Sleeping Around

Posted on 5/31/2007 07:45:00 PM
The KingofHearts headed off to teach a kendo class tonight and left The Dormouse and me alone in the house. It got to be close to bath time when I realized her room was a minefield of toys on the floor, so I told her to pick up and then we'd go have a bath. Then I busied myself with cleaning up stuff in the kitchen, checked my email... etc.

All of the sudden, I realized the house was quiet....


too quiet....

You know that feeling, right?

I called her and got no answer. So I jumped up from my chair and started to the other half of the house. Coming around the corner and into the hallway, I found this:


Pulling back the top of the blanket, reveals:



Just as sound asleep as she could be. So sound asleep, in fact, that I was able to pick up the makeshift bed, pillow and sleeping child all in one fell swoop, and deposit the whole conglomeration on her actual bed in much the same position and blanket arrangement.

That's one way to get out of picking up your toys.

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Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Posted on 5/31/2007 02:14:00 PM
I think it's time to cut my hair.

I just found a piece of onion in it from the pizza I was eating fifteen minutes ago.

Or perhaps it's just time to stop being such a slob.

Nah, I definitely need a haircut.

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To Fly Will Be an Awfully Big Adventure

Posted on 5/29/2007 10:41:00 AM
"Daddy, I would like to fly."

"You want to fly?"

"Yes. Can I? Pleeeeze?"

"Well... I don't know... It's pretty hard to fly. You need some special equipment. Do we have any Pixie Dust?"


"Yesss! Yes, we do! In the bathroom!" *runs excitedly toward the hall and points like a trained dog*

They both go together, hand in hand, to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. He pulls down a bottle of talcum powder. "Here it is!"

"Yay! Pixie Dust!"

He sifts a small amount of talc into his hand and blows it off, forming a small white cloud in the air that eventually settles on her head. "OK... now... let's think. What do we need next?"


"Um... a Happy Thought!"


"Right! And what is your Happy Thought?"

"Um... eating carrots."

*dubiously*
"Eating carrots? Are you sure that's a happy enough thought for flying?"


"How 'bout.... ummm..." *thinks hard* "...eating ice cream?"

"Well, I like ice cream... that sure seems like a Happy Thought to me. I'll bet that will work. Okay... close your eyes,"
she closes her eyes, "...and think your Happy Thought."

Her brow furrows as he slips his hands in under her armpits and slowly, gently, lifts her.
"OK - Open your eyes slowly and look."

She opens her eyes to see that she's now hovering five inches off the ground. "Daddy! I can fly! I'm flying!"


He continues to lift her up high above his head and begins running around the house at top speed, flinging her body up, down, right, left... through all the rooms, one by one, making the circle of the house several times for the next five minutes or so. They buzz the cat, who runs, panicked, into the basement. She begins directing the action, "Fly me outside! Fly me to the kitchen! I'm flying, weeeee!" She flies forward, backward, upside-down through doorways and hallways.

Eventually, he gets tired and slowly lowers her back to the ground, explaining that the Pixie Dust must have worn off. They'll need: more Pixie Dust, a new Happy Thought and an Oxygen Tank for Daddy.


"Let's do it again, Daddy!" *runs toward the bathroom to retrieve more Pixie Dust where in a few minutes, when Daddy catches his breath, the scene will replay*


Somehow, somewhere, I believe
J. M. Barrie is watching this scene that plays over and over in my house and smiling.

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A Far Cry From Yertle the Turtle

Posted on 5/24/2007 02:25:00 PM
From this...

to this in just under three months:


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If Peggy Parish Had Only Made It a Cherry Pie

Posted on 5/24/2007 07:08:00 AM
"Hello, Smarty Pants!" (preschool teacher to The Dormouse as I dropped her off yesterday)

Then she looks at me and says, "I call her Smarty Pants because yesterday I was reading a book to them and in the book there was a lemon meringue pie. And I was pronouncing it 'mar-in-jah'. And Smarty Pants told me 'No, that's not how you say it. You say 'meh-rang'. And later I asked someone how to pronounce this word and she was right! How did she know that?"

Me: "Um... you were reading Amelia Bedelia, right?"

Teacher: "Yes."

Me: "We read that book at home." Unspoken: ...and I know how to pronounce it.

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Inappropriate Songs (volume 13)

Posted on 5/21/2007 03:37:00 PM In:
We're going through a phase of impromptu, improvised songs right now. This is one The Dormouse sang from the back seat on the way home from Church last week:

"Jeeee-sus loves eeeeveryoneeeeee

Innnnnn the wooooorld
Better than meeeee
And Iiiiii love Jeees-sus toooooo."

KingofHearts begins laughing out loud, because she honestly has no clue what she just said. I jokingly yell: "What are they teaching you over there in that church!!?!?"

DM: "That Jesus loves me."

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This Wasn't a Verse in the Old MacDonald Song

Posted on 5/16/2007 07:39:00 PM
"Momma, what are those cows that are black and white called?"

"Those are called
Holsteins."

"Oh. Girl cows are Holsteins, and boy cows are... what?"

"No... all black and white cattle are called Holsteins. The boys and the girls. But the boys aren't cows they're steer or bulls."

"When I was at the fair I milked a brown cow."

"Yes you did. Brown cows are called Jerseys."


"What are black cows called?"

"Black cows are called
Angus."

"Oh... Like Daddy?"

"Ummm.... huh?"


"That's his nickname."

(It's not, by the way, but now I'm calling the KingofHearts Angus every chance I get.)

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I Guess Jewish is a Language Now

Posted on 5/15/2007 09:53:00 AM
Coworker 1: "How are you? I haven't seen you in awhile. What's new?"

Coworker 2: "Well, I'm going to be a mother-in-law! My oldest is getting married."

Coworker 1: "Well, Mazel Tov!! You know... that means "congratulations" in Jewish."

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If an Orchestra Plays in the Dark, Does it Make a Sound?

Posted on 5/14/2007 12:13:00 PM
The answer is no.

My last concert of the season was this past weekend. We had an ambitious program and were all a bit nervous about how it would come off. The thing about community orchestras, whether it's stocked with a bunch of professional-musician-ringers or not, is you never really know what you're going to get. Sometimes, you get right up to the dress rehearsal and you look around and wonder "Wow... we're going to play this tomorrow? For... people? Who will hear us? And pay? Oooooo-kaaaay. Tsk." This one was a bit like that.

The other thing about community orchestras, is that despite a really ragged dress rehearsal - and often a ragged every-other-rehearsal - they generally pull something halfway passable out of their collective asses for the performance. So... nail-biting time through the entire schedule and then everything goes off without a hitch when it really counts. It's nerve-wracking for the music director, but we musicians know that none of us ever really practices until the morning of the performance anyway and we're generally okay with that.

This show promised to be similar. The first half went off fine... great soloist and the small opening piece was short, easy and crowd pleasing. Then we got to the Sibelius piece all the violinists loathe after intermission. Aside: No biographies I've ever read support this theory, but I would swear Sibelius' wife ran off with a violinist and he decided to torture the rest of them for years to come by writing ridiculous passages to play that involve crazy chords, difficult fingerings, in keys were never meant for a C instrument, and that no self-respecting violinist would ever willingly choose to play if someone wasn't holding a baton to his head. Most of the violin part for this piece had no melody and was marked softer than anyone would ever really hear, instead just adding "color" (read: sound effects) to the gorgeous melody lines the woodwinds, brass and cellos constantly get to play. Not only is it boring and a bear to count out forty measures of the same eight note repetition, but it's also downright fatiguing. By the end of the piece, I need a cortisone shot for my arm. Sibelius wrote this particular piece for a orchestra on request and it almost didn't get debuted. The musicians all detested it and many lobbied to reject it, but the conductor was a personal friend of Sibelius so the piece was performed despite their objections.

Anyway, as the piece began, we started hearing additional bass drum parts from off stage. Or that's what it sounded like at first. It turned out to be thunder, loud enough to shake the building, from a rainstorm outside. Then about halfway through, we were all merrily playing along and the lights in the theater went out. All of them. Not even a single emergency light came on in the hall - it was pitch black. But since we are troopers, we kept playing. I couldn't see much, but I could make out the shadow of the conductor's arm in front of us, still conducting, as if as long as his arm was waving he could somehow psychically transmit the notes we needed to play next to our brains. We played on in the dark for seven or eight bars and then one by one, instruments started to drop out as our need to read the music eclipsed our ability to guess what notes would be next. Those of us playing the boom chick boom chick part lasted the longest because we were just pretending to know what chord we were in and assuming that the key hadn't changed. Then we gave up too as we realized no one was playing the melody and our boom chicks were suddenly completely out of context. We all dragged to a stop and then there was silence as the conductor said to pretty much everyone in the theater, "Well," in the most matter of fact tone I've ever heard,
"Thirty-five years.... and THAT'S never happened to me before."

A couple of seconds later, the lights went back on to reveal a relieved orchestra and a perplexed audience. The conductor looked over his shoulder to the audience shrugged his shoulders, then turned back around, told us to go back to letter "K" and gave a downbeat. We picked back up and finished the piece, with the additional sound effects from the storm outside accompanying us.


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Mothers' Day Haul

Posted on 5/13/2007 04:07:00 PM
What I got for Mothers' Day: A Theme

Cards:
Jewels:

...and, of course, a "potted" plant from Church. (Told you I wasn't kidding about the plants.)


All in all, not such a bad day.

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Brainwashed by Hallmark

Posted on 5/13/2007 08:09:00 AM
The Dormouse often gets up with The KingofHearts before he leaves for work, but then crawls back in bed with me as he's leaving. Yesterday morning, as she heard the front door open, she exclaimed, "Wait! I HAVE to tell Daddy something before he leaves." and flew out of bed, all knees and elbows and leaving me in bruises on the way to catch him before he left.

She missed him and the door closed behind him before she got there, but she yelled through the window: "DADDY! Daddy! I HAVE to tell you something before you leave." He heard her and came back up the steps and opened the door.

"What did you need to tell me, hon?"

"Daddy! Today is Mother's Day. So we have to remember to go to the store and buy a Special Card for Momma and also a jewel."

"Well sweetie, Mothers Day isn't until Sunday, but I think someone's been watching too many diamond and greeting card commercials on TV."

At least those jewelry store advertising execs know someone's listening - it's just too bad that that someone doesn't earn an allowance yet.


Happy Mothers' Day To One and All!


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Everyone's a Comedian

Posted on 5/13/2007 08:04:00 AM
So.... I got a package from my mother in the mail yesterday. In it was this, with no explanation:

A one-eared bunny.

If you can't figure out why that's funny, read here and here.

Thanks, Mom. Very droll.

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Monica gave me a topic assignment for today's post (which is also a contest... in case you want to join in) one that I've been putting off writing because I have such mixed feelings on the issue. Ironic too, because just a couple of days ago, The KingofHearts and I were discussing just this thing: When was it that I became a mother?

It's an interesting thought -- what makes a mother. I don't really know when it happened for me.

According to Dictionary.com:

Mother is one of the surviving words from Anglo-Saxon (starting as modor), which are among the most fundamental words in English. Mother has many cognates in other languages, including Old High German muoter, Dutch moeder, Old Norse mothir, Latin mater, Greek meter, and Sanskrit mat. These words share an Indo-European root. Mother is one of the Anglo-Saxon nouns that has an Anglo-Saxon adjective as well as a Latinate adjective — motherly and maternal — and motherly also came from Old English (modorlic). Mom, a shortened form of momma, was recorded in 1894; momma was first used in 1884. Both are chiefly North American uses. Mamma and mama, created by children reduplicating an instinctive sound, are much earlier terms showing up in the 1500s. In between came mommy (also North American in usage) in 1848, which was a variant of mammy (also 1500s).

Also fascinating, is the sheer number of definitions that exist for the word mother:

  1. a female parent.
  2. (often initial capital letter) one's female parent.
  3. a mother-in-law, stepmother, or adoptive mother.
  4. a term of address for a female parent or a woman having or regarded as having the status, function, or authority of a female parent.
  5. a term of familiar address for an old or elderly woman.
  6. mother superior.
  7. a woman exercising control, influence, or authority like that of a mother: to be a mother to someone.
  8. the qualities characteristic of a mother, as maternal affection: It is the mother in her showing itself.
  9. something or someone that gives rise to or exercises protecting care over something else; origin or source.
  10. (in disc recording) a mold from which stampers are made. –adjective
  11. being a mother: a mother bird.
  12. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a mother: mother love.
  13. derived from or as if from one's mother; native: his mother culture.
  14. bearing a relation like that of a mother, as in being the origin, source, or protector: the mother company and its affiliates; the mother computer and its network of terminals. –verb (used with object)
  15. to be the mother of; give origin or rise to.
  16. to acknowledge oneself the author of; assume as one's own.
  17. to care for or protect like a mother; act maternally toward. –verb (used without object)
  18. to perform the tasks or duties of a female parent; act maternally: a woman with a need to mother. —Idiom
  19. mother of all, the greatest or most notable example of: the mother of all mystery novels.

It's a verb, it's an adjective, it's a noun, it's a proper noun, it's a superlative... I only know of one other word in the English language that fits into more forms of speech... but that one's got four letters in it.

For a lot of women I know - many who struggle with infertility, may not live with their children, have gone through a divorce, may not have children or be married - Mothers' Day is a difficult day. I know I've felt... well... uncomfortable receiving cards, praise and accolades in the past. It was especially difficult after my first daughter died; Mothers' Day was pretty much an in-your-face reminder of how much I missed.

In church, they always do something ahem, "special" for Mothers' Day Sunday. Since it's Men who plan and execute this happening, it usually involves having some kind of special talk during the meeting and then after the meeting having little smelly pre-pubescent boys stand with their shirttails hanging out at the door of the chapel as everyone exits, shoving marigolds - purchased the day before from the Home Depot which are now pulled directly from the flat and wrapped in wet paper towels - into the hands of every woman over eighteen who walks past. One thing I think has been done well in congregations I've attended over the years, is the sensitivity to this issue of who is a mother. No one asks to see your mother's card to verify it - every woman just gets a flower (and then heads straight to the bathroom to wash the dirt off her hands). In recent years, the talks and orations I've heard at church on Mothers' Day Sunday have been more a celebration of Womanhood than of simply mothers... an acknowledgment that we all nurture and teach one another and that even though a woman may not be a mother in the traditional sense, they have the ability to affect children's lives. Though I realize that I am the ultimate person responsible for my child's welfare, I like and appreciate that It Takes a Village mentality too. It makes me feel less alone.

It's hard to pinpoint when I started to think of myself as a mother. I'm not sure I even do. I, more than most women, was eased into it, I guess.

When I got married, I acquired a ready-made family. I became a Stepmother. In fact, The KoH taught his son (five at the time) to refer to me as "Wicked Stepmother"... and he did...
all through our wedding day. He had no idea what it meant and everyone else thought it was hysterical... what five year old could pass up that kind of attention? He now calls me "Mom" and as far as I'm concerned, whatever he wants to call me is fine with me. But he has a mother, and while I consider it a great compliment that he feels that he can refer to me in this way, I still feel uncomfortable - like I'm stealing something from his "real" mother when he uses the same term for me as her. He's a great kid and I love him, but he's never lived with us in any permanent fashion and I don't have the necessary mothering (definition number 17) experiences to really consider me his Mother (definition 2). Other women must agree, because during the early period of our marriage, when moms would get together and talk about their kids, I'd sometimes try to join in with stories and anecdotes about my stepson. People were always nice, but dismissive, like these weren't MY stories to tell and I should know that I wasn't really a part of The Club.

My second foray into motherhood came with our first daughter. There's a very long, very drawn out story about that and how I was diagnosed with a brain tumor during that time and because that was a way cooler diagnosis than "Hey, she's pregnant" doctors completely missed the fact that I was - in fact, it was an OB-GYN that told me I was NOT pregnant - and for many months we didn't even know about this little girl growing inside me. I felt robbed of months of knowing and being excited about the fact that I was pregnant. Once an endocrinologist figured that part out, we knew almost immediately that there were problems with this child. She lived for two days and we buried her. I was definitely her mother in the most agreed-upon, biological, sense, (definition 2) but I still wasn't. I missed out on all the mother (definitions 10 & 11) experiences: raising a child, changing diapers, discipline, tripping over toys on the kitchen floor, that first "I hate you, Mom"... it was motherhood without all the trouble. Of course, it was motherhood without any of the good stuff either.
People aren't supposed to outlive their children.

Three years later, The Dormouse came along and cemented my motherhood (definition 1). Now no one questions my membership in The Club; it's obvious from the tiny tornado that circles around my legs everywhere I go. But I still don't necessarily consider myself a part of The Club. I refer to the "moms at church" without ever considering myself one of them. I ask for advice from women I work with as the authority on a given subject without thinking to myself that I might have picked up a thing or two from my ten-plus years of exposure. I'm working on my second one and I still don't feel like a mother. When does that change? I thought it would come with the first spontaneous "I love you" or the first trip to the hospital, but I still feel as inexperienced and clumsy about motherhood (definition 4) as I ever did.

I guess part of it is in not really internalizing that schpiel given at church - about how all women are inherently mothers... how we all fit into those definitions somewhere, no matter what our individual circumstances... how we all affect one anothers' lives in so many ways and that is a part of what makes our femalehood wonderful. Women can do so much in this day and age, career, hobbies, etc... I love that about the era in which I live. I have so many choices. I try and pass this golden age of possibilities onto my daughter too - that she can do whatever she wants (except, perhaps grow up to become a flagpole). But sometimes I forget that probably the most important thing I have ever done or will ever do is to af-fect and ef-fect the lives of other children, mine or someone else's. As a therapist, I've gotten more experience than most folks before having children of my own, working to help children of others. But nothing can prepare you for the depth and breadth of emotions and experiences you have when you realize a child depends on you as one of the sole examples of all that is good and right in the world. It's daunting. I guess that why I tend to eschew the label. I'd like that to be someone else's responsibility. It's not. But it's not just mine.


And, guess what Men, it doesn't just belong to one sex either.



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What a Delightful Tea Party!

Posted on 5/11/2007 10:00:00 AM
The things you will do for a three year old...

up to and including sitting in a tiny chair at a tiny table with your
knees folded up over your big pregnant belly nearly touching your chin for forty-five minutes, while you eat dry crackers and drink nasty lemonade out of tiny porcelin cups that barely contain two swallows, carefully stirring in tiny teaspoons of 'cream' (lemonade) and 'sugar' (also lemonade), cups that you had when you were a child, cups that have been in the attic for thirty years and probably have some sort of asbestos dust covering them even though you washed them, despite knowing full well that after this event you will hear "Can we have another tea party, mom? With your special glass teacups? Can we? Can we? Can we? Can we? Can we? Can we?" six times per hour for the next six weeks...

just because it makes her smile.












Or is that just me?


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The Non-Indian Contingent

Posted on 5/10/2007 12:15:00 PM In:
Last weekend, we were invited to the wedding reception of a college friend of the KoH's. The bride and groom were married in India, where their families are from, but live here. It was what I can only describe as a traditional cultural event. Being a gringa to the nth degree, I have no actual experience as to how traditionally traditional this was since I've never been to India and I'd never been invited to a similar event. So I guess I can't comment on it other than by using my own definition of 'traditional'. It was an arranged marriage where the bride met the groom at their engagement party, the actual wedding was a two week affair in India involving both the bride and groom's entire extended families, there was traditional cultural dress, Indian cuisine, Indian music, and lots and lots of a language I don't understand. For us, it doesn't get more traditional than that.

While in school, the KoH affectionately nicknamed the bride and her sister/cousins/friends the "Indian Contingent". This was something they never objected to, but perhaps decided to take a small moment of revenge in inviting us to the wedding because the three of us and one other family constituted the entirety of the non-Indians there. We had a blast. There was fantastic food, gorgeous saris, great music, and lots of love and family.

The Dormouse was fascinated by the dresses and jewelry, especially the
bejeweled gowns worn by the bride and her sisters and layer upon layer of bracelets and bangles they wore. At one point, while we were eating, I looked over at her and saw a cloud come over her face. "What's wrong, honey?"

"I should have worn a nicer dress."

"Oh honey, everyone thinks you look lovely and you're dressed exactly like you should be."

"But I don't have any bracelets. I should have at least worn a bracelet."

Great. So we're going to be dealing with THAT now are we? I hate to even think about the requirements for her prom dress one day.

She did get over it, however, and became the darling of the bride and her bridesmaids. They brought her orange soda, food, candy, and oohed and awwed over her dancing, which, even I have to admit, was pretty creative:


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If There Was Ever Any Doubt She Was Mine...

Posted on 5/09/2007 09:07:00 AM

Talking to Grandma on the phone:

Grandma: "Do you love your momma lots and lots?"

Dormouse: "I love cheese."

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Jack of all Trades, Master of Bed Making

Posted on 5/08/2007 09:07:00 AM


"Hey momma, your blanket was coming off of your bed, so I pulled it back onto your bed and smoothed it out all nice because I'm such a big girl."


"Why, thank you, honey... that was very nice of you."

"Yep... I'm the girl that can do it all."

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Women's Work

Posted on 5/06/2007 05:01:00 PM
"Momma, when the baby comes, I will be a good big sister and I will help take care of the baby."

"Oh really? How will you do that?"

"Um.... I will hold her, and rock her, and give her a bottle and tell her to 'shush' in Church."

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Hey Rocky, Watch Me Pull a Rabbit... Er... Oops

Posted on 5/05/2007 04:51:00 PM
So... yeah... we really didn't tell her the whole story... for obvious reasons.

"Daddy, are the bunnies still in our yard?"

"No, baby, I think the bunnies are gone for good."

"Maybe they didn't like us so much."

"Well, I don't know about you and me, honey, but I think they may have something against your mom."

Jerk.

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Bunny Killer

Posted on 5/04/2007 04:25:00 PM
The day before yesterday, I got ambitious and went outside in the morning to mow our front lawn. I figured it wasn't such a feat for a preggo since our front lawn is roughly the size of a postage stamp. I wouldn't have to worry about the back yard since we plowed it under with a truckload of manure a few weeks ago and are still hoping that one day putting seed down would result in an actual lawn back there rather than just a smorgasbord for birds -- for now, we generally just refer to it as the manure farm.

I took a few passes at the lawn with the mower and happened to look behind me, when I noticed that in one place the ground seemed to be heaving. Thinking it was a mole or a gopher, I went back to investigate and was horrified to discover instead that I'd mowed over the top of a small nest of wild baby bunnies.

I've seen rabbits in the wooded areas in our neighborhood and even sometimes in the yards of homes that are closer to those areas but in the ten years we've lived in this house, I've never actually seen a wild rabbit in our yard, much less known of one digging a nest anywhere on our property. Wouldn't you think that most animals would choose a little more secluded place to burrow - perhaps by the hedge row or under a tree? Next to the house? This
was smack dab in the middle of the lawn. What was the matter with this momma bunny? Talk about lack of judgment. Where was bunny CPS? Planned bunny parenthood?

There were two babies about six or eight inches long in the nest and one lost a front and back leg - although I didn't know that until the next day - he had burrowed way down inside where I couldn't see. The other had lost one of his ears. He was clearly scared of the sound of the mower, which was still running, and was trying to run away from it so I turned off the mower, scooped him up and slipped him back into the nest. I tried getting in touch with a local wildlife rescue to ask for advice or a place to take them but the only number I could find forced me to listen to a twenty minute long message which basically informed me that I shouldn't touch them unless they were hurt and then put me into voice mail where I could leave a number for a call back. Am still waiting for that call, by the way. Needless to say, I haven't finished mowing the lawn yet.

We watched overnight, but we don't think the mother ever came back to the nest. From what I read on the Interweb, she's isn't going to. So yesterday we checked on them and found that the first baby had died, so we took it from the nest. The other one seemed to be fine and healthy, except for the lack of an ear. We left some hearts of celery around the nest in a desperate attempt at atonement with mother nature. This morning, my little one-eared baby is completely gone. I guess he got tired of having he house messed with and decided to go it alone.

If anyone sees a bunny hopping around with only one ear, can they please give him a carrot for me? I'm hoping it will alleviate some of my guilt.

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There is Just a Lot of Weird Stuff in the News Today

Posted on 5/03/2007 11:40:00 AM
This makes that post I wrote about the show a few months back waaaay funnier:

Kids Tuned to 'Handy Manny' Get Porn

MIDDLETOWN, N.J. -- Children here got more than they bargained for when they tuned in to "Handy Manny" on the Disney Channel this week _ hard-core pornography.

Cable giant Comcast is investigating how the porn was broadcast during the popular cartoon, which is about a bilingual handyman, Manny Garcia, and his talking tools...

Comcast spokesman Fred DeAndrea confirmed that the programming error occurred around 9:30 a.m. Tuesday. He declined to provide the duration of the porn broadcast but described it as an "isolated issue in a local New Jersey facility."

Full article here. I always knew there was something fishy about those tools.

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Further Proof That My Husband is the Right Man for Me

Posted on 5/03/2007 10:45:00 AM
I picked up on this little newsy item from Zoot's site and emailed the link to my husband.

His response?

"I wonder if they got a discount...."

Couple touring home find woman's body

JANESVILLE, Wis. - This real estate agent will likely do a house check before letting her prospective customers tour on their own from now on, after a couple happened upon a homeowner dead in bed.

Linda Chabucos-Galow, a real estate agent with Shorewest, stood in the dining room while Justin and Colleen McKeen walked through a house Monday night.

Before long, she heard Colleen scream as the couple stood at the doorway.

"I thought, 'What's wrong?' Maybe it was a dead mouse or something," Chabucos-Galow said.

But then she peered into the bedroom and saw the body of Linda L. O'Leary, 55, the owner of the home. She had been dead for about two weeks, officials say.

The full link is here for those as baffled as I... and, I suppose... for those considering a move to Wisconsin and in the market for a house there.

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How Would the Supernanny Handle This?

Posted on 5/01/2007 11:54:00 AM

So I'm scolding The Dormouse for something she did that she knew she wasn't supposed to do. And she says to me:

"Blah blah blah"

Then rolls her eyes at me and walks away.

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Me in 3 Seconds

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Washington, D.C. Metro, United States
Married, 40ish mom of two (or three, or four, depending on how you keep score) who stepped through the lookinglass and now finds herself living in curiouser and curiouser lands of Marriage, Motherhood, and the Washington, D.C. Metro Area.

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