Technology: 391, Me: 0

Between the two of us, McMoose and I own a total of six computers. Six, for crying out loud! One is McMoose's work laptop, so needless to say, it's at work with him. One of them (his) has a problem with the power cord, I think, so it has been out of commission for as long as I can remember. Another one (mine) works great, but the monitor is mysteriously unresponsive and since it's a laptop, that poses a pretty big problem. So for all intents and purposes, it too is out of commission. Yet another one of mine recently found itself victimized by a hyperactive dog, so it no longer works. And the desktop that has been my lifeblood for the past month or so has just today decided to join its compatriots and no will no longer let me log on.

And this is why, in a household with six computers, I'm sitting hunched over on the floor like Quasimodo because the ONLY COMPUTER THAT ACTUALLY WORKS lives underneath the desk.

Birth Certificate: Check

After Luke was born, there were, oh, about 2 billion people going in and out of our hospital room trying to get us to fill out paperwork and watch videos about how babies? They cry. I'm not even kidding about this. It's an actual requirement that new parents be given this video. I'm thinking that if you don't know that babies cry, you probably have no business having a kid, but I digress. In any case, one of the pieces of paperwork that we had to fill out was, of course, the application for his birth certificate. Except it wasn't actually the application for his birth certificate, it was just the pre-application and then we had to wait 3 weeks and send in the actual application. (I'm kind of fuzzy on the details, what with the not sleeping for 2 days and the expelling a person out from my body and all that).

So we waited for...well, significantly longer than 3 weeks. Like maybe 3 months? Because it took me that long to remember that the thing we filled out wasn't actually the application. So then, I looked through the enormous mountain of papers that they sent home with us (mostly about how babies cry) and found the actual application, which I promptly filled out and sent in. Only to have it returned not two weeks later because I had FORGOTTEN TO INCLUDE THE CHECK. Oh, and also? They don't accept checks.

Okay. So I did what I do with all my mail that Requires Attention...I left it sitting on the coffee table for about a month. And then, I got an invitation to a friend's wedding and since this wedding is happening in Wisconsin, the only real way to get there is by plane. And I don't know if I've mentioned this, but my kid? Looks. Nothing. Like. Me. Oh, I don't just mean that he doesn't have my nose or my lips. I mean that the child is a miniature replica of McMoose, down to the dark blond hair and blue eyes. I mean that every time we go to the doctor's office, they ask if I'm the baby-sitter. So of course, there was no way that I was going to even attempt to get on a plane without valid, government issued identification for both of us.

So today, we went on what I expected to be a Most Onerous trip because it involved (a) going downtown, which is never fun because it's filled with one-way streets and (b) dealing with a government office. I was very pleasantly surprised to find that the people at the department of records are not only friendly, but also helpful. AND fast. So we are now the proud owners of two copies of Luke's birth certificate and I no longer have to worry that airport security will think I'm a kidnapper. Instead, I can worry about plane crashes and the swine flu and muggers and kidnappers and terrorists and...oh, the list, it goes ON.

Luke's Mom

The world of stay-at-home moms is just so strange. I know all these women who have babies who are about Luke's age and with a very few exceptions, all I know about them is that...they have babies...who are about Luke's age. So instead of thinking "Oh, I have to tell Nancy about this," or "Hm, I hope Ashley is feeling better," I think "Oh, I wonder if Cooper's mom ever found his favorite blanket," or "Hey, there's that park that Macey's mom was telling me about!" I have no idea where many of these women come from or what they used to do in their pre-baby days. I don't know anything about their religion or their politics or even their hobbies. It's like the sum total of their existence is that they've had these children and now, we get together for coffee or lunch or whatever.

Of course, this also means that I'm just "Luke's mom." I'm not the person who made the very foolish decision to go to graduate school for, of all things, Community Psychology. I'm not the person who got a Master's and then decided not to continue with the Ph.D. I'm not the person who is currently trying to figure out what to do with the rest of her life and how, exactly, to do it. I'm just Luke's mom.

Right now, I really like that to this group of women, all I need to be is Luke's mom.

Car Key Escapades

I had a very WTF moment this morning (in fact, I actually said "Dude, WTF?" to myself as I was walking to my car...it's not bad enough that I talk to myself, but I now use Internet abbreviations in this ridiculous self-speak. I also throw "LOL" and "Sigh" around in conversation. Because I am just THAT cool). I was walking to my car, juggling my wallet, cellphone, keys, and the baby, who was doing his level best to leap out of my arms and plunge head first down the stairs. As I always do, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I started jiggling my keys around, trying to find the clicker to my car, which oddly enough, was nowhere to be found. Hence the "Dude, WTF?"

See, I had JUST used my car yesterday and the keys were in order. To the best of my knowledge, no one had used my car after me. So where were my keys? I had the apartment key. The key to the new Explorer. The key to a friend's old house in Virginia. The key to my old office. The key to a suitcase (I think. Not really sure on that one). BUT NO KEY TO THE MATRIX.

Of course, at this point my mind started working overtime, trying to come up with explanations for The Case Of The Missing Key:
1. Aliens. Aliens who eat car keys. Specifically, Toyota car keys.
2. Burglars. Who took the car keys, but left the car. Along with the rest of our possessions.
3. Sleep-driving. Maybe I sleep-drove the car and misplaced the keys upon my return.
4. McMoose. Who maybe belongs to the CIA and was on a secret mission last night that took him to the Matrix reunion. And he needed my car to blend in.

Luckily, I had a spare key, which I used to go to the grocery store to get lunch, but McMoose has some explainin' to do when he gets home. (And I really hope the phrase "secret mission for the CIA" comes into that explanation somehow).

Learning My Lesson

The layout of our apartment is such that the master bedroom is all the way on one end and the other two bedrooms and extra bathroom are all the way on the other. This is one of the reasons Luke sleeps in our room because I like my sleep and even before he was born, I knew that I would be Most Grouchy if I had to wake up multiple times a night and trudge across the apartment to go deal with a high-pitched, crying child. I don't know why or when builders decided that master bedrooms should be separated from the other bedrooms by the entire expanse of the living room, kitchen, and a hallway, but I would like to tell them to STOP IT because it's the most ridiculous floorplan ever.

Wow, that got started on a tangent. In any case, the reason I began this post was NOT to rant about apartment floorplans, but to point out that what started out as "Luke's room" has now turned into "The Playroom" because let's be honest, all we ever did in that room was play. And read. Unfortunately, as a further result of the inane floorplan, the cats' bathroom is right across from the playroom, which meant that I was constantly finding little crystals of cat litter in the carpet. This didn't bother me in the least until Luke started rolling, at which point the thought of him putting that stuff in his mouth started completely icking me out.

So we decided to get foam floor mats to put in there that double as an alphabet puzzle, if only because dust-bustering foam floor mats? Much easier than vacuuming the carpet. But! As an added bonus, Luke LOVES his floor mats. So now, when I put him on the floor in his room, he no longer bleats like a wounded goat. Sensing my opportunity, I left him in there yesterday while I made my lunch because he has recently discovered that he has control of his hands, which means that holding him while trying to put food on my plate is like trying to contain an octopus. For a while, I heard scratching noises coming from the room, which I took to mean that all was well...and then, it got quiet. Really, really quiet. So I went to check on him, only to discover that he had popped out one of the letters, reached through to the open patch of carpet, and pulled out a handful of carpet fuzz, which had promptly made it into his mouth.

Lesson of the day: I can try to stop my child from eating gross things, but he is smart and single-minded in his quest to thwart my efforts.

Bulleted

Bullets. Because I haven't done a bullet post in ages. And also because The Bug--er...Luke--is napping right now and so far, all his naps today have been ridiculously short. So in the interest of getting the most for our time:

• Why does blogger turn bullets into flowers? Just wondering...
• McMoose and I went to dinner at a fancy restaurant in fancy clothes last Friday without Luke. We both got to eat our meals--including appetizer AND dessert--without having to feed, change, or entertain a 2-foot-tall human being. It was exhilarating. And also, oddly lonely.
• I found Yellow Cat sitting inside the dryer this afternoon. Clearly, a habit we'll have to break before we end up with a cat-kebob.
• Apparently, Luke is of the opinion that it's time to grow some teeth. To that end, he has decided to chew on everything, drool on everything, and stop sleeping. After waking up with him approximately every 40 minutes last night, I turned on the fount of wisdom that is Google to find out how long I can expect this awesome phase to last and did you know babies can teethe for months before actually getting a tooth? MONTHS. M-O-N-T-H-S! Guess I'd better start developing my coffee habit now.
• To offset the drooling, chewing, and non-sleeping, he has also decided to become ridiculously endearing. Even more so than he was, I mean. He watches football with us. He burps and then chuckles about it. He entertains himself while I fold laundry or eat lunch or whatever it is that I need to do. He giggles when the Dog licks his toes in the car. The tiredness sucks, but still, I'm loving this stage.

Daddy Love

When Luke was first born, McMoose stayed home with us for three weeks, which was great because during those first three weeks, I pretty much went from the bed to the couch back to the bed. My recovery from the birth took so long, thanks to the fact that my oh-so-thoughtful child had his head turned to an odd angle while being born, that for those first weeks, I couldn't even get around well enough to change him, let alone bathe him or get him to his doctor's appointments by myself. Add to that the difficulties we had with breastfeeding and the fact that McMoose had to take over several feedings using an odd little bottle/syringe with tubes contraption and it makes sense that McMoose and I were on pretty equal footing, as far as parenting went. In fact, if anything, McMoose was MORE involved with the active, hands-on portion of parenting for those first three weeks by simple virtue of the fact that he could move around faster than, say, a snail.

Of course, once he went back to work, Luke and I had to muddle through how to do it by ourselves and we managed to figure it out fairly quickly, but still, as soon as McMoose got home in the evenings, baby-duty promptly passed from me to him. And then. Luke got used to having me take care of him all day and decided that he'd like to continue that into the evening. So when McMoose held him, he screamed. When McMoose played with him, he whined. When McMoose changed his diapers, he squalled. And while screaming and whining and squalling, he'd whip his head around and search the room until he figured out where I was and then make sustained eye contact, as if to say "Mama, help!"

And then, some little switch turned on in his head and he realized that hey! Daddy's fun! He throws me around and plays with me and talks to me in weird voices and makes faces. And furthermore, he's better at ALL of those things than Mommy! Which means that now, when he's tired or hungry, Luke still looks for me, but the rest of the time? He's ALLLL about Daddy. (And can I just say: thank goodness! 24-hour-a-day parenting? Totally not my thing.)