something must be done about this

You know what happens when you take a stay at home mom, move her to another country and stick her in a house with three small children and no other human contact? She starts paying attention to stuff. Stuff happening in the world.

I, who amuse myself with Coolio dance parties and water balloons got into a big old argument with Blake about recycling. Recycling? So I have been digging around the web for stats on that. Today, the lovely Zombyboy mentioned something about drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Preserve that made my head spin. I think fire actually shot from my eyesockets and burned at the screen. So I spent the wee hours of the morning before the sun came up researching oil drilling in zone 1002.

What the hell is wrong with me?

And then this, this terrorist attack thwarted by the Brits? I, who am the first to cry conspiracy and shrug this stuff off in disbelieve felt the pangs of, what was that, was it fear, fear that I felt this morning? It WAS. This whole thing has scared the f'ing crap out of me. Maybe it's because I am an international flight away from home now, maybe it's because my mother in law is in Africa bathing every few days out of a bucket, or because my best friend is flying home from Costa Rica in three weeks, or maybe it's just because I have turned my t.v. off for a few months, read only blogs online, and have completely removed myself from the news and politics of the world, but I am feeling very scared out of my pants affected by this.

And the whole only reading blogs thing? I mean only reading mommy blogs. I have been reading a lot of mommy blogs. I should not do this to myself. Did you know that stay at home moms have their very own acronym now? SAHM. That's how the collective we refer to to our collective selves. Sounds kind of, well, evil, doesn't it? I am all for staying home, it certainly is the right choice for me, and if you can pull it off, more power to ya', but of course there is this sort of re-revolution going on where moms seem to think it's the only right thing to do and if you don't, if you work, something is wrong with you. Because, you know, there is only ONE right way to be a parent. It infuriates me. People, please. Relax already. I promise you you are not the first person in the world to have a baby. I PROMISE YOU. Sharing ideas and offering advice to each other is super-great. Imposing your all-knowing will and turning your noes up at those who parent differently is not.

And then I checked my email yesterday and my little Michael Moore email was in the inbox, and I'll be damned if that jackass didn't just go strick the last nail into the coffin of our tedious-at-best relationship. Have you heard about this? It's kind of going around the internet. Here, let me link you to it. Is he serious? This is my favorite part..."Nearly every Democrat set to run for president in 2008 is responsible for this war. They voted for it or they supported it. That single, stupid decision has cost us 2,592 American lives and tens of thousands of Iraqi lives. " Um...what? I won't get into the blah blah blahs of my view on this war, but this is ridiculous and even I, a bleeding-heart liberal moonbat know that. Stupid idea? Like we all woke up one morning and said, "Hey, let's go bomb the shit out of, mmmm, this place! Yippee!" Whether or not you support the war, whether or not you believe the American public got duped into backing the war, the fact is that most of us (not me, but I get the idea) most people really thought the war was the right thing to do. A lot of people on both sides put a lot of thought and research into going before we went. I think Michael Moore should go back to following Cindy Sheehan's crazy ass around and shut the fuck up.

See what I mean? I'm all pissy about Michael Moore.

This is really not what I meant to post about today. I wanted to tell you how my baby girl has decided to wake up every time she hears her daddy, whether that be at midnight when he gets home from work or five in the morning when he staggers back to bed after a long night sleeping on the couch because the baby was up at midnight. This whole I love my daddy thing, maybe going a little too far. I love her daddy too, but I loves me some sleep. I may love the sleep slightly more than the daddy.

I wanted to tell how how I realized the other day that my kids are, in no particular order, B, L, and T. Deeee-licious. I am the dork whose kids' initials are a sandwich. Yep, that's me. Hungry. And speaking of hungry, still on the diet. Slowly peeling off a few pounds. My kids think it's hilarious that their mom is on a diet. "Mom, you're on a diet, right? Because you're too fat, right?" I miss the days before they mastered language. And speaking of missing the days, my nephew had his first day of high school yesterday. That fact alone makes me want to buy orthopedic shoes and wear a mumu. Old, that's what I am.

Old, and crabby,

pure luck

Don't you just love it when things go your way? Things like this, the coolest picture I have ever taken of one of my kids...

she doesn't say much, but when she does, man is it good

You all know I am kind of in love with A School Yard Blogger. Correction, An ex-School Yard Blogger. She hung up the blog 8 months ago. Or so I thought. Today, I did my every-two-months-check-just-in-case, and I found this:

A public school teacher was arrested today at JFK INTL Airport as he
attempted to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a set
square, a slide rule and a calculator.

If you do not go right now and read the rest and then begbegbeg her to start blogging again, you'll be doing yourself and the blogosphere a large injustice.

the times, they are a'changin

Today I was checking the old email and looked over just in time to catch a glimpse of the baby who was scaling the entertainment center thingy. The baby, she climbs. I guess it's time to start child-proofing the house.

As if climbing isn't enough, she's starting to babble. It's still all "dadda daddada da" followed by the big eyes with the eyelashes and the buy me a pony look, of course. She's got this daddy's girl thing in the bag. Occasionally, if I can supply milk or, god forbid, am holding the remote, I will get a "MA!"

And speaking of milk, guess what else she's doing? Weaning, that's what.

Guys, go look at the Home Depot website or some porn. Chick talk commencing in three, two, one...

She seems to have decided that I am only of use to her as a comfort-boob. She demands hotdogs and cheerios and apple slices and popsicles all day long now. She doesn't even nurse in the morning anymore. Oddly enough, this has coincided with the return of, *last chance to get out of here guys*, the dreaded period. It is back with a vengeance.

I have never nursed a child longer than 5 months. Therefore, I have always held the unsubstantiated idea that when the period comes back, it is your bodies signal that the baby does not need your services anymore and perhaps you should get back to the making of the babies already. (For you men who have toughed it out this far (Dunkie) let me fill you in. When you nurse, you do not ovulate. If you do not ovulate, you do not menstruate. It is a womans body's way of protecting her baby. If you were to have another baby, the one you just had would not be able to nurse anymore, so your body keeps you from getting pregnant again. Sheer brilliance, really.) Of course, I only held this notion until recently, when I actual had some experience in this area. The Period has been trying to return for a few months now and I have been adamant about continuing to nurse for one full year, no matter what biology throws my way. But this week, as my body has finally returned to its normal, very fertile self, the baby has, all on her own, shown less and less interest in me. (As a food source. She still claws at my ankles until I eat her belly. I'm not getting off that easily just yet.) And to my surprise, my body has responded quite favorably. I do not wake up on the morning with boobs up to my chin full of milk and I have only once or twice this past week felt "full".

So, I think she may be all done. It makes me sad in a way. Every day she is getting more independent, but I have enjoyed this one thing that only I can do for her. I am hopeful that she will continue to nurse before naps and bedtime until she turns one. Or at least until I go to Vegas. Then she can go wean all she wants.