I did not eat breakfast or lunch today. That is a terrible thing, and I am not proud. And it means that I am hungry now, at 10:30 p.m., even though I ate dinner. I have a mind to go in the kitchen and find some beans and Tabasco, oh yes I do, and eat as if there is no tomorrow.

What a bad idea. This is where these cliches break down. “Live every day as if it were your last.” Do you know what I’d do if this were my last day? EAT A WHOLE BUNCH OF CRAP.

Love the weekends when we go to Kerbey Lane for breakfast. Pumpkin pancakes. Yummm.

(Anneke has a bit of a Silly Bandz obsession.)

Question: Any ideas for dealing with baby constipation? We’ve run into this a couple times with the other kids, but Ohhh Emmmm Geeee, NOTHING LIKE THIS. We’re going on two weeks of minimal poop. Archie is miserable, and I feel like we’ve tried everything.

The deal is that he basically stopped eating vegetables and fruits (except bananas, of course) awhile back. We’ve tried green beans, carrots, strawberries, prunes, prune SMOOTHIES. You name it, he won’t eat it. He won’t drink juice. Water is eh. All he wants is milk, cheese, bread, and yogurt.

We finally bought some glycerin butt shooters. Oh yes. The box says they typically induce poop in 15 to 60 minutes. Twice, nothing. Last night, we bought an oral baby laxative and gave it to him in a bottle of milk, plus the glycerin suppository. He did wake up this morning with poop, but again, minimal, and ROCKS.

I wouldn’t be so worried about it – after four children, I have realized they’re pretty durable, these children, so I’m pretty laidback when it comes to my health worrying (about THEM) – but I swear to you, twice, we have seen his butt look basically like his RECTUM IS ON THE OUTSIDE OF HIS BODY. I’m pretty sure he’s getting little baby hemorrhoids.

Brad is currently spoon feeding him some strawberry Activia with chocolate baby laxative. Mmmm.

Halp meh.

I am playing Three Truths and One Lie with Whimsy and minions this week.

We are now at the point where I tell you the stories behind each of the truths/lie from Tuesday’s post. Numero Uno:

“I cook meals for Brad and the kids about once a year.”

Sadly, dudes, this one is true.

Actually, I started doubting my calculations, so I asked Brad:

Me: “Hey, how often do I cook?”
Brad: “I don’t know. I’d say once a month.”
Me: “Once a month?! Really?!”
Brad: “I don’t know. When was the last time you cooked?”
Me: “I guess when I cooked that pasta tuna baked stuff and posted the picture on my blog.”
Brad: “How long ago was that?”
Me: “I don’t know. Like a month ago.” [Editor's note: Actually, one month two days.]
Brad: “So…”
Me: “But I hadn’t cooked anything before that since forever.”
Brad: “Well, yeah. So, maybe once a season?”
Me: “Really?! That often?! I said about once a year on my blog.”
Brad: “Well. Yeah. Probably.”

I think he was trying to be nice. Probably because he thought I overestimated.

Anyway.

Yeah. About once a year.

Over our whole time together, it’d be more than that, on average, because of this time for about four months when I was writing my dissertation, pregnant with Anneke and big as a house, when I decided I was going to teach myself how to cook.

I had been teaching an undergraduate course half time, but I quit after the fall semester because I knew I’d never finish my dissertation if I didn’t devote myself to it full time. I wrote all day every day while Brad worked. Kieran was in daycare.

I forced myself to write a minimum of, I think, six pages a day. At the end of every day, if I’d written six pages, I’d let myself watch Dr. Phil. Not that I was really into Dr. Phil. It was just that it was the most escapist thing on TV at the time when I’d usually be ready to quit for the day.

Anyway, whether I got to watch Dr. Phil or not, when it was over at 5, I’d start dinner. I looked on allrecipes regularly and tried lots of stuff from there. Nothing too fancy, but RECIPES. Even now, if I look in my allrecipes recipe box, about 90% of the recipes were added between January and May 2004.

(By the way, it appears that using the word recipe three times in one paragraph is my own personal max before the word starts to look ridiculous, and I have to look back at the allrecipes tab to make sure the word really IS spelled that way. If you were wondering.)

Before that, I thought I couldn’t cook. There are stories in my family about stupid things I’ve done in the kitchen. Like when I called my mom at work when I was in high school and asked her how to heat soup. Or something.

I learned in those four months in 2004 that I could, in fact, learn to cook, but I still hated it. I know a lot of people hate cooking. I just happen to live with someone who’s willing to do it (and is waaaay better at it than me).

Brad is a lucky, lucky man.

I am playing Three Truths and One Lie with Whimsy and minions this week.

Of these four things, tell me which one you think is the lie.

(And someone please play because it will be very sad – but also funny, so maybe you shouldn’t – if I am talking to myself.)

Okay.

1. I cook meals for Brad and the kids about once a year.
2. I can pop my back and pelvis by squeezing my butt muscles.
3. The first time I crossed the border into another country, I got picked on by Canadian border guards who refused to believe someone from Texas didn’t carry a gun.
4. I used to fake my piano practice logs every week and then win the trophy for practicing the most every year.

I made dinner, bizznatches!

And lo, it was good.

Anneke is in art classes this week and next.

This is yesterday when I took her to lunch in between classes.

Everyone keeps telling me she looks exactly like me. I’m finally starting to see it.

And today when Brad took her to lunch at the river with the peacocks.

And today when he picked her up.

I *love* that she imitates the accent with which she’s heard this song sung.

“Leddit SHAN, leddit SHAN, leddit SHAAAN!!”

By the by, I’ve decided that it is MUCH easier to post pictures than it is to WRITE things. Hmm. Interesting. Who knew?

Is that annoying? Do you want to read more words from me?

When you look for it, there’s a lot of joy in this life.

Today is my 34th birthday.

There’s some joy in that, even if these days are more mundane than they used to be.

As of last Sunday, I am now older than my dad ever was.

But that’s another post altogether.

Yesterday, I bribed Anneke to go shopping for work clothes with me. She was generally really great, with the possible exception of yelling in the dressing room about how she hadn’t changed her underwear since Friday.

Afterward, we went to Yo So Cool, which is this frozen yogurt place we’ve been wanting to try.

I also offered to take her for a manicure/pedicure after, as an early birthday present (hers, not mine). I don’t really get into girlie things like that, but I knew she would.

And now my nails look like this.

That’s me on my keyboard at work.

So, not only do I have shiny nails, but I have a job. A J-O-B. That’s pretty fantastic, really, even if I don’t extract joy from it all the time.

Another bit of joy? I saw a parking pass today as I was walking to my building that started with the characters, “10POOT.”

More joy tomorrow.

I’m at a conference in Denver. I had dinner, alone (liberation!), at an okay Thai place. Two-for-one drinks, but the food was just meh.

I’ve had a headache since I got here, possibly from the altitude, possibly from anxiety, possibly from the cab driver who not only charged me fare for three passengers (long story… $122.40), but also dropped me off at the WRONG HOTEL.

I remember now that I hate conferences. I remember now that I can’t stand people who think they’re very important. I remember now that there are A LOT of very self-important people at conferences.

The whole idea is stupid. I mean, 10 years ago, when I went to these conferences as a graduate student, people collected papers. You’d go listen to a paper presentation, and then you’d go pick up the paper that went with it. It was almost a game, like collecting baseball cards. But now… who wants a freaking stack of papers?! Email it to me, please, and I *might* read it. It’s just arcane. And at a conference that focuses in part on new technologies…

That said, there are some REALLY smart people here. I live and work with some really smart people, but I don’t ever really engage with them in the way that one does at a conference like this. It’s nice. It makes me want to be better.

I don’t feel like I’ve ever really done anything well or deeply. I have such broad interests – I realize when I come to a conference like this – that I don’t ever become expert at anything. It’s taken me a long time to be okay with that. I’m almost 34 years old, and I’m finally okay with myself.

I know this is scattered… I had two beers, people. What do you want from me?

Yesterday was the anniversary of a very bad day. I think I sorta avoided this place because I knew I’d have to write about it, which would mean I’d have to think about it.

Anyway, drowning in work, I am. Will leave you with this brief but *completely serious* GEM from House of Beths’ Children Gone Wild Spring Break.

Kieran (to me): “Can you make us some Wolf* chili to have with some chips?”
Anneke (to Kieran): “I don’t think she knows how.”

* When I originally heard this conversation, I thought they were talking about canned soup. It only became clear later that no, it was Wolf brand chili. Because it is all about quality up in here.

She was 100% serious. I am not kidding. And what’s more, I immediately emailed my mom because I knew she would laugh her freaking ASS off about it. The subject line, “File this with me not knowing how to turn fish sticks or whatever the hell that was,” refers to a story that I WILL LEAVE TO YOUR IMAGINATION.

Did you have a night out with friends or a loved one that rocked your world? Who was there? What was the highlight of the night?*

Reading this question makes me want to cry.

I cannot think of a single solitary night “out” in the past year that would qualify as any kind of highlight. We’ve never left the kids with anyone other than family, from whom we now live more than 200 miles away. And we have four kids now, so proximity wouldn’t help anyway: our families think they’re too difficult to handle together.

So.

I suppose I can respond to this prompt with my idea of a night out that would, indeed, “rock my world,” if my world were, in fact, rockable.

My expectations are pretty modest, owing mostly to the four-kid deal, so the plan would be simple: dinner and a movie. With Brad I guess (heh). We’d have dinner, if I’m making this up anyway, at World Beat, which was an African place that existed in Austin when we lived here before. The last time I tried going there was the weekend of my 28th birthday, which was also the weekend of my doctoral commencement. My entire family was in town, and although I was supposed to pick the celebratory restaurant, it became clear that my choice should not involve anything “African,” even if that African place also made mean cheeseburgers (so they say… I never tried one because, when I went there, I liked to get, um, African food).

“Holy Mother of God, what do them people in Africa even eeeat? Aren’t them people them ones I seen on the teevee with the bones all stickin’ out every which a’ways and the flies all around?”

Okay. So maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Jesus, it was my birthday, and I’d just graduated with a PhD. Plus, I was 87 weeks pregnant with Anneke. AND I WANTED ME SOME DAMN AFRICAN FOOD. (P.S. That photo was taken three weeks before my graduation and a full month before Anneke was born. I grew mightily beyond that.)

So, dinner at a nonexistent restaurant, and then a movie at Alamo Drafthouse. I don’t have a particular movie in mind, but definitely no summer blockbusters, comedies, or anything “romantic” (because God knows the last thing I want to do on my perfect night is put out, heh… KIDDING). Okay, so a gritty independent drama. [Why, yes, I did just use the word "gritty," thankyouverymuch.] Preferably something a little depressing that’ll keep me thinking for the next week or two.

And if we’ve already eaten at a nonexistent restaurant on a night that’s never happening, I might as well have a second dinner at the Alamo. Possibly the Once Upon a Time in Mexico salad, which is just fantastic, and hot chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

After the movie, we’ll come home to a clean, empty house, watch TV for a bit, and then sleep for at least nine uninterrupted hours before waking to sunshine. Things to which we will not wake: children screaming, crying, whining, vomiting, running fevers, climbing into our bed, or peeing/pooping out of their diapers; alarm clocks; bellowing cats; or rocks for boobs. Oh. And I won’t wake to freight train-like snoring. Or jacked-up sheets or blankets.

It will be GLORIOUS.

I almost feel like I could run for President on this message.

* This post was written in response to Gwen Bell’s December 5th prompt for the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge.