Vampire Babies

In the wise, immortal words of Cher from Clueless, "I feel impotent and out of control, and I really hate that." The Hobbit keeps getting bitten at day care, so much so that I want to paint her poor, abused flesh with hot pepper sauce. That'd teach 'em! If I could only be sure she wouldn't put her own mouth on it....

My rational brain is well aware that lots of kids go through this phase, and that there must be victims of it somewhere. In this rational state, I can also see the value of the day care's policy not to reveal the identity of the biter.

However, it is my more primal maternal self that is in control here. This self is pretty darn sure who the biter is, and it's the same kid every time. This self thinks said baby is very cute, and is sure his parents think very highly of him, but also wants to put him in a Hannibal Lecter mask until he STOPS BITING MY BABY!!!!!!

A little over the top?

Update

The power is back on, I slept in my very own bed last night, and plans are in the works for the repair of the roof and the removal of the rest of Evil Monster Tree. I am no longer a Sour Grape. (Get it? Grape? Never mind.)

In Which a Tree Falls on My House

This weekend? Not the best I've ever had. Saturday morning a very brief but very violent storm blew down part of the monster tree in our backyard. Onto our house and through our power line. Crap, and other words I don't usually say, because I am such a well-bred lady. Or not.

The power is still not on, the tree is only partially gone, and the insurance will only cover about 2/3 of the cost of removing the flippin' thing. (Do you know how much it costs to remove a big tree? I didn't know, and I wish I still didn't!)

Still, in all fairness, there are good things about the whole thing:

1. No one was hurt. At all. Thank God.

2. The Hobbit and I were not at home when it happened, which is especially good since the tree hit right over her room and she could've been scarred for life. DH was in the room next to where the tree hit. He was pretty darn shaken, and he's not 15 months old.

3. My parents live nearby, and we were able to sleep, do laundry, and salvage some of our frozen food at their place.

4. The damage to the house seems relatively minimal -- at least, the roof is intact enough to keep water out.

Nonetheless, it's not an experience I have particularly enjoyed. If you were thinking about arranging for a tree to fall on your house, I would recommend reconsidering that plan.

Naivete/Stupidity

Once, a friend of mine told me that he subscribed to a gay men's magazine. Being in no way ashamed of this, he was very put out that the magazine came in what he described as a "porn wrapper, like Playboy." I said, "It comes wrapped in a porn magazine? Why would they do that?"

Mid Year Resolutions

Yesterday, I resolved that every time I was tempted to buy a brownie from the vending machine, I would instead put that money in a jar. I would save the brownie money, perhaps to be spent on the wonderful thing I'm getting my DH (see previous post, and tell me what to get!). This plan has the added bonus of being sort of like a diet. I'll lose pound after pound -- you'll see!

But what are the rules if the brownies are free?

Please Give Me Advice

Ok, remember the College of Corn from yesterday's post? Well, I graduated from that illustrious institution 5 years ago, which means this year there will be a Reunion. DH, who is very, very D, as you will see later in this story, had agreed to accompany me to Boring Collegetown for the big event. This is very generous of him, since it means he and the Hobbit will spend most of the weekend serving as props to demonstrate how Awesome my life is since graduation.

This Sunday, we had dinner with some fellow alumni, including my three roommates from my last two years there. The subject of the reunion came up, but no one else had a lot of enthusiasm for the idea. Oh, well, I thought, it's months away yet -- we don't have to decide right now.

Then, roommate E has a brilliant idea. Instead of going to Boring Collegetown, let's have a girls' weekend in Really Fun City. Everyone loves this idea! Wonderful!

Here is my dilemma. Although a weekend in Boring Collegetown might not have been DH's idea of a great time, it was still a chance to get out of town and have some fun. With the new plan, he gets to exchange that fun for a weekend alone at home with a toddler, while I zoom off to Really Fun City. (Which, by the way, is also where he grew up, and he loves it there. Extra ouch.)

But what to do? There's no sense in going to Boring Collegetown if none of my friends are going -- it will just be Extra Boring. And it doesn't do anyone any good for me not to go on the girls' weekend, does it? DH (this is where we find out how D he really is) says I should absolutely go, and that he doesn't mind all that much. This makes me want to cry, I feel so guilty.

Please tell me something super nice I can do for him to make this up to him.

Also, on a disturbing and completely unrelated note, I saw Hitler while I was waiting for my bus yesterday. He was wearing a classy business suit and looking at a very cute denim jumper in the Baby Gap window display. Hmmm.

Random Weird Thing for Monday

I went to college at a school whose mascot is an ear of corn. Not something scary like a tiger or a lion or a force of nature. Not even a bird or something at least animate. Corn.

Wanna know who dies?

Just kidding, no spoilers here. But I did finish the new Harry Potter yesterday afternoon. DH and I had a deal: he would pre-order from Amazon, but I would be allowed to read it first, since I read freakishly fast (I didn't take a course or anything, I am just a Big Dork). Even though I'm sure the mail truck was bottoming out from all the extra weight, our beloved postal worker delivered the goods about the usual time on Saturday afternoon. DH saw him pull away, and ran out post haste to get the mail. Upon his return:

Him: Well, it's here!
Me: Oh, good!
Him, waving the package at me: So, go ahead. Start reading.
Me, virtuous housekeeper: Yup, I will. I've just got to finish up with the laundry.
Him: NO! I can't start until you finish. Get going! NOW NOW NOW!*

And so, you see, it is my husband's fault that I stayed up way too late Saturday night reading. Therefore my guaranteed-to-be-poor performance at work today will also be his fault, since I didn't fully recover yesterday.

*This conversation might contain some slight inaccuracies, but it's my blog and I can modify memories as I see fit -- thanks for the tip, Professor Slughorn! (Ok, one tiny spoiler -- couldn't resist!)

U.S. troops in Iraq hit by suicide bomber while passing out candy to children; 28 dead

This was the headline in my local paper today. I'm currently trying to decide whether I should cry, vomit, or hit something. I'll try all three and let you know if anything helps.

Uh-Oh!

The Hobbit has learned a new word. "Uh-oh," she said last week, when she dropped her spoon on the floor. DH and I were charmed. How cute!
And who knew this word could have so many applications? Dirty diaper? Uh-oh! Getting buckled into the car seat? Uh-oh! Left alone in the crib by a mother who mistakenly believes you might be interested in napping? Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, ad infinitum.
Och, I don't mind, though. Truthfully, the Hobbit is great fun these days. I can just see her mind working as she makes new connections and commits new things to memory. She communicates so much more than she did just a few weeks ago. In addition to the ever-popular "hi" (still a favorite, but with stiff competition from "uh-oh"), "mama" and "dada" are very clear and easy to understand. (They're usually rendered something like "maMA!" and accompanied by disdainful pointing at whatever it is we lowly servants are meant to retrieve for her highness.)
She signs much more now than she used to, too, and she's getting really creative about combining signs with sounds to get her meaning across. When she uses the sign for "more," she tries to say the word. And if her pronunciation and usage need a little refining, her inflection needs none at all! "Mo-mo-MO-MO-MO," she says, "and don't make me ask again!"
We're able to have conversations, which is really fun. "Do you want to take your bath now?" I might ask. The Hobbit then tries valiantly to nod her head, saying "da." (This seems to be her version of "yeah," but I have no idea how she stumbled upon the Russian word. Someday I half expect her to say, "Yes, thank you, Comrade Mother." Because everything I know about Russia I learned from The Hunt for Red October.) When she wants to say "no," she vigorously shakes her head and grins. I am struggling mightily not to laugh at that performance, and I'm trying not to overuse the word, so she'll take me seriously when I do have to say it.
The best thing is that she has a healthy sense of humor. When DH and I can't help but collapse into giggles at something she says or does, she joins heartily in the joke. She smiles tolerantly at us, as if to say, "I'm not sure what's so funny, but I am glad you dear people are happy."

A Shark's Tale

http://www.celebrityspider.com/news/july05/article070405-11.html
She's a hero, people! I heard this on the radio this morning, and I have spent more time today than my boss will ever know trying to find the story on the Internet. This guy must really be something, or else she's more "Desperate" than we thought.

Let Us Rant

http://entertainment.tv.yahoo.com/entnews/ap/20050701/112023024000.html
I know, I know, we've all heard enough about the whole thing. I do just want to say, "Thank you, Brooke Shields."
What if somebody who needs treatment (whether it's drugs or not) doesn't ask for it because Tom Cruise said on TV that there's no such thing as a chemical imbalance? What if some woman does harm to herself or thinks she's a terrible mother, when she could be getting help?
Run away, Katie Holmes, run away!