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Big ole hugs and kisses to Aunt Jennie, who surprised Auggie and I today with a package for Auggie’s birthday. The package contained the cutest little toy, a wooden horse cutout with 3 rope rings to toss around its neck! It’s hand-painted, hand-crafted goodness, and Auggie thinks it’s just about the neatest thing since this plastic garden play-yard thingie we bought for him at a neighborhood garage sale this weekend.

Thanks, Aunt Jennie!

August and I had a very enjoyable, uneventful day. After his post-op visit to the eye doctor this morning (everything’s going swimmingly with the tear duct, thanks), he promptly took a three-hour nap. Sweet! I even got to get in on some of the napping action. Double sweet!

Except I kept having these dreams that I was trying to find a bathroom. Don’t you hate those? Sure, it was just my bladder trying to give me some subconscious hints, but I still didn’t wake up.

Changing subjects abruptly, I just have to say that Tim and I are in a pickle. Ever since Auggie had his tear duct surgery two weeks ago, he has been waking up in the middle of the night again. This is after four blissful months of sleeping through the night, mind you.

Anyway, the first few nights he woke up, we immediately went in to comfort him and put him back to sleep. Occasionally, I would even bring him into bed with us if he didn’t calm down right away. We continued to go in there when he started showing signs of teething, since that can be especially painful for babies at night. Then, my friend Kim came to visit and we didn’t want Auggie to wake her up.

Well, now it’s been nearly two weeks and he is continuing to wake up. He’s also continuing to showing signs of teething. One night last week, he woke up and we went in there and Auggie simply would not go back down. He cried for over an hour and a half. That is no fun, especially when you have to go to work in the morning.

So the next night, we let him cry alone in his crib. As a parent, this is the thing I hate to do most of all. But when you go in there and it doesn’t comfort him at all, is it helping? He cried for about 45 minutes and then fell asleep.

The past few nights, I just have not been able to take the crying. I feel compelled to go in there and get him. So I’ve been following my instincts. Last night I even brought him into bed with us again. Tim disagrees with this. He thinks we should let him cry, that Auggie is just being stubborn and that when I bring him in with us, that it’s just reinforcing the waking.

Sigh.

I have no idea what to do. Pray that he sleeps well tonight, I guess.

We finally watched The Royal Tenenbaums last night. I am completely in love with Wes Anderson’s movies, just like every other hipster in the known universe. Not that I’m a hipster or anything. I mean, I have a child. And I own a pair of Keds.

Be that as it may, there’s just something about the way he styles his movies that really appeals to me. I love all the title shots that segment the movie, how he breaks everything into chapters. For those of us with patently short attention spans, it works very well.

I must admit that I didn’t enjoy it as much as Rushmore, however. It just didn’t have that uplifting-the-world-is-my-oyster-kinda quality about it. I dunno. It was kinda weird, the Elliot Smith song stuck in the middle of all those oldies.

Here’s the photo I promised a couple of days ago…

Can you stand it? He is totally as much fun as he looks.

Sometimes I just look at him and am amazed all over again at how big he is getting. He just walks around all over the place (a lot faster than you would imagine too!), squats down to pick something up, stands back up, comes running to you, arms outstretched, grinning. He makes me feel like no matter what else I do in this life, I’ve done at least one thing right.

Thanks, Auggie.

Why, oh why, are they making those poor American Idol kids sing together like some kinda mutant Partridge Family? Or, as Tim puts it, an All-Star Six Flags Jam? I mean, they must have absolutely sold their souls to Fox!

And, now that the interminable final show is over (after only 2 freaking hours of bad group sing-alongs and Focus commercials), they are trotting the top 10 out on tour? Come on, Rupert! Let these poor kids sign a recording contract already! Let them go…

So Kelly won, just like everyone knew that she was going to. Fine, fine. Great. Let her record those anemic ballads and let Justin sign with some funky R&B label. Couldn’t you just see him doing some D’Angelo-esque numbers?

I don’t even know what I’m talking about. I think I saw a D’Angelo video once.

I’m just trying to sound like one of the cool kids. *sobs*

Anyway, today was just an exhausting exercise in futility. August cried for 45 minutes in the middle of the night, as Tim and I lay stiffly in our bed, forcing ourselves not to go in there and scoop him up. Considering that we did try to comfort him the night before, and yet he still cried for an hour and a half until I brought him into bed with us, I think we did the right thing.

He ended up sleeping until 7:30, which was not so good for me, because that meant that I got breakfast detail, as Tim was leaving for work. I was in a bad mood because I enjoy that last hour or half hour of sleep by myself after Tim gets up with Auggie early in the morning.

We went for a walk after breakfast, after looking for Jake’s bleeding collar for 15 minutes. Yeesh! I never did find the dang thing. I have tried to not get too frustrated with our walks, even though it takes me nearly 30-45 minutes to go a mile. With four wacky wiener dogs and a 23-pound baby in a decidedly non-sporty stroller, it’s not like I’m going to break the four-minute mile record. But still! I feel like the little grandmas in the neighborhood are lapping me, you know?

Ooo! You have to come back tomorrow, when I have a chance to upload the pictures I took today of the world’s cutest toddler! Lucky me, that I happened upon him at the playground this afternoon.

Ugh.

If you saw the finals of American Idol, you already know what I’m about to say. The “original” songs were anything but. The performances were OK. Justin’s hair was fabulous. Kelly stayed away from the flesh-colored lipsticks. Who should win? Who cares? Flip a coin or something. If they’re going to make them sing the same sappy songs, what does it matter?

And why did they change the format at the last minute? I mean, one of the best reasons for watching was the catty feedback of the judges/Simon.

And that poor guy that won the British version! What was that about? His song was terrible! And the poor guy had a lisp! So he chooses to sing “The Sweetest Thing”?! “The Thweeteth Thing”? Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Jethuth, Mary and Jotheph!

*snicker* I love it when I crack myself up.

At any rate, Auggie and I hosted a home visit with our Parents As Teachers parent educator, Cheri, this afternoon. She exclaims over all of the wonderful things that Auggie can do that I take for granted. ‘Look how well he can pick up his food!’ ‘He’s looking back at you to see your reaction [before he drops yet another toy off through the banister]!’ ‘He’s walking around so well!’

It’s always nice to know that he’s keeping up with most other toddlers his age. Not that there is any pressure or anything…

Kim made it back to San Francisco, safe and sound. I got to wheel her all the way to the gate, which was nice, because she was randomly selected for extra security screenings. So I got to take her bag for an extra X-raying, open them up for a thorough search at the gate and then take her down the jetway. Poor Kim was then strapped into some kinda crazy contraption to get loaded onto the plane. She looked like Hannibal Lector or something!

I guess they really didn’t want her to fall out of the chair…

It was really great to see Kim. I told her that I think our friendship is a really good one, because even though we hadn’t seen her since April, it was like she never left.

Since her last visit, she had lost her job, gone through a few weeks of unemployment hairiness and gotten another job. I mean, when you think about it, it’s kind of funny that we still keep in touch at all. She is a single, cosmopolitan woman. I’m a married, suburban mommy. She works in the fast-paced wacky world of the Internet. I do the same freelance publication, talking to executives of the same health insurance company about the same topics every month. But we still had things to talk about all weekend. And not just indie rock.

We attempted to drive to our shared college town of Columbia, Missouri on Friday afternoon. Poor Tim was exhausted from the week with Auggie (aka Mr. Wakey Man) post-eye surgery. He got off of work early and immediately went to bed.

Kim and I and Auggie showed up around 3 and woke him up to go with us on our voyage back to “the scene of the crime” as Kim says. If he didn’t go, then we couldn’t really go, since steering both Auggie and Kim in their respective wheeled devices doesn’t work with just one wheeler (as I learned earlier during a stroller/wheelchair juggling exhibition at the St. Louis Bread Company).

Traffic getting out of St. Louis was murder. I guess every slacker employer in this city had let their work force off early too on Friday, so cars were crawling all the way out to St. Peters. It took us an hour and a half to go 34 miles. Even those of you in the Beltway or on the West Coast can dig what I’m saying here. My right foot was sore from the constant gas-brake-gas-brake.

So we finally break free of the gridlock and I’m tooling along Highway 70 at a good clip. We pass Kingdom City with a small cheer (it’s 20 miles outside of Columbia), only to come to a dead stop four miles later. What in God’s green pastures is going on now?

We turn on the AM station and wait for a break in the Cards-Cubs game for an update. Well, apparently there was a horrendous two-cars-meet-semi wreck, with all the vehicles aflame, a mere 20 minutes before we got there. The westbound lanes were completely shut down, and we were completely screwed.

About this time, I was sick of driving. Tim and I switched seats (Chinese fire drill!) and he took the wheel. We spotted an opening in the eastbound lanes and gunned it across the median (Go, go, Focus, go, go!).

We made it to Columbia a mere three hours after we left. It should’ve taken two hours, at the most. Ugh.

Why did we go to Columbia anyway? We wanted to go to Whizz Records, which I have not patronized since May 1997. We wanted to go to Shakespeare’s Pizza, of course. We wanted to buy a Mizzou license plate frame for Kim’s coworker.

We got there a little after 6.

This is significant, because everything we wanted to do closed at 6. Aw, man! The only salvageable activity was Shakespeare’s, which we consumed with relish. Kim even drank a beer. I was too depressed about Whizz.

No new records.

No license plate frame.

No fun.

Actually, we did have a great time. We wandered around campus, ogling the new Business School and generally ambling down Memory Lane. ‘One time I was so drunk walking home, I stopped in Arts and Science and bought a Baby Ruth and almost choked to death!’ ‘One time I was so drunk walking home, you all almost had to carry me up this street!’ And so on and so forth.

We even cruised past the old digs on Ross Street. All the blinds were drawn, and it looked kinda sad. Poor Ross Street.

Eventually, we headed home. The drive back went a lot faster, with no major tie-ups.

Did I mention what a trooper my son was throughout this ordeal? He slept most of the way to Columbia and back, waking only to charm the patrons of Shakespeare’s Pizza and to run through the grass on the Quad, looking unbelievably cute and small next to the Columns.

I’m so lucky. But you really can’t go back.

Sorry for the silence over the past couple of days. My old friend and college roommate Kim has been staying with us since Thursday evening. And, as always, it has been a visit chock-full of meaty goodness.

The fun all started on Thursday evening, when Kim’s bag was apparently lost by her airline. No big deal, said the weird lost baggage clerk guy, it will probably be here on the next plane from Houston (where she had a connecting flight from San Francisco, her home). We go out for coffee and good food at the friendly neighborhood lesbian coffeehouse and return home only to find that the weird clerk guy has called and her bag was stolen.

Wha..?

Since Kim is disabled, she is the last one off of the plane and her bag is often one of the last ones left. Since Tim and I (and Auggie), were waiting in the baggage area, but had no idea what her bag looked like, we did not pick it up for her. But some mean thief did! The bag was found, and, Kim being the good traveler that she is, there were no valuables in it anyway. It looked like the person had just rummaged through it, realized that it’s contents were those of a small girl (Kim has tiny little feet) and felt guilty, so they abandoned it in a random hallway.

The amazing part of this story, I think, is that the bomb squad didn’t blow the dang thing up, since they are so strident about the whole unattended bag thing at the airport. If this were September 30, 2001? That bag would be history. Along with Kim’s dress for the wedding she’s attending today (good luck, Christian!) and Auggie’s nifty gifts. Thanks, Aunt Kim!

Auggie is growing tired of

being corralled in his toy area, so I’ll have to save the story of our cursed trip to Columbia for later.

Thank goodness that Nikki finally got the boot over on American Idol. I was beginning to worry that those phone phreaks were playing a cruel joke on us and were conspiring to make Nikki the ultimate winner. Yuck.

So why do I, a self-professed rock fan(Really? Where?), hate the “rocker” of American Idol? Because while she is marginally more credible because of her rock fandom, her voice is not good. Not at all.

So, then I think Kelly should win, right? Well, no, not really. I mean, yeah, she can sing the heck out of a Mariah Carey cover of a freaking Badfinger song, but she’s just a voice. Is that what American music is all about? These days, I suppose you could make a good case that, yes, this is what American music is about.

However, I can totally dig Justin. Even his respect for Michael Jackson. I mean, the man was the King of Pop. I know that I had a poster of him on my wall in the third grade (even though the song “Thriller” scared the bejesus out of me. Creepy Vincent Price.). I love that he has a little soul. I hate that the judges thought that an Elton John song was the perfect number for him. I know, I know, Elton used to have a little credibility too.

Oh, my. Did I really just write that much about a television show? Forgive me.

Well! Now! I feel better!

Auggie’s procedure went pretty well this morning. We drug ourselves out of bed at 5, got to the hospital by 6 and then Auggie was on his way to the operating room by 7:45.

They gave him a drug called Versed (explained to us that it was “like Valium” by no fewer than 4 people this morning. OK! We got it! It’s like Valium! Sheesh.) which made him all drunky. He was really cute, lolling around in my arms.

So anyway, they took him off to the OR at 7:45 for this supposed 10 minute procedure. Well, time goes by and more time goes by, and no doctor. No Auggie. Mommy is getting worried. 8:30 comes and Mommy goes out to the nurses’ station to find out where the heck her baby is. The nurse calls the OR and says that they are finishing up and he will be out soon.

Mommy and Daddy wait some more. Finally, the doctor comes and gives us the scoop on the way to the recovery room. Apparently, he could get the probe through his tear duct, but when they tried to irrigate the duct, the water would not go through. I know. I’m totally confused too.

So they had to put in a tiny little tube to try to make a path around the obstruction. It should work its way out through his nose in a few weeks. I was worried that it would start coming out by his eye, but Tim said the doctor advised us to just “push it back in” if we saw it coming out. Oooooh kay.

Needless to say, once we got back to the recovery area, Mommy is completely absorbed in getting her baby to stop crying and oblivious to anything the doctor is saying. This leaves Daddy to gather the pertinent information about medication, behavior or effects of the surgery that we might see or need to watch out for, etc.

Needless to say, Daddy finds out that we need to give Auggie some eyedrops 4 times a day. For how long? He doesn’t know. What’s up with this weird bloody mucous coming out of his nose? He doesn’t know. Should we give him any Tylenol? He doesn’t know.

Oooooh kay! Daddy tries. We know. And we love him for it.

I guess Mommy can always call the doctor if there’s anything too weird or scary.

So I took an hour and got a facial at the spa tonight. Thank goodness. And thank goodness that all that bourgeois guilt that I felt last time melted away under the butter-like hands of wonderful Kristina. She even took pity on me and gave me a wonderful extra session of accupressure. Facials are wonderful things, even if you have to suffer through extraction.

OK, so tomorrow morning is the Big Event. The “procedure” to open Auggie’s tear duct should take less than 10 minutes, but I’m still a little uneasy. I mean, they have to put him under and everything! It’s very nerve-wracking for a mommy…

Anyway, thinking of happier things, Tim’s parents came over Saturday night for a dinner celebrating their 46th wedding anniversary. This is a great picture:

So wish us luck!

We just got back from a Cardinals-Phillies game with Auggie.

Actually, we had a very good time, thanks to a pair of free nose-bleed section seats from my step-nephew-not-really-because-he’s-not-even-blood-related-to-my-stepdad who got to go to Fernando Vina’s baseball clinic this morning.

Even though the Cards lost, Auggie found the action on the field riveting. We even got to be on the big screen when “That One Guy” who does all the fun fan stuff between innings came by and gave us free Sure T-shirts to start the wave with him. Of course, they were only larges and Tim and I were already sweating under our T-shirts and jerseys, so we were begging for the third out of the inning.

After the wave was over (and the “That One Guy” bolted like his seat was on fire — what was up with that? Did we smell that bad? Weird.), we peeled off the shirts and gave them to some 11-year-olds that thought we were the coolest ever. I chuckled to think about these kids wearing these Sure “Raise your hand if you’re sure” T-shirts to school like they were the latest in cool teen gear.

Heh.