Hairtastrophe

Harry got a hair cut last weekend, which he really needed. Ben took him to Costcutters because we forgot to make an appointment at the kiddie place we usually frequent.(Really? An appointment? Thy don't even use pointy scissors!) As you can see, Costcutters has a perfectly adequate vroom vroom and a TV, so Harry was a happy camper.

Ben had to clean up the edges and the back with his electric razor (a process Harry totally and completely loved), but otherwise, not so shabby.





Afterwards, Ben and Harry came to visit me at the coffee shop where I was working. I was there for like 4 hours, and all I did was figure out a title for my chapter and find a quotation for my epigraph. Awesome. I also read through all my research and spent a lot of time cradling my head in my hands moaning a little. There was this table of loud women who were the most annoying things I have ever encountered in public. At first, I thought they were unfortunate looking high school students because I figured adults would be better behaved, but then one of them shrieked and cackled that she was 31, and I was horrified. I didn't ask them to be quiet-- just got all passive aggressive and sighed and started at them and huffed and puffed. After they finally left (and they got their money out of their free refills, I might add), a bundled up woman came in, stripped off her outerwear and her SNOW PANTS and then took off her shoes and socks and curled up barefoot with her crusty winter feet on a plush chair. That's when I left and went to the gym.

But it's not Harry's hair that's a disaster. It's mine. I have made like 3 hair appointments and cancelled them. The first 2 for legitimate scheduling concerns (because it is a PITA to get a hair cut when you are the primary caregiver of a toddler who is not really a good guest to bring to the salon), but I cancelled this last one because I figured screw it. I have come this far-- all this long, split endy, scraggly, shaggy way-- and I am just going to hold out until spring break. I want to grow my hair out anyway, and I think I want to go from these Suzanne Somers Three's Company bangs to my old side-swept stand-by bangs. If I get a haircut now in February, I won't really need one by mid-April (before McLovin shows up), and who knows when I'll be able to venture out alone after McLovin joins the fam (Because I am not pumping this time around. I hated pumping. Just me and my boobs, baby, which means I'll never ever be apart from the baby, not even for a haircut, unless he could hang out under the cape, and I think that might be a little suffocate-y). So, I'm going to go with this ridiculous mop until the end of March. Gulp.



And this is what Harry was doing while we took these pictures. Hmmm... I wonder what he's doing now.

Harryella Reports for Duty

Have I talked about how much I love our central vacuum? Because I do. I really, really love it. I remember the realtor telling us about it, but all I heard was "Blah blah blah not a Dyson blah, blah, blah." I was annoyed when we moved in and I saw the big tube and all the clunky attachments taking up space in the front closet, and I really thought the outlets in the garage, living room, and Harry's room were ugly.

Then I tried it.

Vacuum nirvana.

The suction is amazing! The vacuum is so light! The hose can reach tiny corners! It works on carpet, wood, and linoleum! I can vacuum behind and underneath things without even moving them-- that's how narrow the hose is! No bag to empty (although Ben does have to empty a big old can). It's quiet! It reaches everywhere! Seriously, I could go on, but I realize that this is not riveting prose.

I'm not the only one who likes it.




Seriously, he did the whole upstairs. And he did a really nice job, too.
But all work and no play would make Harry a very dull boy, so he also scaled the toilet and ate some crayons. Where is this kid's mother, and why isn't she watching him? And yes, he might be staring at the TV in this last picture-- somebody has to do my job, and clearly I'm too busy capturing precious moments .

Dress Up

The other day while I was getting ready for school (my first day to teach this semester-- I'm not going to lie, I was a little excited to leave the house by myself and talk about big people things. So excited that I bought a shirt that I saw Lauren on Notes From the Underbelly wearing, and I wore heels! Well, I actually wore Uggs from my car to my office, but then I wore heels), and while I was doing my makeup, Harry was throwing clothes out of my bottom dresser drawer saying "Dress! Dress! Dress!" I though he was just offering commentary on what I was doing, so I kept responding with a noncommittal "Yeah, Mommy's getting dressed." Finally, he found what he had been looking for: a thermal shirt of mine he used to put on every time it came out of the laundry. This shirt has been MIA for awhile, though, because it's an extra small, and I am not. He insisted that I help him put on his dress (oh-- it was a noun, not a verb. My bad.), and then he tried to wear my shoes. He also found a black mock croc bag I used to carry that has a long, thin strap. He put it around his neck and alternately called it a purse and a necklace. Cute, but not safe, so I had to remove it before taking these:

Notice how he removed his sock before going for the heel-- can you tell he goes shoe shopping with mommy a lot (or did before it became Ugg season, soon to be Wellies season, and pretty shoes had to stored for the duration)?



When I cam home at 7:00 that night, he was still wearing my shirt.

In Which We All Act Dumb in Our Jammies

The other morning, Harry woke us up at 5:30 by yelling "Mama! Dada! Mmmmmm!" He only says "mmmmm" when he's hungry, but at first, we didn't believe he could possibly be hungry at such an early hour, and we dismissed his cries as a clever ruse. He insisted, though, so we got up and went downstairs where Harry ate a scrambled egg, a bagel with cream cheese, a yogurt, and a banana. Mmmm indeed.

Saturday morning, he woke up at 5:30 again, sounding disturbingly chipper. We left him alone, since he was playing happily with his cribful of stuffed animals, and we were almost back to sleep when he started yelling, "Hep! Hep! Mama! Dada! Hep!" We rushed into his room to find him sitting up with his legs sticking through his crib slats, stuck at the meaty little thigh. When we pried him out, he was happy as can be and WIDE AWAKE.

Even though these pictures were taken before 9, we'd been up for literally hours.

Harry couldn't decide whether to rock or spin.

He went with both.

And this teeny hat.

Ben showed him how the master does it

We don't eff around with Ciifford in this house.

Oh my gosh! Where are Ben and Harry? I can't see them anywhere!

Room Make Over Update

I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to see what the next stage of the process entails. Kidding. Although the writers' strike has slowed down the steady flow of entertaining media, that's for sure. We either watch the worst reality tv ever invented (The Gauntlet, Biggest Loser Couples), or we watch the election. Project Runway is the best thing on TV right now, and its not even that good. But then, Lost starts tomorrow, and Ben is probably trolling spoiler sites even as we speak.

Speaking of the election. We are obsessed-- we watch every debate; we debate every bit of commentary. It's fun, see, because we both like different candidates. I love Hillary, and Ben is all for Obama. (Did he snub her at the State of the Union, or was he REALLY talking to McCaskill?) The rancor with which we discuss the other person's candidate is unsettling to anyone not accustomed to our bickering. It would be very Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf-ish if only I could drink.

Did anybody else think that CNN spent way to much time covering the entrances of presidential candidates and the cabinet members? I felt like I was watching the Golden Globes red carpet I never got to see on E (because that press conference? Terrible!)

Anyway, the room (Yes, I know. My transitions are still weak, but it is early in the semester.)

Bomma and Jack surprised us with a box full of the cutest fire truck bedding we have ever seen, and we are so excited to use it in the new room. We are waiting to transform the crib until we get Harry the heck out of it. Until then, a few sneak peaks:

Here's the quilt and pillow on Harry's bed

Heres the bumper on the crib:

Here's the cute little diaper stacker:

And here's a box full of coordinates: a valance for the window, a dust ruffle for the crib, a fitted sheet, and some really cute wall hangings


Thank you so much for the wonderful baby gift-- something for the brothers to share!

Oral Hygiene, Writers' Block, and Big Shoes

Harry really likes to brush his teeth, which is good because he eats a lot, and they get dirty. The toothbrush he's using in these pictures used to be really cool-- it lit up for 3 minutes (or whatever the proper tooth brushing time is) with red flashing lights. But unfortunately, it's been loved to death and no longer lights. Harry doesn't seem to mind.

Notice that he is also modeling some fetching fire truck jammies from his Grandma Karen. Now if he would only sleep in the damn bed. Every night we ask him if that's where he wants to sleep, and every night he points at the crib and says "Shhhh," which is what he says when he's talking about sleep.

This sparkling prose might make you think that this blog is where I am experiencing my block, but no. This babble just flowed off my fingers, people, like freaking magic.

It's my friggin dissertation. The last damn chapter. I think the problem is that it is the last chapter. I mean, I don't want it to read like the catch-all chapter, you know? But the truth is, there are a lot of issues and a lot of documents that I have tossed in a pile and thought, "This is so cool-- it doesn't fit in with discourses of health and democracy, but I can talk about it later," or "Wow. This has nothing to do with eugenics, but it sure is fascinating." Well, just because something doesn't fit in chapter 3, and something else doesn't fit in chapter 2 doesn't mean that they fit together, you know?

I also just recently remembered that the working title of my work is "Abortion and the 'Good Mother': Blah, Blah, Blah" and I haven't really talked to much about abortion, which may be problematic. The good thing is that lots of the really cool stuff in my messy pile is about abortion, but not all of it, and the stuff that isn't, really isn't.

So, yeah. Also I want to talk about the Pill and about population control and about some of the hilarious pamphlets I found, especially the ones geared toward men and the ones about sex after childbirth, but you gotta draw the line somewhere, right?

That's my issue-- where should the lines go?

All the advice books about dissertating say that sometimes, you just have to write shit, and I remember getting this advice in undergrad writing classes, too. But that advice is a lot like "Sleep when the baby sleeps," in that it is much easier said than done, is really annoying to hear after awhile, and it doesn't get the laundry folded, so to speak.

How cute is Harry in Ben's shoes, by the way? He wore them all the way into his toy closet before he took the inevitable tumble and banged his head on the wall.

Muffies!

The other day, Harry grabbed the cupcake pan from the cabinet and took it over to his kitchen, saying "Muffies," which is probably the cutest thing he's ever said. Well, he says monkey pretty cute, and he calls markers markies, which is cute, too, but muffies just really appealed to me. So, last night we indulged his craving. (Also my craving, coincidentally. I have been htting up the Starbucks blueberry muffins pretty hard lately. Especially since that study about caffeine came out and retroactively scared the crap out of me. So blueberry muffins and decaf cinnamon dolce lattes it is).

First, Harry played around with the the muffin cups and the pan


I died laughing when he tried to cram it in his oven (which was already full of salt shakers and peas, duh)

Then I actually made the muffins, and Harry went batshit crazy. Turned out he just wanted to lick the bowl. And who can blame him?







Sadly, in this video, he claims to be making cookies (tooties), not muffies, but its still pretty adorable.