Beep-Beep. Beep-Bug. Yeah!

I'm finally back to updating with my computer.  And just in time for an important development in the bug's world.  We got her her first car!

I call it a bumper car, but apparently it's official title is an "activity walker."

Bumper car.  That's what it does.  Chairs.  Cabinets.  Trashcans.  Refrigerator.  The Wonderbug.  Cats.  Ankles.  All with impressive speed, accuracy, and attitude of that one kid at the fair that always guns for T-boning unsuspecting prey.

As far as the activity portion...  Distracted driving at best.  She will pull over to smack Pooh down into his honey pot enough times to find some cruisin' music on the "radio."  Otherwise, the dashboard clutter is well on its way to becoming a pull-over-able offense.

The bug likes to make her own engine noise.  I can only spell it like: mpbaht; and explain that the sound is rather like striking a tennis ball.  She mpbahts all over the navigable areas of the house and has become rather adept at backing up when in a tight spot.  However, I have to add the backing-up beeps.  Afterall, she's not quite eleven months.  Beeps take time.

All in all, Wifey, bug, and Panda Cat have adapted well in the last week to this new life.  Woolly Rhino still hides under the bed for most of the day and anything with a shock value equal or greater than a rustling curtain makes him jump.  Wifey has come to know the major roads of our new burg faster than I did (I still tend to use my navigation system.  You never know...).

Improvements abound.  I may even get back to finishing the first draft of my novel.  Only about thirty more pages to go... for the last four months.

One more thing on the bug.  She's always enjoyed a good face plant into a pillow, bed, blanket, toy, or adult.  But now, she's taking it up a couple notches -- face plowing across the carpet.  By "face" I really mean forehead, not that it makes it much better.  How she avoids carpet burns I cannot say, but it looks like enough fun that I am taking notes.

On the teeth front, still holding out with just the two lowers.  The two upper incisors haven't poked through yet, but the two beside them (#5 and #6, I think) are starting to show.  I'm having concerns about goat-like first birthday pictures.  We'll see...

One Man's Treasure...

Family on Friday!!!

There are many versions of this week's tip.  My favorite goes something like "Never look down on another man's blessing."  Another popular way to say it is, "Don't laugh at another person's dreams.  It might be all they have."

They have different meanings, but they meet at a common point.  We should try not to feel superior when we see someone with clothes, cars, job, home, food, or the like, that we would rush to get rid of if they showed up in our garages.  It may be the best thing that ever happened to them.

We especially send a bad message when we do so in front of our families.  It validates bullying.  It can also create distance and distrust for family members to share their opinions or express their likes.

I know it's hard when you pass a car with more primer than paint, a floppy oversized spoiler, a sad sounding muffler, and twenty-two inch spinners.  Those kinds of things catch you off guard and you can't help but laugh.

That's okay.  Laugh.

What we don't need to do is follow it up with disparaging remarks or tirades regarding wastes of money.  Best thing to say in a situation like that would be along the lines of "I hope they're happy with that when it's finished," or "they really have been working hard on that."

I recently passed a Toyota Prius (Hybrid car, for any of you who just came out of a time capsule.  Half-gas, half-electric) with the license plate: GAS HOLE.  I laughed.  Hard.  But, then I became self-conscious about my fuel-efficient-but-not-as-fuel-efficient car.

My fight-back instinct wants to point out that I haven't seen a hybrid vehicle, or fully electric, that wasn't hideous.  My logical instinct wants to point out that if there were a desirable model on the market, I'm still a good two years away from having a chance to buy it.  My mediating instinct shuts everyone up by saying I have what's right for me now and so do to the Prius owners.

We can never truly know the situations in the lives of other people.  If we can remember that, more often than not, and curb our desire to kick someone we see on the ground, then our families can make a crucial step to helping others rather than judging.

Milkin' It For All It's Worth

With the bug, even the most mundane of tasks becomes an adventure.

• The planning phase
• The gearing up phase
• The crossing of the threshold
• The initial execution of the plan
• The point of no return
• The total revision of the plan
• The break in the action
• The regrouping for accomplishing the main goal
• Victory
• The return home
• The nap

Last week the bug and I had to go get milk and eggs.  To help justify making an hour round trip for milk and eggs, we decided to tack on a trip to the credit union and, consequentially, at least another half-hour.

Allow me to explain the poor man's sound machine.  Now, I'm sure there are CD's out there of recorded white noise.  I could probably even find an app.  However, when you're already driving and the WubbaNub has been mysteriously flung to the far reaches of the backseat much to the dismay of said WubbaNub's proxy, then finding the nearest music store and illegally fumbling with one's phone doesn't help.  (By the way, I understand the safety reasons for requiring that the child be placed in a rear-facing car seat in the back.  But, do they understand the hazard?)  So, in the aforementioned situation, seems the best thing to do is to tune into a frequency that doesn't pick up any radio signals and crank that puppy.

Right.  So.   Milk and eggs.  Everything was going smoothly.  Banking was a breeze (actually a credit union, but no one says "credit unioning."  At least not yet.), but the poor bug is a little over everything made for an infant having an impressive set of buckles pulling on nylon straps.  She's a good sport about it, but every girl has her limits.  Well, she reached hers just a few aisles away from the eggs.  That's when I remembered the WubbaNub was still in the car.

You know?  For about three seconds, I actually thought the fussing might sort itself out.  It's that feeling you get when you're foolish enough to think that a pot couldn't possibly boil over, the fizz couldn't possibly spill over the edge of the glass, or the toilet water will magically go back down once it reaches the edge.  No... she couldn't possibly go into a three-stage meltdown (limbs out, face red, quivering voice cry).

Of all the fathers pushing their three (almost four) month old baby girls around a grocery store at two in the afternoon on a Friday, I have to be the one that everybody looks at like I just snagged the cart and kid and tried to break for the door before the distracted mother knew what hit her.  So, I smiled at the crowd, unbuckled, unbuckled, and unbuckled, loosened the nylon so it wouldn't scrape against her neck and make matters worse, and scooped her up into a hug to look over my shoulder.

As if I pushed a button on a toy doll, she completely changed moods.  I measured the integrity of the eggs with one arm while she flirted and smiled at anyone still looking her way.  She kept racking up the compliments as I made my way to the milk.  Wouldn't you know the first gallon was all squashed on top and I had one arm to move it and get the unsquashed one from behind it?  The bug didn't mind.  She was too busy pulling a Palin.

Not wanting to press my luck, I dismissed the idea of getting any other grocery items to justify the gas.  She "helped" me zip through the self-check, no-bag it, and we walked back to the car.  She didn't fuss too much about getting strapped down again.  We drove up the coastline home to the dulcet sounds of static.  Mission accomplished.

This week:  I'm using those damn eggs.