BabyHead is crawling around the room while I read blogs all damn day work, when I hear her fussing and getting frustrated. I look over, and she is shoving her face into the chair pillow and crying. There is nothing on the chair; I don’t know what she wants. Then she pulls her knee up, like she’s trying to crawl up on the chair. So I stick her on our cheapy, IKEA seat and she is thrilled. She sits there, quite pleased with herself, and when I hand her a book to read, well, it’s almost too good to be true. She sat there for 10 minutes. On the chair, reading a book.
That girl makes me laugh.

This is what happens when non-insane families get divorced. Notice the moving on of the lives, the non-seething-bitterness-ness, the respect for others, the love and the kindness. I am sad for her that her aunt is gone, but I am so happy for her that she has that kind of family. After last week’s California Crazy Funeral and Manipulation Extravaganza, that post really struck a chord with me. A book on how to be that kind of family is one of the many, many books that Heather should write. That, and how to Rock!

Two Recent, Dooce-related Dorky Moments:

1. A friend was over, and her little girl was eating the smushed Cheerios from the bottom of the high chair seat. I assured her that they were today’s Cheerios, and not, as they have been, Cheerios from 2 weeks ago. She replied, It’s good for her immune system! I was so cheered by a sly blog reference, just like you would say “Dang” in a Napoleon Dynamite voice, or when someone says, “I need a line!” and you say, “A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” So cool. To a dork like me.

2. I waved to Heather Armstrong when I flew over Utah. I made the baby do it, too. Loser.

Well, it’s official. I really, really, Really have to go back to work now. Really.

I actually want to work; as much as I love the babymuffin, it is time now for Adult Time, not Constant Kid Time. Wearing Not-Jeans Time. Peeing By Myself Time. Having a Coherent Thought Time.

Having said that, I don’t want to work more than part time, 30 hours only if heavily compensated. I’d like around 20-25. Today I had a doctor’s appointment and, while I was so unfettered I almost fell asleep on the table, when I got back I couldn’t stop kissing her. I love my baby girl. I love going to Happy Dan the Music Man at the library, despite the uber-creepy name, even though it smells like wet towels in the library basement. I want to spend these formative years with her; soon enough she’ll be at school all day, without me, doing stuff that I don’t know she’s doing. And that will be great, for her and for me, but for now I really just wanna hang.

So, Perfect Situation that cares for my needs, provides ample cash for quality daycare, debt-reduction, and new clothes, allows me time with my girl while stimulating me intellectually or at least socially, I am ready for you. Let’s get it on.

1. BabyHead is trying to learn to wink. She scrunches up her face and sort of wiggles one eye, and then laughs her head off. It’s so cute the universe just may implode on the spot.

2. She has also officially made up her own sign. She does the sign for “more”; if she’s really hungry she does it in between bites: More! More! I’m starving! I need non stop delivery of mushed up pears, stat! She’ll also do “eat”, sometimes, and she learned “dog” at Grandpa’s house, which is almost the cutest thing ever. But what is, officially, the cutest thing ever, is something that happened tonight. When we put her to bed, we have her wave goodnight to Dad and whoever else happens to be around. Tonight, while we were here alone, she was sitting on the couch with me, and I looked over at her. She was just sitting there, waving. I said, “do you want to go night-night?” and she started waving her fool head off. She waved all the way upstairs, and feel asleep after 4 pages. So. God. Damn. Cute.

3. I am also very sorry that I didn’t get a photo of Audrey and her future partner in crime, Caleb, climbing up on the radiators and attempting to crawl out the window today. Their tiny bodies barely bridge the gap, so their toes were on the radiator and their little hands were just able to grasp the sill. It’s cute now, but those two seem to get into a lot of trouble together. We’ve decided they can play together for now, but once they hit pre-teenagerhood, we really should nip it in the bud or we’ll be seeing the two of them on TV someday. If I’m honest, I think it’s mostly Audrey’s doing; we’ll be lucky if any moms let us into their house past the age of five.

But, so cute!

I won’t go into the Main Suckage that occurred; rather, I will chronicle the Secondary and Tertiary Suckage, which indeed did suck, but not as much as the Main Suckage, otherwise known as the Big Suck.

The day after the Big Suck, HH and I were treated to a lovely stomach bug which left us hurling into the bathroom on a regular basis for 2 days. BabyHead merrily crawled around on our Cheerio-encrusted floor while we lay on the couch under 3 layers of blankets. She caught it, too, but her only real symptom was poop. Much much poop. Hey! Changing poopy diapers while nauseated is Awesome!

Then we had to fly across the country, which is tough for me under normal circumstances. Throw in not eating for 2 days and make it last minute with no preparation time and and infant, and we’ve got some fun brewing! We managed to get cheap enough flights, but it’s not like we had an extra grand sitting around just waiting to be spent. Yay Credit! We flew Jet Blue, which features nonstop flights, leather seats and TV at each seat. Unfortunately, BabyHead decided yet again that sleep is for suckers, and did not sleep for the whole 6 hours, despite normal bedtime occuring mid-flight. She spent her time waving at all the people going to the bathroom, and was essentially quite charming to the other passengers. I am grateful for that, but she still required constant wrangling. I worked my ass off. Then the plane landed in Sunny California– in the middle of the tarmac. We had to walk -outside- to get to the airport, and then -outside- again to get our luggage. California is wacky!
To sum up the week in CA: Driving! Strip Malls–Everywhere! More Driving! Relatives: Some Good, Some Not So Good! Driving! Swimming in borrowed bathing suits, and then, for a change, we Drove! Bonus: Buffy the Backside Slayer! Yum!

California included multiple layers of family drama, complete with exes and bitterness and being split between moms and dads and he said she said and oh christ on a cracker, people! Focus! Big Picture! No yelling, just genteel whispers and a lovely snub from an uncle I had never met that had nothing to do with That Stuff, but more to do with This Other Stuff that is really nobody’s business, especially if you don’t know the whole story! Oh man, the hilarity. Fortunately, there were also lots of people who didn’t care about any of that crap, and we played poker and got drunk with them.

So there was all that, interspersed with a preliminary meeting via telephone to discuss increasing the amount of child support we pay by more that double. Thank goodness we have money coming out of our ears, or that would be really stressful. Seems that I will have to go back to work earlier than planned so that she can work part time while her kids are in school full time. Awesome! (p.s. Anyone need a freelance copyeditor? Anyone?)

BabyHead is up from her nap, so this may be the end of the rant, and none too soon. Coming soon: BabyHead’s Birthday! Yay!

Um, some suckage has occurred, so posts may be more sporadic than usual for the next week. I’ll talk about it if I feel like it, otherwise I will be back with something totally unrelated.

In the meantime, here is a list of famous people I have been in semi-contact with:

Robert Redford walked past me outside of a hospital in Denver.

Carrot Top ran past my cousin and I at the MGM Grande in Las Vegas. It still creeps me out.

I was in a 7 hour traffic jam in Connecticut, and about half way through the radio station announced the the 60′s band the Turtles were there, and they were late because they were in the same traffic jam. The dj didn’t actually announce that I was also in the jam, but it was implied.

My friend made out with the guitarist from Steelheart.

I used to work at a catalog company, and I took an order for Anne Rice and Cher, both from their assistants.

The photographer Joel Peter Witkin is a professor at the college I graduated from. He came into the sculpture shop where I worked and was very rude to me. I didn’t know who he was. In the selfsame shop, but before my time, he used the bandsaw late at night to saw a human head in half for the famous photograph of the head kissing itself. One of the cleaning staff walked in on him and nearly died of a heart attack. I believe he was repremanded.

HH’s friend’s mother is friends with the Pope. Take that, Kevin Bacon!
[Editor's Note: The old pope, not the new pope. The Polish one, not the German one.]

Tracy, CA (city, FIPS 80238)
Population (1990): 33558 (12174 housing units)
Zip code(s): 95376
Tracy, IA
Zip code(s): 50256
Tracy, MN (city, FIPS 65308)
Population (1990): 2059 (986 housing units)
Zip code(s): 56175
Tracy, MO (city, FIPS 73690)
Population (1990): 287 (111 housing units)

For some reason, Tracy, Iowa doesn’t have a population, and Tracy, MO has no zip code. Poor Tracys.

Tracy, in its many forms, was in the top 100 most popular names of the late 20th century, peaking in 1970 at number 10, according to the Social Security Administration. And yet, there are almost no popular culture references to any Tracy. Songs are written about Beth, and Mandy. You can’t swing your arms in a bookstore without hitting a book with a Heather or a Jennifer in it. And Dakota, that gender bending bitch! The only famous character named Tracy that I have ever come across is Tracy Lord from A Philadelphia Story. Okay, it’s a super cool role played by rockin’ Miss Hepburn – or alternately, super glamourous and all around “I want to be you, please”Grace Kelly. In fact, if I could be anyone, I would be a combination of Katherine Hepburn and Grace Kelly. I would be the absolute best person on earth, especially if I could live Nora Charles’ lifestyle. Oh please let it be so.

This post brought to you by: Beer! and Cupcakes!