Welcome Christmas

I assure you, when I started this Christmas playlist project, I had no idea it would be so controversial, but there you go. My own Anonymous Mother and my sister are questioning my choices in the comments! The nerve -- don't they know the kinds of problems that can cause? The fire and brimstone coming down from the skies? The rivers and seas boiling? The forty years of darkness? The earthquakes, volcanoes, the dead rising from the grave? The human sacrifice? The dogs and cats living together?

Mass hysteria!

But by way of clarification, in case you do go back to read part one and/or part two of this exclusive three-part series, I would like to mention that some of the songs my sister mentioned are included in today's list, and as it turns out, I actually do have Gene Autry singing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on my iPod, and I've had it all along. I played it for Shae this morning and she literally squee'd. That one was a terrible oversight on my part; I totally should have included that version in with yesterday's Christmas Classics. I've never been wrong before. I don't know how I will managed to live with myself from here on out. I hope you're all happy. Harumph.

So. Today's list is basically made up of "modern" Christmas songs, by which I mean stuff that I am pretty sure I grew up listening to as a kid, plus a couple of other things that I would very much have enjoyed listening to as a kid, if I had acted like an actual child at the time, and not some kind of weird time-bandit hippie who spent more time than was strictly necessary listening to Carly Simon, James Taylor, Simon & Garfunkel, and Carole King. (I supposed it goes without saying that I fell hard for R.E.M., the Ramones, and the Cure once I got to college.)

Still and all -- and I say this with an absolutely straight face -- I don't consider it Christmastime until I have listened to the songs on this list at least a couple of dozen times. Even some of the ones on the bottom half of the list, the ones that are so goofy and out there that they border on the sacrilegious.

And now I present to you my Top Ten Contemporary Christmas songs, basically in the order in which I prefer them (favorites on top) -- with a caveat. The first 5 songs are the "real" ones, and the bottom 5 are sort of "novelty" songs, but I assure you, I love each and every one of them essentially the same:

1. "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" by John & Yoko and the Plastic Ono Band with the Harlem Community Choir -- "A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, let's hope it's a good one without any fear." What more could anyone wish anyone else for the holidays? Not even Yoko Ono wailing through the backing vocals can ruin this song. (There are, of course, other versions, but why would you want them?)
2. "Someday at Christmas" by Stevie Wonder -- "Someday all our dreams will come to be, someday in a world where men are free, maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmastime." When I hear the opening chords to this song, I start tearing up, and by the time we get to the end of the first verse, I am done for. There aren't many songs that make me start bawling just from writing out the lyrics, but this is one of them.
3. "Give Love on Christmas Day" by the Jackson 5 -- "Every little child on Santa's knee has room for your love underneath his tree." One of the few songs in the world that I have never heard covered, and I would like to keep it that way. I honestly think of this song as the "All You Need Is Love" of the Christmas season. Practically perfect, just as it is.
4. "Keep Christmas with You All Through the Year" from Merry Christmas from Sesame Street -- I can't even pick a favorite lyric. I love this whole song SO MUCH. This record came out in 1975. I wasn't even a year old then. My sisters and I used to listen to this record ALL THE TIME. The actual record. Like, vinyl record. I remember listening to this in July once, on purpose. I think this song should close every Christmas pageant everywhere ever. It would totally be the Grand Finale! of the BGDCFCPE.
5. "Welcome Christmas" from How the Grinch Stole Christmas -- "Christmas Day will always be just as long as we have we." Love love love. Doesn't need any fussing or messing around with. The Glee cast version is also very good, but you need to get that one from iTunes.
6. "Father Christmas" by The Kinks -- "But remember the kids who got nothin' while you're drinking down your wine." Totally kick-ass, but also a kind of important reminder that maybe if you can, you should give a little bit of something to those who have even less than you do. Somebody out there might really need some tomato soup for Christmas, you know?
7. "Swiss Colony Beef Log" from Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics -- "Swiss Colony beef log, baby, that's what Christmas is all about." This song makes me laugh so hard I cry. Cartman is such an obnoxious little shit, but sweet cracker sandwich, this song is SO AMAZING. Second choice for best lyric: "I [expletive] hate egg nog, seriously."
8. "The Night Santa Went Crazy" by "Weird Al" Yankovic -- "From his beard to his boots, he was covered in ammo like a big fat drunk disgruntled Yuletide Rambo." I defy you to spend more than an hour or so at the mall in the next two weeks and then tell me that you don't feel exactly like Santa in this particular scenario. And I will also tell you that [SPOILER ALERT!] if the elves did go work for the USPS, it would significantly improve service at my local service center.
9. "Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses -- "When what to my wondering eyes should appear, no lie, it's that guy I've been chasing all year." OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH SHUT UP DON'T YOU JUDGE ME.
10. "Last Christmas" by Wham! -- Another song where I can't pick a favorite lyric, because COME ON. This song is so corny that it came full around to being awesomesauce again. There has not yet been, nor will there ever be again, another Christmas song in all the lands and the seas that is so earnest and emo. Oh, George Michael. I really thought we had a chance, you and I. I really did.

Oh! And because I care about you guys, I wanted to include a bonus Hanukkah song, too: "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel," also from Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics. Shae came home from school yesterday singing the "original" dreidel song, and it was the most adorable thing ever. I thought instantly of this song, which is totally amazing because at one point there are like six different musical parts going on at once, and also because this song manages to be respectful and totally disrespectful all at the same time. You'll get it suck in your head for weeks, though, be warned.

Okay -- have at it in the comments. What did I forget this time? Let me know.

Pack Rat

In 10 days we leave for vacation. This time on that fateful morning, I will be running around the house like the proverbial headless chicken, shrieking and panicking as we start to load up the car, constantly doing an inventory of what we have and what we need and what we forgot. Where is the umbrella? Did we pack the toothbrushes? What about underpants? Deodorant? Beach towels? That one weird kitchen tool that nobody knows what it's for or even how to use it but you know the second we arrive at the rental house we're going to suddenly realize that it is a Vitally Important Utensil? Do we have enough lighters? I only have five in my purse, will that be enough?

Yes: I am aware that I am off-the-charts bananapants crazy and possibly certifiable.

I've been sort of stealthily packing my own stuff for a few weeks already -- stuff I know I want to put in the suitcase that I can manage to do without until then. Some new shirts that I would like to be seen in by my mother at least once before there is a food stain in the bosomal area. A pair of shorts that don't quite fit yet but that should be okay by the time we go. The new outfit I got for when my sister and I go to a concert in Atlantic City. I am not packing a whole lot, because there will be a washing machine, but of course in the next ten days I will reconsider and revise and revamp and reimagine my entire "resort collection."

Which is ridiculous, because I'll just end up packing the same stuff I already have set aside anyway. But then, I am not always the sharpest tool in the crayon box.

We have also already started packing up the non-perishables in the ice chest:

See if you can identify the one thing in there that will definitely NOT be coming out.

Bag Lady

I didn't get pictures of the new backpack in action yesterday, because I'm a slack-ass, so let's play a super-fun game on this cruddy Tuesday, OK? This game is called "Guess How Insane This Woman Is Based On The Contents Of Her Pocketbook." Ready? Go!

Many years ago B.C. (before child), back when I was in my 20's, I used to be able to get away with teeny little purses. I only needed something to hold my keys, debit card, driver's license, cash, cigarettes, lighter, and cell phone -- and in the winter I could get away with keeping my keys and my smokes in my coat pocket, so I needed to fit even less in my handbag. All I really needed was a wristlet.

As I got older and more like My Anonymous Mother, I started needing more stuff. I can't live without my iPhone any more (not shown because I was using it for the picture). Tylenol, always. Chap Stik or other lip balm. Usually I have tissues or napkins in my purse, but I must be out of them right now. For almost a year I couldn't go anywhere without Tic-Tacs, and I went through a three-year phase where I ate Certs like they were going out of style. (Is there rehab for Retsyn addicts?) I used to keep a travel spritzer of perfume, but it looks like I stopped doing that, although I can't remember when.

Now a good 50% of my bag space is taken up by non-essential junk, but I have a hard time editing down to what I really actually need and what I just might need. Like, do I really need to have half a dozen Boogie Wipes? Well, you never know. Do I really need three lighters? Yes, because people are thieves. Do I really need to carry that whole prescription bottle around for half a pill? Then what else will I do with it?

I kind of miss the days when I could carry everything I needed in basically my jacket pockets, but at the same time, it's kind of reassuring to think that I am no longer a person unto myself any more -- people depend on me and the secret weapons I keep hidden in my handbag.Plus, now I carry a big enough bag that I can sneak candy and salty snacks into the movies. Being old and wily has its advantages.

This post was inspired by the "What's In Your Bag?" project, which I learned about from Photojojo.

A Typical Day in Dogpatch, U.S.A.

Since my husband got laid off last year, he's been in charge of getting Shae up in the morning, getting her dressed and fed, and getting her to school, all so that I can hit the snooze button for 28 minutes and then rush around to get ready for work in under 20 minutes so I can hurry up and go sit in traffic already.

Actually, he hits the snooze button for me, too. Because the alarm clock is on his side of the bed. Because I planned it that way. Because I am lazy in the morning. And because I whine if he doesn't smack that button for me. Because I think alarm clocks are the work of the devil.

Also, we have no idea why our snooze feature is 7 minutes, but it is, and we don't argue. Except when he hits the "off" button by mistake and I wake up 20 minutes after I was supposed to have left for work already. Dun-dun-DUUUUN.

{Secretly, I think he might enjoy that particular aspect of unemployment: the not-having-to-run-your-life-at-the-mercy-of-the-alarm-clock-all-the-time aspect. Also, the being-able-to-sit-at-home-and-play-video-games-in-your-underpants aspect. I know I would. Although the broke-as-a-joke aspect is not quite as much fun.}

Anyway. My point is -- or was, I don't even remember what verb tense I'm supposed to be using any more -- that most mornings I don't get to be part of Shae's routine, because I am gone before she gets up and starts grumping. Our daughter is not a morning person, and sometimes he has trouble getting her to cooperate.

Hey, don't look at me. I don't know where that stubbornness comes from. It's not my fault. She's adopted, so she doesn't get it from me. And also, she's an Aries. The only people I know who are anywhere near as stubborn as Arieses are Tauruses, and there are none of those in my house.

(SPOILER ALERT: I am a Taurus. And also, this kid is so much like me it's not even funny.)

This morning I peeked in on her before I left the house, and she was already up, so while my husband was still in the shower, I got Shae up and dressed. I miss being home in the mornings. We used to have such fun together. She was all smiles for me, although she was a bit disappointed that the strawberry-banana yogurt was already gone. We made up for it with cherry yogurt and two pieces of dried pineapple.

But there is one thing I won't miss: having to comb out that hair. What's funny is, even with these special iPhone camera effects, that's exactly what her head looks like in the morning. Good luck, babe.

Cupcake Calendar: November

Ugh, I look at these calendar pages now and I just ... well, suffice it to say that compared to what I have been working on for next year's Cupcake Calendar, the 2009 edition looks like it was assembled by a color-blind first-grader with Parkinson's or something. Or, to clarify: holy hell, this is a hot ghetto mess, isn't it?

But I still love these pictures -- they are some of my favorite from last year. The one on the bottom, of her in the middle of a fit of giggles with her crazy hair, never ceases to cheer me up, no matter what is going on. Her smiles are the most beautiful things in the world, and I just can't get enough of them. Yesterday I tickled her for 10 minutes, just to soak up some of her laughter.

And of course that picture of her with the guitar? Fuggeddaboudit. That was the moment, right there, when all doubts were erased and I knew this kid was something special. It took us almost a year to prove it, of course, but we got there eventually.

This Would Have Been My WTF!? Friday Item If I Had Known About It At The Time

This is for real? This is for goddamn real? Chad Johnson really and actually changed his name to Chad Ochocinco? For effing serious? I mean, it must be true, because it's on Wikipedia, right?

That shit is just retarded. And you know how I feel about that word, so that is saying something.

Cupcake Calendar: August

I KNOW. SHUT UP.

These are some of my very favorite pictures from last summer -- how they all ended up on the August calendar page, I don't remember. Here, she is (clockwise from top right): crawling around under my mother-in-law's coffee table, wearing my very favorite of her onesies, ever (God, I miss onesies!); rolling around in the grass in a Project (RED) onesie that my mom found at a yard sale, and which I have since passed along to Joey, because yes it's a charity program but shit still ain't free; chillaxing in my grandparents' recliner, chillaxing; and OMG CUPCAKE NOM NOM NOM! at my sister's baby shower last summer.

To make up for this abomination ("WTF? no Cupcake Calendar until the month is more than 2/3 expired? STOOPIT WHOOR!"), allow me to offer as a consolation prize this bold imagining of Shae's future life as Action Heroine And Savior Of The Free World:

via Photofunia

You're welcome. Have a nice weekend.

With All The Frills Upon It

Not sure if you noticed, but Shae wears a lot of hats. Well, I guess technically she only wears one or two hats pretty regularly. But still. This weekend we managed to catch her wearing a bunch of different hats, and because I am a cruel wicked mother I made her pose for pictures in all of them:

The usual pool hat, and ...

... this hat that used to be my sisters, that I keep in our beach bag in case I ever need a hat, and ...

... this hat, of strange and mysterious origins, that just sort of showed up one afternoon. In all these lovely bonnets, though, she is the grandest lady in the Easter parade, or something.

"Yaaaaay Shopping! Shopping Shopping Shopping!"

We needed to go to the store today, because we're right out of food, and when G said to Cupcake, "Let's go to the store," she let out this excited little shriek and yelled, "Yaaaaay shopping!" and then the whole way in the car she sang what we now call "The Shopping Song" which was basically her saying "shopping shopping shopping" over and over in various pitches of happiness.

Was very very cute, yes, but I think maybe it is time to start putting time limits on her unsupervised visits with My Anonymous Mother, the retail commando.

Not sure entirely how I feel about Cupcake liking the Wal-Mart, but at the very least we never lack for entertainment. For example, she was really amused by the Very Big Sandwich:

And then she tried to eat it, plastic wrapper and gross bland lettuce and all:

And of course we were so good that we took a "ride" on the nonfunctioning Mickey Mouse Firetruck:

Of course, this does NOT show the complete nuclear meltdown that happened when had to get OFF the firetruck and get back in the car, but we're going to pretend that never happened, OK?

Weekend Update

OMG ... was this the longest weekend ever, or does it just feel like it? Four days off and NOTHING done, except a batch of St. Nick presents and one Xmas gift wrapped. Sheesh. I feel like we never stop around here, and we never sleep, and OF COURSE I dropped Ben Roethlisberger from my fantasy football team because hey, why not? Dumbass. Me, but also him, sometimes.

Anyway: Thanksgiving is officially over and the Christmas rush begins. We got a tree but lost all our decorations, which totally figures and is totally typical for us. Need lights, need ornament hangers, need a tree topper that doesn't blink in Technicolor, need time to get everything together. And I already know THAT isn't going to happen.

Fell asleep in the recliner at my grandparents' today. Apparently this amused my father. Don't know why, but glad I can spread a little joy from time to time. Cupcake passed out asleep as soon as we got her in the car, because she refused to take a nap. Good luck tomorrow, Miss Jeni! Going to finish a Warcraft daily, and then I am taking a Benadryl and calling it a life.

Long Strange Trip

Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, I have been awake for a looooooooooong time. Got up at 4:30, snoozed, got to work at 5:30, farmed the cubicle wastelands, then had an adoption class, which was kind of OK, but it ran late. We are just now getting home and before I shuffle off to bed, possibly to keel over from exhuastion, I have to start installing my Wrath of the Lich King expansion, because: DUH.

So a couple of random observations:

• Didn't the Italian Chicken Sandwich at Burger King go away for a while, and then come back? I remember getting it in the 80's, possibly up until the early 90's, and then it like disappeared or something. Now it's back. Had one for dinner. It was good, but of course Chicken Parm from a divey sort of local pizza joint is always better. (Hello, Frank's!)
• And didn't there used to be a French Chicken Sandwich, that was kind of like Cordon Bleu, with Swiss cheese and ham? Or am I just making shit up again?
  
• According to my sister-slash-babysitter, she has seen my house more times this week alone than she has in the almost 5 years I have lived here. I have no reason to doubt her; it's just one of those things.
• Anything will pass for a blog post when it's 10:30 and you're tired and you're trying to get in under the deadline.
  

Fear and Loathing

Because I am not brain-dead or living on another planet, I am aware that right now the Universal Financial Situation is somewhere significantly south of shit and that I really need to be patient and careful and budget-conscious about all my purchases right now, but ... I have $601.50 in my Christmas Club account and I really, really, really want to start shopping.

I can't remember how long I've had a Christmas Club -- three years, maybe? It was after we bought the house, I know that much, so sometime after 2003. That and the Vacation Club are maybe the smartest financial decisions I've ever made in my life until my scratch-and-win-retirement-plan-investment-hedge-fund starts turning a profit.

But I love having a Christmas Club for a totally retarded reason, which is not "so that I can spend cash only on holiday gifts and not have to put anything on a credit card," although that is a nice plus too, since I don't, technically, have much credit available on my cards. To me that's just a minor advantage, though, and only partway worth mentioning.

The real reason why I love my Christmas Club is because I hate people, and therefore shopping, and since I get the disbursement in October, most years I have about 75% of my holiday gifts bought and wrapped before Halloween, and generally I am 95% of the way done by Thanksgiving, which is AWESOME, because I can avoid the crowds.

Of course I've done a lot of online shopping in the last few years -- hello Amazon Prime! -- and the added bonus of that is that I can usually get good deals on stuff and if I play my cards right and bother to check my emails regularly, I can often get free shipping, which ends up making my online purchases cheaper than going to the mall.

I learned these Retail Commando skills from my mother, the Queen of the Bargain, who regularly goes to discount retail stores looking for, say, dishtowels, and ends up coming home with Stuart Weitzman shoes for $15. Or she'll leave at 7am for a big community yard sale, and she'll take $12 and a bottle of water with her, and she'll come home with three big garbage bags full of clothes for the Cupcake.

So when she tells me that I should wait a little while to start shopping, I can't help but trust her judgement. "No one will have much money for the holidays," she says. She's no Henry Paulson or Ben Bernanke, but she's been a pretty reliable economic advisor so far. But ... how long do I wait? When is a good time to start? It's already October 11th, and I only have one thing bought. I don't want to fall behind and end up overwhelmed.

What do you think? Start in November? Early? Middle? Late? This is our first Christmas with the Cupcake, and while we are making a concerted effort to not go overboard, we're still doing something. Will I still be able to get smoking-hot discounts on Duplo blocks if I wait until after Thanksgiving? This is uncharted territory for me. I'm nervous and anxious already ... I'm scared. Hold me.

[UPDATE - 6:45 PM -- Went to the outlets this afternoon to do some reconnaissance and get some exercise. Acquired a lovely outfit for the Cupcake, brand new with tags, and IN SEASON, at The Children's Place for $6.48 -- no, really. (Full disclosure: Is also on sale in the mall store, but I saved an additional $2.50 or so at the outlet, and considering it was under $10 to begin with -- BIG savings there, like an extra 25%.) I love outlet shopping, except when I hate it, along with Life, the Universe, and Everything.]

Placekeeper

Made a few weensy little minor cosmetic changes to my blog today -- well, OK, technically I changed the whole thing plus I asked for a pony and a foot massage -- and as you can see, shit just ain't right. Somehow I managed to bork the whole damn thing. Trying to get it fixed. We should get back to normal soon. Assuming your definition of "normal" has anything to do with mine, and I don't think of "normal" the same way that anyone else on the planet does.

But anyway ... maybe I should ask for a real live web page for Christmas to go with the Official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock, and this thing that tells time that I already asked for? Maybe?

Not that either of those things would make me less of a Luddite, mind you.

Nail Polish

I ... am not a girlie mom. I hate pink and princesses and froufrou frilly things. Most of the time I barely have time to comb Cupcake's hair before school, let alone style it (not that you can tell either way, because her head is just a mass of curls and frizz anyway). She rarely wears dresses, and the only reason she owns a pair of pink Crocs is because they were $7 at the outlet. ("Price before pretty" is the motto of the retail commando, after all.) Her little Laura Ashley number that she wore to Phil & Kim's wedding? My father bought it.

Part of this is intentional. We are trying to raise her to know that she is beautiful because of who she is, not what she looks like, even though she is a gorgeous girl. Looks fade (although I am already teaching her about the awesome and amazing power of proper moisturization). Figures change. Gravity takes over. Pudding has calories, but they are worth it. Laugh lines are lovely when earned from a life well-lived, and self-assurance: that's forever.

She wears Airwalks. She plays with Matchbox cars and small consumer electronics and sock zombies. World of Warcraft fascinates her. We are teaching her to say words like "truck" and "monkey" and to make Godzilla noises.

And yet, when my mother and our dear family friend Harriet wanted to paint her fingernails, I couldn't resist. Because it's so cute, dammit.

... Now What?

I have the day off and I'm not sure what to do with myself. Seriously. And it's weird.

I mean, there are things I need to do today, and some of them are already getting done. Took Cupcake to school because they are making grass skirts out of sheets, and they were supposed to have a magician, although when I left they said that there was actually going to be a clown instead. Good luck with that, guys! Clowns creep me right the fuck out, and I couldn't get out of the building fast enough.

Already ran the dishwasher, and as soon as it's done drying I'll empty it and fill it back up again. Load #1 of approximately 838 is in the washer now. The first 75 loads or so are going to be sheets, blankets, and towels, because one or more of the cats is being bitchy lately, and they've peed on the bed like three times in the last two weeks. We are literally out of clean sheets -- the ones on the bed now are it. Last night we used this Garfield (!!!) comforter that I believe was G's when he was like 9 years old.

There are about eleventy metric tons of clean laundry upstairs to be folded and put away, and I'll get some of that done, but we are pretty much out of closet space as it is, so not everything is going to find a home. Not sure exactly what I'm going to do about that. I have to go through Cupcake's clothes, too, and start boxing up stuff that I know doesn't fit her any more. We'll hold on to the good stuff for my sister, in case Boba turns out to be Bobette, and the rest of the stuff will get donated.

But ... then what? It's only 9:30 and already I am bored. The house is so quiet it's bizarre. It's a cool day so I turned off the air conditioner and opened the window, and there is no rattle and hum of major appliances. Since Cupcake's at school there is no giggling or screaming of shrieking of Muppets. Even the cats are quiet. I'll spend at least a few hours blowing some shit up, but I can't imagine doing that until 4:00 when G and the baby get home.

I ... miss my reality television.

Little Person Update

... and this time, it's not about the baby. Last time I updated anyone on my WoW main, she was a level 28, just a weensy little thing trying to find her way in the world. Now, she is a level 56, practically an old salt, with powers the likes of which you cannot hardly believe. In some areas, I have the ability to kill creatures with my bare hands. My herbalism and alchemy skills are as high as they can get without going to Outland, which will be happening soon -- I just need to get a little bit higher level. I spend a lot of time exploring the map on the back of "Gilda the Robochicken," a/k/a my [Red Mechanostrider]. I speak in "code" so that I know what it means when stuff is in square brackets with blue lettering, and I have not only become an Officer in my Guild, but I am also the Webmaster.

Or, in short, I have become an even bigger nerdo than ever, thanks for asking. And if not for the baby, I'd be a level 70 already: so thanks, kiddo, for saving Mommy some grief.

Cooking for Dummies (or, What to Feed an 11½-Month-Old [Not That She'll Eat It {Or Maybe She Will, Who Knows?}])

One of the things we're having the hardest time with, kid-wise, is mealtimes. I will be the first person to tell you that I have ZERO IDEA what the hell to feed a baby. I mean, we know that she takes three 8-ounce bottles of formula a day -- although she usually ends up wearing about 6 of those 24 ounces -- but beyond that, we are completely clueless. Her previous foster family told us "she eats table food," but that's such a weird and generic statement that it could mean anything, really. And it's not like we can feed her what we eat, because by and large G and I eat junk. (Yes, we are working to change that, but it's really hard to give up Little Debbie Snack Cakes cold turkey, you know? Don't you judge me.)

We're trying to use our judgement and her signals to determine what to feed her, when, and how much. I will say this about the Cupcake -- she is not a finicky eater. Not usually, anyway. She eats very well, and she'll eat pretty much anything. Not that she ought to, mind you. Parmesan garlic mashed potatoes + "tender chicken and stars" jarred food + formula with iron = REALLY NASTY STINKY DISGUSTING BABY POOP. Whoo, boy. And that is saying something, because baby poop as a general rule is pretty rank and vomitous.

All of our "resources" (our parents, plus other parents we know, plus all the parenting books and magazines that we have been able to scrounge up) have been telling us that around this age, kids want to eat what their parents are eating, or something like it, anyway. But they also want to do a lot of things on their own, which means we need to come up with "finger food" versions of our dinners. Like, the other night, G and I had chicken parm and spaghetti for supper, so we fed the baby some toddler pasta and sauce plus a cut-up chicken nugget, and she did great. Other times: well, not as such, no. Sometimes I really think all she wants to do is chew on her Crocs.

I also think we're having trouble because we are getting close to a growth spurt, if we are not already smack dab in the middle of one. Cupcake eats like a horse in the mornings, and she will eat all sorts of concoctions that I cook up for her. She has oatmeal for breakfast almost every day, and I mix it with whatever strikes my fancy when I am "building" her meal -- leftover fruit dessert or pudding from the night before, mashed bananas, applesauce, yogurt, jarred food that has other kinds of grains in it (i.e., rice cereal with pears or so-called cinnamon raisin granola -- all of which, by the way, looks and smells EXACTLY like applesauce, so I don't know how she can tell the difference).

Since she isn't really fussy, that gives us a chance to be creative and try something new almost every day. This is the closest I've come to "cooking" for the Cupcake. Today I combined oatmeal cereal, kids' vanilla yogurt, jarred mango, and diced toddler peaches, and let me tell you, she nommed that mess right up. (I would have, too -- it smelled just like a Rita's mango gelati.) She loves fruit of all kinds: we've had mango, papaya, bananas, apples, pears, blueberries, strawberries, apricots, and "mixed fruit" so far, all with great success.

But when it comes to dinnertime, we can't always figure it out. We had Tuna Helper for dinner last night, and she had some kind of jarred chicken stew with Goldfish crackers and Cheerios and I swear to God, I never thought we were going to get her to stop eating. She didn't leave so much as a crumb on her high chair tray. Tonight? She ate maybe 10 radiatore noodles and a dozen spoonfuls of her mixed vegetables, hardly anything at all, and then she started thrashing around and throwing everything on the floor and just generally giving us a hard time. And we can't figure out the rhyme or reason to it.

All we know is, we must be doing something right, because the kid is a pooping machine. Lawd sakes and boy howdy.

Progress Report

I don't know when this turned into my officially-unofficial World of Warcraft blog, but since that's pretty much my only hobby these days (goddamned writers' strike!), there you go. According to Xfire, I've spent 22 hours in the past 7 days playing WoW, which is horrifying in so many ways. But I'll be the first to admit that I just love vaporizing giant creepy spiders. Again: surprisingly therapeutic.

At this point I am a Level 28 Gnome Mage. Since my last report, I have joined a guild -- well, actually, two of them. My first guild ("The Yummy Muffins," tee hee) was absorbed by a newer, bigger guild ("Beguile") with more high-level players. My guild leader played "Pimp My Mage" with me yesterday and outfitted me with a whole bunch of improved armor. Of course, I still have 3x as much mana as health, but things are slowly improving.

Oh, and now I have a crown. So I am happy.

Yeah, I pretty much have no life any more, but I am OK with it, for a change. Although I still can't use Flamestrike in real life, which continues to be a gigantic disappointment.

PS -- Yeah, that's a mage with a sword. Because I am that much awesome. Mai skillz, let me sho u dem.

This Mid-Life Crisis Moment is being brought to you by the letters E, A, H, and S, and by the numbers 92 and 15.

So ... 15 years, 4 months, and 11 days ago, I graduated from high school. I was 18 at the time, which makes me 33 years old now. (Remember that for the next time you hear someone ask me how old I am, because odds are I won't be telling that person the truth. Usually, I round up and say I am "almost 40," so people will tell me how good I look -- "ohmigod, you don't look 40!" To which I humbly but nonetheless knowingly reply, "Thanks." Because I am vain and selfish and I will get my compliments however I can; I don't look like I'm almost 40. Because I am not. It's a weird ethical calculus, I guess, but in my head it makes sense. Yes, I know I am kind of a jerk that way, but being smart and being jerky are not binary conditions. But I am digressing.)

I have been poking around, and it doesn't look like my class has a reunion scheduled before the end of the year. Those people suck. For some reason, this comes as a great disappointment to me. To be perfectly frank, the odds of my voluntarily attending my high school reunion are approximately equal to the odds of me getting myself sperminated by Josh Beckett anyone who isn't my husband. Which is to say, about (∞-1)ⁿ against. (Definitely take the under on that one, boys and girls.) I know I am fifteen years removed from the alleged so-called end of my adolescence, but let's face it: I am still bitter. High school sucked hard, and I don't like remembering it if I don't have to.

Just the same, I am disappointed that there doesn't appear to be anything going on. Paranoid schizophrenic sociopath that I am, I can't help but wonder if this is some kind of personal affront. I didn't go to the last reunion either -- I was even more bitter and crazy then than I am now. What if I missed out on a crucial memo or something? What if all the cocktail napkins had some top-secret password on them that I am supposed to enter into a special website where I can download all the specs of the mission? How am I supposed to know what is going on?

These feelings are weird, even to me, because I am not really all that interested in what everyone else is doing. I went through that not that long ago (OK, wow, a year ago already?), and it took me to a very ugly and unpleasant place that I am not particularly interested in visiting right now. But when I have to think about high-school-related events that I plan to avoid, it makes me think about high-school-related events that I would like to relive, and it makes me kind of sad to realize that there really aren't that many of them.

Essentially -- and I mean zero disrespect to anyone who actually knew me in high school -- my entire highlight reel of high school looks like this:

Greece. 1992. April, I think. In this picture are, left to right, Ellyson Stout, Analia Regina, me, and Vivian Schoeppner. (Not pictured is the 100 lbs. or so that I have gained since then, but don't worry -- it's mostly boobs and anyway, I carry it well. Shut up.) In the background is the Acropolis. That is one of the bluest skies that I have ever seen, before or since. Even with all the smog, the noise and the pollution and the zillions of people, I can't remember anything ever smelling so sweet. Freedom. The whole wide world, laid out in front of me, and I was going to take it on, guns blazing. I was going to be a sportscaster, dammit! I was going to do play-by-play on Monday Night Football, ferchrissakes.

Wait ... I was pissed because those people suck? Hmm. Guess I'm the sucker.

Is anyone else having panic attacks because it's already October 15th and they only have two Christmas presents purchased? No? Just me? Really? I'm the only one?

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?

Ahem ... sorry about that. I don't remember when I started competing with myself over how early I could complete my Christmas shopping, but I do know this: already, I am panicking. Every day, I spend about an hour working on The List. What I want to get for whom. What I already got them. What stores and websites are having sales. What gifts go in what paper. What the theme will be this year.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T DO "THEMES"?

I always do themes for Christmas, although I don't always know what the themes are going to be ahead of time. Sometimes I'm a few gifts in for each person before I decide. One year I did this whole big hockey theme for G. The big gift was a pair of Flyers tickets, and I filled his stocking with a bunch of hockey movies, like "Miracle" and "Mystery, Alaska" and "Slapshot." There were even ice skaters on his Annual Christmas Underpants.

OH, COME ON NOW -- I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO DOES ANNUAL CHRISTMAS UNDERPANTS, AM I?

So far I feel like I am stranded in Christmasland without a map. And I am losing my mind. Although I hate the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, not to mention the fruitcakes (by which I mean: my crazy-ass muffing* family), I secretly really do think Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. It's an excuse to spend money, sure, but it's also an excuse for getting dolled up and crinkly shiny paper and stealing tape from work to secure every little edge and corner.

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING BY TELLING ME I GO OVERBOARD WITH THE TAPE. SERIOUSLY, ARE WE EVEN RELATED?

It's a good thing that they don't shut down access to shopping websites at work, because I'll be spending a lot of my so-called "spare time" over the next few months at Amazon and eBay and Overstock and all my other favorite vendors looking for those perfect little things that will fit into the budget and which will say, "I love you, (relative), but I don't like you enough to pay full retail price, and I hope you understand."

NO, IT IS NOT "THE THOUGHT" THAT COUNTS! IT IS THE DISCOUNT, DAMMIT!

It's also getting to be that time when I have to start mentally rearranging the living room furniture and maybe picking out some new curtains so that I can get the perfect tree and lovingly decorate it with just the right amount of lights and arrange the ornaments in just the best formation so that when I put the star on top I can hear the angels sing and there will be peace on earth and goodwill towards men for like 15 whole minutes until our 30-lbs. felonious felines figure out how to knock down a two-ton Frasier fir so that I am cleaning up sap from between the slats of the hardwood floor for months.

OH, SHUT UP! ALSO: SO WHAT IF I HAD THE MORAVIAN STAR UP UNTIL MEMORIAL DAY LAST YEAR! IT'S NOT LIKE THE NEIGHBORS COMPLAINED!

I SAID SHUT UP!

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch some baseball now and maybe start making some cookies and poking around in the drawers to see if G bought me anything yet and singing some carols and having another nervous breakdown.

ONLY 70 DAYS LEFT UNTIL CHRISTMAS! SAVE YOURSELVES!

(* = "Muffing" is a code word for a popular rude phrase that rhymes with "rubber ducking." You're welcome.)