Let us begin with Flamin' Hot Cheetos.
I love junk food. If I could count on dying a sudden death in my prime, my diet would largely consist of Taco Bell and pixie stix. But I figure there will be that typical twenty year decline before I finally give it up in a nursing home somewhere, and so I feel obligated to eat the occasional vegetable in the hopes that the slide starts in my sixties instead of my thirties. (The effectiveness of this course is still under review, and my feelings about it change daily.) Friday night Jeff held a poker party at our house while I was at work, and a wild night it was, what with the prime card shark there being a new mom herself, and Kurt being asleep in the next room. Nevertheless, when I staggered home in the morning and came in the front door, all the usual signs of a party were present: chairs gathered in social poses around the living room, beer bottles and glasses clustered around them, and empty pizza boxes strewn about. But there in the kitchen, bathed in holy light, was an unopened bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. I happened to know they were brought by Joel.
God, I said silently, You know Joel, right? Short cropped hair, drives a green Honda? Anyway, I just want to point out that not only does Joel actually roll out of bed to give You a shout out on Sunday mornings when the rest of us are asleep, but he does genuinely good deeds. Deeds like this. He could have taken this bag home at the end of the night and we would have thought nothing of it. But he left this bag here. And I just think that if You're handing out any blessings in the near future, Joel might deserve something special. Maybe not a huge lottery win or a hot tub full of supermodels. But how about a nice parking spot near someplace if he's running late? Or a free smoothie? I'm just throwing out suggestions here…
After putting in a good word with the Almighty, for what it's worth, I sat down and had myself some Cheetos. Pregnancy heartburn kept me from them last year, and since Jeff became a skinny person, we just don't keep as much crap in the house, which is a good thing. So I missed them. And were they as good as I remembered? Oh yes they were. Just the right amount of spicy and vinegary with the underlying sublime fake cheese taste. I have been nursing the bag all week.
On to Jeff's injury…
Here is the wonderful thing about the iPhone. You can be walking around the neighborhood, thinking, Man, what was that song by XTC, the one that had ooooowoooowoooo in the background? And as long as there's wireless floating around nearby, you can immediately search, find and download the song. ("Season Cycle," by the way.) The bad thing about the iPhone is that you are possessed by the urge to do things like search Google maps while driving or checking your e-mail while riding your bike, especially if you are Jeff. Jeff has been yelled at thoroughly by me for doing both of those things, but feel free to chime in. Anyway, Jeff took quite a beating and is scraped and bruised pretty much everywhere. In fact, over the last week, he kept finding new injured places on his body he hadn't even noticed at first. He would bound out of the bathroom after a shower and excitedly exclaim, "Honey! Look at this bruise!" A sample:
So Kurt does this thing sometimes where he is the least happy baby that has ever existed. It looks like this:
The problem is that, for great periods of time, he is tremendously sweet and adorable. He babbles, he wiggles, he blows raspberries, he grabs his little feet, he grins a goofy, wide smile at us from across the room that makes us weak, he endlessly chews on his fingers and, most notably, he laughs and squeals. Oh, baby laughter! It may be the sweetest sound in the universe. We're hooked.
So it's painful when he's inconsolable. He's drooling like crazy, so I'm assuming his discomfort has been related to more teeth coming, although we haven't found any more yet. He also seems to be in a much better mood when he gets a couple of good naps in during the days, but, like all babies, he has no insight into the idea that if he just slept, it would all be okay. So it's hard to get him settled down to sleep. And one of our primary weapons in the battle, the pacifier, fell sharply out of favor as soon as those little teeth poked through. He has NO interest in a pacifier right now. Bottles put him to sleep, but every time it happens, I get an image of him in twenty years, falling asleep on his dorm room couch with a milk carton slipping out of his hand. (Did I mention I'm an alarmist?)
The good news is that these periods of Kurt tragedy don't seem to last. Tonight, for instance, he is Sweetness itself, having spent the evening on Jeff's lap being fascinated and delighted by every single thing Jeff does, and laughing loudly when people on TV laugh. Now he's slumped against Jeff's chest, eyelids heavy, doing every thing he can do to fight sleep. He'll never last..
Tomorrow I turn 34! The consensus is that the following picture is funny. It was one of those moments when I was looking down and Jeff said "Hey Jayne!" and snapped the picture right as I looked up. But it does look like I need to get off the rock: