Deviant Dispatches

Parenting so far has been an adventure in ups and downs. Strength and Weakness of Body My daughter's birth went well. I was healthy throughout pregnancy and she was born with no complications. I'm still amazed at the fact that after she was born - after birthing a freaking child - they gave me ibuprofen, and it was enough to manage the pain. My body makes food for my daughter while I'm busy doing things like taking pictures or cleaning poop off the floor. I was able to function week after week without REM sleep. That said, the first week was a trip. I don't deal well with lack of sleep, even now that I have a three-month-old. In the first week, I got so dizzy from lack of sleep and weird hours that I nearly fell over several times. It was enough to make me feel nervous about carrying her from room to room; thankfully, Spousal Unit was home during that time as well. I also got a painful infection, and later that month, I was sick enough that I had to get two l...

The beautiful label looked something like this . But more heavenly. Long ago at work, we received an incredible stash of gifts from our Taiwanese counterparts. They were provided as we began working with them and included several delicious teas and sweets. But the best thing of all was an abnormally sized jar of honey, gorgeous, tall and made of glass with a beautiful floral label and covered in a swooping, elegant font beyond my capacity for understanding. I didn't dare touch it; from whence had these gifts come? Were they available to all, or meant to be parsed out for those who worked on the Taiwan project? I didn't know and therefore let the shining bottle be, though an angelic choir seemed to ring out whenever I saw it. At some point after the jar's grand opening, a label was affixed to it. A serious label, made with a label maker and declaring in bold, English capital letters beside the swooping Taiwanese that this was a jar of PUBLIC HONEY. I wondered whet...

*Following is a rather detailed discussion of bacteria and other gross stuff. Finish your breakfast before reading.* Dear Michael Jordan , Please be advised that I have within my possession an item that may or may not contain enough of your DNA to clone you. I suggest that you come take it away, because otherwise it may never leave the house. Back in his wild and carefree teenage years, Spousal Unit's first job was as a country club caddy , and one glorious day, he got to caddy not for you, but for your assistant. You spent several hours gallivanting across the course, whacking some balls and talking about others (of the basket/base persuasion, I'd imagine) while Spousal Unit washed your balls. He was thrilled, and understandably bragged about it to all his family members upon coming home. (This would have been more impressive to his brother, I imagine, if it hadn't also been his birthday.) But back to that DNA sample, from which we might be able to engineer a be...

It's been busy at the abode. Spousal Unit turned 30; he threw me a surprise party; I turned 30. We gained a furnace and a fetus. Oberon had bladder and jealousy issues (he apparently doesn't like my new hormones). We discovered a wasp nest the size of a volleyball (abandoned) and the neighborhood trick-or-treating status (decent). Work has been insane for both of us, to the point where it's a perpetual madhouse. But we manage. The anxiety of having a room dedicated to the new stroller and baby clothes is balanced by the excitement of having finished the Tickle's first sweater (Spousal Unit named it; don't worry, that will change). Child's Placket-Neck Pullover by Joelle Hoverson The worry of whether I'm eating enough omega 3s is balanced by the joy of steak. (I promised myself I'd pay attention to my cravings in case they're saying something important. To quote Spousal Unit, the Tickle doesn't know I'm vegetarian and doesn'...

I'm a fan of potating . Dear OreIda, I write to you with joy in my heart after having consumed half a bag of tater tots. These crispy, chewy, lightly salted pinnacles of starchy excellence are often the highlight of my weary days, when I make it to dinner time only by keeping thoughts of their golden perfection in mind (often accompanied by a heavenly choir). It can come as little surprise to you then that I write not only to praise tater tots, but also to request a nationwide french fry ban. No, I am not one of those obsessed with calling them "Freedom Fries" instead. I do not stand before you with a flag as my Cape of Justice and a trusty eagle sidekick on my shoulder. I merely wish tater tots to have the rightful respect that is due to them. They deserve a place beside every hamburger, every sandwich, everywhere. For what are french fries but an inferior, long-legged imposter? I also request this ban of the inferior potato so that the infamous Spud War ...

Hi all - been a while. Distractions abound. I'm trying to get back into the swing of it - I haven't had a blogging hiatus like this since I started this up in 2011. Time to regroup, which may happen in fits and starts, but I'll do my best. What's been distracting me? Well, you know. Life. My next couple of posts will feature a lot of backlog, and mostly pictures, as I find it easier to get a post going when there's an image to go with it. First: the great outdoors. Earlier this summer, Spousal Unit and I decided to make good use of our fire pit. We proceeded to buy a ton of logs from the grocery store. You know, the paper-wrapped ones they sell next to the coolant and motor oil. (That should have been a clue.) One night, Spousal Unit didn't just put out the fire: he hosed it out, dumping the ashy water onto our yard. We ended up with dead grass and weird mushrooms. (Not quite a fairy ring.) So that's gross and disturbing, and we're never b...

I've been romping around the garden a lot lately. This might look like a forest to you, and it is. But what is this, a forest for ants? Yes actually. These are my carrots. (Dear ants, kindly ignore my previous invitation and leave my carrots alone. You're far too bitey for my liking.) My tomatoes are making huge strides. I was kind of terrified that they would all make it and I'd have to make enough sauce for a small Italian village, but the first two have rotted before ripening already. So we're good. (I might be the only gardener who roots for tomato death.) This corner is my whole edible garden, but the plot is five times this size. Maybe I'll fill it with more than weeds next year. My three basil plants are enormous, the oregano's coming along nicely, and the parsley is still piddly. Please note the tiny pink statue, which is awkward and terrifying and really good at keeping the rabbits from eating all my noms. She's t...