Two lies and a truth

I do not believe in posing helpless infants with props to make cute pictures.

I do not believe in dressing small babies up for Halloween, because it is not like they are going to go trick or treating!

I believe that Daniel and I had an awesome costume this year. Guess what we were!

Happy Halloween, friends!

A Bedtime (?) Story

Sir Laughs-A-Lot: A Sleepless Knight

Once there was a very tiny knight named ... I dunno ... "Dillon." He was loved and respected by all, and held in especially high esteem by his family. This was partially because of his wonderful sleep patterns, which included large segments of sleep during the nighttime hours. This, of course, delighted his parents to no end, and they were quite confident that they were doing a great job of raising this child.

There came a time when the tiny knight decided to shatter his parents' illusion. He stayed up. All. Night. Long. He cried when he was laid down in his tiny knight crib. He cried when he was rocked. He cried when he was held. He cried when he was fed.

Pretty soon, Dillon was not the only one crying.

By about 4:30, in the wee-hours of the morning, Dillon finally drifted off to sleep. He was cuddled sweetly up on his mama's chest and she was sure she was going to get to nap as well.

Little did she know, her little knight was going to have some very funny dreams. He laughed. And he laughed. Tiny little whimper laughs, complete with a big gummy smile.

Each little laugh jerked her from her slumber, so that the final result was a red-eyed, sleep-deprived mama holding a sleeping, but laughing, little roly-poly knight.

But it was the cutest sleepless night the mama had ever had, and she decided that having that tiny laughing boy was worth every minute.

Lame-O Post #2

A True Southern Belle

Two nicely dressed ladies happened to start up a conversation while waiting for their flights from the LAX Airport. The first lady was an arrogant California woman married to a wealthy man. The second was a well-mannered elderly woman from the South.

When the conversation got around to children, the California woman started by saying, "When my first child was born, my husband built a beautiful mansion for me."

The lady from the South commented "Well, isn't that precious?"

The first woman continued, "When my second child was born, my husband bought me a beautiful Mercedes-Benz."

Again, the lady from the South commented, "Well, isn't that precious?"

The first woman continued boasting, "Then, when my third child was born, my husband bought me this exquisite diamond bracelet. "

Yet again, the Southern lady commented, "Well, isn't that precious?"

The first woman then asked her companion, "What did your husband buy for you when you had your first child? "

"My husband sent me to charm school," declared the old Southern lady.

"Charm school?" the first woman cried, "Oh my gosh! What on earth for?"

The Southern lady responded, "Well for one thing, instead of saying, 'Who gives a sh**?' I learned to say, 'Well, isn't that precious?'"

Twenty things

This week has been busy for me. Blogging is so far down my list of priorities, that it is barely visible. But I will persevere! Here is my lame post o' the day. Thanks, Vanessa!

1. I love coffee, but it does scary stuff to my digestive system. So I just smell it, and drink tea.

2. I am addicted to school. I will probably either be a student or a teacher, or a student teacher, for the whole rest of my life.

3. Despite #2, I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

4. I still have this twisted perception that I look like a high school girl. Do you see a recurring theme here?

5. I like dogs and am allergic to cats. But even if I weren't allergic, I still wouldn't have a cat. They are too impersonal.

6. Despite #5, I have had a cat before, but my roommate took it to the pound when I was taking a nap.

7. I am terrified that I am going to leave Dillon in the car. I randomly check my vehicle, even when I know he is with my mother or Daniel. This is my worst fear!

8. I really want a digital SLR camera. It is picked out and everything! If you want to donate to my fund, please let me know!

9. I used to bite my nails, but I quit right before I got married, and I haven't bitten them since.

10. Bad grammar is a pet peeve of mine, but especially when it comes out of a teacher's mouth!

11. Another pet peeve of mine is being watched while I work. For example, if I am vacuuming and dusting, and you are sitting on the couch watching me, something is wrong and I will let you know that with a look.

12. A guy in my class was on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and he knows Ty Pennington. Okay, that isn't really about me, but I am running out of ideas!

13. One time, I locked myself in Daniel's handcuffs while he was at work. A police officer had to come let me out. It was an accident, but no one believes me when I say that.

14. I really need a pedicure.

15. I sing to the radio, and I like almost every kind of music. Except, on Primetime last week, I saw some 13 year old twin girls who sing songs about white pride. I am not down with that.

16. I have bad posture.

17. I love to take naps, and I am about to take one RIGHT NOW!

18. My family is made up of my favorite people in the world.

19. If I could have one food every day, it would be ice cream.

20. I don't eat anything "diet." I think that in 20 years, Splenda will the root cause for all cancers that are not eradicated by vaccinations.

So there! Drop and give me YOUR twenty!

The truth about human nature

We are always looking out for number one. Even in the most benign of situations, we twist things to be to our advantage.

Case in point: someone rear-ended my new little car on Tuesday. I was stopped behind another vehicle at a red light. Another car came up behind me and decided (too late) to swing around me and get in the other southbound lane. They underestimated the length of their front end, and clipped my rear bumper.

Of course, I called Daniel and he told me to call the Police Department to get an officer, even though it was a very minor accident.

The woman who hit me was so apologetic. She must have said she was sorry about 15 times. I told her that it was no big deal, that it was just a car, and I was glad no one was injured. She lit a giant cigarette, and then we chatted while waiting for the officer.

After taking both of our information, the officer released us to file a "blue form" about the accident with our insurance companies.

The woman thanked me profusely for being so nice, and again apologized before leaving.

Daniel called her insurance company for me on Wednesday, and I had to talk to someone and give a short statement about what happened.

Guess what! The woman says the accident was MY FAULT, that I hit her, and now the insurance refuses to pay for the damage!

If it was my fault, why wasn't I the one apologizing profusely? If it was my fault, how did I hit her car when mine was sitting still? If it was my fault, why was I the one that called the police when she just wanted to exchange information and leave?

The only thing I am guilty of is NOT looking out for myself as well as this woman did.

Big fat liar!!! Or, um, little skinny liar with the longest cigarettes I have ever seen!

Here for your weekend entertainment

I know most people don't post on the weekends, but it seems that my days are one big blur. So I am an equal opportunity blogger, and if I have spare moment and a thought at the same time, I will post!

A letter

To whom it may concern,

Someone keeps combining the names of dating celebrities. Is it you? Please stop. It is not funny or cute. Today I read a news item about "Vinnifer," which is a combination of Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston's names.

I hate this trend and it makes me grumpy.

Sincerely,

"Dananda Sue"

Testing...1, 2,3

I am an intern in a special education classroom this semester to meet part of my graduate requirements. It is a pull-out program, so the kids just need extra help with reading or math. The kids come in for a couple of hours a day to work on problem areas.

This week, they are doing benchmark tests to track their progress for this nine-week period. You can tell they are doing testing because there are signs on all the classroom doors.

Or, you can just look at what the kids bring to class.

Apparently, testing causes intense starvation, and school rules are relaxed so that the children can remedy their hunger with all sorts of junk.

They came parading in this morning with sodas, giant bags of chips, boxes of candy. Keep in mind that they came directly to the Resource Room from breakfast. Three seconds after getting their tests, they commenced opening their sodas and rustling around in their chip bags.

It was absurd! Are we not worried about childhood obesity? Doesn't this encourage stress-eating? The test took all of ONE HOUR. It probably would have taken only 30 minutes, but a lot of time was taken up with the eating.

As far as I can remember, we never got snacking privileges during a test when I was in school. We just took the test, and continued on with our day.

Sorry for the rant. I was just astounded. What do you think about this?

Overexposed, Take 2

Apparently, it is not enough to bare one's breasts in front of an autistic child, his mother, and a professor. No. That is not humbling enough. That does not make one blush enough.

Apparently, it is necessary to continue to have embarrassing breast-baring episodes until all dignity is lost, and "blush" becomes the permanant color of one's face.

Last night, Daniel and I were going on a date. Daniel took Dillon to my parents' house for hours of college football games and a photo session. I was getting ready at home, and the last thing I needed to do was use my bicycle horns so that we could have 3-4 hours of freedom.

I was getting ready to pump, and realized I had forgotten the bottles that attach to the bicycle horns. I went to the kitchen, wearing just my bra and pants. I was standing in front of the kitchen window, that faces into our carport, when I saw a movement outside. I glanced up, and who was in the carport but our 14-year-old neighbor boy. He waved sweetly, and then, saw the look of horror on my face. He then realized what he was looking at. Did I mention that the bra I wore was a nursing bra, and that the flaps were down???

GREEAAAAAT.

Neighbor-boy knocked on the door. I sprinted to the bathroom to get my robe, then sprinted back to answer his knock. I won't tell you what word I was saying during my mad dash through the house, but it does rhyme with "fit" or "mitt."

By the time I got to the door, neighbor-boy was bright red and his hands were shaking. He tried to pretend that nothing had happened, and continued on his mission of requesting Daniel's shoe polish kit. I dutifully got it for him and he explained that he was on his way to the Homecoming Dance.

An innocent freshman boy. On his way to one of his first big dates. I wonder if I have scarred him for life. I told Daniel that we have to sell the house and move. Or at least get some curtains.

Guess who is one month old?? Happy day, little guy!

Overexposed

School is long for me on Tuesdays. I go to class at about 1:30, and my last class doesn't let out until 7. Because I am breastfeeding, I have to drag my pump up to the school with me and find a private place to hole up for about 10 minutes between classes.

This is humiliating. The world is not made for breastfeeding mothers. When I went back to school, I thought my only option was to STAND next to the outlet in the womens' bathroom for ten minutes and let everyone see me.

Nicely enough, our program coordinator found a room for me to use. I was so grateful. It only takes me a few minutes, so I run in, stick a sign outside, lock the door and get to business.

This is what my sign says:

Please do not enter! This room will be available after 4:40.

Isn't that pleasant? Doesn't that make sense?

NO. It doesn't. Because yesterday, my professor unlocked the door and allowed a woman and her 12-year-old emotionally disturbed son in the room. The room is about as big as a large closet. The poor boy saw me hooked up to electric bicycle horns. I was saying, "Please don't come in! There is a sign on the door!" He was saying, "But my mother is with me!" as if that made a difference.

The professor and mother never made it into the room. The boy turned and fled, pushing them out of the way.

By the time I bashfully made my way out of the room, the mother was in the hallway sobbing, the boy was having a tantrum, and half of the staff of my department were standing around trying to fix the problem.

Needless to say, I won't be doing THAT again. Back to the bathroom I guess. At least there I don't run the risk of inciting a riot.

New post, mostly cause I am tired of reading pinworm commentary

Has anyone watched that new show "My Name is Earl?" If you spend a large majority of your time holding ten pounds of extreme hunger while sitting on the couch, you might join me in partaking of this completely politically incorrect show! Thanks, Jenn, for the suggestion!

Hand to mouth

I have a little bit of an obsessive nature. Once something begins bothering me, I cannot let go of it until it has been resolved or reconciled in my head. This usually involves trivial things that are of no import in real life, because, why would I waste my brain power on things that matter?

Most recently, I have been obsessed with personal hygiene habits. Mainly, other peoples' personal hygiene habits.

For instance, in one of my classes, there are two girls that sit beside each other. Let me introduce you to them. One of them wears flip-flops daily. We can call her "Feet." (That is not her real name, but it is a random nickname I think she should have.) She gets settled for class, then promptly kicks her shoes off. Her feet are then in the chair, and her hands are all over them. She rubs them. She picks at her toenails. She pops her toes. She puts her shoes back on, rearranges her pretzel legs, and then off go the shoes again and on goes the routine. In between all of this, she is touching things. The chair. The table. Her notebook and pen. Ug. It just gives me the willies.

The second girl, whose Indian name would be "Hands In Her Mouth" sits beside "Feet." She spends the entire class period sucking her fingers. She bites her nails, but then she puts her fingers all the way in her mouth, too! (I used to be a nail biter, and I know how hard it is to quit that bad habit, but I also know that you can get pinworms around your anus from biting your nails, and that fact alone is enough to make me never put my hands in my mouth again!) "Hands in Her Mouth" will raise her hand to ask a question, and you can see the light reflecting off of the slobber on her fingers. It is repulsive.

Each of these activities alone is enough to turn my stomach, but the fact that they are occurring simultaneously and in such close proximity to each other makes me obsessive. I spend most of the class period blending their behaviors until the two girls become one disgusting person who touches her feet, then sucks her fingers.

It is driving me to distraction. So help me! I have to fix this so that I can obsess about other meaningless things, like the actual lecture.

Now I lay me...

Every once in a while, I come into possession of something so special that it becomes part of "Things I Will Keep Forever." The note my mom wrote me when I turned 16. The sappy letter my brother sent me in which he told me he was a Christian. My grandpa's Bible. My autographed picture of Kenny Chesney.

Eight years ago, in the summer of 1997, I went on a mission trip. It wasn't to the slums of New York, or to the war-ravaged jungles of Central America. It was to sunny Santa Cruz, California. It was my first, and really only, time away from home. I grew up in the town I live in now. My parents are right up the street. Those two and a half months are forever etched in my mind as a time of new independence. I was eighteen and was leaving my friends and family behind to see what God had in store for me.

My friend Jessica sent me a care package. It had some snacks, note cards, a pillow, and a very special pillowcase she had made.

That pillowcase is part of "Things I Will Keep Forever." It has come with me to my own apartment. It has gotten married with me and moved into a boy's house. It came to London last summer, and it was my constant companion during my pregnancy. Most recently, this pillowcase came to the hospital with me. The nursing staff and my doctor got a kick out of me and my pillowcase.

Jes, I just want you to know that I still have it. It is one of my very treasured things!

Lamenting my plain mobile phone which does not have photographing capabilities

So I couldn't actually take a photo of this sign at my local Burger King:

How many ketchup's would you like?

It was not a handwritten sign, but a sticker on the sliding window. That means someone mass-produced these signs. Does your Burger King have one? Let's complain.

Room with a view

"Are you ready to go to bed?"

"Uh, huh. You?"

"Yep."

"Mmmkay."

Daniel and I stand at the foot of our bed, staring at a tiny black and white television screen. We are both in our pajamas. It is late and Dillon is asleep. The problem is that he is sleeping in his own room, in his crib for the first time. Thanks to technology, and my sister, we have a video monitor that enables us to watch him.

"Do you think we can hear him?"

"Of course. See the lighted display that shows how much noise he is making?"

"Well... go in there and whisper, then come back in here and I will tell you what you said."

"No."

"Okay. Well, turn the volume up."

The volume on the little monitor is so loud that it sounds like a tsunami at the foot of our bed.

"Well, I guess we better go to bed."

"Yep."

Neither one of us move for a long time. By the next morning, Dillon is happy and well rested. Daniel and I peer at each other through red-rimmed eyes and say "Let's move that monitor into the living room. It is too hard to watch while we are sleeping."