Hello, Atus

I'll be taking a break from blogging for a while. Check back here after Veteran's Day or so.

76 snot nose led the big parade

We had been enjoying a Native North American Trans-Siberian Hunter-Gatherer Individuals summer with temperatures in the mid-80s.
Until, of course, we wanted to enjoy a nice outdoor event.
The universe-famous annual Berkeley Springs Apple Butter Festival was held over Columbus Day weekend, with vendors vending their vittles, all the fried cauliflower you can stomach, arts, crafts, music, info, and the big parade, featuring local high school bands, numerous tractors, certain people running for office, random sweethearts sitting atop convertibles, and, this year, especially e-special, cows.

Unfotunately, the mercury was hard pressed to push to 40 degrees, with a cold wind blowing every which way, and a hard rain that started right around lunch time. But at least Ryan got to enjoy a wee bit o' hearty homestyle living from the best seat in the house...

His mother was very impressed that he didn't cry at any of the loud motorcycles or fire trucks blowing their sirens. I was more impressed that he was interested in the junior cheerleaders.
Hubba hubba.

Random Factoid

I have lost fifty pounds since the beginning of March.


It's really rather quite annoying.

Morgan County Courthouse (1908-2006), R.I.P.

Uh...

Anyone got an extra copy of my marriage license?

Unbuubened

I'm batting about .147 in the get-Ryan-to-sleep department in the past month. Last successful try was at 4:40 in the morning on Sunday after Ainsley had tried for an hour and a half for the third time all night and he was finally good and tired. Nothing like someone else's leftovers.

It hasn't helped that Ryan has been sick for nearly a month with a cold and now a double ear infection. Forget this sleeping-through-the-night milestone crap. I'd be happy if he slept through a sitcom. But it's disheartening to walk into his room when he's crying in his crib and for him to look over your shoulder, expecting She With NonFuzzy Chest. There have been so many instances this week where there was just nothing I could do. Ryan pulls away, points at the door, points at the rocking chair, makes the 'nurse?' hand signal, pats out "FEED ME" in morse code on my shoulder, points at his open mouth with both fingers and says "heLLO!", etc., and all I can do is sway and rock and sing and I also type pretty fast but all that does me no good at O-dark-all-night-thirty and the boy wants his mommy but She Needs A Break after being up for a hundred and seventy thousand hours straight.

Phewph.
Can't wait to have five more!

Speaking Klingon

I've been trying to teach myself Russian, through books and tapes at first, and now through the famous "Rosetta Stone" program that I can get for free on-line through an International Affairs division at the Pentagon. The book was the most helpful, because it showed me how to pronounce the 33 letters of the cyrillic alphabet. So before I can learn what words mean, I can at least learn how to say them, i.e., how to read a map, a building sign, a bottle.

I've had this tape for eighteen years. I never knew it read, "Concert."
I was listening to the basic Russian on tape in the car, talking back to the narrator, when I noticed someone in the car next to mine staring at me. Oh, stop looking at me, I know I look like a dork, why don't you just mind your own bus--Jayson!
Turned out it was the guy who sat next to me in class in Norfolk for ten weeks. He's stationed nearby. Small interstate road system.
I am not impressed with the Rosetta Stone. Through repetition, you are meant to click on pictures of random objects after you listen to the word said, without knowing what the word actually means. And while I was hoping to learn numbers, days of the week, basic greetings, etc., one of the first phrases on there was "a woman and a horse." This was after the words for "ball" and "elephant." Not so much helpful in the world of ICBM reduction operations. "Would you like to inspect our missiles?" "No, but I would love to show you my elephant."

California Waking

So someone is having a little trouble adjusting back to east coast time.
As he crawls around the coffee table here at 10pm, chasing the dogs, chucking coasters, whistling, cooing, generally being untired. Three days now. He was up for three hours after midnight yesterday.
So we're thinking of shipping him to Uncle Tim's in England for a week to get him recalibrated the other way.

Sunday was my first time flying with Ryan -- 'twas Ainsley's fourth -- and he thankfully slept for almost an hour and a half of the five-hour flight. Otherwise, we tried to keep him occupied with toys, drinks, Finding Nemo on my laptop, and boobs. It seems it was United Airline's first time flying with a baby, too; I asked which restroom had a changing table, and the clueardess said none of them did and suggested I try changing him on my lap.
So you can see why no one's ever had sex with her.

The tedium of travel was wiped away by our legend sighting: I made Ainsley's century by pointing out one Mr. Darrell Green, Redskins future Hall of Famer (#28 in your programs, #1 in your heart), standing by the luggage carousel. Ainsley went all pitter-pattery, and her eyes swelled with tears.
She loves him THAT much.
But married ME, mister speedipants, don't you forget it.

Laundry List

I just don't understand that expression.

"I've got a laundry list of things to do here."

Really?
Let's take a gander at your rudimentary laundry categories:

• Whites.
• Darks.

Two things?
You couldn't have memorized them? Had to write them down at the top of a long piece of paper? And make a big deal about how you had two things to do? Two Whole Things?

Perhaps you need a bigger washer. Metaphorically.