babyhugs, Birds, Showers and Idiot Box Rants

Saturday, September 10, 2005, was the first day I received a true hug from my son.

It was around 730-8pm and I'd just come home from refilling our "Growlers" - beer jugs we got at John Harvard's Brewery (try the Pale Ale and get yourself a Stoudt Mud Pie - to die for).

The house was fairly quiet and I figured my boys were upstairs in Spencer's room, getting him ready for bed. I found them in his room, Guy changing Spencer's diaper on our old full size futon mattress, now taking up the dormer area perfectly - a fun cushioned play space. A little goofy smile crept on to Spencer's face as he saw me enter the room. Once the diapering was done, he stood up and snorted and pointed at something.

Guy immediately showed me a new Spencer trick.
"I think he learned this in school, watch this," he boasted while Spencer stood next to him reaching for his glasses.
"Ok Spencer, lie down now."
Spencer giggled and sat, and put his head down on the mattress.
We made the silent movie laugh face (laughing without making noise and grinning like idiots) at eachother and got him to do it a few more times. Amazing how little things entertain a person.

I then asked for a hug and Spencer shook his head no.

"He's gotten really good at saying 'No' , " said Guy as we watched Spence shake his head repeatedly until he almost fell down. I pretended to cry and be sad to see if it'd make him pity me. Instead he smirked and giggled at me. The kid has no sympathy, I tell you.

Guy tickled him, I teased him and helped him finish more milk before bed.
When he was done, he got up from the futon mattress and shuffled over to Guy to give him a hug, which he's done numerous times now to the point of me being jealous. Then suddenly, he wheeled around out of Guy's arms and was shuffling again, but this time towards me.

As I sat cross-legged on the floor with my back leaning on the futon mattress, he shuffled over to me, opened up his arms and threw them around me. My SON HUGGED ME.

I could have held him all night and into next week. I've been waiting for him to learn how to give a hug just for this reason and he finally did it. My son hugged me. He cooed and babbled and rested his adorable head on my shoulder, then chest. He smiled and giggled, pulled back and cupped his hands to clap lightly at my hair and over my ears (he likes to play with the curls), then he collected himself and scooted across the floor to his dad with arms stretched out: Daddy also doubles as taxi, elevator and human transport system.

Spencer hugged his daddy and turned around and then came back over to me again for another go round. I was ecstatic. "My son loves me!" was the only thing I could think of. It was undeniable proof that my son had a connection to me - that he indeed loved me.

Strange how a woman can carry a child in her body for 9-10 months, fall in love with a face she hasn't seen yet, give birth to her child with and fall in love with the being she's created, and have this unexplainable connection, but she isn't always confident that this child will even recognize her upon entry into the world. Or maybe that's just my own insecurity.

Regardless, unconditional love is the best. It's bliss and it's supreme. If there is a God, he's inside your little one when he or she hugs you. That's what a god's love should feel like.

For the record, it has taken me three days to get this out - I CANNOT write late night anymore. I fall asleep mid sentence. Makes a hell of a read the next morning, I'll tell you that. As I write now, the Eagles are getting a whooping by the Falcons. No thanks to some pre-game fisticuffs between Trotter and some shmuck from the Falcons. And by the way, Trotter DID NOT punch the dude. Facemask? Yes, absolutely. Roundhouse? Uh-uh.

Hey I bought like 5 tops and a jacket at Macy's over the weekend: $40.
I LOVE sales. Now if only I could find a cool bag to haul around all my stuff. I'm afraid to buy a big slouchy bag because I lose my keys in those things in like two seconds. Oh whoa is me.

Social Event Hint: Don't take your 1-1/2 year-old to a baby shower. You won't get to talk to anyone, sit down or eat. You will get lots of exercise, so maybe it's ok if you're trying to get in shape again or something. I don't know.

Media Warning: Ok, does anyone give a pig's fart if a soap star and b-rated voiceover actor have a live "dance-off"? Apparently they do 'cause ABC is giving them a show. I wonder how much the winner will donate to help Hurricane Survivors. Heh.

Political Rambling: Yo, America, your government is playing you. Hows about paying attention instead of drowning your sorrows in 'reality' tv? I speak from experience: The "Real World" won't make the real world go away.

Oh and one more thing: My Super Sickeningly Sweet Sixteen on MTV has GOT to be stopped. What could be worse programming for America's youth than 30-60 minutes of spoiled teenagers whining about their lack of boundaries, sky's-the-limit budgets and semi-present parental units, all the while touting their popularity, closet size and duty to throw the world's greatest parties that noone can attend but their own sycophant. I can't believe my eyes anymore and it's not just because my prescription glasses are old.

Monday Night Football calls. GO EAGLES!

JAWS

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into daycare...

My son bit two children last week and you never saw two parents more freaked out.
No, not their parents. Me and Guy.

He called me at work to tell me, which sent me spinning into a mental spiral of worry.
By the time I'd gotten into my car to fly home to get our little "savage", Guy had already researched everything there was to know about toddlers and biting. I imagine he Googled with the passion of someone looking for naked pics of a pregnant Britney Spears (none exist that I'm aware of, and how disgusting of you to wonder).

He explained how he wanted to handle things with the daycare: Coordinate our efforts via a face to face meeting where we'd discuss how they handled him and discuss how we could mirror their efforts at home in order to maintain consistency. He was focused and concerned about proper child rearing practices. I was afraid I'd see a parent of one of the afflicted and get the talking to of my life and that they'd kick my son out of daycare and we'd get sued by the other child's parents. My husband was strategizing and I was catastrophizing.

Nervous as a Korean engineering student making his debut on American Idol, I pulled into the parking lot. Nary a car. I prayed silently that we'd slide on outa there. When I entered Spencer's play room, there he sat in a table-highchair hybrid: Approximately two feet around him, separating him from every other child in the room. All I could hear in the back of my head was: "I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti".

And there was my angel baby.

Spencer was looking up at me, sweet as could be. I felt horrible. I picked him up, apologizing to the director profusely. I waited for her to chew me out (oh BAD. no pun intended. honest.), expecting dirty looks and tongue clicking. Instead it was business as usual.

They pointed out his victims and showed me that although they'd thought he'd broken the skin on one girls finger, it seemed to not be so bad. One victim, a little girl, came right over to hug Spencer. She was forgiving her attacker! It was amazing to learn she'd been accosted by my sons chompers and wasn't trying to pull his hair out.

The other little boy was about his age and tends to be his riding partner when they're all taken outside in strollers. Apparently they were having a WWF Smackdown right in the stroller. Spencer won without having to go to a closed cage match. Noone was worse for the wear really except me.

I skulked out of there with Spencer on my arm, smiling awkwardly and making small talk as we left. The only thing he's bitten since are my finger (cause I was trying to clean orange crayon from the inside of his mouth) and his three regular meals accompanied by ice cream.

If I see his teeth bared I just have to keep repeating the following mantra: "Redirect...Redirect...Redirect". Or buy a muzzle.

Mecca or Hell?

I have found it. Both in one place. Moorestown , New Jersey.
The five mile radius around my office is spilling over with every type of store, strip mall and mega mall. I dare say I was overwhelmed by this new reality.

Do you realize that in one day I could probably design, build, furnish a house, buy enough clothing, accessories and shoes to last a lifetime, eat and eat and eat, work out, eat some more, buy bigger clothing, go to the doctor with my higher cholesterol (from all the eating), get physical therapy, drink cappucino and all kinds of revved up coffee drinks until I am spinning like a top, buy a good book, get someone a greeting card and stock up on enough tchotkes until I can barely fit all the purchases in my car, go outside with the intent to write or read or clean something and end up in my car magnetically pulled in the direction of clothing on sale.

Narcolepsy is taking over. Eyes feel like little elephants are sitting on them.

Goodnight good people of LA and MISS. Try try try not to go crazy and kill eachother.
I am going to bed.

-K

Welcome to the Jungle

Ok, I admit it, it was a madhouse.

As we entered Subjective Family Fun Center today, my friend Barb asked me if I felt a little unsettled by the chaos all around us. I'd never been to a "family fun center" or "soft amusement park" or "indoor amusement center" with Spencer before, and I didn't want to feel intimidated right out of the gate, so I said no, that yeah it was wild, but it didn't have any effect on me really.

As it became more and more necessary to yell to one another as if we were in a bar, I started to wonder a little. As we were nearly run over by frantic parents chasing their candy-and-pizza-wired kids, I wondered a little more. As it became more and more apparent that parents go to these places to let their kids run wild like beasts; all over my son and my friends' toddlers, I was getting downright flabbergasted.

I spent half my time there parenting OPP (other people's progeny), trying to keep them from jumping on top of Spencer, who was happily flumfing around in what amounted to a box full of balls. The other half I spent trying to find my friends who were busy chasing their little ones around, or reassuring them after they'd been attacked by "wildekids". At one point I became indignant enough to approach the front desk and inquire assertively about the policy for monitoring the "Toddlers Only" area, since over half the jumping monkeys in there were at least 5. A disgruntled looking adolescent wearing her requisite staff t-shirt would patrol the area, a bit like the way the late night security shift does at your local 24 hour supermarket.

It appears today has taken its toll on me starting 5 minutes ago. I am falling asleep as I type this. More elaboration on the decline of civiliation when I return.

Cliff Notes for August

We bought & sold, we moved, we're diggin' in.

I was starting to get used to a weekly schedule of taking care of Spence MWF and having him in "school" twice a week, which allowed me to run errands and shop for stuff like paint, spackle, outlet covers, and the like. Then it happened: I got a JOB.

That's right, the thing I've been chasing since January: Working Mom status. It all happened in two days and now I'm driving two hours a day to get to work. I'm getting up WAY early. Good moolah and the gig is cool so far - it's amazing how when you've been sort-of doing the same stuff for awhile and you get an opportunity to flex your skills on a larger scale - it's like getting out of a small car after a long drive. It takes awhile to get where you're going and you had a really good ride, and now it's great to get out and open up into a larger space that can hold you.
Not sure if this analogy is working because I'm tired. In any case, compliments all around.

Got a chance to go out and tie one on at a local pub/karaoke bar. If secondhand smoke and 2$ pints (DOMESTIC, duh) are your bag, then go visit the Riddle Ale House on Baltimore Pike/Route 1 near the Granite Run Mall and Riddle Memorial Hospital. This is, of course, in Delaware County near where we're living now. All the trappings of suburbia with a tinge of city and low key everywhere. It's really a great mix we have around here. Now, if I could just get some shopping done in Moorestown.

I'm working almost right next to the Moorestown Mall. It's temptation hell. More stores than the eye can take in, more deals and sales and that's just the one flanking the mall on all sides. It's like a fortress of shopping. I mean it.

Spence started in a new daycare. It's near us so it's convenient that way, and Guy has really taken on the mornings with our man Spencer. He's in "school" more than I'd like, but as they say, hundreds of thousands of moms and families do it every day, so it's a matter of adjustment, right? Adjust THIS. It's weird.

Here's a Spencer primer for ya:

bwa bwa = Mommy's keys or anything I can see that looks fun to play with
ca = the dog, a door, outside, a bird
uh oh = "Pick that up, won't you?"
pu pu (or bu bu) = hubba bubba (I taught him that tonight)

We're learning sign language rapidly and he's more and more into everything, ESPECIALLY chalk, pencils and paper. He and his daddy have drawing/art time at least 3 times a week.

Note: Can someone explain to me the significance or appeal of Goodnight Moon? He is nearly as obsessed with this book as with my keys. Is there something I don't get?
I would appreciate a little analysis.

Speaking of keys, he now wants them when they're in the ignition keeping the car on. I think subterfuge may be necessary. A new keychain may be in order.

Ok, my laptop is running out of juice.

Technical Note: Get a camera phone.

Strange Noises, Stranger Names

Last night we slept in our bed in our room for the first time since we moved here.
It was shaping up to be great until we turned on Spencer's monitor and heard something that sounded like whales on land calling out to a large moose. Guy and I both bolted out of bed in confusion. When we opened the door to our room we could hear it coming from outside. NO idea what it was, but it suddenly felt all too much like a scene from the M. Night Shamalyan film Signs. We were freaking to say the least. Somehow I got to sleep, assuring us both that I'd call the township to find out what kind of an alarm they have going off in the middle of the night.

When I called the township this morning, the representative did not know what I was talking about. I even demonstrated for her over the phone (would have sounded REALLY weird if she'd had me on speaker). Guy told me later that it wasn't a fire alarm cause he'd heard one earlier that day. I suppose I'll need to listen for it again.

In an unrelated subject, I leave you with this question: What is "wishniak"?

Relocationitis

Due to extreme fatigue and the need to look up outlet covers and find out how to attach a new clothesline (I can't even START on that one), I will summarize the past week using bullets...

• We did it. We settled on our old house and closed on the new one on Thursday May 21.
• Spent the next three days steaming old wallpaper, dusting, cleaning, whining about smelly things and pulling out disgusting old carpet.
• We moved on Monday July 25 and Tuesday July 26. We slept in the living room of our new house until today when we finally got the bedroom painted.
• Spencer spent alot of time in daycare. I spent alot of time driving him there and back.
• I think Guy has a hernia. He thinks he may too, but hmmm, has a doctor seen it yet to have a look? uh, NO.
• Mack and Spencer have been having a time getting adjusted. More Mack than anyone else I think.
  
• I like Home Depot. Target? Not so much. WHO PUTS CLOTHESLINE IN THE AUTOMOTIVE SECTION? AND WHY TRAIL MIX BUT NO RAISINS?
• My stomach is rebelling. I've been eating terribly, and dropping weight to the point that I almost have to wear belts to cinch up the waistband enough to keep pants on. Starting to look like someone from The Little Rascals.
• What does it mean to have water in your basement? How many basements do? What's normal? Why does everyone want to dig up your basement and clean mold?
• Showers are funny because we run out of water so fast it's absurd. Same thing happens when doing dishes. Oh did I mention? We have no dishwasher either.
• The paint job we did looks great. Good color choice which I am primarily responsible for - the research (big purple binder) paid off.
• I miss Sex & The City SO much I cried watching it last night (yes, we have HBO already. No DSL mind you, but Yankees Network, hell yes)
• So tired I'm hallucinating. Oh wait it's the tv - somehow the acoustics are different and when you turn sound up on tv you can hear almost every single background noise so it seems like there are people talking in the house
• Movers need to have a plan of their own and communicate it.
• Eyes closing as I write this. Will catch up when more coherent.
  

It Didn't Stop All Day

Today VH1 ran a program called "And You Don't Stop: 30 Years of Hip Hop"
It was a five-parter and I believe it went on all day long.

I must say, despite some of the razzing I've seen online, I actually learned something about the history of hip-hop. I always wondered about it but kind of never knew where to look. I think if you're not terribly keen on the music but would like to know more about its history, this series is really a great start. Especially the first few episodes where they really get into how scratching and mc'ing and sampling got started. It's an amazing evolution and it deserves respect at the very least.

Spencer could have cared less. Maybe I should try to learn how to beatbox.

Threes and Throes

Tomorrow (well, today now since it's after midnight) we settle and close.
Packing hasn't been stellar on my part, but I've been wheedling away at it with some consistency despite Spencer's new found love of my left hand for use in walking. I will pat myself on the back for getting ALL the utilities switched or started, plus I bought us a new washer and dryer AND the custom closets I'd been lobbying for since we made the offer back in May.

So we're grooving along and then we almost had major meltdown today. Here's the rundown:

1. The title insurance company was apparently demanding an original of a power of attorney release we needed for settlement. Noone told us until this morning. Guy had to do a mad scramble to get that resolved and there was much ranting back and forth about our dilemma via AOL Instant Messenger. Without the document, we were being posed with the possibility of postponing settlement/closing and having to add financial burden.

2. We did the walk through on our new house. Mostly going well until I walked down the stairs into the basement and immediately smelled must/mildew. Recent rains had not properly been routed away from the house and it had seeped through the walls. The 1950's wood paneling was stinkin and the old asbestos laden floor tiles (not toxic I'm told) were soaked. The unfinished area also had water seepage. SO, bye bye big plans for kitchen renovation...

3. On the way home, Guy discovered that the estimate we were given for funds needed for closing was off by close to twenty percent. Not only bye bye kitchen, bye bye all money, period. I immediately began thinking about the fastest way to start earning money. When you're in what you perceive to be a hurry to earn money, the solutions you imagine are not necessarily logical or appropriate.

So, cut to me later on the phone with my mom, whining about the state we're in. I confess to her that I'm expecting something else to go wrong; the sting of the day's two major events still lingering.
"Things happen in threes," I tell her, knocking on every REAL piece of wood I can find (don't be fooled by melamine) and telling her I'm knocking on wood.

Why do I do that? How did I get superstitious? Is superstition a replacement for religious faith? The belief in something outside of your sphere of control that you have to accept unless you can somehow sidestep it or behave your way out of it? And the almost obsessive compulsive knocking on wood, while pacing around the house talking to my mother: You'd think I was a mental patient. If Spencer gets into this pacing thing, we're going to have to switch floors with him.

My mother was a rock for me.
"You already had three things happen though!"
"What is the third?" I squealed.
" The estimates -taxes thing you told me about. That's the third thing, so it should all be fine now."
"Whew, ok"
I knocked on wood again. It's pretty easy to do in my house actually. Guy is a big fan of real wood furniture.
I can't swing a dead tree without hitting real wood.

So we're past that trauma for now.

Guy went to bed early. It's our last Wednesday night in Overbrook Farms.
I can't believe we're moving. Guy has lived here for fourteen years, almost to the day we move, and he's less emotional about leaving than I am, and I am the one who pushed for the move to begin with.

I'll be driving around the area and I realize I will no longer be taking certain shortcuts home from Center City anymore. I won't be going to the same Genuardi's or Borders or 7-11s. I won't be taking the same drives into Ardmore- to Bella Italia - the best pizza I know of in Philadelphia except for somewhere in Southwest Philly (Kennerly help me out here!). No more competing Korean convenience stores down the street. No more Chinese and steaks within walking distance. No more easy walk to train station. Wah.

On the other hand...I also won't have the same pain in the arse drives to malls and Target. Infact, we'll have access to every major store I can think of, with the exception of Wal-Mart(I am so bummed. NOT). I'm sure there's one I don't know about yet. AND, let us not forget the trains rumbling past the house, the track crews honking horns and yelling at 2 in the morning. Also there are the buses, the drunk college students and their cars, and the traffic that's increased by probably twenty percent in the last year.

Overall, I'll grieve. It's inevitable. Especially when our washer and dryer aren't hooked up and I have to wash my clothes in a tub and hang them outside...

Here's to hopefully having DSL sooner than August 9!!!!!
I'm sure I'll be trying to write in here from a dial up. NICE.
Then again, I'll have a driveway.

Suburbia, I hope you're ready for the Vilims.

Sent Packing

It's Thursday the 14th. I have 7 days until we settle and close on the new house. 12 days until we officially move. I planned to be cleaning out bathroom cabinets and packing supplies...
I went to Staples and bought stickers to put on furniture, etc. I went to Borders and bought two design magazines and a design book. I saw my therapist. Spencer is in daycare right now. I'm sitting here typing.

I just reminded myself I wanted to apply AGAIN to Borders for a part-time gig. I love that place like the library. Books and books and books. Cabinets and boxes await me, whenever I feel the impulse. Guy would be giving me a look right now. The "well go do it" look.

Now I'm applying for work at Borders. The application is quite lengthy. Then it's off to pack. I mean it.

Mum's the Word

Still voiceless. Have been rooting through a drawer in a desk in our bedroom. Found pics and an envelope containing hair from Spencer's first official haircut. Grabbed the clear accordion folder with all Spencer's stuff and found feeding schedules and notes from daycare. It's amazing how much he's grown in a year. Ten inches and close to 20 lbs.

I missed a bunch of those early days due to Postpartum Depression. I don't know how forthcoming I've been about that, and from now on, I 'm determined not to avoid talking about it. ESPECIALLY after what Brooke Shields did. Who'd have ever thought I'd have something in common with Brooke Shields besides proximity to Princeton University.

I packed some boxes. We watched Gettysburg on TNT today. It's SIX hours long. That's at least twice as long as Scarface. Say hello to my extremely long movie! I wrote notes to Guy asking questions(tired of trying to whisper and having him go "What?" over and over) about the battle and surrounding history. He's on the ball with that stuff let me tell you. He'd be a great history teacher.

It's about time to crash out. But I'm watching BBC America (great network for Anglophiles) and the show "What Not To Wear" is on. There are these two gals, Susannah and Trinny. I saw them on Oprah once or twice.
They pick really dumpy ladies and make them beautiful-In a way that's appropriate.

In the shows I've had on, they've been dealing with moms of teenage girls. They helped this one woman who almost sounded like a man. She had a real cockney accent, and was so plain and so nondescript that she didn't seem salvageable. They really did a great job. She was so shocked when she saw how they'd primped her, she almost didn't speak. Her reaction was that she looked too good to actually be herself. Imagine that. You suddenly look as good as you could look, and you don't feel you're good enough to look that good.

It's really cool hearing all these British women speaking and using colloquialisms and slang I have no knowledge of. They all sound smarter just because of their accents. There's also a calm about Brits. It's funny everyone seemed to have overlooked it until the bombings. The media acted like Londoners were unusually calm in the face of incredible trauma.

DUH. Why do you think America happened? Stereotypically speaking, Brits have a tendency to be a bit repressed and passive-aggressive. That couldn't have helped their case in managing the colonies from so many thousands of miles away...I mean can you imagine men here working hard to build communities and industry from the ground up, and when problems arose and they tried to get assistance, they were greeted with things like a STAMP tax? They taxed tea, and our boys dressed up like friggin' Native Americans and dumped it into Boston Harbor. Talk about acting out!

So when you see the endless footage they'll show for the next week of the men and women, calmly but solemnly making their way out of the bombed Tube stations, remember, they've been sporting that kind of demeanor since before the Revolution. I wouldn't have expected behavior of any other sort. It's really just like us to suddenly notice how people from another country behave. They've been around longer than us, and we act like they just landed. Can you say "ethnocentric"?

Ok, I'm boring myself. Where was I intending to go with that? There is a teeny weeny bug crawling around on the screen and the little f***er is distracting me as I type. Go away before I squish you with my little pinky. EEEWW he crawled right up to where the lettters were moving on the screen. He's a smart little f***er.

If I was smart, I'd take some cough medicine like a good mommy and go to bed.
This bug has more common sense than me right now. Sure is busy. Hi bug. Shouldn't you be asleep? Are the lights keeping you up? I know you can't help but buzz around in their direction. If I turn off the screen, will you go to bed? He flew away. I can't explain why I called him a he.
"Quicker than a ray of light I'm flying" - "Ray of Light", Madonna*




*Also an Anglophile mum.

Quiet, Mommy

The most torturous event has occurred. I have no voice.

Guy couldn't be happier. The first thing he said this morning when I demonstrated my situation, was "Hey Spencer it's gonna be really quiet around here today!" Accompanied by a smile, of course. Spencer is looking at me like I'm a loon. And on top of this, I had THE worst sleep I've had since Spencer was born and it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

I took Alka Seltzer Flu Plus so I could sleep last night, and about two hours later I finally passed out in front of the tv with Guy next to me. At 330 I roused Guy and we transferred our delirious selves into bed. I closed my eyelids, but my eyes did not feel closed. My mind was racing about moving and packing, about a potential change in the whole schedule, about high school, college and my life so far. It was like having an annoying relative or acquaintance in the room that I couldn't get rid of. My brain would not shut up.

I tossed, I turned for probably 45 minutes with no end in sight. Finally I decided there must be something soothing about the couch, so I left Guy in bed for the raggedy sectional in the tv room. No sooner had I snuggled in under an ancient red nylon comforter, in walked Guy. I waved. He tried to help me get to sleep and apparently it worked, because back to bed we went. Where I promptly woke up again. We switched sides of the bed to simulate how we rested in the tv room. An entire production for a little shut eye. Sheesh.

I'm writing this in a bit of a drug haze. All that dextromethorphan and anithistamine and whatever else sure does linger. Wow, I just checked to see if my spelling of dextromethorphan was right: I'm good!
I need work on the word "delirious" though.

Spencer and Guy played dog with a ball today. I'll elaborate on this another time. I'm quite consumed with my lack of voice, they're replaying Live 8 without the annoying VJ interruptions on VH1 (and its distracting me), and I need to get some packing done or something even though I just want to go to sleep.

In less than 3 weeks, we'll be living in the suburbs. Time flies when you're procrastinating.

Ack! A Booger.

Some observations:
Spencer is saying "Ack" about and to everything. He points to the sky, he points up stairs, he repeats it over and over while being carried around the house and outside. He says it in the car, he says it near and far...wait a minute, who invited Dr. Seuss?

He's making some signs -like "more", "eat" and sometimes "milk", but lately he's invented one of his own, and it involves the shoving of his right forefinger up his right nostril and just sitting there looking at me. He doesn't move it around, just sits there with a finger up his nose. Someday, boy, I hope you'll tell me what that meant.

I tell you what, he has truly earned the nickname "Booger".

London Calling

Hey, everyone across the pond: I'm sorry you had to deal with this today. I can say to some extent I know how some of you must be feeling. Doesn't it suck that we now have more in common due to suffering than regular living?

Stupid t********s.
I won't use the word. I won't acknowledge them by name. They who shall remain nameless.

The day after London won the bid to host the 2012 Olympics, the starting day of the G8 Summit in Gleneagle, Scotland, frigging bombs went off in London. Our president immediately talked about spreading an "ideology of hope" to combat an "ideology of hate." The heads of Parliament expressed their sadness and dismay with many a "here here" echoing in unison, Spain stood tall and condemned the attacks completely, Americans went shopping for shoes and talked loudly on cell phones in drug stores....
What? Yep. Cell phones.
I was out and about this morning and I didn't hear ONE single person talking about what happened. Listening to NPR in the car, a commentator reported that some Americans, when polled about this incident, said they actually DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW about it. I don't think I get that. How does that help anything? How does it unite us in a common goal with the world if we don't even care what happens on the other side of our borders?
I was at Live 8 over the weekend and there was a similar issue. In Europe and Canada, the concerts and events around the concert got incredible coverage. Here, we could barely keep the performances going on screen in between VJ chatter and Axe cologne ads.
How can we be at war and be so isolationist? Oh and another thing, I'm confused about whether or not we're at war with Iraqi insurgents, or at war with terrorism in general. The president keeps changing the focus and I can't keep up.
In local news, during a surprise late night session this morning, the Pennsylvania Legislature passed a new state budget, complete with major pay hikes they approved for themselves. Nice. Gas is up to 62$ a barrel, kids in Philadelphia schools can't get proper text books, but legislators need more money. Let me guess...the cost of living has risen because of gas prices? Heh. Don't ask anyone in the street about it though. They might run away.
Wow this is pretty politically driven today.
I blame it on the fact that I'm sick with some on-coming cold, and I'm too tired to discuss my packing habits, or lack therof.

Have I mentioned I hate moving? But here 's the difference between me and t********s: I'm not going to bomb anything, write manifestos or oppress anyone. I also hate broccoli and cream sauces. Does that mean I should live the rest of my life planning to obliterate them from menus worldwide?
I'll go pick up Spencer before Hurricane Dennis comes to get us.

Everyone be nice.

Schooled!

I just found out that Canadian one dollar coin is called a Looney. I also just learned at this moment, that in canada, a "bunny hug", is a hooded sweatshirt, or what we Yanks like to call a "hoodie".

Guess where I learned all this? VH1 of course.

Ok, two more things:

1.The highest grossing movie of all time in Canada is Porky's2.In Quebec, they have "language police", who patrol the streets making sure that all public signage is primarily French.

Now, where, you ask, would I get such information at such a time of night?
Why, VH1 of course. "So Awesomely Canadian" has broken new ground on the music television format. I am in "awe".

Money Well Spent

A friend who recently had her second child( month & 1/2 ago) just told me she's been invited to attend a "Passion" Party. Apparently it's like a Tupperware party, but with, hmm, how shall I say it, uh, "toys" for women, instead of Tupperware.

When I asked her, "Are you in the mood for that now?", she said, "Well, something's gotta get me going, cause it ain't gonna happen on it's own. I figure maybe if I have a new toy, it'll make me want to do something!" I laughed, and the following thought occurred to me which I said out loud:

It's just like when you buy a new pair of shoes. It makes you want to go out to dinner.

Nice metaphor.

Sing Blue Silver

Ok, the Quaker Oats Company has LOST it.

Today when we went food shopping, I picked up a box of Cap'n Crunch Crunchberries (blue & red "berries" mixed with sugar corn crunchy) cereal. It's kid's cereal and it's full of sugar, and if you eat too much it hurts the inside of your mouth.

So we get home, unpack, we're doing our thing around the house, and I pull out the box, determined to snack on a few crunchberries, maybe even have a bowl. I notice there's a promotion going on featuring a popular cartoon character relating to the color in the berries. I start eating.

Within SECONDS, my fingers are turning blue and so is my tongue. Guy and I start discussing where the blue is coming from and whether or not the whole cereal is "laced" with the stuff, or if it's just the big blue pieces coloring everything else. We pour some in a bowl and hit it with milk. The milk instantly turns blue. And I mean BRIGHT BLUE. We run more tests on the "crunch" away from the "berries". Blue is present only not nearly as intense, and more like what I think you'd expect from a kid's cereal.

What kind of IDIOT thought this one up? Can you IMAGINE giving this to your 5-11 year old before school? You'd have to get a change of clothes ready and maybe some turpentine as well. I couldn't wash it off my hands.

The nice people who make this need a head check. I can feel cancer growing in me as I write this. Holy crap what alot of chemicals.

____________________

On a lighter note: I was transferring some old concert tapes to CD today. Two Duran Duran concerts: one from 81 or 82 in London, and one from their Seven & The Ragged Tiger World Tour when they appeared at Madison Square Garden in NYC in March of 1984. It was a big show for them, I read recently.

Anyhoo, that World Tour was the first time I ever saw them live (I saw them in Philadelphia at the Spectrum -now the Wachovia Spectrum). I was 14 and I was beside myself. So much so that when I taped the concert a week or two later, I cried when it started on the radio.

Cut to, oh, say, 20+ years later...
I'm sitting on the floor snug between a big reading chair and the stereo. I'm set up to tape the second show and I get it rolling. The first notes of an instrumental ("Tiger Tiger") come up with a swarming buzz of screaming girls who were mostly all my age at the time, along with tuning noises on a bass and lead guitar...I smile...

Oh my gosh. It's them. It's the men I have posters of all over my room. I think about marrying their lead singer at least 10 times a day. I can't believe I'm finally getting to see them...

I have suddenly become that awkward, starry-eyed 14 year-old girl. I get goosebumps and my heart races, and when I try to laugh, I start to cry. I am 35 years old, married with a 13 month old and I am sitting there nearly bawling over my ultimate teen crush. Whoa. Was it the crunchberries? Probably not.

I seriously recommend finding some keepsakes, music, pictures or whatever, that bring you back to a time when you felt that pure euphoria. It's suprising how fast it all comes back.

"...the droning engine throbs in time with your beating heart..."*

Thanks for the memories, fellas.



________________________________________________________
* from "The Chauffeur", by Duran Duran, from the album Rio

Don't Call Me Shirley

We went to the Outer Banks (North Carolina) for a week's vacation. We missed it last year because a certain little someone was just getting to know planet Earth.

The Outer Banks consists of basically two ends of an island: the original southern part consisting of Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills and NagsHead and then the state park. Then there's where we stay, where everyone in Pennsylvania stays: the northern shores: Southern Shores, Duck, Corolla. We usually get a giant house on the beach in a section called Pine Island. These houses are magnificent. A million bedrooms, a million bathrooms, some with hot tubs, private pool, kitchen and kitchenette, outer decks on every floor, etc. It's truly great. The beaches are beautiful and for as crowded as the towns get, the beaches don't seem to show it.

We go with Guy's partner and family and two other couples. Everyone shares in cooking dinner, we do activities (jetski, golf, etc.) and we play games (this year it was: see who can match the most of the AFI'S List of 100 Greatest Movie Quotes of All Time ). We're a competitive lot; it's pretty funny.

I detail all this, because typically I complain like a crow about the traffic problems we face while there:
The road to where we stay is only a two-lane, and it's gotten the volume of I-76. Not to mention there is only one supermarket near where we stay and it serves who knows how many people. For three days after we got there, the place was so packed you couldn't even go in to buy milk without waiting 20 minutes in line.

Waah. Poor me. I have to deal with people while I'm on vacation at one of the nicest beaches on the East Coast. Waah.

So now I'm home and it feels too fast here. I want to go back. Waah.

BABYWATCH: Spencer loves swimming pools and the beach. He ate sand. I mean ATE it. ON PURPOSE. He bonded like crazy with his daddy to the point that he now yells "Daaaaaa!" to get him to come.Yes, I am a little jealous ;)

Kid Stars and Manwhores

VH1 has a series going right now: The 100 Greatest Child Stars.
I watched #40-21 and was fascinated.

They found Corey Haim.
I'm sorry, but he's a pudge. It looks like he either cleaned up from drugs and got fat, or is bloated from drinking. In his profile, he stated that he didn't have any regrets and was exactly where he wanted to be in his career. That's curious, since I don't recall having seen his name on ANY marquee anywhere since like, 1989.

The kid who played "Robbie", the kooky little cousin on The Brady Bunch looks like a hairy, scary beast. Joey Lawrence doesn't want you to call him Joey, and he is really hot. Infact, I think he and Ricky Martin may have been separated at birth.

Now I'm watching Kept: Former model and ex-Mrs Jagger, Jerry Hall, is trying to find a nice boy toy to hang off her arm. The show is about selecting one; by way of contests, dates and elimination. They model in a fashion show, pose naked for an artist, hang out in a castle and write poems. I think two are plants. They're just too vapid, self-absorbed and immature to be worth her time or anyone else's.

Amazing how MTV programming shuts me down. I have been sitting here for 20 minutes with nothing to say even though the behavior of some of these men deserves lengthy comment. Ads are over now and the show is on and I apparently can't write and watch at the same time.

The next time I write, it should be from North Carolina. Overdue vacation starts now.
Excellent.

Elixir of the Gods

gren·a·dine
n.
A brilliant scarlet non-alcoholic syrup made from the juice of pomegranates. Used to color and flavor drinks and desserts. Called grenadine because was originally available only from the island of Grenada in the Caribbean.

(I did not know it was originally made from pomegranates. Now I truly must have more.)
When I was a small child, one of my favorite drinks was the Shirley Temple. It's gingerale with grenadine. They normally chuck in a cherry and orange slice too, which I NEVER eat. I always thought it was cherry juice. Years later I would learn the truth, and it was good - one bottle of grenadine means many Shirley Temples are possible.

Tonight, I am drinking a homemade Tequila Sunrise. I used Dole Pineapple Orange (or Orange Pineapple) juice, Cuervo and grenadine. I put in more grenadine than the recipe called for. It's my drink, it's my grenadine and it's my house so I will have as much as I like. I have also had Grenadine liqueur in the house. That makes a REALLY good drink with gingerale. I call that one the Shirley Temple Black....get it? No? Ask me and I'll tell you.

Last night I had a "Sweet Tart" (pineapple juice, cranberry juice, vodka and lime), and earlier with dinner we had daquiris. It's too hot for beer. Don't ask me to explain.

I think I'm over Cosmos. The only places I've had them done really well are Shampoo and The 8th Floor. Otherwise they're kind of boring.

Back to grenadine... it's just delish. I wouldn't put it on ice cream though. My husband would.
I just like it in drinks. Imagine that; it originates from the Pomegranate. I can't imagine they bother anymore, what with companies being able to manufacture specific tastes from god knows what.

I refuse to comment on a certain news story from today. Grenadine is much more important.

Real World Land of The Dead (Brains)

Zombies are not coming to get me.

That statement may require a little exposition for clarification, but once again, time has lapsed since my last post and I have catching up to do.

Re: Gas Panics
1: The weekend my mom came down to visit for Spencer's birthday, we smelled gas in the house but then didn't, and thought nothing of it, considering two major forms of public transportation pass by on both sides of our house. We had a huge birthday party for Spencer, family crashing overnight, and so forth.

Tuesday of the following week, the new owner of our home came to visit with potential tenants and their moms. Spencer and I were home, doing our normal afterschool routine, and as they entered the house, they immediately became alarmed by the smell of gas...the OVERWHELMING smell of gas, which I did not smell at all in any way.

Thirty minutes later as I sat outside on the porch with my purse, keys and Spencer in my lap, PGW arrived with sensors a-beeping. The service guy walked through my dining room with a contraption that looked like something from Ghostbusters. It beeped loudly and steadily and increased in beep strength as he entered our kitchen. The stove was an immediate culprit. Then he headed to the basement where things went crazy. Gas=off. No heat, no hot water. He replaced our meter, which was leaking, but could not determine the rest of the problem and left me to cold showers and take out.

The plumber came the next day, sprayed our pipes with bubble liquid, and sent air through the pipes and looked for bubbles. Ten minutes in, he called me downstairs to show me a major union joint under the middle of my house looking like the set of the Lawrence Welk Show. Bubbles everywhere. It turned out the problem with the stove came from the problem under the house, so it wasn't really a problem. He fixed the union joint thingy and another small leak in under two hours. PGW was not so efficient, refusing to send anyone out until the following day. They're busy, you know. More cold water and take out. Actually, we have a large water heater and were able to get almost two days worth of showers out of it without using hot water for anything else.

Gas Panic Part Deux: On the way up to Maine, my mom and I stopped our cars at a rest stop near Sturbridge, Massachusetts. I pumped gas and waited for my mom to do the same.

On the other side of the island from me, a simpleton attempted to pump gas from a pump marked OUT OF ORDER. Promptly, the hose fell off and gas literally poured out on top of his car and all over the place. So, thinking like a crazy panicking mom, I ripped Spencer from his car seat and ran away. My mom followed suit until we, and other patrons, realized a not so smart patron had gotten back in his car and was starting it up. So we all yelled at him until he pulled over and turned off his car.

A very nice fellow driving a vintage car helped us move my car away from the immediate area and the frightened gal inside the quickmart adjacent to the station called the fire department. We made a hasty exit before we could be rounded up as witnesses, victims or annoyed and inconvenienced bystanders.

Now about that zombie thing: They keep showing ads for Land of The Dead. On my way out of the tv room to go brush my teeth, I imagined a zombie coming up the stairs out of the darkness at me with glowing eyes. I almost had to say "There are no zombies" as I headed down the hall.
This is the worst side effect of having a wild imagination: I can literally imagine something terrifying in a completely normal, safe environment.

Ok ewww. There is a man and a dog asleep in the room with me, and one of them farted.
Now THAT is a whole different kind of gas panic.

Some young lady is being cut apart and sewn back together again on an MTV plastic surgery show. It's about time for me to go bed. Especially since now I have seen every ad for Real World: Austin that's been created. I am an MTV zombie. GRRRRRRR brrrrrains...

Future Tales of Whoa!

Due to vacation in Maine with my boy, I've been off for a bit.

Coming soon to this blog:

Gas Panic Part 1: The Leak
- How we had a party, all our relatives and friends at our house and noone blew up

Gas Panic Part 2: Don't Pahk Ya Cah!
- If you see an "Out of Order" sign on a gas pump, PLEASE do not try to use it anyway

Cracklin' Muncher

Monday May 16 - Exit Guy back to work, to a hearing with a crazy person.

Mom and I made a detailed plan for the day which had to end by 2 so she could get to a planned visit in Bucks County.

We visited the new house, returned a gift, visited Pet Smart so she could spoil her three (yes three everybody) Golden Retrievers, and then took Spencer to Cracker Barrel for lunch.

I don't know when it began, but that boy has learned to stuff his face. I mean LITERALLY. Stuff his face.

He was incredibly entertaining to the wait staff, but I think also extremely annoying, considering about half of what he ate and drank ended up on the floor.

Note: Do not eat at Cracker Barrel unless you're really planning to binge eat. Everything is breaded, fried or dipped in something with fat.

Otitis Day & The Nights

Guy's family was in town for our niece's graduation: His dad, brother and fiance and nephew, AND my mother all stayed overnight.

Sunday morning chaos ensued on two fronts:
1. Spencer's crankiness returned from the day before- the beginning of yet another ear infection. He may have been a little "hungover" from his party as well, but he was not a happy camper.
2. Noone seemed to know who was meeting who where to go to the graduation and then a nephew called from a lost night somewhere in Center City, trying to find his way back to the area to make it to the ceremony.

So, we split up: My mother and I took Spencer to the doctor while Guy and family attended our niece's graduation.

Spencer, my mother and I lucked out. The cermony was so slow that Guy called me while they were announcing graduates in the B's. I can only imagine Spencer losing what little toddler patience he has developed and screaming and crying to get down and then get up again to be held over and over. He only cried a little at the docs. We picked up a prescription for him and home we went.

Late Sunday afternoon, my mother took over grandma duty as Guy and I attended the post-graduation party for my niece on the Moshulu - an old ship cum restaurant docked at Penns Landing.

We sat on the deck of the bow sipping drinks (I had my first Malibu Bay Breeze, thanks Lori!) with the family and Guy told pirate stories to our non-college level nephews.

This deck, while offering a wonderful near 360 degree view of the area, had no protective railing. It bugs me. What kind of fools operate a restaurant/bar on a boat that sits like 20-40 feet up from the water and doesn't have protective netting or railing? I'll tell you who: The kind of fools that also serve asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. Their retaurant and wine list are rated highly, so apparently their priorities are a little rearranged. I suppose a lost customer here and there just adds to the mystique?

Dinner was excellent though. Guy and I hightailed it out shortly thereafter to get home and give my mom a break.

Play Catch Up

So much has gone on since my last post, that I'll have to do it in pieces. I apologize for TMI where it occurs.

BBQ Where Are You, The Epilogue
The grill, missing screws, bolts and all the warranty and user guides, arrived on Friday, May 12 at 8 am. Upon this discovery, and then the realization that the grill was actually a floor model, I spent the rest of the day on the phone with Lowe's headquarters, and finally the local store manager, who until this point, was non-existent.

The grill FINALLY arrived at 5pm EST on Friday the 12th, delivered by two hardworking fellows from the Flooring department. How they got this assignment, I dare not wonder.

This grill had a big paint chip on the side grill plate, but luckily for me (WHOOPEEE!), the grill alread residing in my backyard had its plate intact, so the gents kindly switched them and took the offending model back to the store. Alas, I shall never see them again. I HOPE.

The Entertainers
The next 24 hours are a virtual blur: I picked up the giant Elmo head and costume, my mother arrived Friday night, we party-planned, toted the boy around, Guy cooked ribs overnight to soften the meat (I didn't even know we were having ribs, and we also had shrimp!), and a giant blow up toy sat in the yard, accompanied by bounce ball things and a bubble machine.

Saturday we ran around like chickens with...., until it became evident that Spencer, the birthday boy, was not feeling so well. Cranky was he, until he had an excellent nap, during which time, the moonbounce arrived and proceeded to take up the ENTIRE backyard. It was a sight to see. Up went the decorations, out went the plastic utensils, tub of ice, and heating trays.

Guests arrived, music played, glasses clinked and the sun came out, Elmo entertained despite some little ones knowing about the zipper in the back and that he sounded a little too much like me. Spencer smiled and giggled and bounced and crawled, and ultimately did a double-fisted lunge into his cake, right on cue.

Guy and I even took a little time to jump around in the moonbounce until we were totally winded(about 5 minutes). A success by all accounts.

Lowest of the LOWES

Do you see this?

I don't see it in my backyard where it's supposed to be.

Let's just say I spent more time on the phone today with complete strangers trying to track down someone with some responsibility than anything else. Oh except wiping Spencer's faucet nose.This grill was supposed to be delivered from between 2-4pm and then assembled.

I've taken to calling him "Booger". How do these little beings manage to produce so much mucus?

Thank you Kleenex with Lotion.

Product Description Writer. That's me. Just a forethought. I may explain in more detail at another time. I HOPE I will explain in more detail...ha ha.

Non sequiturs flow fast and free when you're as sleepy as me.

Hey, Supermarkets, when you decide to rearrange, how about the following:

1. When you temporarily store certain items in holding areas, make sure to put signs in the old shelves telling us silly customers where to find them. You can handwrite them, we understand. We'd just rather not engage you in conversation about where to find the item we just walked by 6 times because it's not where it usually is.

2. Better yet, pay some employees overtime and get your salaried manager heineys scheduled to work late nights to get the job done. Don't you see that in trying to do it all while we're shopping just makes us more tense than we already are? Us customers are in perpetual hurry, even though we don't necessarily have to be anywhere in a dire emergency. We don't want to crash our carts and bump into eachother and have forced contact.

3. Get out of the tiny temp aisles when customers try to roll their oversized carts through. We're the ones paying for the groceries and in turn paying your salaries. Please respect that the customer is always right, regardless of the smug, vain, spoiled looks on our faces.

My laptop battery is near dead. It's good discipline -keeps me from writing too much. It's bad enough I make very little sense. No point inflicting the full brunt on you. At least not tonight.

:)

Owns a home and a sugar jones

We sold our house. We bought another one. I am an asset holder now. Cool.

Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved in buying and selling a home? I figured today that mortgage companies are singlehandedly keeping 81/2 x 14 size paper in production. I have signed so many copies and documents, I don't even know how to sign my name anymore.

T-minus 48 hours to Spencer's birthday and counting. I will be Elmo this weekend. Tomorrow a brand new gas grill is being delivered because we have to cook upwards of 50 hamburgers. I pick up the costume Friday. Saturday I get the cake, and then our backyard becomes the inflatable circus. We got a moonbounce. And, Guy also ordered a blowup jungle gym, a bubble machine and some other bubble-making contraption. We bought a box of 200 Flav-or-Ice popsicles. Guy has eaten about 25 so far.

Oh wait, and I forgot, Guy's dad, brother and fiance and my mother are all staying with us Saturday night because Guy's niece is graduating from Philadelphia University (my alma mater) on Sunday.

I forgot something else entirely. Mother's Day!
Now there's one perk of having kids - you get your own little holiday. sort-of.

I'm not over Tastycakes. Damn that little deli down the street. Curse them!
If you can get a Tangy Taffy - cherry flavor - eat it immediately. They are scrumptious.

My final thought: Sugar doughnuts have a unique consistency: They are light yet squishy. They should be appreciated whenever possible. I would like one right now.

The Tao of Bertram

How DARE the DJ play some fake sped up version of "Like A Prayer" ! I mean , really, he'd already fouled (like my TBS/FOX version of the "F" word?) up massively by playing "Love Shack" into "Come on Eileen". Now he was going to insult my every fiber of sensibility by hijacking the one female artist of the 80's I truly respected?
WHATEVER.

I was at Spiny Mcruds or Macrud's - not sure how you spell it. Didn't get a chance to look at the sign because my fashionable "nude" Steve Madden "Violet" pump got caught in a grate outside (first time, thanks). It was already late and my old acting buddy was hauling me over to this joint at 12th and Sansom to see his old roommate and pal, who apparently was this super hot model/actor who bartended there.

I recall him telling me about him - they lived together while he was trying to work on his career acting in NYC. His then roomate, the model, was getting gig after gig (audition after audition - it does take talent to actually SCORE a gig), and he was in some way envious of his roommate's luck. Now, apparently, this super successful person, is living in some NY-nearby-NJ province during the week, and bartending 2 nights a week in my City of Brotherly Love at some local "Irish" bar. I saw the owner and his son, and unless they're "black" Irish, the place should be called either "Fanook Minelli's" or "Faroud Mohammed's", so let's get past the whole "Have another beer, mate!" cultural reference.

For the record: I am in no way disparaging any race or creed or anything; I'm just noting ethnicity for atmosphere and semantic purposes. I also had about 3.5 drinks in the 2 hour span of my time there. This is highly against type for me these days. I apologize if I appear to be insensitive or ignorant in any way. I do not intend to offend.

I digressed. Anyhoo, my point was, this model/actor fella was spending two nights a week down in this joint? Why not work in NYC and make 5-10 times that kind of money for two night's work? According to my drunken friend, it was a convenience on many levels. Since I have no tolerance for that kind of complexity these days, I shook my head. After all, the guy was BLONDE. My acting friend said it was the guy's natural hair color. I had my doubts.

Second Major Digression: I wish I could go to an all-night supermarket and buy some yummy snacks.
Also, it's hard to write while this tired.

So here's this idiot DJ spinning a late night playlist from 2002 or earlier. All I want to do is dance to something really cool. I've gotten out tonight, Guy has given me his blessing to get in touch with my former girly, female fun self and go out on the town. We've checked in at some point to establish my whereabouts and now I'm in this goofy bar that doesn't know if it's Bob & Barbara's or Finnigan's Wake.

The last two songs are unrecognizable but "bumpin," so I decide I want to dance. My acting friend is not really the dancing type, but he concedes and joins me on the steadily emptying floor. I do my thing, dancing and moving like my pre-Spencer self: Trying to be not so self-conscious and let myself just have fun.

We finish struttin', go back to the bar and about 2 minutes later a portly, middle-aged man of color approaches us and begins complimenting us (mostly me) on our dancing abilities. He elaborates, telling us he's from Barbados and that he's been in the States a long time now and most of the time when he goes out, people are cold and don't seem receptive to fun or to talking with him. He says we made him feel there was hope - he felt the energy and fun we were having and felt we were genuine. He repeatedly makes the point that people are in a hurry and don't appreciate what they have; that they just keep going on, in their own worlds, unreceptive and unable to imagine other worlds and other cultures. I try to explain that this is America where noone has to accept anything, and where more often than not, you'll find people wanting you to change your way of life to suit them. It's all about the ME thing. He said that despite that commonality in American culture, there were anomalies and that he wanted to meet as many people as he could - get to know the human race from every perspective and learn to appreciate. He appreciated our vibrance and toasted us with his glass. He said the rest doesn't matter, that it's how we get to relate to eachother.

He felt that appreciation could inspire people to do great things.
When I re-read that, I have no idea what it means, and it's at the heart of what's always perplexed me to no end about the bar scene:

Why do people find the ability to pontificate with such complexity when a bar is near closing, when the alcohol is in full effect and when the secondhand smoke has utterly saturated your skin? I mean there's rambling on drunkenly and incoherently, which everyone has witnessed and can usually escape easily, and then there's this strange phenomenon where people become erudite philosophers with beer breath. You can't really get away, because people in this state are passionate and just coherent enough to stop you and engage you further. All you can do is agree and smile. I did alot of that, and somehow I actually remembered some of what he said. If for no other reason that I hoped in repeating it back, I'd make some sense of it. No such luck.
So, out of courtesy to you, I have taken up YOUR time repeating back to you the very drivel I myself could not interpret.

Perhaps THAT is the truth of it... or...perhaps I should keep a better watch on my alcohol intake.

Goodnight.

Control

Well, it has begun. We're officially house hunting.
We saw 7 houses between Saturday and today, which includes a house Guy saw in Pottstown on the way to a client's on Friday.

We went there today to see it, because he's in love with it.
My husband is in love with a house in Pottstown.
I can't believe I'm saying that.

It has a whole bunch of things about it that I like: Privacy, a driveway, quiet, school for Spencer that won't cost as much as college.

But it's in Pottstown. I'd never been there before today. I'm going to pick up and move to a place I'd only just been to today.

Oh, did I mention Guy loves it? At every turn he's mentioning something else that's great about it.

Are all men this hyperfocused? Do they get SO fixated on something that they forget that others have opinions and thoughts or even exist for that matter? Is it like dogs when they get on the scent of an animal they're stalking? Like you can't stop them unless you practically choke them with a leash?

I'm about ready to buy a choke chain and get to work on some obedience around here.

...eeesh!

Did the Amityville Horror house have mold?

I am scared even writing the words Amityville Horror.
On the way into work this morning I was scared listening to the promo on the radio.
Don't even get me started on the tv trailers. I can't look! I'm serious, I can't!
This is like the first time I can remember ever being scared before I saw a movie.

What is it with that house?

They said slime oozed through the walls (umm, along with blood. eew).

I was wondering, could it have been toxic black mold instead?
I read a report the other day about a guy who had stuff in his lungs, went to about a million docs; half of which said he had cancer and the other half couldn't figure it out. Finally after a special biopsy some specialist was able to determine that it was some kind of bacteria growing in him caused by exposure to black mold.

They tested that house for paranormal activity, satanic spirits, native american burial ground evidence, the function of a well-like structure in the basement originally thought to be a portal to Hell, and anything else you can imagine related to a mass murder followed by a 28-day haunting a year later.

But did they test for mold? Maybe mold spores took over in that house and made everyone crazy.

Did you know there's a service where a DOG comes and looks for mold? There are specially trained pooches called Mold Dogs. They come to your house and sniff around. I wonder what would happen if you put baloney behind a wall or two...

Of Tribbles and Tasty Cakes

Cheerios=Tribbles

Ok before I explain that, I must obsess for a moment about Duran Duran again.
Well, more specifically, Simon LeBon.
I am sorry, but the man's smart-alecky smiling face was just on Conan O'Brien and he needs to meet me. Hear me Charlie? You need to meet me. Work it out, ok? Enough with the kissing of cutsie brain-absent post-teens.

He was just so smart lookin with his hair and jacket and scruff.
To quote Paris Hilton's sidekick Nicole, "That's hot."

Yeah, I have an 11 month-old son. Yeah, I'm a grown married woman.
YOU grow up.
I'm giddy. No substances involved.

I will tell you one thing: Having a teen fantasy keeps a person young. Right now I feel like an awkward kid. It's 145am and I'm awake. How old do I think I am, 16? I hope I feel like a teenager all the rest of my life...at least energy wise.

Ok, tribbles = cheerios:

This is what it looks like in my house these days.

I find them in my son's diapers, in his shoes, in closets, in the bathroom, in my bed...

Do you know that a baby can have a cheerio stuck in his hand for like, hours?
When they haven't learned to relax their hands when not in use, they remain clenched, and lo and behold, hours after lunch, a small, hardened cheerio remnant will fall from his grasp. If I'm lucky, I'll see it happen. If not, I'm likely to find it later in my purse.

Even our dog, Scavenger of Kitchen Floors, has had it with oaty goodness.
He won't even eat one and spit it out.

I am having a slightly similar problem with Tastykakes. I had chocolate cupcakes after dinner. Don't tell my husband.

Yumm. Just look.

I DARE you to go to the supermarket and walk past the display without at least getting Krimpets.If you don't have Tastykakes in your town, I am very sorry to tempt you with something you can't have. Oh WAIT, you can have them too!

I know they're wrong and bad for me. I know it's a lifetime on the hips. I also know that a package of six little chocolate doughnuts and a glass of milk is near perfection.

Of course, if I ate some right now, I'd really be hurting.

Speaking of hurting, EEEW, there's a special on VH1 about the worst sexy songs ever, and there is an R. Kelly video where he is pouring milk on a willing lass. Ok, appetite gone.

It's now 245 am. Goodnight Cheerios, Goodnight Tribbles, Goodnight Tastykakes.

baglady

It's, oh, wait. I thought it was almost 1245am. Oops it's 145am.
Somebody's mommy (this is how i refer to myself most days) is way overtired and should not be up so late. However, somebody's mommy started looking for Corelle dishes, found them on Amazon.com, and then, naturally, began looking at bags again.

THIS, after finding today(yesterday) what I believe to be an awesome bag. It's an oversize pink terrycloth bowling-type bag with purple piping and accents. It's like a knock-off Juicy Couture bag. It's very girly, and very roomy for all my shmutz.

Will it never cease? Must I always be driven by bag "lust"? Am I doomed and addicted to the thrill of finding the "perfect bag?" This requires further investigation.

***DREAM INTERRUPTION***

Ok sorry, false alarm. Also, my body thinks it's time to go to sleep, as I am typing with one eye open. Now shaking my head like Bugs or Sylvester when an anvil's just landed on a forehead.

Ok, I am too tired to write. Just started thinking about eating fast food.

Ok not making any sense at all now. Every time I type a sentence and stop, I don't have any idea where I started or what I was going to say.

Oh my god this is all nastyness. Good Night little man asleep :)