Does whatever a spider-pig does

I have been purposefully avoiding all Simpsons movie references because the media is rife with spoilers. It's as if everyone's taken up my mother's version of movie reviewing which is not so much to analyze the film as to eagerly share the ending with people who clearly state, "Mother, please do not tell me the ending."

I have fallen victim many times by responding to her giddy requests to unload her rundown of the film. She would promise to tell me everything but the ending. And after a while, she'd pause, then say, "Oh. That's all that happened. There's nothing after that."

It's as if she's the live version of this shirt.

On the four hour journey to Forks, I mastered the art of simultaneously driving with one hand and stuffing organic cheddar crackers into Nathan's gaping mouth with the other.

When did traveling with children become so...difficult? But then, was it ever easy? I think traveling with Nathan was a breeze when he was in the womb. I wish they made a baby carrier that simulated the womb and did not simulate a back pack. Ever since he popped out, it's been an experiment in figuring out how to get him to sleep or how to keep him busy or how to keep him from crashing head first into the pavement. And judging from his latest bruise, we haven't succeeded on that last point.



But Forks. I loved it. Even though the waitress forgot to set out any silverware until we had asked (No forks in Forks? OH THE IRONY!) and there were seventeen signs in our hotel room requesting that we do not clean our fishing gear with the provided towels, it was one of the most relaxing weekends we've had in a long time.

In Forks, there is one dentist and two Chinese restaurants. It's amazing that in a town where you can buy your camaflouge vests at the grocery store, you can also pick up a Northwest version of Kung Pao chicken.

Some highlights:



Pushing Nathan in a baby swing that hung from this 100+ foot giant sequoia.



Letting Nathan experience fine restaurant decor.



Driving down to Rialto Beach so Nathan can play, "How many rocks can I shove into my mouth?" He won.

But my favorite?



Mike and I found our likeness represented in wood form. The similarities are stunning.

I like to spoon, he'd rather fork

Later this morning, my small family will be driving almost four hours to Forks, Washington. I have a work event to man so my boss gave me the green light to bring the family along.

I'm hoping that Nathan will survive one day without hearing the high-pitched squeals of four Teletubbies saying, "EEEH-OOOOH!" And tangentially: I read once that the Teletubbies costumes are super huge and people inside see out through the mouth piece. So now everytime Nathan watches that show, I wonder about the grown man/woman inside, peering through the dark mouth of a multi-colored fat suit.

And very quickly before I start doing things of utmost importance like packing, signing and returning my medical and dental enrollment papers (Eeep!):

Thanks to Kerflop's mention of Google Analytics, I'm getting into all this geeky fun. It took a while before the reports started showing up, but I can't wait to see what the three people who visit this site clicked through!

See you on Sunday!

in which Nathan gets all Lionel Richie on me

Thanks to a fever, Nathan cried and moaned ALL NIGHT LONG. His fever reached 101.3 and only baby Tylenol and Teletubbies could soothe him. And who knew that such a stupid show could have shaman-like healing properties? Sometimes I want to tell Nathan that if you've seen one Teletubbies episode, you've seen them all.

Sometimes they eat tubby custard in the beginning (and there are no spoons! How do you eat a squishy substance without utencils!) or sometimes they'll eat tubby custard after they've broadcasted a preschool scene from their stomaches.

If you've never watched this show, this makes absolutely no sense and even if you've watched the show, it makes no sense that I've actually analyzed the shot sequences or the editing and music choices.

But I am glad that he's taken to Teletubbies. I've heard so much about different parenting styles like attachment parenting and now I have a style of my own: absentee parenting. Absentee parents say hey! Sometimes I'll tell Nathan, "You put that book down right now and WATCH TELEVISION!" No son of mine is going to read at a first-grade level, unless of course, he's 18.

stay gold, ponyboy

Here is Nathan clearly excited to attend the White Center Jubilee Days with his family. And that bruise is a new one. He had meant to shape it into a Harry Potter lightning bolt but instead he just looks like he went to Ash Wednesday mass. Not as cool.



I should have known to head home for a nap when he was only mildly interested in the magic show. If they had hired a breast-feeding demonstrator instead of someone who did a fancy trick with a coloring book, he might have perked up.



If looks could kill, specifically, kill and turn animals into glue, then I'm sure that's what stirring in Nathan's head. Either that or my son's taking a dump and he's staring at the pony to focus.

Whatever works, right?

a post that has no mention of Harry Potter, well, except for the title

During the carpool home, my co-worker and I started talking about weddings and I told her that my wedding cost us less than a $1,000 and only $200 was the actual wedding cost, the rest was blown on our crazy Canadian honeymoon.

Because our judge regularly dealt with high-profile cases, we are often reminded of our wedding day when we watch TV. And how many people can say that instead of going out to dinner on their anniversary, they just watch the 5 o'clock news?

my inner child is kind of skanky

Upon reading an old article that Angelina Jolie says she was "sexual" in kindergarten, reminds me that in kindergarten, I was a total skank and playdoh thief. I would stick playdoh under my desk so I could take it home with me. Also, I was obssessed with lifting my skirt up and mooning people. Then after a worried teacher's note, my mom made me wear skorts. My mom still isn't convinced that I've grown out of this yet.

During last night's To Catch a Predator

Me: That perv has a Nikon! I want that camera!

Mike: That's what happens when you buy a Nikon. It's a gateway camera.

my mother, the critic

I didn’t tell my mom about the audition. I was afraid she would disapprove, so I figured that if she didn’t know that tawdry jokes were spewing from my sinful mouth, she couldn’t say no! Oh, this logical move perfectly showcases my 20-something maturity, a sophistication that has been fostered by many an episode of Beverley Hills, 90210. In a high school debate on passing out condoms in public school I quoted Donna Martin waxing philosophic on how passing out condoms is just like teaching children to swim which doesn’t make any sense now nor did it then, but it was either that or closing my rebuttal with, “DONNA MARTIN GRADUATES!”

But back to my mother. She only knows about this blog only because other people have brought it to her attention. She doesn’t really understand what the internet is; only that she doesn’t want it to be a medium in which I shame our family. Again. I’ve tried to help her grasp the very meta concept of storytelling to complete strangers but this is the same woman who asked me if the Seattle Mariners were going to play the Seattle Seahawks because we all know how common it is for completely different sports leagues within the *same* city to battle it out.

Sometime during my first second trimester, my mother left me a long ranty voicemail berating me for having a blog, because this tiny corner of the internet which she has still never seen SHAMED her. SHAMED! I’m sure she was really pissed at something else, like Golden Girls showing at 7:00 instead of 7:30 and since no one else was there to hear her seething rage, my voicemail box collected her wrath.

So I had been very cautious about the audition, telling her that I couldn’t spend quality time with her on Saturday (read: drive her to JCPENNEY) because I had an “appointment.” And since I wasn’t invited for a call-back, she didn’t need to know.

Then my sister-in-law asked, “So Mona, how did that comedy thing go?”

And very quickly, I said it was great. That I had performed my bit in front of about 60 people. That people laughed. That I wasn’t asked to return.

And my mother perked up as if I had just said, “At our house you can watch a channel that has both Gunsmoke *and* Bonanza!”

She was smiling. “Oh, what did you say?”

I didn’t tell her about the cell phone ass or the burn victim bomb, but instead, offered her a joke about how she bagged up my thong underwear because she claimed I would be cold and I replied that um, that’s not all I wear.

And I had completely forgotten how much my mother loves it when I imitate her, especially since I have perfected her pitch and tone which is mainly in a high E over C. (She probably won’t find it funny that I can forge her signature, too.)

And my mother laughed and laughed. I don’t know what I loved more about that moment, realizing how silly I had been to worry that I didn’t have my mother’s support or how I sounded when I was pushed to use a voice that was all my own.

My Last 8

Angelo tagged me for the Last 8 List:

1. Last indulgent purchase: I bought $117 worth of MAC cosmetics. I hate spending money on make-up, but I can't risk another sty from six-month-old mascara. When I told Mike I went to the MAC store and came out with only five items, he said, "You're putting a computer on your face?"

2. Last time I was stumped: Yesterday a woman from a marketing firm called me to ask if I wanted to come to their office and get paid $100 to participate in a survey. One question she asked was, "What was your favorite movie this year?" And I could not remember any movies of any year. That's what happens to Phi Beta Kappa members when they have babies.

3. Last picture I took: Nathan's belly.

4. Last time I said, "I'm not going to watch that stupid Harry Potter movie": This morning when I said, "I'm not going to watch that stupid Harry Potter movie.

5. Last free thing I received: a sample of Pantene Pro-V Expressions shampoo & conditioner which I found through AbsurdlyCool.

6. Last Funny Thing I Read: "Conversations After Mom's Hysterectomy." Oh Harvard Demon, please come back. You slayed me with the "Suggested Thesis Topics for Joint Concentrators."

7. Last time I said, "Okay, this week is the week I am going to go back to the gym since I AM PAYING FOR IT.": Last week. Times I've been to the gym since saying those words: 0. Actually, it should be 1/2, since I did drive into the parking lot and realized I left my bag so I drove home and all that gas peddle pushing was so strenuous, I might as well go inside and reward myself with a nice hour of E! News Weekend.

8. Last time I crawled into a fetal position because I realized that it'll be a looong time before I can afford my dream camera: Just now. I'm going to go cry again.

I'm tagging Ms Butrfly Garden and Jenny, both bloggers who have lives far more exciting than mine.

only comic standing

I did it. I went to the NBC Stand-Up for Diversity audition and performed my one minute set in front of a room of people who were not my friends, family or people I have birthed. I arrived at the Comedy Underground around 8:45 and found a small line formed in front. I waited for about an hour during which I met Xung Lam, the day's funniest performer who shared that he had only started three months prior. He encouraged me to check out some of the open mic nights to get more experience.

We filled out applications, had our portraits taken and were ushered downstairs where we would perform our minute-long set in front of EVERYONE (!). I sat down and tried to remember my set which I had edited down to two jokes. One was about my ass blocking out cellular signal and also the burn victim joke, which goes like this:

"So the other day I saw this burn victim and he looked like he had been in a massive fire. He had only one ear and on that ear was a cell phone. I looked at this and thought, 'This is perfect! Because he'd only have to say the line once: CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?' Or would it be, 'CAN I HEAR YOU NOW? Good!"

And you know what I learned while I was on stage? That joke's not funny. But how else would I have known unless I tried it out? And as nervous as I was and funny and unfunny my act turned out to be, I was glad to have auditioned. There were so many points when I could have faked an emergency or woken up late on purpose, not found parking on purpose. I loved how supportive everyone was, how after it was over you could hear congratulations, great set, great job.

And I'm sure you knew this already, but I was not one of the 10 people asked to return.

I have a feeling that Nathan also wants his time on stage. He asked me this morning to slap a band-aid over his belly button so he can audition for ABC Family's newest spin-off: Nathan XY.

when nathan wants to be airborne

The top of Nathan’s head reaches the middle of my hip. Since we did not teach him sign language (I only know the sign for “friend” and that’s only because in second grade, I watched a video about Koko the Gorilla), and so to communicate to me that he wants to be picked up, he shakes his head while rubbing his face into my butt. Sometimes I have to refocus that energy and gently resituate him in front of his toys but it usually backfires because he charges at me even more aggressively and rubs his face into my crotch. He hugs both my legs, latching on with his tiny anchored fingers and tries to re-enter the womb at which point I’m trying to shake him off because I have VERY IMPORTANT things to do like rinse his bottles or put on make-up or properly clean out the bong.

But other than the crazy head shake, he has been very cute this week. For example, his favorite toy is the foam stress ball I picked up at work. He drops the ball and it falls down, rolling between his legs. He leans forward in a downward dog position, placing his hands on the ground and looks through his legs and reaches through in a vain attempt to retrieve a ball that would have just required him to TURN AROUND and pick up.

And so when he repeats this downward dog pose sans ball, I quickly swoop in and plant my head on the floor so he can look at me upside down while I say, “HELLO!” And can I confess to you, at the risk of losing my thuggish-street-cred, that bellowing “HELLO!” toward my son’s fat, red cheeks smiling back through even fatter toddler thighs is the best part of my day.

first comic standing

In January I spouted off a lofty resolution of performing stand-up comedy before the year's up and this Saturday, I'm actually going to do it.

So I know it's a long shot. Only the first 100 people will be seen which means I'll have to there early. This will not be on television (so no chance of my mother finding out...yet). There will most likely be crowds and a few crazies, but this is where it starts, right?

I figure that if I admit it here publicly like this, you'll ask me later how it's going and I'll have to answer. This is why I'd hesitate to admit publicly that I'm on a diet because 1) who are we kidding and 2) that would call for some kind of will power. There's a better chance of reuniting both Koreas than there is of me being restrained successfully from a plate of cupcakes. But I don't have time to share with you the riveting tales of how I was owned by the 2 for $5 ice cream sale at Albertson's. As much as I am worried about polished punchlines, my real question is why after giving birth, my feet have swollen to a size so big that South America has banned me for fear that my dinosaur footprints could clear out the rest of the rainforest.

He has my eyes, but my husband's brain

Who needs sippy cups when you have little shot glasses?

Happy Indepants Day!

For the first time since giving birth, I worked out in the morning. And though, strapping Nathan into a jogging stroller and walking the handful of blocks from our house to the park doesn't constitute aerobic exercise, it did require movement. And there was a hill! And not once did I stop at the McDonald's along the way, or head back to the sanctity of my fridge (oh how you understand my needs, Frigidaire).

If I had spent money on the jogging stroller, I might be more motivated to use it. But it didn't cost me a penny to pick it up off the internet or to fill up the tires at Aaron's Bicycle Repair, the best bike shop in West Seattle.

I am paying for that sloppy haircut, however, since Mike vehemently detests how I ruined the perfect cut Lisa styled when I pulled Nathan's bangs together and chopped them off with a pair of blunt scissors. Mike says Nathan looks like Nero but I think he resembles Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. I don't know which is worse: a haircut mirroring the persecution of early Christians or one of the stupidest movies known to man.

We did manage to successfully host the "First Annual Hickey Hoe Down," which Mike wanted to change to the "First Annual Hickey Hoes Go Down" and I in turn suggested it be called, "Not With That Name Or It'll Be The Last Time I Ever Drive to Safeway Because You Can't Remember That We Need Plastic Forks."

There were burgers and babies, two sets of Lisa's and a small pool that entertained easily-distracted toddlers. I would have taken more pictures, but Nathan dropped the camera and now the battery compartment flap does not stay shut. I did get this shot of Nathan clearly proving that you do not need to be in the water to get wet: