ChattaBaby

Mike Tyson said it best...

I've always wanted to type that. 

This post has nothing to do with Mike Tyson and everything to do with the lack of Sarah posts with my name at the end.  It's a sorry excuse but the truth is, I haven't seen very much of her...or Megan either.  My work gets hectic during  September/October and so I usually end up working through the weekends.  I've been averaging 15-16 hours of work per day during the week.  It is a litttle easier to handle because I expected it this year and emotionally braced myself, but I miss my family so much. 

I had a dream that I came home and Sarah had grown a little mustache and was smoking a cigarette.  I said, "Sarah, that is a very bad thing to do...smoking...and growing a mustache".  She didn't say much but I know what she was thinking...something about Clark Gable having halitosis and Vivien Leigh having prosthetic nostrils...and somehow that worked.

i need to get home soon.  I need to stop eating crackers and pimento cheese before bed.

Little Superstar returns

What's in a name?

Considering that I do not still call my mom "mommy," I knew Chatta, too, would grow up. I don't quite know where she picked it up, but she calls me "mama" now, and it is the most wonderful sound. It melts my ears and makes me smile when I hear it, no matter what she's talking about: "Can I have milk, mama?" " Hey, mama, what'cha doing?" It's like she knows how powerful that word is. But is it just because that I got used to "mommy" that it has lost its charm? If she starts screaming "mama" from her crib when she runs out of milk, maybe it changes things, but I don't think so. "Mama" is so much softer, more intimate. I think Sarah feels the same way, which is why she switched. But this is not to say that I don't still get more than my share of "mommies" because that will always be ingrained. Now lets see what she comes up with for Daddy.

A place for everything...

I treat chattababy.com like my desktop at work, tiny piles of lord-knows-what.  It looks neat and tidy but it is certainly not organized.  I am taking my sports banter to another site, to spare Sarah enthusiasts of some of the clutter.  Enjoy.

The time has come

After much dragging of the feet, we have done it. Sarah is enrolled in school. Two days a week. From 9 a.m. until my heart withers up with loneliness. What have I done? We picked the cutest school imagineable with the sweetest class of tiny, precious two-year-olds you can dream up. There's a toddler-sized potty. A rabbit in the hallway. Background music playing in the classroom. And I am so scared. We haven't prepared her for this. We don't have schedules at home. If it weren't for Barry, we wouldn't even have rules. Can Chatta make it through hours of following orders? Well, yes. At least eventually. And this is something she has to learn that I obviously cannot teach her. It's better for her to be a possibly rowdy preschooler than a petulant first-grader. And let's face it: I am not that much fun. Sarah needs playmates who will play kitty or puppy or horsey or baby without taking breaks to empty the dryer. And those little girls are at school. When we went for our visit last week they came right up to Sarah and followed her over to the slide. Sarah knew something was up that day, though, because after five minutes of exploring she came over asking to be picked up and then said she wanted to go home. Ouch. I've got a week left to prepare her — I mean both of us — for the big day. Sarah's smart. We talk about what the routine will be like and how Daddy or I will take her home when it's finished. I know tears will be shed, but, please, let most of them be mine.

Little Superstar

I found this at Bad News Hughes.

Friskies, hold the whiskeys

Kudos to Chan Marshall - clean, sober and incredible.

stuck in my head.

Du, du liegst mir im Herzen,
Du, du, Liegst mir in Sinn.
Du, du, machst mir viel Schmertzen,
Weisst nicht wie gut ich dir bin.

Ja, ja, ja, ja,
weisst nicht wie gut ich dir bin.

So, so, wie ich dich liebe,
So, so, liebe auch mich.
Die, die, zaertlichen Triebe,
Fuehl' ich allein nur fuer dich.

Doch, doch, darf ich dir trauen,
Dir, dir, mit leichtem Sinn,
Du, du, kannst auch mich bauen,
Weisst ja, wie gut isch dir bin.

Ja, ja, ja, ja,
Weisst ja, wie gut ich dir bin.

Und, und, wenn in der Ferne,
Mir, mir, dein Bild erscheint,
Dann, dann wuenscht ich so gerne,
Dass uns die Liebe vereint.

Ja, ja, ja, ja,
Dass uns die Liebe vereint.

Hmmmmm.

A coworker told me about Loose Change about a month ago. or so.  I downloaded it but never watched it...until yesterday.  I'm not a Flavor-Aid drinker and I would like to think I take most things in stride but this is some interesting stuff.  Behind all goofy conspiracy propaganda lies specks of credibility, perhaps even truth and I have a funny feeling that this little film won't look so goofy when our current administration has been sufficiently investigated.  You can watch Loose Change here.

Seeing is the new 30

I’ve been thinking about birthdays again. They seem to be everywhere lately, so I’m putting the pressure back on myself to prepare for June. And the other day I came up with something: Surgery! What better way to say “Happy 30th Birthday” than with surgery. Am I right?
A couple months ago I went to the eye doctor, and despite some major deteriorations last year, he said my vision has plateaued! I was so excited because I never really considered that as a possibility. I thought you just keep going downhill until your glasses are as thick as my dad’s were. “WERE” being key here because he went Lasik.
What’s a better gift than being able to crash right into bed without cleaning and removing contacts? To wake up to baby cries in the night and not have to feel my way through fuzzy rooms? And the best: Swimming with my eyes open! I so miss swimming with my eyes open.
Now I know there are risks, and costs, involved with this. Even my dad had some pretty terrible problems with his surgery, but that’s why I will start thinking about it now.