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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2005-06-17 ... 11:31 a.m.

This is the entry that will add fuel to the fire of the "mommy-blogger" stereotypers. But if you give me shit about it, I'll cut you, man! Because:


1. Because apparently I had gone too long without having a rage-induced seizure, the kind folks at NBC dreamed up a reality show guaranteed to fix that right quick. Oh it's so hilarious when fathers parent their own children! It's so hilarious, I may have to drink myself into a stupor, stare blankly at the calendar, and whisper it's 2005...right?

2. There is an ad for some Hyundai SUV that says, "Leather seats impervious to spills and spit-up. Which also makes it perfect for Mom's night out." Wow, "Mom" has some wilder "nights out" than we thought, if she is prone to urping up margaritas in the car.

3. The new AAP recommendations on breastfeeding. Hey, breastfeeding is great for most babies (although seeing what some of my friends have been through makes me wonder about its drawbacks for mothers), and if I had chosen to breed rather than adopt I would definitely have given it a whirl. Here's where I start to get annoyed:

Pediatricians should counsel adoptive mothers on the benefits of induced lactation through hormonal therapy or mechanical stimulation.

Too broad. Too general. Might work for the "adoptive mother" of a newborn, although I have to question the "benefits" of introducing lactation-inducing hormones into your body, particularly during the stressful post-adoption adjustment period. Does definitely NOT apply to mothers of adopted toddlers, or to mothers of internationally-adopted infants who have had formula from a bottle for their whole little lives. Imagine if someone took away your fork and spoon and insisted you eat with a spatula and a bent paperclip. And that you eat while jammed up against an unfamiliar person's body. Yeah, that sounds comforting and beneficial.

3. Yesterday I was asked to evaluate a resume---the candidate is being considered for an editorial position at another company, and the hiring manager is a friend of mine. Since the friend doesn't have a whole lot of experience in hiring editors, she asked me to take a look. All seemed well enough until I took a second look at the contact information and noticed that the candidate's email was [email protected](provider). Fucking hell, people. I mean really. Your sacred elven path will NOT LEAD YOU TO CAREER SUCCESS.


1. Did anyone else see a fake-looking dog?

2. Sleater-Kinney last night was GREAT. LT thought the guitars were too loud and vocals too low, but I loved every ear-ringing minute, although I admit to getting bored when they indulged in the occasional rave-up cock-rock noodly jamfest at the end of a song. (At least they didn't end EVERY SONG with a rave-up cock-rock noodly jamfest like the opener, Dead Meadow. Their set was vaguely interesting, and showed me what it would be like if Led Zeppelin swallowed some goths and got serious indigestion, but during all the extended codas of feedback and introspective guitar solos I kept thinking, "Maybe I need to be stoned for this. And lying down.")

3. Nora was going through my purse and found something.

Nora: What is this?
Me: That's my business card.
Nora: Where's Nora's business card?
Me: Oh, I don't think you have a business card!
Nora: I have business card? I have business card right now? Please?

We moved on to other topics and she forgot all about it, but ever since I have been wondering what a two-year-old's business card would say. In Nora's case, I'm thinking something like

Nora do it.
Nora do it.
Nora do it.
(phone number)

4. Underpants! Nora now owns underpants (the 2T size is surprisingly hard to find), and after a wash in hot water they no longer threaten to slide off her tiny butt entirely. She wants to wear them as often as possible. She gets a religious, reverential tone in her voice when she speaks of underpants, and checks under her jeans periodically to make sure the holy relics are still there. This is all very bad timing, as I am not about to embark on the Great All-Day Underpants Experiment right before we take off on a trip to the UK---Nora will just have to fly the friendly skies in Pull-Ups. So underpants are a special treat, until we return! Underpants are a bribe and a reward! I freaking love this kid, who can be so easily manipulated through her fanatical devotion to Elmo-themed undergarments!

Wouldn't it be great if, instead of white raisins or dark-eyed virgins or whatever, it turned out to be Elmo-themed underpants that awaited martyrs in paradise?

I have no idea why I said that.


---mimi smartypants is made with the goodness of whole grains.


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