So the Fish Said...

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.

- Walt Whitman

Meet the Fish

I want to get a pet duck and keep it in the bathtub.
I am addicted to chap stick and altoids.
I am freakishly flexible.

World's Most Beautiful Child


World's Most Handsome Child


Other Important Things

Clive Owen

Clive Owen
Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend

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so the fish said...
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I don't know, you decide

House #1:
Fabulous back yard
On a cul de sac (this is major for us)
Huge deck
Two car garage
Horrible basement, but has potential
Walk-out basement
No wall paper
Smallish kitchen
One eating area
Bizarre floors in kitchen have to go
Front steps need major repairs
Great swing set
Not fabulous from the outside
Redone bathrooms
Huge pantry
Lots of storage
Unfenced yard
Needs lots of landscaping
25k less

House #2:
Slightly bigger, same floor plan
Sun room
Lots of horrible wall paper that would have to be removed immediately
Incredibly nice basement, except for horrible wall paper
Less-nice yard
Less-nice but still huge deck
One car garage
Two eating areas
Gorgeous hardwood floors
Cuter from the outside
Larger bedrooms
Master has little closet space and bathroom smaller than our current closet
Lots of storage
Fenced yard
OK swing set
Great landscaping, if a little much
25k more

They are a few minutes apart in the same neighborhood. Also, it looks like my house goes on the market in a week, god help us.

Mia Monday #72: Belated Beach Edition

More pics coming, but here are a few:

And now, I have three favors to ask you guys. Hey, I never said I wasn't demanding.

Favor One: Please click over here today if you have a second. Honestly just because I need the traffic this month and it would be helping me out, but also so that you can perform favor two.

Favor Two: Leave my mom (who has been posting for me) a comment, because it will make her happy. But don't say like "hey, Beth said to leave a comment, so here you go." because that isn't exactly the warm-fuzzy effect I'm going for here.

Favor Three: Send my soon-to-be niece very strong thoughts about how nice and comfortable my sister-in-law's uterus is and how she really ought to hang out in there for at least another week or so. The kiddo is trying awfully hard to get herself born a little early, which would be ok, but would be a much better idea in about ten days.


So far, Mia has had ginger ale in her sippy cup, french fries and pizza for dinner, and apple chips for breakfast. I think she is enjoying vacation very much.

Month Twenty-Two

Mia Bean,

We have so much to talk about this month! Or rather, you have so much to talk about this month. In the last few weeks you have become, at long last and very suddenly, a verbal little person. You speak well over 100 words and add more every day, you speak far more often than you sign (although you do still sign quite a bit) and you try to repeat virtually everything you hear. Everything worthwhile, anyway. Everything, it seems, is a sentence to you: blue spoon, Mia picture, Yay Mia, Dada Chris. Dada is maybe less than thrilled that I taught you his name, but it is so adorable to hear you call him Chris that I don't see how anyone could fault me.

The other big thing is also huge. Mia Bean, my precious, my angel, my bug, my perfect little monkey butt, you sleep through the night. We get you into your jammies and read a story on Mama and Dada's bed and then another story in Mia's chair and then we plop you into bed where you read and talk to Pooh until you fall asleep, and we don't hear from you again until morning. It's been a month, over a month. It's been so long that I can't say with any accuracy how long it has been since I have had to go get you in the middle of the night. Mia, looking back from a slightly better-rested place, I value those nights with you, I treasure those long hours wrapped around your soft little body or huddled at the bottom of the bed while you slept lengthwise across my pillows, but my god girl, it's about damned time. And I wouldn't do it any other way, I wouldn't go back and leave you to cry it out, and I always knew that you would come to this point in your own time and in your own way, but I am more grateful than I can express to finally be here, on the other side of the Great Sleep Divide.

You did your first independent forward roll a few days ago, and since then have been showcasing your new talent for anybody who gives you the slightest encouragement. It's amazing to watch. You plop your little head down on the floor, straighten your legs, and push and twist and giggle until you manage to flop yourself over onto your back. You leave your arms dangling at your sides for most of the process and we have been unable to convince you that they may actually come in handy. Yesterday you did a forward roll for Mimi and Grandpa and Aunt Sandy and I thought they might actually raise the roof with their applause and cheers. And through it all, you stayed just where you had landed, smiling and basking in our adulation. The world is all about you these days, and you like being in charge.

You've added a couple of colors this month to your beloved yellow and blue. You can now say and identify pink, green and purple. Red does not exist to you, I suspect largely because you cannot say red and therefore, why bother? You've also added a few letters, like P, T, U and Z, and probably others. You have reached the point where I can no longer say with authority what you do and do not know, because you surprise me daily. You also picked up nine, used mainly to tell me how many whatevers you want - one, two or nine. Nine is nearly always the answer.

Or actually, no is nearly always the answer. It is your new favorite word and you break it out at every opportunity, including when you are vigorously nodding that yes, you do indeed want whatever is on offer. There's a lot of power in no, see above about being in charge. Despite your love of no, you are a very agreeable little girl. You are nearly always happy, nearly always smiling and giggling and playing and giving hugs and kisses. The two constants in my life right now are hearing how beautiful you are and how happy. You do have an occasional tantrum of the sort suspected to melt paint from walls, but they are rare and generally brief. I hesitate to mention it, but you have never yet had a fit in public, and in this area I am quite happy for you to continue to lag behind your peers. You even laugh when you hurt yourself, because the kissing of boo-boos is one of your most favorite activities.

Another of your favorite things of the moment are your candy shoes. They are white leather sandals with two small pink bows each and I have no idea how you came to think of them as candy shoes, but that's what you, and now I, call them. You make leaps like that all the time now, putting the things you know and remember together in ways that order your world and make sense to you, although not necessarily to the rest of us. I'm watching you learn, watching your mind and your personality and your ideas develop, and it is the most fascinating show I have ever seen.

I was up early this morning, stressed a bit over the idea of buying a new house and today's trip to the beach (the ocean is big water, so you have been telling me for days) and you have just started to wake up. I can hear you over the monitor stretching and talking a bit, ready to say good morning to Pooh and read a book or two but not yet ready to call for Mama to come get you and start towards breakfast. These quiet morning moments, these few minutes of singing quietly to yourself before starting your mile-a-minute day, are among my favorites. They allow me to put everything else aside, to take a few minutes to just be so very grateful to be able to share this life with you.


Scenes from Mommytown

My kid knocks my socks off. Yesterday, she was sitting at the coffee table in the living room pretending to eat her lunch, and she kept saying "Uh-oh pee, uh-oh pee." I was looking for the puddle on the floor when I spotted the P from her alphabet puzzle. Uh-oh P. My kid knows P. I have no idea how she knows P. Or M, or T, or U or Z, she just does.

Last night, as we were getting her into her pajamas, she started doing somersaults all on her own. Over and over, she finally just got it and can't seem to stop. She's off doing that right now and cheering for herself, "Yay Mia!" And then "Yay Hee-ooh (Eeyore)" and "Yay Pooh" as she helps them through their own forward rolls.

But see, last night I had a dream that I just can't shake. Don't worry, I'm not going to tell you about it because oh my god that's boring, but basically Mia was some sort of demon zombie toddler bent on my destruction and I hurt her in self-defense. I was wracked with guilt in the dream and when I woke up and was unable to go back to sleep because I needed the time to chastise myself for even letting the thought of injuring my child enter my mind and I still feel like a horrible mother, a failure, some sort of deeply damaged person unworthy to mother this amazing child because the mere idea somehow crept into my subconscious. But the truth is, if Mia really were a demon zombie toddler bent on my destruction, I would just lie down on the rug and let her eat my brains. What other choice is there, really? I mean, she can do a somersault and knows P. I am powerless to resist.

It's the agony of parenting, and the beauty, isn't it? I would lie down and die for this kid, were it required, and feel it was a life well-spent.

Mia Monday #71: What I Did instead of Cutting the Grass Edition

For those who don't speak toddler, Mia is saying cheeseburger, Mia Bean, and tortilla, or possibly Ikea.

Video after the jump.

Continue reading "Mia Monday #71: What I Did instead of Cutting the Grass Edition" »

I'm crazy, and other tales

I ran four miles last night, because I rock. Sure, I can barely walk today, but we're overlooking that.

We are seriously considering buying a new house, which would mean shelling out a tremendous amount of cash and packing and moving with a toddler "helping" and trying to sell this house, which would mean chasing said toddler around with a mop for weeks. It's early stages yet, but is looking more and more like it might actually happen. Who wants to talk me out of it?

We taught Mia to say "cheeseburger" last night. Yes, we are vegetarian, and yes I got it on video. Stay tuned.

My friend Laura and I took our combined three girls to visit Mia's peacock yesterday, and Laura took this picture. Aren't the curls just too much? Couldn't you just lie down and die?

Oh yes, let's talk about me being a sell out whore. Do you hate the ads? Well tough, because I think they are staying. Well really, the google ads suck for me, but you have to hit a minimum before they pay you, so they are staying until I hit that minimum and then they are dead to me. The others though are just about keeping me in wine and ice cream, so I'm keeping them. And for those of you who are interested in helping, if you click here and sign up for Cafe Mom (which is mostly message boards and "journals" but is painless and they don't spam you) I get a kickback. So if you're interested in that sort of thing, go for it. Just to make it more fun (for me, at least), at the end of the month I'll tell you how much I made from that and you guys get to vote on how I should spend it. You could vote for "pretty new shoes for Beth" or "closing costs for the new house" or a "stripper-gram for Chris," or whatever. You don't have to sign up to vote, of course, but it won't be much fun to vote on if I only make 20 bucks from is. I mean, what kind of a stripper-gram can you get for 20 bucks? A very bad one, I assume.

Other new words from Mia: tortilla, picture, uterus, wine store, Target. And people wonder what we do all day.

If you ever get the brilliant idea to remove a sheet vinyl floor, stop. Don't do it. It would be easier to move. Or torch the house for insurance money and get caught and go to prison for 20 years. Guess what I get to do now?

The sad sad tale of my furnace

On Friday night we turned on the air conditioner for a few minutes to cool down Mia's room, and it didn't work. Woe. On Saturday, we called our usual climate-related appliance people and they agreed to come out without charging us for a weekend call, which was nice, but then he was three hours late for the "window," which was less nice. And then he told us that we either had to clean the coils for $1300, or, and this was his professional recommendation, replace the whole thing for $4900, which was not nice at all.

Chris and I were very upset. We sobbed to our parents hoping someone would offer us the funds to replace the damned thing and instead, my father in law recommended that we call his people for a second opinion. I almost didn't do it, I almost went right ahead and ordered a new furnace (actually heat pump) just to be sure it would be installed before it got hot again. But I did call, and the guy from the second place came today, and he fixed it with a piece of duct tape. The door switch was loose, the coils are fine.

I am currently accepting suggestions of precisely what words I should use to cuss out the service manager of the first place. Get to work.

Hotty? Or Oldie?

I stopped on the way home from the gym last night to buy cheese for Mia and wine for me. Hey, I had just run three miles and I'm not so much sleeping well lately and I thought it would help. Anyway, the disturbingly cute child who checked me out (when did the children start looking hot to me? He was probably 18.) carded me, as happens often. And then he went about his business, and then at least a full minute later he said "it must be fun to get carded, huh?" And I said "Yes, and moreso every year." And he said "Ha ha." And I said "It was annoying at 25, but once you hit 30 it gets pretty exciting." And then he said "Yeah, it sucks at 20 but as the years go on..." which a) was what I had just said, and b) there's no way in hell that this kid was 20, and c) you can't by wine at 20 you silly, silly child.

And so I thought he was calling me old, but then he told me to have a nice night three times so I thought maybe he was wowed by my incredibly sweaty, stinky, yoga-pant clad, doughy bod and was hitting on me, but then he called me Ma'am. Twice. So I grounded him and sent him home to do his homework.

He totally thought I was old, didn't he?

Very Important Question

Ok you runner-type people out there, I have a critical question that requires your immediate input. The fate of the world hangs in the balance. Ok, so not the fate of the world, but at least the fate of my butt and I know that all of you hold as a major goal in your life to make the world a better place for my butt, so here is your chance.

Are you ready? Good.

What underwear do you wear when you run? I've tried regular old underwear but it goes straight up my butt after about ten steps. I've tried a thong, but I think that once you reached a certain mileage there might be some, you know, chafing involved. And I'm sorry if this deeply disappoints anyone out there, but I'm just not a no-underwear kind of girl.

Also, do you wear sunglasses? Don't they drive you crazy with the bouncing and the slipping down your sweaty nose?

Also also, do you love that one of Mia's words is "bra" and that she says "running bra" by saying "bra" while running around like a little maniac? Yeah, it's totally cute.

And god, I know I know, another damned post about running. But hey, it was also partly about my smokin' ass, so some redeeming qualities, right?

Mia Monday #70: Whiny Monday Edition

As we were lying in bed last night, I said to Chris "Oh no, she didn't poop today! She's going to be in a horrible mood tomorrow morning."

I know, sexy. Also, is this really what my life has come to? Also, I was totally right.

Message from Mia

Hey, she's trying right? Although I had to edit out all the times that I asked her to say "Claudia" and she signed "crocodile." I assure you that Claudia is nothing at all like a crocodile.

Now go tell a couple of very cool brand-new three-year-olds Happy Birthday.


I'm not doing any work today. I mean yes, I already went to the grocery store and cleaned the playroom and the living room and rearranged the furniture in the living room (again, which is hysterical since there is really only one way everything fits) and of course I'm changing diapers and serving as Chef to the Toddler Stars and will unload the dishwasher and make dinner. Um, I guess what I mean is that I'm not doing yard work or scraping the goddamned sheet vinyl off the downstairs bathroom floor (which is going to take the rest of my natural life to complete) and that has me very happy, very happy indeed.

Oh, and I'm also editing a video of Mia to post tomorrow, which you are all going to want to see, so you should definitely come back tomorrow and check it out.

Anyway, y'all? Let's all get drunk on cheap wine and bum cigarettes off of cute boys and try not to cough when we light up because it's been years but we are trying to look cool and then go back to my house and eat cold chili and leftover chinese out of the fridge, because I love you, man! I was a little nervous about yesterday's post because I thought maybe everybody would be all "dude, I suck and I'm fat and I hate my hair and I'm so boring and I'm, like, maybe a three." And instead, you were all (most of you anyway) "dude, I so totally rock that it isn't even funny, and I'm fabulous and my ass is smokin' in these pants and I'm at least an 8.92736." (Aside, what is with you people and the taking it to four decimal places? This is the 1-10 Hotty Scale, not rocket science.) (And anyway, if it was rocket science we'd probably have to convert the whole thing to metric anyway and do it in terms of, I dunno, milliliters or something, and that would ruin all the fun.) (So lighten up!) (I kid, I kid because I love.)

And I also love how so many of you told me about the non-physical things that make you attractive people rather than just the physical things, because you can have the beautiful people all to yourself, I'll take smart and funny any day of the week.

So anyway, you guys rock and I love it and I love knowing that the whole world doesn't have a raging self-esteem thing and that it is basically just me and you three over there in the back, but that's cool because we can totally get together and bond over some booze and let the fabulous people go right along being fabulous while we truly love them but also don't really understand how they do that. Except that I really honest to god think I am almost entirely over my self-esteem thing, mostly by virtue of being too old to give a damn anymore, but then when you were all going on about being so amazing I started thinking that I was being too hard on myself. And I kept glancing at the piece of paper where I had written my number down - yes indeed, I really did so I could force myself not to change it - and thinking maybe I should just get the pen again and change it to an 8 or something, just to go with the flow.

But, I didn't do it. I gave myself a six. Maybe a bit higher once I get to know you and stop acting like I'm competing in the Asshole Olympics, although to be honest I think I'm always basically an asshole and it's just that once I get to know you I can take the edge off a little and then I'm an endearing asshole instead of an asshole asshole. And you know, I'm happy with a six. It's better than average with room for improvement, and I think that's pretty good.

ETA: Hey, cut it out. I mean thank you, and you are very kind, but I didn't argue with you about your chosen number, so chill. I have a husband I can force to say nice things to me, you are all off the hook.

Oh, off the hook in the conventional sense. I only recently learned that it means something else too. Which, wait, sort of applies here. Let me amend my statement to reflect that you are all off the hook and off the hook.

Would you like to play a game?

Rate yourself on a scale of 1-10. Physical attractiveness plus your sparkling personality may be taken into account. No fair being too modest, but also no fair being too bold.

And no no, you go first, because if I go first it becomes too easy to place yourself as slightly more or less fabulous than me. But I promise that I have the number in my head and will not waver in it's selection and will tell you tomorrow.

Also, please, let's all set 10 as someone you have at least seen in person in real life. It just makes it easier for the rest of us to compete.

And yes, this game totally sucks, but next week we are playing Best Thing/Worst Thing, and that sucks exponentially more, so look at this as a warm-up.

I blame you. Yes, you.

Holy crap, people! Why in the world did you let me fire the lawn boy? Didn't you hear me thinking to myself that I would just cut the grass myself this year and count it as exercise and thereby feel all self-righteous about it and also pocket the lawn boy money for a Beth Needs Pretty New Shoes fund? I know you must have heard that, so why oh why didn't just one of you smack me around until I came to my senses?

I cut the front and the side yards yesterday. With the reel mower. With Mia "helping" every step of the way. Then I decided today that it would be so much easier to just use the weed whacker to do the entire back yard, or hell, forget the mower, I'll just use the weed whacker to do everything. Have you guys ever used a weed whacker? I had not, and I still have no sensation below the elbows.

I don't think I'm cut out to be a lawn boy.


Mia just lined up her yogurt cup, cereal bowl, and water and pushed them across the table making train noises.

Where did she come from, this imagining, pretending, thinking person?

And every breath we drew was hallelujah

After getting Mia to bed last night, I went running. Out on the trails around my house instead of trapped inside on a treadmill. I was running straight out and back a long road, had made the turn and found that knowing you are heading for home makes is so much easier to keep going. Jeff Buckley was singing "Hallelujah" on my iPod, and I was wondering again whether it was an inhale or an exhale at the beginning, and thinking how the end sounds just a bit like drowning, like drifting under and away. The trail led me off to the right, away from the road I was tracking, and toward a sharp curve that would carry me down into a creek bed and give me three or four strides across a wooden bridge slung over a trickle of water before I had to force my legs to carry me back up the hill and the rest of the way home. As I rounded that curve, down away from the traffic noises and into the songs of water and insects, I ran nearly into five adult deer ranging across the path and the small field it bisected. They were contemplating an attempt at crossing the busy road, and spent a second or two contemplating me before turning away from their risky crossing and back into the woods. For one second, maybe two, I ran beside and behind them, with them, following slowly until they hit their gait and disappeared amongst the trees.

It took growing light-headed for me to realize that I was holding my breath, to remind me to breathe. I kept running, the music kept pouring into my head, and was soon joined again by the racing engines and gusts of wind from cars passing on the ever-nearer road, but from that point on I ran through silence, chasing those deer through that thin slice of woods.

Mia Monday #69: Mia and Tim Edition

Under the table at Jaleo...

Somewhere near the Washington Monument...

And blurry, but too cute to resist. On the way home in the car, she insisted on having a wet wipe to wear as a hat, and promptly fell asleep with her new fashion statement...

Going Dutch

We had lunch with the Dutch today, and then wandered around town searching for a place for a couple of toddlers to chase a tennis ball and getting caught in a rain storm and eating a dandelion (that was just Tim, but they did look tasty). Turns out that the Dutch are lovely people, at least these particular Dutch are. Anyway, after two outings with the Dutch I felt I simply must tell you two things.

1. Mia is madly in love with Tim. She wants nothing more in life than to hug him and kiss him and pat him on the head, and when we left him today I thought her little heart was going to break. However, for the rest of the afternoon I was able to talk her into things by telling her that Tim was doing it too. Such as, "Hey Mia, I bet that Tim is taking a nap. Wouldn't you like to take a nap too and be like Tim?" Or, "Hey Mia, I think Tim is eating his dinner right now. How about you eat your dinner too so you can be like Tim?" I have no idea how long it will last, but I plan to milk it for as long as possible.

2. The Dutch are hilarious. I present transcripts of two conversations as proof:

Example One: last week at the zoo
Me: Is he [Tim] talking at all yet? I mean, he could be talking right now [in Dutch, of course] and I wouldn't know it.
Nadine: Oh yes. That "da da da" he just said means "I read the Financial Times, how about you?"

Example Two: today as we were looking for a stretch of grass where the kids could play

Me: Don't worry Tim, we'll find you some grass.
FreezeM: It's sort of funny to tell a Dutch kid that you will find him some grass.
Me: Oh right, maybe Tim should find me some grass.

(Also hey, how many of you can make jokes based on the slang of your second language? Yeah, me neither. Oh wait, I don't even have a second language. No wonder.)

So, if Nadine (who I keep calling Sweety) and FreezeM (who I just avoided addressing at all because I was worried I would mispronounce his name) and Tim (who I was so tempted to steal so I could take him home and eat him entirely up at my leisure) ever come to your town, you should definitely camp out in their hotel lobby and refuse to leave until they agree to hang out with you. You won't be sorry.

Stay tuned for pictures of Mia and Tim making out under the table at lunch.

Personal problem

So y'all remember that day I went crazy and went running, right? Well, I thought I had learned my lesson. But then on Wednesday I went to the gym and decided to try the treadmill. I hate the treadmill - I always fall off and then when I do manage to stay on I fall down as soon as I get off because I feel like the floor is still moving. I made a deal with myself: if I could last 20 minutes on the treadmill then I could go home without doing anything else and wouldn't go to the gym on Thursday. I did 40 minutes, a little over three miles. And hey, did you know that if you actually tie your shoes sort of tight so that you can't just slip them on and off without untying them, they are a lot more comfortable to run in and also you don't get covered in blisters? Learn something new every day.

Then yesterday I woke up so happy that I didn't have to go to the gym, except that as the day went on I started feeling something strange. I didn't know what it was, I had never felt it before. And then it came to me, I was feeling like I wanted to go run. I went to lie down for a while to see if the spell would pass, but it didn't, so last night I did another three miles.

I have two theories about the cause of this illness. Either it is because for the first time in two years I am sleeping through the night on a regular basis and my body no longer knows what to do with itself on all that sleep so it is trying to force me to maintain the same level of exhaustion it has grown accustomed to since about 30 weeks pregnant or so, or else it is some misguided effort to impress Sarah and make her want to be my friend, because both bouts of running have occurred when I had plans to see her (we had lunch today), although she might actually stop speaking to me over it because sitting down to eat an entire pizza apiece is not nearly so much fun if one of you insists on talking about exercise.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not a couch potato (not usually, anyway) and I actually like to exercise because it feels good when you finally stop and it keeps my ass from spreading at a more alarming rate than it already is and it has fewer side effects than Prozac, but I am not a runner, I hate running. Except that I think I am starting to like it a little bit, and it scares me. In fact, I am half thinking that I ought to go run again tonight. I am going to have to start drinking at 4:00 just to rule out that possibility. But I'm starting to think it isn't so bad and that also I might actually get those nice calf muscles that runners have and which I have always secretly coveted.

I'm also thinking of turning this into a diet and exercise blog.

Ok, definitely not that last thing. Hope I didn't scare you there. Oh, and quit emailing me, although you are so kind to be concerned, because I did not mean to suggest in my last post that I am quitting, just that I am experiencing a brief moment of ennui. I will get over myself shortly, I am sure.

Now, who wants to go jogging?

Wine with everything

I had plans this morning to sit down at naptime and write an actual post that wasn't so freaking boring, but then I decided to give myself a pedicure instead. See, about a week ago I gave myself an emergency pedicure (one coat of polish only, just enough to wear sandals when it hits 80 and hope nobody looks at your feet). Since then, Mia has been telling me to clean up my toes, and I have to say I quite agreed with her, although she wants me to take the polish off, not just make it look a little better.

Anyway, you are neglected yet again today, but at least it is for a good cause and not because I'm spending my time mulching the yard or pulling up the floor in the basement bathroom (which holy hell am I glad I decided to do that because a distressing amount of cat pee got under the vinyl where the litter box used to be and now I at least know why the bathroom still stinks). Hey, does anybody know anything about sealing concrete? Are you so impressed by my rock star lifestyle? You know you are.

And ok, the truth is that I'm a little bored with the internet at the moment, which I know! What am I talking about? I love the internet! And I do, I would totally make out with it if I could, but lately I feel like we just don't have anything to talk about anymore and are growing apart and that maybe what we need is a romantic get-away to rediscover why we fell so deeply in love in the first place. And this is where you come in. Leave me a link in the comments to your best post from the past three months or so, or the best post you have read recently, although I would really rather have one of yours, and then I can go read them all and then it will be like the internet and I are feeding each other strawberries and champagne and we will love each other again and then we'll have wild make-up sex and hold on, I think I am taking this whole thing a bit too far.

Anyway, leave me a link. Sure, I probably read it already, but who cares? We all like greatest hits albums, don't we?

(Oh yes, the title is the current color of my toenails. So me, don't you think?)

Oh vomit

The Washington Post Magazine (registration required) runs a weekly feature called Date Lab, god only knows why, where they set two people up on a blind date and then interview them. I was flipping past it in last week's edition, when I noticed something. When asked to state her "Desired Superpower," last week's female contestant said "Weather manipulation. That way if I'm tanning and a cloud blocks the sun, I can move it."

The hell? That is the most exciting thing you can think of? Improved tanning performance? Am I the only one inspired to give her a smack?

Random mommy stuff

Mia has been combining signs into what I suppose you would have to call sentences for a while now, and will occasionally combine a sign and a word, which is honestly very hard to follow and I sort of wish she would cut it out. Today though we got her first ever spoken sentence, "Uh-oh Mama." It was followed shortly by her second ever spoken sentence, "Uh-oh Mia" and then by her third and fourth and fifth and so on of very similar construction throughout the day. (She has also been saying things like "Noodle. Cheese." for a while, but those have clearly been two separate utterances in her mind.)

She says hanger and hair tie and ipod and grilled cheese and ... Damn, y'all, there's just nothing to do except admit that my baby can talk.

Bits and other bits

The streak continues, we're eight for eleven. Shut up shut up shut up! Actually it really sucks because I am starting to get used to it and am going to be in agony when it ends. Also this is Day 2 of a two hour nap, which I could also live with for the foreseeable future.

Everybody loves camera phone pictures, right? Of course they do. This is Mia's beloved peacock:

Mia with cow (and random toddler):

Hey, does this look like poison ivy to you? I've been on a yard work kick the past two days, and 20 bags of mulch later I have a pulled ass muscle and this sexy rash.

But hey, at least there are no more weeds. Because I mulched over them, not because I pulled them out. It wasn't that much of a yard work kick.