Putting the act into overreaction

While undressing Miles for an emergency bath this morning, per ultimate diaper blowout, I made a startling discovery. Lurking under his right armpit was a menacing new skin "development." Surely it was a malignant mole that surfaced during the night. In 2.4 seconds, I went from thinking about how such a sweet smelling baby could cook up such a foul smelling diaper (eye watering was this one in particular) to dermatological cold sweats linked to surgery and biopsies. Thank God I mustered the nerve to touch the new skin tag, and thus I learned that it was merely a wandering piece of Rice Chex.

Oh.

If I couldn't laugh at myself, I'm not sure how I'd ever make through life. Obviously, I am ripe for parody.

More than just a band of gold

Panic set in late last night as I ripped through my entire house looking for my wedding ring. I take it off every night before giving Miles his bath. I set it down on my dresser, along with whatever jangly earrings I might be wearing. A routine, plain and simple. However, last night I did not put the ring in the same location. In fact, I couldn't find it for over two painful hours.

That ring must be back on my finger for me to fall asleep. If some natural disaster were to strike in the middle of the night, I will flee with Miles, the pups, the hubs, and my ring finger dressed- and I will be fine. And that is what I think about before I crawl into bed, but you already know that I am a bit high strung.

Anyways, I stayed up late last night to have a little "me" time. I made it upstairs around one am, ready for some reading and snuggling, but those plans were quickly dashed when the ring wasn't where I thought I left it. Calm searching lasted only a few minutes; Jesse was roused from his peaceful slumber by hurled clothing and muffled profanities. As best as I could muster, I kindly asked (demanded) Jesse to join my search party.

Before I had time to make fliers and notify the FBI, I had a bit of a cry fest. Thirty minutes of fruitless flinging and flailing reduced me to sobs. That ring is not just any ring; it symbolizes my past, present, and future. That ring is a life vest that keeps my heart afloat in rough waters. That ring shines even when days are dark and nights are cold. Could it be replaced? Doubtful. Sure, a physical replica can be created- though a vessel that holds the sun from the day of the proposal, the tears dropped during my shocked acceptance, the glistening spark from generations back would be relegated to memories.

I tried explaining this to Jesse between sobs. I also realized, as I stumbled through my shoddy logic, how lucky I am to have him listening to me, and even more thankful I am to have received his promise of love and commitment. Once I calmed down, counted my blessings, my memory returned. The ring was sitting in the kitchen sink, in dirty water, under baby food leftovers. I took it off as I was clearing the dinner dishes, and it must have tumbled in along with mashed potatoes and string beans. As soon as the ring was rinsed and the husband thoroughly kissed, I passed out with a thoroughly dressed ring finger.

Maybe Pamela and Tommy Lee were onto something when they got their wedding rings tattooed on. I wonder what other nuggets of wisdom we could glean from those two brainiacs.

Summer School is in session!

Bearing with me...I'm writing this post with one eye. The other eye is spoken for, and it is glued to the reunion special for the NJ Housewives show. Wait, you lose the other eye for a moment because they are talking about the "book." If you know what I mean, then you'll understand why I need to step away for a minute.

Alright, my housewife fix has been met. Now to the week-in-review:

In five days, I have packed in nine months of time spent working away from Miles. Can I make up for lost time? Can I make up for tears shed when I first returned to work? Can I replace those pangs of guilt for missing out on so many baby "firsts"? You better believe that I will try. I packed so many activities that Miles is now more cultured than most pearls.

Locally, we hopped over the college's art museum, and took in a travelling Tiffany exhibit. Miles was impressed, and I left my name on a sticky note attached to the Poppy reading lamp. Mama wants it, bad. Miles saw his first Georgia O'Keeffe painting. He looked at it, and quietly asked, "Home?" Those of you who get that off-colored joke rest assured that I will incorporate her paintings into a very distant future lecture of the birds and bees.

The following day we trucked it over to Richmond to visit the Virginia Museum of Fine Art. Miles got to soak in the biggies: Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, Picasso, Manet, Monet, Rousseau... OMG, I didn't know the extent of their Impressionist collection. I was breathless; Miles was hooting. By day two of our art tour, Miles learned that museums pack great echoes. The VMFA also houses an impressive Faberge exhibit; I made sure the little man's flailing limbs were on lock down as we zoomed through the room. The glistening eggs were a blur because I was so afraid Miles would fling a binkie, break the security glass, and blame the incident on me without a single hesitation- that he'd sell me out to the guards for a frosty bottle of soy and a tummy tickle.

Yesterday, we went to Miles' first-ever movie. Up got the honors, and what a sweet and endearing story. The only reason we had to leave early was that I drank too much soda, and he couldn't be trusted to sit quietly while I snuck out to the restroom. I tried to re-enter the theatre, but Miles wanted to announce our entrance like a ring master. We quickly did a U-turn and headed to the bookstore to unwind. I have no idea how the movie ends, but I am sure that the talking dogs got a few more laughs. I admit that the romance montage in the movie's beginning reduced me to sniffles. Luckily, Miles' head was close by so I could wipe my face on it.

Today, we visited the Virginia Living Museum. Fish, bats, snakes, Oh My! Miles was enthralled to the point of justifying the purchase a family pass. Now, we've got a full year of otters, bobcats, and raccoons to ogle from a safe, rabies-free setting. Above, you'll see Miles and the trout hanging out. I'm the lady in pink manning the camera phone.

Tomorrow, I will be handing Miles off to my folks for a bit. Uncle Clark and I are hitting the links. If it wasn't going to be as hot as Mars' armpit, I'd put his car seat in the golf cart. Perhaps this fall, Miles can become mommy's little caddy. Like I need an excuse to outfit him in orange plaid...

One last quick note, please pray that I don't succumb to the new Bravo! series "NYC Prep." Lord knows that watching that will only guarantee that my moral fiber will dissolve just a bit more, and I will fall behind on my Sookie Stackhouse novels.

Tickling the ivories and flipping the pages

At first, I wanted to call this video, "Afternoon Delight." However, despite what the title suggests, that is one skanky song. There is nothing tawdry about Miles' performance- maybe a touch burlesque, but that's only because he isn't wearing any pants.

I am loving my time home. I'm still counting this as "summer vacation" and not "mad job/ grad school scramble time." I taught all year; don't I deserve a few days in the sun? Luckily, teething and a first-ever ear infection hasn't dampened our adventurous spirit. Today, we watched either CIA or secret service men run a training operation in the downtown square. Who were they kidding? Even Miles knew they weren't tourons when they started talking into their shirt collars. Tomorrow, we check out a visiting Tiffany glass exhibit at the college's art museum. Hopefully, no binkies will fly, and I won't have to plunk down for a chipped lamp.

And when I am not lost in baby-land, I am glued to a new-to-me book series, the Sookie Stackhouse stories by Charlaine Harris. I'm averaging a book every day and a half. Talk about afternoon delight- this stuff makes my blush, and I loooooooove it. Might even talk the hubs into getting HBO so I can watch the corresponding TV series. I first heard about the books last week on "Fresh Air." Once again, Terry Gross has made my world just a little bit better. She needs to be ear-marked for sainthood.

At :48 seconds, you'll notice that Miles slides into a quick reference of "Chop Sticks." His playing style is totally explained by the fact he is wearing a Phish t-shirt. 'Nuff said.

Hava Avocado

Fact: I had to suction out a sizable Piece of avocado from Miles' right nostril during dinner. Bonus: more than just green fruit came out. Concern: who will contact me first, social services or the health department? Clealry I have violated my food handlers agreement by loosing and retrieving side dishes in non-mouth parts on my son's face.Bonus: the little man digs mashed potatoes, and he likes them enough to keep them out of his nose.

brave new world- i'm just late

Upgraded myself yesterday; postings, like this unedited hot mess, will now arrive periodically from this "phone.". Leaening this gizmo's features has been a much needed distraction from our current teething nightmare. Little Man has been angrier than a hungry Hannibal Lecter stranded on a deserted island. Random note- I just saw that George Carlin is the narrator for "Thomas the Train" on PBS. That's like letting Syd Vicious host a health-living program. Ummm...

Bittersweet

Summer vacation starts in three days.  Unemployment starts in three days.  I am so sad that I am leaving my students behind. 

If I haven't shared this before, I'll be amazed...I love teaching.  Kids make the best co-workers on the face of the planet.  Even if that face houses a sassy mouth and rolling eyes.  Who will I tell to spit their gum out and to quit passing notes?  Surely Miles doesn't have enough teeth to chomp on gum...

I'm sad for so many reasons.  

Need a little baby time to lift my spirits.  Adios! 

Help Wanted?

Know of any interesting careers out there that have medical benefits and reasonable time off?

I'm in the market for a change.  A change secured and started by September.  Just curious, desperately curious. 

Once I am officially through with school and my job there (as of June 17th), I will fill you in on all the "exciting" events of the past month.  Let's just say I've had a chance to do some "personal growth" and work on "maintaining a positive outlook."  Do these "air quotes" indicate my level of disappointment and frustration?  "Yep!"  You better believe that I am one stressed out "lady."

"Can't" "stop" "the" "air" quotes."  (I've heard they are "contagious.")