She lives!

Howdy, y'all. That's Texan for, "Why, good evening sirs and madams." Yes, I now have a twang.

I am sitting in a Buffalo Wild Wings joint with Amos sitting near me in his high chair. I have one hour until I pick up Phil from the San Antonio airport. This week has been, to say the least, one of the most insane and emotional ordeals of my life. I apologize for the lack of words as planned, but I think you'll understand once I explain.

I could blah blah blah about it, but here are the facts. Wednesday night, we took my father to the emergency room in New Braunfels. He is now admitted as a patient, and it is undetermined how long he will stay. So far, after many tests and seeing various doctors, he is diagnosed as having congestive heart failure. It is serious. Very serious. Since Wednesday, his condition has improved dramatically, and I am very thankful for that. However, it isn't over yet, and I (and his doctors) are anticipating other things to pop up. I am dreading the moment when they say the "C" word - cancer.

I stayed at the hospital Wednesday night through Thursday morning. No sleep. Amos was with me as I stayed with my father. Yes, Amos slept, so don't go wagging your Internet fingers at me for having a baby in the emergency room and in a hospital overnight. My father has done enough to beat me up with words over this past week, so kiss off if you feel like wagging at me. And yeah, I'm a bit short tempered right now. Sorry.

I'm also taking care of my mother and her various appointments with doctors and her medication. It has been an intense week of me being the caregiver for two adults and a baby. I reached my breaking point yesterday afternoon when I finally drove back to the folks' house after staying at the hospital all night. I don't know if I've ever had as big a mental breakdown and crying fit as I did yesterday. Keeping it together has not been easy when my father was so close to dying.

It seems that sometimes prayers are answered. I asked for help, and the cavalry showed up. Aunts and uncles, brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces have swooped in after all of this to help us out. I am surrounded by love. My father has an incredible support system, and he sees that now. If only he had been more truthful so many months ago when his symptoms began. I really hope this is a lesson to my family members (and to anyone reading this) that ignoring your health will get you killed. Ignoring your health is the worst thing you can do to your loved ones. Don't be a dick.

So, I'm finally alone with Amos in a restaurant, with food and drink and anxious anticipation to see the man of my dreams step out of that airport. I don't know if I've ever needed Phil more than I do right now.

I don't know when I'll get back on the blog. Please keep my family in your thoughts and prayers. It looks like I'll be here for awhile.

Thanks, folks.

Imaginary Binky Travel Update

Ahoy there, loyal binky readers. As part of today's guest blogging, I'm throwing in a quick update on Sarah's travels. She and Amos made it to Texas with only a modicum of air-travel-related stress. Being in the remote hinterlands of Texas, she's currently without Internet access, so as you've no doubt noticed, no imaginary binky blogs have been forthcoming for a few days. Rest assured, she and Amos are fine, and the binky blogs will be rolling again soon.

Thanks for your support.

-Phil

PhilOsophy - If I Was a Sitcom Dad...

Once again, I hand the mic over to Phil Porter, guest blogger and stand-up comedian extraordinaire / husband / father / great-in-the-sack.
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With Sarah and Amos off in Texas, I've been alone in the house for the last 48 hours. To answer your first question: No, I have not been visited by any spirits, ghosts, or haints. I have, however, noticed that our house is almost never quiet. It's constantly creaking and squeaking and generally making noises that I hadn't really noticed before. Fortunately, I've managed to keep the panic to a minimum.

Things have generally been uneventful in the way you wouldn't expect if you're used to watching sitcoms and the wacky antics that ensue when a dad is left alone. In the real world, I've cooked a delicious pot of Thai-style chicken curry, cleaned the drains in the bathroom (baking soda and vinegar does a great job!), tidied up a bit in the basement, and played Grand Theft Auto. Not a moment of wackiness to be had!

If this were the Phil-com, I would have already started a fire while cooking, had my friends over for a poker party during which all of our fine china would be destroyed, and caused the tub to drop through the floor. Then I would have concocted a Risky Business-style scheme to turn the house into a bordello so I could earn enough money to fix everything before the family returns. None of this has happened. No wonder my ratings are down. Who would tune away from American Idol to watch my non-antics? I've really got to step up the zaniness here in the next few days.

On a side note, I watched the first two guys on Idol last night then I lost interest. Without my co-viewer to make fun of the show with, it has no appeal.

I'd write more, but there's a noise upstairs that I need to investigate.

Busy busy

Stuff going on. Back to you soon.

Temporarily out of commission

Traveling. Back to you soon.

Get spooky in your own time and space, lady

Tomorrow I leave for my dreaded trip to Texas. There is much to do before I go, so why not give you a tale of horror and suspense for your Sunday driving pleasure? Get ready for the spookity spooky. The Creepy McCreeperton...

Last week was truly an emotional time for me. This week is slightly less intense but still emotional. I expect my trip to Texas to not disappoint in this regard. Needless to say, there has been an air of tension and woe in my home that we are not accustomed to. I suspect this tension may have ignited a paranormal experience in my very own abode.


(Turn off the lights, hug a pillow, and imagine Auntie Sarah with a flashlight under her chin...)


Last Thursday night, Phil and I had a very intense discussion. You might call it an argument. Perhaps you'd even go so far as to label it with words such as "shouting match," "bitch fest," or perhaps "boxing of ears." Well, maybe we didn't physically tussle, but we are quite good at stabbing each other with words. Whatever the case, it was a doozy. We went to bed on good terms, as we never just walk away with hurt feelings or hurt paws. Things seemed right in the world.

I had a difficult time sleeping, as usual. The bedroom was very cold. I kept thinking, "Why won't the heat come on?" The red letters of the clock read 2:30am, then 2:45am, then 3:00am... and I finally drifted off into a deep slumber. What happened next I can only relay to you as I remember, as facts are convoluted and not entirely trusted.

Here is what I know:


At 4:26am, I began screaming. It was a blood-curdling, guttural, visceral yelling that I don't think I've ever produced before in my life. Phil was scrambling to turn on the light and kept asking, "WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!" Amos was crying at his highest decibel level possible. I remained in bed, staring at the wall.

Phil got up and soothed Amos. I remained in bed, frozen. He finally was able to coax me into speaking. This is what I told him.

All that I know is that in one moment I was in a deep, deep sleep. The next moment, I was awake. I looked over at the wall next to my side of the bed, the side where Amos sleeps in his Moses basket within arms reach of me. Between the closet and the painting on the wall, a bright figure of a woman was standing over Amos.

I could see her entire body clothed in a dress that resembled something out of "Little House on the Prairie." She wore a bonnet. The underdress (the best way I can describe it) was white. The frock over it was light blue with straps over her shoulders. Our walls, by the way, are green. I could tell that whatever she was wearing was distinctly not modern. I would put her dress to be somewhere in the 1800s. She was tall, pretty, and had straight, blonde hair. I estimate her age to be somewhere in her 20s to early 30s. She looked a bit like this, but with a bonnet.

She was gazing down at Amos in his basket.

As soon as I saw this apparition, I began screaming. She quickly turned to look at me and was quite alarmed (as were the rest of the occupants of the house). The look on her face was as if she had been startled. She stared directly at me, then disappeared.

All of this took about 5 to 10 seconds, at most, from the moment I woke up to when she disappeared. I'm still freaked out about it.

I have seen other things in my house, many in the same spot where this woman was standing. I have a theory that the way our house is built with a corridor of windows and doors all in a row is somehow allowing these spirits (or whatever they are) to show up. I don't think that our house is haunted. Rather, I think that this corridor of openings is somehow inviting random spirits to go through it. It sounds crazy, I know, but it's the best I can come up with. Where that woman stood is in this pathway of doors and windows. It also happens to be where Amos sleeps.

We thought we had solved the problem by blocking the windows and doors with window treatments and curtains. It seemed to be working, until last week. You may remember that Phil was complaining about our plumbing and that he had to knock holes into an old lathe and plaster wall in order to access the pipes. Our house was built in 1902. Some paranormal experts contend that home remodeling can cause disturbances. No kidding, brother.

I have the feeling that a combination of remodeling (or remuddling) along with the emotional tension in our house somehow encouraged or allowed this person into my home. I've also been praying a lot lately, prior to and after this incident. I'm grasping at whatever explanations I can come up with, because anything else makes me feel like I am losing my mind. Even though I have seen many apparitions in the past in different places and in my home, this one really freaked me out.

I think that I reacted the way that a mother would react when her child is in danger. Even though I didn't feel any malevolence from this woman, she triggered my primal instincts. Instincts of fear and of protection. After I told Phil what had happened, I said out loud in the room, "Leave this house. This is MY child. MY baby. He is NOT yours. It is time for you to go."

I have no idea if that worked or not. I also have no idea whether I am sane anymore. I know what I saw, but no one else saw her. I know that I completely freaked out my husband, my son, and my cat. I feel very bad about the way that I disturbed them.

By the way, after that, the bedroom was warm again. Our temperature control panel is in the living room, which is not near the bedroom. If I am to believe that temperatures can drop in a room where a spirit is present, then that is why my bedroom was so cold. It is also why only one room would be cold, thus it did not trigger the furnace to come on.

So, make of it what you will. This is just one of many stories I have to tell in this realm. It is, however, the one that really knocked me to my core.

Resting on my laurels, the hard way

Greetings from Denver. We are home after a whirlwind trip through the mountains. There is much to say, but I am tired. So, I will show you a few pics of amazement, embarrassment, and awe. Let us begin.


Steamboat Springs, Colorado is covered in approximately a $hitload of snow. For a graphic representation of approximately a $hitload, here are your visuals.


This is me, your host. I am standing next to whatever river is in Steamboat Springs (oh, like you care what the name is). See the snow next to me, that is yay-high next to my legs? That's how much snow is in Steamboat Springs. That is, my friends, approximately a $hitload of snow.

Also for your amusement, I provide a picture of a sidewalk in Old Town Steamboat Springs. I'm sure you can surmise from the height of the fire hydrant just how much white stuff that is. In person, looking through this plowed pathway seemed like an entrance to an ice maze.

So, blah blah blah, we were in Steamboat. I'll talk about that later, maybe. On the way home today, we tried to find a place to sling Amos around in his Pope Mobile sled. As you can see, it would have been detrimental to sling him through 2 to 3 feet of snow in Steamboat, as we parents would have disappeared in the snow while the baby floated effortlessly on top. Time to invest in snowshoes, me thinks.

What better way to defeat the snow than to walk on water? Yes, you unbelievers. I walked on water.

Georgetown, Colorado is a nice little town with a nice little lake. The lake is frozen over. It is so frozen, that people are able to do this:

See that?! Those are CARS parked on top of the lake. Friggin' crazy, man! This is where we decided to sling Pope Amos the First around in his holiness of sleds.

See Daddy put Pope Amos into the holy contraption. Phil is already standing on the lake. Behold, and stand in awe.

Here is Mama joyfully pulling the Pope across the lake.

His Holiness insisted that Mama move faster.

So she did. And then this happened.

I might be able to walk on water, but I cannot run on ice. For this, I am shamed.

Puttin' on the parka

Today, we head to Steamboat Springs, Colorado for a mini-weekend getaway. Phil is performing at a corporate gig, and Amos and I will have the chance to take in the oohs and ahs of a beautiful mountain town and ski resort.

Apparently, we are staying at a ski in / ski out hotel. That's pretty cool. It's close to the gondola.

So, I leave you with some pics of Amos getting ready for his big mountain adventure. He is trying on some great little hats that my mother knitted for him. He'll look just dandy in his hat while we pull him around in his sled!



Isn't he quite fetching? He looks a bit like a lumberjack in this one. Timber!

Here is Amos as a longshoreman. The fish are bitin'!

Did you get your Amos fix yesterday? Well, go back and look at him... Month 8.

Month 8

Dear Amos,

Today, you are 8-months-old. Good grief, child! Where has the time gone? I'm not sure I ever imagined you at 8 months. I was just trying to get through the early months of breastfeeding, getting you plumped up, reshaping your head, and finding a few winks of sleep in between. Quite suddenly, I have a baby who is eating solid foods and crab-crawling around the room. You are fashioning your own Al Qaeda-style baby training camp right here in the living room and dining room.

Your biggest achievement BY FAR this past month has been your newfound mobility. Although you are not technically crawling in the sense of the traditional hand-knee-hand-knee crawling maneuver, you are definitely on the move. Your preferred bastardized methods of transportation are scooting on your butt, twisting around in a circle while on your belly, or sliding backwards on your belly while on the hardwood floor. One moment I will see you in spot A. Two moments or centons later, you are suddenly in a different position in spot B, and well on your way to area C. Soon, I expect to see you with black lines painted under your eyes, scooting under barbed wire in camouflage footed jammies. I guess I should go find some old tires for you to run through.

Of course, this has your father and I in a panic. You have nicely pointed out all of our failures in babyproofing this house. It's not a toy you want. Oh, no. You'd rather pull on a lamp cord, chew on the Internet cable, smash my cellphone, pull the zippers on the diaper bag, and roll your highchair by pulling on the legs. It's sort of like having gremlins in the house.

A few weekends ago, you had a playdate with your lady friend, Coralyn. She is about three weeks older than you. Cora crawls like a champ, and it wasn't too long after observing her that you decided to scoot around yourself. Cora was incredibly charmed by you and was kind enough to let you play with her toys. She decided that in return, she should be able to pluck your binky out of your mouth. Ah, but you weren't having it, my boy. You promptly balled up your little face and started wailing. Perhaps you like your ladies to be a little less aggressive.

You love your Daddy very, very much. It is very obvious that you have grown attached to that bearded freak. I guess I had all of those months spent bonding with you in my belly, so your dada can have this time now. Just don't go making favorites, ya hear?

Food-wise, you have accomplished a great deal. Your gastronomic explorations include the consumption of pureed peas, sweet potatoes, carrots, pumpkin, butternut squash, and avocado. You made it quite clear that pureed broccoli will not be tolerated. I suppose broccoli is an acquired taste, but I am confident that a young man such as yourself will understand the complexities of broccoli flavor one of these days. Your favorite food, by far, is pureed organic prunes. Your mouth loves prunes. Your rear exit, however, has a different side to the story. We've learned by explosive trial and error just how much prune intake your rear exit can handle.

Sound is coming out of you nonstop. We haven't decided whether or not you've said your first word. You seem to know the right letters to string together and say them to the appropriate person, but I'm just not sure yet. If you have said your first word, I'm proud to say that it was "mama." You start by saying, "mmmm," and then progress to "mamama." Yay for me! Not to be outdone, you followed that soon after with, "dadadadadada" and "babababababa." Your daddy is quite proud (but "mama"was first). You are learning about sound volume. Sometimes you give a huge grin and whisper, "dadadadadada."

You've made it abundantly clear that you enjoy your toys. You also receive immense pleasure from destroying any attempts we make to stack your blocks. We have a hilarious game of Mama stacking blocks and then Amos knocks them down. Oh, boy, how you love to undermine my architecture. At times this secret whispering is uttered while you play with your toys. I believe the blocks can understand you.

You have become the dancing king. I have never seen a baby this young want to dance as much as you. You bob your head back and forth. You shake your hips. You stop, waiting for one of us to respond in kind. Then we both thrash our heads around and giggle. Little man, you even wake up bobbing your head to some imaginary music. I'll look over at you, you look at me, then you grin and start groovin'. Oh, man. You melt me.

The biggest sigh of relief that Mommy and Daddy had this month was during your appointment to see Hanger Orthotics. We looked at your head and had it measured again. Sweet, sweet relief! In five weeks, your head had improved SO much! The orthotist no longer recommends that you should wear a helmet. We are continuing to use aggressive repositioning at night for your noggin, but you will not need to look like a football player. Yay for you! I'll post the results and pics in another blog.

In your continuing quest to conquer all females with your cuteness, your father was shocked when a women followed him around the grocery store and finally had the courage to come over and say, "I just have to tell you that he is the CUTEST baby I've ever seen!" And then she disappeared. You have a strange effect on people, Amos.

You've certainly charmed your Mama. I can't wait to see what else you have in store for us. This next month will be full of trips to the mountains and visits to your grandparents. You'll have a great time. We'll see if Mama survives...


Love,

Mamamamamama

PhilOsophy - On Tonight's Menu: Everything But Flavor

Once again, I hand the mic over to Phil Porter, guest blogger and stand-up comedian extraordinaire / husband / father / great-in-the-sack.

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On Tonight’s Menu: Everything But Flavor

Yesterday, I prepared one of our favorite Crock-Pot meals, chicken curry. This delicious dish fills the house with mouth-watering aromas as it slow cooks over the course of the afternoon. Served with homemade roti (a type of flat bread), it’s always a treat for eaters in the Porter house.

Except yesterday.

Instead, as we tucked into our bowls of curry while watching "American Idol", Sarah and I were both surprised to discover…um…nothing really. I had made a bland batch of uninteresting food. Sure, it provided us with nutrition, but where was the joy? Where was the tongue-delighting flavor? Where, my friends, was the love? Not unlike "Idol", which featured uninspired performances by most of the male contestants, I had failed to make this dish my own. I had not put my special stamp on a reliable favorite. In short, the curry was like the guy who sang “Moon River.” Capable, but ultimately forgettable.

I know I added all of the ingredients, but maybe I should have put in more curry powder? I used more than the recipe calls for, but still we were underwhelmed. More salt and pepper might bring out the flavors a bit when we dish up leftovers tonight, but I hardly look forward to them the way I normally would.

My other guess, which can be neither tested nor proven, is that the spirit of Benny Lava came along and snatched out the spiciness. Yes, the Indian Michael Jackson somehow worked his magic on our Crock-Pot and stole away with the flavors of his homeland as a form of retribution for being poked fun at on this very site. Minor bun engine made, indeed.

By the way, if you’re in the area, you can come see me perform at the Improv in Denver tonight at 7:30. To get in free, just use the code word “winter.” Also wear a trench coat and touch the side of your nose slyly while winking. The Improv is at I-70 and Quebec in that shopping center with Bass World or Outdoor World or Outdoor Fishing Kingdom Outdoor World, or whatever it's called. See Denver Improv's website for info on where the club is and how to make reservations.

I promise to have more humor than the curry had flavor.

Naps naps naps

All kinds of naps. Fried naps, nap kabobs, boiled naps, naps on the barbie...

Sing that blog title to the tune of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs "Maps" song, and suddenly it's a great blog.

Sorry for the delay today, folks. I've had a crazy mix of emotional days lately, and it took its toll on me today. A big nap seemed to make it all better.

You know what's great about crazy emotional days? Hot, crazy, emotional lovin'. You know what I'm talkin' about, oh yeah.

Maybe this will make you understand.

Except it was Monday. That's all.

Calling all troops

So, here's the deal. I'm going to be in Texas starting Monday next week. That would be the 25th for those of you who are counting on your fingers. I'll be there for quite a spell, or at least longer than I would like.


Amos is coming with me. Phil is staying home. He may or may not visit during a few days of my trip. So, for the most part, I am doing the solo parent thing. I will be helping to take care of my ailing parents. It is an ugly situation that I just don't want to deal with. My father is possibly the most frustrating, irresponsible man I have ever encountered in my life. He asks for my help, then he critiques me on how I apply that help. I could go on and on, but I will spare you my anger and shaking of fists in the air.


My goal while in Texas is to escape the homestead for a period of time everyday. I will try to go to coffeeshops or some such where I can get Internet access and some sense of sanity. Then, I will bombard you with my frustrations and/or silliness. Perhaps I'll throw out a few Utterz, some pics of the great state of Texas and proof that we have a small airplane. How fun for you!


If there is anyone in the San Antonio/ New Braunfels/ San Marcos/ Austin metroplex that would like to play with me one day, please let me know. I'll bring my blocks; you bring your sand bucket. I can't guarantee that I can meet you, but I'll try. If you lure me with wine, then I am more able to show up. Heheh.


Also, if anyone knows of free highspeed Internet locations in that general area, please let me know. I've learned my lesson when it comes to borrowing other people's computers.


I don't know how mobile I will be, as I will be borrowing my dad's truck (ugh). It would be really cool of all of you to yell out support, encouragement, pats on the back, and whatever else you can muster while I am wallowing in the misery of others. I can't stress enough how much I am NOT looking forward to this.


Also, the mighty Allison Scharf is possibly the greatest friend that ever existed for helping me during this trying time. You are exactly the kind of sister I want in my life, and lack of bloodlines between us does not change that. You rock, m'lady. You rock it hard.


Alrighty. That's all. Back to the regularly scheduled program.

Guess what I did to his bum?

Ugh. These are the days when parenting becomes more chore than fun. My dear, sweet Amos is backed up.


Feeding that boy has become a juggling act. He has never been an easy bean to feed. I had breastfeeding problems from the get-go, which would take a whole other blog to explain. I stopped breastfeeding him at four months when my supply just wouldn't hack it. At that point, I was only producing enough to add a bit of "softener", if you know what I'm saying, to his diet.


Today, I Q-tipped him. After Phil had already Q-tipped him. What am I talking about? Well, here are the visuals:

• Unstrap the child from his encumberments (if that's not a word, then I'm claiming it). Let his bits go free in the wind while you acquire the tools needed for this journey.
• Tools needed: Q-tips (LOTS of them), Vaseline, paper towels, a plastic bag, and moxie.
• Remove any clothing (his and yours) that may become polluted during the process. Put a binky in the boy's mouth and give him a bit of paper towel to toss around and play with. The binky is necessary so that the paper towel is not chewed upon, and the paper towel is necessary to play with as to distract the wee hands from grabbing at parts that may pollute his other parts. If you are not as backwoods hick as me, then give him a toy to play with.
• Place another paper towel flat underneath the backside as to collect the target(s).
• Are you with me so far? Good.
• Take one Q-tip and goop it up nice and gooey with Vaseline. Take a paper towel and place it over the male unmentionables as to sop up any liquid pollution that may occur. Keeping the left hand holding the paper towel over the unmentionables (if you are right handed), take the gooey Q-tip in the right hand and approach the hind quarters with care and caution.
• Double check to make sure the child is occupied properly with binky and paper towel. Occupied? Yes. Moving on.
• While continuing to hold the paper towel over the unmentionables, use that same hand to lift the feet as to expose the rear exit. Surprisingly, once the rear exit is revealed, the child will cooperate and hold his legs in the air (while you continue to hold the feet), as if showing off the bum and its contents is a pleasurable deed. Cooperation is key.
• Apply some of the goopy Vaseline to the outer edges of the rear exit. With the Q-tip, delicately insert some of the Vaseline just inside the rear exit as to lubricate the inner cavity.
• Triple check that the child is occupied. Yes? Good. Moving on.
• With as much moxie as you can muster, delicately insert the Q-tip again. Guide the Q-tip through the rear exit and into the land we do not speak of.
• At times, you will feel that an object is hindering the progress of the Q-tip. Eureka! This is your target.
• Gently glide the Q-tip around the object, which will look as if you are winding a clock with the end of the Q-tip you are holding. Wind the clock with moxie.
• Slowly withdraw the Q-tip, stopping short of pulling completely out of the land we do not speak of and exiting the rear door.
• You have now reached the most critical step. Do not lose your lunch over the following steps.
• With Q-tip still in place just inside the rear exit, pull the Q-tip slightly to the right or to the left, as to slightly open the exit so that a bit of the land we do not speak of is revealed.
• The child may begin to exhibit signs of straining. This is good.
• Continuing to hold the Q-tip so that the rear exit is slightly ajar, encourage your child to push. How? Say, "Push." Despite your child's language shortcomings, somehow this instruction is valuable.
• Rumblings and movement will occur in the land we do not speak of. You may begin to see the first signs of the target.
• Do not lose your lunch.
• Continue to hold the Q-tip in place until it is apparent that the target has reached a point of no return. You may need to help guide the target out of the rear exit by sliding it out with the Q-tip.
• Do not lose your lunch.
• Once the target is deposited, check for more missiles on their way out of the depository.
• Check the consistency of the target. If a visual inspection does not garner enough information as to the thickness and/or hardness of the object, then use the paper towel that it rests upon to squeeze the target.
• Do not lose your lunch.
• If the target is of unacceptable density, then repeat the process after disposing of the target(s) in the plastic bag.
• Once target(s) has reached acceptable smooshy density, you may stop the process.
• Tidy up.
• Feed the child a large dose of organic prunes.
• Now you may lose your lunch.

So, there you go. That was our Sunday.


We have a plan in place to prevent the reappearance of future hard missiles. I find it very odd that NONE of my baby books mention how to go about extracting unextractable targets. I'm happy to share this information with you, in case it ever happens in your household.


Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown would be SO proud of me.

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(Aside: If you leave a comment, I'd appreciate that you avoid the use of vulgar terms for the missiles. Use of those words - the "p" word, the "sh" word, etc. - messes up the ads on my page and makes the ad sponsors none too pleased. Thank you for abiding.)

That boy

Since the old man decided to ditch me on Valentine's Day evening for a night of comedy (at least he's getting paid for it), Amos and I had a wee photo session to pass the time.

It is not easy to wrangle a baby, get him to smile, and then take a picture. Someday I'll get it right.

I'm gonna get yer nose...

What's that? Is that something else I can put in my mouth?






Sleepy baby is tired of the limelight.







Finally, a smile! I'm not admitting that it took a game of peekaboo to get this grin...

You need a bun to bite Benny Lava

I. can't. breathe.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Whew. Okay.

I ganked this from The Gerli Life. It is possibly the funniest thing I've ever seen. Maybe. But pretty darn close. I'm pretty sure I wet myself when I watched it, so empty your bladder NOW.

I see the nuns are gay. Some day I sell DNA!

Ride the mechanical bull, get chafed

You will NOT believe what I considered doing this week. Go ahead. Guess. Nope, that's not it. Nope. Not that either. What? Uh uh. Not even close.


I thought about auditioning for "Nashville Star."


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Woo! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!


I know, I know. What the heck was I thinking?! Is this a midlife crisis?

Do you know what really clouded my judgment?

Tequila.

Tequila is a bad, bad man who lures me into the alley with lollipops and then opens his trenchcoat. He promises me country stardom when I don't even really like country music. And then he shows me the thing he really wanted to show me. Tequila should be hanged.

I was trying to justify the audition bug in me by thinking that I enjoy Americana, folk music, and such, and perhaps I could be the next Gillian Welch or Alison Krauss. Maybe a less twangy Lucinda Williams. I even went so far as to look at the list of approved songs, then download the ones I thought I could sing.

I stayed up until REALLY LATE learning a few songs. Then the tequila wore off, and I realized, "Wuh?! What the heck am I doing?!"

I'm not saying I'm a bad singer. I'm kinda okay but maybe good or not, if I could be so vague. I enjoy singing. I just haven't been workin' the ol' pipes much lately. Also, I'm a 34-year-old new mother with a lot of baggage. Is Nashville looking for Carrie Underwood with a lot of baby weight to lose? I don't think so. (Although Phil says, "Have you SEEN Wynona Judd?!")

It's a nice dream, but I don't think it's my time to croon sad songs about pickup trucks, honky tonks, and pig farms. I think I'd rather be Aretha Franklin's backup singer, just so that I could belt out, "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me..."

Anyone have 'Retha's number?

PhilOsophy - There’s a Hole In Our House That Can Only Be Filled By You

Once again, I hand the mic over to Phil Porter, guest blogger and stand-up comedian extraordinaire / husband / father / great-in-the-sack.

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Extreme had a hole in their hearts that could only be filled by you. We, on the other hand, have a hole in our shower. I’m not sure who’s going to fill it.

We thought it was a hole in the plumbing, which could be filled by my plumber friend, Tom. On Tom’s advice, I ripped a hole in the wall behind the shower to expose the pipes and find the leak. It turns out the pipes aren’t leaking. Now we have a diorama depicting the modern miracle of indoor plumbing. It’s fun and educational, and based on how long it takes me to complete projects, it may be available for Amos to use for a school project. Possibly a grad school project. He could write a thesis on either the proper methods for soldering copper pipe or what a horrible procrastinator his dad is.

It turns out the leak is coming from inside the shower, not unlike the threatening phone calls in When a Stranger Calls, except I didn’t run into the bathroom while Sarah was showering and scream, “The water is coming from inside the house!” So the previous three-step plan of cut open wall, fix pipes, repair wall has been replaced with the new multi-step nightmare of tear a hole in the wrong wall, rip out the tiles on the shower walls, fix any water damage that may have occurred, curse the day we ever saw this house, install an as-yet-undetermined type of shower wall, make multiple trips to Home Depot, hope Amos isn’t learning an extensive vocabulary of obscenities, repair wall, shower in leak-free comfort. So far, my work on Plan B has consisted of putting grout tape over the area in the tiles where the leak occurs.

If anyone has a school group that needs a field trip with the educational subject of how not to repair a house, we’ll be offering a discount rate and selling juice boxes at the end of the tour.

Note to Denver area readers: I’ll be performing tonight through Sunday at Wits End Comedy Club in beautiful Westminster, Colorado. Check out their web site for show times. All proceeds from my performances will go to the Save the Bathroom Foundation.

Book learned

The lovely Eve of Adamswife's Weblog decided to tag me for this meme. Normally, I spit at the dirt and shake my fists in the air when memes are thrown at me, but this one is short and sweet. Exactly what I needed today. Besides, you've been flooded with 100 things about me lately. Have you commented about my oddities? Well, then. Get thee to the comments section, my lazy friend.

Onward...

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).

2. Open the book to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the next three sentences.

5. Tag 5 people. Post a comment here once you post the meme to your blog, so I can come see.

The closet book to me was Where's My Mommy?, a book we read to Amos at night about a lost baby crocodile. It doesn't have 123 pages, let alone 123 words. Haha. So, I give you last night's book that I started reading.


This is from The Vaccine Book: Making the Right Decision for Your Child by Dr. Robert W. Sears. I highly recommend it for new parents who want an educated view of vaccines, rather than reading the anti-vaccine books that tell you your kid's head will fall off if you vaccinate. Dr. Sears advocates a delayed schedule of vaccination and awareness of aluminum in vaccine serums. That's what we are doing. I believe in delayed vaccination for all of the health reasons that tend to scare parents these days. Also, there is autism in my family. Delayed vaccination helps me to feel better about not rocking the autism boat.



"The 2003-2004 flu season was particularly bad, with more reported infections and fatalities than usual. But when all was said and done, there were a total of 153 deaths in children seventeen years and younger in the forty states that were studied. If we included all fifty states, we could guess there were at most 200 deaths in children that year."



He concludes that paragraph by saying, "So, even in a worse-than-usual flu season four years ago, the total childhood fatalities came nowhere close to the thousands that we are led to believe."


There you go. I love this book. I tag you, you, you, you, and that guy over there.

100 Things, 81 - 100

We've finished the race! Woohoo! Yeehaw! Ding dang!

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81. I almost died twice. First time: tubing on the river in Gruene, Texas (it's pronounced "green", wacky Germans). I was 15. An older high school friend brought VO alcohol and a bottle of Coca Cola. She gave me drinks of this while I was told to swim and pull the other three people in their tubes as well as the tube with the cooler in it. Eventually, they noticed they weren't moving anymore. Eventually, they noticed I wasn't around anymore. Eventually, one of the drunks reluctantly went into the water to fetch me from the bottom of the river. I have never had VO ever again.

82. My blog started in September of 2005 with this entry. My left foot still hurts sometimes, and I am still shaking my fists at John Elway.

83. I prefer colder climates where I can wear turtlenecks and snuggle under blankets.

84. I liked the Ricky Martin version of Menudo. I had a Menudo T-shirt that I wore so much that it became almost see-through. Then they kicked out Ricky. I had to throw out the T-shirt in protest. I also refuse to ever eat menudo.

85. I make the best natural soap you will ever rub onto your body.

86. Someday, I would like to live in Prague.

87. My current weight bothers me, so I avoid being in pictures.

88. As a child, I detested Cabbage Patch Kids, My Little Pony, and whatever other idiot toys were trying to be sold to me through commercials. I preferred my broken, one-armed Barbie knock-offs.

89. I could sleep all day. My favorite pastime: sleep. My favorite color: sleep. My favorite smell: sleep.

90. Although I was raised on a private airport and have flown in and can fly small airplanes, I have a fear of flying in commercial passenger jets. If I cannot see the pilot, I get worried. Turbulence makes me jumpy. This annoying habit of mine has become less of a problem over the past few years, but my heart still jumps into my throat whenever "a few bumps" are felt.

91. I have a tendency to make fun of everyone and everything, including you.

92. I have a high IQ. Phil's IQ is higher. For that, he will pay.

93. When I notice that someone is not a particularly good driver, I will go out of my way to make sure I am never at their automobile mercy ever again.

94. Second time almost dying: wisdom tooth removal surgery at age 27. The negligent nurse left the nitrous oxide on me and went about her way. I felt great for a few moments, and then everything went black. I suffocated. Things happened to me while I was "gone."

95. Many places have captured my fancy, but I will always long to be in the Sierra Nevada mountains in eastern California. The smell of tall pines makes me swoon with delight.

96. I like my eyes and my hair. After that, I dissect myself just like every other woman on the planet. "Too fat!" "Too big!" Too small!" "Too wonky!"

97. In my youth, I thought that letters have personalities. They are either male or female. Some do not get along with each other. Numbers, on the other hand, are dead and cold to me.

98. I'm still upset that I never had a Snoopy Snowcone Maker.

99. Upon meeting people, I get a very clear feeling of "good" or "bad." I trust in this instinct now because I am almost always right, as it turns out.

100. I very much wish that I could have telekinesis. This obsession started when I was 10.

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And that's all she wrote. Now, someone fetch this lady a nice glass of wine. And some cheese. And rub my feet. And put a blanket over me. Sleep.

Actual Conversations, Part Four

Phil was quizzing me before he headed out to be quizmaster for Geeks Who Drink.

"Question: 'What star began his career with an apocalyptic movie set in Australia, and was the creative force behind a movie about the last days of Jesus and another called Apocalypto?'"

"Sugar Tits."

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"So, here's a Taco Bell story for you."

"Oh? What's that?"

"As it turns out, two of those burritos and two supreme tacos with tax equals $6.66."

"Yeesh."

"Yeah. We're eating the Apocalypse."

"But, I only ate half the Apocalypse."

"Hmm. I guess that is less evil."

100 Things, 61 - 80

Good grief. This hurts my brain to continue this list. No one is 100-things-interesting. Can I use facts about other people? Huh? No? Argh.



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61. I love Chik-Fil-A. Give me nuggets and sauce NOW.

62. I have big knockers. Big jugs. Big cans. Big fun bags. Big dirty pillows. But I want you to look into my eyes. No, up here.

63. I've been married for 10 years. We were married in Negril, Jamaica, overlooking the bay. A nude beach was just to the right.

64. I love gardening. I worked in plant biology for a few years, and I'm a complete herb and plant geek. I have a list of MUST HAVE plants. They are mostly listed in The Undaunted Garden, one of my favorite books about Colorado gardening.

65. I own a business. At one time or another, you may have seen my products in Whole Foods, Wild Oats, and other health food stores across the nation. It is not what it was.

66. I was an extra in Austin in a movie that was probably never finished or sold (so was Phil).

67. Star Magazine is like crack to me. Shoot it in my veins, por favor. Or, just let me read it while I'm in the bathroom.

68. In the 5th grade, I played Shirley in our class production of Tall Tales and Heroes. I forgot to step away from the mic during the group singalongs, so my brother relished telling me later on, "Huh. All we could hear was your dumb butt up there singing."

69. I played the clarinet from 6th grade through senior year. I am a band geek, through and through. Yes, I was first chair most of the time.

70. I can still remember the words I recited during a church Nativity play my sister and I participated in sometime in the late 70s. "We are the angels who sang the song to the world that waited so long." I wore angel wings (stop smirking).

71. I'm convinced that Phil is the best lover in the world. Also, I don't like the word "lover." I tend to say it like "liver." Such as, "Come on over here, my liver."

72. My right eardrum was burst at some point or another, probably when I flew while sick. It still pops sometimes. The last time I flew, air would gush out of my eardrum if I blew my nose.

73. My imagination was gigantic as a child. I had my own show, called "The Super Sare Show."
Sometimes I allowed my sister to guest star as Farrah Fawcett. The style of the show was patterned after "Solid Gold" (not the Marylin McCoo years).

I wore a cape that consisted of me sticking my head through a hole in a very old and nasty baby blanket (my "baba"). See how Irene Cara makes her entrance in this video? Imagine a little girl in a nasty cape doing the same thing.

74. In my youth, I would draw a comic strip I made up called "Herb." Herb was a sad guy with a pointed nose who smoked, drank coffee, and said wryly humorous things (or as humorous as I could make up as a 7-year-old). It was vaguely "Bloom County"esque, but before "Bloom County."

75. I love to play Grand Theft Auto. However, it leaves me feeling a bit violent afterwards. Phil feels my wrath on occasion after I play.

76. "Hot" guys do not turn me on. Brains and a sense of humor knock my socks off.

77. I like to bastardize words. Such as, "balentine" instead of "valentine." "Substinance" instead of "sustenance." Creped myrtle. And many others. Sometimes I say these bastardized words in front of other people, and those people clearly give me looks as if I am an idiot.

78. I gave up wanting to pursue a doctorate in some branch of biology in order to write and to start a business.

79. The only importance I feel of myself now is that I am Amos' mother and Phil's lady.

80. I was voted "smartest" in my senior yearbook. I was hoping that they would add "Most Likely to Leave This Town and State" or "Most Likely to Make the Cheerleaders Cry."

A break

Taking a break from the 1 Million Things About Me list. Here are random facts that are known to me at this time.

• Amos is on the verge of crawling. He takes tiny "steps" with his hands, but then his legs give out. The hand/knee coordination is not quite there yet. He can scoot backwards like nobody's business, however.
• Tonight I will use baking soda on his head to get rid of any remaining cradle cap on the boy's noggin. It's hard to see under all of that hair.
• I've been snacking on Golden Grahams by the handful. Phil is currently complaining that they get "flabby" in milk.
• I'm going to Texas soon. I am not looking forward to it.
• It's amazing how much laundry can pile up and how odd my outfits become when we ignore washing our clothes for, say, 2 years.
• Due to the above statement, Phil has been wearing a hippie/Mariachi-type outfit for the last few days. The pants have an obscene hole in the crotch.
• I tried to take my pulse the other day. I had none.
• A giant sinkhole, three lanes wide, has engulfed a major highway not far from here. Is it any coincidence that it is near a country nightclub?

That is all. Good weekend on ye.