Welcome to the lame family

Today my husband said “Buddy*, I’m sorry we’ve brought you into such a lame family.”

And what prompted such an apology? Well, we’ve spent the whole day – both of us – looking for a very important piece of paper. Which we did not find.

What we did find:

• 8 year old adoption papers for our dead cat, which list her as male proving those surprise kittens really weren’t our fault
• 3 year adoption papers for our live cat
• the first ultrasounds of our baby which we lost before we could show anyone
• the plans to our dream home, which is a little less dreamy than the last time I saw it
• the lyrics to Rocky Top and Family Tradition and You Never Even Called Me by My Name that I handed out like hymn sheets at party I once threw.
• receipts from every time we’ve ordered pizza (wtf?)
• Instructions for our long dead, long-gone washer dryer
• Countless warranty registration certificates – partially completed
• a freedom of Budapest card
• a photocopy of a friend’s passport that he entrusted to us for safekeeping

Click thru for an even bigger picture of our ex-dream home

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*Yep, we often call him Buddy. Tis but one little redneck step up from Cletus, I guess.

UPDATE: we found it – it was our marriage certificate! I’m not pointing fingers, but I found it in area that someone else said he’d gone through with a fine toothed comb

Chunky monkey

My baby is not a chunky guy. He’s just not. My dad was visiting recently and downloaded some photos he’d taken when Cletus was about six weeks old. He looks like a little skeleton baby. He looks almost like one of those little African starving babies. At least that’s what he looks like to me now. Anyway, he wasn’t a chubby little roly poly baby.

When he was about three months old, I took him to the garden show and some older woman asked me how old he was and I said and she said that was about the same age as her grandson. But her grandson was so much bigger. She asked me how much my baby weighed. I told her (I think it was about 12 pounds). She looked shocked. I said “Yeah, he’s little.” He was about the 9th percentile for weight at that point – meaning about 90% of babies his age weighed more than he did. And then she said her grandson was 16 pounds. Her grandson was just growing and thriving. He was just coming on leaps and bounds.

Shut the fuck up, I wanted to say. I wanted to say “Hey, you know I’m sure you’re thrilled with your grandson’s growth. And while on the one hand I don’t actively want him to shrivel up and fade away on the other hand I don’t know you and I don’t really care and I don’t know why you think I would care. I don’t begrudge you your little chunky monkey, but just so you know I’m actually very worried about my son’s growth. I don’t know why you’d want to rub in the fact that your grandson seems to be doing better than my boy when you could equally well take private pleasure in it or share it with the parents of your grandson later. But I don’t really need you exacerbating my anxiety so you can get off in some kind of weird way. You old freak.”

She probably didn’t mean anything by it. But her co-grandma, who was standing next to her, looked a little uncomfortable, too. So I know it wasn’t just me.

Anyway, it all worked out. Here’s Cletus looking like a lumberjack and he’s ok.

And there he is as an elf.

He’s so OK, in fact, he’s up to just over 17 lbs and according to CDC weight charts he’s on the 50th centile. He’s Mr Median. (According to English charts based on formula fed babies he’s just above the 40th centile).

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A blogger with a new baby is having trouble*. She’s finding life with a newborn difficult. Really, it’s probably all OK or will be OK, but it’s really, really hard. And I think she probably feels like if she complains it will seem like she’s not grateful for her much wanted baby.

I tell you what, I wonder if I’m guilty of “My baby is easy. I breezed through the newborn thing. He’s a walk in the park. I’m a kick-ass breast feeder. My baby can already drive and I would let him start University next fall, but well…I’m needy.” A little bit like that crazy grandma and her fat lump of a grandson.

Anyway, if I have been – I’m sorry. I’m just trying to accentuate the positive. The newborn thing sucked. It was awful. In the early days, I had to remind myself that if I didn’t take adequate care of him the law would come after me. I had to tell myself “Fake it til you make it,” because I really didn’t feel especially bonded with him. Not like all those other women on-line “It was love at first sight…” blah, blah, blah. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Well, I could and often did. I kept thinking about how I heard that Bulgarian babies were bringing about 50,000 Euros and so how much more would my baby be worth on the black market? (To a good home only – and yes, I know it’s ethnocentric to rate my baby higher, but it was my fantasy)

Breastfeeding actually wasn’t that bad for me, but there was an awful lot of doubt about whether he was getting enough nutrition. And there were many times that I was just plain tired of it and felt like it was sucking the life out of me.

Cletus screamed and screamed. At one point, I thought we’d never be able to eat a meal in peace again. He still can’t stand to be put down much. He’s now old enough to go into a door jumper and a baby activity center – but he doesn’t like them if you’re not actually looking at him. And heaven forbid you should do something like blog.

He does cry a lot less, but that’s because we’re better trained to attend his needs as quickly as possible.

Actually, now that we’re approaching six months, it’s a lot better. He’s a lot cuter. He’s more interactive. We can kind of share experiences. Really. Like when I help him pet a cat (his fave thing). It’s still hard, but the rewards are greater. I guess this parenting thing is always hard, but as you go on it’s hard in a different way.

I don’t know if this makes you feel any better mystery blogger. Probably not. But I just want you to know you’re not alone.
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*I’d link to this blogger, but I don’t think she’d want me to. I will if she lets me know.

baby food

Pureed lentils come out about the same way they went in.

Missed it

What a monumental close one. On Saturday, the Volunteers beat Kentucky by whisper after slogging through four overtimes. What a season. Now Tennessee is playing for the SEC championship.

Of course, I missed it. My dad was visiting and even though he’s an alum, he’s not a football fan. Not in the slightest. And he told me that he was a jinx for Tennessee. If he listened or watched the game, that was it, the Vols would lose.

So, I put chose not to listen live, but hear it in the morning. I don’t know what went wrong, but I couldn’t load the game. I tried for quite some time before I gave in and watched the video highlights where they freaking gave away the outcome of the game in the first 2 seconds.

Go Vols

At that point in time

Did y’all know Fred Thompson wrote a book about Watergate? Well, he did. At That Point in Time It’s not in print anymore, but I got my grubby little paws on a grubby little copy this weekend.

See:

And yes, it’s a little rough around the edges, but the darn thing is 32 years old. (Younger than I am, though.) My dad brought it over. It had been languishing on his bookshelves for years, apparently.

It’s a signed copy, to my grandfather. He apparently thought so much of it, he passed it on to his son-in-law within a month. I guess he was a pretty fast reader.

My dad thought I’d get a kick out of it. And I have. But I’ve gotten an even bigger kick out of the fact that an autographed copy is selling for almost $750 – and that’s without the dust jacket.

My dad doesn’t want me to sell it, but it’s sooo tempting when I know the book will return to its normal low,low value after Fred’s campaign crashes and burns.

I know what my granddad would do. Oh yes, he’d sell. This was a man who sold junk antiques into his dying week and had a price tag on the walker he used to get around the shop. (For $5 more than my mom and my aunt paid for it)

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers, wherever you are. We’re fixing up a turkey day repast. Things are simmering as I type. My dad is here and I reckon we’ll have a wonderful meal in about 90 minutes. Giving myself the excuse of the baby, I bought prepared mash and an “easy cook” turkey joint and gravy in a carton. The cornbread dressing, pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce are all made from scratch.

By the way, if you’ve never made cranberry sauce from scratch it couldn’t be easier or more delicious. Just plunk the berries and some water and some sugar adjudged to your taste* in a pot and simmer until all the berries have popped plus a couple minutes little longer. You don’t even have to stir it more than once or twice. Let cool and serve.

Thanks again to Newscoma and Genderist for the dressing recipe. (In the comments of this post).

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*Quite a lot of sugar is required even to get a tart sauce

All on the line

I’m kind of an intermittent football fan – and by football I mean soccer. I absolutely love the international tournaments – the World Cup and the European tournament and I support England all the way. But I have to admit, I don’t usually watch the qualifying matches and friendlies.

I’ll be watching tonight, though. Tonight it’s all on the line. If England don’t at least tie with Croatia, they won’t be going to Euro 2008. And this is a serious second chance. If Israel hadn’t beaten Russia recently, this game would be a mere formality.

Tonight they play at home in Wembley Stadium – the sight of great England football victories of the past. But tonight it could be a den of shame, particularly for Steve McClaren the England football manager. He took over from Sven-Goran Eriksson after the last World Cup. Folks criticised Eriksson because they saw him as conservative and lacking flair and because England never went all the way. Others thought he was too in train to personalities (e.g. Beckham, particularly during his lackluster days during Euro 2004) and too obsessed with celebrity life .

But if the Football Association wanted a different style and a different approach why go with McClaren? He was Sven’s assistant and a bit of Sven-lite.

I hope England pull it out tonight. I’ll be watching. But win or lose, I think McClaren’s days are numbered. That it should even be a strong possibility that England fails to qualify for an international tournament should be putting him on seriously shaky ground.

Eight random facts about me

This is a curious meme. I know that there are blogs which are focused, on topic and on target. But this ain’t one of them. This whole blog is a collection of random facts, mostly about me. (Or at least my take on them.)

I was tagged by Katie Allison Granju. One of her random facts is also true for me. She hates mayonnaise. Blecchhh. I think it’s disgusting. Get it away from me. I could say that was my random fact, too – but here’s a slightly different one to start off with:

1. Off and on I keep a small jar of Hellman’s Mayonnaise at the back of my cupboard. It remains unopened until I have some mayo fiend guest demanding their stuff for a sandwich. The last couple of jars expired and got chucked out before ever having been used. Best way to do mayo, in my opinion. There’s not a jar there right now, but I might get one before my mom comes to visit.

2. Although most of my life has been spent in the great state of Tennessee, the greenest state in the land of the free, I’ve lived longer in my current London house than any other place I’ve ever lived in. After that, a house in Knoxville. After that, my grandfather’s house in Lawrenceburg.

3. The job I’ve held the longest was at a garden center in Knoxville. Oakes Nursery. I think it’s shut down now. I didn’t hold the post continuously though – as the work was seasonal. I really enjoyed it and learned a lot about plants and people. Everyone should work retail (or wait tables) for at least three months.

4. Shortly after I started blogging, I saw an online discussion about me – and who I was. This blogger said something like “For all, I know we could be cousins”. And it turns out that we are, distant, but still. Heck, we’ve probably been at the same family reunion (at the picnic shelter at David Crockett State Park). I was the surly teen trying to figure out a way to sneak off for a cigarette. Well, given our genetic disposition – that’s probably not much of a clue.

5. I have SunDrop in my house right now. It’s liquid gold. I only refrigerate one can at a time so I don’t go through it too quick. My husband put an empty can in our transparent recycling bag, and I grant is a perfectly normal thing to do. But I had this paranoid fear that some SunDrop addict would walk by our house, see it and then break into our house to steal my stash. That’s the grip SunDrop has on you.

6. I use commas and dashes, way too much. Regular readers will know this. I’m aware of the problem – but I just can’t stop. Every time I stop typing, I add a comma or dash. I paused, I want you to pause. Just think of it like a blog conversation, and I sigh and take deep breaths a lot. Don’t think that’s your opportunity to start talking though. No. Just leave something in the comment section when I’m done.

7. I can play the fiddle, but I haven’t for five years. And I want to start back, but I’m finding it hard to pick up the bow again.

8. I can’t stand for the sappy works of Celine Dion to played in the house while I’m in it. (This random fact prompted by someone forgetting that very important rule.)

OK, so with memery – the idea is to pass it on. I’d like to see some random facts from Rachel at Women’s Health News, the eight random facts could be about women’s health. I’m going to randomly pick the rest of my tag-ees from my blog roll once removed (somebody whose on the list of somebody on my list who isn’t on my list.)

From Mel’s Diner I choose Dixie Peach and wouldn’t you know, her most recent entry is about mayonnaise.
from Ginger Snaps I choose My Quiet Life (actually I’m not sure why he’s not on my blog roll, he’s in my Flickr contacts, which is a great pleasure)
from Haiku of the Id I choose Change over the waters
from Jen’s Den of Iniquity I choose Noble Savage (another one I don’t know why isn’t on my list)

OK, that should be enough to be getting on with

Coals to Newcastle

Apparently there’s a writer’s strike in America. The only way I can tell, is that we no longer get our daily dose of the Daily Show. It will be months before it bites here, since series are lagged by quite a bit.

Unlike the last writer’s strike, we now have a host of reality tv formats to fill the viewing hours. NewsComa has some great ideas for more.

And I have another idea.

Since America has given the British many, many, many hours of American talk shows (Jerry, Maury, Ricki, Phil, Montel, Sally and Oprah are on each day) – I think it’s only fair that y’all should get to watch back-to-back reruns of Trisha and the Jeremy Kyle show. It ought to strip the anglophiles among you of any notion of British culture and aplomb.

We all have our diversions

That’s Cletus playing with his toy, while I watch some trashy daytime tv. Jeremy Kyle, who some say is the British equivalent of Jerry Springer. I say he has the tiniest touch more class. Every day is a DNA test special.