the pieces of my life

When I was eleven, my mother got the family a cat (something my father is still gleeful about: my mother got the cat even though my father is a determined non-animal person; a couple years later, my mother developed a severe allergy to cats. It’s the only thing that’s ever happened that’s made my father say, “Maybe there could be a God.”). We named the cat Biskets (yes, spelled that way. Remember, I was eleven). When Biskets was a kitten, he’d nibble at my and the Tweedle Twirp’s fingers. It felt so good, that little kitten gumming on my finger! My mother always said, “Don’t let him learn to do that! You’re training him that it’s okay to bite you and soon, when he gets bigger, it’ll hurt when he bites you.” Of course, Tweeds and I didn’t listen and, sure enough, Biskets got big, and his bites hurt! I think of this story now every time my son bites me. It’s so cute and sweet the way he gums me to soothe himself, but soon those teeth will be coming in and I’ll have to start smacking him with a newspaper.

You just haven’t lived untill you’ve taken a pointy rubber bulb and tried to stick it up the nose of a very squirmy baby in order to suck out all the elusive snot that you can hear up there but that doesn’t want to make its exit on its own. Personally, it’s just too much fun for me, so Adam has been designated the official Snot Sucker of the family.

Judith is collecting everyone’s favorite book of 2003, which seems like a swell idea. If you’ve got a favorite book, go tell her.

I, however, am not that literary minded (I wish I were, but there’s so little time to read these days). However, many of my evenings are now spent watching movies. Before the Doodlebug came and I was actually able to move around in the evenings, Adam and I rented maybe two movies a month. Now that evenings mean a sleeping Doodlebug on my lap, we’re up to about three rentals a week. So, it finally made sense to join Netflix. Of course, that means I now have to have a whole list of movies I need to keep updated so I can make sure movies are always flowing in. To that end, I’d like to ask all of you what the best movie you saw in 2003 was (not necessarily a movie that was released in 2003–just the movie [rental or theatrical] that you liked best). If you have a favorite, stick in the comments, and I’ll add it to my Netflix queue.

Adam and I have been together for about three and a half years now. And I thought I knew him pretty well. But apparently, there are still things to learn:

• Adam can pee on demand. How did I not know this? We had a physical for our insurance (yes, we’re old: we have life insurance now) and when I reminded him that he’d need to pee for the nurse, he said, “No problem, I can pee on demand.” Is this something all boys can do? Or is my husband special?
  
• He has no faith in my personal hygiene. After giving my sample (which, for the record, I cannot do on demand and needed to down copious amounts of water to produce), I came out of the bathroom to take the Doodlebug so Adam could be tested, and Adam asked me, “Did you wash your hands?” Thanks for your confidence. And, duh, yes.
  
• He thinks he’s hip. Stop, laughing, I’m serious! He was showing the Doodlebug pictures of the Tweedle Twirp and her boyfriend, the Tweedle Twin. He told the Doodlebug, “When you’re older and we’re no longer hip, the Tweedle Twins will be your link to hipness.” Um, “no longer” said the man who sits home with me on Saturday nights watching The O.C. on Replay?
  

Monday was Adam’s birthday. Originally, we thought about going out, but between our screaming Doodlebug and all the snow, we decided to stay in. I cooked a lovely dinner for us… and we took turns eating it. The Doodlebug demanded to be held so Adam ate while I held and then Adam held while I ate. It wasn’t high in the rankings of romantic dinners, but it’s our new life, and it’s worth it, even if I only get to eat my meal while it’s hot half the time now.

Everyone wants to be loved. Especially by the cutest baby ever. But it can be frustrating when you’re the only one the cutest baby loves. Don’t get me wrong, he still coos and smiles and flirts with Adam. But the Doodlebug has a clear preference for me. When Adam’s holding him, the Doodlebug’s looking for me. When the Doodlebug starts his regular evening scream (and it is regular now, o joy of joys), Adam can try for over an hour to quiet him. He rocks, he gives him a finger to suck on, he paces, he rubs. Nada. Then, within one minute of transferring the Doodlebug to my arms, silence. As long as I’m holding the Doodlebug, all is quiet (I can’t, of course, put him down; that would never work. In fact, even now, once again, I’m bloggin’ with the Doodlebug asleep on my lap). I’m torn between feeling happy that my Doodlebug wants me and miserable because no one is able to regularly put him to sleep, which means I’ll be more reluctant to leave him. Naps are bad, too: He’ll only sleep if we’re out of the house (there are only so many errands I can do) or if I lay down with him. You know, in the beginning, I swore I’d never let my child cry it out. Now, I swear, six months to the day, we’re Ferberizing. Here’s to hoping he gets with the sleeping program on his own by then.

We’ve seen the last of our lawn till April. Our first snow storm of the year–and it’s still fall, mind you–and we got about twenty-eight inches. Luckily, I had thought to go to the video store, so we had a cozy weekend in.

The other day, running an errand at Walgreens with the Doodlebug, what do we spot in the parking lot? As if we could miss it. A Hummer. It took up half the parking lot (which Walgreens shares with Trader Joes, which just screams “Hummer,” doesn’t it?). Behind the wheel was just another suburban woman. We live in Arlington, for goodness’ sake. There isn’t a dirt road, never mind desert or wilderness, to drive upon for miles and miles and miles. Why do you need a Hummer to pick up your vitamins and hair color? Please. These people should just wear signs that read, “I’m tough. And rich, too. And I have a tiny dick.” It’s much more to the point.

WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY? I’M SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER… Oh, wait, that’s better. Ah, silence. Oops, I spoke too soon. Because when the vacuum cleaner goes off, the Doodlebug goes on. The Doodlebug loves his white noise. And the fastest silencer is our vacuum cleaner (and here I thought we had bought it for our new carpet. Turns out we bought it for our new baby). But our vacuum cleaner is a loud mutha and it annoys me to no end to have it on. And since I can only vacuum the upstairs so many times (downstairs is hardwood floors), I end up just turning the vacuum cleaner on its side and letting it go. Adam plans on recording it, but I have little hope that a CD recording will perform the magic of the real live Hoover. (And hey, added bonus, it picks up dirt, too.)

There’s more to Seattle than Starbucks and Nirvana. Yet anytime Seattle is shown on television, there’s a flash of Starbucks beneath the sounds of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” People, Seattle’s moved on. Can you?