houston, we have penis.

today was my 21 week ultrasound and yes, as i had initially guessed, el dos es verdad un hombre.

i realize some of you find ultrasounds just so dreadfully banal, but for the rest of you, please enjoy some of our finer shots of today's photoshoot. you can click to enlarge and view them in all their spendor.

on a different note, the tech said pictures turn out best when the mother isn't so big. my 200+/week minutes on the elliptical machine are paying off, and it doesn't seem as though junior juice is worse for wear: he's already over a pound [that's 65%ile]!












greetings from the cryptkeeper.













kisses to all my peeps. mmmwah! mmmmwah!













there it is: tha moneyshot.

where have i been?

well, i've discovered facebook. as any facebooker can attest, it can sure suck up your time on these here internets.

since becoming a member, i've connected with plenty of current acquaintences, but also some old friends from as far back as elementary school. i'm not ashamed to say i've done some lurking as well.

my findings? most everyone is fat and old-looking, which can only reaffirm my suspicions that i, too, am fat and old-looking. many old boyfriends aren't married -- how many gay men did i date? the big bellies, bald heads, and grey beards are positively shocking to me. are we that old? a lot of girls i knew in high school list themselves with their maiden and married names yet post only pictures of their children where their profile shot should be. seems like a strange dichotomy to me; clearly, they list a maiden name so they can be found, yet don't show you their face. without going so far as to upload their senior picture, do they only want to be remembered for the way they looked when that was their name?

some folks look untouched by time or gravity. lucky dogs. i've seen one or two that are just downright hot and i think, didn't we used to play together in middle school? why the hell didn't i make out with you in high school again? and then you remember the slight, brooding boy in the smoky concert t-shirt, leaning against the auditorium wall. you remember your broccoli bangs and your cheesy, handmade navy polyester circle-skirt and nude tights you wore on game fridays and realize you probably weren't much of a catch either.

facebook is strange, awkward yet freeing at the same time. how do you determine whom you friend-request? what's your threshhold for adding someone?

no, i didn't ghost-write the article

i receive the daily babble, a daily newsletter from a modern parenting website called babble. though i do receive the valuable [albeit sometimes bland, dumbed-down, extremely conservative, and alarmist] newsletters from babycenter, i cherish the daily babble for its progressive, whipsmart humor. it's like perez hilton for parents.

today, daily babble served up a link that made me laugh out loud multiple times, entitled:

granny manual: 8 things grandma needs to know about babies

in grandma's defense, things really do change constantly. i am noticing more and more dos and don'ts this second time around. now, i've gotta gobble down two giant, nasty omega 3-6-9 capsules twice a day. they take even more blood for the first trimester screens than last time [oh joy!] and crib bumpers are the devil.

rest in peace, jackson gumblequeue

late last night, we had to put gumby to sleep.

before we went to bed, we tried to give him his mirtazapine, an anti-anxiety, appetite stimulating medication he's been taking every three days since his diagnosis of lung cancer. normally, he sort of reluctantly gulps it down with a small smear of cream cheese, but he really fought it this time, as much as a cat with about 60% lung capacity could. he just wouldn't take it, and he stumbled away from our arms mouth open, panting. we could see that, of late, he just hasn't been his happy gregarious self. he just couldn't really breathe. he would just sprawl his wraith-thin body out and his lungs would pump in and out like bellows. we just knew this wasn't the way to leave your buddy.

after a few minutes of agonizing whether or not we should, casey decided it was the right thing to do. scott graciously agreed to act as sentry while we were gone. after he arrived, casey and i tearfully whisked jackson off to the emergency veterinary clinic on clybourn. he passed peacefully with his head tucked lovingly into his daddy's arm.

casey's off to mount whitney, just outside of los angeles today. though i know he's been swallowing back some fear over climbing the highest mountain in the united states, he surpassed one of his most dreaded moments last night. i hope he'll find he can scale those rocky heights, feeling invincible and at peace this memorial day weekend.

the aftermarket car alarm from hell

so far, i've had a very nice, tranquil pregnancy [knocking furiously on wood] and am amazed to be in my fourth month. no crying jags, no insane compulsions to cram as much food in my gullet as i can at one time, no nausea, you get the picture.

i have had several vivid, often violent dreams. they may not, however be from the pregnancy, as i recently discovered. of late, i find it hard just to get to REM sleep due to this bone-jarringly loud disruption each and every night. it's the kind of noise that makes you want to get up and just whack the shit out of whoever is making it. at first, i thought it was just some incredibly stupid person with both thumbs on the horn buttons of his car, pressing each button very fast in opposition for just a moment. i would awaken in a blind rage, ready to thrust my naked torso, bare pregnant breasts and all, out the window to find out where the ruckus was coming from. i'd then try in vain to quiet my monkey mind from formulating a plan to call the police and.... give the plate number? complain? how about find the car and write a note on it? ummm...

last night, after being shocked awake twice by this loud-as-hell, split-second atom bomb to my earholes, i figured out that it was someone's frigging car alarm being engaged. wtf! it's not the standard chirp-chirp or even the slighly obnoxious horn toot our hondas make. it's a full-on, full-force beebahbeebahbeeeep!

we heard it today again. i can hardly believe that there is nothing that can be done about this... short of moving, i suppose. any suggestions besides earplugs?

mixed blessings

it's been a while since i've posted, but it's been a crazy time. i am not a religious person at all but the most apt expression for our recent weeks has been the lord giveth and the lord taketh away. our family is dealing with two situations -- one very positive and one negative -- and they take turns eclipsing one another.

our negative situation is that one of our three cats, jackson [a.k.a. gumby] has been recently diagnosed with lung cancer. how weird, right? how does a cat? get lung cancer? smoking? we'd noticed he's gone from a robust black beast to a spindly, bony spectre. when we had him weighed, he was 13.5 pounds, certainly shy of his normal 18. his xray showed the top quarter of one lung was completely consolidated and two small tumors were nestling inside the bottom healthy parts. the doctors don't think he will see autumn. right now with the help of some appetite stimulants, he's able to enjoy the springtime and gorge himself on plenty of sloppy-good wet food. we just take every day as it comes and lavish love on the guy whenever we can. he gets right in there and snuggles hard against his daddy at night, happy as can be. otto gets in plenty of eskimo kisses, too.

our positive situation is... that we're expecting our second child! my official due date is november 5, and we are pretty much just referring to the baby as he until we know otherwise in two more months. our first trimester screening came back today -- important now that i'm technically of "advanced maternal age" -- and we're looking good! here are some ultrasounds below...

this one's at eight weeks...











... and this one's at twelve weeks.

c'est dur, dur de ne pas pleurer!

i had heard this song way back in the day, but i'd never seen jordy's performance of "dur dur d'être bébé" [translated as hard, hard to be a baby to my monoglot readers].

watching this gave me the exact same reaction as promenading otto across the catwalk at a recent fundraiser-cum-fashion show i participated in for my alma mater. i almost started crying just walking across the stage with my son who seemed more fixated on the big lights than on performing whatsoever. if i were la maman de jordy sitting in the audience, i think i would have just burst like a giant saline bubble and soaked whitney houston's dress. given that she eschews air conditioning, she might have appreciated it.

in defense of the schlumpadinka

a lot of shows are hell-bent these days on helping women with less than fashion-forward wardrobes break out of some diagnosed rut they've dug themselves. now i'm as voyeuristic as the next makeover show addict, and i settle in for what not to wear and ten years younger from time to time myself, but mostly to soak up the snark that spews forth from the hosts.

if you've never checked these types of programs out, they go like this: first, view secret footage of the guest dropping kids off at school, eating lunch with a buddy, or correcting her student's homework at her desk. snicker loads. present guest with various outfits to try to wear on for certain specific occasions. guest appears dubious, and the hosts roll their eyes at how hopeless their charge is.

i think the producers must know we viewers want the mean girls redux because even when the guest is all, "okay! that's so cute! i love it!" they hosts still find a way to be cutting about the guest's mom-jeans or wardrobe comprised entirely of cotton jersey. oprah has even coined a name for these victims of sartorial scrutiny: the schlumpadinka.

yes, i will absolutely agree that the high-rise, peg-leg, acid washed jeans need to go, and the old stained t-shirts need to find their way to the thrift store and into the loving arms of some spindly indie rocker. i also totally agree that if you're traveling to another country, you just can't go around wearing workout clothes and gym shoes and complain how rude the [insert european of your choice here] are. what i don't agree with is the lack of attention to the guest's lifestyle.

a common theme is to take a stay-at-home mom of small children and secretly decide everything she should wear should be dry clean only. cruel! i mean, if i'm getting ready for a day of laundry, changing diapers, and grocery shopping, i sure as hell won't be, "let go of mama's linen pantleg for one second, otto. mama needs to make her shirt placket a little crisper with this searing hot iron." what about just, oh, up-to-date jeans, a slightly fitted cotton knit top, and some kind of casual non-athletic shoe? worst of all, they always put this manipulative twist on the show by insisting that the mother needs to stop doing so much for everyone else and start taking care of herself. i am pretty sure that, if i had more time in my life, it would not be spent spit-shining emerald green patent slingback pumps to wear to the jewel.

and the schlumpadinka spinsters aren't spared either! there was some other twentyish woman who had a less than corporate career, like she was a teacher or an exercise instructor or something who didn't need business casual clothing, and she liked to go out with friends for lunch in some other standard schlumpadinka attire. they put her in... a shirtdress and heels! guffaw! if i went out to breakfast with friends wearing that, they'd be like, "what the hell's happening here? are we being punk'd?"

so what do i say? i say rise up, fellow schlumpadinkas! embrace your casual chic! makeup, be damned! the ponytail lives forever!

the secret lives of package delivery drivers

as most of you know, i work at home and, between continual shipments from my office and our endless love of online shopping, i'm here to receive a lot of deliveries. this means our delivery guys know me and we exchange pleasantries as we exchange packages and signatures. though there is a slightly larger cast of characters that come bearing gifts, our leading men are the cute little latin ups driver with the huge white smile and the wilfred brimleyesque, grandfatherly fedex driver.

most of the time, the ups delivery guy is super-friendly with a smile that corrugates both sides of his face. as a home office worker, i like to see another smiling face from time to time, and i can usually count on getting that little happiness fix when he stops in with some amazon purchases. once in a while, i've seen mr. ups driving his open brown truck about town with a sullen expression, and then turn and wave brightly to me, beaming his beatific grin. i've thought, "hm... is that a thinking face or is he like, man, i hate driving this stupid truck with no doors in the winter."

grandpa fedex sees that a lot of my packages come from a cheerleading company so, when he brings a particularly heavy box [usually filled to the brim with scoresheets for a competition], he'll heave the box into my doorstep and say, "hello, dear. looks like they shippped you a cheerleader this time!" we chuckle at the old-man humor and he says, "have a good day."

he dropped a small box of staff applications to me last week and asked me how i was doing. "i'm doing well; how are you?"

"not so good. okay, have a good weekend!" he replied and walked off.

yesterday, he came bringing more fedex supplies that i ordered and again, asked me how i was. i replied, "great, how are you?" head down, he dropped the stuff inside the door and said, "have a good day," and left.

do i ask him more? do i stop asking altogether? it's sort of awkward. i sure hope he's okay.

mondays with otto

thank goodness for spring.

thank goodness for the end of the competitive dance team season...

and thank goodness for mondays!

each monday, i am without gina, our new and terrific nanny. on these days, i masquerade about town as a stay-at-home/not-working-for-money mom. we find small errands to run to keep the day interesting, which is far easier when the weather cooperates. sometimes it's hot doug's for veggie dogs and punk rock music. sometimes it's just the lowly kinko's on western for some fed ex needs.

today, i took otto to the one person that really cuts his hair damn well -- the barber in roscoe village. when we sat him on the board and put the cape on, he did cry some big fat tears, but the barber did a little mambo step for him and went zoom-zoom with the clippers and trust was reinstilled. he watches the barber very intently when he changes the guards, and he really loves the tickle of the clipper buzzing around his ears.

well, the lollipop he received before and after never hurt either.

looking forward to writing more this spring!

breakin' up is hard to do: nanny rebound

i had to fire our beloved nanny yesterday. by all means, the circumstances that have transpired really gave us no other choice, and this fact was corroborated by an informal poll of family members and friends. it still broke my heart.

for almost one year, she cared for our little baby. she helped him learn how to eat food, encouraged him to walk, and logged in hundreds of miles on the macwagon all around the city. almost every summer day, the two would head west to the portage park pool for hours of splashing and sun, and then she'd tuck our tiny tanned towhead in his crib for a much-needed siesta. she figured prominently at his very first birthday party, hoisting him blow out the candles on his toppling cupcakes. the picture of the two of them dressed on halloween keeps shuffling to the forefront of my mind and the tears start to flow. otto doesn't say very many words, but at 9:30 in the morning since she left, he walks to the front door asking for "ah-na. ah-na. ah-na." and it kills me.

not for nothing, as a WAHM, the only other face i saw was hers until casey got home. we chatted for a few minutes over coffee when she'd arrive, and then i'd lumber off to my office while she danced and sang and did dishes and the laundry, practically simultaneously. we'd visit a minute or two later, and then off she'd go. we'd laugh and console and help each other with our spanish-to-english translations, passing otto back and forth all day long. at 5:30 she'd hug otto goodbye and head for the bus, leaving us with a clean house, a stocked closet of clothes, and a very content child. in so many ways, she was wonderful.

things just started eventually falling apart, however. once the weather got cold, she huddled to bad influences for warmth. when she returned my call yesterday, she was friendly and chatty, so i could barely contain my sorrow as i began to let her know the nature of the call. only hours before, her landlord called to verify that she was employed by us, so i knew she was probably behind on rent.

when the words finally tumbled their way out of my mouth, she was silent. she asked if she can have me as a reference -- she really doesn't get it: how can i possibly recommend her to another family? i'm firing her!

i told her a box was coming to her with all her things and a check for three days of work; the three days she missed for an unacceptable reason or the three days she would have worked this week had we not fired her, you decide. she intoned, "ay, paola, that is not nice that you are not giving me two weeks." tears streaming through my clenched teeth, i explained that, had we had to let her go because we were moving or no longer financially capable of keeping her employed, we would have given her two weeks, maybe more. "you should give me another chance," she finally asked. angry, heartbroken, frustrated, i spat "i'm sorry. i just can't. i know otto really loves you, and we sincerely appreciate everything you've done for us, but we have to do what is best for our son and our family."

"thank you very much," she warbled softly, and hung up.

now, we are with what i affectionately refer to as my rebound nanny. i'm not sure she really fits the ticket yet -- older, quite short, not very proficient with english, allergic to cats -- but we're enjoying a three-day trial run. though it's never fun to break a new hire in, i must say, in many ways, she's a breath of fresh air. she works. she kept otto laughing. she maintained the roughly-hewn schedule i had cobbled together for her to the minute. i don't hear her cell phone ringing constantly [well, because she doesn't have one]. whether her fate as our new nanny is determined by her lungs and their tolerance for the feline fecal fiesta that is our home, or that i feel otto needs someone to nurture his lacking verbal output, i have a few days to escape, stop feeling sad, and keep my sites set on a new, loving replacement.

can't get any easier

for 35 years, my appreciation for how challenging it is to celebrate my december 20 birthday has had time to mellow and cure. let's face it: christmas and new year's take up so much energy and concentration that, try as you might, it's just harder to really devote any large amount of energy toward yet another quasi-holiday. i feel for you of mixed- faith households. my god, can you imagine having to push a baby out on that day? i would have just sunk to the bottom of the tub like a rock from sheer exhaustion... my poor mama.

perhaps i have a severely overblown idea of what birthdays are supposed to be like, but when you grow up knowing everyone will be in florida or mexico or the caribbean over winter break and you're at the snoop shop, possibly the 80's most exciting north shore birthday party destination ever, for your eagerly anticipated birthday party, and you're licking your severely chapped lips while painting your oversized hamburger plaster plaque all by your lonesome while a treacherous amount of snow falls outside, just the notion of getting to hand out treats during homeroom to throngs of sugar-crazed kids seems like most exciting, self-celebratory moment ever. we won't even mention how absolutely decadent it seemed to have actual birthday gifts that aren't piggy-backed with another holiday's gifts were.

okay: call the waah-mbulance already. my point is, i'm older and wiser and have gained perspective. i have learned that, if you want fabulosity on your birthday, you've gotta roll your sleeves up and get your hands dirty. as dirty as your computer keyboard, anyway.

if you were planning on giving me a gift for my birthday, i've gone ahead and taken all the guesswork out for you. you can find everything my greedy little heart desires at:

http://del.icio.us/paulahess5988/wishlist

now, you don't have to spend any time schlepping aimlessly through the mall, sweating your ass off in your winter coat, resisting the intoxicating aroma from auntie anne's, trying to find a gift that, heck, i might end up having some kind of nervous breakdown over anyway. instead, with a little clickety-click, you've gifted, and you can come celebrate my 35th with me!

oh! and even better? you can use that list for christmas, too! woot! see? double-dipping those holidays really does pay off!

now, what day works best for you? friday the 21st? saturday the 22? or sunday the 23rd?

are you smarter than kellie pickler?

how absolutely mortifying. lucky for her, she doesn't even know the magnitude of her ignorance.

holiday spirit in a virtual box

though the holidays instill anxiety in so many, i am actually finding the christmas spirit is lessening the a sense of dread i usually feel as i draw closer and closer to the dance competition season. soon, my life will be filled with:

• papercuts on chapped, raynaud's-afflicted digits
  
  
• visits to kinko's to make endless copies where i bask in the winter sun through the window in efforts to lessen any seasonal affective disorder
  
  
• compulsively checking the mainframe like a freak for new entries again and again
  
  
• weeknights getting lost in the dark while driving back from the north shore suburbs after coaching for some freelance ducats

as i dive headfirst into the logistical soup that is staffing my events for starters, i dial up a station on pandora called "jazz holidays". instantly, i am craving:

• celebrating birthday after birthday with laughter-filled meals
  
  
• cozy scarves, warm socks and my mega-heavy boots
  
  
• trips to starbucks for delicious holiday drinks and snacks
  
  
• back and foot rubs on the couch with family, snuggled under blankets
  
  
• the sense of accomplishment i feel looking at all the gifts on my list purchased and beautifully wrapped

heck, i might not even object to breaking out our spartan collection of christmas decorations... if we could just figure out how to do a tree now that otto is walking.

meme designed by burglars

here's a great meme from jamie to save the day for those of us who, gosh, really want to post but [insert excuse here]. here goes!

---

1. what kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? j/a/s/o/n tea tree. it's a little harsh for this time of year. we usually have method olive leaf.

2. do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? not anymore. i just stopped buying slices.

3. what would you change about your living room? i would make it wider so we have more options to place furniture. i'd also spring for the can lights since it tends to be pretty dark in there. i also wish we had a clock in there. casey and i are always asking each other what time it is. or, i wish someone would install the pucklights that i bought a long time ago into the built-ins. that'd sure be nice.

4. are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? dirty.

5. what is in your fridge? a lot of yummy food. point?

6. white or wheat bread? wheat.

7. what is on top of your refrigerator? a small television, otto's halloween candy, and a bottle of bacardi.

8. what color or design is on your shower curtain? we have glass doors on our upstairs shower and our downstairs shower is clear with a blue tint and has a bubble pattern.

9. how many plants are in your home? eight.

10. is your bed made right now? yes.

11. comet or soft scrub? neither -- bon ami. it doesn't contain chlorine bleach.

12. is your closet organized? mostly: all shirts are arranged by color, and pants are sort of together, at least on my rod.

13. can you describe your flashlight? i have a firefly: it's a lid for a nalgene that is embedded with a small light. when you turn the light on by pressing the small button on the top of the lid, it makes your bottle a lantern. i love it!

14. do you drink out of glass or plastic more at home? glass.

15. do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? no.

16. if you have garage, is it cluttered? no, i don't think so.

17. curtains or blinds? blinds.

18. how many pillows do you sleep with? one.

19. do you sleep with any lights on at night? no, none.

20. how often do you vacuum? maybe once a week on mondays. otherwise, ana does most of the vacuuming.

21. standard toothbrush or electric? standard.

22. what color is your toothbrush? a putrescent pearl and seafoam.

23. do you have welcome mat on your front porch? no.

24. what is in your oven right now? nothing.

25. is there anything under your bed? no; storing things under your bed is bad feng shui.

26. chore you hate the most? vacuuming the effing stairs. never again, mark my words, will i have carpeting on a staircase!

27. what retro items are in your home? some old vintage lamps, old guitars, old drums, old amps. hell, this is an old-ass house! it is, itself, retro.

28. do you have separate room you use an an office? sort of; my landing on the second floor is not enclosed but it's my office.

29. how many mirrors are in your home? 5

30. do you have any hidden emergency money around your home? why are you asking?

31. what color are your walls? in my office, they are dove grey.

32. what does your home smell like right now? a delightful melange of murphy's oil soap, homemade tea tree surface spray, coffee, and cat. mmmm...

33. favorite candle scent? i like fig, honeysuckle, and most herbal fragrances. nothing foody -- it clashes with the base notes of the litterbox.

34. what kind of pickles are in your refrigerator right now? cack! none!

35. ever been on your roof? no.

36. do you own a stereo? yes, at least two.

37. how many tv’s do you have? i think we have five. jeez, a lot of inventory questions... are you planning a robbery or what?

38. how many phones? four.

39. do you have a housekeeper? yes, nanny/housekeeper.

40. what style do you decorate in? depends what area of the house you are in. upstairs, we endeavor to decorate in a minimalist modern style. downstairs is more mid-century modern mixed with splashes of fisher-price and a few elements of sports authority... oh, and don't forget those artful touches of cat vomit.

41. do you like solid colors in furniture or prints? i prefer solids.

42. is there a smoke detector in your home? you betcha.

happy halloween from a very serious bunny.

caption: "you owe me big time, mama."

disturbed sleep = disturbed dreams

o, benevolent miracles & milestones™ select-a-show soother™, what would we do without thee?

with the ever-emerging teeth in otto's mouth, even a pre-emptive strike in the form of children's motrin at bedtime cannot prevent him from waking once the sweet drug's magic has worn off. he'll sleep well for eight hours, but after 4:00, all bets are off.

my sleep this morning was pockmarked with warbling shrieks and, consequently, two visits to the nursery. at some point after having gotten otto reasonably soothed, i had the most awful and disturbing dream.

i found myself at a sales presentation. i sat there and listened to the rep's spiel about some kind of infants' and children's hibernation chambers. there on the floor were what looked to me to be cheerful little caskets. some were pink and glittery and shaped like a fiberglas canopy bed, perfect for your little sleeping beauty. there was a thomas the train model, all glossy and blue. there were green jungle ones with fiberglas bananas hanging from the corners and sports-themed units with baseball bats welded to the base. there was even a tiny, creme colored bassinet sized chamber and my fellow audience members gushed over how sweet that was. each one was capped with a heavy, color coordinated lid.

i observed the presentation but i was totally confused; what the hell are these things? there was no mention of how exactly these chambers were used, so i leaned from my folding chair and asked my sister and a few other people seated around her, "hey. i don't get it. what do people do with those things?" everyone looked at me like i had three heads. my sister kindly replied, "the best time to put them in is when you know they're going to take a long nap already."

i thought, hm. okay, well, some days otto naps for two and half hours but...what am i thinking? my eyes bugged out at the heavy coffin-like doors that adorned each model.

"but wait," i asked, "people just put their kids in those? and shut the door?"

"uh, yeah," another patron replied with knitted eyebrows, looking me up and down. "for, like, six weeks!" the others tittered. "ah, duh!"

"but why?" i pleaded. i could not understand it. you just plop your baby in this box and shut the door and hope he likes it? that he'll just shut off like a doll until you're ready to take him out? i didn't see any cheerfully painted oxygen tanks or feeding tubes nearby.

the other women glared at me and then gave my sister a stern look and she politely replied, "uh, you know. so you can get things done, go on vacation, whatever..." she rolled her eyes a little and the presentation went on.

i awoke at a reasonable hour to hear otto in his crib, rocking out to his lights-and-sound machine, and sighed in relief.

wanted: toddler-size sleeping bag

otto in daddy's backpack on a walk in the woods

though many have likely already seen these photos on casey's blog, here is a link to the album from our most recent camping trip to wisconsin. this time, we went with some friends. fortunately for otto, amongst them were owners of many, many nascar matchbox cars.

if i look slightly more pallid in the 'do rag shots taken the next morning, that would be because i groggily stuffed my small one into my sleeping bag in the middle of the night, and he was not unlike sleeping with a small goat. throughout the night, he would reach up and grab a fistful of my unruly, growing-out hair, then drift back off into slumberland, still clinging to my head.

note otto's level of dirtiness as the trip progresses. even though we made great use of the acid-trip fleece blanket given to us by the canton hesses, it was no match for the sheer scooting force that is our son. he would not be contained, but he'd occasionally return to the blanket to clutch it to his chest and coo lovingly. even after we washed the booties and brand new pants [thanks, nana and gamper], we were still picking clods of dirt, leaves, and burrs from the seams.

for the love of dog

i just saw this article and accompanying video of ellen degeneres. very sad. i understand why a stipulation would prevent people just giving their rescued dogs up, but in this instance, it seems like the organization should consider the circumstances and recognize that the spirit of the law is not being challenged here. i know that what will really need to happen is for the family to start double-dutching that red tape: immediately apply to adopt that dog right now. do the little dance. speak the little language. it will be worth it.

this incident reminds me of the movie casey and i saw on sunday, into the wild. like requiring someone to wait twelve years to receive a permit to kayak down a river, had someone used a human ear to listen to ellen's plight instead of just dogmatically [pardon the pun] marching down and yanking the little dude away, it seems to me that this heartache could have been avoided.

crazy cathy: when mothers attack

i absolutely commiserate with women who are eager for the opportunity to make friends as adults. from almighty oprah to the lowly chain email, girlfriendships are rhapsodized every where you turn. not having female friends? why, that's just unamerican!

i myself recently fell into a friendless stupor. fed up with feeling bled dry by some of my more parasitic pals, i declared myself a friend-free zone. the song 'circle of friends' by edie brickell & the new bohemians became the new national anthem for the nation of perdedora, population 1. as i luxuriated in shivasana at the end of my weekly yoga class, a tear of self-compassion rolled down my face and on to my very un-sticky stickymat.

unbeknownst to me, some small message was cast out into the galaxy that i need alliances. old buddies of every stripe were emailing, calling, and inviting me to lunch. i got a call from my best friend from junior high who now lives nearby with her toddler. a very close friend of mine may be moving back here pending the precarious state of her marriage. another former co-worker moved back here from new york.

i think the heavens may have been a mite bit too fruitful, however. on friday, our little family unit set out for sushi. we like a little place in lincoln square that has good parking and is pretty kid-friendly; usually, all the high chairs are occupied by toddlers brandishing chopsticks while parents gleefully swill their sapporos with little concern. our food had just arrived and we were about to dig in when in comes a woman and her toddler, about the same height but a good ten pounds heftier than otto. his name is willy. she chose a table next to us and plopped her progeny into a high chair facing ours. at first, the interaction was standard and benign: how old's your baby? what's his name? isn't his hair cute? say hi to your new buddy! she introduced herself: cathy.

just as i would begin digging into my rolls, cathy would sip her cocktail, then wheel around and ask me question after question:

where did i live?
what did we order for otto tonight?
what size clothes is otto?
do we need any hand-me-downs?

she insisted repeatedly that she got my number because she just has loads of clothes and they're barely worn. casey and i admitted that, though we have been fortunate enough not to have had to buy any clothes for otto thanks to gifts and loads of clothes from his four cousins, we were experiencing a gap in cool weather items aged 12-18 mo. this was met by another insistance to get my number, so, when she turned to order her big willy some of what otto was chowing down on, i asked casey for a pen and paper. i figured why not give her my number? maybe she's really nice? if anything, we can score some free clothes. casey's eyes darted to the table and back to me. he hissed, "get her number. get her number."

i scrawled my cell on a tattered ATM receipt and passed it over. her eyes lit up and she slowly crumpled the receipt into her pocket. that was it. in retrospect, i now know that was like feeding a wild bear some succulent delights you have hidden right here in this flimsy old tent.

her husband arrived, but you'd barely know they were dining together. after a few more sakes, the questions to me were coming fast and furious. this time, each answer to her question was nonsensically trumped. for instance:

"isn't it frustrating to figure out what they want to eat?"

"oh, my gosh, yeah. so much of what he loved he will no longer eat. i have a whole freezer full of pureed broccoli and sweet potato ice cubes that i have to bury in pasta sauce to get him to..."

"oh, yeah. i did the whole organic make-your-own baby food thing. i did that for a while and then... [rolls eyes and turns to sip sake, then turns back]. i'm gonna call you."

or there's:

"who's you pediatrician?"
"town and country."
"so's mine."
"oh, okay... which office: lincoln or clybourn?"
"clybourn! we see pappas. who's your doctor?"
"i hear great things about pappas! we were seeing lundquist, but we switched to jameston. lunquist wasn't very supportive of our vegetarianism."
"oh, i did the whole vegetarian, vegan, raw-foodist thing for a while, too, yeah. and then i... oh, waiter! can i have another sake? i'm totally calling you, just so you know."

at this point, our friend cathy must have been buzzing to beat the band. she was practically screaming as i hurriedly woofed down my food and casey paid the check. this is when the showstopper, the pièce de resistance finally occurred, thus culminating any further bizarre fumblings for common ground:

"where'd you give birth?"
"northwestern prentice."
"so did i. didn't you just love the birth?"

at this point, casey lobbed one in to the rally.

"she gave birth in the tub."

"[pause] you did? wha-it? they didn't have that when i was there, or i totally woulda done it. when did you do that?"

"um, thirteen months ago.

"they totally didn't have that when i was there and i was there... um... when was i there?"

"uh, isn't willy fifteen months old?"

"uh, yeah. uhhh... nice meeting you."

i'm learning to be receptive. we spent all yoga today opening our heart chakras and concentrating on receiving goodness, breathing it in and out with each loving breath... but i will totally fucking cringe if i get a call from crazy cathy.