In Which We Show You Our Bear Behind:

Moodles is very quickly changing from a baby into a little girl. With OPINIONS. One of those opinions is that stairs are a fun challenge. One of her other opinions is that baby gates are for sissies. Blocking off doors with plastic walls worked for about two or three weeks before Maggie showed Moodles how to move them aside, and now I cannot take my eyes off the kid for a second, or she'll be climbing the stairs to Daddy's office all by herself. This morning, I managed to get an action shot for you, and as you can see, she's wearing one of the new outfits that her Nana bought for her while we were in Pittsburgh. (Bear behind, get it? I slay me.)

While Moodles is busy developing by leaps and bounds, I had a parental first. It wasn't really a good first. On the plane coming home from Pittsburgh, I was actually horrified by an act perpetrated by my spawn.

Which isn't to say that I really blame her. Moodles is allowed to ride on my lap on the airplane until she is two - or so the airlines tell me. I saved money on our trip to Pittsburgh by booking Moodles as a ride-on-lap child. On the way out, she was very well behaved, a bit of squirming aside. Unfortunately, the way home was another story.

The plane from Pittsburgh to Detroit was crowded and even with the air-conditioning on, it was exceedingly muggy and hot. We were in a 17" wide aisle seat, next to a woman who apparently wanted nothing to do with children. Moodles was too hot to sleep, and while she remains quiet and soothed in her baby-backpack, the airline won't allow you to wear it during takeoff and landing. So I had a squirmy, hot, overtired Moodles in my lap, and I was trying very hard to keep her from touching the jewelry of the Nice Lady in the window seat. Up until now, Moodles had never met someone who she WASN'T allowed to climb on, so she really didn't understand why I wouldn't let her go look out the window and eat the Nice Lady's necklaces. To reduce her frustration and keep her entertained, I started feeding the child pretzels, which she dissolved into mush with massive quantities of drool and her new top teeth. This plan remained marginally successful until the plane started to taxi, at which point, Moodles got very excited and gleefully raspberried a mouthful of pretzel goo all over the Nice Lady.

The Nice Lady screamed and started flailing as much as a 17" wide seat would allow. I was truly horrified and tried to dab at her with a burp cloth. Moodles thought that screaming was a fun idea and started yelling about the quality of service on the plane, and thus went the rest of my 40 minute flight. Moodles was bathed in sweat, I was bathed in sweat, Moodles wet her diaper as soon as the "fasten seatbelt" sign came on, and then started howling about it rather loudly. After 4 minutes of howling that seemed like eternity, I convinced the stewardess that I could stop the howling if I was permitted to change the bebe, turbulence or no. I nearly concussed myself in the airplane lavatory, trying to change Moodles on the SMALLEST CHANGING TABLE EVER, after which, Moodles was finally dry of diaper, but extremely displeased about returning to the captivity of our seat. At least with a dry diaper, and stripped down to her onesie, she was finally able to fall asleep - five minutes before the plane landed.

Ironically, the plane from Detroit to Madison was utterly deserted, and had working air conditioning. This time, the lady across the aisle from us had been talking to Moodles in the airplane terminal and thought she was perfectly ADORABLE. She would have loved to hold my little monster. Moodles had 3 seats to herself, including the window, but was totally uninterested in the experience, as she was out cold through the 30 minute runway delay, and the rest of the ride home.

My Pet Vermine:

If you were wondering about the secret of my Mouse Catching Success, it's partly experience with rodents from my youth (Mom conceded on her "no pet rule," and allowed a few gerbils over the years.) and partly the awesome tip-traps that I borrowed (permanently) from Eithni. These traps are quiet, safe for the dogs and the bebe, and super-easy to use... The only drawbacks are that you need to be vigilant after you set them, and check them several times a day, or they won't be humane, live traps anymore*, AND... Once you've caught a live mouse in the middle of winter... What do you do with it???

I'll show you what I did with the one I caught... I went out and bought it a Critter Keeper, a water bottle, some bedding, and proper rodent feed. That's what I did. Because I'm a big, fat softie. Well that, and having caught three four mice in the last two winters, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to need a place to keep all the critters I catch in the future. Honestly, I'm sick of rigging biscuit tins to stay closed, without hermetically sealing and suffocating the mouse within. Last winter, my attempt to contain but not kill a mouse, resulted in an escapee that I then had to trap a second time. Took me a week to lull that wiser, more cautious mouse into a false sense of security...

Anyway, after I set up Paris in his/her new digs, I reset the mouse trap in the same spot, just to be sure. Last year we had a pair of mice, so I wanted to be certain that I'd caught all our guests... This morning, I heard chewing coming from the kitchen and went to check my trap. Son of a biscuit. The brown mouse is Hector - now installed with Paris in the mouse environment that is suddenly too small. I haven't yet had a chance to sex those little suckers because I was trying to leave the house to catch my bus to work when Hector made his appearance. It's a good thing the stupid bus was late, because I then had to bait and set the trap a third time because now I'm really not sure.

I hope to god that I don't catch a third mouse**, because I'm fresh out of places to put them until the ground thaws a bit and I can drive them to a park somewhere and let them loose. Alinore has offered me a habitrail that she is no longer using... Apparently it'll be just the thing I deserve for 12th Night. I guess it'll solve the problem of where to put the little guys when I'm trying to clean their cage - I just haven't worked out what I'm going to do for cage-cleaning time until then. I'm pretty sure I'll need to clean out the mouse-house several times before the middle of January.

*Dude. Someone remind me to put the trap away before I leave for Pittsburgh for the holiday...
**If you're wondering, a third mouse would be either Ajax or Helena, depending on gender. What else do you name the victims of an epic mouse-catching spree?

SEKRET HANDSHAKE

Moodles' Cthulhu Face is rapidly becoming a sekret handshake of sorts around our house. Moodles is tickled with it, because it's something she can do that she knows Momma and Daddy will do back. These last two days, she has gone out of her way to look at me and then give me the Cthulhu-finger-waggle. She then looks inordinately pleased with herself when I respond in kind.

This is made more amusing to me because, for all our many repeated attempts to show her how, we still can't get her to wave goodbye or hi-five reliably... But she will now make the Cthulhu face very nearly on command.

The most recent variant on this theme is the "Kiss of Cthulhu," which has become highly popular at diaper changing time. When she tries to roll over on the changing table before her diaper is firmly affixed, I have only to palm her face and make kissing noises on the back of my hand while tickling her cheeks and ears with my finger tips, and she dissolves into gales of giggles. The giggling usually gives me enough time to get her dressed again without struggling or tears - if I'm quick!

In my 20's, I used to tell people that I wasn't going to have kids until I could get my pets right. To this day, most people will tell you that my dogs just ain't right... They are affectionate, and they mean well, but they ain't right.

... At least my results continue to be consistent...

Going to Unreasonable Lengths:

Every person has three ranges of hair length:

1. The range at which they consider it "too short to be functional."
2. The range at which it is "just about right." ( Though no woman appears to be entirely satisfied with her hair, even at the "right" range.)
3. The range at which it is "entirely too much to handle."

Moodles chews a package of #7 round needles.

These ranges vary from person to person, and some people, much to their chagrin, don't seem to be genetically capable of producing enough hair to hit the "enough" range much less the "too much" category. Being half-Japanese, and therefore having received the "OMG, HAIR!!!" gene, this is not my problem. I have extra-ordinarily healthy hair growing in places I really wish it wouldn't, but lets not go into that.

For me, the "too short" range is anything above my shoulder blades - mostly because I am routinely too lazy to do anything with my hair, and if it is above my shoulder blades, my hair will not stay behind me when I lean forward. PLUS, my hair is naturally curly, and if I get too much above my shoulder blades, there isn't enough weight in my hair to keep it from turning into ringlets. Let me assure you, I am entirely too sarcastic and deadpan to run around looking like Shirley Temple.

The "just about right" range is anything between the bottom of my shoulder blades and the top of my belt. I have kept my hair about there for most of my life. As I mentioned, I am not entirely satisfied with my hair at that length, but I can do 80% of the things I want with my hair when it is that long. (I still can't do that neat "crown of braids" thing, though, because I have a big, fat head. I know. It's a terrible fate... However I have determined that having hair long enough for a braid crown puts me well into the "too much to handle" range...)

Because I haven't managed to get to the stylist since before Moodles was born, my hair is now in the "too much to handle" stage of growth, and it's making me a little insane. I am ok with "hair past my waist," as they say in the romance novels. I am NOT OK with "hair past my butt." This was underscored for me twice yesterday when a colleague mentioned my hair in a very complimentary way, and I brushed her off with a litany of complaints. (Sorry, D. What I meant to say was, "Thank you.") And again, when I got home from work and had a chance to shower and deep condition, because Mom kept the baby for an extra half hour, so I wouldn't have to worry about running out of the bathroom naked and covered in soap because Moodles found a way to destroy herself in an empty crib.

I know that at least half of you reading now hate me because I'm complaining about hair growth that you've been trying to achieve all your life, but let me tell you why hair past your butt sucks the big one:

1. You sit on it. Your dog sits on it. The stinky guy next to you on the bus sits on it. In all three situations you end up trapped. The dog will take advantage and lick your face until you asphyxiate. You PRAY that the stinky guy on the bus will only take advantage and talk your ear off, but you sometimes worry that he might also lick your face.
2. You have to un-tuck your hair from your pants every time you go to the bathroom. This wouldn't be as annoying if it wasn't winter and you weren't wearing a wool sweater. But because it is winter, and you are wearing a sweater, un-tucking your hair will generate enough static charge to shock the shit out of you when you reach for the stall door, and your hair will stand out around you like a three foot halo in all directions. If "hair by Vandegraph" is not a good look on you, you will be irritated for the next 20 minutes until the charge wears off... By then you will have to pee again... Rinse, repeat.
3. You have to be careful when you potty. I will leave those details to your imagination. Let me just sum up by saying that if you were formerly a braid chewer, the potential for utter grossness here might cure you of the habit forever.
4. This one is my favorite: Showering becomes disconcerting. Picture yourself in a nice, hot shower, deep conditioning your hair, because that's what Lady Godiva would want... When the time comes to rinse, you let down your luxurious locks from where they were piled on top of your head, sucking up all the lovely moisturizers... In the last two minutes on top of your head, those locks have become cold and clammy. Where do they go when you shake them out? They go right into the crack of your ass, that's where. Not cool. 

Hat for Matt. Needs to be blocked.

Problem #4 can repeat itself as you dry your hair with interesting and, at times, utterly humiliating variations. You lean forward and flip your hair upside down to towel it off, but then how do you get back into the upright position for take off? Especially if you happen to be preening in front of your newly minted boyfriend? You don't just wad it up and stand - no! You fling it up over your shoulder and arch your back majestically like a surfacing mermaid! And then... Oh... The horrors...

Arching your back makes your hair effectively a foot longer, which means that when it lands, it will go BETWEEN your legs (COLD! CLAMMY! AUGH!) and then up over your thigh. Because it is squeaky clean, it will STICK THERE AND NEVER COME OUT. I don't know if you've ever tried to balance in a position wherein your boobs are pointed at the sky, but it's quite difficult... Especially if it's not a position you intended to be in, in the first place. If you are a klutz like me, and start thrashing around like an idiot, this will cause you to fall over in an entirely ungraceful tangle of limbs and hair and land on your head. LOUDLY. At this point, you can only hope that your newly minted boyfriend is sensitive enough not to laugh at you when he comes to rescue you from your poorly planned attempt to be irresistible.

Not that that has ever happened to me... Ever.

Anyway, I need a haircut soon before I manage to injure myself.  Also, I made this hat last night for the imminent in-laws. Moodles helped.

In which we are somewhat blurry:

I wanted to show you a picture of Moodles' fantastic morning bed-head, the only problem being that the bebe is blurry in the morning. Initially, I thought it was just that there isn't sufficient time for my coffee to start working by 7:00 AM, or perhaps the lack of glasses - that item often being misplaced the evening before by one of my "helpers." Usually under the couch. However, it has been confirmed, and my camera agrees. Moodles is, in fact, blurry until close to 9:00 AM. (At which point the need for a nap finally slows her down...)

Finally, I had to pick her up in order to keep her still enough to capture her fantastic 'do. (In future years, I'm sure she'll spend HOURS in front of a mirror trying to accomplish just this look using all manner of hair product and a curling iron...)

Cleaning out the animal cages:

Yesterday for breakfast, Moodles and I made some honey wheat bread in the bread-maker.

• 1 1/8 c water
• 3 T honey
• 2 T vegetable oil
• 1 T molasses
• 1 T gluten
• 1 1/2 t yeast
• 1/3 t salt
• 3 c whole wheat flour

Add all ingredients to bread maker in order suggested by machine manufacturer. Set machine for light crust. Entertain bebe and goggie intermittently for 45 minutes watching the dough go 'round in circles. Go do something else for the other 2.5 hours... Sadly, bebe will only watch the dough for so long before she tries to figure out how to open the bread-maker and presses a bunch of buttons, resulting in the machine getting set for "pasta with medium crust".

Moodles greatly approved of the resulting bread, and nommed on "heel strips" all day long. She'd get about 1/2 way through each piece of bread before Maggie would interpret all the delighted bread-waving as an invitation come eat. There were crumbs EVERYWHERE in the bebe enclosure. If I find a musical toy with a bread crust in the battery compartment, I'll know how it happened.

Eventually, I had to take the bebe enclosure apart, shake off all the stuffed animals, and sweep, because Moodles was trying to "save" little bread balls in the corners. I felt rather like a zoo-keeper, cleaning out the lion cage. I transferred Moodles to her jumparoo, from which she supervised me with a grave countenance and violent bouncing. Maggie took notice of all the uneaten food while I was sweeping, and decided that the inside of the bebe enclosure was an untapped source of mana that she should harvest at the first opportunity. A few minutes later, I had the bebe changed and dressed, and the enclosure back together with the bebe inside. Maggie implimented her plan with all due haste, and found out almost immediately why Jasmine had declined to join her:

She had failed to realize that being inside a bebe enclosure would limit her ability to back up or turn around, while giving Moodles an unprecedented "reach advantage." And adding insult to injury, was the fact that there weren't even any treats in the enclosure anymore, because Maggie executed her plan right after I cleaned. Maggie is just lucky that she's a short haired pooch, or Moodles would have had her in corn-rows and bows by now. Jasmine and I sat at safe distance on the couch and laughed up our sleeves while Moodles stretched out Maggie's lips and drooled on her ears.

Despite being somewhat embarrassed over this mistake, I still managed to convince Maggie to clear all the crumbs out of the bebe enclosure this morning... But only if I took the bebe out first...

Self Esteem