Grabbed from Bev
1. What did you do in 2006 that you’d never done before? Easy – went to NYE dinner eight months pregnant and in heels. Oh yeah – and I gave birth.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don’t usually make resolutions, though I think I’m going to keep working at staying in the moment. I’d like to train for a 5k, too. I used to run and I miss it.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Do I count? Though it seems like everyone in my life is pregnant or has given birth recently.
4. Did anyone close to you die? We lost Tom this year, as well as several heart children we had grown pretty attached to.
5. What countries did you visit? What countries? Ha! We had a baby this year – we moved to another planet as far as I’m concerned.

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So I’m home sick.
Oh wait – I’m home everyday.
So I’m home sick – and I still have to work.
Though Sammy’s not “work” in the traditional sense, I still can’t curl up on the couch with a blanket and tea and sleep.
Well, I can, but I’m not a huge fan of the “TV as babysitter” deal and he doesn’t seem to be a fan of the “pleeeeeeeease take a nap for mama” deal.
I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, right?
Feh. Here’s hoping his 99.5 fever and his incessant sneezing isn’t a sign of things to come, because this sniffling, sore throat, coughing, chest ache and chill thing really kinda sucks (not to mention he’s scheduled for his RSV vaccination tomorrow). And the fuzzy medicine feeling sucks more, so I won’t take it when I have to take care of him. I actually think this started last Wednesday and took a holiday over the weekend – you know, that whole “too busy to get sick” thing.
Thank god I’ve made it this far without any really debilitating cold or virus – knock on wood that this is gone in a day or two and won’t get any worse in the meantime. Until then, I’m thinkin’ tea, toast, Sesame Street and Little Einsteins will be my best friends.
Just…. feh.

Because life’s too short to eat out of boring dishes all the time -
In order to celebrate all the developmental milestones Sammy’s crossed off the list in the last 48 hours (he’s on one hell of a roll!), he enjoyed a lunch of the finest warm homemade cinnamon butternut squash served in a bowl from our wedding china. And for dinner, he’ll have sauteed tofu (we got the okay to try it out – the whole soy/milk intolerance issue) tossed with sweet baby peas and a side of fresh, warm diced carrots. I’m still workin’ on dessert, but I’m thinking a puree of red delicious apples and pears.
Ahhh, nothing like praising your kid with food, eh?

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I generally enjoy food shopping. I typically go mid-morning, when it’s usually moms and retired folks pushing their wagons up and down the aisles. I like smiling and saying hi and chatting it up in the deli line, exchanging recipes in the seasoning aisle and chuckling when I bump into the same person over and over. I don’t know why – maybe it makes me feel a bit better about the world, like we’re not all evil people who slam on the horn and give the finger preemptively because obviously, our need to get somewhere is so much important than yours.
It’s even more enjoyable now that Sammy waves at everyone. Older couples LOVE when he waves and giggles. They’ll stop and talk to him and tell me about their kids or grandkids. It’s nice – it makes me believe in a time where people lived slower lives and were kind to one another.
Today, however, I swear I stepped into bizarro world at the grocery store. Within moments of poking around the produce section, an older gentleman came up to me and commented on how well Sammy was sleeping. He then said to me, “Did you know that Tiger Woods wears two pairs of pants when he golfs? Yeah – because he often gets a hole in one.”
We both chuckled and smiled and he wiggled Sammy’s toe and went on his way.
Then I ran into an older, perhaps Chinese? woman by the bananas. She said to me, “I don’t speak much English. How much?” I helped her out, wished her a happy holiday season, and went over to make a cup of coffee. Before I knew it, she was by our side, tucking a dollar bill into Sammy’s carseat.
“Good luck for the New Year,” she said and smiled. “God bless.” She patted Sammy and walked away.
Then there was the man in line with me at the deli who spent ten minutes telling me about his children and grandchildren, especially the sweet one who has Downs who just got a job at CVS. “Makes his whole day,” he said. “He gets paid for it, too.” He made the now-awake Sammy laugh a few times, he smiled big at us and wished us a happy new year.
Two aisles over, past the sushi man who always comes out to say hi, I ran into the joker again, who told me this one: “A man came home from work one day. His wife opened the door and slapped him in the face. What was that for? he asked. I was washing your pants and found a piece of paper with the name Mary-Ann on it in your pocket, his wife replied. Oh! he said. That was just the name of a horse I bet on two weeks ago. Immediately, his wife slapped him again. What was that for? he asked, surprised. His wife replied, Your horse called this morning after you left for work!
And in the bakery section, another older woman came up to Sammy and put a dollar bill in his carseat. “Good luck for the new year,” she said. “Old tradition.”
Throw in there the extra little chat with the pharmacist (who knows us well), the produce guy who stopped stocking pears to say hello to us and the older gentleman in the hat who waved to Sammy every time we saw him – it was a really nice, neighborly morning trip to the store.
Really nice, but really quite bizarre.

Me: These shrimp are huge.
Dad: I think they’re called colossal shrimp.
Me: They’re like the John Holmes of shrimp.
Sister-in-law: Who’s John Holmes?
Jay: He was known for his 17-inch you know what.
Sister-in-law gets wide-eyed: Around?!
Jay: He did a lot of porn.
Mom: He did a real movie too.
Jay: He did porn.
Mom: Nonononono – he did a real movie. It was good.
Jay: The Devil & Miss Jones?
Mom: Yeah – that was it!
Jay: It was porn.
Mom: No – it was a real movie. It was poignant.
Jay: It was porn.
Sister-in-law: Yeah, I heard it was a little rough in the beginning, but it all came together in the end.
True story, folks. I’m still trying to erase from my brain the part where I realized my mom had potentially watched porn, even if it WAS poignant porn.
(I did a little poking around – apparently he WASN’T in The Devil and Miss Jones, he was in The Devil in Mr. Holmes. Not sure just which one it was that my mom saw, and that’s okay by me.)

Not only have I become a traditional homemaker, I’m apparently old now, too. Add “I threw out my back today” to the list of things I didn’t expect to say for another ten years or so.
I was playing with Sammy at the park (because it’s like 60° one day before the first day of winter in New England). Picture it: I was lying on my back, feet facing the main street, holding up Sammy over my chest and rocking him back over my head. After a few swings, momentum got the best of us, and I ended up rocking my butt (again, facing the street) all the way in the air and Sammy all the way upside-down over my head. I was stuck with my feet over my head, resting only on the part of my back between my shoulders, butt completely in the air, facing the street. Panic set in – I couldn’t get back down, he was about a foot away from being dropped on his head – and man, a whole bunch of people were getting a view they hadn’t signed up for.
I ended up twisting somehow to my side, got him on the ground – and threw out my back in a way I’ve never, ever experienced before. I can’t lift him now, and forget about bending over to pick anything up. I can actually feel the spasms across my shoulder blades and in my neck.
I guess it’s a good thing dinner’s in the crockpot. Forget about the dishes, the laundry, all of it – I can barely take care of Sammy right now. I, queen of “I’ll take some painkillers later”, downed three motrin and am sitting on the couch with a heated pillow on my back. I tried to lay down, but it ain’t happening. I make it to about 45° and can’t move.
Here’s hoping for a reeeeeeeeally long nap from Sammy this afternoon.
Hi, I’m Erika, I make dinner in a crock pot, give a good ten cars a great view of my out-of-shape butt AND throw out my back all in one day. At least I didn’t drop my son on his head.
How’s that for wondermom for ya?

Please make note of this date.
I have officially attained housewife (homemaker? I like that much better) status – I just put a pork shoulder in the crockpot.
If you had asked me a year ago, I couldn’t even tell you if we owned a crockpot. Two weeks ago, I went out and bought a crockpot cookbook, because you know, when I’m in the folding laundry, making the beds, cleaning the house and watching the baby groove, the last thing I want to do is stop to get dinner ready. And really, I’ve got to have a hot dinner waiting for my husband when he gets home from a long day at work. Voila! Enter that magical crockpot invention!
There’s some sarcasm in there, I swear. Some. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I just heard the buzzer on the dryer downstairs. (I also think I hear my Women’s Studies degree shrieking upstairs, but she’ll get over it.)

This showed up in my spam:
Do you know someone with smelly feet? If so they need Dave’s Smelly Feet Spray!
It only costs £4.99 including delivery so if you love someone, but hate their smelly feet it’s an ideal Xmas stocking filler (!!) – click here to order www.smellyfeet.org (include hyper link) If you know someone with smelly feet, but don’t want to buy it for them, please forward this email and they can buy it for their self esteem!!
Wishing you and yours a Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year
David von Geyer at Dave’s Smelly Feet Spray
Just doin’ ol’ Dave von Geyer a favor and passing the word along, you know, should you know anyone with smelly feet.

I actually had to stop myself in the store today and remind myself not to make the holidays bigger than they are. I tend to get very stressed out, thinking every last thing should be perfect, my hair shouldn’t be showing its roots, why don’t I have something flattering and cute to wear – ugh, my boots are falling apart! – and so what if I don’t have ribbon for the gifts and I didn’t make the tags myself? That’s not what the holidays are about. Seriously, no one is going to make a note (well, not at least out loud) about how I still have post-baby fat rolling over my jeans, nor will anyone say anything about my clearly much darker roots, and if my brother does, I’ll just kick him in the shins. Hell, I broke his nose when we were little, he should know better by now.
Sadly, I really did break his nose. We were maybe 7 and 4? And I totally didn’t do it on purpose. I swear. We were in the car and he was annoying me, so I elbowed him – perhaps a little harder than I should have. My mom came back to a screaming son with a shirt full of blood. Yeah, I didn’t win any brownie points that day.
He got back at me years later by sneaking out of the house through an upstairs window when I was supposed to be watching him. I swear I had all four downstairs doors in my view the whole night, and he swears (to my parents, of course) that he walked right by me and out the front door. Little brat. He confessed the truth to me and Jay over beers when he turned 21, but still denies it to my parents. Up and down swears he walked right by me. Man, I got grounded that night. Brat.
And I’m sure all this will come up over and over and over again, just like it does every holiday.
See, THAT’S what the holidays are about. Torturing each other with the same stories, over and over, kicking shins and telling inside jokes. And obviously not commenting on ANY post-baby fat or dark brown roots, if my family knows what’s good for them. Ahem, Skip.

It’s so bizarre how babies learn things. And not so much HOW they learn, but rather that they do. They go from these little creatures who lie on their backs and coo at the ceiling, to walking, talking, thinking beings. And watching the transformation is just wonderfully, amazingly wild.
Most recently – Sammy’s learned to find the train and the Grandma in two of his books. When I ask, he’ll flip back and forth through the book until he finds the right page, and then starts squealing. The Grandma shows up on two pages; on the second, she’s surrounded with other people. He will actually point to the Grandma. It’s just incredible. And if we ask him where the baby is, he’ll look for the mirror. Music? Looks for the radio in each room and knows just where they are. And man – you can’t say the words “bath” or “juice” around this kid without him going into full-body kicks and excited screeches. (My new favorite time of the day is his bathtime – he knows what’s coming up, and he’ll chase me down the hallway to the bathroom and try to crawl into the tub. And forget about once he’s stripped down and I pick him up to walk from his room to the bath – legs kicking, arms flailing. I can’t get him there fast enough!)
He’s started to make vrooom-raspberry noises at both cars and vacuums. And I learned that “day-day” actually means several things, and developmentally, this isn’t considered a word as much as it is a stage before they start saying real words. He mimics intonation, even if he doesn’t get the word-sounds perfect.
He cruises like a champ and is still practicing freaking mama out by letting go and standing on his own for a few seconds. He is the most social baby, carrying on conversations with strangers in the grocery store and squealing and waving at other kids. It makes me feel good when he stops to say hi to some of the more elderly shoppers – it really seems to make their day to spend a few moments “talking” with him.
He truly is a special little baby. Maybe all kids are like this and I haven’t been around enough to know, but I can’t help but feel that there’s something extra special about him. He just radiates happiness and love, and really – he seems to brighten the days of so many people, even strangers. It’s so incredible.