Work: August 2006 Archives

The human sprinkler

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This week's column is an elaboration of the short post I made on Liam's annual checkup. I still have the bruise, FYI.

I also want to make a point about my kids; after one of my last columns, several people obviously unfamiliar with my kids and my website wrote and stated that not only were my kids brats, but that my family shouldn't be allowed within a ten mile radius of a commercial entity. I know that these people don't have children, because people with children usually exhibit better manners out of practice as little eyes are always watching them; and because they missed the fact that Liam had just received an allergy shot and we waited over an hour in a cramped pediatric waiting room which would make anyone batcrap insane. Next time I will bring them to YOUR HOUSE.
I love my boys and they're some of the best behaved and most compassionate children I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Thanks to everyone who wrote or commented to share their own grocery stories. A few of them made the egg fiasco seem EASY. You're totally welcome to borrow Liam's helmet.

Also! The yard! Mowed:

It's now thicker than the yards of our neighbors and Chris says this because he lets it grow to seed which I think is a crock of BS.

*EDITED to add: We did not pay a neighbor kid, much to Chris's chagrin. He actually went out into the yard by himself and mowed it. He also loudly protested the whole putting up the photos of the yard on the internet thing and offers his sincerest thanks to all of the men who wrote to back him up on the idea of paying a neighbor kid to do it from now on because that is "totally the way to go, Dana."

That's what the creaking was

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I did last night's interview (thanks Geoff!) while perched on top of my washer because that's as far as our corded land line would reach. We never ever use our home phone, in fact, not even our family has our phone number because that's how much we don't use it. We're all about e-mail and free long distance after 8 p.m. on the cell phones.

So I had the phone cord stretched across my kitchen behind the door to my laundry room where I sat on the washer, hunched over on the edge, frozen, as the cord was nearly about to rip out of the wall. All of this because if Ewan heard me talking he'd start screaming and beating his head on his crib. He was mad that Chris didn't put him to bed and when I told him goodnight he threw his teddy bear and blanket at me in a sassy protest. He then sat in the middle of his crib and yelled "DAAAY!" "DAAAY!" for daddy. When I peeked in at him to see if he wanted me he flung his arms down in the hopes that they would shoot out of their sockets and stab me in the head because there was nothing else was left in the crib to throw.

The public breastfeeding debate

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This week's column concerns the hoopla surrounding Baby Talk Magazine's August cover. It features a topless woman! Here is the article I referenced in my piece. I am not a lactivist because I am not trying to change the already inherent right a woman has to breastfeed anywhere she darn well chooses; I think the bigger battle lies with trying to stop America from sexualizing how a child eats. Doesn't this country do that with enough already? My word, they made Barbie a ho!

I strongly encourage new visitors to read the comment/letters policy before commenting as I will eliminate any trolls for this topic (obviously not all of the new visitors are trolls, that sounded awful, just a high number seem to be drivebys), though judging from the morning mail it looks like that won't happen.

*ADDENDUM: I cross-referenced the topic over at ClubMom - "Breasts are only gross when they're NOT being used for sex. This exact thinking is the reason why the redneck is indigenous only to North America" - but in a different vein: breastfeeding during church. I wasn't kidding when I said that I nursed my kids EVERYWHERE.


**UPDATE: I will post a rewrite of this column within this post shortly.

Update

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The cold that mostly stayed in my head to give me day-long migraines, a constant runny nose, and that overall fuzzy effect is now trying to move into my chest. My voice is as low as that of James Earl Jones and infused with the husky rasp of a gin-soaked barfly. Liam has recovered; Ewan is on the mend. I have no patience and whenever I glare you can hear an eagle screech.

J.J. moved away without incident. He called Liam the week before last and they talked for a while. J.J.'s dad called me from Florida last week to say that the column about the boys almost made him cry and I was all WELL THEN MOVE BACK. Liam has stopped asking for J.J. on Sunday mornings but he still mentions him a couple times a week. So far, we haven't had to actually sit down with Liam and say "J.J. moved away," and Liam hasn't pressed the issue. We may have gotten off soooo lucky. Wait, I just jinxed it, didn't I? Some douche named Tom Wroth wrote to tell me that I sounded "pathetic" and stated:
"Parents like you are why kids become 'dependent'. Or does a child's dependency provide you with some sort of superficial sense of self-worth? I can't help but wonder how you'll embrace your child's grief when something really serious does happen."

I thought it was well-known that the smaller hurdles in life are practice for the really big hurdles and that the delicate issue of a five-year-old's best friend moving away is serious to the five-year-olds involved, maybe not so much to insensitive men who are obviously sans children because WHAT A SWEET TALKER.

Next week's column is about public breastfeeding and the poo-storm caused by reactions to Baby Talk's magazine cover. I cannot wait to see my inbox Monday morning, though I hope many can contribute to the discussion.

Update

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The cold that mostly stayed in my head to give me day-long migraines, a constant runny nose, and that overall fuzzy effect is now trying to move into my chest. My voice is as low as that of James Earl Jones and infused with the husky rasp of a gin-soaked barfly. Liam has recovered; Ewan is on the mend. I have no patience and whenever I glare you can hear an eagle screech.

J.J. moved away without incident. He called Liam the week before last and they talked for a while. J.J.'s dad called me from Florida last week to say that the column about the boys almost made him cry and I was all WELL THEN MOVE BACK. Liam has stopped asking for J.J. on Sunday mornings but he still mentions him a couple times a week. So far, we haven't had to actually sit down with Liam and say "J.J. moved away," and Liam hasn't pressed the issue. We may have gotten off soooo lucky. Wait, I just jinxed it, didn't I? Some douche named Tom Wroth wrote to tell me that I sounded "pathetic" and stated:
"Parents like you are why kids become 'dependent'. Or does a child's dependency provide you with some sort of superficial sense of self-worth? I can't help but wonder how you'll embrace your child's grief when something really serious does happen."

I thought it was well-known that the smaller hurdles in life are practice for the really big hurdles and that the delicate issue of a five-year-old's best friend moving away is serious to the five-year-olds involved, maybe not so much to insensitive men who are obviously sans children because WHAT A SWEET TALKER.

Next week's column is about public breastfeeding and the poo-storm caused by reactions to Baby Talk's magazine cover. I cannot wait to see my inbox Monday morning, though I hope many can contribute to the discussion.

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