Hey Good Lookin'

Ahh, two big deadlines met and back to obsessing about the minutiae of my daily life. And eating large cinnamon rolls, which sucks because I have to go to the OB and be weighed on Thursday and it's been 5.5 weeks since my last visit, so I am pretty sure I have gained a shit ton of weight (the technical term) and that 85% of this weight is Panera, not McLovin'.

Harry got this adorable Little Tikes kitchen for Christmas, and he loves it so much. I love it so much, too, despite the annoying recorded voice inside it who says things like "Put and object if you can on the cutting board or in the pan," "I declare! Are you still there?" and (blessedly) "Uh-oh, the battery's low." I love the kitchen so much that I put it in MY kitchen in all of its big, primary colored plastic glory, despite my insistence that my house would never feature big plastic toys in the main areas. Yeah. Wait until you see the huge Caterpillar truck under my end table. Why do I love this kitchen so much? Because it keeps him soooooooooooooo busy, as you can see.


And how funny is this? He must keep HIS vacuum next to MY vacuum at all times.

What He's Got Cookin'

It's always funny for me to clean up Harry's kitchen as I am cleaning up my own kitchen because he cooks some weird stuff.

Like this, a house specialty that features a banana, a fork, and a bottle of ketchup. The other ingredients change on the whim of the chef.

A peak inside Harry's refrigerator.

And his oven.

I am not sure how the Word Whammer is affecting Harry's language skills, but I know it's helping mine. You really have to think outside the box to come up with profane 3-letter words, none of which is featured here because this is a PG blog for fuck's sake, and I want you to use your imaginations and come up with your best 3-letter unmentionable. And maybe mention it to me. And the Designed to Sell people would so hate this fridge decor. But that's okay because with this market? We'll NEVER be able to sell anyway.

Here's the truck under the table.

Which always holds a stick of butter and a teeny measuring cup, natch

Chapter 4! I Am Done!

So excited. For anyone playing along at home, that's 4 down and one to go.

Also, Harry slept in his fire truck bed last night. Until about 2 a.m. when he found himself standing, all disheveled and surprised to be out of bed, at the gate outside his door asking "Mama? Dada? Bup?" When changing his diaper this morning, Ben asked Harry where he wanted to sleep tonight, and Harry pointed at our room. He's in the fire truck right now...

Don't think I am going to spend the rest of my break relaxing and resting on my laurels. Oh no, my friends. I am writing something for a real live book that may actually be read by someone besides Tripod, and it's due on Tuesday, so yeah.

Look! Harry and his Uncle Ben eating cheese!

Stuck!

Driving back from Illinois on Sunday afternoon, we noticed that I-90 was getting really, really foggy. We were already crabby because we stopped for lunch at the Machine Shed, and despite the huge amount of butter, bacon, and grease we consumed, we were unhappy with our super slow service. It took 20 minutes for the waitress to take our order, 15 more for drinks, 10 more for food, 20 for the check. Then, we wandered around the gift shop to let Harry pick out a toy because he was such a good boy through the wait. He got a green John Deere cell phone (or, as he called it, a "hewo," like hello), but then it took 5 minutes for the (rude) cashier to locate scissors so we could liberate the phone from its package-- you get the idea. Just hassle and bad service and heartburn. (Also, the wait staff there has to wear bib overalls and red plaid shirts and pig shaped name tags, so I guess they're entitled to a few bad days).

Harry had already slept for two hours, so we knew he was up for the duration of the trip, dropping his milk and demanding "Bup?" and flinging his cell phone to the floor amid shouts of "Hewo?" Ben and I finally reached that point in our car ride when we couldn't stand each other any longer, and we were just getting ready to bicker our way back home ("Can you stop popping your knuckles? That noise is disgusting." "Really? Have you heard yourself chew gum?") when we noticed the truck in front of us (brown and orange camouflage, reading "DORF" instead of "FORD") slamming on its breaks, and the SUV behind us loomed dangerously close to our rear bumper (and Harry in his dangerously forward facing car seat).

We both freaked a little, especially when we saw all the semis around us with their hazard lights on. Ben slowed to a careful stop, cursing the driver behind us (who later assured us he saw our baby in the back and was ready to ditch his car in the slushy median before he would hit us), and at 2:40 pm, perfectly still on I-90, less than a mile from our exit, wondering what the hell was going on.

This was going on.

I had a brief panic attack (and it is really not easy to put your head between your legs when you are 25 weeks pregnant and drowning in your own stomach acid) because the fog was so thick, I was sure someone was going to slam into the back of us at 65 miles an hour, completely unaware of the stopped cars in the mist. This actually happened to people about 2 miles behind us, and someone died-- exactly my fear. I really think truck drivers helped us out-- they stopped quickly, got in both lanes to slow traffic as we approached the accident, and left plenty of room between themselves and the car in front to make a pile up less likely. The trucks by us anyway. Since there were over a hundred pile ups and 2 deaths caused when two separate semis ran over 2 cars (A Chrysler Pacifica and a PT Cruiser-- not good day for Chrysler), I guess not all truck drivers were as vigilant as the ones who surrounded us.

No one in our immediate area was hurt, and none of our cars were damaged at all. We were the only really lucky group, though. Ben got out and talked to some of the people nearest us, and wild rumors flew up an down the cars-- like playing telephone. We called the highway patrol for updates as often as our failing phone batteries (neither of us charged them all weekend of course) allowed and tried to tell our neighbors that no one was going to force us to leave our cars on the highway and take city buses to a nearby hotel (there were city buses, but they were picking up people not injured enough for ambulances and those who couldn't drive their cars away from the scene).

A really bitchy local news lady (she's famous, damnit-- how dare we ask her a question!) told us that it was going to take 2 hours for the scene to be clear enough for us to drive away, and we were so annoyed by this. We took Harry out of his seat and let him roam the car, which he has never done before and did, happily, for the whole 2 hours. That's when we noticed it was dark; the car was starting to get really cold, and no one was moving yet. All we could see was a pink foggy glow of flashing rescue lights in the distance.

We knew the interstate was closed in both directions, but we didn't really know where the accident was. (A mile ahead of us. Thank god we had such bad service.)

Harry drank the last of his bup and fell asleep safely back in his chair at about 5:30. Because I am like the little girl in Signs and store bottles of water EVERYWHERE, we had tons of fluids, which meant I needed to pee. At 6:45 (we'd been stopped for 4 hours by this time), I almost cried because I thought I was going to pee the car, and I realized that I was going to have to do the unthinkable-- PEE OUTSIDE.

I borrowed Ben's flashlight, and opened my door. I had seen people walking up a little hill off the shoulder of the road and going in the direction of some small trees before the darkness swallowed them. Counting on the fog, the black, and my dark coat to make peeing outside as private as possible, I reluctantly crossed the shoulder into the slushy mud. Then I was hit by blinding lights as ten ambulances crept down the side of the road, on their way to survey the damage behind us. Awesome. Like freaking search lights.

I am so not the pee outside kind of person, as you might imagine.

I also ate some crackers from a trucker who offered to share his stash with a pregnant lady (but I gave most of them to Harry when he woke up at about 10:30 starving and desperate for bup -- yeah, right at the 8 hour mark).

We read some articles when we got home that assured readers the Red Cross gave out food, hot drinks, and blankets at the crash site, but no one around us saw anything like that. We just sort of shared what we had with each other-- bottled water for kids, cigarettes for smokers, some peppermints from an old guy in a Lincoln, the trucker's crackers) and we turned the car on every hour or so to warm it up. I was just getting ready to accept an offer of pumpkin pie from a woman two cars up (Which? Seems to be a common thing to travel with. Once several summers ago, Jon and I saw a woman at the Dallas airport pull a Saran wrapped piece of pie from her pocket), when Ben decided to track down a rescue worker and ask for some food for his baby and his pregnant wife. He actually got out of the car and jogged to an idling police car, when TRAFFIC STARTED TO MOVE! ben sprinted back to the car, and we crept through the grisly accident scene-- car pieces scattered along the shoulder, glass caked on the pavement, twisted cars, trucks and a minivan without a sliding door still stuck in the median.

We barely had time to gawk, though, because we were so excited to be going home at 11:40-- 9 hours after we stopped in the fog.

We were really lucky, since the only thing I have to write about is our hunger (easily fixed with a midnight meal, which really appealed to Harry, as did his bedtime routine-- routine, only so cool at 1:30 am), the yuckiness of peeing outside, and the kindness of stranded strangers (although, DORF, no need to waste your battery sharing Pantera with those around you, really).
The fog

Harry ate his shoes, a good snack in a pinch

He also passed the time by spitting water on himself

which he thought was hilarious

"Hewo? Hewo? "

Here we are looking annoyed when we thought we had 2 hours of car time! Ha!



I am actually NOT stuck on my dissertation right now, so maybe more posts later, but probably, just more chapter 4 for me!

Room Makeover Stage 1

As you may have gathered from all of my excessive holiday posts, Harry was good this year and we needed some place to store all the evidence. Voila! The toy room was born. All we did was move my boxes and boxes of files to the basement (and I file like a crazy person, by the way. A completely nonsensical and insane filing system. We may as well have thrown the files out because I will never be able to find anything in there-- unless I can somehow channel the brand of crazy I was feeling when I crammed those folders full of documents and shoved them in willy nilly plastic tubs only to have rhetoric journals rub shoulders with 1999's tax return and a receipt for Michael Stars t-shirts I bought 6 years ago when I was really into that-- and those things have shoulders?). Also, we got rid of things like floor samples and trash.

So now it looks like this only not so blurry

And this

Although most of the toys are not jumbled up like that sad corner-- they are in cute bins like these that Harry can drag into his room. Or just dump over in the closet. Whatev.

Which gives him room to eat his basketball hoop.

And play with his hamburger Helper hands on his new bed (actually, those are mine-- they're awesome for drying dishes-- Harry stole them from the laundry pile).


He has yet to sleep in this bed. He doesn't believe us when we tell him it's a bed. He laughs and says "No," in the same tone he uses when we tell him his boot is a mitten, a banana is a phone, or a tupperware container is a hat.

Also, we're going to paint the room-- we have to, see, because we spackled a bunch of holes in the wall and then realized that we didn't have anymore paint. We always do stupid crap like that. What color, you ask? Blue probably. Sigh. Nothing like painting a blue room blue. And bedding-- can't find any I like-- any suggestions?

We'll keep you posted on the redo-- we're taking a small break because we can all live with spackle dots and we need new art.

Resolved: Eat More

Not me-- god no. Although I am currently eating chocolate brownie fudge ice cream with a soup spoon and looking at my iPhoto archives and saying, "I was so thin before I got pregnant." I have heard that it's the second baby that really ruins your body, and I am starting to believe it. I work out 5-ish days a week and still I am getting fatter by the second. And not in the stomach, really. It's my hips and thighs. Wonder if the baby's in there...

Anyway, Harry's resolution is to eat more, as evidenced by these pictures:
Look at the way he's eying my bacon.



We were at breakfast on New Year's Day (at like 7:30, the earliest I have ever gone out to breakfast. Then we went to Super Target for groceries-- nobody there, either. So there are advantages to having a super lame NYE. And by super lame, I mean we watched the end of the first season of 24-- the first season-- that's like 5 season ago-- we are so behind-- also Nina was the mole? No way-- ate tons of desserts, cheese, and appetizers from Whole Foods, and went to bed at 1, which was so late for us. When Harry woke up demanding to play with his new kitchen at 6:20, we thought we were going to die, which is why we decided to suck it up and go get some food. And coffee).

Hey-- want to see a video of Harry eating? He ate all of my bacon, a fruit cup, an entire container of cream cheese, half a bagel, some of Ben's omelet, and a blueberry pancake. Maybe he's pregnant.

(click on the underlined Harry Eats Breakfast link, and you will be directed to Vimeo, and you can watch the video. Unless you have Vista, suckers. Also, why the hell didn't the video just embed? I clicked embed? Very confused.)

Harry Eats Breakfast from sarah on Vimeo.

This Post Has Many Titles

Even Though the Blogging World Has Clearly Moved on From Christmas, I Haven't

Proof That Dissertations Don't Write Themselves, as I am Currently Paying Harry's Babysitter for This Time Away From Home and Blogging, But my Draft Remains Stalled Mid-Chapter

My Expensive Afternoon: Hi, Honey, I also Stopped at Motherhood on the Way Here

Panera: Home of the Cinnamon Roll the Size of My Head. Yum.


I think that sums it up. So, I used all my words on titles. Here's one more barrage of Christmas, then I will officially accept that a new year has begun. I have already come up with a title for the year, too.

2008: Yet Another Year in Which I will Not Graduate. What Will I Do This Year Besides Bitch? Turn 30. 30. My. God.

It's kind of wordy.

Even though it was December 29th, Harry brought his Christmas spirit.

Yes. We all have Crazy Stripe sweaters from Gap. We stopped at Panera on the way to the burbs (yes. I know I have a problem, and I will deal with it after I have this baby, and I am trying to scrape roughly 30 pounds of mayonnaise off of each thigh), and one of the cashiers said "Oh, you're the one who has a matching sweater with your husband-- that's so cute!" I told Ben she said that when I got back to our table, and he shouted "Oh FUCK! I forgot we match," which I gotta say, was a tad bit more embarrassing than our matching, especially since we were sitting right next to this family who had the cutest little 6 year old. I know she was six because she told her dad, "I can get my own drink. I am six, and I can do anything," which totally reminded me of a certain someone I met in first grade, who assured me that I didn't have to worry because she knew EVERYTHING. (And no, Katie, I will not let that go. Ever.)

As you might imagine, Harry was a hug help assembling his shopping cart.

Harry got a sled, and he made his grandma and grandpa haul him all around the house. For 2 days. It was too cute to resist, though. He'd plunk himself down and say thank you before the ride commenced. No outdoor sledding yet because it's a high of 9 here (has been for days). Don't worry. It's supposed to be in the fifties this weekend, and our 35 inches of snow will melt in a flood of biblical proportions. Either way, outdoor sledding unlikely. On a related note, have you ever tried to sled down the stairs?

Harry is in love with this computer that his Aunt Jen and Uncle Maurice got him. He loves it in a Gary-like way.

See? All the practicing we did with our camera timer really paid off. There's another shot where everyone looks brighter, but you can see my dorky socks, so I couldn't use it. You'll have to take my word for it, I looked cute in an 80s sort of way with my Uggs on, but damn, those things are HOT (not like sexy).

Awwww. We kicked Harry and max out of the picture because Harry was crying.

These balls were a hit. Except with Maurice, who was clearly calculating how many hours a day he would have to spend cleaning them up and how many pieces of furniture they could wedge themselves under. Answers: As much time/furniture as you have, but they are really fun to fling at your spouse's head.

Harry in his grandpa's slippers ("hippas")

Harry sensed that the tree wuld come down soon and indulged in his favorite no no of the season one more time.

Even though they are still in the parallel play phase, Harry and Max did play near enough to each other to cast furtive and suspicious glances at one another.

Seriously, the love of computer. Next thing you know, he is going to go to stores and stare at shelves for hours, stop six times at the gas station before taking a 12-mile road trip, or begin every trip with a "choke burger." Oh yeah! Happy belated 60th birthday, Dad! Also, see my dorky socks?

That's the kind of behavior that gets you ejected from the picture, young man!

Look! We're pregnant! Again! At the same time! Again!

Okay, I know Harry just got so many toys that we had to convert our extra walk-in closet to his toy room (more about that soon), but I need to get him one of these (this one is strictly a grandma's house toy) because the microphone really works, and I want more than anything in the world to spend my spare time teaching him Volare and My Way.

The next morning, he woke up and went straight for the computer. Then he spent hours emailing us YouTube clips, pictures of westies in Halloween costumes, and Bob and Tom recordings.

Merry Christmas!

And now back to my chapter, which is fascinating. I am looking at clergy support for Planned Parenthood, and I continue to be surprised and delighted by the archival documents Jon found for me at Smith College. He also took 30 pages of really good notes that have been invaluable to this chapter. Hey, Jon, look forward to a major acknowledgment in a book that nobody will ever read! Heck, you'll probably get your own copy-- autographed, even. On one hand, the information is exactly what you would expect to find-- clergy support for Planned Parenthood hinged on the idea of sex within marriage and the notion that family planning helped make families better by ensuring that parents could raise their children "properly" with the "correct" spiritual and financial resources. Unpacking the words in quotation marks is where it gets interesting. On the other hand, the information is surprising because we don't usually think of Judeo-Christian morality and abortion in the same sentence, but Planned Parenthood has always linked the two and found plenty of clergy support for the idea. So, yeah. And I'm switching to decaf, so maybe McLovin will settle down in there!