Job Hunt

Well, we've officially given up on E's business. It's sad that a venture he has put so much time and love into is coming to an end.  It isn't so much that the company will be completely gone, it's just that they are not paying his paycheck.  We suspect that certain people are  starving theoriginal stockholders into leaving to they can sell the company and get all the profits.  This sucks, but we can only stay in this situation for so long.

I predict a long legal battle. How sad.

Anyway, my time is going to helping E find a new job. I'm  touching up his resume, sending it out and searching non-stop for places to work. I hope we find something soon. My folks are buying our groceries.

The Neighborhood Visit

My Sunday visit with my folks wound up being a neighborhood spectacle. Jimmie, my kick-ass cyclist girlfriend (married to my childhood friend and neighbor), whisked Tyoma up, starling him into a loud crying jag. All the neighborhood women fussed and cooed over him.
 
I had a National Geographic moment, realizing that our little gathering of women was at one with tribes in Africa and Asia. What cheerful women! Joanne was flushed and happy, almost as if Tyoma was her grandkid. This was understandable, since I grew up with her two youngest sons and we split our time between her house and my mom's.
 
Irene, our neighbor with Alzheimer's, stopped by, said "I came to see the baby," and launched into a inexplicable story about a bird she saw the day before. Every move baby made was praised and commented upon. I didn't know if I should have felt embarrassed or proud! Anyway, I dragged myself away from the adulation to enjoy a guitar playing session with the folks.
 

  I took some more pics, but I'm a goof and they were mostly over exposed. BUT, here's my mom:   

And here's Misty!

Misty was so jazzed over the commotion and guitar playing that she ran all around the back yard shaking her little lamby toy.  Tyoma was a bit freaked, but he seems a bit freaked out in general. He loved Grandpa's guitar and experimented with string plucking. Dad serenaded us all, singing folk songs and some flamenco as well.

How Babies Get Their Protein

After work Tennisfiend and I spend quality time with Tyoma in “my” bedroom. Tyoma scrambles about, trying to stand or yank books from the shelves. One of us reads or works on the computer as the other one keeps an eye on Tyoma. Since the cricket infestation, we vigilantly vacuum up little cricket carcasses as they appear.

As I checked my email Tennisfiend called out a loud “STOP” (Russians say it with a hard O as in boat). To me he said, “Quick, he’s about to put an insect leg in his mouth. In a flash I was out of my seat and on the floor prying the leg out of his right hand. I heard another thunderous “STOP!” from Tennisfiend. “The other hand! The other hand!”

Our jolly baby, much amused by the commotion, was laughing as he attempted to stuff the contents of his left hand in his mouth. As I pulled his hand from his mouth I got a glimpse of his intended snack and screamed. A juicy, thumb-sized wolf spider quivered its last. My scream startled Tyoma and annoyed Tennisfiend, who scooped the crying baby off the floor with a theatrical “Gospedi!”   (Oh Lord!)

Poop Day

Moms learn quickly to be suspicious when little ones are too quiet. They have clearly found an entirely new and fascinating way to cause trouble and chances are, you will have one heck of a clean-up to do.

Tyoma played quietly as I pumped his lunchtime breast milk. I could see and hear him happily entertaining himself in the baby gulag. I finished up, trotted into the kitchen, put on water for coffee and fixed breakfast. He continued to babble happily—no shrieks, yells or hoots (his latest milestone is making an awful racket). As I walked past the gulag on the way to the bathroom I received the shock of my life. 

Unprecedented Monster Poop Explosion--all over the playpen. I was so astounded I didn’t even speak. Tyoma looked up at me and smiled sweetly, waving the same little poopy hands that had smeared a foul greenish-yellow trail around the sides of the gulag. His arms, elbows, legs and knees were poopy. The track they left on the white matelasse bedspread under the gulag looked like a gigantic bull’s eye target done in poo. He had poop on his feet, face and neck. Miraculously, his hair was spared.

Did I mention his toys were poopy? Oversize fabric blocks, talking tops, musical balls, and teethers streaked with brown.  Oh, Lord. I tried to change him and clean him up in the nursery but he smeared poopy rainbows on the wall. I scrambled to clean him up in the shower, but quit when I could not find my shower chair. With the baby bathtub in the kitchen sink, I managed to hose the poo off with the kitchen sprayer. To squeals of delight, I changed him on the nursery floor since the changing table was a disaster area.

I called mom to watch baby as I cleaned up and I spent the next two hours hard at work. I disassembled the gulag, hauled it out to the driveway, scoured it thoroughly, rinsed it with the pressure washer and left it to bake in the 100 plus afternoon sun. I defy poo germs to survive that!  Similarly I washed toys, blankets and the gulag matelasse. I scrubbed a few spots on the carpet and called it a day.

E.T.A. 6-30-2007

A mini-poo tsunami was caught before a full gulag contamination. Turns out Tyoma has been ripping off the right hand diaper tab as he is being changed, thus causing the diaper contents to leak. So, when Tennisfiend we change diapers, we make sure both tabs are on firmly.

$@&%!!! Swamp Cooler

What a day. We've been having problems with our swamp cooler since the start of the season.

On, off. On....Off.  Algae smell. Algae smell. Hot air. Off. Blech.

Marilyn Manson said it best, "I don't have enough middle fingers."

Family Heirlooms

 

When I visited with the folks today, Dad brought out a surprise wrapped in faded tissue. His baby spoon and fork! I should have put a penny down for scale, but they are the sweetest little things! Dad said that they've been in his family since the turn of the century. I'll probaby look up the info on the reverse side of the utensils and geek out later. :D

Bug Jar

About a month ago our Dustbuster died. Normally, we’d just buy a new handvac without a second thought. However, since our income is only a fraction of what it once was, a Dustbuster would be an extravagance. So I pick up all the dead crickets, roaches, beetles, sunspiders and scorpions by hand. Brrrrrr.

Last night, after picking up the tenth bug of the day, I made a bet with my husband. If I could collect forty bugs in a week, he would buy me a new Dustbuster. Day one was a smashing success. I collected six crickets, a roach, two spiders and four click beetles for my bug jar.

Day two was leaner—three crickets and two click beetles. Day three I amassed two click beetles and a spider. Day four I got desperate. That evening, I saw a roach in the sunroom. Since it wasn’t officially dead, I smacked it with my shoe to add to the bug jar. Day five I awoke to find that last night’s roach was simply addled and not dead. He spent the balance of the night eating the other bugs I collected. Wah!

Day six Mom and Dad showed up with a brand new Dustbuster. I am totally spoiled!

Ten Months Old!

 Holy cow! Tyoma is only ten months old, but in this photo he looks much older! Like, "Give me the car keys" older. It must be me. I'm recovering from an energy zapping flu with much help. Tennisfiend stayed home from work on Tuesday to care for baby while I slept and slept, complaining just a little (neck rubs=10,000 antibiotics). Mom brought daily crates of soup, Yoplait and Jello, taking over for Tennisfiend as needed. I had to cancel this weekend's pool party with Ewbliette and hubby. Hey, the heat isn't going anywhwere so we'll reschedule soon.

Blah.

p>Feeling tired today. What did I do? Worked on TF's cover letter and miscellaneous stuff. Think I'm getting a tummy flu.

Happy Father's Day!

Dad in the fifties:

And me as a baby:

Note that I inherited a goofier version of Dad’s ears!

I was hoping to post some of Dad’s adventure pics, but unfortunately they are hidden somewhere at my folks place. I’ll be sure to add them in the future.

Anyway, Tyoma and I dropped by to wish Dad a happy Father’s Day. We relaxed under the shady Mulberry, discussing the latest discoveries in paleontology, specifically the feathered juvenile T-Rexes unearthed in China. After an exchange of opinions on dinosaurs and birds, Dad took off his naturalist cap and brought out the guitar. Tyoma enjoyed his serenade and promptly conked out.

Later in the evening, Tennisfiend asked me if I had any special childhood memories about Dad. I rambled on for at least twenty minutes, until I came across the memory. I was six and felt very sad about the loss of our two weimarainers. We lost them over two years ago. I was younger when Mom told me their spirits were happy, chasing lizards in the desert. Now, I was unconvinced and full of questions, “Why couldn’t I see their spirits when we were in the desert?” Bless her for not saying “Spirits are invisible.” She sent me in for a talk with Dad.

He explained his beliefs: All living things are a part of the universe. People really don’t know for sure what happens when we die, but many think that we return somehow. Some think we return as spirits, angels or even as energy that the natural world re-uses. The only thing we know for sure is that we remember the people and animals we love. By remembering, a person can keep their loved ones close by, with us always.

This might have seemed rather heavy for a six year old, but it was honest, simply stated and it made me feel better. Ultimately, that conversation shaped the outlook of my life. Thank you, Dad.