happy halloween We have yet to put on our bumblebee outfit, but I dressed Senor B in the turtleneck and cords that go underneath, so he looks kinda like Baby Beatnik. I was tempted to draw on a goatee.

Today I really miss my friend L., who's in Mali with the Peace Corps. I got what I thought was a letter from her--in one of those "Oops, We Screwed Your Mail!" envelopes from the USPS. It was in ribbons. Turns out it was a zine. I really like the zine and I'm sad, but mail from Africa is even better.

I did a lot of blog surfing last night, and I started feeling really inferior to all the brainy people who pontificate about current affairs or manage to be literary. I have to remind myself that I have other endeavors to nurture. Sometimes I feel like my best work goes into talking to Baldo. We should have a morning show.

Besides--I think my metier really is talking about random stuff. I know there's a big wide world outside of footed sleepers and pie. I like trivia. I like to relate that my neighbor Charlie is offering trick-or-treating exclusively for our family. I like that I recently had a conversation with two other people (whom I will not name) and we all admitted--nay, proclaimed--that we really, truly like Toto (the band, not the dog, tho I guess he's ok). I like that our tree trimmer came over today to pick up a check for cutting back our giant pecan that juts into the street and threatens to decapitate motorists in convertibles, and he told me that he was a rashy eczema kid who had staph infections and boils until he was 13, when he magically grew out of it, and now he climbs trees and street luges on acid or whatever the heck-all he does, being that kind of a person.

Being a mother to a young child is kind of like a mosaic made up of all these weird little dissimilar pieces. Then when you step back and look again, it's a picture of something completely different, like a band photograph of Toto.

i have to tell someone My kid does the "Maniac" dance from Flashdance. He even says "Maniac!"

but of course

I am a Halo. I believe I am perfect. Others may not think so, but those others are wrong. What Sort of Hat Are You?

sleepers! we've got sleepers! I went bananas. Except that bananas aren't on the latex-free diet, so I guess I went...cottage cheese.

I got your 100% cotton zip-front 2T footed sleepers right here, baby.

There is no escaping from the sleepers of doom, Itchy Child. Your zipper is secured with a placket.

Scary: My metric assload of sleepers cost only slightly more than what the person in front of me paid for *one item* at Baby Crap.

I don't understand these fakakta kids' clothes. I really don't.

I bought out Baby Crap (they didn't have many left, actually), called every other place in town, and then went to The Other Scary Baby Store. The clerk was jiving me about their sale, and I said, "I want one thing and one thing only. I want 100% cotton zip-front footed sleepers in size 2T."

"Boys' or girls'?"

"I don't care. Cotton. Zip-front. Footed. 2T."

We started tearing up the store, and then this other person with an allergic kid starts helping us out. We're swapping stories about coal tar and tacrolimus like it's Old Goddamn Home Week.

So I'm flush with 'em. When we're done they're going to the Cotton Clothing Exchange for Itchy Rashy Kids (or whatever its official name is; I can't remember).

Y'all need any? I got the hookup.

hue and cry After much ado the bamboo has arrived. It is stacked in our bedroom.

It appears to be the wrong finish--natural, not carbonized.

the wack strikes back At last we have obtained a sufficient quantity of bamboo flooring. The installer is bringing it by today so it can breathe or whatever the hell wood floors do before you install them. I had to return a call on my cell at the park today to schedule it; I felt like one of those yappy Yuppie parents haranguing someone while pushing my kid in a swing. But we need to get this crappy carpet off our floors. The Kid is one red welt.

Yesterday the installer wanted to bring everything by after 3:00, so I asked J. to take my afterschool class (kindly, he agreed) so I could be here for that. So of course the installer says today that they'll be here after 6:00.

Me: "Well, I wish I'd known that before I got a sub for my class."
Him: "I guess now you got your afternoon free."
Me: "I guess so." (Except for the part where I read the same book 200 times, yes.)
Him: "You got a husband and kids, right? You gonna do something special for them?"
Me: "Not really."
Him: "You're not?"
Me: "Everything I do is special."

After I hung up, I was, like, That's wack. Because you moved me back I should run around crazily waxing the floor and making a pineapple upside down cake?

When a dad gets moved back, do you expect him to jump right up and clean the gutters? Get out. I was up until midnight doing an overnight review. Mothers--particularly ones who work freelance--should spend the afternoon eating candy corn and experimenting with the Fukuoku 9000.

as long as I'm fashionable...
Which OS are You?

wack wack Baldo and I ventured to Mega-Lo-Mart to find the missing piece in our Halloween costume: a 2T turtleneck in black. And I have this to report:

Children's clothing is seriously wack.

I'm sheltered from a lot of it because I do so much swapping and thrifting. And when I don't I don't really go over the racks in stores very carefully because I can rule so much stuff out at a glance: it's polyester fleece, it's got rubberized stuff on it, it has itchy crap on the cuffs. But I had to take a close look this time.

To wit, did you know there's an Olsen twins clothing line? With toddler sizes? And they could pretty much just call it "JonBenet Baby"? Shit like leopard-print half-shirts with shirred bodices so your 3T daughter can look like a fading cocktail waitress from Caesar's? Step to your right just a little and you enter the world of Toddler Man-Boy. If you don't put your kid in sweatpants officially licensed by a sports franchise, you might as well put him in a gingham dress and give him a wicker basket and a lapdog? Everything has to be emblazoned with some kind of masculine totem: dump trucks, race cars, backhoes, baseballs, jockstraps.

And here we go, traipsing through in search of a plain black turtleneck. We did find one eventually, hidden behind a rack of clearance-priced pajamas from Baby Bizarro World--made, for example, of iridescent lame with a giant crinoline ruffle under the armpits, like some cast-off from Wigstock. How is anybody supposed to sleep in that?

No less terrifying: In my search for 2T/24 mo. 100% cotton zip-up footed pajamas, I chanced upon a site that sells camoflauge-printed baby clothes. Camo bibs and stuff for your "little hunter." I grew up in a family with hunters and I'm not trying to be some kind of crazy-ass contrarian, but can we please note the qualitative difference between adults using licensed firearms responsibly and declaring an infant "a little hunter" and bedecking him/her from head to toe (and crib, and carseat) in camo? The worst part: They didn't even have the purported footies. I could tell Baldo that his pajamas look like grass so he can hide in the forest and look at bunnies.

The good news: Our experiment with bulk oat flour--as opposed to the schmancy drugstore "oatmeal bath" that costs $7 for a box, and someone's always ripped off some of the packets inside--is an epidermic success. Baldo requests it by proclaiming, "Paste much better" (i.e. "the paste makes my hands feel much better").

antsy Still antsy. Now I have two more things to wait for, writing-wise. That other shoe just doesn't seem to drop.

the strangest thing I've ever seen Okay, maybe it's not the strangest thing I've ever seen. Likely it's the strangest thing I've ever seen while entirely sober and which I remember clearly.

The Telephone Company.

Two grown men in orange utility jumpsuits operating crude puppets and singing about teeth. I told Jim, "Okay, I need coffee. Immediately." His response: "Are you seeing that too?"

Moz the Wonder Baby and his parents were there. Moz Daddy went apeshit for these guys. "It's the coolest thing ever! It's Tenacious D for kids!" (I'm not entirely sure that regular Tenacious D. isn't for kids, aside maybe from the f-bombs.) "I think these guys have to do this as part of their community service," he concluded.

Several of the toddlers were inspired to spin furiously, like Sufis, while Baldo sat riveted to my lap in a state of sensory-overload catatonia. He neither moved nor spoke for the entirety of their brief (20 minute?) set. He didn't even touch his horchata.

eh cumpari Whoa. But I still need The Muppet Alphabet Album.

We went to a birthday party for Writer Friend's dog, whose name escapes me now, but he has a giant backyard full of verboten latex squeak toys. Growing on the other side of their fence was--I'm not kidding here--a veritable forest of bamboo plants. So close and yet so far. The lady of the house has a Serious For Real Office, with its own bathroom and phone line. If you have ever visited my house you will know that my work is done in a small closet-like room with Pepto-Bismol pink walls. And a desk. And that's about it. That's the funny thing about people without kids. Their houses are awesome, and they go out and do stuff.

Thanks to Hot Wheels for recommending novelty songs (including the titular item) from her Italian childhood. We listened to George Jones and Don Williams and Marty Robbins in our house. Which I of course thought was unbearable. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell seven-year-old me to appreciate that stuff properly. The other day I thought of something else I needed to go back in time and tell myself, and it was pretty important. I don't usually go in for altering the future because things usually work out the way they're supposed to be, or if they're better there's some kind of ironic backlash, a la "The Monkey's Paw." You just don't need to be screwing around with the future like that. But I did think of something that was worth the risk, and now I can't remember what it was. That's motherhood for you. You just can't remember shit.

pie du jour Apple, from the Flightpath.

First-rate.

I met a Writer Buddy for coffee. We talked about Writery Stuff, like agencies and proposals. She was cool. I tried to sidle up to her and absorb some Successful Writery Vibes.

The canines are bustin' loose so I gave B. a dose of Baby Tylenol, which has apparently induced a Rip Van Winklesque sleep. He was screaming and banging his head against my leg, yelling, "No bite! No bite!"

The saga of Nipplewood continues. It seems our flooring materials--a rather large quantity of Chinese bamboo--have become mired in customs. They should be released shortly before Thanksgiving, just in time to sully a visit from J's parents. I am vexed.

happy anniversary And here's a shout-out to the fabulous J., to whom I've been wedlocked for five years as of today.

Zzzz....uh? I'm very tired but I had to post that my manuscript is making its first-ever trip out the door. My printer is fakakta so it took almost two hours to print it out last night.

Then I went to take a shower before going to bed. Not only does my soap turn out to contain papayin (a fruit extract that cross-reacts with latex), but I looked up to see The Biggest Roach Ever, no lie, sitting in the shampoo shelf about three inches from my face. It scared the bejabbers out of me and I yelled. Then I told it to sit still while I rinsed off and then I was going to terminate its ass. It obeyed. It was sitting amidst an assortment of bottles so I couldn't employ Birkenstock 1991, my usual weapon. Finally I grabbed a can of Lysol and doused it, spraying until Lysol was streaming down the shower and I had to leave the fan on all night. All the while I screamed, "Die! Die! You bastard!" And J. slept through the whole thing.

I'm not kidding you. It was the size of a praying mantis. And it lived.

hot for teacher II Class yesterday went a lot more smoothly. But it's still so funny to be working with sixth graders. They're everywhere at once. I had them turn their desks around and listen (but not look at) the scene from Barton Fink in which Barton arrives at the Hotel Earle and Chet comes up out of the floor. Then we'd talk about the foley effects and make inferences (god, I sound like the TEKS) about the situation based on our listening skills. But all the kids did was goof around and try to peek at the screen and ask, "What's going on? What kind of movie is this?" A couple of them got the idea, and they all liked the really long bell. One of the kids--one of the two girls--is really grounded and focused but quiet; she reminds me a lot of adolescent me. Then I have this new kid who is completely, totally random, like this:

Me: Okay, now we're going to watch a scene from a movie--
Random Kid: (blurting) Is it Jurassic Park?
Me: Uh, no. It's not. And while we're watching it--
Random Kid: How did they make those dinosaurs?
Me: Tell you what. We'll devote a whole class to special effects later on, so hold onto your questions, ok?
Random Kid: (squealing at classmate who is eating an orange with his mouth open) Man, that's NASTY!!
Quiet Girl: (rolls eyes)
And then it's 4:30 before you know it.

I'm not going to be all genderist about it because lots of girls have ADHD brains or whatnot, but I will just say that I, personally, feel like a voyager to the Land of the ADHD Brains when I set foot on campus. I don't have focus problems and I never have. So it's weird for me, and I'm inclined to send the ADHD kids off to play hackysack in the corner while I teach the two quiet ones. That's probably the reason I'm the wannabe teacher and J. is the real one. I dig the quiet kids. I can relate to them from personal experience. I remember sitting around like a toadstool in the public-school classroom while the ADHD (or GTT or whatever) kids set the pace for instruction, causing me to very nearly fail Algebra II and progress no further in math. I'm not bitter or anything. But I am going to hunt down my Algebra II teacher, who said I'd be lucky to get into college, and plant my foot in her ass. And show her my two degrees. With honors.

Sigh. But of course the GTT kids thrive in the applied arts, which filmmaking is. Is it wrong that I just want to sit around and geek out on Bergman with the quiet kids? Probably.

The strangest moment was when a student aide complimented me on my shoes and asked me where I got them, and I had to admit they were from Hot Topic. What am I going to do? Y'all know how hard it is to find cool shoes you can teach in? Damn.

another remark Why do so many people who create beautiful things kill themselves? I don't want to live in a world with Ken Lay but not Elliott Smith. That's fucked up.

Every day I make the decision not to off myself. Every day I choose to brush my teeth and dress my kid and go to the sandbox or the post office instead of driving off the 183 flyover.

I'd just written a chapter about the day I found out I was pregnant, how I put the pee stick down and walked into the living room and stood in front of the CD rack wondering what to play for my kid. And I chose Elliott Smith's XO because it was beautiful even though it was sad sometimes, and I thought that would sum up human existence pretty accurately. Now I'm going to have to go back and amend what I wrote. And now, between that and me being a nutball generally, I've probably doomed Baldo to a life of depression. I should have put on ABBA Gold so he could be a happy circuit partier. Dammit.

I used to be so proud that I'd never walked out of a movie. And now I have, in a way, when I was unable to finish watching The Hours with Jim. Watching it was like sticking my hand in the garbage disposal. It's a good movie, but if you can imagine getting stuck in it, that's pretty much what postpartum depression is like.

oh my god Elliott Smith is dead.

look at me! look at me! Amidst the depressing talk (or is it?) about "momoirs"--there's me!

Go on and watch the ad, ya lazy bums. I'm worth it.

hot redaction action Oi g'vault! I popped the hood on my proposal again and am tinkering around with the outline. J. dispenses brutal but helpful criticism. Now the outline is as long as the whole proposal used to be. I am organizing and reorganizing. It's really hard work.

I'm embarrassed to say this, but when does that stop me: I've never edited a piece of my own writing this thoroughly. My master's thesis didn't even get read in its entirety, and I'm pretty sure that I messed up the margins, which caused me to get a stern talking-to from Sister Mary-Librarian or whatnot who does the microfilming at BU. But I still got my degree somehow. One of my thesis readers was all, "I didn't exactly finish it, but I'll sign off on it. Still I don't really get that Elvis is the same guy in movie after movie," which is like the Marritworld equivalent of telling Herman Melville, "You know, I just didn't get that Ahab was obsessed with that whale." ::Slaps forehead::

I've done all my Chronicle stuff for this week and I've gotten ready for my next movie class. I'm sweating my ass off in my insufferably hot office. I'm really tired. But B.'s probably about to wake up. I have more stuff to review. And I need to get back jamming on the book so I can send it along again. I'd be happier about all this if I hadn't been up since 5 am with cramps.

i am pleased once more
John Foxx

Which New Romantic Icon Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

yes, i am blind Dude, I can't see shit!

I realized with horror that in my copious reading (I have book reviews assigned to me now, too) I've started holding the book away from me to see it more clearly.

I am really not ready for bifocals. I am too young for bifocals. Aren't I?

Then we were at Ruta Maya this morning, and I was reading a flyer for child care off the wall. I said to the people around me, "What's with $20 a month for part-time Montessori? Do the kids sew shoes or something?" They all kind of looked at me like I'd just grown an extra butt in the middle of my forehead or something. Then I saw that it was $520 a month.

I fear that we may have bobbled the nap in going out this morning. I hear B. fussing. J. is on B. Patrol at the moment.

Anyhow, it's time for my annual eye exam and I know I really need to go. I schedule it every year around Halloween because I'm so blind it's scary.

daily affirmation It doesn't matter what you do.
'Cause everything looks good on you.

Verily, I wish I had a pocket-sized RuPaul.

fragrant five

1. Name five things in your refrigerator.
   Baking soda, cottage cheese, mustard, applesauce, and two unidentifiable squash. (They look like a cross between chayote and zucchini. Anyone know?)
2. Name five things in your freezer.
   Ice for Aunt K., Costco chicken, yellow squash, asparagus, and broccoli.
3. Name five things under your kitchen sink.
   The fire extinguisher, pipes, roach bait, dishwasher soap, and a dead roach.
4. Name five things around your computer.
   My Eiffel tower lamp, a lenticular portrait of the Virgin de Guadalupe, a screener of "Leche" and "Mala Leche," a cow magnet, and the CrapCam 2000.
5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet.
   Cloth pads, J's eczema stuff, Tylenol PM, two travel-sized tubes of toothpaste, and Paxil.

well, almost...

bruiser

uncle kurt

mow mow mow mow

mullet be gone!

mullet boy

hot for teacher B. and I went to campus yesterday for the afterschool class. We showed up early, and B. ran around J.'s seventh-period L.A. class--climbing into empty desks, wandering up to students, chalking J.'s chair, &c. I'd say that not a lot of learning took place after that point, but let me say this: J. is the MAN!!

His classroom-management techniques are, as the Mod Squad used to say, solid. It was...impressive. I always figured in our relationship that J. was the brainstormer and I was the closer (or as Chuck D. would say, the "threat team") but now I have to reevalaute that notion. He's a bad motor scooter. Not an asshole or anything, just keeping it all on task.

My class is tiny.

B. fussed and screamed the whole time. J. and I both had to be in the classroom for bureaucratic reasons, so that meant B. was there too. It doesn't seem to bother the kids much. I think a lot of them have little brothers and sisters. But we sure annoyed the hell out of this lady at Guero's, where we went to pick up supper afterward. She was sitting by herself talking on her cell. Evidently restaurants are supposed to be quiet as libraries so people can conduct business. Which is kind of funny to me because Guero's fills up rapidly with UT drunks who are yelling at the televised sports action. It was margarita happy hour, even.

afterschool special Today is the first day of my afterschool class. I am nervous. It never occurred to me during my years of schooling that teachers would get stage fright, but I absolutely do and always have. I enjoy teaching while I'm doing it, but I dislike the waiting, especially with a new class. I'm going to be in charge of 40 middle schoolers. Sounds like a nightmare.

Today B. became fascinated with Chuck D. (I am reading his book, "Fight the Power.") We talked about going to the park with Chuck D., playing Nut Ball (a game B. invented with pecans and sticks) with Chuck D., and eating bulgogi with Chuck D. We brought my Chuck D. book along in the car when we went to the flooring showroom and officially selected and ordered our bamboo materials.

New to the boy's vocab: "mp3." I couldn't be prouder.

well, why don't YOU lighten up?
Angry Girl

What kind of little girl were YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla

j'taime I am in love with The Vermont Country Store.

I went in search of 100% cotton socks (no kids' sizes, sadly) but I stayed for the powerful dose of nostalgia: the Tangee lipstick, the Uncle Wiggly game, the Evening in Paris perfume, the Zagnut and Clark bars, the Beeman's gum. I love the way the product descriptions are written in headline style ("Odor-Free Ceramic Compost Pail Looks Good on Counter Top").

go back to Russia, Moon Zappa! My gosh, the NRA is strange.

smells like karl rove Hmmm....

hellzapoopin' Oi g'vault we are busy people. J. spent most of the day working at school, then came home to tag in so I could go to an informal class at The Campus.

We are on the hottest thrifting roll ever. We went to Top Drawer yesterday and found a 16mm projector. Their electronics are always so interesting. And now we can watch our films! Wheeee!

Aside from two transparencies I'm all ready for my class on Wednesday.

And there's pie in the kitchen.

Our kid surprises me every day with the songs he knows. I guess he's been paying attention these past 20 months. He requests certain songs regularly ("I Love Onions," "House of Bamboo," "Stacy's Mom") and does the vocal flourishes when we're listening to music. For example, I put on Elephant by the White Stripes yesterday morning, and he started saying Ow, ow! Ow, ow!" which of course is the vocal flourish from "Hardest Button to Button," which he couldn't have heard for at least a month. So the song comes up and he does the "Ow ow" and pretends to be drumming. And then he craps.

self-p with streaks

update The chocolate is gone.

The nap is long.

Stupid scan is taking forever. Curse you, sesamestreet.com, for requiring me to use IE5!

crikey! I have just installed and am running a little something J. and I indelicately call "Norton Bitchslap" (alternatively, Norton Enema 2004), and poor Eddie is infected with all sorts of stuff. No wonder we're so fakakta. Aunt K., avert your eyes. Everyone else, take this as a warning about Kazaa (a.k.a. "Rest Stop Bathroom Stall 2003").

flabby five

1. Do you watch sports? If so, which ones?
   God, no. Though Aunt K. and I used to watch televised gymnastics with the sound off and the theme from Shaft playing. It made the floor exercises a lot better.
2. What/who are your favorite sports teams and/or favorite athletes?
   I really don't know. I used to admire the Chicago Bears because they wore black shoes and looked really retro. I'm quite keen on the idea of roller derby, and my gal pal Hot Wheels is the penalty chica for our local league, but I've yet to see a match because I'm too dingy to plan anything in advance. Perhaps soon.
3. Are there any sports you hate?
   Oh, don't even get me started on the horrors of dodgeball. And I am the official football-hating Texan. I'm sorry, but I just don't consider it very athletic to crash into people after three seconds of play and have everybody stop what they're doing and start over. It's too hard on your body, especially when you're still growing (i.e., in high school). I hope that B. doesn't want to play football. I'll support whatever he wants to do, but I am not encouraging football. Non. Nyet. No. Fencing? There's a sport--it's graceful, it requires wit and quick thinking, it's got a much cooler-looking mask. Swimming? But of course. Football? Nope--that's mania. Never mind the scary cultural aspect of football in Texas.
4. Have you ever been to a sports event?
   Yes. I went to every football game in high school because I was in band, and the games were so drearily boring. I went to the Texas-A&M game once in high school with my family, and I spent most the game asleep in the car because I was having a penicillin reaction.
5. Do/did you play any sports (in school or other)? How long did you play?
   I played volleyball for three years and ran track. Just kidding. I didn't. But I did letter in choir. Have I mentioned that I really hate sports?
Posted by Marrit at 01:11 PM

hooray for everything! Interesting potential developments for Das Book of late, including a class this weekend on marketing. Got all my estimates in for our floor job. Put streaks in my hair. Made a deadline way in advance. Have chocolate in kitchen. Went thrifting this a.m. and found Freaky Good Stuff, including a pair of 2T cotton pajamas with feet, pleather pants, and a Certain Chichi-LaLa designer bag for $4. Also had brief chat with set designer for Wendell Baker Story at thrift store, obtained Fascinatingly Ugly-Cool Tie for J. Boy gives a goodnight kiss before plopping down in bed, sings songs. Trashy Movie forthcoming.

Esme Our stinkbug is actually a squash bug. I have named her Esme. She's supposed to be on the underside of a leaf someplace.

daddy daddy daddy All I'm asking for is equal time.

I spend thirteen hours a day with my child, often one-on-one. I change diapers and prepare meals and mop up spills and vacuum and apply lotions and dispense medications and nurse and read and rock and sing and dance like a mofo to "I Love Onions."

And it's all "Daddy." Or "Daddy mow."

Oh yeah? Oh yeah?

How about, "Mama kick ass of mean doctor?"
"Mama mop up whole sippy of very sticky vanilla enriched rice milk"?
"Mama gestate with heartburn and pruritis"?
"Mama make bad-ass CD mix of Muppets"?
"Mama listen to 'House of Bamboo' on repeat for hour because I ask her to"?
"Mama lose mind after year of colic"?
"Mama fire Very Bad Therapist"?
"Mama work nights and weekends to sustain meager writing career"?
"Mama eat weird diet with no fruit"?

Huh? Huh? How about that? But no, we read our Daddy books and talk about Daddy's mower, and B. is asleep with a picture of Daddy in his crib with him.

What if I mowed?

learn from a professional, kid Here's something cool. I was telling Baldo my eyes were crusty this morning and he lit up and said, "Hey, hey!" And I stopped for a second and said, "Are you Krusty the Clown?" Again he said, "Hey, hey!"

Either we're geeky enough to have conferred upon our child some a priori knowledge of the Simpsons, or he's been listening more carefully than I thought.

Park day today. We dug in the sand and ran around. B. went down the slide all by himself!

The male stinkbug is gone.

J., I just ate the last of the cookies.

yah, I am this governor Unbelievable.

J. taught his classes today in the persona of Arnold Schwarzenegger. I thought that was rather droll.

breaking news The stinkbugs are still at it.

Today they moved down to eye level so that I see them in my peripheral vision while I'm trying to enjoy my coffee and Kix.

My babysitter theorizes that they're stuck between the screen door and the slider. I'm not sure. So J. and I watched very carefully. Two adults standing on either side of a mating pair of insects, scrutinizing them. At one point the female appeared to extrude, verrrry slowly, some kind of egg-type thing.

Of course my backyard is like a Dash Hammett novel: the cases are related. It seems that stinkbugs like to eat tent caterpillars. The mating pair somehow managed to ensnare one without disengaging, and the stinkgirl devored it with her proboscis. I'd like to tell you that I didn't watch this happen. But of course I did.

I also watched the new Coen brothers movie, Intolerable Cruelty. I thought it was lovely.

andale! It's a good thing stinkbugs don't have a lot of activities during the day because they spend forever hucklebuckling. I keep checking that they're still alive. Every now and then somebody's antennae will move.

um...eeuw? The one unpleasant thing about autumn in Texas is that every surface becomes a Tokyo love hotel for insects. The screen door to my back porch is no exception. A variety of insect couples are getting it on as we speak. Of course our kitchen table is right there.

I don't want to sound like a bug prude or anything. There are two stinkbugs on the screen, and it occurs to me that this is prolly the first time I've ever seen a stinkboy. They don't look like the females. Our yard is totally overrun with stinkgirls.

Our neighbor sprayed the pecan tree that was festooned with tent caterpillars. J. talked to him while he was spraying. Apparently the stuff is nontoxic, and it doesn't even have appeared to have done anything yet. They don't bother me now that I know what they are and that they're harmless, but Denny said he can hear them "munching." What is the sound of a thousand caterpillars munching?

I need to get on the stick and finish up my AFF assignments. I liked both of them.

oh for crying out loud, people No, see--I Googled for "socks+'latex-free.'" That does not mean "nude busty women in loose socks." But if you happen to be reading this because you Googled "nude busty women in loose socks," can I just ask you one thing? Do *you* know where I can get latex-free socks?

it's everywhere Did you know the buttons on your remote control probably contain latex proteins? The "comfort grip" on your gardening tools or (in our case) your "broomba." Your mouse pad?

We're going to have cotton gloves grafted on.

baby balls What is it with testicles? Is it something I just don't get because my gonads are internal?

Baldo has moved from telling someone goodbye to saying--for example--"Bye-bye, Denny's balls." (Denny being our neighbor.) It's a good thing we're the only ones who can understand him right now.

When the whole "baby balls" thing started, we thought it was funny to sing a version of "Baby Doll," the song by "Cube Squared" (actually Devo) in the movie Tapeheads, with "baby balls" instead of the other words. So why should it surprise me that B. sings "Baby baby baby baaalllls!"

I got my hair cut today. It's much smaller now.

he *is* a giant baby!

something in the water? What's the deal? I'm not surprised by this Limbaugh business (although I will say--and mean it sincerely--that I completely understand how people with chronic pain conditions can become drug-dependent, and I'm sorry that happened). Nor am I surprised some Boston broadcaster guy compared inner-city schoolkids to an escaped gorilla, having lived in Boston and having found it about as racist as Beaumont. And, sure, some Senate aide in Missouri uses public resources to run a hate site named after the flight number of the crashed plane that killed Mel Carnahan. (And when you celebrate the death of someone, yes, I do consider that hate, not simply ideological difference.)

But if Arnold Schwarzenegger becomes the governor of California, I'm going to puke. I swear it. "Oh, wait...I didn't say I admired Hitler! No, I mean 'hate'! Yeah!" And I thought it was funny to tweak the nipples of my female journalists and co-workers. And rhapsodize about shoving a woman's head in a toilet. That guy is such a fucking pig that the very thought of him puts me off sex, perhaps permanently. Mr. Schwarzenegger, J. would like to have a word with you.

Aren't conservatives supposed to be the champions of "character"? You know, doing what's right when no one is looking? Not that this is a newsflash to anybody, but geez, who let the dogs out?

freaky five

1. What vehicle do you drive?
   A 1996 Mamamobile turbo.
2. How long have you had it?
   About a year and a half.
3. What is the coolest feature on your vehicle?
   It was a big deal to me to get a car with power windows and doors, so the whole car is like a giant toy. I like but have never used the seat warmer. I guess people's butts get cold in Sweden. I am also a big fan of the sunroof. Now that the weather is cooling off, I can drive around with Baldo, sunroof open and we're kicking out Sabbath. I also like that my car is a solid chunk of European metal with side air bags. It makes me worry less about those SUV-driving bozos.
4. What is the most annoying thing about your vehicle?
   Mamamobiles last forever, but they're a beast to maintain. Very high-maintenance. Shit breaks constantly. My ABS is busted. The fuel-tank door gets fakakta and I have to rip off the trunk panel and go at it from the inside. (Which makes me feel kind of like a badass.) I also wish I got better gas mileage. It could be a lot worse, but it could be better.
5. If money were no object, what vehicle would you be driving right now?
   Earlier I said I'd get an Avanti. I still think they're tremendous. But on balance I have to cast my vote for the Toyota Estima hybrid minivan, available only in Japan at the time of this writing. Seats 7, 44 mpg. So if Baldo decides to play bagpipes we can throw all his shit in the back and pick up his friends and go jam.
Addendum: I really want, really need some rad stickers for the Mamamobile.
Posted by Marrit at 11:27 AM

hate to say I told you so Ah ha ha ha. The allergist called while I was in the shower. The immunocap was positive for latex! I did my "I'm right" dance around the house, then I realized this kind of sucks. We don't want the test to be positive. We particularly do not want "a strong reaction."

Inappropriate as it is, I am going to set aside five minutes for electronic gloating. You know why? On behalf of every mother who told her HCP she suspected something and got that head-patting treatment. Oh, no. Latex sensitivity is rarely found in infants, and then usually in ones who've had multiple surgeries. Guess what, you chumps--y'all need to listen, 'cause we're not pulling this stuff out of our butts.

The doctor is sending some information in the mail. We already have our EpiPen. And we will check our calendar and synchronize with the Hoodoo Doctors.

Now let me ask: Do I have freakishly small feet or something? I went thriftin' today and couldn't find a single damn pair of shoes in my size.

i do not feel like writing much I have a big case of The Don'ts. I just feel lazy.

Baldo and I went for a walk this morning. We scavenged a fully functional Little People garage that had been left out by some neighbors. Pretty damn exciting. There was even a little car stuck in it. I stuck it on the handles of my stroller and off we went. Then we noticed that some careless drunkard had tossed a capped, almost empty 40-oz. bottle of Olde English in my neighbor Charlie's yard. I so pulled that out of the grass and stuck it on top of my stroller, intending to take it home and recycle it. And then I encountered the sweet older lady who walks her dogs, Buster and Sugar, in the morning. We stopped and had a conversation, and here I am, tattooed and puffy, with a 40 and a Fisher Price garage on my stroller at 9:00 am. I hope I didn't frighten her. And of course I was rapping under my breath, "Olde English filled my mind...and I came up with a funky rhyme...mama said knock you OUT!" when she came around the corner and encountered me.

The other day we went out for a walk and I was sort of whistling a merry tune behind the stroller. I realized with some alarm that I was singing "My Drug Buddy" by the Lemonheads. That sort of thing will get your ass CPSed tout suite, y'know?