Wall of Terror

Wall of Terror, a photo by kittywhumpus on Flickr.

I WAS GOING TO PUT THAT THING ON THAT OTHER THING! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

I probably don't need to write anything more.

But maybe you don't have a child in the 3's.

Did you realize that you were not supposed to come out on the porch to greet your returning family because your offspring wanted to knock on the door?

Let the puddle of wailing child tell you just how wrong you were.

Was it not clear to you that you were not supposed to come down the escalator until your adorable scrumpy muffinhead, who was in a location unknown to you, was able to view said descent?

Witness Exhibit B: Crumply Tears.

So sorry that you did not receive the memo that from now on, all movements of Thing A to Spot B must be cleared, previous to movement, by the Apple of Your Eye; any process involving more than two steps must be explained, before execution, to the Fruit of Your Loins in case he or she wishes to have input or personally execute any of the steps him- or herself.

Failure to do either of the above will result in one of the following:

a) an immediate contraction of all core and facial muscles, accompanied by piercing cries, resulting in a ball of blinding, white-hot despair that threatens to consume all joy in the universe

b) an immediate expansion of the spine accompanied by rigid extremities, thrown-back head*, and pitch to floor or ground, perhaps involving a last minute face-down flip with hands covering weeping ocular area**

On some rare occasions, the result could instead be throwing of whatever item can be reached or thumps on the face or chest from the small, angry homo sapien you so thoughtlessly created. Usually, however, the emotion is disappointment/lossofallfaithintheworld and does not involve violence.

Reading this blog post constitues your consent to the above.

You have been warned.

*(and, of course, piercing cries)
**(also threatening to obliterate joy)

Adult Conversation

At a certain point, your little being will achieve a level of sentience that is completely self-centered, and it will realize that you are not always talking about him or her. At that point, you will not only find yourself with a to-do list of chores that reaches from the pile of dirty clothes in the bedroom to the faint memory you had of yourself as an organized, sane being, but you will no longer be able to discuss who is going to do what or how.

You will look at your partner and realize that you have no idea what s/he is doing at work or how s/he is feeling, and it's only because of Facebook that you know anything at all about him or her.

"So, I saw on your wall that you are really pissed off about randompoliticalsituationinAmerica and really love garlic cheese curds only slightly less than you love me and the kid."

You will realize that you only talk to have short complaint sessions or cursory exchanges about who is picking up... the kid.

It really is all about the kid, but now the kid is actually pointing this out to you whenever you happen to veer off kid-course.

If that kid is like mine, it will interrupt your discussion about how much that one guy looked like Frank Zappa to say, "Hey, mama... uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh what's that?" as he points off into the distance at what appears to be absolutely nothing, forcing you to suspend your pointless but still enjoyable exchange to say, "What, honey? I can't see what you are point at. I need more words."

(It's not looking at a goddamn thing. It just wants you to stop talking about anything that's not him or her. I suppose the honesty of that much blatant self absorption would be refreshing if it didn't remind you of randompoliticalsituationinAmerica and make you stabby.)

You will forget what you were talking about. You may forget middle names, birthdays, favorite colors, and entire conversations about truly important things as a wash of mittens, potty runs, Legos, snacks, and sporadic interruptions about nothing pours over you. You will become tiresome and uninteresting to any friends who have not or are not procreating. You will become tiresome and uninteresting to yourself.

You will find yourself writing blog posts about how tiresome and uninteresting you are, and you will grab a Guinness.

News Story on Childcare Union

In which babywhumpus' nappy head, shoes, and bum make appearances.

Story here.



I have many, many thoughts on this issue, which you can probably guess, but I am too mad to write about it right now.

Sofie Ketelaar (Oma), 1921-2011

Sofie Ketelaar (Oma), a set on Flickr.

Pete here... We lost an amazing person today, someone very dear to me. I know that my family and I will miss her very much.

Sofie was born and grew up in Germany, where she married Josef (Opa) 69 years ago! They had 3 kids (while surviving World War 2...!) and came to the US in 1952. Even though they spoke no English when they came here, they managed to build an honest and admirable life for themselves and raise 3 incredible children. They have also been an amazing part of the lives of their grandchildren and great grandchildren as well.

We are so honored to have been able to know Sofie, and I (Pete) feel so lucky to have been able to know her both as a child and as an adult. Her life and her words have always been an inspiration to me, and though I will miss her always, I will also always have great memories of her and remember the wise words she shared with me.

Goodbye, Oma! I love you! Thank you for all the love that you shared with me, and with all of us. We're all the better for it.

(I'll add more pictures to this set as we go...)

Car Talk

spontaneous babywhumpus monologuing:

"I like aikido class."

"I like Marie."

"I like being with Grandma & Gran."

"I like privacy."

breakfast out, 2011

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This is not an ad

DEFINITELY not.

I mean, I think it is the real poster for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but frankly, I am too terrified to go to their webpage to check for sure, in fear of what other horror might pop out at me.

I want nothing to do with this.

As if the giant shark-eyed dough boy and clearly psychopathic Ronald were not enough, there are clowns ALL OVER that scroll-down, with absolutely no warning.

This does NOT look like fun to me.

It looks like precisely the opposite.

Musical Interlude

Finn spent the last week with his grandparents, and we spent it sick.

I mean, we were sick.

With colds.

Here's a song...

NICU Follow-up Graduation

babywhumpus had his last visit to the NICU Follow-up clinic today, and I feel strangely ambivalent. While Finn has no lingering complications from his prematurity, I like the attention. Plus, I like going back to Children's even though everything has changed. These people took such good care of him, and I like the chance to see them again.

In any case, he topped out the Bayley Skills test and would have done even better, but he was quiet for the first part of the test, acting shy, and definitely did not do some things that he does do. Which the nurse certainly understands.

In any case, he's a rock star in the preemie world, and we feel very fortunate.

A fine day up north

Harvest for the Hungry, a set on Flickr.

daddywhumpus, babywhumpus, and I headed up to Brainerd, MN, for the "Harvest for the Hungry," co-sponsored by Finnegans Irish Amber, a nonprofit beer company (yes, you read that right), and a number of local vendors at the beautiful Farm on St. Mathias. The Hounds of Finn played three sets of acoustic music and there was general merriment to be had.