11.15.2009

Someone needs to brush up on her yiddish.

I can tell you exactly what I was thinking when I ordered Amy Wilson Sanger's* World Snacks: Let's Nosh book. "Sweet! A book for Merritt about junk food."

Because in my mind, the word nosh only rolls out of the mouths of the high - usually following the word duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude, let's nosh.

I was prepared for a book about Doritos and fluffer-nutter sandwiches and gummy bears and cold, three day old Chinese food and Pop Tarts ... all drenched in ranch dressing.

That's right. I purchased a book for my newborn based on the notion that it was written about "the munchies."

So color me Gentile when I received the book and learned all about gefilte fish and rugelach and schmaltz and matzoh balls. Duuuuuuuuude. Where were the twinkies?

My sweet bubelah just rolled with it - as pictured here in his nursing pad yarmulke.
Oy.


*Her entire series is wonderful.

11.13.2009

explosive love

Have I mentioned how ... about a month ago ... a grenade went off in my lady nook?A totally worth it grenade.

11.09.2009

my dog might be gay ... and other goings-on

-Hudson and his doting Daddy just took their regular shower together. Except this wasn't a regular shower. This one involved ziplock bags (couldn't find gloves). And the expressing of anal glands (just Hud's ... I think). And, at its conclusion, Hudson running like a cheetah from the front to the back and the back to the front of the house several times over. Matt shows up in a towel and asks Hudson (receiver/catcher), "You feel like a million bucks?" Then the pitcher in this case states, "I guess he likes it when I finger his butt."
HE LIKES.
(You'll recall we're perfectly supportive of this.)

-Merritt has mastered what we're referring to as The Reverse Baby Bird. This is, of course, when he throws up into my mouth. That's correct; this has happened more than once. This has happened enough times that it has its own term.
I may never learn (to close my mouth - among other things).

-Flatus. It's at an all-time-high in the Nipsy household. "Was that YOU?" I aim/fire the question at all three boys no less than zeighty brazillion times daily. Usually no one confesses. And so I sit, answerless, with my nostrils melting.

Soooooooooooooo outnumbered. And loving it.

11.07.2009

chore chart

(click image to see if you'd pass muster in this house)

Close up of the only one earning stars:

11.04.2009

& the award for Mother of the Year goes to ...

Dozed off while sitting on the couch with the boy in my arms.
Drooled all over his head.

11.03.2009

all sewn up and in the vag

Devin nailed it when describing the major downstairs renovations our boy-children are capable of ... leaving vaginas something akin to Harry Potter's forehead.

So I call my father (the previously mentioned NSFW photographer) to discuss/get the scoop on my stitches since he witnessed the debacle wherein my junk was turned to hamburger meat, I wasn't completely numbed, and the doctor yanked the sutures with the vigor of the world's strongest man dragging a Mack truck. True story.

Me: So what's the deal down there? All I know is when I asked the doc how many stitches she put in she said she lost count around 17.

Daddy: Okay. You're laying down. Your clitoris is noon. All your stitches are at 6 o'clock.

Me: Excellent, thanks! (Need to get off the phone and take a shower to wash from my brain the word "clitoris" in reference to MY OWN as matter-of-factly stated by my Daddy - only to realize ... this conversation? It doesn't phase me.)

In the shower I discover some barbed wire (as a [Southern] child I truly thought this was spelled and pronounced "bob whar") NOT at the 6 o'clock post. Instead, it was just south of high noon. And once again, Dr. Nipper at your cervix! was on site to assess the situation. Sure enough, there's a tangle of Christmas lights at my pee hole. How festive!

Time to call Daddy back.

Me: Guess what we found? 3 to 5 stitches just below my urethra.

Daddy: Nuh-uh!

Me: Oh, yeah. They're present and accounted for. And probably half the culprits in the whole sensation of coating my lady bits in Bacardi 151 and taking a blow torch to them. (Seriously feels like crème brûlée-ing my crotch.)

Daddy: Guess I wasn't watching that part.

Sadly, this means there are no pictures of the 7th grade Home Economics lesson that took place at my (former) Love Oasis/ (latter) Frankensteingina.

11.02.2009

worse than "the song that never ends"

Totally have the Subway $5 Footlong jingle wedged in my brain.

It was there all night.

'Bout to have to kill somebody.

10.31.2009

the awesome is infinite

We considered dressing him up as my father, his mirror image, but weren't sure how he'd take to the facial hair. Or that his brain has the current capacity to hold all world knowledge on wasps, grass, wine, and HDR photography.

I've always wanted a baby banana slug, but am willing to wait until he can walk to truly pull that one off. The slime trail is a crucial part of that costume.

So what will the boy be for Halloween? A french fry? Princess? Motherboy competitor? Something that involves permanent marker and a Hitler moustache?

Considering that he's got a Momma that loves playing dress-up and a Daddy that fell in love with her for that reason ... there's no way he's getting out of it. (When we met, my bra was on the outside of my shirt.)

For his very first Halloween, Merritt Scot will be portraying "Awesome."
As brought to you by his Three Wolf Moon shirt. Homemade with love.
If you're not familiar with the awesomeness of this shirt, please take a moment to read all 1,530 customer reviews on Amazon. There's no denying the power.

Here are a few of my favorites.
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From B. Govern of New Jersey:
This item has wolves on it which makes it intrinsically sweet and worth 5 stars by itself, but once I tried it on, that's when the magic happened. After checking to ensure that the shirt would properly cover my girth, I walked from my trailer to Wal-mart with the shirt on and was immediately approached by women. The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to 'howl at the moon' from time to time (if you catch my drift!). The women that approached me wanted to know if I would be their boyfriend and/or give them money for something they called mehth. I told them no, because they didn't have enough teeth, and frankly a man with a wolf-shirt shouldn't settle for the first thing that comes to him.

I arrived at Wal-mart, mounted my courtesy-scooter (walking is such a drag!) sitting side saddle so that my wolves would show. While I was browsing tube socks, I could hear aroused asthmatic breathing behind me. I turned around to see a slightly sweaty dream in sweatpants and flip-flops standing there. She told me she liked the wolves on my shirt, I told her I wanted to howl at her moon. She offered me a swig from her mountain dew, and I drove my scooter, with her shuffling along side out the door and into the rest of our lives. Thank you wolf shirt.

Pros: Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women
Cons: Only 3 wolves (could probably use a few more on the 'guns'), cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.

From overlook1977 of Raleigh, NC:
Unfortunately I already had this exact picture tattooed on my chest, but this shirt is very useful in colder weather.

From L. Ciaccia of Atlanta, GA:
Just wanted to post on here, be careful to order your shirt from here (amazon.com) only. I was looking to get one cheaper, and bought one off Ebay, but didn't read it carefully enough. You guessed it, one wolf, three moons. I mean it's ok to wear I guess, but if you look carefully you can tell it's not the real thing. It hasn't made me as confident as the real one would of, but at least I THINK about the real one when I wear it, and that helps a bit I guess.

Don't try to save a couple bucks! NOT WORTH IT.
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Happy Hallowawesome!

*Edited to add, from Uncle John: "He'll be picking up ALL the ladies. It's almost cruel for you do that to the rest of man-dom, but they'll just have to deal."

10.29.2009

one of those days

Put my panties on inside out. Couldn't be bothered to correct this.

Cleaned 16 gallons of dog vomit. Nursed sick dog all day.

Different-kind-of-nursed (adorable) bottomless pit all day.

Did both simultaneously.

Downstairs business = broken.
Door #1: Peeing blood and fire. Waiting for antibiotics to work.
Door #2: 17 stitches.
Door #3: Loretta invited all her friends to celebrate when she realized I was giving birth. No one got the memo that the party is now over, so all those hemorrhoids are still working out their sorority picture poses for partypics.com. Password? Yeouch.

Leaned over the washing machine and into some bleach while wearing my favorite long sleeved shirt. My ... "projections" ... now have "artistical white nipples." Not cute.

But it was the best kind of day.
I got to hang out with/take care of/love on my sweet boys.

AND! (New party trick) While laying in the bathtub I started expressing some milk - turning my boobs into the fountains at the Bellagio in Vegas. Banks caught on and starting swatting at the milk, then realized it tasted good. So I sprayed the entire rim of the tub for her. 5 minutes later - it's never been so clean. Drinking milk from a saucer is so passe.

(So I guess in some way, I nursed almost all our animals today.)

10.25.2009

just a common breastfeeding injury

Around the halfway point of a feeding, I find myself with the thirst of a million thirsts (and no hands) so Matt fetches a drink and administers it. Usually with a straw.

Tonight he grabbed a mason jar of Cranberry juice. No straw. Our timing was off. And I swear we either cracked, chipped, or lost my front tooth. To be determined when I can feel my mouth again.

But can I just say that I'm delighted to be home with my family, healthy, snuggling, laughing, playing dress-up, and flashing a (possibly toothless) grin?Because I am.
So. Delighted.