PSYCHO-BILLY CRESSIDA

Yeah, so the two-car family isn't working for us.  We live in a micro neighborhood with limited zoned parking that is patrolled by a rabidly enthusiastic parking enforcer.  We just bought a newer (but not new), more spacious, safer, more fuel efficient, stereotypical Volvo station wagon.  Alas, the time has come to bid my beloved Cressie adieu.  

Although she was not my first car (which had two flat tires within the first couple of months and a failing distributor which made a typically 4 hour drive from St. Louis to Louisville turn into a grueling stop-and-go dangerous 8 hour drive), Cressie has been my car for ages.  Sixteen years, to be exact.  She's old enough to drive her own car!  She shuttled me back and forth between law school and home.  She waited patiently while I shopped, ate, and partied.   She carried me to my current stomping grounds and has survived the scrapes and dings and harsh weather and potholes for which this city is notorious.  

One weekend, she was getting LB, Gav, and me to NJ to see Radiohead in concert.  Another weekend, she coasted her way to NY with a side trip to Baltimore to pick up Aunty N who settled into the nest of pillows and blankets in the back seat and slept the whole way.  LB and I shared her for a while when we were both working at the Discovery Channel.  Then TP and I shared her for a while when his car was totaled (thankfully with neither of us in the car at the time).  And now, I have to give her away because it's just too complicated and unnecessary to maintain two cars.  I'll miss her smooth ride.  I'll miss her tight turns.  I'll even miss the busticated antennae that left us with only local radio to listen to and the temperamental CD player that would selectively play mix CDs at her own whim.  Good luck to ye, lassie.  I hope your next owner loves you as much as I do.

My favorite word

Word of the Day for Wednesday, July 30, 2008

sesquipedalian \ses-kwuh-puh-DAYL-yuhn\, adjective:

1. Given to or characterized by the use of long words.
2. Long and ponderous; having many syllables.
3. A long word.

He's crafty - and he's just my type

"Black cookie!  BLACK COOOOKIIIEEEE!!!!"

TP and I have an ongoing battle involving the timing of snacking.  TP's idea of dinner, when he hasn't concocted some gourmet meal worthy of the Food Network, is to stand in front of the pantry doors and nibble on this and nosh on that.  To my inevitable evening inquiry of "what do you want for dinner?" his equally inevitable response is, "Oh, I'll find something."  That's all well and good for this grown man who fended quite well for himself long before I came into his life.  For ZP, however, it's another matter.  

Back in the days when ZP would eat next to nothing, TP would offer him ANYTHING just to get him to eat.  When he discovered that ZP quite enjoyed chocolate chip cookies ("cookies and the dots") or the Chocolate Raspberry Milano cookies ("black cookies"), it became a habit of TP's to offer him cookies anytime he entered his line of sight.  Cybermom is always amused at catching ZP imitating his father and opening the pantry doors and gazing at the cornucopia of cookies and crackers and snookies and snackers within reach before deciding on one and hefting it over to us to open for him.  I keep up the threat of "if you give him cookies before dinner, then YOU are in charge of feeding him dinner" because I'm tired of being the villain, of fighting with ZP to eat a morsel of a proper meal, of being the object of sidelong glances when TP quietly confides to ZP, "no, Mommy said you can't have that."  But in the end, I take pity on TP and ZP and end up doing the whole song and dance routine to get ZP to have some dinner before he implodes.

Last night, our little family unit was gathered in the kitchen and while I was chatting it up with AP, ZP tried to whisper something to TP in his most charming, adorable two-year old way.  TP laughed and then told ZP to ask Mommy.  Chagrined that his father was ruining his attempt at subterfuge, he trained his sights on me and with a plaintive look and super grin asked, "Mommy?  Cookies?"  He took my hand and with guided-missile accuracy aimed it at the bag of cookies that were juuuuust out of his reach.  I sighed, glared at TP, and had to say, "No, not yet.  After dinner."  He kicked up a  little fuss but then backed down to regroup.  Not a moment later, while I was taking my plate into the dining room, ZP said, "Mommy.  GO UPSTAIRS." while dragging TP's hand over to the pantry.  CHEEKY MONKEY!  I can't believe he is already at that stage where he tries to outwit his parents.  The next thing you know, he'll be asking me if he can watch some crappy TV because he knows I'll say yes when Daddy tries, "no."  REVENGE!

Gelaterrific

KG just bought a gelato maker.  So guess what we did this weekend.  Thus far, I can say that the coffee gelato (despite the gritty Haitian coffee bean crunch) was my favorite  - thick, creamy, and caffeiney.  The cantaloupe came in second place because it was not as creamy but I don't believe the fruit-based ones ever really are.  The bronze medal was handed out for banana - not because it didn't taste good - it did - but while various melons and loupes are tasty when cold, bananas are not that appetizing chilled.  It reminded me of the frozen banana we had to eat in a Chinese airport because that was all that was available at the kiosk at 7 a.m.  At least this gave me the chance to say affirmatively that I don't like cold bananas, whether a la carte, with ice cream as a split, or even in gelato form.  Even so, it met the requirement to taste like the fruit and be gelato so I can't say too many bad things about it.

On Sunday, we walked over to the Dupont Farmer's Market where tried DolceZZa's lime cilantro (sharply tart and zingy) but ended up buying the lemon basil (sweetly tart and complexly flavored).  Apparently, this gelato is Argentine style, meaning it contains no eggs but is creamier than Italian gelato.  That somehow seems counter-intuitive because I would have thought that more eggs would make the gelato thicker and denser, but what do I know?  I think next week I'll give avocado honey orange a spin but at $6 a half-pint, I'll take a little taste test first.

To assist KG in future gelato laboratory experiments, I present in easy-to-read form the grades I handed out for the various dishes we sampled in Italy:

• Amaretto, B (given by TP although almond-flavored anything (except actual almonds) makes me want to vomit through my nose and so I would have given it an F-) 
• Chestnut, B
• Tutti Frutti, F 
  
• Perfumo di Sorrento, A 
  
• Lemon, A+ valedictorian 
• Tiramisu, C- 
• Mint, C+ but can make up grade during summer school 
• Dark Chocolate, I think you know the grade for this one 
• Peach, A+ 
• Cannoli, A- 
• Walnut, B 
• Fig, A 
• Zuppa de Ingles, A- but with some extra credit homework, a potential A. 
• vanilla cherry, C- 
• coconut, B 
• profumi di sorrento (citrusy), A 
• vanilla, B plays well with others. listens carefully. completes homework assignments
• pistachio, B
• watermelon, B-
• strawberry, A
• chocolate, A+
• sicilliana, A
• egg nog, D

First of Many

New rule:  No naps for anyone before 10 a.m. or past 4 p.m.

Exception to the rule:  I may nap any time I please and for as long as I please.

Yesterday was a beautiful, uncharacteristically pleasant July day.  The kiddies spent a lot of time outside to enjoy the sunny day and apparently were so full of energy that they didn't nap until 3 p.m. and didn't wake up until 5 p.m.   Even though TP and I took them for a nice long walk around the neighborhood in the evening, they didn't sleep until nearly 10 p.m.  We thought we had a nice routine going where I give AP a bath and her last feeding by around 9 p.m. while TP does the same for ZP so that everyone is in bed and either snoozing or on the verge of snoozing by 9:30 with AP waking up only once and then going right back to sleep until a decent 6 or 7 a.m.  Alas, last night was wayyy out of whack.  AP got up at 2 and then again at 3 and then again at 5.  Meanwhile, ZP woke up at 4:30 and despite my efforts to get him to go back to sleep, he stayed awake and wanted milk and Daddy and Wiggles and "downshtores" and "upshtores" and more milk and "sientata, Mommy" and "hold the baby" and OH MY GOD I WANT TO PASS OUT!  The nanny is here now and after about a solid hour of tag-team wailing, all is suspiciously quiet.  I didn't hear the door open so I'm guessing everyone finally petered out and collapsed out of sheer exhaustion.  I think I'll do the same.  I'll start the new rule tomorrow.

Rear Window meets Broken Windows

"Jeff, you know if someone came in here, they wouldn't believe what they'd see? You and me with long faces plunged into despair because we find out a man didn't kill his wife. We're two of the most frightening ghouls I've ever known."

-- Rear Window

Working from home has vast rewards.  No exorbitant gas prices to pay.  No schedule on when to shower or eat or get dressed.  I can visit my kiddies downstairs when I get a free moment as well as do the laundry, make some dinner, and maybe even watch a movie or show (current Netflix arrival:  The Wire, Season One).  As long as I get my work done, I can make my own hours.  Sometimes, however, I do run into computer glitches that take a while to repair.  So, while I am on hold with the help desk and imagine some Nick Burns type messing around with my virtual laptop, I can play Scrabulous, I can catch up on e-mail, and I can stare out of my window.

My window overlooks my backyard with its beautiful dogwood, two fig trees, some gourds that TP hung up as decoration, and various greenery which is quite lovely in the spring.  It also overlooks my neighbor's yard on one side with its showroom quality selection of flowers, benches, and a grill atop a nice, warm wooden patio.  It also overlooks my other neighbor's yard with its patchy weeds, cracked cement, and apparently an invitation for bums, vagrants, and potential thieves to come and make themselves comfortable.  One day, I was privy to a youth using the fence as . . . a privy.  Another day, I saw an older man root through the garbage can, take out a jean jacket, toss it back, take out a cell phone, start walking away but then tested it to see if it worked (since he spun around to throw it back into the trash, I can only assume that it did not).  Yesterday, I saw a dread-locked dude slowly saunter up to the fence, pause, move forward to the garbage can, pause, and then disappear from my view because he approached the house itself and possibly over to the back porch.  I was still on hold and therefore kept watching outside until the guy walked back across the alley, past the playground, and around the apartment complex.  I sighed and went back to work.  

After a short while, however, a movement outside caught my eye.  When I looked down, I saw the dude returning, this time with a knife.  He took no pains to conceal it.  He moved forward with purpose.  I stood up and got as close to the window as I could without falling out of it.  I had the phone in my hand and was debating whether I should call 311 to report the suspicious activity when the dude must have sensed someone was watching because he looked up and saw me.  He stood there for a moment like a deer caught in the headlights.  I moved a fraction of an inch closer to the window and brought the phone to my ear.  I knew he could see me and he knew I could see him.  He finally broke the look by lowering his head.  He moved towards the house for a moment and then, with some detritus (was it a pipe? a tube?) in his hand, crossed the alley and did not return.  

My 80-something old neighbor had some medical condition (heart attack?) that required an ambulance to whisk him away sometime in the cold months (February?  this is how I remember things now - not by dates but by seasons).  His family reported that he is unable to take care of himself alone in this house and thus is not returning.  As a result, they came by a few times every week to clear the house out to (a) get his new place set up with this stuff and (b) potentially sell it.  It has been a long time, however, since anyone has checked up on it and the area has fallen into disrepair.  I went ahead and called 311 to report the incident on the chance that the dude returned but there was no follow up, no call back, nada.  

I couldn't help but think of the Broken Windows concept which I had first heard of when reading The Tipping Point.  I really hope it doesn't come to that.  I mean, we have a brand-spanking new Harris Teeters, we have easy access to TWO, count 'em, TWO metro stations, and new businesses popping up every other day in Adams Morgan.  At the same time, we have teens loitering noisily at all hours in the front and back, shady characters populating the alley and the playground at night, and all of the bars on 18th street spewing drunkards and criminals onto the streets.  For every beautiful arrangement of front yard foliage I hear a story of a shooting or mugging.  Is it time to put money into renovating our basement and installing a nice patio in the back for some BBQ?  Or is it time to put money into the bank and start thinking of moving out to the 'burbs?  

Just What the Doctor Ordered

By special request from Julestress (and anyone else who has sampled this dish, the recipe of which I was given by my mother exactly 20 years ago but the recollection of which my mother has none).

Fixin's:

• Chicken breast (cut into bite-sized pieces or huge slabs, your choice).
  
• 1 cup plain yogurt (why she felt the need to specify it should be plain instead of, say, strawberry, I'm not sure).
• 1 tsp. grated ginger (thank goodness for modern grocery stores where they do the grating for ye).
• 1 tsp. cumin (best if you buy the seeds and then grind it yourself because then the spice is fresher).
• 1 tsp. coriander (same as above)
• 1 tsp. salt (or a pinch less, as you prefer)
• 1 tsp. pepper (or a pinch more, as you prefer)
• 1 tsp. turmeric (do you see a theme here for the portions of spices?)
• 1/4 cup cooking oil (again, did she think I would use motor oil?)
• 1 minced onion ("medium," she says.  heh.  we're lucky she didn't say, "just the right amount of onion."

How to:

• Mix the yogurt, oil, spices, and onion in a bowl to tenderize the chicken
• Place the chicken into the mixture and, if in slab form, stab it a bit with a fork to tenderize it some more.  (Yaz, I'm looking in your direction)
• Marinate (yay!  she got it right!  it's marinate, not marinade) for 2 hours or over night
• Bake uncovered in baking pan at 350 degress for 45 minutes.

Final Touch:

• Garnish with cilantro, as you please
• Call me when it's ready.  I'll even bring along my own fork.

You say it's your bday. It's his bday too!

Happy Birthday to TP and Najm!  TP, since you are on your wheat-free kick these days, I guess Najm and I will have to eat all the pizza and cannolis by ourselves . . . 

Avast, Chips Ahoy!

TP sent me this recipe for chocolate chip cookies from the New York Times (the implication being 'you make this for me').  I got as far as "Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling" before I started daydreaming about how awesome it would be to chill for at least 24 hours.

if it's got monkeys, it's gotta be good

This website, 1000000monkeys.com, reminds me of one of my first forays into the blog world when I tentatively threw my hat into Abez's ring of story-telling in which various commenters added to, enhanced, and fleshed out the introduction of a tale.  I seem to recall that my entries were quite silly and possibly violent but I can't link to it because Abez is on haitus!  It also kind of reminds me of a rap battle between Chai and 2 Scoops and me about who was a champion swinger (the innocent kind, not the lurid kind) all held within the comment section of Yasminay's blog, but again, I cannae find it!  So.  Erm.  Nevermind.  Go have fun with 1,000,000 monkeys.

spool up the ftl

Good Gravy does time fly.  Every other day I think to myself, "Self, you really need to update and document some of the events that have been going on in your life before your cheesecloth brain forgets it all."  But then Self gets busy with living and doesn't have time for writing.  Until now.  My work computer is misbehaving and so I'm taking a moment to jot a few things down.  Um.  Hm.  Bullet Time!

• AP is four months old today.  She is still such a dreamboat.   She sleeps pretty nicely through the night for the most part.  She likes to sit in someone's lap while ZP performs various antics to her great amusement.  She prefers, however, to view him from above, i.e. peeking over someone's shoulder as she is standing so that she is out of swiping range.  She doesn't mind being left alone and sometimes likes it better.  She has now mastered the mega-wattage smile.   Exhibit A is the smile at its lowest setting.  If I uploaded the highest setting, your monitor would explode.
  

• ZP is two years old and despite his horrid eating habits (or lack thereof), he is full of energy, naughtiness, and information (from what is hot ("coffee!  fire!  outside!") to who is bad or mad or sad (the majority of the cast of Thomas the Tank Engine)).  He enjoys reprimanding folks young ("no finger in la boca, baby ziza!") to old (upon viewing TP standing on the chair to get some BBQ equipment from a high shelf, he excitedly exclaimed, "NO STANDING!") alike.  
• TP and I have returned to work and are so thankful that we can avoid much of the slaughter at the gas station since TP can walk to work and I am working from home.  It has been bittersweet to start working again because on the one hand, I ache whenever I hear one of my babies in distress downstairs while the nanny watches them; but on the other hand, I am back to doing more than breaking up fights, I get to give my spine a rest, and I can catch up on other life stuff.    I just need to find some time to work in some exercise so I can recover from my Dunlop's disease.
• Movies:  thanks to Netflix, I have managed to catch a few here and there.  Too bad many of them are just "meh" -- Michael Clayton, Darjeeling Limited, and The Namesake come to mind.  Good thing there are some thumbs up material mixed in though - Flight of the Conchords Season One, Eastern Promises, The Presige to name a few.
• Music: Wah!  Nada!  Someone rescue me!
• Books:  The only ones I have time for anymore are graphic novels courtesy of KG: Batman-  The Dark Knight Returns, The League of Extraordinary Gentlement, and the latest Buffy installments.  Next up:  The Watchmen and possibly The 99.
• TV:  Thanks to AP's erratic feeding schedule, I am up anywhere from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. at which time the old reliable 80s shows are on.  I think I've seen every episode of "Roseanne" and "The Cosby Show" at least two or three times.  "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air" is working its way onto the roster.  Once the fall season starts, I have promised KG I would get a DVR so I can watch some shows from this century.  Wish me luck.
• Travel:  Armchair traveling these days but looking forward to our trip to Georgia (despite lugging TWO kids through the dead of August) for the big wedding and then to J'ville for Thanksgiving.
• Food:  I just made Chhote Kofte and rice last night and the best review possible is that ZP actually ate it with no fuss.  Wow.  Just call me an Iron Chef.  Also, figures that now that rice prices have sky-rocketed, that's all ZP wants to eat. Well, that and peanut butter crackers which he calls, "cookies."  Nando's has finally come to DC and Wagamama is not far behind.  Can't wait!

That's about all I can remember for now.  More to come as I think of it. And am awake enough to report.  Post script:  anyone still out there or am I just going to be documenting stuff for posterity and/or the kids' sake?

She Sells Sanctuary

Dear Baby Aziza,

Sorry I've been so lax in documenting your arrival and subsequent stay with us.  After last night's tornado touchdowns and downed power lines, it appears that my office's server is down and so, while everyone else is asleep, I finally have a free moment to report.  So.

It was a dark and stormy night.  As we raced through the cobbled streets of D.C. (well, they weren't cobbled, but they were so busticated and full of potholes that they felt cobbled), I clutched the armrest and my stomach when we hit a bump or when my bump hit me.  My contractions had started that afternoon but they did not cluster together until about 8 p.m. that night.  You politely waited until we finished our meeting with ZP's "Tia" to discuss future employment plans.  Then, after they left and we started getting ZP down for the night, your patience ended and the blindly painful contractions went into full force.  I called up LB and KG to scream at them to hurry over and babysit ZP (who, thankfully, had gone to sleep without much fuss) so that we could get to the hospital.  It was a Friday night and therefore easy enough for them to stay over while we ran out into the rain (well, TP ran;  I had to waddle along and pause to double over and catch my breath now and then) and drove to Sibley.

Thanks to early planning, the hospital already had all of my information and I was able to get a room right away.  My brain was filled with angry bees and I couldn't concentrate on anything other than getting through each contraction and waiting for the epidural.  When the anesthesiologist arrived, I nearly wept with relief.  He waved some forms in front of me, making me promise not to sue in case I ended up paralyzed or turned into a swamp monster.I scribbled my names on the forms, nearly breaking the pen in half.  Then, he tried to give me a verbal notice detailing what the forms said.  "Do you want the long version or the short version," he asked me as I bent over to have my spine swabbed.  Was he kidding me?  I almost laughed and wanted to answer, "oh, the long version please.  And don't give me the shot until you've finished and I have considered the options for a long while."  "SHORT VERSION," I gritted.  I got the shot and about half an hour later, I was calm enough to ignore the waves of shrieking pain that I knew were crashing over my body because I could see them on the monitor, but I couldn't feel them any more.  I also couldn't feel my legs; they just felt like two balloons.  Or, perhaps two heavy slabs of meat would be more accurate.  Either way, I was happy.  I felt better - enough to think again, enough to tease TP, enough to realize that, yep, this is it.

The drugs wore off after a while and until the next hit, I was instructed to take deep breaths through the contractions.  My mind swirled around to find something to latch onto so that I could remove it from my body and get through the pain.  Scuba diving.  Scuba diving in Belize with LB where we learned how to breathe slowly in order not to run through the tank of oxygen.  The doctor flitted in and out to check on me (and in me) and finally announced that it was time for the big show.  Memories of the grueling three hours of pushing and tearing and bleeding gripped me but this time around, it was infinitely easier.  "Push!  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.  Okay, breathe.  Push! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.  Okay, now just half a push.  1, 2, 3, 4 HERE SHE IS!"  And there you were.  Tiny, balled up, perfect.  Full head of hair, gentle cries, and finally someone in the family who resembles me.

 You were a dream at the hospital and got rave reviews for your raven locks from the staff.   After the clean-up crew left and it was just the three of us, I realized it was the first night I had ever spent away from ZP.  It saddened me, but I was excited to see ZP's reaction when he first met you.  LB and KG had been taking good care of him and brought him over the next day to make your acquaintance.  It was a pretty successful meeting and ZP was interested but only vaguely so; I was just glad he didn't have a melt-down (that was to come later).  I think part of his pleasant demeanor was due in large part by balloons, cookies, and buttons to push to make the bed go up and down.  Your Nani and Babu were stuck in several inches of snow trying to get to D.C. so it wasn't until we took you home that they got to snatch you away and shower you with adoration and awe.  

So, there's the first day(s) down on paper.  I'll try to jot down the highlights of months one and two before the month three milestone passes.  Suffice it to say, you rock.  More in a bit, my baby doll.

Sweeping the cobwebs

Greetings, true believers! I'm back for a brief visit from my hiatus during which much has happened to dramatically and drastically change my life (yeah, that's a split infinitive but the alternative doesn't have the same punch) and yet much has stayed the same (such as cringing at grammatical errors, particularly the one for the Vehix commercial where the intro chick with the oh so sassy hat says, "I go on vehix.com, and you can literally take a test drive" when what she means to say is that you can VIRTUALLY take a test drive . . . jackhole).

AP is a joy and a delight. She is a low-maintenance, happy, healthy, lovely baby who sleeps almost seven hours at night on her own, plays quietly by herself, and has the softest hair and dreamiest eyes ever. I swear I can see adoration in her eyes when she cranes her neck over to look at ZP who, on occassion, darts close by for a quick visit (probably to make sure she isn't even touching, pointing or looking at any of his toys).

ZP is in the throes of his terrible twos but just when I'm about to blow my top and throwdown with him, he charms me with a dance, a song, a new vocabulary word (almost 200 at last count!), or, his latest trick, saying sorry. He's getting quite adept at using his crayons, counting to ten, and hitting the right notes to his favorite songs.

My parents provided me with invaluable assistance in daycare and nightcare when AP was born. TP has, as always, stepped up to bat to give me the physical, emotional, and everything else support. LB and KG continue to shower the kids with love and playtime and prezzies. What more could a gal ask for?

For the last few weeks, I kept thinking, "oh, I bet this would make a good post" or "I wish I had time to write this up so I wouldn't forget it later" but, of course, I've already forgotten much of it. There was the "Top Ten Things About Pregnancy/Delivery I Wish I Had Known." There was the misery-loves-company-diatribe about sibling jealousy and request for sympathy, empathy, or advice on how to deal with it. There was the anecdote about having some craigslist buyers come to the house to purchase my 10 year old Ikea sleeper sofa right at the same time as some friends were visiting and how my friend's mom didn't know that these people were strangers and was kindly offering to share holding the new baby so as not to seem greedy and they were all, 'uhh, we just came to pick up the couch but if you ever need a babysitter, call me.' There was the tale of trying to toilet train the toddler (and if I hear the false alarm "poo poo in the frog!" one more time, I might scream). There was the staggering down memory lane when TP and I spent an entire afternoon cleaning out the basement and throwing out all those old bills, those broken gimcracks, those ancient computers, those clothes that don't fit anymore, and those VHS tapes upon which I lovingly recorded every "The Simpsons" episode for the first several years until I got them on DVD. But I never had the time. How could I blog when there were babies to be fed, dishes and laundry to be done, showers and naps to be taken, a select few shows to watch, a snippet of conversation to be had with my husband, pictures to take and share before time slipped away and my babies suddenly become surly teenagers with their own busy lives?

But tonight, ZP is asleep (with a hit of Tylenol because his molars are coming in and he's living up to his nickname "The Beast" these days), AP is asleep (with a full tummy of milk so she'll be fine until about 3 a.m. or so), and TP has gone to a concert. That means I have some time to myself to moisturize my aching feet, watch Battlestar Galactica, and blog. So. What's new with you?

Aziza Norbu J. Kittycat (Noor for short)

She's here! Alhumdulillah, she's healthy, happy, and here! She came on her due date according to my calculations (even though it's a week before the so-called-sonogramist's calculations) - that's mah girl! *wipes tear from eyes* Like her bhai, she is quite the fashion plate and decided to wrap the cord around her neck just to keep things interesting. Unlike her bhai who took three hours of pushing and then decided to make his grand entrance, this little missy made her appearance after a mere 2.5 pushes. 7 lbs, 3 ozs, 21 inches, shock of black hair, delicate lips, and hypnotizing eyes that distract me to no end. Thanks for all du'as and well-wishes and keep 'em coming! More on me wee pirate lassie later! Yeehawwwzzzzz. . . zzzzz . . . zzzzz.

The wee small hours . . . isn't that redundant?

Thoughts that occupy me when I am up gagging/gasping/wriggling around at 2 a.m.

• Does the band Aquarium have any idea that a 22 month old boy specifically requests to hear its music while dining?
• Should I get Baby X's ears pierced when she is still a baby or wait until she is older and let her decide on her own?
• Does TP know how much I appreciate the fact that, despite having a hectic day at work and having to give a presentation at Georgetown Law, he still took the time out of his day to pick up some of my absolute favorite food in the world?
• How can I ever express to LB how much it means to me how well she looks after me and the fam as though SHE is the baji? Same goes for my parents - I don't take all that they've done for me for granted, but "thanks" doesn't seem to cover it.
  
• When was the last time I went to the Crentist?
• After successfully selling our old bed on Craigslist, what else can I clear out? My now-too-small-shoes? One of the several coffee tables we have in the basement? Maternity clothes?
• Will I have enough time to get an epidural or will it all happen so fast that I won't have the window to be hydrated enough in time? And how much vomiting will I be engaging in this time around?
• Why does the joke from They Might Be Giant's "Here Come the 1, 2, 3s" (J1: "Hey, John, I hear a tuba." J2: "Yeah, I hear it too." J1: "Hey, I hear another tuba! I hear two tubas!" J2: "Hey, John, what's tuba plus tuba?" J1: "Fourba.") consistently crack me up? Is it the whimsy? Is it the delivery? Is it the forehead-slapping-and-giggling-in-acknowledgement that the joke is so corny finale?
• Why is ZP so fascinated by my toes that he will actually flip out if I don't let him tickle them sometimes?
• How smoothly will it work out when I start working again and have two kids at home?
• How happy was I when Stephen Colbert referenced one of my my favorite words in a recent episode of his show? How dorky am I that I have favorite words?
• How will ZP handle becoming "the old baby"?
  
• When is this baby going to let me sleep?
  

name that tune . . . er . . . baby

We're down to the wire now, folks. Speaking of "The Wire," why is there such a long wait for Season One of the show on Netflix?! And what about Season Three of Battlestar Gallactica due in March?! (interro-gotta-watch-all-I-can-before-baby-x-arrives!). But I digress. We're looking at lift-off in t-minus 24 days or so. We've got a girl's first name and a backup boy's first name, but leaving TP in charge of the middle name (if any) has resulted in an exercise in ridiculousness and futility. Aziza Baziza does not have "a nice ring to it." Nor does Aziza Norbu J. Kittycat. I was thinking that with an exotic first name, we'd give her a neutral easy-to-pronounce middle name that she can choose to go by when the dreaded teenage years hit and/or please the in-laws. On the other hand, once I learned that being different kinda rules, I quite enjoyed having a difficult name. Thus far, the following has been under discussion:

• Farah (voted by OS but some close friends just snatched that, so that's out).
• Delisha (only put in the running to see if anyone was paying attention but it actually is a muslim name meaning "happy and make others happy")
• Maria (vetoed by Literaunty b/c she had a good point that two names ending in 'a' might be a bit odd)
• Sara(h) (voted by TP in a rare moment of seriousness but see above)
• Maryam (voted by maryam, surprise surprise)
• Noor (personal favorite but we know too many noors already and doesn't solve the neutral issue)
• Yasmine/Yasmeen (again, lovely name but so many friends and family have already laid claim to that moniker)
• Rani (but more of a term of endearment apparently)
  

So what say ye? Any suggestions or advice? Who knows, you may win a chance to lay claim to naming our child!

vomitrocious

Lesson, the First:

Energy-draining pregnancy
+
Stomach-draining flu
____________________
One unhappy Baji

Here endeth the lesson.

go shoebox, it's yo birthday

My house turns 100 years old this year. Happy Birthday, housey! You don't look a day over 95. Never mind those wrinkles in the wall caused by settling - it just makes you look more distinguished! Don't pay any attention to the creaky pine floors that attempt to bear the combined weight of my and Baby X as we roam around at 2 a.m. looking for food and entertainment. The plastic surgery you had done to your posterior takes years off of your looks (even if the insulation kinda sucks). And that partially walled up secret room we just discovered in the basement just screams adventure and mystery (but hopefully does not actually scream with the terror of countless dead bodies). Anyway, happy birthday!

Shiver Me Timbers

P I R A T E R I D D L E S F O R S O P H I S T I C A T E S .

BY KEVIN SHAY

- - - -

Q: What's a pirate's favorite aspect of computational linguistics?
A: PARRRsing sentences.

Q: Of which concept shared by Jungian psychology and Northrop Frye's literary theory are pirates especially fond?
A: ARRRchetype.

Q: Who's a pirate's favorite member of the creative team behind "32 Short Films About Glenn Gould"?
A: Don McKellARRR.

Q: Of all of Richard Harris's many achievements in the performing arts, which is a pirate's favorite?
A: "MacARRRthur PARRRk."

Q: What's a pirate's favorite alliance-creating diplomatic agreement from the Second World War?
A: The TripARRRtite Pact.

Q: Which ancient Greek lyric poet do pirates like the best?
A: PindARRR.

Q: If a pirate were to recite one of the Olympian odes by the aforementioned poet, which one would it be?
A: The XIth Nemean Ode, "To ARRRistagoras, the Prytanis of Tenedos, son of ARRRchesilaus."

Q: If that same pirate were then to recite a 20th-century poem about the nature of poetry, what would it be?
A: "ARRRs Poetica" by ARRRchibald MacLeish.

Q: What if he went on to recite a poem by Sir Walter Scott?
A: "LochinvARRR."

Q: Why does that pirate keep reciting poetry, anyway? Is he some sort of Nancy-boy?
A: Aye, 'tis a Nancy-boy he be. Arrr.

Q: Of the ghosts that appear to Ebenezer Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol," which do pirates prefer?
A: Jacob MARRRley.

Q: Can we replace that last one with something about Bob Marley, so we can have an additional gag about RastafARRRianism?
A: No.

Q: Whom did the pirate vote for in the Haitian election?
A: ARRRistide.

Q: Wait. Why did they let a pirate vote in the Haitian election?
A: Remember, the nation was taking its first halting steps toward democracy, and balloting procedures were rather chaotic. The pirate just slipped in somehow. Arrr.

Q: I don't buy it. Pirates care nothing for participating in the electoral process.
A: Look, can we finish this up soon? I'm having those phantom pains in my wooden leg.

Q: A phenomenon first described in the 17th century by which important contributor to the field of amputation surgery?
A: Oh, this is getting ridiculous.

Q: Just say it.
A: Ambroise PARRRé.

Q: You can go now.
A: Arrr. Nancy-boy.

cue the theme music from 'Jaws'

Thanks to Baraka, I just found out about National Delurking Week! So get to it, blurkers! Celebrate the season by taking two seconds to drop me a line, say 'ahoy,' or compose an ode to me blog. I'll even give you Monday off as a holiday.




And to sweeten the pot, I'll add that this may be one of the last chances for you to shout out and comment on my blog. I've had a good four year run with marriages, babies, houses, jobs, newunions, and a litany of other life-changing events, but it's time to take a break. So bloggers and blurkers alike, bid your adieus! After Baby X is born (gotta announce that!), my hiatus and/or permanent vacation will begin.