Oh yeah! Last weekend!

Harry totally saw his grandparents, and I am a total jackass for waiting until NOW to post the pictures. But post them I will. And then I will go eat the tacos that my fabulous husband is cooking while I type this. Lucky, lucky me.

As usual, I digress. Here's Harry modeling his new Old Navy jeans


Here he is stuffed in his Mega Blocks wagon, which was totally stupid on my part because now he climbs in or on everything and is generally much more hazardous than he was say five or six days ago.


Window shopping with Grandpa, deciding he does not need Bucky overalls, Bucky jammies, or Bucky condoms (okay, I made that last one up, but it's not a bad idea-- spirited AND responsible.)


Maybe you can make out a teeny tiny us in this pciture-- shopping on State Street, where Harry got a funny t-shirt at a store called Pipefitters. Guess what they sell. Come on, guess!


Grooving to grandma's iPod-- and, in case you're wondering, we are no longer matching Harry's jammies or socks. It's cooler this way.


Grandma attempts to save her iPod


Saying goodbye-- check out the refuse Harry has strewn about the room.



And now? Tacos, the smell of which is making me drool. Totally.

[edited to add: yes, we eat at 5-- what's it to ya?]

High Winds, Floods Destroy Fisher Price Farming Community

Little People Farm reported great property damage and several human and livestock injuries Monday morning, after a chain of slow-moving severe thunderstorms wound a path of destruction through the tiny community.

Injured farmer Red-Haired Plastic Guy With the Funny Hat credits his amazing survival to the apparently kind act of a usually menacing giant toddler, who crammed the farmer, along with his cow, sheep, horse, pig, and several unsuspecting passengers of a downed Little People Airlines flight headed for The Kitchen, inside Farmer Red-Haired's own silo.

"Usually I think that drooly enormous baby is a crazed would-be killer," Farmer Red-Haired told reporters. "I mean, you try spending days on end in a tight space with your own sheep, a luggage rack, and some really big socks," he added, noting that the baby giant's plastic blocks can be suffocating.

The farmer, pictured the way rescuers found him after the storms passed, expressed his belief that the residents of Harry's Room County are being denied FEMA aid because of size-ism, stating firmly, "This is discrimination, plain and simple. Thank goodness my silo landed in a pile of ridiculously large books. I think I can salvavge it. As for my crop of really teeny corn and soy beans? Well let's just say the farmer's market is out of the question next weekend. I'd say that's a disaster."

Farmer Red-Haired can only hope the President arrives at the same conclusion and declares Harry's Room County a federal disaster area, preferably before the huge toddler wakes from his morning slumber and inflicts more spitty damage on the ravaged farm.

Chapter 2!

Oh my goodness! Chapter 2 is complete!

(well, the first draft of Chapter 2.)

I just emailed it to myself because you never know when this computer is gonna die.

(not now--not now, not now, not now!!)

Chapter 2, Race and the “Good Mother:” Eugenic Discourse and the Privilege of Childbearing, is D*O*N*E!

(can you sense my excitement here, people?)

Expect Chapter 3, I have No Working Title, So Stop Pressuring Me, on September 30th

(and, please, hassle me accordingly.)

Old MacNoah

Y'all remember Harry's Old MacDonald book? The one that he was obsessed with and brought to us a bajillion times a day, saying "EIEIO?" Well, in Des Moines in May, Bomma got him a Noah's Ark book that looks just like it, with one notable exception:


It's a different story, right? Well, not in Harry's world. Harry will stand patiently there and listen to the story of Noah's Ark, but he just thinks we're reading the book wrong and says "EIEIO" over and over again,pretty nicely, considering how stupid he must think we are, until we sing Old MacNoah.

So, here's my question. I know what the lion says. I know what the elephant says. I can make up plenty of things for ol' Noah to say (things you never heard in the Bible, that's for sure), but what does the zebra say? How about the giraffe? For awhile the giraffe was making horrible death noises because the giraffes at our zoo died a horrible death, but now we have new! live! fresh! giraffes, so I am, once again, at a loss.

Suggestions?

Oh Shit.

When Babies Attack

You know what else has been attacking lately? Allergies. And also rain.

Harry and I have been shopping for his fall wardrobe, and we have a couple complaints.

First of all, seriously, manufacturers and designers of boys' clothes: Not everything needs to have sports figures, cars, or dinosaurs on it. (H&M has none of these things-- instead they have pirates, which is awesome.) (Children's Place, your "Play to Win" shirt is preshus.)

Second, dude, some babies are short, okay, and they are also sick of having their waistbands rolled down and their cuffs cuffed, okay? So how about some jeans for shorties?

Third, BabyGap, you are adorbale and we love you. Now what the hell happened to big people Gap? It sucks and is also very dark.

Still hard at work on my dissertation-- will have an update soon (fingers crossed).

Shambles

This is what Harry does to his room. The destruction starts in the morning right after breakfast and usually continues all day. Sometimes, we nudge a few toys away from the door with our toes, so we can crack the door and give him some privacy while he naps. Usually, if he evicts all the stuffed animals that he sleeps with after waking up from a nap (which is what he does if we don't hear him wake up RIGHT AWAY, DAMNIT), we'lll toss them back in his bed. Occasionally, if he opens his closet and drags out all his paper shopping bags and shoe boxes (saved precisely because he loves them so much), we'll shove them back in and close the closet before more refuse tumbles out. Other than those small steps, however, we let the mess build to a glorious disaster and one of us picks it up while the other gives Harry his nighttime bath. Blocks back in the truck, toys lined up in their cubby holes, books straightened on the shelves, animals piled in their bin. I guess I am (niavely) surprised that such a teeny boy could make such an intense mess. I'm in for a nasty surprise as he gets older, huh?




The clothes and shoes yanked out of the drawer are especially nice touches, I think.

Even Though the Brewers Won, We had Some Fun at Miller Park

Until the bottom of the first. Because that's when we had to give up our seats with this view.


Oh look! It's future hall-of-famer Ken Griffey Jr. at bat.

Why'd we leave these cool seats? Well, first of all, we were wedged in between some of the fattest people in America. Seriously. If you have to buy two plastic ponchos to stay dry while you tailgate before the game, then you should also have to buy two tiny little stadium seats. But it's not their fault. I blame Wisconsin. I have never seen so much food and alcohol. Seriously, you can buy liquor at all the beer stands, PLUS there are all these little margarita and bloody mary kiosks, and if you don't want the Miller served at all the food places, you can hit up the many, mnay Leinenkugels carts.
Mainly, though, we had to leave because Harry was making this face

which was accompanied by various screams of "Aughhhh," and "No, no, no, no, no."
Here's his cupholder, which kept him busy for like two pitches

Then we bought him a big foam hand and walked around the park until the third inning.


We got his picture with Bernie the Brewer, who was actually kind of a dick. We didn't think much of it (thought maybe he was late getting to his ridiculously patronizing slide and dugout in the bleacher section or that his big stuffed head was heavy, hot, and vomit-smelling, but then we remembered that Ben was decked out in full Cubs regalia. Maybe WE were the dicks?

I mentioned the taligating, but you have no idea. People had TENTS, smoldering grills (that were still smoldering on the way out), cheese platters, SO MUCH sausage, bean bag toss games, and the liquor-- it made the stadium look dry. And it was pouring rain and about 50 degrees, which did not deter these people at all. Packers fan, doncha know? We were heckled quite a bit as we ran from our car to the stadium (Harry, by the way, thought the rain was a big ol' sprinkler on just for him and kept sticking his face out from under the umbrella), and we didnt know why. Until we remembered the Cubs wear and realized that without Harry, Ben would have gotten beaten up at least twice between the car and the park. Oops.

[Eddited to Add: Ben wanted me to say that people were also giving him the Cubs score, presumably in solidarity. I, however, maintain that it was dickish to Cub out, given the high stakes of the current NL Central rivalry and feel the need to mention that none of the score-givers were in Cubs gear.]

[Also? My god I need a hair cut. STAT.]

I know-- I know. Some random pictures and not a lot of words for days now. BUT, I have a really good reason-- I am WRITING a lot. Finally, I have gone through all my big old boxes of arhcival documents, and oh my goodness, I have enough information for CHAPTERS that MAKE SENSE.

So, I am writing, and I swear to god there is a light at the end of this tunnel. I will be done drafting my disseration this year-- like 2007 (or maybe 2008, which is still, techinically this year, if you go by academic years, and I do). Sure, I'll have a year of revisions looming large after that, but people, seriously. I will get the "D" in "ABD" and before I am 31, no less! I am making PROGRESS.

Just not blogress.



Finally we got him his own broom. Which? Is his favorite toy ever, the little weirdo. Wait till he sees the teeny dustbuster, vacuum, and mop. I seriously don't know if he'll be able to stand it.

Diapers are the new black, dahling.

Harry can't wait to pull all his skinny jeans and boots out of storage.

Ham

Summer's End

My whole life, I have squandered my summer, purposefully ignorant of school right around the corner, lounging around, sleeping late, going to the pool, watching crappy movies-- until one day-- poof! Sweaters at the mall, supply lists in the front of Target, and SEPTEMBER looming on my calendar.

This summer, I didn't really lounge, but I did spend most long, hot days all alone with Harry. No sleeping late, but some afternoon naps here and there-- and we definitely went to the pool (although, not so much lately because Harry is absolutely not scared of the water at all, which sounds like a good thing and mostly is, until he's face planted or way over his head).

We have a very quick and efficient morning routine-- linger in bed with coffee and milk, have breakfast, take a walk and call grandma, then nap for him and getting dressed for me. Then we do something (play in his room, go to the mall, make part of dinner, play in his wading pool) until it's lunchtime and something else (play in his room or our room, usually, cook or bake frequently), until it's naptime again, and I work on my dissertation. After nap, though, all routines are off. I try to get the hell out of the house-- go to the pool, Starbuck's, Target, somewhere, anywhere-- and stay gone until right before Ben gets home because even though I cherish these moments (really I do), the lack of adult conversation gets a little overwhelming by 5:00. Don't judge me. How many times can YOU say "Yes, Harry, that's your head. No, don't eat that toilet paper. Yes, the stove sure is hot" ?

In the evenings, we have dinner, take another walk, bathe Harry, and then finally, blissfully at the end of the day, Ben and I get grownup time (time that we use to stare at the TV and doze on the couch until 9-ish when we go to be for real. Hot).

The days have gone quickly like this, but slowly, too, so that I can savor each summer moment and be simultaneously bored out of my mind.

In the fall, we'll get a lot more structure. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I'll teach for a couple hours in the afternoon. Tuesday mornings, we'll go to an open gym for babies through the park district. Thursday mornings, we'll have Little Gym, and Thursday afternoons, Harry gets to hang out on campus while I have a colloquium meeting.

I'll look back on our lazy summer and be so mad at myself for feeling bored or the least little bit ungrateful. That's why I am writing this-- because blogs are bgreat for narcissists and also because I want to remember what I did on my summer vacation, how I spent all my nothing time, and how much I loved it.

How could you not love that?

Harry and Daddy-- Best Friends

Best friends who stroll together.


Best friends who get and are gotten.


Best friends with dental exam benefits.


Say ahhh

Mini-Golf With Harry: Might Be Fun in a Year or So, but Right Now, Sucked a Little

Okay, so that one has nothing to do with mini-golf, but how funny is it? Especially since Ben and I are always taking pictures of ourselves JUST LIKE THAT. And you can see all of Harry's teeth. And I told him to smile, but I had no idea he actually did until I looked at the picture. And he looks a teeny bit like Sloth (in an adorable baby-scented way). And do I need a bang-trim, or what?

Here he is planning his next shot because mini-golf is all about strategy.

Got his putter and is carefullly taking aim.

Helping Mommy keep score. We quit around hole 15-ish because the heat was killing us and also because we had too much stuff and not enough hands. And also because the many water features were Harry's siren calls. But, I got lots of sixes, and Ben got mainly threes. You do the math.

Harry and a huge cock. (ha!)

NOT FUNNY

He's totally checking out some hot girls here-- no joke.

Wow. He's pretty sweaty and dirty, huh?

On a sidenote, this mini-golf place served an aggressive amount of alcohol and fried cheese products. Not surprising for Wisconsin, I guess, but still-- yum.

My Dinner With Harry

Our dinner really, but then the title wouldn't be even a little bit funny (My Dinner with Andre-- told ya only a little bit funny)

We went to The Old Fashioned, and I totally had one. Sour.

Harry discovered the wonder of crayons AND beer-battered cheese curds all in the same meal. Doesn't it totally look like he's doing the word search? And beer-battered, deep-fried cheese curds dipped in ranch dressing-- is there anything that says Wisconsin more than that? Possibly the shorts I have that say Wisconsin on my butt.

Ben helped Harry with the word search. They found "cholesterol" right away, but "plaques" and "tangles" took longer.

Then Harry made a giant wet mess because that's what he does.

Also? Harry is eating a pickle in this picture, and he LIKED it.


The we took Harry across the street and let him wrestle with the flowers.




A word of advice: If you have to wear shorts with writing on the ass, a short word makes your ass look smaller. Its not cool that "Wisconsin" fits so well. "Welcome to Wisconsin and have a nice day" is even worse.