I am really really enjoying this album.
It appears I have not put much effort into keeping the bathroom tidy lately. Tut tut.
Wednesday, February 1, 2006
Riley turned five months old yesterday. Five months! Ye gods.
Recently he spent a few days babbling: ba ba ba ba ba, now he seems more interested in making weird raspberry spluttery noises while talking his alien baby language (ba splthhm glttth spppttttthhh oooh). Just in the last few days his back has become noticeably stronger and he can sit with only a little support. He now eats cereal with relative gusto, opening his mouth when the spoon looms into view. He appears to recognize his name, and he both wiggles to be picked up and wails when we leave the room.
His nicknames are:
• The Boy
He gave up the binky a long while back, but he often chews and shlorps on his hands (see also: Sucktopus). He continues to love the changing table, and has developed the disconcerting habit of essentially giving himself a reacharound while I'm in the midst of a poopy diaper (I only have TWO HANDS, people, how do you hold the legs, wipe the butt, AND hold back the creeping fingers?). He still laughs like a little robot - heh-heh, heh-heh - and it's the best noise ever. He is the first person on earth to appreciate my tone-deaf singing. He can roll over, and when he's on his belly he'll do a Superman move with legs outstretched and head pulled up.
Sometimes, he looks really intense.
It gets out a bottle and warms it or it gets the hose.
From "the more things change, the more they stay the same" file, here is a recent note sent out to Workplace's staff regarding the snackroom:
IF YOU TAKE THE LAST OF SOMETHING THROW AWAY OR RECYCLE THE PACKAGING.
DO NOT LEAVE IT ON THE SHELF.
Hee. Ah, Workplace.
Would you think less of me if I admitted that I am absolutely addicted to American Idol this season?
Perhaps I could redeem myself if I told you I skip the commercials and only watch it for the kitschy irony factor, in a hipster I-watch-cheesy-TV-only-to-reinforce-my-own-coolness way?
You're...not buying that, are you.
Fine. FINE. I watch it AVIDLY and I have actually LOUDLY DISAGREED with the judges and JB and I have had sincere discussions over whether or not someone is faking their own horrible voice and once, ONCE, I almost got sort of choked up over this sobbing girl who had never been out of Buttfuck, Kentucky or wherever and she was *sniff* going to Hollywood.
As long as I'm confessing, here goes: I also watch CSI: Miami because David Caruso's character is the most hilarious thing on television.
Whew. I'm glad I got all that off my chest. Yep, that's the summation of my TV habits right there, soup to nuts.
Except for Dog: the Bounty Hunter.
Jesus, that's kind of a lot. Good thing they're all educational and contain no bad language, because otherwise our parenting skills might be up for debate.
Speaking of bad language, I was watching Deadwood - the cussingnest show ever produced - with JB on Sunday and at one point, he turned to me and said, "That fucking fuck is totally fucked."
"Do you even realize what just came out of your mouth?" I asked, my innocent and virginal sensibilities righteously offended. "I mean, jesus fucking christ."
We have decided to start a penny jar. Every cuss word spoken at home will send a penny into the jar, and in the meantime until we actually get some rolls (yes, ROLLS) of pennies we're tallying up IOUs.
"What should we do with the jar when it's full?" I asked. "Because you know it will be in like a fucking day. Oops, I owe a penny."
"Save it for Riley, show him how many pennies his parents went through in order not to cuss around him? Shit, maybe it will pay for his college tuition. Dammit, I owe a penny."
"You owe two pennies."
"One for dammit? Dammit isn't a bad word, is it?"
"Well, some people think it is."
"Fuck. Aah! I owe another penny."
"Haaaaa! You're going to need a fucking - aah! I owe a penny! Shit! - wait! Oh no!"
"Let's just stop talking for a while before we go into debt."
The Sucktopus doesn't care about low-light conditions.