Dare to be Stupid

So there's a blog I stalk (one of many--if that's not an indication that my friends don't blog enough, I don't know what is). The authoress was having a pretty rough week and instead of asking for comments of support, she asked for other people's examples of stupidity to make her feel better. Naturally, I was able to contribute a couple of items, one of which was the open van door story. The other was college stupidity from my friend, Heidi, and me.

Anyway, reading through everyone's comments has been marvelous. I came across one story that has completely made my day. The poster's friend had actually done this, hence the third-person references. I couldn't not share it:

"She was running late to pick up her kid from preschool and still needed to shower. She ran into her hubbies office (he works from home) and handed him the baby while she jumped into the shower.When she got out she ran in to get the baby (totally naked)and heard someone giggling. She then realized that the conference call her hubby was on was a video conference call. Oh wait, it gets better: she turned to run out of the room and ran right into the door jam and fell flat on her back. She laid there for a minute trying to decide what to do, then got on her hands and knees and crawled out into the hall. She later went and checked the camera to see what the view was, and found out they could see the whole office floor and hallway. They saw her crawling out in all her glory."

And my second-favorite:

"One time I went to a movie. When I couldn't find my keys afterward, I realized I had locked them in the car. Which was running. For two hours."

That's something I would wind up doing. Everybody's stupid sometimes--I think that's comforting and terrifying at the same time.

And a quick shout-out to my homey, Misty, who in my darkest hour sent me my favoritest cookie of all time, a giant, pink-frosted sugar cookie with sprinkles on top in the mail. I love you and the money you spent to send it. GOSH, I WISH ALL OF MY FRIENDS WOULD SEND ME GIANT, PINK-FROSTED SUGAR COOKIES WITH SPRINKLES ON TOP.

A Word About Baltimore

As opposed to its evil twin, Baltimore is a pretty good city as far as large metropolitan cities go. While not as easily navigated as someplace like SLC, it's easier than even Denver, and especially all Nine Circles of Hell found in Annapolis. Parts of Baltimore scare me, as well they should. But by and large, it's not such a bad place. One now well-known establishment in Baltimore is Charm City Cakes, the cake making/decorating business featured on the Food Network's reality program "Ace of Cakes." I like Ace of Cakes for one specific reason: it makes me think I could do that. You watch some of these cake decorating shows and wonder how the crap they manage to pull it off; and that's even with them showing you how they pull it off, too. But with Ace of Cakes, a part of me honestly believes I could do what they do on that show. As we may recall, I am not a master of cake decorating. In addition, the cakes that come out of that shop don't look horrible--they actually look really good. But what they do somehow makes me think I can do it, too, given time, patience, and possibly hallucinogens.

As you know (and if you care) the musical "Hairspray" is set in Baltimore. Ace of Cakes was asked to create a cake for the Baltimore premiere of "Hairspray." Duff Goldman, who owns Charm City Cakes and is a huge fan of "Hairspray," commented during the TV show that "'Hairspray put Baltimore on the map." He was very excited about it. Perhaps it was his level of excitement that prevented him from realizing what he was saying. Fortunately, that is not going to stop me from making fun of him for it.

To "put [a location] on the map" suggests that the location in question had not been on the map previously, figuratively speaking of course. We can accurately state, for example, that Coors Beer put Golden, Colorado on the map. Golden had been something of a large city in its day a century ago as Colorado Territory's capital. However, it gradually faded into obscurity until Coors beer commercials stated that's where their beer was brewed. It wasn't until Coors told the country about Golden that anyone knew of its existence. Thus, Coors did indeed "put Golden on the map."

Now let us look at Baltimore. If Wikipedia is to be trusted (although I refuse to believe "Baltimore was founded by crack addicts"), Baltimore is not only one of the oldest and largest cities and seaports in the United States, but is also the 20th largest metropolitan area in the country, larger than the nation's capital region. With a rich heritage and cultural center, it is a hotbed for tourism, particularly the lovely Inner Harbor region of the city. It is the largest city in the state of Maryland, far larger than its capital, Annapolis (mostly due to the previously mentioned evil contained therein). Baltimore is also home to the vast complex of Johns Hopkins institutions, Johns Hopkins Hospital being named the best hospital in the country for years, and also home to the National Aquarium, one of the largest in the world. Hairspray was set in Baltimore because Baltimore is a well-known city, not the other way around. "Hairspray" did not "put Baltimore on the map."

Stick to cakes, Duff; leave the commentary to the rest of us.

You're Fricking Welcome

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets, stolen from a blog I stalk

You could be reading one of those swearing blogs right now, but you're not. Thank your little lucky stars I have a relatively clean mouth. Relatively.

Peanut survived his proceedure last Friday, coming through it with flying colors and screams that would wake the dead. He continues his weight gain, making it up to over 13 lbs a week ago at his pre-op appt. Go Chunky! However, he's not chubby enough yet to hide both boobs after my front-clasp bra has suddenly come unlatched in the middle of shopping for cards at Hallmark. Did I leave immediately? Of course not. It was 100-flippin'-degrees outside and I refused to make an extra trip later on, especially with these gas prices. So I tried to cover half of my ampleness with Peanut and the other with the arm I was using to look at cards. I came away with three cards and no one making any loud remarks about the chick with no bra who obviously needs one. Dignity in tact! Ta-da!

As I was sitting in my car putting myself back together, a kid in a brand-new car smacked right into the side of a minivan parked in the lot, scraping up the side. As he backed away, the owner of the van got out and glared at him. Only then did he stop. I laughed heartily. Of all the cars this kid hits, it's the only one with someone sitting inside it (well, besides mine of course). He started to apologize as if that would suddenly heal her car, but she appeared to inform him most strenuously that only his insurance information could do that. I laughed again.

Peanut seems to like Coldplay, despite my telling him that Viva la Vida sounds exactly like Speed of Sound, which was a tweaked version of Clocks. "But the words are different!" he proclaims. "Chris has suddenly gotten deeper instead of rambling nonsensical lyrics and pretending they mean something!" To which I reply, "Meh." It's funny how he wasn't this talkative when I wanted to discuss the Bush Administration. I just hope his silence and thousand-yard stare at that time meant his little mind just can't handle the lunacy, lies, and shooting people in the face.

Sometime last week Peawhistle got "Hungry Jack" in her head and it has yet to exorcise itself. If you ask her a question--any question at all--she will slyly reply, "HUNGRY, JACK?!?" No, she hasn't tired of it. It also doesn't take interrogation to get it out of her. She will run around to various people in her life, quizzing them about whether or not they are, in fact, a Hungry Jack. Regardless of the response, she laughs uncontrollably. I'm glad she's such a happy and easily entertained child, even if it means living a very brief life if she doesn't knock it the hell off (1.1%!).

Did I tell you what they figured out Peanut is allergic to so far? Peas (duh), milk, peanuts, cashews, pistachios, and sesame seeds. That's just so far. Not everything has popped up yet and he is very likely allergic to a host of foods we don't know about. First off, this is going to suck come his first birthday. How do I make him a cake when I don't know if his little frosting-covered face will wind up in the hospital again or not? Secondly, the only way we can tell what he's allergic to between now and then is to experiment. I asked if we could just do that in the ER to save time. They said no (no sense of humor, these people). And thirdly (because I know I'm going to get comments if I don't include a "thirdly"...nerds), this is karma for my making fun of all those neurotic Peanut Kid parents all these years. The amusing irony of Peanut's nickname has not escaped me, either. "Hi, my name is Abby, and I'm a Peanut Kid Parent. Thank you."

When It Rains It Pours

This kid just can't catch a break. The other day I was changing Peanut's poopy diaper when I suddenly heard him gasping for air. I looked at him and he looked terrified. It suddenly hit me that he was choking. I started to panic, thinking, "Oh my gosh, it's happening again." I started to look around for anything he could have possibly ingested to cause this and then I saw it: sans diaper, he had peed onto his head and into his own mouth and was choking on it. I felt horrible for the little guy as he finally caught his breath, but I also thought it was pretty hilarious, too. In the words of his pediatrician, Dr. Smart-alec (edited for your reading pleasure), at least there's nothing wrong with his bladder muscle.

Later, this conversation materialized in my head:

Guy 1: Did you hear about Colin Farrell?
Guy 2: No, what happened?
1: He died.
2: No way! How did it happen?
1: Choked to death on his own pee.
2: Oh man, that's terri-- ...wait, what?

Poor Peanut

So I don't have a lot of time to type right now and the backstory is incredibly long, so I'll sum up:

We now know that Peanut is deathly allergic to peas, which with the first (and definitely last) attempt to feed it to him resulted in anaphylactic shock, a trip to the ER in an ambulance, his being transferred to Johns Hopkins Children's Center, and being admitted for two days for tests and observation. He now has to have an EpiPen Jr. near him at all times. All of the doctors said this also explains his six-week weight loss. We're grateful that his doctors are looking in this direction as previously his pediatrician believed I simply wasn't feeding him enough (the next prescribed step would have been to call Social Services to my home to monitor me and his environment to ensure I wasn't neglecting him since most weight loss in infants under six months (80%) is due to neglect or parental stupidity). So in a way the Peas Incident probably saved his life in the end.

His pediatric allergist specialsts said he's too young to tell conclusively everything he's allergic to as he hasn't had time to develop the antibodies in high enough numbers to show up on tests. Oh, and he is officially weaned as of three hours ago as the allergins in my breastmilk were making him sick and forcing the weight loss. So with his new and WAY too expensive hypoallergenic formula he should start to gain weight now (he now weighs less than he did 3-4 months ago).

Peanut will also need to have several appointments with a pediatric gastroenterologist. They are confident that most of his allergies manifest themselves in his GI tract (hence the weight loss) and it's very likely he has a few very rare diseases contributing to the problem, which they'll test for with an endoscopy and colonoscopy.

And a big round of applause for my sainted, patient mother who flew out on short notice Tuesday afternoon to force Peanut to take a bottle--something he'd become conditioned to believe would cause him pain because the milk-based formulas caused immediate painful reactions. She flew back home this afternoon after complete success with her. The real test came when I reintroduced myself to my poor son (I had been banished from seeing him for two days to make sure this worked) and had to give him a bottle myself. He hated the breastmilk and barely made it through that bottle (a transition tool I had thought would work). And yet when it came time for bed and I gave him the formula, which honestly tastes like the worst thing you've ever put in your mouth, ever, he drank it like crazy. So no more nursing for me! Woohoo for both of us! May our lives become instantly better as a result. Can I just say that this is the first time I've ever laid Peanut down in his crib while he was wide awake and he didn't scream when I left? He just rolled over and went to sleep on his own. Seven months of screaming his poor little head off and we never knew why. Now he's finally happy. I just hope he starts to gain weight again soon. He's so skinny (only 11 lbs now), it's depressing. His doctors assured us he has a long way to go before he is permanently damaged or anything, but I'd like to not push it.

So that's why I haven't posted in a while. Many thanks to those whose prayers and good thoughts got him through this. More prayers would be more than welcome.

Is Crazy Hereditary?

I had the following exchange with Peawhistle the other day that was so typical, I decided I can't possibly not share it.

PW: (Loud obnoxious noises while I'm trying to talk to the Husband.)
Me: PW, if you're going to make those sounds, please go downstairs or up to your room to do it.
PW: No!
Me: Then stop making those sounds.
PW: NO!
Me: Fine. Downstairs you go.
PW: I SAID NO!!!!
Me: Go downstairs, please.
PW: NO! I SAID NO!
Me: Down...stairs.
Husband: PW, go downstairs!
PW: NO, NO, I SAID NO!
Me: FINE. Then go upstairs.
PW: NO! I WANT TO GO DOWNSTAIRS! I NEED TO GO DOWNSTAIRS! I SAID NOOOOOO!!!!
Me + Husband: Then go downstairs!!
PW: Okay.

It's like arguing with Bugs Bunny after he's suffered a head injury.

Is it normal for her to be crazy this early?

FINE, I'll Post.

Can't a lady get a two-week break around here without all y'alls whining about it? As my father often reminded us in our youth, "I was not put on this earth to entertain you." I always suspected this was a lie, though. What other purpose could he possibly have?

Speaking of lousy friends, my lovely friend who I never speak to, Trina, finally bit the bullet and started a blog of her own. One of the first entries she wrote described her trek to the Mall in D.C. to see the Stephen Colbert portrait at the National Portrait Gallery. No, I never did get to see it after swearing on the grave of Al Gore that I would. Stephanie has yet to forgive me for that affair and I've been expecting her therapy bills for some time now. In the mean time, after having experienced a heathly dose of The Flu herself, she insisted that I give it a go myself, which I did. She found this hilarious.

Incapable of barely leaving my bed, let alone my house for an entire week, needless to say I did not make it to see Colbert-on-a-Wall. When I informed Sweet Trina of my hatred for her due to her having seen it and my not (she is at the upper-right with her adorable offspring who I hate to point out cannot possibly appreciate the magnitude of the momentous situation she finds herself in there), she responded with a sympathetic "NEENER NEENER!!!" See, this is why I hate my friends. That should be ME she's holding, dammit.

Aside from crying myself to sleep on my little pillow every night, I can't think of much that's been going on here as of late. I went to Ms. Leslie's bridal shower over the weekend and got to catch up with her, Ryann, and a bunch of people I don't know but who I'm sure are nicer than people I usually associate with. When I'd introduce myself to people they all said, "Are you the Abby who comments on Ryann's blog so much?" OK, 1) Yes. 2) "So much"? I don't consider myself a prolific commenter on blogs, much as I am not a prolific commentor in person. I comment when there's something to say; otherwise I like to keep it shut. This makes me think that if I am considered a big blog comment-leaver-person, then everybody else sucks for commenting even less than I do. What, like you have something better to do? NO EXCUSES. And 3) How strange to be known for that. How the crap did they even guess that? I don't remember the people who post on my own blog, and I supposedly know most of them, many of them very well. Someone else's blog? Not a chance. Their memory for such things astounds me. My memory capacity is used up storing away word-for-word conversations to be used against various people at future dates. It's all about priorities I guess.

Did I mention my brother is running for county commissioner? Funny story. Remind me to tell you next time.

Blue

Why do I love this so much?


I love The Fruit Guys, particularly the most recent incarnation of them. Their seriousness is classic. And while we're on the subject, just what the heck is the fourth guy supposed to be? I don't know any fruit that looks like that, or at least not fresh anyway.

Motherhood's Finest Hour

I shared the following story with Stephanie yesterday evening. She asked if I was going to blog about it and I told her that no, I didn't dare, because I think I've given Child Protective Services enough public evidence as it is. However, upon further mental review, I've decided that I cannot let this incident go undocumented. So for those of you mistakenly thinking I'm some brilliant piece of work, the following true tale is for you.

In my defense, yesterday was a bit harried. After several errands and a quick potty break, I threw the kids in the car to head for the commissary before it got too late to get back and make dinner. Peanut was still sleeping in his carrier and I had a blanket covering the front so he'd be warm enough as it was a chilly day. Peawhistle was strapped in, playing with some toy.

I trucked on down the road to the base, but not before the guard at the gate looked through the back window of the van questioningly before letting me proceed. I parked in the parking lot of the commissary and hit both buttons that open PW's and Peanut's sliding doors. PW's door (on my side) opened, and Peanut's door closed. Yes, closed. I had driven five miles to the commissary with the van door open the whole way. No, I most certainly did NOT notice. I asked PW, "Peawhistle, has that door been open the entire time?" "Yes." "Why didn't you say something?!" I drove the whole way with the wind blowing through the van and me not even noticing it. And it's no wonder the guard gave my van a second look, probably wondering what the crap I was thinking. I'm relieved she didn't give it more thought at the time, because being stopped for that infraction would have been life-altering, I can tell you that.

I can't even begin to imagine how that looked to other drivers on the road. They were probably more surprised that there are still people out there who are not completely over John Mayer by now; I can't really blame them for that one as I can't believe I was listening to him again either, but there I was, van door open, blaring the self-absorbed likes of "Bigger Than My Body."

I'm very greatful Peanut's diaper bag, on the floor by the door, hadn't flown out along with the Baby Bjorn, both of which stayed safely inside the car. At least Peanut was strapped in pretty good and didn't notice a thing as he was still sleeping soundly when I got him out of the car.

So the next time you're tempted to think something you did was stupid, recall that I accomplished this minor feat in poor parenting. You're welcome.

Devotion in Vain and a Walk Downtown

Whether you needed to know it or not, I am a huge fan of The Daily Show (TDS) and its quasi-spin-off, The Colbert Report (TCR). I have been a fan since TDS's inception and a fan of Colbert's since back in the day when he was still considered "the new kid" on TDS.

For the past six weeks, last year's Colbert portrait (each year a new portrait of himself hangs above his fake fireplace on TCR's set) has been hanging in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. It hung in a place of honor, right above the drinking fountains in between the men's and women's bathrooms up through yesterday, April 1st. The portrait was featured at the Gallery only because the Smithsonian refused to take it, claiming it was not in fact a national treasure, despite Colbert's insistance that he/it is/are. Well, after seeing the massive crowds that the portrait alone drew to the Gallery, the Smithsonian changed its mind and stated that they would love to have Colbert's portrait hang in the Treasures of American History Exhibit at the National Air and Space Museum, starting April 2nd and ending April 13th when the exhibit closes.

This is my chance, I thought. I had avoided the Portrait Gallery, mostly because I think it would have been deadly dull to wade through all of those other less amusing portraits, dragging two screaming children along, just to get to Colbert's likeness. But the Air and Space Museum? One of my favorite museums of all time? Well that, my friend, changes the entire situation.

I had thrown around the idea of dragging PW to the Natural Science Museum as she loves dinosaurs, but after she freaked out at the Baltimore Aquarium and refused to look at even the smallest of harmless fish, I figured giant dinosaur skeletons might do the tot in completely. However, I know she loves aircraft--to an unhealthy degree I might add--to the point of sleeping with her toy helicopters ("hopdopters") and screaming at any and all aircraft in the sky. You throw Colbert's portrait from the show in there too, and that equals a trip downtown to the Air and Space Museum.

I called Stephanie (you remember Stephanie) and informed her we were going today to the museum and asking if she wouldn't like to join us. Oh, and her kids (Flopsy and Hunka Munka) could come, too. She attempted to weasle out of it, convinced getting lost at IKEA and eating meatballs in their cafeteria would be a much more enjoyable and worthwhile use of our time. I won the argument by insisting that getting lost at IKEA is something you do on a rainy day, not today. We can get lost in IKEA any damn day. The Museum is superb for today and today only so get your mind around it already.

We then haggled over details, like if we should make the kids ditch preschool to get an early start, or if we actually wanted them to learn something. We decided upon being good parents and chose to meet up at 11 to get Subway sandwiches for ourselves, load up the babies, load up our van, and then head over and pick up the kids from preschool by 11:30. After a few false starts, we were right on schedule picking up the kids. And that's when we stopped being on schedule. After previously forgetting her camera, her shoes and socks, her jackets, baby, feather pillows, camping gear, and other assorted essentials I'm sure she didn't tell me about, we had to go back to Stephanie's house to then retrieve Monopoly, a period map of the Battle of Gettysburg, an antique hutch, rare tropical fish, thumb tacks, a paper shredder, and an autographed photo of REO Speedwagon. Assuring me that there was nothing else from her house that she needed for our afternoon out, mostly because I'm sure the entire contents of her household were now within the confines of my van, we finally left for D.C.

We chose to drive the distance to Pentagon City Mall as it would allow ample time for the girls to eat their lunches and for the babies to (theoretically) sleep, and it would be a shorter Metro (subway) ride to the Smithsonian. We spent an inordinate amount of time feeding babies and trying to keep everyone else in the car once we'd parked at the mall. After a long but pleasant Metro ride into the city, we walked the distance to the museum. By that time it was 8p.m. and time to go home and go to bed, or rather it felt like it what with it taking HOURS just to get four children and their supplies going in one direction and without any fatalities.

The museum was entertaining as always, and I was pleased to see that they had reopened the aircraft carrier exhibit at one end. We went in as many exhibits as we thought the kids would enjoy to any small degree (thinking wisely to skip the WWI and II aircraft exhibits as we didn't think they would appreciate those as much as they should). We saved the Treasures of American History exhibit for last, mostly because I couldn't find it originally and Stephanie had completely forgotten about it. I eagerly trudged through the entire exhibit, small as it was, taking in every bit of pop culture history to be had. And then I came out of the exhibit. No portrait. I dragged PW back through the exhibit, now at a more fevered and frantic pace. No portrait. I asked a guy at the exit who looked like he worked there (which he did). He thought it was still at the Gallery and suggested I ask the people downstairs if they knew of its whereabouts. We followed his advice and went downstairs to inquire at Customer Service. Apparently I was not the first person to ask, either, as the guy laughed hesitantly, perhaps not knowing if I was going to kill him based upon which answer he produced. He said they had been informed just that afternoon that the portrait had left the Gallery and would arrive at the museum by the end of the week. I pointed out that "end of the week" does not equal "April 2nd." He noted such, but continued to insist that he had no involvement in conspiracies concerning this and could offer no further assistance to me. I couldn't help but wonder how it could possibly take three days to move a painting less than a mile, but I admit I am not privy to portrait delivery procedures. Perhaps they first needed to pack it in dry ice or a flour and paprika mixture before it could be transported properly? I would have just wrapped it in bubble wrap and thrown it in the back of a truck, but maybe that's why I'm not in charge of things like that.

Despite this disappointment, we still had a wonderful time at the Air and Space Museum and I believe the girls did as well. Before heading back to the Metro, we made one last bathroom stop, the 57th of that day so far. It now being 5 at night, and rush hour in D.C., the subway was packed. And broken. Many, many angry (and some stinky) commuters, crammed together in each car, in a non-progressing train without A/C, with more angry commuters trying to stuff their bodies into each car at each stop, and all while Peanut wailed his tired, hot, and hungry little head off. Our fellow commuters amused themselves while they waited by smiling at Peanut and then glaring at me for bringing him. After three weeks, we finally arrived back at Pentagon City. When it became obvious that we would not get the children home before their bedtimes, let alone dinner, we chose to eat dinner at the mall. A healthy round of our favorite game "Sit Down and Eat Your Pizza Or Else" and 102 more bathroom breaks later, we finally got to the car. Another hour taken in packing said car and 20 minutes of Stephanie trying to convince me that we could indeed leave the mall parking lot using our credit card instead of waiting in that silly 13-car-long line, and we were on our way, and thanks to me, down the wrong freeway. Fortunately, it joined up with the right one eventually, but at that point it seemed as though we couldn't possibly NOT go down the wrong road. I mean, really. And then Peanut started crying and didn't stop until we got home.

Traffic wasn't nearly as bad as it should have been (although it was 7:30 by the time we got home) and after only an hour's travel time (which is excellent time, actually) we made it, none the worse for wear and all in one piece.

Yes, the lack of Portrait was a grave disappointment, but I was delighted that I was able to see artifacts that I had always managed to miss at the American History Museum, mostly because they would see me making my way towards these objects and quickly announce that the museum was closing in two seconds. So I finally got to see the ruby slippers and scarecrow costume from The Wizard of Oz, Edison's lightbulb, Custer's coat, Helen Keller's watch (did she need to know the time or something? Why? Did she need to be somewhere?), the Greensboro Woolworth lunch counter, the Lone Ranger's mask and a silver bullet, and C3PO and R2-D2, which were worth the entire trip by themselves. Oh, and we had a lovely time with Stephanie, Flopsy, and Hunka Munka as well, despite their forced participation in my brilliant and cunning plan.

Will I make it back? After all that, I BETTER get a Colbert Portrait picture out of this, so yes. Some time between the "end of the week" and the 13th. And I hear next week will be rain-free, too. Perfect day for a jaunt to the museum. Again.