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!

Whew!

While I was nursing, my doctor prescribed the "minipill" for birth control, since extra estrogen and breastfeeding are not a good combination. When we weaned, I asked her if I should switch back, but she said that the "minipill" can be just as effective. If I was concerned about the regularity of my cycle, though, "regular" birth-control pills would be a better choice.
Well, I wasn't then, but I sure as heck am NOW! My first several cycles on the minipill were as regular as they ever were before I started taking BC in the first place. This last one lasted almost 40 days -- unprecedented for me. I didn't feel pregnant, and I took two home pregnancy tests with negative results. Still, this has never happened to me before (except when I WAS pregnant), so I didn't really know what to think.
We have talked about when to start on #2, and insofar as it lies in our power, we would like to wait a little longer. This doesn't feel like the right time, although some of our friends are currently gestating their second kids. That was a factor in the Hobbit's timing, but it doesn't feel so important now. We wanted for her sake and ours to have kids that would be close in age to people we spend time with. Now, though, any additional kids we have would have siblings as playmates. Plus, we're older and a little wiser and we understand better what it will take to parent a second child. I wouldn't change a thing about my first pregnancy -- timing or results. Nonetheless, I would like to approach my second (and probably last) child with a little more precision, if possible.
Anyway, relief prevails at our house today, AF has arrived, and on Friday I am going to return to the doctor on hands and knees. All hail the green pill week!

A Little Help?

Dear Clothing Retailers,

It is still June. Summer has just begun. I would like to buy a new swimsuit. I am neither a perfectly-figured teenage girl with a belly button that must be shown off, nor yet quite old or overweight enough to desire a mou-mou shaped swimsuit with a frilly flowered skirt.

All I ask of you is a simple, flattering suit that hides my stretch marks. And, if it's not too much trouble, I'd love to make my post-pregnancy bottom appear a little smaller, and my post-breastfeeding boobs look a little bigger. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so.

I'll be shopping again later this week. Please keep these requests in mind. Thank you.

Why I Shouldn't be Allowed to Listen to the Radio

1. This morning, the fluff morning radio show DJs to whom I usually listen were busy disparaging a new study. The researchers who conducted the study found that married men make less than single men, and that married men whose wives also work tend to make less than married men whose wives stay at home and do most of the housework.
The researchers concluded that this second trend is due to a number of factors: the husband has more time to focus on his job, and he is also able to spend more time honing his marketable skills. Also, since each spouse is engaged in the activities to which they are most suited, the household is more efficient.
2. When the fluffy station went to commercial, I changed to the Christian station. Unfortunately, instead of playing music, the DJs there were discussing the President's plan for Social Security. Their conclusion on SS in general was that Americans expect the government to take care of them from cradle to grave, and are thus replacing God with government.
I should state for the record that 1) I firmly believe that having one spouse stay home can be very beneficial for some families, and 2) I really have no firm opinion about Social Security and what should be done about it. However, I will be fuming about these two stories all day now. The first one, because the researchers seemed to take for granted the assumption that all women are more "efficient" at household duties than they are in careers. The second, because I have always deeply resented the notion that being a Christian and being a political conservative necessarily go hand-in-hand. Perish the thought, but why is it wrong for us, as the ultimate authority in this government, to use our collective resources to support each other?

Romeo and Parvati?

What is the appropriate response to this situation? Does anyone have an "in" with Dear Abby or Miss Manners, and if so, can you help me out?
A friend from high school, with whom I have had sporadic contact over the years, just sent me an email announcing his engagement. Congratulations, right!? Sure, except he met this woman via a Yahoo chat room, and has yet to meet her in person. She lives in India. No worries, though, God guided him to the chat room in the first place, and God has assured the two of them that they are in fact in love and are meant to be married.
I am a Christian, and I do believe that God can guide our decisions. However, I am also a realist (I don't think I'm a cynicist, but you tell me). It's a little hard for me to believe that an internet relationship with a would-be immigrant (if she is who she says she is) is completely without ulterior motives.
I sent him a supportive email, figuring it wasn't really my place to interfere. Did I do the right thing?

What's in a Name?

The Hobbit is one-quarter Indian. No one would ever guess this about her by looking -- she is as fair-skinned as they come, with blue eyes and a crazy mop of deep red, almost auburn hair. Nonetheless, her paternal grandfather immigrated to the US from Calcutta as a graduate student, married an American woman, and DH was the result. (This Grandpa is coming to visit us tomorrow, which is what made me think of all this.)Anyway, I am enough of a traditionalist that I changed my last name to his when we got married. It's quite long, by American standards, and every time we meet someone new, we get a lot of surprised looks. Some of the typical comments:"Wow! How on earth did you ever learn to spell that as a child!?" (DH, by this standard, is a sort of super genius -- he could and still does spell it with amazing ease!)"Oh, Indian, really? What tribe?" (DH, being braver than I am, has responded "the Bengali tribe" to this question. Unfortunately, people who ask this question don't know any more about Native Americans than they do about India, so the sarcasm is lost on them. It's not that we expect people to know what nationality it is -- I mean, 4 years ago I couldn't have told you. But trust me, it is not a name that sounds remotely like any Native American name I've ever heard.)"Gosh, what was your maiden name? ... Really? Why on earth did you take his!?" (Um, because I thought it would be fun to inflict pain on my coworkers by making them learn to spell it? Is that a good reason?)And on one wonderful, shining day, when a telemarketer called: "Is there a Mr. {several stumbling attempts to pronounce monstrosity of a name} -- oh, I hate this effing job!" {phone slammed decisively down}And that, my friends, is the real reason why we keep it (aside from pride in hubby's heritage, blah blah blah). We put people to a secret test -- if they're willing to learn to spell and pronounce the name, we know they must really care.

The Ducks are Coming

Okay, Universe, enough with the ducks. Whatever you're trying to tell me, please just say it -- I don't know what the ducks mean!
When the Hobbit started saying the word, I really didn't think it meant anything to her. We all got a good chuckle out of it, while my rational mind said, "Oh, she's trying out a new sound. How age-appropriate and cute." Now I think that my poor innocent baby is being used as a vessel to communicate some unholy waterfowl-related message.
Since I first posted that entry, I have started seeing ducks everywhere. They are on TV. They are IN MY DREAMS.
The last straw came today at work. In good Corporate America fashion, my department is being reorganized. As a result, I now have a new job in a new group, with a new boss. This new group is called Quality Assurance, but there is much debate about what Quality we, as members of this group, are Assuring. There is also rampant confusion about what we should be called (it is TOO important, so leave me alone).
My coworker's tongue-in-cheek suggestion today? Quality Assurance Consultants -- Q.U.A.C.
Help! Please tell me what this means!?

Lost in Translation, Part Deux

When DH read yesterday's entry, he said, "'Duck'? I thought she was saying 'dock.'" Shoot, this is even more complicated than I thought!

Lost in Translation

Toddlers should come with Toddler-to-English dictionaries. The Hobbit's recognizable words at this point are "hi," "mama," and "da." She hardly ever actually says "mama", and "da" can mean anything from "daddy" to "what is that?" to "now I'm going to throw my cup on the floor and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me." Despite the multiple meanings, we can usually decipher these messages. Once the cup is on the floor, I have a pretty good idea what that particular "da" meant.
Others, however, are not nearly so clear. This weekend, she started saying "duck." I didn't teach her this word, and she never says it in reference to any ducks that I can see. Possibly she has some imaginary mallard pals? If so, there must be an awful lot of them, because "duck" has almost replaced "hi" as the word of the hour. Either way, I can feel really good, I think, about the fact that my daughter thinks it's so much more important to be able to name aquatic birds than to be able to call my name. Sob.
The Hobbit definitely does exercise a fair amount of caution in the words that she chooses to learn. Since "hi" has turned out to be so popular, we thought she might be interested in learning to say "bye-bye." Nope, nothing doing. She will sometimes wave bye-bye, but that's it. I was talking to a friend of mine this weekend; she is the mother of a little boy who's about 9 months older than the Hobbit. Her son is exactly the opposite, in that he is very eager to dismiss people, but hates to greet them.
I think she should try to teach him my grandfather's favorite phrase, "Here's your hat, what's your hurry?" Which, as I'm consulting my Toddler-translator, is rendered something like, "ha-duck!"