DeadpanAnn (old blogger version)

If you were to visit my house right now, you'd have a hard time getting in the door because there is a mountain of trash right outside the laundry room, next to the pool table. It's been there for about five days now. It's not stinky trash, mind you-- no turkey carcasses, empty milk jugs, or other sources of stank. Just Christmas paper, boxes, etc. And the reason it's inside the house instead of out in the big trash can is that the big can is full, and the trash doesn't run until tomorrow morning. See, this is what smart people do. Instead of putting the trash out on the ground by the road WHERE THE DOGS CAN GET TO IT, smart people keep it in a safe place-- a garage, a laundry room, or under a pool table-- until closer to time for the garbage to run.

My neighbors are not smart people. Not even close. These freaking idiots piled bags of trash outside of their cans-- and their trash bags did have turkey carcasses in them. Why not just lead the dog to the pile of garbage and stick his nose in it? You may as well. No dog can resist a turkey carcass.

Day before yesterday, all this garbage ended up in our yard. I can't explain to you how great the amount of trash was. We have three acres and it covered a very large portion of our yard. The only reason I didn't shoot someone in the face is because I'm pretty sure it was my dog who did the chewing and spreading and tearing up, if the fact that we saw him running down the street with a 2 liter bottle in his mouth is any clue. Anyway, Tim went out there in the rain and bagged it all up and put it back out by the neighbors' cans. He then took our dog and put him back up, but he got out again and two hours later the trash was right back on the yard. Tim bagged it up again, but not before saying some words I have never heard before. (What's a "shitwig"??) It was five 35 gallon bags full of turkey bones and wrapping paper and broken Christmas ornaments. This time, he put it in the back of our truck so the dog couldn't undo all his work once again. Smart.

But then yesterday morning another neighbor put out more garbage, and guess where that ended up? Right. And this time Tim was at work, so I got the pleasure of picking it up myself. There was also a huge pile in the neighbor's yard, and I went over and picked that up too. Since I'm 99% sure my dog was the one who did it, I figured it would be the neighborly thing to do, even though they are dumbasses for putting it out so early in the first place.

I learned a lot about my neighbors while picking up their trash. More specifically, I learned a lot about their diets. I can't figure out how there's any justice in the world when I am fatter than these people. They live off of Ward's, McDonald's, white bread, peanut butter, canned chili, and gumballs. There was no evidence that they ever consume anything besides fast food and snack food, and I am easily 50 pounds heavier than the heaviest person over there. Bitches.

Once the trash was up (again) I locked the dog up. Not in the regular fence-- in his crate. I'm sure I've mentioned before that we have one of those electric fences that is supposed to shock the dog when he crosses the wire. The fence is working fine; we just have a super determined tough ass dog. Tim even bought an extra receiver and built a special collar that has two extra strength shockers-- both set to "kill"-- and the dog still runs through the fence. The female stays right where she belongs, but the male will not be denied. He was fine until another male dog started roaming the neighborhood, coming into his yard, pissing in his water bowl, etc., and then he decided he had to be free. We haven't been able to keep him up since then.

I don't know what we're going to do. Yesterday I would've taken him to the pound if the back of the truck hadn't been full of trash. Part of me thinks I should load him up and take him today, but another part of me says I should load up the other male dog-- the one who doesn't belong to us but roams freely. His owners are making no effort to keep him locked up.

Shitwigs!

Charlie's head is starting to freak us out. For a while, I've been noticing a flat spot on one side. He always turns his head to the right, and he sleeps on the right side of his head. Yes, I've tried turning him onto his left side, but he still turns his head around to the right. He can turn his head to the left, but he never turns it all the way. I'm worried that there's something wrong with his neck and it's keeping him from turning it to the left. I noticed this when he was teeny tiny, but only recently started worrying about it when I realized that it was making his head flat. Now, in addition to the flat spot on the right side of his head, I see that the front of his head has sort of a bulge on it on the right side. It's like his right side of his forehead pokes out a little more than the left, like he has screwed it up from sleeping on that side.

I've started propping him up when he sleeps to force him off of that side of his head, so maybe it'll go back to normal. I don't want my kid's head to be screwed up.

For your holiday entertainment, check this out. I love the VW sleigh!

You may know that I have always felt a strange fondness for goats. I don't know why. Maybe because I'm a Capricorn, or maybe because the stubby legged little creatures are just plain cute, but I like goats. If you ever lose me in a petting zoo, look for the goats. I could just pet their little goat heads all day. This is even stranger if you know that I was repeatedly attacked by a mean goat on my grandfather's dairy farm when I was a kid. I spent more than one sweaty summer day being hoofed in the chest by that mean ass goat-- when I wasn't busy running from Uncle William, who was always armed with a fully loaded pooper scooper, asking if I wanted a bite.

If we ever build our dream house on 100 acres, I will have some goats.

That said, I found a great blog today. People, I give you Nanny Goats in Panties.

When I got back last night, Tim had cleaned the entire house, had scented candles going, had the lights dimmed, the tree lit up, and he had bought and wrapped a bunch of presents for me and Charlie and put them under our little tree. I think he was trying to seduce me. Unfortunately, I lost consciousness as soon as the baby went to sleep. It was a nice birthday present though.

That's right. Yesterday was the first anniversary of my 29th birthday. Which...sorta means...that I'm...uh...you know..how you say, no longer in my twenties.

There.

Now. In an effort to shift to a cheerier topic, I present to you a picture of my mom's Chihuahua, Festus.

As soon as I walked in the door at my parents' house Sunday, I rushed to the bedroom with the breast pump because my girls were about to explode. I had no sooner gotten the thing going when I heard someone come in the front door. The dogs went to yapping, and then I heard the one sound that can turn my stomach. No, it's not the sound of someone vomiting, or of children being beaten, or of a kitten's head being squished under a car tire. It was Aunt C's screeching voice, doing the caw caw cawwing that she does to announce herself when she enters a place, as if the scent of Pomeranian poop, body odor, and cigarettes had not crept under the door and announced her arrival as soon as she pulled into the driveway.

They were in the living room for a few minutes-- I could hear them, of course, because no matter what room you're in at my mom's house, you can hear everything that's going on in every other room. They were playing with the most annoying toy ever created-- a Christmas tree that dances and sings (LOUDLY) while the lights blink. My grandmother got it for Charlie. One of them gets something like that every year, and carries it around showing it off like it's the coolest thing ever invented. Like nobody else has ever seen a loud ass dancing Christmas tree, ever, but they're all dying to, and will be impressed that she managed to snag such a treasure.

I do not recommend traveling more than 2 or 3 hours alone with a 7 week old, and I'll never do it again no matter how guilty my relatives make me feel. Yesterday Charlie and I left the house at 9:30. He slept all the way to Grenada, which is only about an hour and a half south of our destination. I had to stop and change and feed him, which I did at a McDonald's. I changed him in their bathroom, then fed him in the back seat of the car.

It took about half an hour for him to eat because his food was cold and he wasn't very enthusiastic about it. He fell asleep instantly after he ate, and I put him back in the car seat. I was getting ready to get back on the road when I realized that I did not have my purse. I had left it in the bathroom stall over half an hour earlier. It had everything in it. My cell phone, check book, debit card, a bunch of Wal Mart gift cards, and about $300 in cash. I normally don't carry more than $100 or so, but Tim was kind of paranoid and insisted that I take more cash. And hey, who am I to question his judgment? He's the man of the house. The leader of the family. The husband to whom the Bible commands me to submit. And he was shoving $300 at me, which always helps me remember all that shit about submission.

Back to the story. It had been over half an hour, it was lunch time, the place was packed, and I knew I was screwed. Surely someone had left with the purse, or at least its contents. Oh, my blood was boiling. I was already preparing to stand on a chair in the lobby of the McDonald's and give a short but very loud and angry speech about karma before storming out. I ran back into the bathroom, and someone was in the stall. I knocked and asked the person if there was a purse in there, and she said yes. So I waited. She was dropping a stinky bomb, so I stood there planning my speech. When she finally came out, I went in but there was no purse! I said, "There's no purse in there!" and she just looked at me. Freaking retard!

I went back to the lobby and asked a girl behind the counter if anyone had turned it in, and she pointed down to the end of the counter. It was setting there by a register. Thank God, and everything was still in it too! So to the person who found the purse in the bathroom stall at the Grenada McDonald's yesterday, I thank you. My husband thanks you. My son thanks you. My dooooooooooooooog thanks you!

Tomorrow (or maybe later today) I will have a short Aunt C story for you.

Obama short on Southerners in Cabinet appointments

Aww, Prez, don't be hatin'!! I'm sure there's at least one Southerner who can stop clinging to their guns and religion long enough to do a job! After all, everyone in Chicago is a former Southerner!

"The South accounted for nearly half of the 22 states Obama lost to Republican John McCain on Election Day. Still, Obama won surprise victories in North Carolina and Virginia. Democrats also won key congressional races in other Southern states, including Alabama and Mississippi, renewing hopes that the party can spread its success if it pays closer attention to the region.

Obama's most recent Democratic predecessor, Bill Clinton of Arkansas, did that in part by littering his Cabinet with fellow Southerners and mobilizing them to promote the party's agenda in the region."

Four days ago, I mentioned to a friend that we wanted someone to get rid of the pine straw and leaves in our yard, and asked if she knew anyone who wanted to make $100. She said her 16 year old son wanted to do it. I told her to tell him it was a big job, would take a whole day or maybe two, would put some blisters on his hands, and that I wanted it done right. He still wanted the job.

When he got here, the first thing he did after looking over the yard (which he'd seen before, btw) was say he wanted $150 instead of $100. Turd. So I told him I'd give him $130, and he agreed. I went inside, and he went to raking. Thirty minutes later, he knocked on the door and said he wasn't feeling well and wanted to go home. Then I didn't hear from him for 4 days, so I thought he wasn't coming back. To be honest, the whole getting sick thirty minutes into the job thing reeked of this is more work than I thought it would be and now I want out of it.

Last night, his mother called and said he'd be back this morning. I told her he didn't have to do it if he didn't want to. She said, "He said he wants to do it." Then this morning, she called and asked if he could just burn the pine straw instead of hauling it off. I told her no, because I'd already tried that. Pine straw seems like it would burn quickly, but it doesn't, as I found out one day about 2 months ago. I set fire to a very small pile of straw, and it burned for hours. Every time I thought it was out, I'd rake over it to spread it out and it'd flame back up. It just burned and burned. I couldn't imagine the kid setting fire to ALL the pine straw that was out there, because it was 3 acres worth. He'd either have three dozen little fires burning allllll day long (and leaving 3 dozen little burn spots in my yard) or he'd have one giant, out-of-control fire that would burn allllll day long, and no doubt keep him out there longer than he wanted to be out there. So anyway, I told her that, and she said they were gonna see if a farm supply near here wanted to buy the straw by the truck load.

The kid went out there and raked until about 2:00 p.m., then came and knocked on the door. He said, "I don't have anywhere to take this straw, so I'm just gonna leave it and you can burn it."


Uh, I think not, bubba.


I said, "I thought you were going to get rid of it." He said, "I don't have anywhere to take it so my mom just told me to tell you to burn it."

A thousand things flew through my mind, starting with, "I'm not paying your MOM," and ending with, "Well if you did half the job you're only getting half the money." Since I was feeling a vein bulge in my neck, I decided to think it over before giving my official response. I shut the door and sat on the couch.

Since he deferred to his mother, I decided to call her. I told her that if he wasn't going to haul the stuff off like I wanted, he should've said so before I agreed on a price. I told her I wasn't going to spend $130 to still have a yard full of pine straw. She said they'd take care of it.

Next time I looked out the window, the kid was gone, and I haven't seen him since.

Today I went to the English department's Christmas party, and afterwards I was able to go into a few classes and talk to my now-former students. I told them that it looks like I'm not going to be coming back in January, told them why, and told them that I wanted to come back but can't. It was sad. A lot of them spoke up and said they really wanted me to come back and had been looking forward to it. A few got up and hugged me. Several cried. I broke down and wept like a child.

It was hard. Harder than I thought it would be. But I'm glad I had the chance to tell them myself, and even though I second guessed my decision the whole way home, I know I'm doing the right thing. I have to be, right?

I put up with a lot of crap and more than a few kids who wouldn't have pissed on me if I'd caught fire before I got to the point where I would actually be missed. It's hard to walk away from it mid-year, and I hope I don't have to start completely over when I go back in a few years.

I submitted my resignation letter at work this morning, but thanks to a meddling payroll clerk, all hell broke loose before I had the chance to talk to my principal.

First of all, let me back up to Friday. The woman I had arrangements with to keep Charlie called me and said she wouldn't be able to keep him because she's been having some serious health problems. As I've said, I was considering not going back anyway, but I was waiting to hear from the babysitter. When she told me she couldn't take him, that sealed the deal.

So this morning I typed up a letter of resignation. I emailed my principal and asked him to tell me what time I could come by and meet with him; I said I needed to talk to him as soon as possible. My intention was to go resign in person and try to do damage control. He's a military guy, and I didn't expect him to be warm and fuzzy about it, so I wanted to be careful in how I presented this decision to him.

Shortly after I sent the email, the phone rang and it was a payroll clerk from the central office. Since I was out of sick days, I had NO check coming this month. She said they were going to prorate the days left on my contract so that I could get paid. Since I knew I wasn't going back, I didn't want them to cut me a check for days that I know I'm not going to work. I can just imagine the trouble that would cause, so I told her not to do it. I told her I wasn't coming back, and I told her that I hadn't had the chance to talk to Dr. Principal about it yet, but was going to talk to him this afternoon.

Fast forward ten minutes. I was literally sitting at the computer with my email open, waiting for the principal to tell me what time I could come meet with him. The phone rings again, and it's the principal. The stupid payroll bitch called him and told him I was quitting! GREAT.

He said he'd heard from the central office that I wasn't coming back. I told him that was true, but that I was hoping to talk to him about it, and I explained that I told the payroll clerk before I told him because I was trying to prevent them from paying me, and that I was trying to get in touch with him, etc.

He asked why I was quitting, and I told him about the babysitter situation. He immediately said, "Well I want you to know up front that I will not recommend that you be released from your contract." He went on to talk about how the board would be petitioning the state department to revoke my license, and then stopped to say, "Were you aware that this would be the consequence of quitting mid-year??" I told him that I was aware that it could be the consequence. I told him that I was doing what I had to do, and I'd just have to take the repercussions as they come.

Shortly after that, he finally checked his freakin' email and wrote me back. He told me to give him my request in writing. I assumed he was talking about my resignation letter.

I called the AFT representative at my school to ask if she knew what my options were. Surely I could go before the board myself if he refused to recommend releasing me from my contract, and I wanted to find out how to approach the situation. Should I call the superintendent or what? The local rep referred me to the state rep, and twenty minutes later I was on the phone with the state union president. Kudos to the AFT! I'm glad I switched to them from MAE. The MAE would've tied me down in red tape and nothing would've been done. (For you non-teachers, I am talking about teacher unions that I pay to be on my side.)

The president of the AFT told me to write a super professional letter detailing why I was leaving and saying that it was beyond my control, etc., and to formally request that he let me out of my contract, and to cc the letter to her. So I did.

Two hours later, I had finally managed to get showered and dressed and get Charlie loaded in the car. When I got to the school, baby in tow, the principal had changed his tone considerably. I gave him both letters, and he said that he would recommend that they release me from the contract if he can find a replacement teacher. Apparently, the girl who's been subbing for me this whole time isn't someone they want to keep.

I think it'll work out.

While I was there, several teachers who happened to be in the office held Charlie and passed him around. I also saw several of my students. They were so excited to see me; they hugged me and said they were looking forward to me coming back. That was rough.

I'm planning to go to the English Department Christmas party this Wednesday to say goodbye to my friends, and I'm hoping to be able to talk to the kids then. When a teacher quits, especially mid-year, they always think they've run them off. They take it personally. I don't know if it's that way everywhere, but I think these kids are more sensitive because they're harder to work with, and they know they have run teachers off. I've always told them they'd never run me off, and I want to make sure they know that me leaving has nothing to do with them, and that I'd like to have my cake and eat it too, but can't.

This sucks, but I still think it's the right thing. I don't think I should put Charlie in daycare so that I can go to a job that I don't have to have. It's too bad he can't just go to work with me every day.

In response to my recent post, "Stupid in So Many Ways," which was about a crazy high school student who claimed to be channeling God, or the debble, or whatever, our much-loved (and oh-so-pretty) Hillbilly Mom rubbed it in a little that Missouri's hillbillies are (ostensibly) smarter than Mississippi's. She did follow that up by acknowledging that she'd probably eat those words soon, and I said a quick prayer that she would.

People, there is a God.

Alleged Missouri burglar found stuck in chimney

ST. LOUIS (AP) -- Santa aside, that trip down the chimney doesn't work so well after all.
So a man in St. Louis found out early Wednesday. Police say he was a burglar, and he was arrested after a harrowing three hours inside the chimney of a business.

Authorities were called at 3 a.m. to a pawn shop, where the man was wedged in the chimney, unable to move. After about three hours, rescuers were able to knock away bricks and free him.

He was taken to a hospital for evaluation. The man's name has not been released.

Gold, I say.

In other news, it's snowing in Mississippi tonight, so our own hillbillies will probably make the news tomorrow when people start driving. Tornadoes yesterday, snow today. Go figger.

There's really bad weather in Mississippi tonight. According to Jim Cantore, who just confirmed his douchebaggery by referring to the town of Magee ("mu-GEE") as "Maggie," these storms totally jacked up Yazoo Shitty. Proof that God hates the Delta.

Anyway, we have been hearing about this weather for two days now. Tonight around 7:00, the watches and warnings started popping up on our t.v., ending my quest to get into the bed at some time in the next hour or two. Since then, I've been watching reports of people being trapped in their screwed up houses in towns west of here, anxiously waiting for the shit to hit the fan in my own front yard. At 8:00, it was going to be an hour. An hour later, it was going to be an hour after that. Now it's 11:30, and they're saying it's not going to be here until 3:00 a.m.

Guess that great night of sleep I got last night is even-Stevening itself out, isn't it?

People, I found it. At least I think I found it. And it was so simple, so easy. What have I found, you ask? The pathway to a night of sleep, my friend. The pathway to a night of sleep.

::a yellow light fills the room, and angels are heard singing::

Formula.

Yeah, I know. I said I didn't want to give him any. But then I heard that formula stays in their stomachs longer, thereby giving the sleepy mother a chance to get some rest between feedings, so I said f*ck it, give the boy some formula! And I did. I gave him a bottle of formula right before bed. And he slept. And I slept. I slept for four hours. And it was...it was...it was orgasmic. Except that orgasms usually involve being awake. Usually.

Whatever. You know what I'm saying-- the sense of satisfaction was comparable.

I need a cigarette.

First, you must watch the video. Don't worry, it's only 2 minutes long, and so worth it.

http://www.wapt.com/video/18208761/index.html

I don't know about you, but when I picture this kid "speaking in tongues," one thing comes to my mind-- the day in 9th grade when my friend Tony faked a seizure in study hall. It was great, I mean he really sold it. Girls were crying, the coach jumped up and ran over to him-- it was so worth the punishment that followed. One would think that faking a demonic possession would be handled much in the same way as Tony's faked seizure-- with a few swings of the football coach's paddle. Instead, it made the nightly freakin' news. Guess there's not much happening in Pelahatchie.

I have no idea where Pelahatchie is, and I'm pretty familiar with our fine state, so it's got to be tiny. After all, a town of any size would have more important things to report, not to mention a lower concentration of fucktards.

Okay, so a girl goes to school and starts talking in a monster voice, telling her classmates when and how they would die, etc. A bunch of the kids freak out and start taking Bibles to school to ward off the demons. How stupid do you have to be to believe that this girl was really and truly possessed by a demon? Look at her. If a spirit-- be it evil or good-- was going to use a human to communicate with us, would it choose Lashundra Clanton of Pelahatchie, Mississippi? Doubt it. Yet her stupid hillbilly classmates were so convinced that they brought Bibles to school. That's the best part of this-- they all showed up with their Bibles and held a devotional! What're they gonna do-- a freakin' exorcism? You know they're a bunch of Baptists, so that doesn't even make sense.

I don't know what reaction the teachers and school officials had when this happened at school, but they apparently didn't think much of it. If it happened in my class, I know what I would've done-- I would've thrown her out. Immediately. And I promise you, it wouldn't have happened 3 days in a row. I'd love to have more details. Was she in class? Study hall? Gym? Lunch? Was she in the same class each of the three days? That'd be good to know. Some class environments might be more conducive to communicating with the spirit world than others, after all. For example, if the Music Theory teacher has a habit of leaving the class alone while he stands in the hallway finding reasons to not do his job, you might have more time to get possessed by a demon than you would in, say, Math, where the teacher is not only present, but also in control of his or her classroom. I'm just saying. Maybe we should find out which teacher is opening the gateways to hell.

Here's the part that pisses me off. Both of the parents in the video-- the girl's mother and the father of the boy who took his Bible to school-- both criticize the school officials for how they handled the situation. The girl's mom seemed truly shocked that, "They said they didn't know what to do, they didn't know how to handle the problem! I mean, you know, they really didn't come up with a solution!"

What slackers! They need to organize a committee to prepare just in case this happens again! Every school should have a Demonic Possession Response Team on standby at all times! What were they thinking??

The other parent in the video-- the father of one of the kids who took his Bible to school-- was upset that the school didn't notify parents of this incident, and that, "Instead, he had to learn about it from the kids."

Just think about the mentality of someone who's pissed that the school didn't notify them of this. What the hell does he imagine the people who run the school are doing all day long?? He says it disrupted class and they should've been notified. Maybe I've been slacking on my job all this time. I had no idea that I was supposed to notify parents every time class is disrupted. Shit. I'm gonna need to switch to the unlimited plan!

Hi, Mr. Jones. This is Mrs. McTimslastname from Your Kid's High School, and I'm just calling to notify you that one of our children faked a demonic possession at lunch today. Yeah, a lot of the students were really traumatized, and we've got counselors available for them. We just didn't want you to have to hear this news from your son or daughter. Best it comes from us. And while I've got you on the phone, I also need to inform you that Tony faked a seizure in study hall, Johnny farted in English, Bobby threw a spit wad during the assembly, some boys smoked a joint in the bathroom between 4th and 5th periods, and someone stuck a "Kick Me" sign on the Home Ec teacher's back. We're still investigating that one.

I can't believe this hasn't been made fun of on a cable news show yet. You know, kinda like the time the fine people of Mobile, Alabama believed that a leprechaun was hanging out in a tree somewhere in the 'hood. I think that made Talk Soup, didn't it?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nda_OSWeyn8

Best line in that video: "WHERE DA GOLD AT!?" It's no "Chitlin's is for Thanksgiving," but still good.

Back to the demonic possession story. Stupid for so many reasons. Let's count 'em, shall we?
1. The kids believed it.
2. They took Bibles to school to ward off the demon.
3. The student claimed God was speaking through her, and her mother says God is using her to speak to the kids at her school.
4. News reporters actually showed up, and this was aired on the nightly news.
5. The only point of controversy for the people of Pelahatchie was NOT which psych ward to send Lashundra Clanton too, or how long she should be suspended for disrupting class, no. The only thing people can think of to talk about? Whether it was God or the debble speaking.

Much like Hillbilly Mom said about Missouri's wife killing satellite installer guy, I wish this had happened somewhere else.

*My dad had surgery on his neck last week. He had a ruptured something or other, and they replaced it with a dead guy's neck bone. Mom says he's doing fine. Now my sister is the only one of our immediate family who hasn't had surgery this year, but there are still more than 3 weeks left, so she'd better be careful.

**Even years are good, and odd years are bad. Remember 2005? I got fired from my job on January 4th, and it was down hill from there. Tim's mom died, Hurricane Katrina hit, I spent the first half of the year in my mom's basement and the second half in Yazoo Shitty. That was one mean year. The worst of my life so far. The good-bad pattern has been rather consistent since then, with 06 being better and 07 being worse, so I'm mourning the end of 2008 and anxiously waiting to see what horrors lie around the bend for 2009.

***We finally bought a new dining room table today. It's pretty sweet. It's a counter height table, it's square but has rounded edges that pop up to make it round (and bigger). It's big enough for 4 chairs without the rounded leaves up, and big enough for 8 with them up. We bought 6 chairs. It's got a built-in granite lazy susan and a really cool storage thing underneath it. I'll post pictures when it gets delivered. Or you could just click here.

****We took Charlie on his first trip into public. He went to the furniture store with us. We knew what we wanted, so we weren't in there long, and I figured there couldn't be many grabby people in a furniture store in the middle of the day on a Wednesday. I hear horror stories about people being accosted by grabbers when they take their babies out in public. I may break some old lady's arm if it reached for my baby, which is the #2 reason I have vowed not to take him out before he's officially considered old enough to have a decent immune system. (The #1 reason would be all the bugs floating around that could potentially kill a tiny baby.) Fortunately, there weren't any grabbers, and the salesman just peered in through the little window on top of the stroller, so I was able to get my new furniture and get back home without catching any assault charges.

*****A coworker/semi-boss from work called me today. I didn't answer, but she left a message inviting me to the English Department's Christmas party. Isn't that sweet? I was flattered that they actually called to make sure I knew about it. It almost makes me feel bad about the fact that I'm seriously considering not going back in January. I reckon I'll be going to the party if Tim's off work, and I think he is.

******Speaking of the changes to come in January, I spoke with the babysitter yesterday. I needed to make sure we're still on, for one thing, because she and her husband have both been having some serious health problems lately. I also wanted to find out where she planned to let Charlie sleep when he's there, because I didn't see a crib anywhere. Turns out she buys all her new babies a play pen to sleep in. That's cool. I just needed her to set my mind at ease, because I was imagining her putting him down on her bed, and that won't work. Ryan's other grandmother (not my mom) put him down on her bed when he was little, and if someone hadn't gone in to check on him he would've died. The young'un had managed to roll over and get his face mashed into the thick blankets, and he was blue when they found him.

*******My only doubt about going back to work is how we will feed Charlie. Mrs. Babysitter was telling me that a lot of people will feed formula during the day and breast feed at night. But I don't want to feed formula at all before he's 3 months old at least, preferably 6 months old, and I can't pump out enough milk ahead of time to send enough to the babysitter's with him. At this point I'm only producing what he needs, and it's not available before it's needed, so I can't pump it out ahead of time because it's just not there yet. And there's the little problem of the fact that Mr. Charles loves the booby. It's not just the contents of the booby that he wants, but also the booby itself. Breastmilk through a bottle will fill his belly, but he'll still cry for more until he gets the actual boob. He'll latch on there for a minute or two, not really consuming anything but just nursing for the comfort of it I guess, and then he'll be okay.

He doesn't do this every time we feed him from a bottle-- in fact, it's rare-- but when he does, there's no satisfying him until he gets the boob. He did it this morning. My dear, sweet husband got up with him so I could get some rest. Tim gave him his regular 4 ounces of pre-pumped breastmilk from a bottle, but Charlie wouldn't stop crying, even with a full belly. Tim changed him, swaddled him, checked every possible thing that could be wrong with him, and couldn't get him to stop crying. Finally, after a long time of trying, Tim came to me, defeated. I couldn't find anything wrong with him, either. When all else fails, give him a booby, right? So that's what I did. His tense little body instantly relaxed, and he was happy after two minutes of nursing. He couldn't have been hungry, and he didn't consume much milk, if any. He just wanted to latch onto a boob, and then he was good.

********So what's gonna happen when me and my boobs go back to work?? I know he'll get over it after a few days, but with him only being 2 months old then, I don't think I should take the boobs away yet. He'll still be young enough that I think a little booby attachment is perfectly normal. It's probably even a good thing, and I don't want to tear him away just yet. And I sure as hell don't want to feed him formula-- not in the daytime or the night time or ever, thank you. I don't know a single formula-fed kid who didn't have a host of health issues.

You just can't beat boobies.