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..from Sara via Lawson.

You have to click on it to read it, but I think it’s funny, so.. yeah.

Anyone else remember playing the turtle game on the old Apples in elementary school? With 5 inch monitors and green screens and gigantic floppy discs that had the middle ring you COULDN’T TOUCH BECAUSE YOU’D ERASE ALL THE DATA!

Fun times.


Mom sitting for boards is allowed extra time to pump for 4-month-old daughter at home.

Oh the irony that this woman was sitting for her MEDICAL boards and was initially denied extra breaks to pump breastmilk. The obviousness of these stupid decisions are beginning to almost amuse me (in a rather sad way).

Watch out Bill – I’m turning into a right ol’ lactivist, when before I didn’t feel very compelled to get involved. I’m not trying to make it the one thing America needs to focus on, but I’m sure tired of ignorance about this. It’s irritating and regressive.

People need to just let whoever wants to breastfeed do it, and stop making it their business. Seriously.


*ETA: Which, admittedly, isn’t the issue with this situation. Just my sentiment all-around that these stories keep coming up that seem so backward in logic. People breastfeed. Get over it.

To tangent the comment I left on H. Pimp’s blog, my Youtube Tuesday installment will be a classic performance by the bombdiggity Mr. Stevie Wonder.

On Sesame Street.

I mean how cool was that?!

So my baby sister, Elizabeth, is 15 today.

She’ll kill me that I posted that picture. It’s from a year-or-so ago, and she looks much different now. But I caught her smiling, and it’s one of my favorites. And of course that’s the joy of having your own blog. I debated posting the one of her reading the paper on the toilet as a toddler, but I’d like her to speak to me again so this will be enough.

She was the catalyst for my parents’ decision to move to KS when I was in high school, and everything would have obviously been so different had she not existed. I see her as the event that changed the whole trajectory of my life. And she’s so grown up now, with three colors throughout her short hair and checkered Vans on her feet. She wears Hurley from Pac-Sun and decided in elementary school she was never going to drink or do drugs (I plan to hold her to that now). She’s wicked smart and when she’s not being lazy is in honor classes.

She’s in drama. God help us all.

I took her to lunch yesterday and we talked about politics and music and religion and Mom and Dad. About how they may seem dumb now but if she just waits, she’ll someday realize they’re smarter than they appear. I have one foot in her world and one in theirs. I’ve always felt sort of outside their little nuclear connection, but I like that I’ve settled into a relationship of translator that feels cemented from both sides. I am in the family, finally.

Driving around once in college I made an exhilaratingly rash decision to move back to Denver after graduation. That lasted about four blocks until an old Kenny Loggins song came on that reminded me of what we used to sing to her as a baby. I realized that I couldn’t leave her. Every time Jon and I discuss moving back to CO, I plead with my mom to go also. I don’t know if I’ll successfully be able to leave until Lizzie’s in college.

After all, I wanted a sibling for 15 years. I like having her around.

And I know she’s growing up because she has her first dance soon and she’s agreed to be a girly-girl for the night. Everyone will take pictures and her poor boyfriend will turn many shades of red. My dad will jokingly (but not) tease Brandon about not doing anything that merits cleaning his gun. Mom and I will both get teary-eyed like the dorks we are.

But fear not: the little girl who was once called Truck Driver – for reasons I won’t embarrass her over in public – will always be my baby sister.

And I will always be her Jujus.

1. I must have long-term memory loss because every year I try the KC zoo to see if it doesn’t suck.

Nope. Still does. And this leopard cage was smaller than the sq feet of my house, easily. This fella was sleeping on the metal grid that is above the walkway (this is from the ground up). It made me sad to see him; this is just so unnatural.


2. Got that vax book I mentioned a while back. I’m pretty stoked. Light reading, eh?


3. We’re on the last disc of the first season of Heroes. I’ve concluded I want to have Hiro over for dinner. “Ah mista flying man WSHHHHHHH!”

Good times.

Here’s the thing. Some people are very, very strong advocates for nursing in public. And I get it, because until it is normalized, it’s going to continue to be sexualized, and unfortunately that is a *huge* reason some women won’t breastfeed: simply because they can’t get past the sexuality of breasts. But other than advocating general education, I’ve never been extremely outgoing about nursing in public (NIP – get it? See, we have a sense of humor about it!). I did nurse in public, but it was just easier for me to nurse somewhere private, if nothing else because my kids would be too distracted otherwise.

And some women cover up for personal reasons, but most kiddos I know (my own included) HATE nursing under a blanket. It gets hot and stuffy and there’s nothing to see. I don’t think people get that when they just assume it’s no big deal to toss a blanket over a kid’s head. You try it.

And Jon and I watch Bill Maher every once in a while because of his guests, but overall I think he’s smug and arrogant. I like the discussions he has with people, and I don’t mind that he’s an avowed bachelor, but he’s too educated to be this childish and ignorant about breastfeeding. This guy is always trying to take umbrage with America for being so unhealthy and relying on Big Pharma.

H-e-l-l-o! What do you think is the point of nursing our future generation you idiot!

Anyway, this is the transcript of his take on the Applebee’s event. I agree with him that people have become lax on taking a stand on things, but devaluing something so irrefutably important is hypocritical and narrow-minded.

So Bill, I know you frequent the Playboy Mansion with your plastic girl-of-the-week, and think boobs are all for your pleasure. But if you’re comparing me to a dog because I can give birth and feed my child, what in the hell does that make you?

And finally, New Rule – and I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but: Don’t show me your tits. [laughter] Last week, the world’s first “Nurse In” was held to protest the case of a woman who was breast-feeding in public, and asked by an Appleby’s manager not to leave, but just to cover up a little bit. Because the wait staff got tired of hearing, “I’ll have what that kid’s having.” [laughter] [applause]

Look, I’m not trying to be insensitive here. I know your baby needs to eat, but so do I, and this is Appleby’s, so I’m already nauseous. [laughter]

Breast-feeding a baby is an intimate act, and I don’t want to watch strangers performing intimate acts. At least not for free. [laughter] It cheapens it. [laughter] But breast-feeding activists – yes, breast-feeding activists, called “lactivists” – say this is a human right and appropriate everywhere, because it’s natural. Well, so is masturbating, but I generally don’t do that at Appleby’s. [laughter] [applause] Not in the main dining area, anyway.

I mean, next thing, women will be wanting to give birth in the waterfall at the mall! [laughter] Look, there’s no principle at work here other than being too lazy to either plan ahead or cover up. It’s not fighting for a right. It’s fighting for the spotlight you surely will get when you go all “Janet Jackson” on everyone. [laughter] And get to drink in the “oohs” and “aahs” from the other customers because “You made a baby!” [laughter] Something a dog can do. [laughter] [applause] [cheers]

Only in America do women think they deserve a medal for having a kid. In China, women give birth on their lunch hour, and by the afternoon, they’re back on line, painting lead onto Barbie dolls. [laughter] [applause]

But this isn’t really about women taking their breasts out in public, as much as I’d like it to be. [laughter] It’s about how petty and parochial our causes have become, how activism has become narcissism. It’s why Al Gore can’t get people to focus on global warming unless there’s a rock concert. “Melting icebergs, brought to you by Smashing Pumpkins.”

It’s why there’ll be no end to this dumb war until there is a draft. Because, at the end of the day, Iraq is somebody else’s problem.

And, by the way, there is a place where breasts and food do go together. It’s called “Hooters.” [laughter] [applause]

Please consider having an informed guest to educate you better. Maybe your mom, since she’s a dog too, apparently.


ETA: P.S. You once dated Ann Coulter. Case closed.

Remember when I was all, Please Jon can I have a new cat because they’re so cute and loving and I want one?

Yeah, well, that was the old me.

Also remember when Oscar was so sweet and innocent like this?


Well, that was a lie too. This thing is in full-on cat asshattery mode. He sleeps like a rock then bounds awake and dive bombs your head. He attempts to jump into your lap but claws you when he misses and slides down your legs. He runs in front of you but jukes to the side so you’re either tripping or sending him flying.

He poops in the plant in the corner. And that’s dirty pool. That’s just foul.


See this?


Those books in the background are an attempt to block him out. He stands on the computer tower and drops himself HEADFIRST AND UPSIDE DOWN behind it, so he can utilize all his paws to rip the cords out.


This I can handle.



This I most definitely can not.


(Fool’s gonna have a chilly nap one of these days if he doesn’t stop jumping in there.)

And I really shouldn’t complain. I’ve known for a while that I’m glutton for punishment. Lucy might have been the sweetest and dumbest cat God ever created, by she is not the norm by far. My norm is obnoxious cats who embody Stewie Griffin in feline form; and I am Lois.

But don’t worry: Aside from the fact that this little fartknocker here was free so technically wouldn’t be any financial loss if he ended up on the back porch, I wouldn’t ever do that.

After all, for almost a decade I’ve put up with the devil’s incarnate himself: Fatty Boombatty. And ain’t nothing compares to this beast.


I don’t recommend breaking into our house, in case you had thought about it.

I’m just sayin’..

So I think I stole this Youtube Tuesday thing from one of Jason’s friends. I don’t remember, but I want to say officially the idea was not mine.

That said, after last week’s waste of space and time (i.e., Bonzo Britney), I think I’ll post something a little more important this week: boobs. More specifically, the normal use of boobs as feeders of halflings. And given the recent ridiculousness of Applebees, I’ll post this clip of the nurse-in. It’s actually kind of headachey how quickly it moves, but the point is made.


Last week Jon’s dad asked Jack if he knew that Monday was named for the moon. And that Sunday was named for the sun. Then he tried to explain about the etymology of August and September but Jack crawled under the table and the lesson was cut off. ((sigh)) I love that little turd. Last night I went in to him because he was obviously screaming from a nightmare. We usually don’t try to wake him b/c he has a sleepwalker-tendency to be even more confused, but I was stroking his hair and kissing his forehead to try and calm him. After a moment he quieted, then rolled over and said “Mommy, could you please just let me get some sleep?”

Oh, well, so sorry dear.

So on Mondays I try to change the song and video over there <– but I just can’t change out my boyfriend yet. First because it’s a real pain to switch videos on that site, but mostly because I enjoy his smiling face. ((sigh)) And since not very many people seem to watch the video anyway (what is WRONG with you people?!) I figured no one would care if he hung out a bit longer. Like a month or seven. Whatever.

Alright, Lo’s up and I need to do some dishes. Mas manana. Adios.


ETA: I keep forgetting to mention that probably three times a week someone hits my blog by having searched with the words “how to do the chicken dance” (which brings them to the anniversary post with the Arrested Development clip).

And I’m assuming people out there really are googling how to do the chicken dance. But what I want to know is why do people need to find that out if you’re not in third grade or at a wedding? And more importantly, WHO DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?! I thought it was marked in our genetic coding or something.

Anyway. I just giggle every time I see it. That’s information I’d rather unlearn, so I can’t imagine searching for it.

However, I’m fairly certain my friends probably don’t love me so much when there’s an open bar. Good Lawd I’m annoying. (Moreso than usual, if that’s possible. I’m sorry, B-Rand. I seem to think you, Kevin and Donato got the brunt of it.) Worse, I always have random realizations the following day where I groan and hope whomever I made an ass of myself in front of doesn’t remember with the same clarity I do.

Eh. Whatcha gonna do. Mazel tov Jimmy and Wynn!


The whole gang



Kevin, H.Pimp, me, Brandon and Donato


JimmyJames, Wynn and Best man Kevin



Me and Susie between tequila shots, I think.


(P.S. The whole album is here if you’d like to see them undistorted.)

And I just don’t agree with those who vehemently think it’s all genetic or all environmental/immunological. I personally know too many people who break those constraints. It has to be a spectrum for causation too; there’s just too many unknowns. Hm.

I also heard an interesting theory suggesting that the reason for the rise in autism is an evolutionary shift in response to the need for advanced technological thinkers.

That kept me up a bit the last couple nights..

Anyhoo, interesting article in Discover about autism, if ya wanna read it. (Linky provided by a mama on MDC.)

Happy Friday and good weekend everyone~


I was talking to my good friend/doula/midwife Amber yesterday about the whole job situation, and she suggested I think about becoming certified to teach Bradley. Zoinks! I hadn’t even thought of that. She was my teacher, and I’ve attended her classes off-and-on for years.

It’s something to think about. In the past I’ve been hesitant to do it because, well, the academy is slightly antiquated. I’m even hesitant to post the site because it looks like the kind of homemade HTML thing I’d throw together. Everything is from the 70s. The workbook, the videos – even the font somehow is old. Jon and I joke that for a husband to attend a birth he has to have short shorts, no shirt and a mustache.

[Similarly to what he dressed in for the Birthdaversary, now that I think about it..]

Anyway, so yeah, it’s kind of irritating that it’s that old, but that’s a silly thing, because the information you learn in the 12-week class is INVALUABLE. Personally, I think every woman/couple should have to take it, regardless if you want a natural birth or you want to go to the hospital with your butt in the air for an epidural. People need to understand birth before they can make confident decisions about their own bodies and babies. When you have knowledge you are empowered. Period.

And when I really became interested in homebirth I wasn’t sure I could teach Bradley because the whole course is basically centered around teaching you how to fight for the kind of birth you want in a system that is designed to not really support it: hospitals. Sadly, I understand the whole medical Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) with the monitors and testing and conclusion-jumping; we’re such a nutso litigious society that it’s all about CYA. Especially when dealing with mothers and babies – the emotions involved are incalculable, y’know? And that’s too bad b/c it doesn’t leave much room for trusting that birth is normal the vast majority of the time. Really. It is.

But my passion also lay in the fact that I was once the statistically average American too. Seven years ago Cyndi told me and my MIL that she was going to have a ‘natural Bradley Method birth’ and I laughed and asked how I could pre-order my epidural. She joked while pregnant with her first that she kind of hoped they couldn’t make it to the hospital so she could just stay home and I told her SHE SHOULD BE INSTITUTIONALIZED. I was only sorta kidding.

But I got pregnant with Jack and decided to take the course so that I would at least learn. And one thing led to another and my whole friggin’ world changed, obviously.

And it may not be what I (we) choose right now. It would be a big investment of time and money to get certified, but in the long run it would be awesome to be able to plan my own schedule and make money doing something I’m crazy passionate about. I also think it would teach me to fine-tune how to educate people without being so fervent that they think they’re being judged if they don’t make a particular choice. Which is the point: I’m not judging or being arrogant, I’m just on a mission to share the information, because I really think things would be different if more people knew. Obviously.

It’s the whole know-better-do-better thing.

So we’ll see. I need to decide soon b/c the next closest conference is in October in Chicago (anyone wanna go with me?). Please keep me in your prayers/thoughts/manifestations that I make a wise decision. Gracias amigos.

I wasn’t going to blog about Britney, b/c I’m better than that (and I don’t want to admit I watched the VMAs this year). But… I can’t help myself. That girl is so sadly pathetic. I’ll go ahead and post the video, but I bet it will be taken down soon – the others have been. If so it’s not like you probably haven’t seen pictures anyway. **ETA: Or, you could watch it yourselves again on MTV, since apparently their declarations on how the VMAs would only be shown once were lies. Tsk.

There’s split thinking on whether to judge or pity her. And it’s hard for me to have a lot of sympathy for someone who refuses to put on underwear, wears miniskirts and can’t climb out of a car properly. (Just google it. It happened again after the awards on Sunday. Seriously, girl. That’s just foul.) Or someone who hits cars in front of hordes of paparazzi and then walks away as if no one saw her. Or whose dog shats on an eleventybillion dollar dress during a photo shoot. And those don’t come close to her parenting decisions. If I concentrate too hard on that I might pop a blood vessel in my forehead. Good thing they’re with K-Fed a lot. **screech** Did I just say that?!

The thing is, I do feel sorry for her. I want to take her parents, her handlers, her managers and all the people who have ever taken advantage of her stardom and crack their heads together. They used her and she is ill-prepared for adulthood. Or reality. Or even planet earth. I feel sorry that this poor girl was crazy objectified as a teenager, and has no identity outside of that. She is being raked over the coals for not looking hot enough, but I can promise – no guarantee – that 95% of women would not possibly look as good as she did after having two children in the last three years. She could have looked so much better if she had had a yard more clothing. And a hat. And a memory of the words to her song. And some coffee to counteract whatever was in the j she smoked beforehand.

Anyway. I guess there’s no real reason to blog about her; there’s nothing I’m saying that is new. It’s just sad. I mean, she’s gone so far that even *I* really don’t take pleasure in her shambles. That mama needs a mama. Badly.

**ETA: Told you. Not 24 hours later and it was yanked. I took it down b/c it was slowing down my page load. (Or WordPress is running slowly today. Either way it’s useless now.)

One of my favorite authors, Madeleine L’Engle, died yesterday.

If you’ve never read Wrinkle In Time go do it this weekend.

And then read everything else she wrote.




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