Doodie

Tired. First, my kid couldn't keep anything down for 48 hours. Not even water. Now that we're over that (and a false ear infection, and an unexplained rash, two visits to the doctor and three phone calls to the nurse), she won't poop. Operation Suppository failed so now we're on to Operation Laxative.

I just want her (and all of us) to be healthy for Thanksgiving, her birthday, and traveling to my mom's (we've tried to go the last two weeks and couldn't because one or all of us was sick).

No one tells you before you become a parent how much time you will spend thinking about poop.

Tip-Top-Tap

I was in Chicago for a few days last week for a conference and tacked on some time for visiting with Kristin, my matron of honor (or as we said at the time "old bag of honor" because, really, isn't that what "matron" means?). I stayed at the Allerton Hotel, which was built in the '20s. It was renovated earlier this year and has lovely rooms. Other people at the conference complained that their rooms were very, very small, but they had 23rd-floor views of Michigan Avenue. My room, on the other hand, was about standard hotel size, but I was on the 4th floor, so my view was of the hotel's HVAC system and two sides of the building. Let's just say I left the curtains closed the whole time.

You might recognize the neon sign on the hotel, which you can see better in the picture below. Tip - Top - Tap was the name of the bar at the top of the hotel back in the day (the space is now occupied by a fitness center, and no, I didn't see it). It means there's a tap at the tip-top of the building. Clever, those flappers and gangsters and whoever.

Anyway, I made a pilgrimage to the Flagship Cathedral of the St. Holy Crate & Barrel and spent a good hour wandering all four stories -- and came out of there with a gravy boat and a towel. I guess I just don't need another serving plate or cheese grater.

It was nice to be away from my usual routine of work and heating up frozen pizza, but I had a hard time relaxing. I don't know what to do with myself without a job to go to or a house to tend to or people in that house who need me. I was too worried about what was going on at home, if Lauren was giving Bret a hard time, if she was sleeping (it's one thing to trade off with your partner when the kid won't sleep; it's another thing to have to handle it by yourself all night). They did just fine, and she's definitely daddy's girl now that she spent so much time with him. I also found it hard to relax because I'm so used to doing something all the time -- laundry, getting dinner ready, playing with Lauren, packing her lunch, reading the mail -- that to have NOTHING to do between 4:30 pm and 7:30 the next morning felt very strange. I thought I'd sleep the sleep of the dead without the baby monitor buzzing and a bed all to myself, but I didn't. I guess I like my crazy life more than I realized. And it was awfully nice to come home to these two:

I Hope She's Right

What Lauren thinks of McCain's chances of winning today:

Dressing Up

Yes, I went as Pat for Halloween. I have no idea what made me think of it, but that's what I did. It was actually really easy to pull off (which is kind of scary). I bought a wig and glasses, darkened my eyebrows with black eyeliner and wore no other makeup. I wore a pair of my own khakis and found an old denim shirt of Bret's, along with a black belt and some black oxfords I bought for Halloween a few years ago (we went as The Blues Brothers), and there you go.

Everyone at the party knew who I was right away and cracked up. So, it had the desired effect. I guess I am more into getting the laugh than taking the opportunity to dress uber-slutty like the trend seems to be right now for Halloween (there was a middle-aged woman dressed as a Playboy bunny and another as a pirate-wench with serious cleavage at this party).

Anyway, I had a good time and it was worth it, even if there are now pictures of me with my shirt tucked into my pants. Eesh.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

Okay, enough kid stuff for a while. On to the really important things. Like my hair.

I got it cut and colored last night and it probably wasn't the best idea to make a big change during PMS week. The color is good -- I usually get highlights all spring/summer, so by fall, I'm looking pretty washed out and am tired of keeping up with the roots, so I go back to brown. This time I went a couple of shades darker than my natural color and I like it a lot.

The cut, however? Well, it's cute, it's just not all that cute on me. I didn't think the long, blond hair was doing anything for me, but at least it was covering up more of my face. I look like a pumpkin wearing a short, brown wig (if pumpkins were not orange so much as pinky-Caucasian colored, and had not only wide faces but also double chins).

Oh, well. It'll grow back. It always does. I've done these dramatic hair changes at least once a year since high school. Funny how it never used to scare me like it does now. I think I almost went for the cut this time to prove to myself that I could still do it. Like riding a roller coaster as an adult when you really don't want to. I told my stylist I'm terrified of becoming one of those women on "What Not To Wear" who keeps the same hairstyle for 10 years. I don't want to get set in my ways. I think that ages a person faster than just about anything.

And speaking of aging a person, while I was getting my cut and enjoying a song playing in the salon (can't remember what it was right now), my stylist (who I adore, by the way; very nice girl) said, "Uh, I'm so tired of this awful 80s music." Them's fightin' words, so I said, "Watch it sister!" To which she said, "Oh, I'm a child of the 80s -- I was BORN in the 80s." Ugh. Just keep cuttin', Barbie.

Great Expectations

Operation Paci Removal went off perfectly. Friday evening Lauren willingly put all her mimis, one by one, into an envelope to "send to the babies who need them." Then she opened her "big girl present" and really liked it (yea! I picked the right thing!) and has been sleeping with it ever since. She went to sleep fine that night (and for her weekend naps) and she didn't wake up crying for the pacis. She never once whined about not having them, and when she asks about them, she answers her own question. The conversation goes like this:

Lauren: Mimis? Babies!
Me: That's right -- that was so nice of you to give your mimis to the babies who needed them.
Lauren: Mm hm!

She's pretty proud of herself and I think that's great. I guess she wasn't as addicted as I thought. Or else I was able to tap into her compassionate nature and she was happy to do something nice for babies. Don't know, but, whatever it was, I'm still shocked.

She also shocked me Sunday because we visited a new church and she willingly went to the nursery without crying. I guess overall I need to have higher expectations of her from now on!

Take On Me Redux

A shout out to Tela for this one!

You already know I'm an 80s music freak -- I'm not too proud to say I loved this song/video back in the day (give me a break -- I was 16) and this very literal re-do Cracks. Me. Up. Turn up your sound and enjoy.