June 26, 2006

spawn of max

The Summer Bummer party turned out to be indeed a bummer, at least as far as the weather was concerned. It was raining so hard it seemed dangerous. So Saturday morning I kicked the boys out of the house and got to work turning our little house into Daycare II: The Weekend Version. Basically, I asked myself WWSHTD? (what would sugar-high toddlers do?) to guide my planning and went from there. Craft tables were stocked with crayons and pipe cleaner, train tables were set up in guest bedrooms, gummy worms were affixed to the top of cupcakes.

Everyone seemed to have a good time, even though it was a little weird. At one point, I found myself in Bean’s tiny room, knee-deep in frenzied toddlers who were either lying on each other, hitting themselves with things, or screaming and I thought Geez, will someone come and deal with these kids? And then I was like, oh yeah, it’s my party.

Bean had fun and I got to meet some other parents for potential red-hot play date action, which was kind of the goal of the party. I made a point to showcase our enticing backyard through the black curtain of rain (“I know the inside of the house is kind of crappy, but can you see that shape out there? That’s a swing set!”) to try and ensure repeat visitors. The next morning Bean and I ate leftover cupcakes and put google eyes on everything, which was a whole different sort of fun.

In other news (and this is the segue into the non-mommyblog portion so for those who prefer your blogging spawn-free, here you go! Enjoy it while it lasts.), my husband wiped out on his bike yesterday thanks to the aforementioned rain and hurt his leg. So we got to take our third trip to the Urgent Care Clinic in nine months (first and second) to see if it was broken or what. It was just a bruised bone, thankfully, and I also got learn of this magazine’s existence while waiting in the lobby, so that was a plus. Things like cheerleading make me so glad I don’t have a girl. When little girls are pretend cooking and making crafts and being so sweet I’m like “Oh…I totally want a girl!” But then when I see nine-year olds wearing half-shirts and glittery eye shadow while a guy hoists them by their crotch ten feet in the air so they can do a big spin while their bums flash everywhere I say “No thank you!” (Oh wait, that turned mommyblog. Oops!) There’s enough trouble in the world for a boy to get into: it seems utterly hopeless to try and keep a girl safe.

Let’s try this again. Yesterday we whizzed through the Boston Museum of Science in an effort to keep us all from going Plum Crazy from the rain. There was a gorgeous display of glass jellyfish made in the 1880’s by father/son glassmakers and naturalists Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka. The models are so beautiful and strange. Since not as much was know about the world then, they seem infused with a sense of wonder and imagination lacking in our modern times. A nine-year old in purple hot pants passing for beauty just doesn’t seem right.

Posted by Max at 10:47 AM | Comments (0)

May 24, 2006

birder bean

Thanks to mama says om for this week's nature theme! At last it stopped raining here so we took a bird walk, Bean and me. He was as intrigued by the pill bugs under the rocks he turned over as he was using the wrong end off his binoculars to "see birds close up."

I originally thought that birding would be something I would do for myself, that it would be a solitary hobby I pursued since the rest of my life is so entwined with my husband's and my son's. But Bean has already stolen my laminated map of Rhode Island birds to take to his preschool's show and tell tomorrow. He can name a robin, seagull, red-wing blackbird, sparrow, cardinal, owl, blue jay. At the zoo last weekend, standing in front of four caged giraffes, he breathlessly exclaimed "Look mama, a bird!" Sure enough, a tiny brown sparrow had landed there too, which was just as interesting to my boy.

Sometimes backward lenses can give you a whole new perspective.

Posted by Max at 09:12 PM | Comments (4)

May 19, 2006

wtf, rain?

Not to be a boring old weatherblogger, but it's still raining. This picture isn't of a charming little trout-filled stream but rather a picture of the charming little WASP-filled street behind our house. Enough already! Bring on the flip-flops and the g-strings! We want to see that tootsie roll!

Lately, the Bean has gotten quite demanding of my husband's and my conversational attention, so that when my husband and I are discussing Important Grown Up Things such as should we pick up beer tonight and did you hear that so-and-so broke up, the Bean will yell "Talk to ME, Mommy and Daddy, talk to ME!" We usually try and speed through our conversation before acknowledging him, awesome parents that we are "Andnowhe'sdatingthenannyandtheyaremovingtoArgentina...WHAT, Bean?!" This results in much shuffling of feet, ummming and shy silences from our selectively mute toddler.

The other night we went out to dinner, and this time the Bean was all prepared. My husband and I were discussing, I dunno, asset allocation and whether or not we should roll over our 401ks when the Bean took up his familiar high-decible refrain "TALK. TO. ME!!!" So I turned to him and asked in my most patient mom-voice (which I barely have and when I use, sounds to me like Minnie Mouse trying to be maternal after a three-night gas huffing binge) "And what would you like to talk about, sweetie?" He looked right at me and said "That's a really pretty necklace you're wearing." WHATEVER! We are totally living with a 1970's smooth-talkin' playa! What's next, you're gonna ask me my sign? Jeez. The kid can't poop on the potty and yet he's making bar-worthy small talk.

In birding news, I've been somewhat thwarted in my efforts due to the rain, however I did register a domain name for my new birding blog (that's the part where the Internet implodes from the dorkiness. Sorry, that's too much! Your time here is done.) so you have that to look forward to. Or not. I'm actually working on an article about this whole birding thing, which is shamefully overdue and if my editor is reading this Hi, don't kill me, I love you, it's coming!

I was wondering if it would be possible to make birding cool with The Kids, like you would put Death Cab for Cutie stickers on your binoculars and smoke cigarettes and listen to your ipod and everybody could flashmob at a certain marsh to look at spoonbills. If people are still doing any of those things. And if spoonbills live in marshes, which I don't really know yet but will.

Hmm. Let's hope something thrilling happens over the weekend so I don't turn into a puddle of self-inflicted boredom and float down yonder stream.

Posted by Max at 10:42 PM | Comments (1)

April 10, 2006

irish eyes = smiling!

That’s all I can say on that topic right now. Tá brón orm faoin moill.

If I were in Seattle now, I would be repeatedly hoisting a glass in honor of my good good friends, who just purchased a very cool bar. If you want to visit an intimate, neighborhood-y bar where people are nice and interesting and friendly, and you also wish to consume delicious cocktails mixed by an ace mixologist, you should go there! Yay friends!

This past weekend, my sister-in-law was here and we had girlish Good Times, which included her reminding me of a story about my brother Ruby. When Ruby was about six years old and I was seven, we got new squirt guns. Ruby decided he was going to squirt my dad. Squirt squirt squirt. My dad got pretty steamed and told him to stop. But Ruby didn’t stop – squirt squirt. My dad said if you do that one more time, I’m going to chop that up with an axe! Ruby and I glanced at each other and with a look of detached scientific curiosity, he pulled the trigger once again. S-q-u-i-r-t. Four-foot horns shot from my dad’s head and froth flew out of his mouth as he snatched the squirt gun from my brother’s hand and sprinted for the garage. Incredulous, we ran after him. He proceeded to set the squirt gun on a two-by-four and chop it up into a billion sky-blue plastic shards WITH AN AXE. Dude gets major points for drama, less for “being cool” vis-à-vis the raising of the offspring.

I understand that moment more now that I have my own child. The Bean is currently in an extremely challenging phase in that he sucks to be around about 80% of the time. He yells “No!” in your face, he spits, he falls down on the ground when the snacks you’ve given him are insufficient. Yesterday, he refused to nap and instead walked the house crying for three hours while my husband and I took turns trying to soothe/feed/comfort/threaten/cajole him. At last, in defeat, we put him in the car and drove six inches down the road, where he promptly fell asleep. When he woke up, he announced he would henceforth only be napping in the car. Good thing my husband and I had driven to the axe store. That car seat doesn’t stand a chance.

Posted by Max at 10:16 PM | Comments (1)

March 21, 2006

locked out

As adorable as Thaddeus is, the guy has no legs. He’s basically got four feet connected to his shoulders. So every time he has to go outside (often!), he needs help getting down the 250 steps from our kitchen, to the deck, to the yard. This means you have to hoist his dense, sausage-shaped, thirty-pound bod onto your shoulder while he makes himself completely stiff and tries to slide out of your grasp. To complicate matters, he’s often in a state of semi-arousal so you have to make sure your wrist isn’t touching his wee-woo because that would be unimaginably gross.

One recent morning, as I entered the home stretch of my husband being gone for a week, I brought Thad outside for his morning business. It was bitterly cold and early, because the Bean’s new thing is getting up between 5am and 6am and sneaking around the house like a weird little ghost. I picked up Herr Stiff Body and carried him down the stairs to the backyard. Much to my surprise, when I returned to the house, the door was shut and locked. There was Bean staring at me from behind an also shut and latched baby gate at the top of the landing inside the house. He’d done locked me out!

It was one of those situations when your brain quickly assesses the situation and shoots through a series of probable responses in about fifteen seconds:

1. The door is not really locked. (Test)
2. The door is locked. (Spare key?)
3. Check for key in flowerbox (Key is missing)
4. Curse husband. Unattended toddler inside house! Situation shifting from inconvenient to potentially hazardous!
5. Cell phone (Nope. And who would you call, Keys ‘R’ Us?)
6. Neighbors (Possibly, but it would mean leaving toddler alone briefly. Plus, it is too early, plus you hate them)
7. Break window, climb in (Choose potential window, check garage for weapon) Expensive option, may be dangerous with the broken glass etc.
8. Consider asking toddler to get his step-up stool and climb baby gate, then unlock door (Assess danger factor: high) Abort, abort!
9. Check all external entry points before breaking glass or contacting neighbors Click click click click (Yes. Proceed)

The Bean and I managed to stave off collective mother/son panic as I directed him to follow me through the house to each door and window. He was so cute and so brave; I could tell he was scared but he’s also really into being helpful right now so he was all business checking out various locks and trying to open them. Being two, he wasn’t that helpful in this capacity. Fortunately, my husband and I are big dummies so I was able to pop off a storm window and enter through a ground floor window that was conveniently unlocked. Hi! Come murder us! Once I made it into the house there was much celebrating, which involved hugs, jellybeans, and Dora references. Because we did it! Yes, we did it.

This experience reminded me of when my husband and I went back to work after being home with the Bean for six months. My mom came out to Seattle to help with the transition. For our first day back in the workforce as parents, my mom had very sweetly prepared a delicious dinner and even filled our living room with candles to welcome us home. There was a torrential rainstorm that night, and that house also had front steps and a reluctant (different) dog. My poor mom carried our old dog down the steps in the rain, the wind blew the door shut and it locked, and there in the middle of the living room was our six-month old with lit candles all around him and the stove on in the kitchen. We pulled in front of the house to find her gibbering into a cell phone she had borrowed from someone walking by and clutching an also-borrowed umbrella. We were like, um, hello, what is going on? Tearfully, she explained. We all peered into the front window and there was the Bean, hanging out in his command center happy as can be. If he could have waved, he would have.

Like so many of my tales, this one has a moral: leave a key outside, put it back if you use it and please, let your mother know where it is.

Posted by Max at 10:37 PM | Comments (0)

November 17, 2005

putting the routine in our morning routine

This morning we were all doing our respective morning rituals to get ready for our respective days of content managing, programming, and gluing pieces of yarn to construction paper while trying not to get bopped on the head or bitten by "friends" (and we call our jobs work!). Since the Bean and I had been on our own for a while, we'd developed a little morning routine that my husband hadn't yet seen.

Me (singing from the bathroom while putting on makeup): I really can't...
Bean (from the living room where he was finishing breakfast): STAY!
Me: I really must...
Bean: GO!
Me (entering the living room with big sweeping arms): 'Cause baby it's cold...
Together: OUT-SIDE!
Husband: Why does he shake his head like that when he says "outside"?
Me: What do you mean?
Husband: He goes like this (shakes head and flutters hands in the air)
Me: Oh that's his Big Broadway Finish.
(pause)
Me: I'm making him gay, aren't I?

The Bean and I really enjoy that song especially now that cold weather is upon us. What could be better than teaching your toddler a Dean Martin song about slipping a hot girl a mickey so she'll give you some loving against her will? I also like how the song rhymes "delicious" with "delicious", which is one of my favorite songwriting techniques. The Beastie Boys also employed it with great success by rhyming "commercial" with "commercial".

I guess some words just sound better when rhymed with themselves. Someone shold write a song where every line ends in "orange".

Posted by Max at 08:09 PM | Comments (0)

October 19, 2005

to everything there is a season

Yesterday I rocketed the Bean waaaay up the cool factor chart at school. We've had a temporary lull between (fizzled out) hurricanes that's resulted in some fantastic fall weather complete with dazzling foliage, crisp autumnal air, and anthropomorphic apples linking arms and high kicking through the streets. Because I am an "autumn", this time of year I tend to like to be outside as much as possible, leaning against trees and fence posts, looking wistful over the change of seasons in sweaters of russet and amber.

So I hopped on my bike and pedaled the 2.5 miles to Bean's daycare trying to enjoy the ride even though I was winded the entire way. The front wall of the daycare building is made of glass. As I pulled up wearing my really fricking spiffy helmet with Bean's little bike carriage-thingy in tow, one by one each toddler dropped whatever toy they were holding and stumbled, zombie-like, over to the window. When the Bean realized it was me, he hitched his pants up a little higher, gave a nod to the room, and sauntered over to the door to meet me. As I strapped his helmet on and settled him into his seat, he was giving double-guns to his whole class, who were glued by their upturned noses and mouth-breathing all over the glass.

It's funny that what is cool now will be so spectacularly, heart-breakingly uncool in about six years. To this day, one of my most excruciating teen memories is of my mother picking me up at the roller rink wearing a purple bandana tied around her head Olivia Newton-John style circa "Let's Get Physical" and coming INTO the rink to find me. Beanie, I promise I will try and spare you similar mortification if possible. But it may not be possible.

Posted by Max at 06:20 PM | Comments (3)

September 23, 2005

a-chicking out

The Bean is having a really hard time adjusting to his new daycare. I can't say as I blame the kid; he went from being in a Montessori environment run by a multi-cultural group of the kindest, most engaged and loving women in the whole history of childcare to being (barely) supervised by a couple of gum-cracking teenagers in a weird suburban strip mall. He literally GREW UP in his other, most beloved daycare, having been there since he was sixth months old. The one thing that made me cry leaving Seattle was having to say goodbye to his lead teacher who may as well have been his second mother. Where we live now, you have to be three to reap the benefits of Montessori so we are having to tough it out at this other place.

We've been trying to get him into the spirit of things by talking about making new friends and what fun he'll have going outside etc., but man it is so hard to leave him there. In the mornings when he is getting ready, he'll start to cry, then kind of catch himself and give himself a little pep talk that goes "Okay! Nice school, no crying!" I tell him it's OK to cry if he is sad, but that there really is no reason to be sad, school will be fun and I'll pick him up soon and blah blah blah.

Now that I am working again, my husband is dropping Bean off in the mornings. Today the Bean came up to my home office to kiss me goodbye and started looking at little stack of pictures I had on my desk. I asked if he wanted to take one of the pictures to school to show his teachers and friends and he got very excited and carefully selected one.

I just asked my husband how the drop-off went and he said not so good. When they arrived, the Bean started crying even before they got in the door. Once inside, he realized he didn't have anyone to show the picture to since he still doesn't know anyone. My husband said he then got really embarrased and stood clutching the picture to his chest and sobbing. Here is the picture.

I am going to go die now.

Posted by Max at 05:37 PM | Comments (2)

June 20, 2005

Dirty rat

My kid got bit by a rat yesterday. Hi! How are you? My kid got bit by a rat. Yes, that’s right, a rat.

Man, do I feel like a craptastic parent. Yesterday we plumbed the depths of bad parenting, bottom-fed there for a spell, and then took it even lower. A rat! How low can you go, exactly?

The day began nicely enough; the Bean and me gaily shaking sprinkles onto cupcakes we baked. My husband was upstairs enjoying a Father’s day sleep-in. All that changed when the Bean toddle-ran into the living room, tripped over his own feet, and fell head-first into a table corner. With toddlers, there are falls and then there are Falls. Right away, I knew it was a Fall. Before I even got to him, I saw blood pooling beside him on the floor. I summoned by first aid training (ha) and started screaming “Emergency! Emergency…WITH BLOOD!”

I suck in emergencies. I thought I’d be better because I’ve always had an interest in the medical arts, but not, apparently, when they involve things HAPPENING to my CHILD causing blood to fill his eye sockets, cascade down his face and puddle on the floor. My husband came running down the stairs yelling “It’s okay, he’s going to be okay” and even as I hyper-ventilated, I was thinking how does he fricking know he hasn’t even seen him! but I was also glad because I needed to hear that even if it wasn’t true or I was going to pass out. We mopped up the blood, put the kid in the bath (seriously, there was so much blood), and administered ice packs and pressure while I tried to rope it in. Happy Father’s day! Would you like a cupcake?

Then later we had a fight about me not really wanting to go to some guy’s house for dinner because I’d never met him and it was, after all, Father’s day not Dinner with Some Fishing Guy and his Bitchy Girlfriend day. We finally went after much, um, debate. The couple had a huge cage with Habitrail-y type things in it on the kitchen floor and I’m like, oh look they have a critter! And Bitchy Girlfriend says, yeah that’s our rat and he is mean and he bites everything. You could tell she liked the rat way more than she liked us for some dumb reason, especially when we were trying to be normal and polite and ask questions about their stupid house and the vermin within.

We ate dinner with the rat about three feet from the table and then Fishing Guy said “Watch me feed the rat!” and gave the rat some chicken. The Bean pressed his little hand against the cage while watching and WHAMMO that rat was on him like rat on chicken. I’ve never heard a child scream that loud and it sucked.

Why my parent-radar, which is usually on Maximum Overdrive, didn’t insist the getting the damn rat out of the kitchen I don’t know. I was in a weakened parenting state I think, what with all the other stuff. The only good thing about was that I was able to shoot terrible, terrible laser eyes unfettered at the Bitchy Girlfriend as we packed up our screaming child and left in a flurry of maybe-needing-to-go-to-the-ER.

I hope other people had better Fathers’ days than we did and that there were no head injuries, verbal fisticuffs, or long-tailed, sharp-toothed rodents involved. That is my wish to you.

Posted by Max at 10:01 PM | Comments (2)

June 18, 2005

Little birdie told me

Yesterday, the Bean and I went to a new exhibit at the zoo with our Texan neighbors where you hold a little seed-covered stick up inside of a giant enclosed bird sanctuary, and tiny, blue and green parrots land on your shoulders and arms to eat the seeds. In other words, it was Toddler Paradise. The Bean was appropriately humbled.

We tried to buy the Bean a toddler bed today, which is sort of a weird mini-bed, but they were inexplicably sold out. Who buys those things? They seem wildly impractical to me, tiny little beds that he will only be able to use for a year or so. But lately he's been marching up and down in his crib waving his blanket like a flag of surrender. He quits! He's not sleeping in there anymore! While we were on our recent Whirlwind Tour of the East Coast, he also quit his Pack and Play and spent every night in our king-sized hotel beds, his feet in his dad's throat, his head beating out nocturnal beats on my sternum. So, a toddler bed I guess it will be, once we can find one.

Tomorrow is Father's Day! The Bean and I are going to make him pancakes in the shape of pin-up girls and serve them to him from a fishing line. He'll like that.

Posted by Max at 10:47 PM | Comments (0)

March 21, 2005

Fish Museum

Where have I been and what have I been doing? Well, a little of this, a little of that. Today both the Bean and I are home due to low-grade colds, coughs and the itchy/watery eye combination that we know and love as conjunctivitis. Fortunately, I found a near-empty bottle of the drops we had last go around with this business and eeked a couple out last night at the first signs. This morning I took the Bean to his Very Sexy Doctor and got a proper prescription for him so we don't have to resort to using evaporated and expired ether on his eyes. Mine I don't care about as much.

The Very Sexy Doctor and I are kind of in a fight. He is about my age and sexy in a way that you don't notice the first few times you see him, especially if your crotch is filled with stitches, your baby screams all the time and you are a bombed-out, shaking mess. But now that the crotch has healed, the screaming has diminished and I've sort of pulled it back together, he is a fine hunk of child-healing man.

The Bean has had some issues with foods and we've gotten him tested for a number of allergies (soy, dairy, egg) all which came back negative. In desperation, we finally eliminated wheat from his diet and sure enough, away went the rashes and the wheezing and a bunch of other stuff. When I told the doctor that the Bean wasn't eating wheat and that it seemed to be helping him, he gave me the old "You're a crazy mother who doesn't know jack about her own kid's health and well-being" look, which ordinarily would have had me dishing out a little Wrath of Mom. Instead, we find ourselves at a stalemate, where I know the Bean not eating wheat is good, the doctor won't test him, we'll continue not feeding the Bean wheat even though it is a pain in the spelty-brownricey butt, and the doctor will go on being hot. It is working for us for now.

We went to the aquarium this weekend with the Bean's five-year old Cuz and his Grandma and Grandpa. It was so insanely crowded due to monsoon-like weather conditions that it took all four of us grown-ups just to keep track of our two very short fish enthusiasts.* I was glad I had just purchased the Bean some of those light-up sneakers because it made it easier to see his monkey-ass when he took off running through the masses. Of course, me still being rather new to this whole toddler thing, I had no idea that you couldn't just buy, say, red light up-sneakers or blue. No, no. You have to get like the Bratz riding My Little Pony while at Malibu Ken's Tropical Vacation Dance Party. Seriously, I know I've said this before, but can SOMETHING that kids wear/eat/watch/carry/look at not be covered in some mass-produced marketing propaganda? We ended up getting Buzz Lightyear because at least the lights were rockets and that was better than most.

Speaking of fashion, I have a home stylist named Freddy Fabrioduccie, who is really my husband. In the past, Freddy has tended to my highlighting needs and done an adequate job. Last weekend, though, Freddy was in the middle of the process when he started muttering, "This is not going well. I'm screwing it up." Not what a lady wants to hear when her stylist is waving the bleach bottle around her head.

After I rinsed and dried my hair, I had a horrible, brass-colored donut of hair on the top of my head, which tapered off into my natural mouse-brown at the ends. I worked from home the next day to avoid embarrassing looks and comments, fired Freddy, and went to the salon the next evening. A couple of hours and a hundred bucks later, I am now a bit of a blondie. We shall see if I start having any more fun, although it is hard to imagine more fun than home highlights, fish and pinkeye, especially in that order.

* It's weird to me that almost every visit to the aquarium ends with us eating fish and chips at the nasty touristy restaurant at the end of the pier where the aquarium is. I wonder if their PR departments have ever thought about teaming up and posting signs on the tanks that say "Think I look good? Wait 'til you taste me at Rick's Salty Shack, where you can eat me and two of my friends for 9.99!" Or the restaurant could have "Nemo Taco Tuesdays", where you could pick your own Nemo out of a tank and then make a taco out of him. Kids would love it!

Posted by Max at 12:28 AM | Comments (0)

February 16, 2005

Announcing Elliot!

The Bean is very pleased to announce the arrival of his East coast cousin, Elliot Gardner, born on Friday February 11th. Elliot was kind enough to weigh in at a sensible 7 pounds, 2 ounces as opposed to the freakish, circus sideshow 10.8 pounds that the Bean selected for his birth weight. Well done, Elliot, and welcome to the family!

Posted by Max at 12:32 AM | Comments (0)

February 04, 2005

Blinding Myself with Science

Recently my husband and I took the Bean to the Pacific Science Center. When I was a kid growing up on Cape Cod, MA, one of the highlights of my young life was packing into my dad's custom van and heading up to Boston to the Museum of Science. That is the Mack Daddy of science centers, with (I think) the country's first IMAX theater, baby chicks hatching in a giant, egg-shaped warmer (you could pet them when they were out!), wave machines, static electricity exhibits, dinosaur bones (T-Rex!!) and my favorite: teeny tiny embryos frozen in plastic wombs in the "Cycle of Life" section.

Dammit did I love me some science as a kid, I think due largely to my brother's subscription to Ranger Rick magazine and the fact that we grew up about four steps from the ocean with its endless source of creatures to be caught, analyzed, and carefully released back into the wild. One difference between girl scientists and boy scientists, at least from my own experience: there's a lot less creature death involved when girls are at the helm. However, the same beloved uncle (a teacher; sneaky liberal smartypants!) who got my brother his subscription also got me Cricket, the literary magazine for children, causing me to climb trees and read haiku, short stories and Shel Silverstein in my leafy perch for hours. Thus my fate as an MFA-holding, mommy-blogging* corporate shill was solidified. The uncle himself had a subscription to, ahem, Playboy, so my brother and I also got our introduction to biology thanks to him. Let's hear it for a well-rounded education!

*There's been a lot of brouha in the blogging community recently about mommy-blogging and so, for the record, I would just like to make my stance on the issue clear: who freaking cares what people think. Thank you.

Back to the business of blogging. So we took the Bean to the science center where he played with the water table, checked out animatronic dinosaurs, and bugged out in the insect display. As we were leaving the insect display, my husband, who is usually of the same opinion as me on issues related to child-rearing, says "You know, when the Bean gets older, we should get him a stick insect as a pet." And I am like "Are you fricking kidding me? A stick insect?! Who the hell wants one of those in their house?" He went on to try and convince me how cool they were, and his final line of reasoning went a little something like this "...and they breed really frequently." And I'm like DUDE! If I wanted to watch stick insects breed, I'd check out the Paris Hilton porno movie! Using stick insects' frequent mating habits as a selling point is akin to telling me that tarantulas also make good pets because once a month all their hair falls off and lands in your eyes and mouth.

I told my friend P. from work this story expecting a little "He so crazy" girl-bonding moment and she said "I like stick insects, they're cool. They look like sticks."

Friends, insect fans, would-be scientists and mommybloggers: if I wanted something that looked like a stick, I would get a stick.

Posted by Max at 12:33 AM | Comments (0)

January 30, 2005

Tortellini Mama

This weekend was Good Times. I went out with my friend Texas Jenny seeking a simple pint or two in a pub, you know like in the Olde Days, and we ran into a fellow worker bee and his very cool ladyfriend. We all ended up drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and singing karaoke in a tiki-themed bowling alley into the wee hours. Oopsie! Funny how that works. Note to self: Journey is a racous, sing-a-long crowd-pleaser unlike squeaky, whispery renditions of LeAnn Rimes.

Saturday we went to the zoo and saw elephants getting baths (Elephants! With long noses!), penguins swimming and monkeys howling. It was like one of Cole's many animal-themed books come to life. Very long naps were taken afterward. Then we went to our Friends with Twins' house for drinks made from fresh lemons, and the moms and the babies danced to a mixed CD of songs with an American theme while the dads had their drinks. The differences between Dirt Rock and Butt Rock were debated, and it was determined that the seven of us should take a vacation this spring, potentially on a cruise. Maybe one with a Butt Rock theme! With baby-sitters and buffets!

Also, the Bean slept in until 9am BOTH mornings. The best part of the weekend was when Friend with Twin dad and I confessed to each other that we shared a dark 'n' twisted theory about babies sleeping late: you sort of think well, that's it, they somehow died in the night when you wake up and see that it is so late. However, if there is still no noise coming from the room, you go back to sleep because, well, what can you do? Sleep-lust makes one evil...

The Bean is awaiting two cousins, one due in June and one any day now. He says he can't wait to teach them his song about tortellini, the most effective way to shoot toddler-sized hoops and how to throw gang signs while eating edamame, yo.

Posted by Max at 12:34 AM | Comments (0)

January 25, 2005

The Flotsam and Offal of Sad Young Lives

We got my husband's car back. It is crunched and battered and currently not running, but we didn't have to pay any impound fees due to at last admitted clerical errors. My superhero power is that when I need to, I can wield a phone like a weapon.

Here's what was in it. Note the significant lack of fly-fishing equipment:

1. generic packs of cigarettes (2)
2. Blink 182, U2, Lauren Hill, Natural Born Killer soundtrack cds

3. note from Tanya to Thomas explaining how she never came back to meet him because she had to meet Rob to move some speakers and shit, and that she wasn't driving right now because she had to wait until her trial

4. blank visitor application form for the King County Juvenile Detention Center

5. handwritten schedules of visitation hours for Jeff and Brian

6. scratched out, non-winning Lotto tickets (4)

7. pee smell

8. cigarette butts (lots)

9. Covergirl face powder

10. baby stroller

Sometimes, you don't even need to wait for karma to get someone. They've already been jinxed.

AND BY THE WAY, DUMBASSES, NEXT TIME YOU STEAL A CAR DON'T LEAVE YOUR CDS WITH YOUR LAST NAME WRITTEN ON THEM IN THE CAR WHEN YOU DITCH IT.

Posted by Max at 12:35 AM | Comments (0)

January 10, 2005

Operation Snowsuit = Success!

Posted by Max at 12:38 AM | Comments (0)

December 03, 2004

Melmo's World

The Bean has discovered baby crack. It is red, furry and named Elmo, or as he might refer to it, "Melmo". Why why why, after only seeing this muppet once, did he become obsessed with it? How come "Melmo" is like, his tenth word? He doesn't even know what a doggie says or how a kitty goes and yet at the supermarket he can spot and greet Melmo on a box of cookies 25 feet away. Congratulations, marketers! You do fine work -- on a FREAKING ONE YEAR OLD. Have ye no souls?

I guess it could be worse; at least it is a Sesame Street character he is into. As a child, I was partially raised by Maria, Ernie, Oscar and the gang and I turned out relatively fine. Yet there is something disturbing about how quickly their little toddler brains latch on the His Redness. What is it that these muppets know? How do they know it?

A million years ago, I was at a writer's conference in Vermont, an idyllic, debauched and beautiful experience. One hot night, a bunch of us were sitting outside the main reading hall, a great, screened barn, listening to a man who had written a scandalous, unauthorized biography about Jim Henson. From our Adirondack chairs on the porch, we sipped whiskey out of mason jars as the writer trashed Jim Henson, calling him an abusive, religious freak who died because he refused medical treatment for something relatively minor, or at least curable.

The Henson family had somehow halted publication of the book, a draft of which the man began to read from. Mid-way through the reading, the biggest bullfrog I have ever seen emerged from nowhere, hopped through our ring of chairs, and stopped at the door of the barn to fix its glossy stare on the man. When the reading was over, the frog turned and hopped back into the night. “Dude, that guy just got the evil eye from Kermit!” one of my friends whispered incredulously. We drank a quiet toast to Jim Henson, for all his flaws and magic.

So see, there’s more going on with those muppets than we adults know.

Posted by Max at 12:44 AM | Comments (0)

November 04, 2004

Shriek owl, with teeth

Hello. Do you know anyone who opens their mouth as wide as possible, scwinches their eyes all tightly shut, then arches their back and throws the entire weight of their body toward their head? I do. He is my son, the Bean.

This evening, after mutual work days frought with High Highs and Low Lows, my husband and I thought we would try and outwit the nightly shriekfest that has become our commute home. Currently, our twenty-five minute drives consist of my husband driving, the Bean screaming or about to scream, and me frantically handing the Bean organic, wheat-free cookies while singing songs about nothing and pointing out things as we drive by "Look! A light! A sidewalk! Some homeless guys!"

He will stop screaming for certain things. Dogs, yes. Ballooons, yes. Trains, usually. Pieces of lint on the ground? No. We thought that tonight we would be clever and, before we drove home, enjoy some fine Japanese cuisine as a nice, shriek-free family but someone forgot the shriek-free part. I was so frigging tense the whole time, especially because although the restaurant was not very crowded, there was a woman eating alone right behind us. She was writing in a notebook and I can just imagine what she was saying: "Dear Diary, I am so glad I chose not to have children. Why the hell do people think they can bring their kids into fine restaraunts such as this to shriek and throw rice on the floor? BTW, really looking forward to my month-long trip to Greece."

The pumpkins are rotting on our front porch and we have been too busy rushing around to deal with them. A guy named Mike hauled away some trash for us a few days ago and called me to say he was coming by to pick up his check. When he asked where I would leave it, I said that I would put it inside the pumpkin that was carved to look like a monkey.

That night, I noticed he had indeed picked up the check but that he had left a little something behind. Apparently, he had stepped in some dog poo that our dog the Craphound had conveniently left in the path. Mike choose to rid himself of it by scraping it all over our Welcome mat. Welcome home, family! Here is some dog crap for you to step in as you enter your house. I guess that is what you get when you ask a man to fish money out of a rotten monkey pumpkin.

Posted by Max at 12:49 AM | Comments (0)