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    My best friend Mike

    May 31, 2005

    Who is Mike, you ask?

    The UPS guy.

    That’s right. I’m on a first name basis with the UPS guy. Last year we almost invited him over for the annual Christmas party. Which we didn’t have because I was pregnant and for some reason Derek refused to grill for 75 of our closest friends. He’s so selfish.

    Back to Mike. Just before I had Boo Boo Kitty, I was working from home a lot. Before I was so cruelly shafted by the federal government and left on my ass, without employment.

    Boy did I bust my husband. Every day around 4 Mike would show up with a package for Derek. I didn’t know about this little shopping fetish of his because he managed to always beat me home from work. So now that I am home, unemployed, trying to figure out if we are eligible for EIC, what do you think shows up at my door? Four packages.

    I hope one is a book about how to not drive your wife so crazy that she runs off with Mike, the USP guy.

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    putting the baby to bed

    OK, so this whole putting the baby to bed thing is a crock. I’m a lazy
    ass and I have been letting him fall asleep in my arms and then putting
    him down. Not successfully, but putting him down nonetheless.

    So we thought we would try the No Cry Sleep Solution on my sister’s
    suggestion. It should be the “No Sleep, Parents Crying” Solution. I
    have come to realize that the Ferberizers/Type A’s of this world have
    made that choice because it is the quickest solution to the problem. I
    can’t do it. The crying bugs me. Not like it bugs my sister though. All
    last week she jumped up to grab the baby. Even Dave did it when E
    started to cry last night.

    But back to the book. The baby has
    had, oh, about 70 minutes of sleep the entire day. In his little
    defense, he did sleep until 10, so he really isn’t that awful. But the
    house is trashed and I can’t get anything done.

    KH: The book says to have an hour long routine before bed.
    DT:
    Is the author on the internet? Can we find her? Maybe she can come over
    here every night for an hour to get this baby to sleep. An hour is
    ridiculous.

    I pointed out that we had just carried the baby
    around for the last 7 1/2 hours so he wouldn’t cry. Perhaps a one hour
    commitment isn’t THAT much. Whatever.

    I read off the list of
    suggested activities that might induce an infant to be lulled to sleep.
    The list is as long as the check points for a Jiffy Lube oil change.

    We
    have tried several things on the list already, but to no avail. How
    about that soothing bath before bed? We did it in the dark, by
    candlelight, with soft music in the background. The kid splashed like
    Michael Phelps, dousing his parents and not becoming even remotely
    tired.

    And then there is the lovely suggestion about singing
    lullabies or playing music. Not a problem as long as we hum the music
    or play instrumental. Otherwise he sings loudly. That’s what he did at
    the funeral last week. Cute, but not good. And certainly not something
    that is going to get him to sleep.

    DT: Give him to me, I’ll rock him.

    Two minutes later…

    DT: I’m getting seasick.

    I think that must be better than being in a rocking chair and getting car sick, right?

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    putting the baby to bed

    May 30, 2005

    OK, so this whole putting the baby to bed thing is a crock. I’m a lazy ass and I have been letting him fall asleep in my arms and then putting him down. Not successfully, but putting him down nonetheless.

    So we thought we would try the No Cry Sleep Solution on my sister’s suggestion. It should be the “No Sleep, Parents Crying” Solution. I have come to realize that the Ferberizers/Type A’s of this world have made that choice because it is the quickest solution to the problem. I can’t do it. The crying bugs me. Not like it bugs my sister though. All last week she jumped up to grab the baby. Even Dave did it when E started to cry last night.

    But back to the book. The baby has had, oh, about 70 minutes of sleep the entire day. In his little defense, he did sleep until 10, so he really isn’t that awful. But the house is trashed and I can’t get anything done.

    KH: The book says to have an hour long routine before bed.
    DT: Is the author on the internet? Can we find her? Maybe she can come over here every night for an hour to get this baby to sleep. An hour is ridiculous.

    I pointed out that we had just carried the baby around for the last 7 1/2 hours so he wouldn’t cry. Perhaps a one hour commitment isn’t THAT much. Whatever.

    I read off the list of suggested activities that might induce an infant to be lulled to sleep. The list is as long as the check points for a Jiffy Lube oil change.

    We have tried several things on the list already, but to no avail. How about that soothing bath before bed? We did it in the dark, by candlelight, with soft music in the background. The kid splashed like Michael Phelps, dousing his parents and not becoming even remotely tired.

    And then there is the lovely suggestion about singing lullabies or playing music. Not a problem as long as we hum the music or play instrumental. Otherwise he sings loudly. That’s what he did at the funeral last week. Cute, but not good. And certainly not something that is going to get him to sleep.

    DT: Give him to me, I’ll rock him.

    Two minutes later…

    DT: I’m getting seasick.

    I think that must be better than being in a rocking chair and getting car sick, right?

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    Fence post holes and how to get out of work on holidays

    We have a little problem with Zinni. He has decided that he would
    rather be anywhere but here. By nature Labs are not very loyal dogs to
    begin with because they will go with any person who says “good dog” and
    who will give them steak. Or treats. Or scraps of year-old crackers on
    the floor that made their way behind appliances but somehow are still
    able to be retrieved by the retriever. Or poop in the yard that may
    even be his. He’s a whore. There are no two ways about it.

    So he
    has now become the wandering dog. A little rattle of the gate and he is
    out. So Derek has decided that a 6 foot gate on each side of the house
    will solve our little “free bird” problem. Somehow the high fence on
    the front is going to fix this problem.

    Like anything done by
    Derek, this front fence is being done right and will be able to
    withstand Cat 5 hurricane force winds. I haven’t brought it to his
    attention that the dog can take the 4 foot high surrounding fence
    without even a whimper. Whatever. So not my problem.

    So
    yesterday we spent the lovely day sinking posts. OK, Derek spent the
    day sinking posts. I may have had a 2 hour nap on the couch, but I can
    neither confirm or deny that information. Anyway, he was ready to throw
    in the towel when I came crawling outside.

    KH: Come on, I’ll dig the hole for the last post.
    DT: Are you sure?
    KH: Of course, baby. I should contribute.

    Two
    inches into the hole and I hit concrete. But I don’t do concrete. I
    would love to be an asset in this project but I don’t do concrete.

    KH: OK, I’ll hold the baby and you just get the concrete up. Then I’ll dig the rest. I promise.

    When I turned back around 10 minutes later, the hole was two feet deep and the 2X4 was already in it.

    I’ll see your podiatrist’s note and raise you with a fence post. Touche.

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    Fence post holes and how to get out of work on holidays

    May 29, 2005

    We have a little problem with Zinni. He has decided that he would rather be anywhere but here. By nature Labs are not very loyal dogs to begin with because they will go with any person who says “good dog” and who will give them steak. Or treats. Or scraps of year-old crackers on the floor that made their way behind appliances but somehow are still able to be retrieved by the retriever. Or poop in the yard that may even be his. He’s a whore. There are no two ways about it.

    So he has now become the wandering dog. A little rattle of the gate and he is out. So Derek has decided that a 6 foot gate on each side of the house will solve our little “free bird” problem. Somehow the high fence on the front is going to fix this problem.

    Like anything done by Derek, this front fence is being done right and will be able to withstand Cat 5 hurricane force winds. I haven’t brought it to his attention that the dog can take the 4 foot high surrounding fence without even a whimper. Whatever. So not my problem.

    So yesterday we spent the lovely day sinking posts. OK, Derek spent the day sinking posts. I may have had a 2 hour nap on the couch, but I can neither confirm or deny that information. Anyway, he was ready to throw in the towel when I came crawling outside.

    KH: Come on, I’ll dig the hole for the last post.
    DT: Are you sure?
    KH: Of course, baby. I should contribute.

    Two inches into the hole and I hit concrete. But I don’t do concrete. I would love to be an asset in this project but I don’t do concrete.

    KH: OK, I’ll hold the baby and you just get the concrete up. Then I’ll dig the rest. I promise.

    When I turned back around 10 minutes later, the hole was two feet deep and the 2X4 was already in it.

    I’ll see your podiatrist’s note and raise you with a fence post. Touche.

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    Embarrassing questions parents will one day have to answer

    My son’s will be…

    “Why are all the tips of my fingers flat?”

    How does one answer that one was an idiot and could not operate baby nail clippers?

    Derek
    says that this is not all bad, my permanently marring my son’s hands.
    He says that it will protect him from detection should he choose a life
    of crime one of these days. You know, no fingerprints.

    I hate to
    point out that scarred fingertips, barring complete obliteration of the
    whirls and ridges, are actually a great identification source. I am too
    flabbergasted that a life of crime may be a possible occupation for the
    offspring that I labored 28 hours to bring into this world.

    Maybe he was joking. I really hope he was joking.

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