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    Oh, you can’t take The Boy anywhere

    July 28, 2006

    Special thanks to Heather for making me feel like the pretty girl at the prom and inviting us to share a table with the cool kids.  And while she threatened to rip my “Stay at Home Blogger” tshirt from my body, I apparently forgot to mention that I am selling them for $15 over at Baby Brewing.  She will get one for free because she is so very nice and she was the very first person to tell me that she had read my blog. 

    Other than the fact that The Boy is the spawn of Satan, this is going much better than expected.  I mean, I have only burst into tears once today and the fried chicken at the lunch buffet hit the spot.  Weight Watchers was clearly not on staff for the menu selection.  Did I mention I had chocolate cake for dessert?  Now all I need is that 52 oz. bag of M&M’s I saw at BJ’s the other day.

    OK, so The Boy isn’t bad.  In fact, he has been entertaining.  Inappropriately entertaining, but entertaining nonetheless.  We had to leave the last session (with 700 women) because when the sponsor (American Greetings) was commenting on how AG had been in the business of connecting people for over 100 years, The Boy yelled, “YEH!!!!!!  and clapped his hands wildly.  Special thanks to all the 699 women who laughed, because then he had to do it repeatedly.  It’s OK, because I was in the seat farthest from the door, so he was able to do it 4 more times before I got out of there.

    “But Kristen, I thought you were taking him to BlogHer daycare” you say. 

    Yeah, right.  After convincing Jessica how absolutely FABULOUS the small crowd was over there, I went back with The Boy’s diaper bag, only to find him hysterical.  Jessica’s baby Katie was sweet and never made a peep  after Jessica dropped her off.  In fact,  I think she is stll there.  The staff was amazing, but I’m not doing that to myself or The Boy or the other kids who are socially adept and can go 11 minutes without Mom.  After his short stint in the land of fun toys and even funner staff, The Boy will have to be surgically removed from my body in order for separation to occur now.  We are talking conjoined. To add insult to injury, there is a woman here with a 15 month old that sits quietly during sessions, and fell asleep like a rag doll in her sling.  I think his head may have landed in the salad bowl at lunch and he still didn’t wake up.   

    I caught sight of the specific A-lister that was the object of Marelle’s desire and had an urge to take one of those freaky camera phone shots the paparazzi take of Britney that are ass-level and make her look like she is an actual carnival mirror image, but then I thought that I didn’t want to read about my behavior on 30 blogs tomorrow (“OMG, did you see that whack taking camera phone pictures?”).  For God’s sake, I met Paul McCartney once and didn’t ask for HIS autograph.  What the hell were you thinking anyway, Marelle?  You and me listened to a lot of Amy Grant in high school together so I had better be your biggest blog crush. 

    The Boy sleeps.  Finally.  I wish I had brought a blender to this party.  This day has “Target run” written all over it.  It’s about time for a pina colada, Baby.

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    Revising my opinion of Blogher

    I’ve changed my mind.  Blogher isn’t like the first day of high school.  It’s like being a TRANSFER student changing high schools mid-year, the week before prom. 

    It took us a hundred years to arrive yesterday, but we are finally here.  It was ugly to say the least (like we don’t know that “there’s lots of turbulence, so I’ll have to keep the seat belt sign on for 3 hours” and then there is no turbulence, is only a ploy so the flight attendants can yack it up in the back, and then read the latest US Weekly and yell at people to sit the hell back down). 

    So when we got here, we just cruised the lobby bar to see what was going on.  There were groups of 10, everywhere, and everyone knew each other.  How the hell am I ever going to get a date to the prom? 

    We got to our room, the boy promptly ripped off his diaper and peed on the floor.  He then ran over to the door, opened it and tried to head down the hall.  I think he’s gonna be a rager in college.

    But in the true spirit of this being like high school, my sister just asked me for deodorant.

    And I forgot mine. 


    Nope, forgot that too.

    If you are at blogher, I’ll be the one wearing the “Stay At Home Blogger” t-shirt and smelling faintly of funk by the end of the day. 

    We were this lame in high school too.

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    It’s like high school, only worser

    July 27, 2006

    So I am leaving for BlogHer tomorrow.  Oh, no, according to my clock, that would be today. 

    I’m leaving for BlogHer today.

    As I have taken a few spare moments to peruse some of the bloggers attending, I have noticed a common theme.

    Pedicures, manicures, new hair styles, new hair colors, new wardrobes.

    I called up my sister, also attending, to discuss this phenomenon.

    K:  It’s like the first day of 10th or 11th grade.
    J:  Oh, yeah.  Hey, I can’t talk long because I’m going to Andry to get my hair cut.
    K:  E tu, Brute?
    J:  Hell yeah.  And I might go shopping after my haircut.

    This is just like high school all over again.  All the cool kids can’t WAIT to be together again after summers in France RIPPED THEM APART, the geeks can’t wait for the math competitions to start because Band Camp just wasn’t enough in the summer and the kids stuck in the middle just hope that THIS YEAR, when the yearbook comes out, the cast-iron BITCHES on Yearbook won’t poke their eyes out in their photo. 

    The A-listers are the cheerleaders (who just can’t WAIT to see one another again and drink cocktails in the lobby bar), the B-listers have all the student government positions and it goes south from there.  Marelle, when she realized that I was going to BlogHer, screeched in a manner that can only be described as deafening and asked me to get a certain A-lister’s autograph for her.  Not only has Marelle forgotten our high school experience, she apparently ignored me for the prior 10 minute conversation.

    Which makes it like High School all over again.  Because I haven’t even found my clean underwear yet and it is T minus 9 hours until takeoff.  So if you are a Blogger going to BlogHer and you don’t fit the alphabet soup, look me up.  I’ll be wearing the “Stay At Home Blogger” t-shirt.  That I just got finished printing up.  I probably should have thrown in a load of laundry first. 

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    Using my supersensory powers for good rather than evil

    July 25, 2006

    So I’m laying on the couch yesterday with my feet propped on my husband.  Ever since we have been trying to sell the house, we put all our furniture into storage so that prospective buyers would enter our humble abode and not realize that it is a 1400 sq ft. shoebox.  That means that only one person can lie down on the couch and the other person has to squish into the corner of the couch and prop his feet on one of The Boy’s toys, where an ottoman used to be. 

    So I’m lying there yesterday when I get a whiff of something less than attractive.

    K:  Did you fart?
    D:  No?
    K:  No?  You don’t know if the answer is No? or you are fashioning an answer in your head as fast as you can, which is not very fast at all.
    D:  No (more definitively).
    K:  Do you have poops in your pants?
    E:  Yeah.
    K:  Are you saying “yeah” because you do, or because that is your new favorite word?
    E:  Yeah.
    K:  Do you know what “yeah” even means?
    E:  Yeah.
    K:  What does “yeah” mean?
    E:  Yeah.

    The Boy has a point.

    D:  He can’t have poops in his diaper, I just changed him.
    K:  He had a pound and a half of grapes.  He can have poops in his diaper.

    With that, The Boy bent over, picked something off the ground, and handed it to me.


    I ran screaming into the lav to flush it.  D checked his diaper.  No poops.  So is it sicker that he handed it to me or that it was at my feet for some indeterminable time? 

    Children are nasty. 

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    Vacation, vacation, oh, who the hell am I kidding?

    July 8, 2006

    Tomorrow we leave for 10 days in Idaho.  If you are one of the three people that read this blog and you would like to hear about how my vacation is REALLY going with the fam, email me at babybrewingco at gmail dot com and I’ll send you the link to the vacation blog.  I promise it will be TEN TIMES BETTER than last year’s debacle (see, August archives).  This year promises more nickels in the dryer and at least one time that I get caught sitting on the throne because I forgot to lock the door. 

    Peach out!

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    You’d never know it by looking at him

    July 3, 2006

    D:  Where are you?
    K:  We are on our way to IKEA for the annual buying pilgrimage before our trip to IdaHO.
    D:  What are you getting?
    K:  I’m getting one of those cheapy knives so we have something sharper than our fingernails that will cut bread.
    D:  Good call. 
    K:  I think it’s $1.56.  But don’t worry.  I’ll be keeping the receipt so I we can ask the rest of the family for their portion. 
    D:  HA!  Hey, why don’t you pick up 6 or 7 extra knives.
    K:  For? 
    D:  We could drop them in people’s bags before they go through security.  It would be hilarious.
    K:  That is messed up.  But funny as hell.

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