July Bloggers’ Happy Hour
From Broadsheet and zenchick:
WHEN: Tuesday, July 26
WHERE: Nick’s Fish House Some of you may remember it as the old Deadeye Saloon (yeah, yeah, I’m old - get over it.) All the info you could possibly need is on their website.
TIME: 5:30 - as long as it takes people to get drunk and hook up (although I think you folks have reached maximum coupling already). “What happens at Happy Hour - STAYS at Happy Hour.” Unless of course, you know, you have a blog, and then, I mean, the whole world gets to know what you did on Tuesday night and who you did it with/to.
Who’s Who in Baltimore’s Online Neighborhood
The latest issue of Urbanite takes on the Baltimore blog scene, pointing out several “peepholes into the private lives of people in our city.”
Supafine is described thusly:
Stay-at-home mom Mary Beth Eastman started her blog in 2003 because she was, in her own words, unemployed, living in a new city, and bored out of her skull. Since then, she’s used her online alter-ego to chronicle, explain, and document the antics of her husband and young son, and to share her experiences as a new mom. Eastman explains that blogging “takes a little bit of the terror out of being responsible for a new human.”
Well, kinda.
I’m not a stay-at-home mom — I work part-time … um, doing stuff, for a place, vague vague vague — but otherwise it’s a fairly accurate writeup, I suppose. Should be, considering that I supplied the quotes. [I love that Iain has “antics,” too, like a pet. He totally does, you don’t even know.] But it’s not the whole Supafine story.
If we’re talking Baltimore scene, I’d point out that I wasn’t always writing incessantly about my husband and [6 months old next week] son. I had Supafine for two years before Owen was born, during which time Lostgal and I put together the first Blog Baltimore Happy Hour, I started the Blog Baltimore listing, did various Baltimorey things, and the CP tagged me as an “obsession.”
I say this not to toot my own but because, to be fair, I consider Supafine more than just a repository for crazy Owen stories, much as I love that little poopbutt. I may sound like just another mommyblogger these days, but I swear, I used to have a life. Kind of.
But whatever. I know you don’t care, dear readers! That shit’s history. We’re living in the now!
Moving on. Now we reach the part of our program where I will confess I’ve been walking to the Towson library every day after work to find this issue of Urbanite. And it’s still not distributed there! Imagine my self-obsessed angst! Unfathomable! But at least they’ve finally posted it online.
Ugh. I’m utterly sick of myself now. Time for strawberry shortcake and network television. See you tomorrow.
Jesus blows up balloons all day
Because malice told me I had to:
List your current six favorite songs, then pick six other people to do the same:
Allrighty, then. In no particular order:
- “Bitches Ain’t Shit,” Ben Folds
- “Only Living Boy in New York,” Simon and Garfunkel
- “Black Water,” The Doobie Brothers
- “Take A Chance on Me,” ABBA
- “Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect,” The Decemberists
- “Lady,” Styx
These are what are floating in pretty heavy rotation on the iPod, for what it’s worth. I just can’t shake my love of the pre-1980 tracks. In fact, this post brought to you by: Levon by Elton John. Can’t get enough of the Levon.
Tag, you’re it: [I hate only picking six!]
Aw, hell. I can tag a couple more if I want to: Green Eyed Pagan and Dani [whose blog came back from the dead! huzzah!].
Gotta go, Grand Funk Railroad is playing.
Watch where you aim that thing
So Owen does this thing, lately, when he’s excited. He’ll be lying on his back, on the floor, with something or another in his mouth when he just gets so overjoyed at life that he plants his feet and lifts his butt and shouts.
Yes. Tiny, six-month-old pelvic thrusting. As a mother, I can tell you, it’s … well, it’s really hilarious, but part of me thinks I ought to disapprove. I’m reminded of a 1980’s Jane Fonda, clad in spandex, aerobically thrusting her little heart out.
They outgrow this, right? I mean, *I* get no end of amusement from it, but I imagine it doesn’t go over so well in grammar school.
Rolling North on 95
Rule number one: If your itinerary requires traveling within 100 miles of New York City, just give up.
Number two: Your child will poop vehemently, but only when you’re trapped in a logjam on the George Washington Bridge.
Number three: Add one hour of fuck-up time for every two hours estimated driving time.
***
Right. So Iain, Owen and I piled into the sedan Thursday morning to drive to Connecticut, which is where The D’s, my Chosen Family, live. Doctor and Mrs. D are friends with my parents, and their three children - Meg, Kyle and Thad - are like cousins to me and my siblings. We’ve been family for 17 years.
Aside from the torturous drive [8 hours for a paltry 270 miles], it was a glorious weekend.
My brother had been crashing on the D’s couch for a few days already, having just flown in to JFK, back from Europe [la-dee-dah!], and most of the rest of my family met us there Thursday night. For those of you counting at home, that makes fourteen people. Plus a dog. Full house.
But it was awesome, because it’s always awesome, and because I got to show off Owen. Despite being sick and teething and possibly allergic to, I don’t know, air, Owen was his usual charming self. And can I tell you how bizarre it was to have so many backups? Everyone wanted to hold the baby, feed the baby, play with the baby. For once I didn’t need to be glued to him, and was free to sit outside and shoot the shit and drink a wine cooler, comfortable in the knowledge that there were about a dozen people upstairs tending to his every whim. A girl could get used to that.
Who am I kidding? I DID get used to that. I think I need to move to Connecticut.
Owen loved it. “Nana D” spoiled him beyond repair, bestowing frozen teething rings and new bibs and a folding stroller for his comfort. Doctor D cuddled him and gave him soothing pats on the head. Cousin Meg tolerated his cranky bouts better than I could have, and frankly, looked way more natural with him than I ever do. Thad even painted a painting, though he was shy about showing it off. And Kyle got some baby time in the morning when she had time off from the research lab, which meant I got to sleep in. Even the dog got in on the action, licking Owen’s toes like they were slathered in butter.
Come to think of it, they probably were. Awful hard to eat neatly when there’s a baby on one’s lap.
And Owen’s blood relatives, my family, were there too, of course. Matt, who turns 22 in a month, spent the whole weekend reading Hemingway and drinking Heineken with his shirt off. Kelly and Katie flitted about being pretty and young and intelligent, as usual. Ah, to be a teenager. Tan and nonchalant. And Ryan, who is now ten, is as into gaming as Matt was at that age. And he has e-mail now. My baby brother, he has the e-mail, somebody catch me because I’m fainting.
My dad and I went on a photography expedition to the cemetery across the street. He has a Canon 20D, a fucking beautiful piece of equipment, whereas I only have the Digital Rebel. He schooled me on several things, which is why he’s my dad. And my Mom whisked Owen away every chance she could, at which I outwardly protested but inwardly smiled, because hey. She’s the Grandma. If she doesn’t deserve some quality Owen time for putting up with me for 25 years, I don’t know who does.
So, right. We basically spent several days in a lazy fog, grilling and drinking and smoking and talking. Take everything that’s perfect about summer and family and babies and smush it together and that’s what this weekend was.
Impeach Bush
Or at least demand accountability for the Downing Street Memo.
Here’s a way to send your opinion directly to your U.S. senators and representative.
Here are the last 25 messages sent from the above link.
Representative John Conyers held a hearing on the memo June 16, but newspapers, political figures and regular old people still don’t seem to get it. Bush lied to us. It’s been proven, time and time again. And he didn’t lie about blowjobs, he lied about war, a war that has killed thousands of our men and women, sons and daughters, not to mention Iraqi innocents, and it has cost us billions upon billions.
Regardless of your political affiliation, don’t you think it’s time to get a manipulative, dishonest man [and his cronies] out of the Oval Office? I do. How much more “convincing” do we need? If it’s good enough for Andrew Johnson and Bill Clinton, it’s good enough for this guy.
IMPEACH THE FUCKER.
Saddle up
Saturday: Salad, steak and the internet’s own Green-eyed Pagan [who also delivered well-timed VCR/DVD combo and read bedtime story to my little chimp-baby]. Discover new, embarrassingly intense love of garlic/herb feta.
Sunday: Father’s Day. Presentation of gifts. Consumption of doughnuts and Napoleon Dynamite. “Make yourself a dang kaysa-dilla!” Construct sling out of bedsheet; nearly wet self with excitement.
Monday: Leave Owen in his father’s capable hands; pull 12-hour shift at work. Tired. But can’t sleep. Come home and obsessively check on sleeping baby every 10 minutes until approx. 2 a.m.
Today: Ditto above, but shorten shift to 6 hours. Still tired. Mental note: thank husband for allowing to sleep in. Spend twenty minutes wiping baby’s nose of an endless river of snot. Ponder calling pediatrician, or his grandmother. Listen with alarm to cough which makes him sound like grumpy old man.
Tomorrow: Work. Then, purchase graduation card for cousin, come home, do laundry, pack for six-hour drive to Connecticut to see extended family.
Thursday: Leave for New England at buttcrack of dawn [“Doctor! This baby’s no good; his butt has a crack in it!”]. Pray to gods that baby’s cold does not make him too cranky to travel.
Thursday, cont’d, through Sunday: Show off baby. Visit with family. Sleep. Repeat. Deliver graduation card to cousin; drive home. Try not to run over any squirrels.
Hey, a dead squirrel is the last thing I need.
Oh My God! Kenney’s Moving!
For the few news-design nerds out there, or people who know Kenney [usually the two groups are one and the same], Newsdesigner had this little tidbit.
I was all, Hey! I know Kenney! In that interweb way, anyway.
So he’s going to Indy, leaving Jeffro and the Merc behind but returning to the Midwest, which everyone knows is better anyhow.
We don’t need no education
Today was Owen’s last day of school before summer vacation. I thanked the Ladies with doughnuts from Dunkin’ and tried not to cry.
Yesterday morning was the center’s graduation ceremony, mandatory attendance, and the infants — I’m sorry, the Adorable Angels — “performed” Row Row Row Your Boat. Basically, that means they bounced around in their exersaucers holding cardboard “oars” as the infant-room teachers sang the song. But it was adorable, and it was MY son up there performing. My future flashed before my eyes: twelve years of band concerts, school plays and Christmas pageants, me with camera in hand, saving all the little programs in his memory box. I’m a tear up here, guys, seriously.
So for the rest of the summer Iain gets to play Mr Mom, which is cool. They’ll get lots of Father-Son Bonding Time and Iain will try to slip him some steak’n’taters behind my back, I’m sure.
But the cool thing is that I was actually sad about it being his last day for two months or so. I mean, not cool that I was sad, but you know. Considering how worked up I was about it before he started, I’ve come a long way. He doesn’t hate me for leaving him there; in fact, as soon as we show up he’s casting his eyes about for Ms Denise and throwing himself [literally] at her as soon she’s in view. He’s always happy and gurgling when I drop him off and pick him up, and the ladies love him. And when I’m with him, all our time is quality time. I never take him for granted. I soak it all up because there are only so many hours in the day, and I’m not cooped up with him, I’m enjoying him.
Day care gives me perspective, and I value that.
Um, plus it’s like drop-in babysitting for day-off Thursdays when I need to get shit done.
But on the other hand, we’ll be saving oh, almost $2,000 by keeping him home over the summer, so you do what you gotta do. I’m just glad they’re holding his spot for him. And that they like doughnuts.
We ♥ nerds, too
I went to Little Havana last night and missed my baby a lot and drank one margarita. And I took some pictures, when I wasn’t smoking.
recent flickr
-
my sewing tutorials
See my tutorials featured on SMS' Handmade Holidays!
