Dude, you guys, cows are stinky

Dairy farms are weird. In one barn are stalls and stalls and shit-splattered stalls of baby calves-- some less than 24-hours old-- and in another barn are their mothers, standing as still as their swollen, ballooning udders will allow. Farmers feed the calves with outsize baby bottles, and cows are hooked up to giant (shit-splattered) pumps. Luckily I didn't have to ponder the irony of all those baby cows fed artificially while their mothers' milk is shipped off to feed human babies artificially because all the milk on this farm becomes mozzarella cheese. Mmmmm, cheese.

I have never considered myself an animal rights activist by an means (I even like lamb! and veal! and I'm sure I would dig other soft, fat little baby animals. oh! and foie gras is delish, screw the geese!), but the farm tour I took with Harry's class yesterday made me rethink our relationship to animals. When the farmer told the kids about things like tagging the cows with giant "earrings" and cauterizing their horns with something "that looks like a big cigarette lighter," the children were horrified, and the farmer explained that ultimately, these practices-- like immediately separating moms and babies-- were best for the animals. Really, though, she meant that they were best for the farm, for the industry, for us.


At snack time in the farmhands' lunchroom, Harry ate 5 pieces of string cheese.



The cow in the above picture is 3 days old and pretty wobbly.


This little calf was born yesterday


Harry was leading these little boys on a path of mischief that ended with him falling in a slimy trough of cow shit run-off. COW SHIT. He fell in it. Before the field trip, I swore that if either of us encountered cow shit, I was calling a taxi to take us home. Instead, I rolled up his pants-leg and tried not to stand down wind. I almost puked in my mouth in the milking barn, when Harry kept resting his head against the shit-splattered side of the raised milking platform. Why was everything covered in shit? WHYYYYYYYYYYY?


Adorably, Harry was scared of the cows' soft, fat tongues, and he kept dropping his hay all over the (shit-splattered) barn floor. Then I would say "Heeeeeey," and no one would laugh. This happened at least 16 times.

According to family legend, when I was a toddler and preschooler, the only way I could deal with the stench of a petting zoo was to bravely clutch a Chanel No.5-soaked tissue to my nose as I waded through the goats and pigs and chickens. Clearly, I was a natural choice to chaperon a cow field trip.

I went to my office in the afternoon and stayed until after the kids were in bed because I am still not done with my summer class (and may not be even after today). Also because I suck as a person and missed the cuteness that is tee-ball.

Ben took lots of pics.




When I saw this picture of Harry playing in the dirt, Ben told me that the coach said Harry needs to be allowed to get dirtier, so that the dirt won't fascinate him as much. Whatever, I told Ben. I bet all the kids were playing in the dirt. Look at the next picture, he told me.

Oh.

I still think he's playing in the dirt because he is 3 turning 4 and all the other kids are 5 turning 6 (Harry is on the very young end of the 3-5 spectrum on this team), not because he has a fastidious mother. Also, tee-ball coach, he rolled in cow shit yesterday-- is that not dirty enough for you?

Gasp! I didn't clean the whole house today!

Have you heard this poem?

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.


by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Today, instead of giving the house its weekly Silkwood shower*, I rescued Jack who was crying in his crib (he's been having a hard time going down for naps for the past couple of weeks-- we usually leave him alone and he quiets downs in 10 minutes or so, but today he seemed sadder than usual), and laid down with him in my bed. He was really excited to nap with me-- he brought his own Buzz Lightyear blankie and was asleep within 30 seconds of hitting my pillow. He smiled at me, patted my cheek, sighed, and closed his eyes. I might have drooled on him a little in my sleep.

Remind me when I am bitching about washing the floor tomorrow that I really enjoyed myself.




*I couldn't resist spending a blissful 40 minutes scrubbing the shower. I also did the bathrooms, washed the inside and outside of the fridge including all the magnets and Leap Frog sets on the front of it, and removed and scrubbed all the oven knobs and childproof covers. I couldn't help myself.

OMFG. I am so old.

Kate has a post up today about 32 being the new old, and I was reading it on my iPad (which is f*cking awesome, by the way) and thinking "Yes! Yes! Yeeeeeesssssss!" Because oh shit do I feel old today, on this day, my 32nd birthday.

In honor of being so old, here are some Hisptamatic bath pics that look like the old ass pictures of me in the tub at my parents house taken with an old ass camera that wasn't even cool at the time. Just a camera. But now? Old is cool. But only in a trendy, ironic way. Shit.




I made Ben take me out for coffee when I got to campus this morning (what do I get to do on my birthday? Go to meetings. And more meetings. And MORE meetings. Also, prep my damn summer class already, jeez.), and walking back to my office, I looked up at the balcony of the Starbucks I used to study at with my grad school friends, and I felt old on so many levels. I felt old being here on this campus 7 years after entering grad school, while all my friends have moved away (old in a townie sort of way). I felt old for being nostalgic about a freaking coffee shop because that is such an old person thing to be nostalgic about-- not a bar or a club or something. A coffee shop. So I was old even in this glorious past I am recalling for myself. Shit, man. That's old. And then I felt old because I was drinking decaf (because if I have a drop of caf past 10 am, I'll never get to sleep) and looking at the balcony and the people on it while thinking, "it is too cold to sit up there without a sweater on a day like today."

A day like today.

One of the excellent things about being so old is all this wisdom I have accumulated (wink wink). Lately, I have been mindful of the mundane beauty of my everyday. Being woken up by Harry's creepy stare (seriously, he stands at the side of my bed, right about level with my face, boring into me with his eyes until I jerk awake from the force of the creepy stare. Then he greets me with the words, "I need to pee mama. I need your help."), crammed in bed with both kids and Ben before the sun comes up, holding one of Jack's icy foot blocks in the palm of my hand under the covers. Listening to Harry and Jack fight over what show to watch during breakfast, making them both bagels every morning and knowing that they will only eat a bagel once every 3 or 4 days but demand them on their plates everyday-- like a bagel lovey, brushing my teeth with the bathroom door closed and the exhaust fan on to mask the sound of the water because if Jack knows I am anywhere near a toothbrush, he is all over it, rummaging through the drawer for his and demanding, "Me," and my oral hygiene takes back seat. Talking to Harry about his vivid dreams and every.single.thing he sees out his window on his way to school, watching him hesitate for just a second at the door of his classroom before carefully washing his hands, shyly telling his teachers good morning, and then running full-steam toward the rug in the back of the room to dump out a basket of Plan Toy people. Picking Harry up at school, spying on him on the playground, almost falling down from the weight of his springing hug. Carrying jack even though he can walk and loudly kissing his cheeks until he squirms to be put down, hefting him over my shoulder after lunch as he drapes himself over me and blows Harry a kiss and tells him "bye bye" as we climb the steps for nap. Holding towel-wrapped Jack in my lap after bath while Ben snuggles a wet Harry, drying their hair by rubbing it with their towels until it sticks up on their heads and they laugh and point at each other. Watching Jack check himself out in the mirror after I put his pajamas on-- he even turns and checks out his butt. Pulling up Harry's rainbows. Collapsing on the couch with Ben and our DVR, a plate of cheese, pretzels, and wine between us. Sneaking into the kids' room on my own way to bed and taking pictures of the strange sleeping situations they've entered into in the time between their orderly tuck-in and my unannounced visit. Slipping into sleep grateful that my day will dawn with Harry's creepy stare and end with me staring at my sleeping babies, a little more wrinkled and better for the wear.

Sleep Trouble

I don't usually complain about sleep because my kids are usually great sleepers. In bed by 7:30 and not a peep until around 6. Sure, I'd love it if they slept a little later, and if I can find the time to put them down at 6:30, they'll usually sleep a full 12 hours. The problem is I NEVER can get them in bed that early because we are eating dinner and cleaning it up and doing other early evening family stuff.

The last couple of nights, though, they boys have been staying up past 8:30 and waking BEFORE 5. It has been totally brutal, and I don't know WTF is going on. The later they go to sleep, the earlier they wake up. Last night, they went to bed at 7:30 but were awake until around 9. At the crack of 4:45, they were both up for the day.


I, meanwhile, was up late transferring pictures to my hard drive (and this was a pain in my ass because I have 10,000 pictures and because I have had 3 different cameras and I never rename my pics, so some of their number-names overlap and I had to either replace or not a bunch of pics, and I don't know what I replaced with what. Argh.), so I slept or maybe 4.5 hours last night (after Monday when I got home from a final exam at 10:30 and stayed up for another 2 hours decompressing. Ugh).

This entry has turned into guttural parenthetical utterances, so I guess that's a sign I have run out of things to say. So tired. Blurgh.

Oh! But the kids! Are just as crabby and exhausted as I am! So imagine the fun we'll have together! Not napping! So that maybe we can sleep tonight!

Update: I just saved my MacBook from certain death in Kentucky

The Geek Squad sucks, and the Genius Bar rules.

I took my precious little computer whom I love very much even though I have been totally neglecting it for my shiny new iPad to Best Buy because that's where I purchased it and a $300 protection plan in October of 2007. First of all, the place was a ZOO. Second, the guy had dirty hands, and he touched my computer ALL OVER. Third, he ripped off the sticker that was covering the hole in my case and turned the computer roughly on its side. He tried to open the bottom with a quarter instead of a nifty little key, and he told me my computer was going to KENTUCKY for 3 WEEKS to be fixed and that I should probably let them back up all my data before they shipped it for $150. I left my computer (upside down) on the counter to go to customer service and have them print my warranty. They couldn't find it. They acted like it was my fault they couldn't find it. Then they found it, but they were unable to print a receipt because the system was down. I went back to the Geek Squad where a woman's busted down Toshiba was sitting ON TOP OF MY COMPUTER. The Geek yelled at me for not bringing the right receipt and then booted up a register next to him to print it his damn self (why was that not an option before he sent me to customer service?) I called Ben and told him I was just going to buy a new computer. he was like, "What the F ever. I am in a meeting. Do what you need to do. But maybe you should go to the frigging Apple store first." I was all, but I'll have to PAY for repairs there, and he was like, "Okay. So that new Macbook Pro you wanted 3 minutes ago was going to be free?" I was like yeah, pretty much, I was just going to charge it.

Then he hung up.

You know what, I said to the Geek. I am just going to use this one until it dies and get another one. I can't be away from it for 3 weeks. I grabbed my computer and ran. Across the mall parking lot to the Apple store.

In 15 minutes, the Genius behind the bar had fixed my broken optical drive, diagnosed my hard drive problem, and made me an appointment tomorrow morning for a new case and a new hard drive-- both totally free. And my computer will be ready in an hour. I could have gotten it fixed right away, but I wanted to try to salvage all the pictures I took in February, March, and April, which are the only things not backed up. (and to make sure I have my dissertation because zOMG that would be JUST LIKE ME)

In short, Apple is awesome.

Here's an iPhone pic of Jack taken one year ago today:

Computer trouble.

I am putting my iPad to the test because I have to take my computer to the shop today. GULP.

It has a hole in the case; my disk drive doesn't work, and I can't do my regularly scheduled Time Machine back ups.

In other words, I am screwed.

I have a fantasy that the Geek Squad guys are going to be like, "Oh, dude. So sorry. Take a new one off the shelf," but I feel like this is probably just a fantasy.

I'm worried, though, because I don't want to lose the totally awesome and flattering pictures I have of my family. Like these:

My iPad dreams came true! I love my husband! Also my adorable children

So yesterday.

Yesterday was a scary day. The basket of shit Ben keeps on his dresser got spilled on the floor and before we knew it the kids descended on the non-child-proofed mess. We bickered for a minute about whether or not they would choke on stuff and then bam! We were fishing a wet Tylenol pill out of Jack's mouth. We decided we had to assume that he swallowed some, so Ben took him to the ER for blood tests while I took Harry to a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese.

Who would have thunk that preschooler duty at the big mouse's house would be the preferable way to spend the afternoon? Poor Ben. Poor Jack, who didn't, by the way, ingest any Tylenol.

This morning Ben went out early to get donuts from my favorite Kosher bakery, and Harry gifted me my own lint brush.

Jack hung out in bed getting bunny crumbs everywhere, and when Ben came back, I opened my gift---


The iPad I wanted!!! I am typing this post on it right now while my students take a final exam (on Mothers Day).

It's like a big iPod but way, way, way cooler. The book app is totally awesome, and I think I will finally read more newspapers. I can also put my course readers, attendance sheets, and videos I want to show in class on it, so I think I can finally stop carrying 45 pounds of shit in my bag everyday, which is something my massage therapist has told me i need to do.* I am in the market for a skin so I can drag it to the gym and subscribe to all my magazines and download lots of trashy books. In short, awesome Mothers Day present and perfect for screwing around on the Internet when my students are writing essays for me to grade


Jack colored me a card at the gym daycare yesterday, and Harry painted the hell out of Tera cotta pot in which he planted something. He also made me a cool set of stationary and a tissue paper corsage. I was really touched by his projects because he used SO much paint and glued about 15 hearts to my card. He usually does a very cursory job on his art projects, and I am so happy he put so much fat-fingered effort into these gifts.

Ben says he doesn't see the resemblance but I think it looks like he is holding himself.


*About the massage therapist. I have been getting massages every 3 weeks, and I have been seeing the same woman. She is really young. So young that the first time I saw her, I didn't take off my bra because I felt uncomfortable. But my problem area is my left shoulder, and the bra strap got in the way. The second time, I kept my bra on again for some screwed up reason (I get lots of massages and have NEVER left my bra on before). Last time, she unhooked my bra, and I said really loudly (because I was half asleep before that second and lost the ability to control volume for a moment there) "Should I just take it off?". And she was all, "no," and it was weird. So I think I am going to switch massage therapists because I want to take my bra off and enjoy the massage (oh god that sounded so weird), and I feel like I have come too far bra-on with this woman. The problem is, she's really good. So what do I do? Take it off? Leave it on? Switch therapists? I'm feeling my shoulders tense up as my next appointment approaches, and it's supposed to be RELAXING!