Nothing To Fear...

...but toddler terror!



Arabis obviously prefers Danny Elfman's later work to his earlier, more punkish roots.

I'd had this cassette since high school. It survived the funky after-market cassette player in my 1970 Dodge Dart Swinger. It could not survive my daughter.

Sob!


In other news...

Sorry for the long absence. Things have been tough around here lately and I've had little impetus to air my mental trash for the world. Not that I don't adore you all, because you know I do, but because I can't make much heads or tails of anything myself.

I am about this close to signing up to do NaBloPoMo, but I seem to have serious commitment-phobia. I hoping that by spilling my beans to the Interschnitzel I'll have to just suck it up and do it.

And I still owe Daring Young Mom a tattoo photo. The tattoo is under a magnet of Cactus Jack on my fridge. Just gotta do it.

Excuses, Excuses

I suck. I know I suck. Suckety suck suck.

It started like this. Daring Young Mom put a post up on her blog asking if anyone wanted any tattoos from the BlogHer convention. This was two months ago.

"Pick me! Pick me! Nobody ever picks me!" I begged in an email. (My comment on the actual post is a little more restrained.)

I received the tattoo during the last week of August. My mission (which was accepted {and no, the email didn't blow up}) was to photograph said tattoo and send it to her.

Easy. No big deal, right? One would think.

Life, it is never what we think it is. Stuff happened. I'm not going to bother to relate the stuff, 'cause that's just whining and it doesn't matter now.

I haven't put the tattoo on my body. I haven't photographed it. And now I have been listed in the Daring Young Mom's "Hall of Shame" (read down to the bottom of the post).

I've just gotten out of the shower. The baby is asleep. (Two hours too early, but it's been a long day and I am thankful for the respite. When she wakes up at 5:30 AM tomorrow, then I'll bitch.) Once my hair dries, I'll have Mojo take pictures. The photos will be posted tonight.

I don't want DYM siccing the internet on me. I know what she can do.

Of Hockey, Pretzels and Cows

Arabis and Mojo are sitting on the couch eating pretzels and watching the Sharks decimate (EDIT: Um, not quite.) Edmonton (that's hockey for all you people with lives). Mojo decided before she was born that she would be his "hockey-baby" and set about a concerted effort at birth to convert her to the cause.

The poor kid never had a chance. Every hockey game that came on he watched with her (and since hockey can be found on the telly about nine months out of the year, she was exposed to a lot of it). She loves hockey. It calms her down. Seriously. And they bond in that special way that sports fans do.

Today she is cutting her four canines. This has been a horrible day, hands down. Not much sleep, much consternation and pain on the baby front, and lots of chewing on cold, damp things. I struggled through the day with a very miserable little girl, pretty much handing her off to her father has soon as he came home.

Mojo gave her a bath while I cooked dinner and afterward they settled down to their game. I hear a suspicious crunching from the living room.

"Are you feeding that child pretzels?" I ask.

There is a defiant affirmative. And the evidence to prove it is before me. She is on his lap, both faces turned toward the television, bits of pretzel clutched in their paws, chomping away. (Yes, I took a picture. No, I'm not posting it. They both don't look their best.)

She wriggled out of his grasp and was off like a shot through the kitchen and toward the front door, where Mojo's street bike is leaning against my kayak. We both jumped up to get her (since we had forgotten to re-erect the blockade after her bath and dinner) but were too late. There was a thud. A crash. And silence. That dreaded silence followed by a hollow howl of pain. She tripped on the bike and crashed her face into the fork that holds the front wheel on.

After an application of ice and much cuddling by Mama, she has a nice sized, almost ovate welt covering her right cheek. It looks nasty. Poor kid.

So now she is back on the couch, cuddling with Mojo. He is reading her "Where's My Cow?" by Terry Pratchett during the commercials. Complete with voices. I sit and listen, smile silently.

This is one of those "life is good" moments. But I swear, if one of that child's first words is "buggerit" I know who's to blame.

Accomplished

Late yesterday afternoon, after two days spent lolling around in pajamas feeling (and looking) like something the cat spewed on the carpet I got my ass dressed, donned the bra of office, slipped some Toy Dolls on the CD player and got to work in the kitchen. Spent a good 45 minutes scrubbing and cleaning while dancing with Arabis (she loves "Nellie the Elephant" and "Spiders in the Dressing Room").

I even managed to get dinner started before a somewhat shocked Mojo walked in the door. The three of us were actually able to eat dinner at the table. We even bathed the baby together and he cuddled and lulled her to sleep for the night.

We spent the evening working on our own projects, he to work on his new secret passion and I to holiday knitting.

Today, I have showered, dressed, fed and dressed the baby, driven Mojo to work and gone to the grocery store; all before 10 AM.

Fear me, for I am mighty!

I started taking vitamins again, along with my increased anti-depressant dosage, and I'm hoping the combination of the two is working its magic.

Lethargy

Can't seem to wake up today. Mojo is sick of me complaining how tired I am. My mother is worried about my health. I'm just...tired.

Is this supposed to still be happening? I haven't slept since my second trimester and Arabis is 16 months old. I am even tempted to try and transition her into the crib (which she's never slept in since we co-sleep). I am aware of her movements at night and so sleep very lightly as a result. I am even thinking about going back on the Adderall (ADD meds). Although with my chemistry, I used to be able to take a 30mg Adderall tablet and go to sleep, so I don't know if it'll help at all.

In other news, Arabis is turning into a St. Bernard puppy. She drools constantly and has taken to biting my shoes. I'm not kidding. I have teeth marks in the heels of my flip flops. This morning she took a healthy bite out of one of my plastic Halloween skulls. And she's begun chasing the cats. If she starts to sprout a tail, we're doomed.

Once Upon A Time... (A Photo Essay)

On Sunday, Arabis, Mojo and I met my friend Lisa, her husband Evan and their fabulous son Blue for an afternoon of fun at Children's Fairyland in Oakland. As I am thoroughly knackered and not feeling at all erudite, I am going to cheat and regale you with a photo essay of our day.

Apologies and a warning to any dial-up users out there; this post is image heavy.

We arrive.



Mojo, Arabis and I look for Lisa and her family. This gentleman is no help.



There's Lisa and Blue!



We are ravenously hungry so search out the "Johnny Appleseed Cafe." It is neither a cafe, nor does it have apples. It doesn't accept debit cards either. Lisa generously treats us to a gourmet lunch.



This is Arabis' new favorite toy. It goes everywhere with us.



Arabis and Papa descend into the whale's maw. And quickly come back up again. Krill makes for some unpleasant dental hygiene.



Arabis climbs back and forth over this little bridge. It requires much concentration. She loses focus for one minute and skins her knees.



Total melt down. Must be worn by the mama NOW. "Don't you DARE take my picture!"



Lisa takes one too, for good measure. Arabis is not a happy camper.



After a snack and some cuddles, Arabis is feeling better. She discovers the Owl and the Pussycat's boat and runs up and down the gang plank, over and over again.



Blue comes to play, too.



Back on dry land, the pair attempt to make a break for it.



The Crooked Man watches from the yard of his crooked house.



Meanwhile, Mojo caddies the strollers...



...and tries out his "mean" face.



Arabis climbs.



The genie waves us on our way.



Until next time...

Thanks to Lisa for many of these photos. She took over 200 shots compared to my paltry nine. I think Lisa is a ninja paparazzi in training.