Thursday, February 26, 2009


Oh, thanks, LOST. I really needed to see that horrifying shard of shin bone ONE MORE TIME.

HALLELUJAH! Locke's alive! And maybe a little creepier than he was before. Is this really Locke? It better be. Like I said, if Locke is really dead, I'm done with this show.

Tunisia? I am telling you, people, ley lines. Check this out: Ley Line in Tunisia.

Abaddon! Yes! I love this guy. I love the actor, I love the creepy character. Also, he is very handsome. In a creepy way.

Widmore? I love this show. Is he evil? Is he really going to help for the right reasons? Who is the Devil? Widmore or Ben? Or are they opposing factions within the same side?

Holy crap Walt is twelve feet tall. Is Michael really dead? I mean, if Jin survived, it's possible Michael did, too. Of course, Jin was out on deck when the explosion happened, and I think Michael was down below.

Abaddon! No! He might be evil, but I liked him! That surprised me so much I jumped.

Terry O'Quin has some creepy toes. But how I love him. He's so badass on the Island and so pathetic and sad off the Island, and he just nails that; I don't even know how he does it. He was great on Alias, too.

Ben really did seem to want John to live. He didn't change his mind until John talked about spilling the beans to Sun. Ben knows they can't get back to the Island without everyone who left. Now, either he's desperate to get back for selfish reasons or because he knows something terrible will happen if they don't return. He did seem upset about killing John, but he did it anyway. Does he know John will come back? And why is he okay with letting Sun's baby, Aaron and Walt stay off the Island?

Okay, here's what I think: I think Ben isn't good or bad. Yes, I think he's power-hungry; he's pissed that Locke is the special one. But I think that's a secondary motivator; Ben is on the Island's side, and everything he does is in the best interest of the Island. North on his moral compass points to whatever is best for the Island. Now, he might be wrong about what is best for the Island, and his desire to regain Jacob's favor may skew his judgement, but I don't think he's 100% evil. He killed Locke because he knew Locke wouldn't be able to break his promise to Jin, removing any motivation Sun would have to return. It just so happens that killing Locke removed the person who supplanted him. Bonus!

Widmore, on the other hand--I think everything he does is to gain power. I don't think he was ever in charge of the Others, as he told Locke he was. I think he wanted to be, and he challenged the authority of whoever was in charge. Does this sound familiar. Could it be... Satan? He's spent the rest of his life trying to get back the Garden Island and gain control, and he will do anything to achieve those goals.

He fooled Locke by comparing himself to Ben, asking, "Have I ever tried to kill you, John?" (paraphrase) This is completely irrelevant. John himself would kill anyone who was a threat to the Island (Naomi! Does anyone remember her?), and he would offer up his own life if he thought it necessary. It doesn't matter that Ben has tried to kill him and Widmore hasn't. What matters is that Ben has killed and tried to kill for the sake of the Island and Widmore has only ever done anything for Widmore.

Remember Desmond going to Widmore and asking for Mrs. Hawking's address? Widmore gives it to him despite the obvious danger his own daughter will be in if Desmond goes down this path. He gives it to him because he knows Mrs. Hawking and the gang will find a way back to the Island. Now, I don't know why he needed to send Desmond if he knew where she lived all along; maybe he thought that Desmond needed to return, too, in order for the plan to work. But I bet ten dollars that he's either on plane, followed the plane, or has one of his people on the plane. Something. There's a reason he gave Desmond what he wanted, when before he wanted nothing to do with him.

Also, Abaddon's name. In the Bible, the place or person Abaddon is evil, associated with Sheol, death, and darkness. I know this doesn't make it 100% certain that he's not a good guy, but it's possible. Or maybe it's a red herring, and he's really an angel of light.

I'm starving. Lost makes me go hungry. I think I have a problem.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

I can't believe I'm excited about a high of 37F

I'm such an awesome mom. Yesterday I put The Child down for a nap. She was quiet as a mouse (nay, quieter!) for two whole hours. Not a peep from the monitor. I went into wake her up and discovered that I'd never turned the monitor on. I win at motherhood!

She's getting too big for the front-facing kangaroo hold in the sling. Her bottom and thighs are so meaty that I practically have to break some bones and dislocate my own ribs to get her in. But she hates the tummy-to-tummy hold (I think it's that she can see BOOBS RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, MOM, WHY ARE YOU TAUNTING ME?), and her back's not strong enough yet to do the hip carry. Anyway, when I finally get her in the forward-facing way, I think she thinks she's levitating by the power of her fingers. When we're sitting or standing, she'll play with a toy or chew on her toes or gabble like a drunken fishwife, but when I start walking around, she splays her fingers out and does little circle motions with her arms. Like panicky jazz hands.

Yesterday I put a pair of her tights over her head and took video. I must upload that because it's probably the funniest thing I've ever seen.

Don't worry; it wasn't torture, as she didn't seem to mind it one bit.

We went shopping yesterday. She has grown out of her 6-9 month onesies. I don't know when it happened, really; five minutes ago she was swimming in them. So we went to the outlet mall, and I got her 15 slightly large onesies. They may fit for 32 seconds. I swear that child eats the equivalent of a whole cat every six hours. I suspect she has a stash of something hidden under her mattress. Hopefully it's not pieces of the neighbor's cat.

I also went to the Dress Barn outlet. For years I've shunned the place. I refuse to buy clothing from a place called "The Dress Barn". But Grace was getting antsy, I needed shirts, and it was the closest women's store. Most of the clothes in there were made for sixty-year-old women. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but I'm twenty-six. However, SCORE on the clearance rack. I found two very flattering shirts--one a long-sleeved black shirt that makes me look thin and beautiful (it even plucks my eyebrows for me) and the other a long-torsoed, short-sleeved grey sweater. Combine this with my new haircut, and I feel like Giselle Freaking Bundchen. I'm still tempted to black out "The Dress Barn" on the tags with permanent marker. The Dress Barn. Makes me feel like a cow.

Speaking of Cat, The Child realized today that Cat was a touchable object. Before, if she even noticed Cat, she'd just stare at it like, "You're not a baby. You're not a Big Person. What are you?" But today, Cat registered on her radar while we were sitting on the couch. She reached out and touched Cat. To my complete surprise, Cat did not remove The Child's fingers from her body; instead, she just looked at me resignedly, like, "That thing is pretty much here to stay, isn't it?" We were all having a great time enjoy the softness of Cat's fur, and then The Child decided she couldn't be sure of what Cat was until she had a good taste. She reached out, clenched her little fist, and pulled. Instead of Cat coming to her mouth, as she'd intended, she just yanked out a whole bunch of fur. More resigned looks from Cat, and The Child stared and the hank of fur in her hand like, "What just happened?"

It hurts me to admit this, but I've moved past the point of grudging warmth and into full-on affection for Cat. Three cheers for Zyrtec, I say! Either that, or I'm getting used to her particular allergens.

Enough about the kid. Remember how we had Lawn Care Ed and his wife Marge over for dinner a couple months ago? I thought we had a good time. They left, all smiles.

We haven't seen them since. I know they're still alive because their eight thousand cars are in different positions around their yard and driveway every time I walk by, but not so much as a "howdy neighbor" from them since. I'm no gourmet chef, but I'm pretty sure the soup I made was all kinds of fantastic, so I don't know what the deal is. Maybe they're intimidated by our class and elegance.

Tomorrow I have friends coming over. Friends. Coming over. This is normal when it's old friends that I've known for years. But these people are Church People, whom I've only known for a few years. They're very nice Church People, and I'm sure one day I'll feel comfortable with them. But that won't be until I'm 30. Right now all I can think about is the disaster state my house is in.

And what am I doing? Sitting in the rocking chair in my bathrobe. I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.

I don't really know how it gets so messy around here. I put things back when I'm done with them, dishes get to the sink, and I do 47 loads of laundry a day. And yet it still looks like Babies R' Us and the Gap had a kegger in here last night.

These are best viewed in high quality.

I am the most evil mother that ever mothered.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Sometimes I just stare at the title box...

...and nothing ever comes to me.

In the nearly six years that we've been married, we've never had a scale. I've wanted one, but I'm kind of a tightwad and don't like spending money on things we don't need. Unless it's chocolate. Well, any type of food, really; there's a reason James does all the grocery shopping.

James came home with a scale a while ago. It not only tells me my weight, but also my body fat percentage and my water percentage. Now, I don't really care very much about my weight by itself, but the body fat percentage is downright depressing. I've started drinking and writing emo songs. At least booze is fat-free!

The Child is obsessed with plastic bags. It's a shame they're so dangerous for babies. Give her a plastic bag, and she doesn't need anything else. I bet I could stick her on a bed of hot coals with a plastic bag in her hands, and she wouldn't even peep for hours, not even when she started starving. The Plastic Bag: the neglectful parent's dream come true!

She also started waking up super early out of nowhere about a week ago. I kind of stumbled around scratching my head about that one for a few days before: LIGHT BULB! It's getting light earlier. So I installed blackout curtains over her window. Well, I tacked a dark sheet and a blanket to the window frame (see above, re: tightwad). The dark green and bright red look lovely in her purple room. I'm surprised she hasn't had any seizures yet.

Also, we finally got a baby monitor. This is good and bad. Whereas before, I'd spend half the evening and half her naptimes dashing halfway up the stairs to investigate phantom cries, I now sit in my chair with my laptop, reassured by the quiet static of the monitor. And whereas before, I'd never hear it if she made little tiny peeps in her sleep, I now hear every single grunt and raspberry she makes. Her early weeks conditioned me so well that any noise she makes when she's supposed to be sleeping sends my stomach plummeting into my toes (anothersleeplessnightanothersleeplessnightanothersleeplessnight!). Ye Olde Knot O' Dread disengages me from whatever enjoyable activity I'm immersed in and yanks me into those first few weeks of dim, anxiety-ridden days and nights. Hurray!

But mostly it's a good thing. I can do stuff around the house in rooms where I couldn't have heard her cry before. Crap. No more excuses not to get the dishes done.

Maybe not a good thing.

And finally, we had a wicked snow storm yesterday. Two Tuesdays ago it got into the 60s. Yesterday we got 47 feet of snow, and I had a hair appointment an hour away. I was determined to go, however, and I spent the most terrifying hour of my life negotiating an unplowed Highway 18 with white knuckles and a squeaky bladder.

Alas, poor mullet! Ye be gone.

For the next, oh, week, I have fabulous hair again. Until random strands start sprouting at light speed while the rest of my hair trudges out my head as slowly as possible. I also have fabulous eyebrows again. I'm too lazy to stay on top of the plucking, so by the time haircut day rolls around, I look like Sylar from Heroes. I am not plagued by a hunger for braaaains or followed by ominous clocky-type music. Though that would be pretty awesome. The music, I mean.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Warning: All about LOST.

Holy Heck. Flight 316, John Locke as a substitute for Christian, doubting Thomas. They really laid it on thick with the Biblical symbolism in this one. John 3:16: "For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life." John Locke voluntarily dies (I don't really believe he's dead, by the way, or at least he's not dead for good; and if he's a Christ figure, there's an excellent chance he'll be resurrected once back to the Island) so that the Oceanic 6 can get back to the Garden of Eden Island.

Is it a coincidence that Ben (who looks like Thomas, Aaron's father, and Benjamin was a great great great uncle of Aaron) goes on at length about the Thomas of the Bible? Probably. But I still like to think there's some connection between the two.

Jack's grandpa's name is Raymond. Technically, this name means "protecting hands" or some such; it's not Latin in origin. BUT if it were derived from a romance language, it could mean something like "king of the world." HMMMM. Last name Shephard. Who is a shepherd king of the world? Yeah. CRAZY.

Okay, so if I were really upset about my kid (I killed him? He was kidnapped? I gave him to someone else? I don't know.), and I went to a friend's house for comfort, what would I do? Would I go in and search out said friend, say, "Hi, life sucks right now. Please make out with me"? Or would I slink in creepily and lie down on his bed and cry in the middle of the night and shoot cryptic demands at him and then attack him with my mouth? I guess if I were Kate (is it wrong that I was really excited she might be dead in the beginning of the episode?), I would do the latter. Because I'M ANNOYING AND NOTHING I DO MAKES ANY SENSE AT ALL.

Simon's Butcher Shop. Simeon was a son of Jacob, just like Benjamin. Benjamin was the second son of Rachel, and Simeon was the second son of Leah (coincidence that Benjamin's mother was the favored wife and Simeon's mother was the ugly, unloved wife?). Hmm. Then there was another Simon who was the brother of Jesus. Then there was Simon Peter. The most interesting to me is Simon of Cyrene, who carried Jesus's cross. Simon the Butcher has Jesus's Locke's body. On the other hand, there was also Simon Magus, who apparently had supernatural powers; he supposedly converted to Christianity but then attempted to charge the Apostles money for those abilities. He's not a good guy. I wonder if the ambiguity is intentional; maybe we're supposed to wonder if Locke is in league with the devil, not God. Maybe Locke has been duped; I don't think he would intentionally ally himself with evil, but he has a long history of credulity, and somehow I doubt all those flashbacks showing said credulity were merely to establish that he's had a sad, sorry life until the Island. Also, Jill, the lady at the shop, is an extra special kind of creepy. ETA: In the Bible, it's important that Jesus's legs were never broken (they did this when a crucifixion had gone on long enough; breaking the legs sped up death since the victim could no longer push himself up to breathe); he's an unblemished sacrifice. Is it significant, then, that Locke's leg was broken (and severely, at that)? I doubt it; I know it's a stretch, but I love speculation like this. It's so much fun.

Oh, do we have a new character? Mr. Condolences is kind of cute. In a short little dude sort of way. And ooooh, he's on the plane! I recognized the pilot's voice! Yay Lapidus! He's got the creepiest eyes ever. I love that guy. He cleaned up quite a bit. I wonder if the lady with Sayid is going to be a new character, too. Also, could Kate be any more of a jerk? "We're on the same plane, Jack. It doesn't mean we're together." That's a great way to treat the guy who keeps putting up with your crap, no matter how many times you ditch him. I mean, yeah, he's not the most happy fun time guy ever in the world, but you sneaked into his house last night, laid down on his bed, and told him to never ask about Aaron. Then, presumably, you slept with him and used his facilities. He cooked you breakfast. And now you're all attitudy with him? I don't even like Jack, and I want to punch you for him.

I love that Hurley bought all the seats. Why, though, did he not buy all the coach seats, too? Or was the plane already mostly full by the time he bought tickets? Does that guitar have something to do with Charlie?

Best line ever:

Jack: "How can you read?"
Ben: "My mother taught me."

It's not that funny written down, but Ben's delivery is hilarious.

Speaking of which, Ben calls, all beat up, from the docks earlier in the show. Was he with Desmond? Also, is Desmond not on the flight? He's coming back to the Island somehow. I wonder how or when.

Ben is reading Ulysses. I've never read it, but much of it parallels the Odyssey. I think. I'm sure this is intentional (Penelope, Desmond's wife, is the name of Ulysses's clever and faithful wife), but does it actually mean anything? Lost loves a red herring. If there is a real connection, is it to the Odyssey or Ulysses?

Anyway, plane starts shaking, blinding white light, and we're back to the beginning of the episode (which looks remarkably like the beginning of the series). This time, though, they're near a pool with a waterfall, and there seems to be no plane. I wonder if the plane was flying over the Island exactly when it time-shifted, thus sucking out the Oceanic Six and whoever else had been to the Island before--and maybe some new people, if the Island wants them--, and leaving the rest of the plane to go on its merry way. Hopefully the co-pilot is on his toes, eh? But wait. Locke fixed the Island, didn't he? It shouldn't be time shifting anymore. So what's going on?

Or maybe Locke fixed the Island in the past, so all those people get sucked into the past while the rest of the plane goes along its way. I'm so confused.

Then Jin rolls up in a Dharma van. Oooooh my.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Given a cute enough baby, I'd rule the world

I rediscovered Paint by Numbers a few days ago. It's my newest addiction. Instead of going to bed when I'm sleepy, I stay up until midnight with my laptop, solving maddening puzzles that strain the eyes and make my mouse-using wrist feel like it's been shoved through a wood chipper. At least I'm keeping my brain sharp.

It was in the 60s here on Tuesday. I was so deliriously happy I could barely contain myself long enough to shower and get out the door with The Child. We went to the library first. One more librarian has succumbed to the power of The Child and her cuteness. It's sickening. Why don't people ooh and aah and coo over me? Don't answer that.

Then we went to the bakery. Again. More cooing. "You brought that baby out in this wind?" says the guy at the counter. Older man; I think he and his wife own the bakery. I fought off the urge to say something snarky and instead just said, "Yup! I sure did!" There was much fawning and "Oh my goodness all that hair!" and such. *Some people freak out when others touch their babies. It doesn't bother me in the least, but it does some parents. I guess if some random dirty weirdo on the street with anthraxy fingers tried it, I might freak out. But she has all my antibodies, so I think we're okay most of the time.

Anyway, I bought a loaf of bread that lasted approximately 32 seconds once James and I got into it. I should just learn to make my own; it would save us a lot of money on good bread. I also picked up a treat for myself (of course--you know, after an hour and a half walk, I need some sustenance). I pointed to some frosting-covered concoction under the counter. "I don't know what that is, but I think I want it." The lady took a look and told me it was peanut butter and jelly. (In case you didn't know, I would happily live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of my life.) "Sounds good," I said, and took it. And it was almost as good as the chocolate cinnamon roll I'd had on Saturday. This bakery will be the death of me.

*I'm not disparaging parents who do freak out, especially the ones with really young babies. Grace got a cold shortly after we came home from the hospital (she probably contracted it AT the hospital), and it was a total nightmare. So I definitely understand. Sometimes I think I might be a little TOO laid back about my kid. By the time we get to kid number 3 or 4, they'll be raising themselves. (that was a joke)

I trimmed Grace's hair in the bath the other day. She had long strands of hair growing over her ears, and it looked ridiculous. A very cute ridiculous, but still. They had to go. I also trimmed around the back of her head (it was down past the nape of her neck and getting crusty every time she spit up--yes, yes, I know, TMI) and on top. Just so it'd be spiky again. It is spiky again, but it looks totally crazy. That's what happens when you try to cut a slippery, wobbly baby's hair in the bathtub with a pair of kitchen shears. My child looks like a lunatic, but it's a fun lunacy--more mad scientist in the lab and less drunken hobo on the street.

Speaking of haircuts, Operation: Mullet is in full swing. My hair is all business in the front, party in the back. It was fun for a while, but I've been getting out of the house more lately and wouldn't mind feeling like a woman again.

Yesterday we were supposed to go to James's work so all his female coworkers could smother the baby. I was all excited because I finally fit into my old jeans again. There's a little bit of a muffin top, but if I wear the right shirt, no one will know. However, the cruel, cruel joke is that after ten minutes, my incision site start to itch and ache. I think I may be stuck in mom jeans and maternity yoga pants for the rest of my life. Yay me. They need to make hip jeans for people with itchy midsections. Maybe I will design some and become rich.

Well, I was walking out the door in my overused yoga pants when I realized my keys were still with a friend (I'd left them at her house a couple weeks ago) and James hadn't left his behind. This was terribly disappointing. I'd managed to bathe The Child and myself all before 11:30, and it was for nothing.

Yesterday was one of those days when Wisconsin just snots all over the place. Drizzle, clouds (not even interesting clouds--just a flat sheet of grey gloom), dead leaves rotting in the gutters under dirty, half-melted snow and ice. Blah. Wisconsin dangles Tuesday with its sunshine and insanely high temperatures in front of us, and then yanks it all away on Wednesday.

Today is more of the same. But today I have keys and a play date in Madison. My pastor's wife is an awesome amateur photography, so we're going over there to take some cheesy Valentine's Day pictures with Grace and her baby. Her baby is almost 7 months old and looks positively petite next to Brunhilda here. I'm pretty sure we'll have a lot of pictures of a screaming Grace propped up against the backdrop while cute little Elsie hams it up.

And finally, Fringe entered the realm of Awesome in the latest episode. I don't know how many of you watch that show, but I have a theory. I think the Observer is from another universe and that when Peter almost died as a kid, and here's what I think happened: He really did die, and Walter somehow got the Observer to bring alternate universe Peter to this world. Otherworld!Peter is the one with special abilities, not Olivia Dunham. Otherworld!Peter turned off the light board, not Agent Dunham.

I'm pretty sure that if I'd never watched that show and read the previous paragraph, it would sound like the most ridiculous thing ever. That's what I love about JJ Abrams and his shows. You can say crazy things like, "Yemi is the Smoke Monster!" and it makes complete sense. I hope that man continues making shows like this until the day he dies.

Monday, February 9, 2009

I'm actually crying... and so is The Child.

It's not what you think. I'm half an hour into Stranger Than Fiction, and I have to keep pausing the movie. It takes a supreme effort of will and concentration to maintain a silent laugh, and I really don't want to wake The Child with my hearty man laugh.

There's a chance this movie could all go to pot in the next hour, but so far it's one of the funniest I've ever seen. I'll be back later.

It's later. Looooved the movie. The second half wasn't as funny, but it was still so much fun. I'll probably watch it again so I can cry some more.

We had such a good day today. Grace napped like a champ. She laughed and squealed and only squawked once or twice.

And now? Now she's screaming her little heart out for Daddy. She did this last night around the same time, too. I have no idea what's going on. Gas drops, bouncy seat, sling, cuddling, walking, toys... nothing works. It's like she's suddenly two months old again. Last night I finally gave up and gave her some baby Tylenol. I'm not sure if it worked or not; she calmed down, but it might also have been me curling up next to her on the bed and singing loudly in her ear. I hesitate to dose her every time she has a bad night. I read there's some evidence it contributes to asthma if used before one year (though nothing I've found will say how much or how often it has to be, of course), but the pediatrician said not to worry about that. Still.

James was supposed to go to Illinois all this week for work. I knew that was going to happen sooner or later, and I'd just have to learn to be a temporarily single mom and suck it up. I even convinced myself that it would be kind of fun: after the kid went to bed, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone but ME! Awesome!

James emailed me this morning. His boss decided to go instead; there was some stuff down there he wanted to supervise in person. James won't be going anywhere until April. Whew. Because evenings like this one make me so thankful I'm not doing this by myself.

She's finally quiet. Passed out in James arms sucking fiercely at a pacifier. Her favorite place to be (unless she's hungry).


I've been keeping up with the walks. My butt is not letting me forget it.

Today I took The Child out in the sling as an experiment. That was a bad idea. Her snowsuit makes her too big to do the kind of carry that's best suited for her, so instead I did the one where she kind of sits on my hip, and the sling supports her weight. Well. First, there is so much snowsuit going on that she kind of just slipped and squished right out the bottom instead of sitting on the seat made by the fabric. She can barely bend enough to see her toes in that thing, let alone stick her bottom out. Second, she doesn't have enough back strength to do it without me half holding her up all the time. I knew that going out the door, but I kind of forgot how heavy *87 pounds gets after a few minutes.

(Hint: it's really, really heave, especially if it's a squirmy 87 pounds)

We only made it four blocks before I turned around. By the time we got to the front door, her head was somewhere between my boob and belly button (instead of above my shoulder), and she was just starting the "UH! UH! UH!" grunts of discomfort. What a trooper. Imagine hanging by your armpits from a strip of fabric while wearing the most ridiculous puffy pink Pooh snowsuit you can imagine. A Pooh snowsuit with ears. While your nose is dangerously close to Mom Armpit. Yeah. She handled it well.

On Saturday James and I walked The Child across the river and went to the library. Grace now has three more hearts clenched firmly in her tiny little hands. The librarians went crazy over her. I think we'll be spending quite a bit of time there now that the weather is improving (by "improving" I mean it's gone from "freezes your breath before it even exits your throat" to "maybe someday I won't walk out the door and flinch at that giant ball of gas glaring at me from out of the strange blue stuff overhead").

Then the bakery. Oh, the bakery. I didn't even know we had a bakery. But we do. Oh, WE DO. I got what I thought was a plain old chocolate-covered doughnut, and James got a giant cookie. My doughnut was actually a cinnamon rolled covered in chocolate frosting. No, it's way better than it sounds. Way better than you can even imagine. Way better than I can even remember, which is why I have to keep going back. To refresh my memory. Want to keep the old brain sharp. I don't know what James's cookie tasted like, but he made embarrassing noises as he ate it, so I'm guessing it was something delicious.

That bakery is within walking distance. It is also cheap. This is bad. This is very bad.

*You know how much I love hyperbole. She doesn't really weigh 87 pounds. 17 at most. But 17 pounds of dead weight feels like 87 pounds after four blocks.

Friday, February 6, 2009

St. Google

I think there's something wrong with me. I've spent the last four days Getting Things Done. All the floors are scrubbed (by hand! no mop!), the bathrooms are clean, the dishes are clean, the laundry basket is not full, and there are no clean clothes waiting to be folded or put away. Also, I have made a large batch of chicken, a large batch of rice, and a large batch of chili. I plan to freeze the chili. This is a lot of chili. More like Chile. HAR.

I got this survey in the mail. I'm one of those dorks who love surveys. Anyway, before giving away personal information to any random person who send me an official-y paper thingy with a stamp and/or seal and neat little boxes to fill in, I'm going to ask the Internet if it's legit. Because the Internet knows everything. And Google is the conduit.

So I Googled "national opinion network infant division survey", and I found a forum that mentions it. When I first started reading, it was all NO BAD EVIL, so I thought, Okay, I won't be sending that back because next thing you know they'll have the password to our enormous bank account.

But then I kept reading. The reason this survey is evil is that it's sent out by The Formula People. As in, The Not-Breastfeeding People. I'm obviously all about breastfeeding, or I wouldn't do it (it's not exactly something you do for fun and giggles, unless you're a total dopamine junkie and like to be stuck to your child and immobile for a third of your waking hours). But these people were acting like formula was the food of Satan. Here are some direct quotes:

(from someone who works in the hospital and has people asking her if the Nestlé people are handing out free candy): "And I just want to yell, 'NO! They are evil! Look away Look away! Quick before they stick a bottle in your mouth!'"

"I also wrote 'breastfed is bestfed' on every page in Sharpie marker."

"...and then I wrote, 'formula is poison' in the margins of all of the pages..."

Because you know all those formula fed babies out there are about to drop dead from all that flesh-eating acid they're ingesting. They might look healthy, but just you wait. That forum actually made me want to fill out the survey even more. We got all kinds of formula in the mail and free offers and coupons and blah blah blah but I don't remember anyone actually walking up to Grace and shoving a bottle into her face. I might be wrong. The Awesome Drugs of Awesomeness did make me a little fuzzy after the fact.

I took a 45-minute walk today, over two miles. It was 40 degrees and sunny. Aaaand now my back, butt and legs all hurt. It felt so good to get outside and not spend the entire time suffering. The last walk I went on was half that length, and it was approximately 50 below, and I think I almost died. Oh, Wisconsin. I love to hate you.

A couple night ago, I was drifting off to sleep, and my mind was kind of wandering around aimlessly. I was thinking about warm weather and how much easier life with a baby will be once we don't need three blankets, a snow suit and a car seat cover just to walk around the block. And then I was thinking about how warm weather brings spiders and centipedes and how The Child will probably start bringing me living gifts, and how she might even like playing in our Basement of Evil, and I pictured her coming up to me with spiders and centipedes in her hands and a couple in her hair, and I jolted awake. It took me a long time to fall asleep.

And now that I've relived that terror, I'm probably not sleeping tonight, either. Awesome.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Stream of consciousness and wacky theories on Lost

Thoughts that pop into my head as I watch:

The lawyers are from Grandma Littleton!

If Charlotte dies, can I have her hair?

There's gotta be a reason they're suddenly specifying the flash forwards as "Three Years Later".

Sun's gonna steal Aaron!

So help me if Locke is killed of for real, I'm finished with this show.

The Island is The Garden of Eden! I called it!

Smokey is the angel guarding it.

Or the four-toed statue is the angel guarding it! I don't care that they've said it had no meaning. I don't believe that for a second.

Why is The Child waking up now?

Oh, red herring! Should have seen that coming.

Ten bucks says it's Jin.

Oh yeah, who's your mother?

Oh, The Sickness is the nosebleed thing.

Is it just me or does Thomas (Aaron's dad) look a LOT like a younger Ben?

Okay. I'm back. Baby is sleeping for (hopefully) the next half hour.

I think the Island is the Garden of Eden--not sticking strictly to the biblical Garden of Eden, but I see hints here and there: It's a paradise; sickness tends to be healed there; Smokey the Scary Security System could be the angel guarding the place (sans flaming sword, unfortunately); once you leave, you can't come back and your life goes to pot (well, sometimes--Jack, Hurley, Sayid). Also, people who have left the island seem to spend the rest of their lives trying to get back (like Widmore).

I think Widmore might be Satan, then. Possibly. OR Ben is. Not in the specific sense as spelled out in the Old and New Testaments but in the idea of Satan = adversary, father of lies. Okay, that's stretch, too. I kind of like the idea of Ben being Satan. Benjamin was a son of Jacob. "Benjamin" means "son of the right hand". Ben used to be Jacob's right-hand guy, and now he's not. He's fallen from favor. The same thing happened with Satan. Okay, again, a stretch. This stuff is so fun, though.

It also occurred to me that Ben might have more to do with Aaron than we realize; it may have been completely unintentional, but Aaron's dad looks to me like a younger Ben.

I think the Sickness Rousseau was so obsessed with may not just be a figment of her imagination; what if it has to do with the nosebleeds somehow?

Okay, this part is really, really, really stretching it, since the four-toed statue is supposedly not anything significant. I, personally, don't buy that. But whatever. The statue made me think of the Colossus of Rhodes, a statue of the god Helios. Helios had two sisters, Selene and Eos. Eos was goddess of the dawn. Her home was at the edge of Oceanus. Oceanus, Oceanic? Ah? Yeah, I know. Long shot.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

I want to hurt things.


Seriously. Those sirens bother me, and I'm not a sleeping baby. They scare the crap out of the cat. They wake Grace up over both the really loud fan and the really loud white noise machine. They make the neighbor dogs bark and foam at the mouth. RAGE.

ETA: I don't think these are all tests. They go off multiple times every single day. I think the fire and police departments use them, too. Which, you know, isn't that what radios and dispatchers and phones are for? One of them is really close to our house, too. I don't know where, exactly, but every day we get at least one coming out the near horn.