Because...

The February header is up a few days early. Why?
1. The January header went up late.
2. I like it.
3. I'm impatient.
4. I can.

Yay for February!

The Quiet

So far, in my whole seven months of momhood, I've learned that it's not exactly the crying and screaming you should be terrified of--it's The Quiet. I'm sure The Quiet only gets worse as he gets older, but right now, The Quiet is what I fear.

The Quiet happens immediately following something shocking and painful. The Quiet is the stage between the event and the poo hitting the fan. Say, for example, if Little Boy has fallen off the bed--not that that has ever happened, no siree Bob. Here is a rundown of what it might have sounded like, if it had happened: *thud*...The Quiet...ASGVLIGJATUQWOTUQJAFLDJASJERTQLSFAAEJFG09AS8GU03JQKZ!!!!!!

The Quiet is also a signal that he has found something extremely intriguing and should probably keep it on the down-low. Say, for example, Mommy's textbook with lots of pages to rip or an electrical cord or outlet. When the babbling and grunting stop, I get worried.

I can hardly wait for Little Boy to get a little bit less little, when The "Nothing" happens...
as in, "What are you up to, Handsome?"
"...Nothing"
*flushes jewelry down the toilet*

25 things

Because I've been feeling rather "blah" lately (is it laziness? is it winter? is it postpartum? who cares?), I'm going to post a meme-ish thing I was tagged for (thanks, Elliot)--but I'm going to put my own spin on it.
Instead of 25 random things about me (because, again, who cares?) I'm going to make it 25 random links...which ultimately will reveal things about me. And for your sake, you need to explore this thing called the internet some more.
Here goes:

1. Much like how a male spends a good part of his day thinking about sex, I spend a pathetic amount of time thinking about how someday my future abode will look like one of these. Screw the french-country-shabby-chic-casual-traditional-Southern Living style that pervades the area. I'm especially drawn to this one for some reason. The colors, I do suppose.


2. Along the same lines, this Parents Magazine article nearly made me pee with glee. Is it the white walls/eclectic furniture/bright color combo that does it for me? I think so. I fully intend on having a picnic table as my dining room table. Steal my idea and I'm taking it out on your granny. I like to hit you where it hurts. Also see picture 3.


3. Because of my Fashion Promotions class, I was drawn here. Being far, far away from NYC, it's pretty nifty to see what uber-retailers do with their window displays. I like 2007 Barneys. I forwarded the link to my fashion professor, but I haven't heard back from her. I'm not sure she even knows how e-mail works. She wheels a huge cart thing with her to class every day. The cart contains boxes of file folders and overhead transparencies. I thought we donated all of those to museums.


4. I really should have majored in something with more of a design emphasis. Too bad the world is saturated with designers. Here is a humorous response from a graphic designer regarding those who think they know design better than the designer.


5. This isn't a link, but all the local current/new/soon-to-be/ever-to-be mommies and daddies should come to this:


6. I'm starting to think I'll never make it to 25 before I have to pick up Hudson in an hour. The boss let me off two hours early today, and I chose to enjoy my "free" time at home and let Hudson enjoy his time with his buddies at daycare. Or that's what I'm telling myself. Just click here.


7. And here.


8. And also here.


9. This is the sippy cup I would like to get Hudson, although it is mucho expensive for a sippy. It will convert to a regular bottle, though. I have the 27 ouncer. I like it in orange with a blue insulator sleeve. This is also nice, however it isn't receiving that great of reviews. Or I could just sit Hudson in the bathtub and make him practice with a big kid cup every day.


10. Speaking of which, Hudson took his first big boy bath without the infant tub a couple days ago. Picture for FPF? We shall see. This isn't a link either, but you know I'm a rule-breaker. Even if they're my own rules.


11. This is my new pump. I love it.


12. I want a lot of things, evidently, as this list is polluted with "stuff"--argh!

And I quit. Not even halfway done. That lasted long. A novel attempt, I say. If you clicked on any of those links, great job, I appreciate your interest. Now I'm off to take some St. John's Wort, an herb that really needs a new name.

Blogging about logging

I'm supposed to keep a log of all the media I consume over the weekend. This includes books, magazines, radio, television, and--gasp--internet. I have to write down how much time, what I was doing, who with, who owns the media, etc. etc. We're supposed to log which Web sites we visit. I fully plan on being a good student and participating in this assignment, but I'm totally not mentioning
this, or that I spend 10 hours a day here.

Ain't happenin'. And I'm not posting my blog URL, in case I need to vent about this professor in the near future. But he seems like a pretty okay guy--minus this bitchin' log.

...and then there was more holga...

See the latest n greatest here.

Hello from Helga the Holga

New/old Holga 35mm photos are up on my flickr. Check 'em out?

{ Fresh Photo Friday } A trivia question

This (adorable) little boy's age is...?

a.) 14 months

b.) 1 year

c.) 10 months

d.) 85 years

Clearly it must be D, with his hairline and grumpiness lately. Actually, it kind of looks like he has a stubble mohawk here. And don't blame me for the outfit--this is partially daycare's doing.

But anyhoo, Handsome thinks he's older than he is. He loves to stand at the edge of anything and is starting to "cruise"--usually the development phase after crawling, which he hasn't officially done (correctly) yet.

His sixth tooth finally poked its nasty little head through on the top, but now its twin on the other side is giving him grief. Argh to teething!

Oh, and he's really 7 months. Don't tell him, though.

{ and sorry about the crappy cell phone picture }

Things that make me say, "like, totally, duhhh"

I'm sorry, but someone needs to tell a ton of fashion majors here at my university that you don't need a degree to work in retail. I think it should be me.

I had to take a few free-choice, upper-level electives to get out of this hell hole and graduate in May, so I decided to take Fashion Promotions--something that sounded easy and slightly relevant to my PR degree. What an awesome choice it is. After being wowed by the totally deep conversations going on before class started (late), the professor didn't disappoint.

This woman resembles a plump, graying Delta Burke in her glory days (it's mainly the hair), and talks in a high-pitched, uber nice and wispy tone. After she revealed that she lives on the military base nearby, it was easy for me to place that she was somewhat of a trophy wife. Her knowledge of the fashion world has undoubtedly come from her time spent at the mall with her husband's allowance.

I don't really want to dog on this woman too much as I'm sure she has legitimate credentials, but she really made me laugh to myself when, after telling an irrelevant story about going to church and being there on Christmas, she asked the class whether everyone went to church on Christmas then looked around the room for those nodding in agreement. She followed this by remarking, "Well, I hope so. You should find a good church."

She also remarked that the majority of the fashion majors who have gone on to find actual work makeup the majority of visual merchandisers (aka window dressers) from here to Texas. This struck a chord with me as I did my high school career paper on "visual merchandising"--more as a joke.

In the class we will analyze advertisements (who can't do that? everyone's a critic of ads), design some bulletin boards in the building and make displays in the classroom and halls. This will be, by far, one of the most fun classes yet.

After my estrogen-filled fashion class, I headed straight to my political science class--where I am the only female, and we talk about things like foreign policy and, you know, other things that require half a brain.

Farewell, free time!

Tonight is the very last night of my last winter break. Classes start tomorrow, and I'm a little heartbroken. I'll miss you, winter break. Your month full of very few responsibilities will be very much missed when I'm out in the real world, hopefully earning a real paycheck.

Hudson and I stood in some long lines today to get my parking permit and books. Thank goodness for wrap carriers--that boy is hev-vay! Twenty-two pounds to be exact--nearly 23. If I'm not mistaken, my seven-month-old is the same weight as the average one-year-old. Chunker chunker chunker.

I made a quick decision regarding one of my classes last week, and I'm definitely kicking myself for it. I switched out a Civil Rights and Liberties class for The European Union. I dropped the CR&L due to its emphasis on constitutional law--something that really doesn't click with me. However, I looked at the syllabus for the EU, and I'm in for a full workload. Numerous papers, a presentation, "negotiations," plus exams aren't what I had in mind for my final semester. I was thinking more along the lines of show up, take some notes, a midterm and a final and I'm outta there. "Coasting," if you will. But for some reason professors think every student is as jazzed about the subject as they are. I'm not a class participator. Get over it.

Pending a discussion with my boss, I will also be working every day from 1 to 3 or 4ish. Getting back into the routine is the hardest part. Hudson and I had a nice chat tonight about how much he's going to love being back at daycare with his pals and teachers. I didn't mention that they wouldn't be giving him the same amount of constant attention that he had grown accustomed to over break. We'll see how this goes...

The last couple days my big man has skipped his morning nap in favor of a tidbit longer noon nap. Fine by me. And in stark contrast to the previous weeks, we have followed a bedtime routine that has worked two nights in a row. After feeding activities (both his and mine), Hudson gets a bath, I read as much out of a Dr. Seuss book as he will allow, then nurse and play some Beatles lullabies. Rocking in our creaky old rocker ensues if he's putting up a good fight. Bedtime is between 7:30-8:30.

Wish us luck that this will continue, as his bedtime issues were really grating on my emotional system. The EU+sleep issues+biting would make for one rotten final semester.

Au revoir, winter break. Unless I become a teacher (doubtful), you are my last. *tear*

{ Fresh Photo Friday }

Pending Hudson's cooperation, I will be updating the banner today.

A lazy day in pajamas, in the massage recliner with the remote:

The things you do to try to get a baby to smile:

the calm

I love it when after a relaxing feeding, Hudson lays back into my arms--belly full, body quiet. He doesn't move around or babble, just sits there calm, looking into my eyes, half awake-half asleep, fully satisfied.

And then he lets out a big, rumbling fart. Then grins.

It's the times like these that I will cherish the most. My little stinker.

Oh poo...

I have fallen so far into the depths of momhood that I am now crafting a post about baby poop. Yes, it's getting bad. You might want to stop reading now.

I hate poop. Not that anyone loves it, but let me tell you: aside from diarrhea, transitioning-to-solids baby poo is the worst.

It was great when Hudson was exclusively breastfed--although it was loose/wet/the consistency of applesauce, it never smelled. The other awesome benefit was that I never had to deal with the poop again before throwing diapers in the wash. I still don't have to, per say, but things just "come out" better.

The uninitiated are probably thinking, she's crazy to dunk diapers in the toilet! And they are totally right--I would be crazy to dunk diapers in the toilet, but I'm definitely not doing that. And wouldn't. Sick. I am far too prissy to ever deal with touching poop. Instead, we have one of these:

This nifty little number attaches to the toilet and will spray poop off of a diaper clear into tomorrow if you have it cranked up to high. No poopy hands here.

But you know who does have poopy hands? Grandma. The brave lady decided to check on the status of Huddy's diaper last night by using the old-fashioned method. Since she is inexperienced in the Hud-poo department, she didn't realize that his BMs are evil and will wait on the edge for you. With a fingertip full of fully-digested organic green beans, she rushed over to hand him off. Lesson learned, I'd say.

The smell test and at-least-every-two-hours rule are sufficient afterall.

{ Fresh Photo Friday } What I've been up to...

Making baby food...

...but wait, what's that fabric I see at the top of these photos? Ah yes, that rainbow material is cut-up sweaters saved from the Salvation Army thrift store. They make my take on this, one of Hudson's Christmas presents:

and a few have turned out like this:

six panels instead of eight, and just boring, solid rainbow colors. The new ones have taggies and jingle bells inside. Wahoo!

{ they aren't as oddly-shaped as pictured, it's all in how you fluff 'em }