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    If you have the opportunity, I would highly recommend flying across the country with an infant and a toddler

    June 28, 2007

    To spice it up a little, throw in three middle seats not even near each other, two family members with congestion, the woman three rows up with TB, and a husband who thinks that since he paid $670 for his seat, he should be able to watch “Breach” unmolested for 2 hours.  On a plane.  Because it’s free and all.

    Two hours. 

    Then rent a minivan with California plates.  In Oregon.  You can ask the nice lady at Alamo if you are going to get beat up for having a minivan with California plates and she will assure you that you will be fine because the good people of Oregon wouldn’t hold it against you, but you may still find yoursef in a dirt ditch at 10:00 p.m.  With babies in the car. 

    But the best part about going away.  Coming home to your own bed.  And sleeping in.  Until the person who was so kind to wake you up 2 hours early every single day of your vacation forgets that the alarm is on and sets it off.  Two hours before you should wake up.

    Oh, the joys of “vacation.”

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    So you are saying we should get a StairMaster

    June 20, 2007

    D:  Can you see him?
    K:  Sort of.  I can see his feet.  Uh, now I can only see his shadow.
    D:  Can you see him now?
    K:  Nope, but I can see the door and that’s his only way out.
    D:  Are you sure he is still there?
    K:  I can hear him banging around on the other side of the gumball machines.


    Suddenly the nice young man busing tables across the room made a motion to us with his hand.

    K:  You should definitely go get him.  That guy is pointing.  Maybe he left.
    D:  You think?

    As my husband climbed out of the booth and turned around to go retrieve our son from wherever he disappeared, The Boy suddenly reappeared before our very eyes.

    He had scaled the two levels of gumball machines and was staring at us from the top of the highest machine.  Five feet in the air.

    Busboy:  He sure is a good climber.
    K:  Even better than we thought…. 

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    Update: Potty Training, aka Signs that The Boy May One Day Enter a Nudist Colony

    June 19, 2007

    As seen on dictionary.com

    training–v.   tr.



    1. To coach in or accustom to a mode of behavior or performance.
    2. To make proficient with specialized instruction and practice. See Synonyms at teach.
    3. To prepare physically, as with a regimen: train athletes for track-and-field competition.
    4. To cause (a plant or one’s hair) to take a desired course or shape, as by manipulating.
    5. To focus on or aim at (a goal, mark, or target); direct. See Synonyms at aim.
    6. To let drag behind; trail.  

    As, is the case in number 6, I find myself training.

    So, after listening to all the advice,  I decided to go with that new-fangled training method of taking your child’s diaper off and hoping against all hope that you don’t find puddles all over the house.  I thought this was a good idea now rather than before moving because I now have 95% carpet as opposed to the 95% oh-so-easy-to-clean-hardwood floors at the old house.   Let me say, it has been slightly disconcerting to the army of workers attempting to put Humpty Dumpty back together again over here at the Money Pit and now the neighbors are POSITIVE we are white trash sent to bring the ‘hood down, but whatever.

    Can I just say it’s working like a charm?  Except for the incident where he held it in for 3 hours until he could get onto the front porch to, and I quote “see the pee on the front porch, Mama.”  There was a couple of incidents of taking a dump in the yard (“EEEETHAN!!!!  WHO GOES TO THE BATHROOM OUTSIDE????  E:  Zinni, Mama…..see, Mama, I go poop”) right by the driveway.  I mean, I have 3.3312 acres now so it seems logical to poop DIRECTLY BESIDE THE DRIVEWAY. 

    Other than that, the only downside is that now I can’t get clothes back on him. 

    E: NNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    If you feel like you just can’t hear it in your hear it in your head, imagine “no” in lieu of “GOAL.”  That’s about right. 

    “Oh, just put the clothes on him.  You Parents These Days.”  That’s what you are saying, right?

    Come on over and show me how it’s done.  I gotta go.  Naked Bike Rider is doing the laps in the house.  Maybe I can head him off at the pass.

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    Cause I am always looking for a freebie

    June 14, 2007

    check my pictures out here.  They are giving away a trip to Blogher and the more popular you are, the better your chances… 

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    It looks like I may turn into one of those annoying Weight Watchers people that is constantly informing everyone exactly how many points are in that margarita

    Here we have it, people.  You are witnessing Day #2 of “the-first-diet-Kristen-has-ever-done.”  Except for that pesky 6 year stretch of anorexia in high school and college, but who really considers starvation as a diet? 

    I’ll spare you the weight loss ticker but I’ll let you know that I have 23 pounds to lose.  17 pounds until my “damn-you-look-fine” weight.  23 pounds to my fighting weight.  23 pounds until my “you’d-better-watch-your-husband-cause-he’s-gonna-be-CHECKIN’-ME-OUT” weight.  
     
    My inspiration is a number of things.  The pictures of my fat ass being plastered over the Internet after Blogher Business, for one.  You people who propogated that cruelty, you know who you are.  There will be no cocktails for you at Blogher next month.

    “But you just had a baby.”  Four months ago.  It’s time to STEP AWAY FROM THE BOX OF PASTA FOR LUNCH every day.

    Remarkably, my scale said I lost 5 pounds since yesterday.  I didn’t know a pound of pasta, pepsi, chocolate and ice cream weighed so much.  Or my shirt and shorts. 

    If you are going to start a diet, I highly recommend figuring out your starting weight just after lunch and weighing yourself for the first time at the crack of dawn the next morning.  After you have peed.  And nursed.  And nursed again. 

    But that’s just me.

    The saddest thing to see go–the 16 point homemade margarita on the rocks that really made me happy. 

    And right now the leg of the chair is looking pretty edible.  I can see this is going to take a period of adjustment.

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    How small is the Internet and would you know this writer if you met her on the street??

    June 8, 2007

    The internet is SO SMALL that your by-far favorite Match.com boyfriend with whom you have not conversed in, oh, I don’t know, 5 years, finds you by googling “half-assed parenting.”  And despite your clever concealment of your identity and relying on the fact that your life is such a mere shell of what it used to be, said by-favorite Match.com boyfriend comments on your blog that he knew it was you. 

    Oh, Internet, it is clear that I am the person in this blog. 


    Hi, tvtown.  Congrats on the impending arrival of your baby!  Stay tuned for more tips on half-assed parenting.

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