Wednesday, March 31, 2010

that nest is *so* last year.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

that whole lemons/life thing.

All I did was go to the fabric store to get elastic thread (yes! it's an actual thing!) and also to pick up some fabric to make her a supercool springy skirt in the sort of colors that make me think of her, and you know, get some snaps and new sewing machine needles because apparently you should replace them more frequently than they break (I know! Who knew!).

Upon my return, I have discovered that my mouse and keyboard and general computer area are covered with a thick coating of lemonade.

I ask you, what does one do when life hands you lemonade instead of lemons?

I think you know what to do.

Monday, March 29, 2010

elliott's birthday: the cake post

spice cake
mascarpone-buttermilk frosting
blackberry jam

the birthday boy

a nom-nom here

admiring mama's mad baking skillz

that's some fabulous texture right there.

no smashing?

more no smashing
from a different angle

oh well, maybe next year.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

one whole year

One year ago today, I woke up at 5:10 a.m. My abdomen hurt. My pelvis ached. I thought to myself, I wonder if I should call my midwife. I have been having contractions regularly for three days straight. Nah, I'm not due for another two weeks, and that doesn't even take into consideration that the other three were about two weeks late. Besides, if I call her at this hour of the day and complain because my vagina hurts? I'll probably get smacked at my next appointment.

So I didn't call. I got out of bed, went to the bathroom just like every other pregnant lady, and went back to bed. I laid there for a while, aching, feeling a little bit off, and as much as I was able, I tossed and turned.

At 5:30 a.m., I got back out of bed and went to the bathroom. Again. And oddly enough, the toilet was INCREDIBLY COMFORTABLE. So I sat there until it stopped being comfy, at which point I stood up, and leaned on the sink. It felt nice (nicer) to sway back and forth, so I did that for a while.

I was jarred from my swaying stupor by an odd noise. I stopped, listened. What was that? I became irritated. Who was making that ridiculous mooing noise? Somebody was awake and being loud and God help them I was not in the mood.

Get it? MOOD? I slay me.

The moo-er was me. I was mooing. Why was I mooing? Right! I was having a baby. In my bathroom. This, my friends, was not expected. Well, naturally I *expected* to have a baby, sometime, someplace else, not RIGHT THEN and not IN MY BATHROOM.

I woke The Mister. I called the midwife. I called my MIL. The Mister woke up, the midwife didn't, the MIL ran up the street. Seven minutes after arriving at the hospital, and without a single contraction, wee Elliott emerged with two fantastic pushes. The ER doc standing at the end of the bed told me to wait, so I horrified him by cranking out my babe and a horde of gypsy 'roids.

And now he's one.
He laughs.
He pats his head when he wants his blanket.

He loves to be held close.
Loves the sling.

He is a complete mama's boy, but loves his daddy like crazy.

His sister is his very best friend
in the entire world
he will not go to bed at night
he has been held one more time by her.

He has the oddest crawl of any child I've ever seen.
He cruises the furniture.

He applauds himself.

He is chill and happy and healthy,
and sure I'm biased,
but he's the most adorable creature
on the face of this earth.

And now he's one.

Friday, March 26, 2010

baring it all

Whilst whittling away at my blog reading, I headed over to Lora's Fiery Palace. And darned if I wasn't completely fascinated by her post about handwriting. I love looking at handwriting. I love my handwriting. Except when my hands are hurting, then it is very sloppy and then I don't love it. My hands hurt quite a lot, so it's very handy, this whole Getting To Type Pretty Much All My Correspondence Thing.

Here are the rules for the handwriting game.

The Rules:
write the following
1) Your name/blog name.
2) Right-handed, left-handed, or ambidextrous?
3) Favorite letters to write.
4) Least favorite letters to write.
5) Write “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”
6) Write the following words in capital letters:
7) Write your favorite song lyric.
8) Tag people!
9) Any special note or picture.

Mine was written on a regular sized sheet of paper, folded in half, so on a quarter sheet of paper, in case you are wondering how actually large I write.

And hello, there, run-on sentence. How are you today?

Hope you love The Aquabats. They are the rockingest.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

a tiny little update

Remember back a few months ago, when the year changed its number from 2009 to 2010? Think hard, I know some of you might have been a little bit tipsy, and the exact moment may be super fuzzy in your heads.

I posted a somewhat snarky view of New Year's Resolutions.

I'm guessing you don't remember that, either, hmmmm???

Anyway, here's my quarterly update on the State of Things.

Goal #1: I will strive to not forget the wet laundry in the washing machine.

I'm quite pleased to say that I have only forgotten, and needed to re-wash, two loads of laundry since the first of the year. That is a huge improvement, and saves a ton of money, especially considering the price of water has more than doubled.

Verdict: YAY, ME!!!

Goal #2: I will strive to use my indoor voice unless it is absosmurfly necessary that I use the Bad Dog Voice.

I think I've been showing improvement in this area, mostly because I'm keeping the short people busier, and away from things with screens and moving pictures, and being more proactive with the behavior situations.

Except for this very minute, as I am typing this, because Wee Man and HB are having a MOVIE REST which involves them getting off the couch every point zero five seconds to practice their Wooshy-Finger-Holds (skah-DOOOOOSH!). MOVIE REST = FAIL.

Verdict: no verdict. The jury is still out on this one.

Goal #3: I will eat more popcorn.

I can't actually admit to you the amount of popcorn we have consumed in the past nearly-three months. I just can't out myself like that. But it is a healthy, whole-grain snack, and that is all I have to say about that. It has to be super good for me, as I've lost over 10 pounds since January, and the number of pounds of popcorn that has been consumed here is well over twice the amount I've lost.

Popcorn, it's the new diet plan.

Verdict: YAY, ME!!!!! And also? YAY, ME!!!

Tuesday, March 23, 2010


My daughter, the sassy, brilliant, clever Miss O, is a very sensitive soul. Very. Very-very. At first glance, she is the typical oldest daughter, very verbal, a leader, creative and on top of things. You would probably miss her deep sensitivity altogether if you weren't looking closely, analyzing, watching through microscopically precise eyes.

I don't actually know if microscopically precise eyes is even something that exists.

There was a birthday party to which she was not invited. And before you get your undies all in a bunch, we are not the parents who boo-hoo when our kid doesn't get invited. Because sometimes you don't, so deal.


It seemed to her that every other kid her age from the small social circle was invited. It appeared that when The Group disbanded the Standard Friday Activity, all of the 6, 7, and 8 year olds got into the same two cars and went to the birthday party.

We got into our car, and Miss O burst into tears.

And if Miss O's recollection of Friday is accurate (grain of salt here, people, she's seven, sensitive and superdramatic), the birthday boy and his guests were discussing the party all. day. long. And also? Birthday Boy spent the entire day telling Miss O that she was neither invited, nor allowed to attend the party, and that everybody else was.

She held it together very well in front of everyone at The Group, but six hours of doing so takes its toll on a sensitive seven year-old. We spent the better part of Friday afternoon and evening listening to her unleash her frustration and anger and tears about the emotional beating she took at The Group's Standard Friday Activity.

Sometimes this parenting gig really sucks. Those of you who are parents know this already, and those of you who aren't? Well, you *should* know that there's an entirely bizarre phenomenon that happens when you become a parent, and it is called Part Of Your Soul Lives Inside Another Person, and When That Person Aches, You Ache Too, And It's A WAY Worse Ache Than When It's Actually You Who Aches.

And that, my friends, is a lot of aching.

Part of me wants to light up the Birthday Boy's mom for inviting everybody else, but I don't even know if everybody else was invited, and really? Would that make it better for Miss O (or me) to pitch a fit? No. I think it would not. Also, it would set a really bad example, and one drama queen per situation is quite enough.

So there's that.

**Comments are closed. Y'all are lovely and I appreciate the spirit of the sticking up for my girl, but the Birthday Boy is my friend's kid. If you have anything to share, send me an email. thedaytontime at gmail dot com. xo

Sunday, March 21, 2010

in which i begin to answer your questions about my beliefs

There were some really good questions tossed out in the comments section of this post, and I think for the sake of my own little brain, I'm going to answer them mostly one at a time.

Jason, as himself said...
Okay. Here you go. Why is it that throughout history, so many horrible things have been done in the name of God and religion?

And, do you believe that the cracker literally turns into Christ's flesh?

Good ones, Jason.

Okay, Alex Jason, I'm going take Flesh Cracker for $100.

The cracker is actually referred to as The Host, which is derived from the Latin word hostia which means sacrificial victim, if you believe everything the Wikis tell you.

Transubstantiation is the theological term for the cracker turning into Christ's flesh and the wine or juice turning into the blood of Christ even though all of the physical characteristics of the cracker and juice seem to remain the same. And yes, this is a highly watered-down statement. Transubstantiation is a tenet of the Roman Catholic tradition, and is attributed to an archbishop who lived way back in the 1100's. Transubstantiation was one of the hot topics during the Protestant Reformation.

Today, many churches following the Protestant tradition believe in transignification which means that the cracker and juice are symbols of the flesh and blood of Christ.

I attend a United Methodist church, and am in the transignification camp. Sometimes I agree with the beliefs outlined by the United Methodist church, and sometimes I don't.

Jason's question about the many terrible things done in the name of God and religion is a lot less theological, I think. All things of God are not all things Religion, and all things Religion are not all things of God, almost to the point of being mutually exclusive.

Know what I think? Religion is what man decides God has decreed. Religion is so often more about what people have decided more than what God wants. And this, I think, is the fundamental problem in reconciling God and Religion. Religion is why the Romans conquered and tortured most of Europe and the Middle East. Religion is why the Mormons murdered a bunch of innocents. Religion is why suicide bombers and terrorists and countless others rape, pillage, murder, target, persecute, and torture.

Those acts are NOT. GODLY. Period, end of discussion.

My friend Jocelyn wrote a post called True Religion a few weeks ago, and included this little snippet of scripture:
Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. ~ James 1:27
There's also this bit:
And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. ~ I Corinthians 3:13
The God I choose to believe in is not about Religion.

Friday, March 19, 2010

brought to you by the letter s and the number infinity because that is how much love i have

The kangaroos are singing Get Your Jump Back, Jack to Jack-Be-Nimble on Sesame Street. I love Sesame Street. I may have mentioned that before. In fact, I know I've mentioned it before, but upon attempting to search my vast archives, I am coming up with nothing.

But whilst watching Sesame Street the other day? I might have developed a slight crush on Jason Mraz.

And now???? RICKY GERVAIS IS TEACHING THE CHILDREN ABOUT THE WORD STUMBLE. Stumble means to trip and almost fall over, but not quite. And now??? Murray The Moron Monster is running around calling out BRING OUT YOUR J!, just like in Monty Python. Sesame Street is SO. STINKING. SMART.

Yes, I could totally do without Shouty Murray The Moron Monster, but other than that it is perfect.

Now go out into the world and bop along to the Mraz in your head. You're welcome.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

there are some things i know you'd rather i refrained from discussing.

I'm listening to a bunch of seriously badass Celtic music on the local Classical music station. There's even tap dancing. It rocks. Except now? Eine Kleine Nachtmusick. No thanks.

I got myself all hooked up with TweetDeck, and it's nice and all, but it makes a weird noise whenever somebody I follow tweets. I'm feeling a little bit meh about it. Also, it make my brain have a hard time paying attention.

It's news that Dennis Kucinich is supporting the healthcare bill. Really? Who actually cares? That guy is a freaking whackjob, and no, I didn't vote for him when I had the chance.

My phone is gone. So it would be great if any of you who have my phone number would begin calling me at 9 a.m. Eastern time and keep redialing until I answer. Thanks.

I am engaging in a celebration of womanhood today. This involves calling my friend K and whining, saying things completely wrong then crying about it, lamenting the lack of proper chocolate, and intermittent moaning and groaning because it's just absolutely necessary when, well... I'm sure you know what I'm talking about by now, and seriously, if you don't? I just don't know what to say to you.

Also? It's been a while, and I am just getting used to this whole Celebrating Womanhood Thing, so don't call me a whiner or I'll probably punch you and cry. Or cry and punch you. Either way.

Antonio Banderas has been named a UN Ambassador To Slash Poverty With A Sharp Sword Whilst Talking Sexy. Maybe that's not the exact title, but I give that two thumbs up. In other news, I've taken the liberty of naming Colin Firth Ambassador To Entertain Cranky Menstrual Womanhood-Celebrating-BloggaMamas Whilst Talking All Sexy British. Registration for service can be obtained by leaving extremely clever and flattering comments in the appropriate place.

I haven't forgotten about answering the questions you asked me here, I just think that maybe I better not write about actual meaningful things during The Middle of My Womanly Celebration. My friend K From Up The Street talked me down from the post I had planned about Wee Man's preschool field trip today. It was SO AWESOME IN MY HEAD. And the pictures are fantastic, too. Bling and hairy fingers and videotapes and more bling and back hair and suddenly I've realized that I didn't tell you that The Mister wore his kilt to work yesterday . You should really click on wore his kilt to work yesterday.

That realization has nothing to do with back hair and everything to do with MY HUSBAND WEARS A KILT. A woman at the church dinner remarked to him that she thought he was wearing a skirt. I raised my eyebrows at her and snorted, BECAUSE I WEAR THE PANTS AROUND HERE. And yes, I did verify with The Mister and My Friend K From Up The Street that the comment was both funny and inappropriate, and not just the latter.

And finally, I am sad to say that my Saint Patrick's Day celebrating consisted of drinking a terrible beer. It pretty much tasted the same as licking the inside of the refrigerator. Please take me very seriously when I say you should avoid both bad beer and licking the refrigerator.

That is all. Because ohmygoodlord, isn't that enough?

Tuesday, March 16, 2010


Do you ever go outside in the dark, chilly night for no other reason than to gaze upon the gorgeous stars?

Friday, March 12, 2010

is it *so* hard?!?!?!

I know some of you are stay-home mamas like me. And I am well aware that the rest of you are not, but just hang with me for a minute.

We do a freaking LOT of things. So much, in fact, that if I were to try to make an actual, comprehensive list of all the things I do in a day? Well, a) I would never get anything done, and b) I'd probably jump on the crazy train trying to record the minutiae of my life, and while those minutiae are why I am absolutely invaluable to the people around me, the list would make me sound really petty.

8:57 a.m. picked up a tissue.
8:57.5 a.m. picked up a scrap of paper
8:58 a.m. threw said items in trash can

Do you see what I mean? And also, it's not like I'm in a Gold-Medal Used Tissue Recovery Competition. Nor am I a Truly Spectacular Housekeeper.

Fortunately for me, there are jobs in this house that are not mine, and usually they involve things that fall into the following categories: a) Heavy; b) Stinky; and c) Things I Do Not Want To Do.

It has come to my attention that when the Heavy-Stinky-Things-I-Do-Not-Want-To-Do Things do not get done, I become very irritated.

What? You too?

And sometimes I say to Me: Is it *SO* hard for him to ___________? You know, as if I am the person who Always Gets Everything Done. As and if being the operative words there. Is it *SO* hard for him to take out the upstairs bathroom garbage? Is it *SO* hard for him to take the soda bottles for a refund? Is it *SO* hard...

But then I realized something. No. It's not. It's not *that* hard to take the upstairs bathroom trash out to the pretty green container in our driveway. It's not hard for The Mister... and it's not hard for me, either.

What is hard? Living with a person who is a crab. And being a crab about some things makes you seem like a really unappreciative... ummm... well... bitch. It does.

Hello, I'm Pamela, and I'm Appreciative and Not-A-Bitch, and I took the trash out today.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

overheard, and also, awwww.

Scene: Wee Man crying hysterically. Sitting in time out, one stair up from the bottom. Enter HB.

HB: I'm sorry, Wee Man.

Wee Man: (sniffling) You didn't hurt me. I hurt you.

HB: That's okay.

Wee Man: (yelling) NO!!! IT'S NOT OKAY!!!!! IT'S NEVER OKAY TO HIT!!! I HIT YOU AND I'M SORRY!!!!

HB: THEN YOU BE IN TIME OUT, MISTER. AND YOU SIT ON THE STAIRS. (pause) And I am still your best friend.


Tuesday, March 9, 2010

addicted much?

We have a teensy problem with a certain short person in our home. Alright, it's not teensy at all, it's freaking ginormous, and I'm worn the hell out from all the SCREAMING!!! and WHINING!!!! and I'M NOT YOUR LOVEY ANYMORE!!!

Said Short Person is totally addicted to playing games on WebKinz. And yes, I realize that I allowed Said Short Person to play in the first place, I understand that I should have set better boundaries and kept to them.

But sweet and merciful heavens, WebKinz aren't real animals. Getting a gem? Who the EFF cares. If Said Short Person was bring me a REAL, TANGIBLE, SHINY gem, well then I might feel a little differently, you know, covering room and board and whatnot. And Zingoz? What are those? And what are they saying? Does anybody know?

The worst are the little Kinz-amated music videos. There's one with a catchy hook, and it starts out all nice and bop-ish, but turns a corner and ends up in a dark alley screaming MOUSTACHE LOUIE!!!!

People are getting paid to write crap like that. Wretched, wretched bile.

I'm contemplating a bit of a screen detox. And by bit, I mean until the whining stops. A few days, a week, a month, four years... whatever. The only thing holding me back is that Said Short Person will do anything I ask in order to earn a turn.

For example, at this very minute? Said Short Person is unloading the dishwasher and putting the dishes away. Said Short Person has also been known to move laundry from washer to dryer to folding area, bring laundry downstairs to be washed, shovel the sidewalk and eat unpleasant vegetables.

A screen detox means I will have to do all the work myself. And people, I do NOT enjoy the shoveling, I do not enjoy emptying the dishwasher and especially I do not enjoy putting wet laundry in the dryer.

Guess it's time to break out the Big Girl Panties. Parenting is not for pansies.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

in which i am about to discuss religion

A pal of mine has a blog with a naughty name, and the entire premise of the blog is for her liberal-leaning self to banter/duke it out with this other guy and his right-leaning self. And most of the time it's (it is) pretty good.

She tweeted me (this means she talked to me using the medium of Twitter, and has nothing to do with any weird pinching nonsense, for the record) a number of times before, during and after writing the post. Mostly because she knows I fancy God, and because I know she doesn't exactly fancy religion, and I know this is getting to be a long set up, I'm sorry.

You can read the post yourself if you want this to take even longer, but there was a lot of generalizing going on, and assumptions that were both fair and unfair, and I thought both of them could have done better.


I was asked to write a little bit about my take on the whole religion thing. I do not claim to have all the answers. Actually, I don't know if I have any answers, which is why I'm still working on my post.


For various sundry reasons, mostly comments y'all have left, twitter conversations, emails, long walks on the beach, and lengthy phone conversations, I know that lots of people do have lots of questions.


Think about it, and if you have something you'd like to ask me and/or The Mister about our faith, the what or the why or the you seem so smart what are you doing, leave a comment or send me an email. We have a few really wonderful people who love to help us hash things out, and will be delighted to contribute here.

And no.

I'm not going to turn this place into a Religion 7-11. Also, I will not put up with The Nasty.

That is all.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

a moment in my life

Doggy, doggy, where's your bone? Somebody took it from your...




HB, you're the doggy.

Close your eyes and go to sleep. Close your eyes and go to sleep. Close your eyes and go to sleep.

(random growling)

Sissy, and you take the bone.

NO!!! That's not how it... Put it there and don't touch it.

Doggy, doggy, where's your bone? Somebody took it from your home.



You, sis!


Friday, March 5, 2010

yeah, about that.

Sorry about all the empty posts you have in your reader today. I was trying to be all smart and put a nav bar under my header, and because I'm SLOW WITH TECHNOLOGY I spammed the crap out of you.

And then? When I turned Blogger on this morning, do you know what I found?



So now I get to undo all that I did because I'm pretty sure Blogger knows how to write code and make things pretty better than I do.

Thank you, Blogger, for those three hours of my life I will never get back.


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

thumbs down

I am completely furious with New York Governor David Paterson. And as both a New Yorker and one of the entirely misguided people who voted Spitzer-Paterson a few years ago, I feel like I've earned this one.

Last week, Paterson stood at a press conference and told us that he was not running for election because he felt New York needs a person wholly focused on fixing the awful money situation we have going on over here. Then, he stuck his right hand in the air and gave us his solemn, honest pledge that he has never abused his authority as governor.

He did say a few things in between those two statements, for the record.

Rule Number One in Politics: When a politician raises their hand, unbidden, and solemnly swears anything, THEY ARE LYING.

The New York Times is reporting that Paterson instructed two of his staff members, and possibly the State Police to convince the victim that what happened to her was nonviolent. Paterson says that it was 'like breakups you hear about all the time.'

Her face was smashed into a mirror.

She was choked.

She was harassed into not pressing charges.

The Governor has a point there, that is the kind of breakup we hear about all the time. WHICH MAKES IT ALL WORSE.

Good work, Mr. Paterson. Way to go. You are an idiot. You might as well have smashed her face into the mirror yourself. Your coercion choked her all over again. And your actions have probably reopened the wounds of not only 25% of your staffers, but many of your constituents as well.

The statistics on domestic violence are disgusting. A quarter of women have experienced abuse. And that number only counts the ones who are talking about it. By trying to sweep this under the carpet, by not calling it abuse, by saying this incident was nonviolent, the Governor is condoning domestic assault. That is reprehensible. And shame on the members of the New York State Police who obeyed the Governor's orders.

There is no way that any of the people involved will get what they deserve, but sadly, that's par for the course with abusers.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010


I'm so exhausted today. I'm exhausted other days, too, and I'm sure I'll be exhausted tomorrow because that's just how it goes when you have a baby who is finally getting a tooth, or teeth, and one who has a ratchety horrible cough that shakes his entire self, and another who has glands so swollen in his neck that the sweet little neck is level with his little ears, and another who has mastered the art of the Snotty Retort.

It's days like these that make a mama nap seem more like a requirement than a luxury. It's days like these when the bar gets lowered right down to the floor, when my expectations fly right out the window and never look back. It's days like these that make me really proud of myself for being able to get five seconds to wash my face, and remembering to change diapers and making mealtime happen.

And it's days like these that seem to never end. I'm not surprised when the baby wakes up for the fourth time after being put to bed again and again and again.

But, it's days like these that are the fleeting ones. The ones that I'll never get back. The days I can hold and cuddle and console and nurse my sweet ones, who are growing bigger and faster and changing right before my eyes.

And so I go, back up the stairs, to wrap my arms around the one who needs me. Because now is my time.