Or: What doesn’t happen when the human head is exposed to the vaccume of space.
Very, very cool. I had no idea you could live that long when exposed to the cosmos.
Archive for November, 2006
Give Or Take
On Halloween I might have mentioned that Wallace refused to wear his Halloween costume. MoVo pointed out that he was going trick-or-treating as Man Standing Next To Firetruck.
Last night we got a follow up photo in the same genre that The Troublemaker has entitled Boy In General Vicinity of Santa.
Wallace said, “Hi Santa!” and “Bye-bye Santa!” and played trains (sort of) with Santa, but he did NOT want to sit on Santa’s lap. Amusingly, he’s decided since that he successfully asked Santa for a Christmas gift, “Santa. Tuck. Peece.” He did not, but we’re going to let him think he did.
The ride-on choo choo they had there was a big hit and he even worked up the courage to sit in it for a ride as long as dad went with him. The guy running it let him push the start and stop button until he was comfortable. So he got to be “waving observer”, “conductor” and “passenger with father”.
It was a ton of fun and seeing as it’s so early in the season we’re going to go back and try Santa again. Wallace was obviously interested, just also terrified. Hopefully next time he’ll be more comfortable.
In other news, under the heading of THINGS I WANT THAT I CANNOT AFFORD BUT I MIGHT HAVE TO GET ANYHOW, check this out! It looks stupid, but I cannot tell you how happy it would make our husky. He would die a little doggy death of joy.
Hello, Peeps! Yesterday the Poopyhands clan returned from our whirlwind trip to fabulous London, and man did we have a good time. We visited the family (all of whom are looking extremely well), hung out with friends (thanks for dinner, Dave and Sabine!), and generally tried not to be awake until 2:00 a.m. and sleep until two in the afternoon.
Wallace was incredibly well-behaved the first two days, a little melty by day three, and by day four he’d had ENOUGH. Luckily, he’s amenable even when he’s peevish, so we had tons of time just hanging out with him. At night we’d get him in his PJs and with his toys and play his DVD player and Oma and he would hang out for four or five hours while mom and dad went down to the local and got legless.
I can now say that in addition to everything else I’ve done in London that I’ve crossed Tower Bridge, seen the Tower of London, and been to Harrods, albeit briefly. Not to self: Never promise Santa will be in London if you can’t get to Harrods when it opens. His first available viewing was with the 4pm crowd, and we didn’t have four hours to shop. Both results were tragedies.
I watched Australia wipe the floor with poor England during the Ashes. The Troublemaker was able to bring me up on the finer points of cricket by using baseball as a basis for comparison. Unsurprisingly, I now like cricket. Poor England. Let us never speak of it again.
Wallace was painfully adorable in many ways, not the least of which being that somehow he decided upon arrival that London taxis were police cars. The entire vacation he spent chirruping happily, “Peec beep!” every time he saw one. He would not be dissuaded and by the end of the trip everyone was calling them police cars.
“Wallace, is this a police truck?”
*outraged stare* “Peec BEEEP!”
Oookay.
He was also lovely on the flights out and back. TT and I would start to feel frazzled from having to stay on him to keep him from kicking the seat in front of him, or to keep him from screetching, and just at that point a steward would walk by and gush for five minutes about what a fantastic little guy he was and how much they loved having him fly with them.
When it comes to bad airline behavior, they have a more realistic expectation base.
While we were gone, Bruno the dog stayed with Aunt Lisa and ATE HER THINGS. For which we punished him by snuggling and giving him treats. BAD DOG, BRUNO.
He will be staying with her for Christmas, but will also have his kennel at her house. Huskies are just naughty. Wallace missed Bruno a lot.
I had my final (thank you jebus) dental appointment today at 8am, so I’m feeling a little unreal, but other than that I’m also very happy.
What a great vacation!
***********
P.S. - We had bad colds during the trip but it was not, repeat, not chicken pox. Hooray!!
Is there something even more terrifying than getting on an international eight-hour flight with a two year old who is not ready to go to sleep?
There is.
Two Words:
Chicken fucking pox.
We don’t know for sure, but the Bean down the street, who he sees almost every day, has spots. We’ll keep an eye out.
Pray for us.
That when I’m drunk I get a bit maudlin and dramatic. This might be someone I am married to. It has been suggested by CERTAIN PEOPLE that they are going to hook a breathalizer up to my blog and force me to use it before I post.
I’ve never been maudlin, drunk or dramatic in my LIFE.
Ever.
Posting shitfaced tipsy again, Peeps.
I found out tonight that a dear friend of mine is planning her second baby. This is not news, but it was difficult to hear, nonetheless. Not becuase I would be unhappy for her; you should see number one, Peeps, this kid fills your heart with joy. Number two could only make the world an even better place. I would rejoice with her with all my heart if she told me tomorrow that she were pregnant.
But it’s hard, because as much as I want my degree, I want another little one, and then another. How can I look at Wallace, who is one of the most amazing beings I’ve ever met, and not boggle at how wonderful his little sister or brother would be?
GAC’s death at Atomictumor has really jammed it home how short and fickle life is. Flu on Halloween, dead at Thanksgiving. I don’t want to juggle with my son’s life. I want him to have full-blood siblings and to grow up with them, as annoying and difficult as they will undoubtedly be to their older brother.
I want a baby, Peeps, and I cannot have one without abandoning the plan for which our family has sacrificed and hurt. I have to choose between my career and my prospective babes, and there is no choice if the family is to have a future. The career comes first.
But the decision is crushing me. It’s so amazingly melodramatic and crappy to think of, but at one point in time I know that there were a few cells. A few cells that were made up of the incredibly strong mix of The Troublemaker and I. They were there and existed for one heartbeat. One moment long enough to get a positive test before disappearing forever.
It would have meant misery and problems and bad things on the one hand, but on the other, if I could go back in time and undo the loss of that solitary Poopyhands egg, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Pay to do it. Pay LOTS to do it.
It was us, that egg. We are amazing together. And now it’s gone. And now I wait for too long. Too long.
I’m sad tonight, and I’ll be sad tomorrow. Tonight Wallace was showing the Bean his whole house and saying things like ‘This is a BALL!’ before bouncing it off the Bean’s adorable head. They were both so happy.
I’ll feel differently when I’m sober, but tonight I feel like I’ll never be happy again.
Goodbye, GAC. Goodbye, Barbara. I’ll be thinking of you as I snuggle my baby tomorrow. I never knew you, but many, many people around the world will miss you and I’m going to go cry myself to sleep tonight because you are gone and the time we all have is much too short.
The world aches with your absence.
I need to be pregnant, and I’m not. There is no happiness here.
Not for Nana Poopyhands, although that will be up shortly.
I wrote recently about Atomictumor and his wife who fell violently ill for reasons unknown. Through the past two weeks there have ben ups and downs of various kinds and things like the loss of some of her right hand due to all the blood pressure medications. There were hopeful signs and setbacks.
Yesterday she had a stroke and it’s affected her brain stem. She no longer breathes without the ventilator and her pupils longer respond to light shone in her eyes. They are beginning to test for brain death and expect her to be gone in less than five days.
Her oldest son’s birthday is in five days.
There aren’t words.
Speckblog and the Poopyhands family is wishing the Atomictumor family peace. I’m so sorry, AT. I’m so sorry.
****************
Edit at 11:29 central time:
I’ve got a shirt, blanket, makeup to put on her.
I’m picking up the kids.
She is brain dead. November 17, 2006.
Good bye, BJ. I love you.
And a “You Rock, Girl!”
When you give them what they want, they give it back. The dumbening worked.
Ta Da!
In this video, Wally Wallington demonstrates how he can lift a Stonehenge-sized pillar weighing 22,000 lbs and single-handedly move a full on barn over 300 ft, using only his body, gravity, and his incredible ingenuity.
Or do you want an A?
Peeps, I just rewrote a paper for a class I’m in based on the professor’s “corrections”. It was horrifying. In many cases she was “correcting” for basic vocabulary. Meaning, if she didn’t understand what I wrote she replaced it with more pedestrian language. She also actually corrected some of my text in such a way that it changed the meaning of what I wrote.
I rewrote it and gnashed my teeth the whole time. It has undergone a great dumbening and has been turned in again.
I want an A. It doesn’t matter if I’m right. Someday I’ll get to be the boss of what I write, but not now. I just need an A. Sometimes that’s hard to remember.
