Overheard on the T

Teenage girl 1: I can't believe how old she is.
Teenage girl 2: They're going to be like 40 years old when their baby is 10.
....
Teenage girl 1: I think it's really important that my baby has a good father
Teenage girl 2: Yeah. I'll probably start looking when I'm like 20.

(Kids say the darndest things)

"Call me _____"

The opening line of her story is probably going to be along the lines of “Waaaahh”, but it should still rank up there in the top 100.

(Personally, my favorites are #14, 49, 66, 82, & 98)

My office rocks

So my boss hunts down Corrie's cell phone number from my emergency contact sheet, and arranges for her to come out to the end of an all staff meeting. 31 people all chip in for a HUGE cake, baby toys, outfits, and a diaper tree, the likes of which I have never seen. And how am I to repay this generosity? By taking over 2 months off when our daughter is born. Seems somewhat unfair.

By any means necessary

Nurses are the key.

The doctor shows up late in the game, the doula is limited in what she can do, but the nurses can make or break a labor. At least according to people that have recently been through this. Furthermore, shifts change, and we can go from an idyllic relationship with the folk song singing Misses Garret of nurses, to the bitter, calloused hands of Cruella DeVil in a blink.

So we're bringing out the big guns. Digging deep into our bag of tricks, we're making ahead of time, and bringing in large quantities, peanut butter fudge. Originally introduced to screaming kids by one "Weasie" Louise Jenks, the recipe has been a staple for those most trying times. And for you loyal readers out there, it's revealed below in all its glory. Use in moderation, it's powerful stuff.

Weasie Bars

1 Cup smooth peanut butter

1/3 lb Graham Crackers

2 sticks melted butter

1 lb powdered sugar

Mix above in a blender until smooth. Spread flat in a 9" x 13" pan.

Melt 12 oz of chocolate chips and pour over the peanut butter mixture. Refrigerate before cutting into pieces.

Happiest Baby on the block

When three parents independently told us we had to watch this DVD, we knew it was for real. It's a very short piece on how to get your baby to stop crying. Nothing terribly revolutionary, but we're more than happy to pick up whatever tips we could get. The most important appears to be Swaddling.

First, one is to lay the baby down on the receiving blanket, with a short corner tucked under the head. For the next three weeks, the part of our baby will be played by Wedgehead.

We are to follow a "Down, Up, Down, Up" fold, more aptly abreviated as, of course Dudu. So first, we fold one corner down, making sure to tuck the arm tight against the side, and the blanket under his arm on the other side.


We then are to fold the bottom corner up to his left shoulder, again making sure the arm is squished tight against the body. Tuck extra blanket under the back again.


Pull the remaining length of blanket down just a bit, sinching tight against your baby.


Finally, wrap the remaining length of blanket around the baby like a belt, tucking in the last bit back into the folds of the blanket in the front.

Our baby is now comfortably swaddled, and in theory will be much calmer, and hopefully sleep better. We'll let everybody know if it's in fact this easy with a wailing subject.

Pain thresholds

I'll never have a baby, and short of passing a kidney stone the size of a ripe melon, will be operating under a different understanding of pain. That being said, this morning had a "teachable moment" as they say.

Walter found a chicken bone on the street and started munching. Bone shards can get caught in his throught, or otherwise muck with his system. For the most part he's been fine when I "go in manually" to retrieve something he shouldn't be eating. He gets a bit jealous but has never really bitten my hand.


Even today, he was just chomping down on a bone when my finger just happened to get in the way. No malice behind it. Still, he managed to bite clear through my fingernail, down by the cuticle. Didn't bleed much, but imediate first thought was, "this is how scientists measure a person's resistance to pain, pressure on the fingernail, and He just bit right into it. Ow"

Second thought was along the lines of "breath through it. Find a happy place. Don't focus on the pain." It helped somewhat, but it's much easier to plan on handling pain than it is to actually do it. Until Walter bites on my fingers for 8 hours straight every 5 minutes Corrie will herein after own the title of "the tough one".

Just another word for nothing left to lose

Married people tend to think everybody should get married. Parents think everybody should have kids. Just the way it is, and knowing this doesn’t help avoiding the stereotype. This isn't an attempt to convince anybody to have kids, and please smack me in the head if we ever become those people.

This post was inspired by yet another This American Life episode, as well as other themes that have come up recently. In the next few weeks we’ll focus on either the grueling details of what life is like for a 37-week pregnant woman and her bewildered husband, or stupid dog jokes. Let me take a minute to digress.

The show was about the struggles couples have with monogamy, the difficulties over time, and the rewards for pulling it off. To boil it down to a logical extreme, it’s about voluntarily giving up freedom, and why we so often choose to do it.

This from a guy that in all sense of the word knew what freedom is all about. Hate my job? I quit. Got bored? Go to a different country and start over. Want to work until 9:00 at night then drink until noon the next day? Can’t think of a reason not to. Doing this for long enough really crystallized what’s important, at least for me. Thank god Corrie hadn’t married somebody else before I came back to the states.

To steal from a cheesy movie “Before Sunrise”, you’re stuck with yourself wherever you go. Go see a movie, and you’re there with yourself the whole time. Go to sleep and wake up to yourself. Can’t even take a shower without seeing yourself in the mirror when you get out. Perhaps after this relentless time always spent with yourself what is really called for is to forget yourself and focus on somebody else. After three years plus of marriage I can tell you, it’s so refreshing to devote yourself to somebody else, to really pour all your energy into doing a good job of trying to make them happy. Call it an atheist’s version of faith.

So knowing that we’re about to voluntarily give up our sleep, give up vacations, give up reading good books, eating out, going to the theater, give up so much more than we even know yet, I can’t wait until she’s here. It’s inaccurate to equate this to a trade off. “Sure you lose out on X, but at least you get Y.” It’s precisely because we’re going to be so needed that makes this so great, not in spite of it.

Birth Plan

(Apollo Creed acting as Rocky's Doula)

Every boxer goes into the ring with a plan that lasts just as long as it takes to get hit. Then suddenly there’s a new plan.

We sat down with our Doula the other night to discuss writing out a “Birth Plan” so the three of us at least, if not the Dr. and nursing staff know what Corrie wants, and doesn’t want. For the most part our plan is simply, “we want a baby”. The rest is gravy.

She does not want to be asked if she wants drugs. If she wants them she’ll ask. If possible we want to spend time with our daughter before they take her away to do their tests. If possible, I’ll cut the cord. If possible she’ll avoid being hooked up to an IV right away. Of course if things change, the plan changes.

What we are coming to understand is how important the nurses are to the whole experience. The Dr. only comes in towards the end, so you want the nurses on your side. A mean nurse can really take the bloom off an otherwise beautiful day. I’m thinking of bribing them with fudge.

Regardless, it was good to sit down and talk through all the possible decisions that we’ll make at a time when both of us might be a bit tired, or otherwise engaged. It also is nice to know that our Doula understands us a bit better, and can get an idea of what might help, and what really won’t.
That, and she was treated to a fine home cooked meal, and a surprisingly well-behaved dog.

Brewster's Hundred

So we finally broke down and cashed in some rewards points from American Express that had been sitting around for years with an eye towards getting something for our daughter, or at least her room. Call it an off budget bonus, but it was not factored in, and we got to spend it on purely unnecessary stuff. This turned out to be harder than it would seem.

Despite telling ourselves it’s free money (not that much, but still, free is free) it was hard to find anything that we still need. We cashed in these points for a Pottery Barn Gift certificate, assuming there has to be stuff we’d want here. Two constraints were quickly revealed however. Both of us have problems with getting something TOTALLY useless. Likewise the point would be lost to simply reduce the price of something offensively expensive to merely uncomfortably expensive (I’m thinking of those leather armchairs that we’d never feel comfortable having anyway).

So there we were in Pottery Barn Kids trying to find something to buy. Toys? She won’t need them for a while, and we have too many already. Clothes? All I can say is “22 onesies washed and folded”. Lamps? Too frilly. Picture frames? Too huge.

In the end we broke down and got a few baskets to organize her diaper and various potions. At least we left with something, but had spent less than half of what we had to work with. I’m realizing this parenting thing might prove to be hard work after all.

(Would that all our dilemmas were like this)

4 to go

There's some debate about whether these weekly markers should go up on Wednesday or Thursday, but I just can't wait to tick them off as they come.

Have put aside most fiction reading these days to cram for 'parenting' related issues. We read so much related to the pregnancy side of it all, might have almost missed getting ready for the actual baby. (ok, so she's read all this, and I've been puttering around with literature. Selfish cur that I am).

Can't really get the nursery full set up yet, as we're going to leave the futon in there for house guests for a few months, but it's still coming together. Having the Doula over for dinner tonight primarily to discuss a game plan, but also to familiarize her with Walter. Hospital bag is being put together. Playlists being assembled on the I-pod. Paternity leave being finalized.

Tick-tock......Tick-tock.

As we get closer

We get more excited...


And he gets more depressed.

One more measure

She'll be here before our Orange Juice turns rancid.

There will be a hundred different ways to mark the ever shortening time frame, this being just the first.

(30 days to go)

As promised

Her foot

As you can see, this is quite clearly the foot of an advanced child. Note how she keeps her toes pointed until sticking the landing. She gets that from her mother.

It is really something to see when the conduct the ultrasound. Live action cross sections of her torso revealed that she does in fact have a stomach, kidneys and lungs. She wiggled when we looked at her spine and ribs, and despite her restlessness, we were able to verify that, gypsy widsom aside, we are having a baby girl.

The nature of the ultrasound however was much more like an x-ray than a photograph, which is why the image of her face resembles a very cute, very small skeletor. We're saving that one until later.

Home of the Whopper

(Update: Mispoke below, average baby weight is actually closer to seven and a half pounds, not 6. Don't know where I got that)

So we had our last ultrasound on Friday. We'll post the picture soon, but don't have electronic copies yet. The general idea for doing this so late in the game is to check that she's facing the right way, and get an idea of how big she might be. Might being the operable word here. These tests are notorious for being off, in some cases by a crucial margin. The good news is she's facing the right way.

Some background first. A typical baby is born at about 6 lbs. There's been a rash lately, at least among people we know of somewhat larger kids. 8 lbs counts as "big". 9 lbs is "Huge". World record is about 14, but they won't let you have a natural birth if the baby is near 10 lbs. It just isn't physically possible.

Secondly, our lit review on the subject tells us that at this late stage, they're fully formed, and are just getting bigger. On average they gain about half a pound a week.

So with about four weeks and change to go, the best minds available, and the most advanced technology (originally designed to locate submarines, ironically) are telling us that our daughter is about 6.5 lbs already.

You can do the math.

But they've been wrong about this kind of thing before.

Murphys law about weather

(not yet, but it's bound to happen)

It's been a great winter to be pregnant in Boston. It's really only snowed twice so far, not including today, and we've broken 50 at least once a week for the whole month of January. Our death trap concrete stairs have not yet been a matter of concern, which was the number one issue. Which means somehow, someway, we'll have to pay for this stretch of good luck.

We're prepared for it to snow a good 3 feet just as soon as Corrie goes into labor, shutting down all the streets, burying all the cars until we can't find ours anymore, and we'll be forced to strap Walter to a sled and brave the elements by foot.

At least we know this is going to happen and can avoid the surprise factor.

Pascal’s Wager, (or how I learned to stop worrying and love Purell)

It started about two years ago. Visiting friends to see their brand new baby, we were prevented from entering their home until we covered our hands in Purell. It was done politely and, happy to see their daughter, we would have stripped naked in the snow had they asked. But something about the request struck me as wrong. Millions of children are born each year, most in parts of the world that don’t have the benefit of Purell. They all seem to be doing fine. On another level, this child, any child seems to embody the very idea of freshness, pureness, and unblemished nature. Why the need to apply chemical toxins to your hands before touching her?

We all know those parents that seem just a bit too nervous for their own good. The ones that hover all the time, that can’t relax unless little Johnny is wearing his helmet and mouth-guard before going to day care. These are parents seemingly deserving of our pity and unsolicited advice. Somewhere in the metric of being a ‘good parent’ has to be a score for level-headedness. Not being terrified at every potential danger, taking things in stride, staying RELAXED. More importantly, not instilling your daughter with unreasonable fears she’ll pay $200/hr some day to dispel.

Now we’ve done our fair share of research into the dark world of all things that can go wrong. It feels irresponsible to not have, and we have no regrets. But recently we heard of a baby (anonymous to protect the innocent) that had a pretty good scare. RSV, an immunity issue that can lead to a form of infant Pneumonia brought a newborn to the emergency room for days, parents sleeping by him day and night. He’s fine now, and back with his family, but it does get one to thinking.

Another set of friends work in the NICU (newborn medicine) in Boston. They are by far some of the more relaxed parents we know, showing that knowledge does not directly lead to paranoia. They SWEAR by Purell, especially for newborns, especially in the winter, especially for the first month.

Which brings us to Pascal.

Trying to convince heretics to believe in god, he proposed what came to be known as “Pascal’s Wager”. It does not cost you much to believe. If there is a heaven, the rewards are infinite. If there is no heaven, you have only lost a few hours each Sunday. If Infinity is divided by X such that X is any finite number, the results will in all cases equal infinity. Regardless of the probability of there being a Heaven to look forward to, mathematically it’s a good bet to make.
(for the counterargument, consider Pascal’s Flaw)

Applying that math to our child, for at least the first month after she’s born, we’re going with the safe bet and ask people to disinfect their hands before poking our daughter. It doesn’t cost us much (we’ll supply the Purell, now with Aloe to prevent dry skin), and the costs of not doing so could very well be infinite.

We haven’t refined our policy on helmets yet.

5 to go

Now it just seems like they're flying by doesn't it?

At some point the baby will 'decend' and make it easier for corrie to eat, but we're not there yet. Got the cell phone fully charged and on at all times now just in case. Might start thinking about packing a hospital bag. We need to start posting more pictures of her being pregnant before we miss the opportunity. And for those of you counting at home, 36 more days (give or take).

Stroller luck

This was the one last big missing piece of the puzzle that we solved this weekend. Everything else is just window dressing. Have the crib (ordered if not yet built and in place), car seat, co-sleeper, diapers, clothes, toys, etc. But we were stuck on the stroller for going on three months now. Until yesterday that is.

To begin, the gold standard seems to be the Bugaboo these days. Going for close to $1,000, it’s what all future prep-school drug dealers are riding these days. Not sure what makes this one worth so much more, but it was off the table on day 1.

Slightly down the ladder was the Stokke. Quite the fly ride, but here you’re giving up features for style. And no amount of money spent on a stroller is going to make us stylish.

Now it’s important to remember we have four flights of stairs to get up to our apartment, so weight is going to be an issue. However, we’ll be pushing her on City sidewalks, not smooth mall floors, so we wanted something that wasn’t too flimsy.

(Not at all Flimsy)

Corrie was leaning towards the Maclaren line, a favorite of the New York set. Simple. Elegant. Understated. It always struck us too rickety for broken sidewalks, and on the testimony of good friends, we figured we’d have to get a decent jogging stroller also. Big wheels are the key to a smooth ride, but they don’t make big-wheeled light strollers.

I was leaning towards a slightly more substantial model, the Pliko. Something about having a sippy cup holder to spill cheerios in seemed important. This one may have served both needs (rugged but light) but neither of them well. So the default setting was to just get two strollers, a light one and a heavy one. Until we found the Infinity. It isn’t on many websites since currently it seems to only be sold in the UK and the random Babies R Us store.

Slightly heavy, it reclines to a pram, faces either towards us or away. Rotating front wheels with the locking option, easy fold, etc. So we just broke down and got the one we found. It’ll probably live in the back of the car to avoid having to lug it up 4 flights every day, but it is in all respects a sweet ride.

Update:

It seems our Infinity is in fact the same model as the "Rock Star Baby" endoresed by none other than Jon Bon Jovi. Ours doesn't have the oh so important RSB logo, but she'll still be rockin'. Oh, and there is no way we would pay that premium for the Bon Jovi name.

(research provided by 'mom')

Flying dogs

Walter is going to need some kind of special treat to offset the lifestyle change he’s soon to be forced into. Perhaps he would enjoy learning how to fly?

Really small car seat?

Of all the perks she can claim for being pregnant, it appears there is one less available to her today.

6 to go

All systems working as they should be. Corrie hasn't been sleeping as well as she'd like, and sitting through an entire play can be uncomfortable. (We went to see "No Exit" the other night, and at least I would strongly recommend it.) On the whole though there haven't been any surprises lately.

The big issue on the table this week is whether to move the futon into the living room, or just give up on it and get a sleeper sofa. Either way, our daughter is sleeping in the co-sleeper in our room for the first few months so it's not that pressing of an issue. Other than that, it's just a matter of pushing items around, maybe hanging some wall decorations in the nursery.

We've got a dwindling list of things that we want to do before our lives are no longer our own. One last Valentine's Day dinner at our favorite restaurant. One more night out at the theater. Then we honker down and wait.

New Year's Resolution

Tough to resolve to do anything this year, knowing most waking minutes will be spoken for with the pooping and the cleaning, and the not-so-much-sleeping. Can't resolve to go to the gym if there's no time. Can't resolve not to eat junk food when we're too exhausted to cook rice. The one thing that I wanted to try some time was to resolve to read 50 books in a year. Came pretty close this year, but the resolve faded towards the end there.

The goal for 2005 was to read at least one book a month by an author I was ashamed to have never read before. Kurt Vonegut, John Updike, Iris Murdock. E.B. White. etc. This year I'm thinking along similar lines, but looking for lesser known writers, or at least not the classics. So this is a call to all of our loyal readers (both of you that is). I'd love recommendations for any good books you've read that didn't make it on to the Oprah Book Club, or don't exist in penguin Classics editions. The more obscure the better. One a month shouldn't be too hard to do, even with a screaming child, so the goal is at least 12 suggestions. Feel free to use the comments section to avoid duplication. Thanks for the help with this.

Playing the odds

We started this whole thing with less than 100% confidence we were having a girl. The technician was just the littlest bit hesitant when we had our early ultrasound. “I’m pretty sure I know, but let me check with the doctor first”. There was a thrilling two minutes while we waited for the doctor; Corrie and I trying to discern a penis in a field of what looked to be nothing beyond television static. When the Doctor came in she took one look and with full certainty announced we were having a girl. No question. Easy Call.

Now we already know one couple that was burned by this. Thought they were having a girl, bought all the pink clothes. Painted the room. Picked out a name…. You get the picture.

All this as prelude to last weekend. While getting a manicure, I understand a leathery old woman laid her hands on Corrie’s belly (something you should really ask permission for first by the way) and announced with certainty, “Boy”.

I’m not a superstitious person. Don’t believe in jinxing. Will routinely say, “we haven’t hit traffic yet” much to my wife’s angst, inviting the fates to smite us with an overturned tractor. There is science behind the idea that we’re having a girl, so as far as I’m concerned, that’s the way it is. But for the brave few of you out there that want it “to be a surprise” when your baby comes, know that there is always that kernel of doubt to keep things interesting. I don’t know what last weekend does to the Vegas line, but will update the odds accordingly.

Juvenile displacement

As a boy I would always wonder about that point when you switch from being a “son” to a “father”. Surely I’d wake up one day, perhaps the day of my 13th birthday, thirst for some strong black coffee, Pass over Marmaduke and Hagar the Horrible for an update on commodity futures, and complain about the government to my bewildered family. Perhaps it happens when you start shaving. Fathers don’t buy candy bars. Fathers don’t make fart jokes. Fathers eat their vegetables.

It seemed like a high bar to reach back then, and at times still feels just a bit out of reach. Every now and then we’ll go to sleep without putting away our shoes. I’ve left dishes unwashed in the sink on occasion, and am constantly resisting the urge to have a bowl of cold cereal for dinner when Corrie isn’t around.

So here’s the latest theory/rationalization. Just because you like caviar doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a quality Funyun. The guy that pays the mortgage can still enjoy Old School. You don’t have to give up who you are when you become who you should be.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself after watching quite possibly the goriest, pointless, most juvenile movie I’ve seen (and dragged a forgiving soul to) in quite a long time. While Corrie was immersed in all things sweet and pretty her louse of a husband went to see Hostel.

Oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph it was bad, but in the best way. Honey, if you’re reading this, let me just say I’ve given up trying to explain the joy in truly horrible art/TV/film. I don’t understand the appeal myself, but I promise not to drag you to any midnight kung-fu movies, or bring the Toxic Avenger into our home. More importantly I won’t introduce South Park to our daughter, or ask her to pull my finger (that’s what Uncles do after all). But know that behind that strict paternal mask of disapproval, I’ll be smiling on the inside at her first booger joke.

Taming the beast

Every now and then we worry about how Walter and our daughter will respond to each other. Given that sleep seems to be the number one issue with new parents, there is the potential for a minor calamity. Picture if you will a bump in the night. Walter wakes up for a drink or find a new shirt to sleep on (assuming we have shirts on the floor then, which we never ever do now. No really, we're tidy people), unkempt toe nails on bare wood floors echoing through our cavernous 800 sq ft. Baby, rudely torn from dreams of endless fields of clean diapers and accessible boobs, will of course build up from a whimper to full throated yawp. Walter will address this challenge with the only tool available to him, the infamous hound dog bay. Add in to the background two sleep deprived parents weeping under their pillows and we've got a symphony of desperation and pain.

Or, they could be Disney friends for life. She'll ride him around the apartment like a miniature Annie Oakly, using his ears for reins, and he'll lavish attention on the only person with enough energy to keep up. They could be BFF, making fun of us behind our backs. Doing each other's hair. Peeing on the couch together.

You don't know. It could happen.

Update: Yup, this is what I had in mind, though not with the monkey.

Ugly Dolls

I know I know. It'll be some time before she starts playing with dolls. Heck, it could be months before she'll be able to grab anything, much less anthropomorphize a stuffed toy. But we're having self-control issues on this end, and rather than explode, we figured it's best to give in once in awhile to the little things.

To that end, we got ourselves an Ugly Doll, which just happens to be the best friend of another Ugly doll we got for Christmas. First up, Wedgehead:

(Our boy hanging with Nelly)

Wedgehead Understands you. He sees things the way you see them. OK so he has to stand on his head to do so, but still! He understands exactly what you mean.

Unbeknownst to us all, it turned out that we were given his best buddy for Christmas, OX:

(Getting to know Tia Carrera)

OX is great at magic, and his best trick is turning your stuff into his stuff. His best buddy Wedgehead calls that stealing but OX just wants to borrow things from you for a few hundred years. He promises to put everything back when he's done.

The only chore now is making sure Walter understands which are his chew toys, and which are really really not.

Year of the dog

January 29th marks the Chinese New Year, meaning our daughter will be born in the Year of the dog. What are we to make of this?

Dog personalities are honest, faithful, and sincere. They enjoy helping others. They can easily make friends, usually long-lasting. They are intelligent and are usually good listeners. The Dog is a steady worker who becomes a trusted and valued member of any community. They are defensive where friends and family are concerned and refuse to listen to warnings when others are in danger. When truly
frightened, Dogs react unpredictably. Their rare displays of intense anger is usually justified however. They easily forgive and forget.

Dogs are usually very active and like all types of outdoor sports. Although they are very generous and loyal, they often have romantic difficulties throughout their lifetimes unless their partner is very understanding and patient.

Consider that at the same time, she'll be either an Aquarius if she is born before the 19th, or a Pisces:

Pisceans are compassionate, charitable and will quickly put the needs of others ahead of their own.

I feel like I know her already.

7 weeks to go

We've got 7 weeks to go, if anybody is counting, so an update seems in order.

After a flurry of nesting mania, we're feeling good and prepared. Or at least as prepared as one can be. The nursery is painted. Crib is on order. Co-sleeper is jacked up to be level with our bed. We've got over 200 disposable diapers good for babies up to 18 lbs and over 600 baby wipes at the ready (thank you Costco). Car seat cover is washed in baby safe detergent, and double checked by a safety expert. We've been trained in infant CPR. Taking the hospital tour soon, just to get a sense of the playing field. All in all, feeling ready. Just have to fidget for another 7 weeks, give or take.

That being said, you may be barraged with a collection of short, stupid links over the next month or so. Need to keep our audience entertained, but at this point, we're just waiting.

Barbie is promoting alternate lifestyles?

Who would have thought? As if American Girl promoting abortion wasn't enough, now we have Barbie scrambling gender roles as well. What happened to the good old days when girls made easy baked muffins for their black-lung pretend husbands when they get in from the coal mine? Why won't anybody think of the children?

Update: Ok, headline correction is due. Barbie still likes Ken apparently (though we haven't seen them together in awhile). She just makes the mistake of admitting that there might be gay children out there. Sorry to jump the gun.

Tone Deaf?

If our daughter is anything like her parents, she'll be stuck in the back of the band playing the triangle. We are not musically gifted people, but at least are blessed with knowing it. She however could potentially turn out to be the diamond found in the coal mine of our broken dreams. The only way we'll know is by a strict regimen of standardized testing.

Feel free to test yourself. I'm sure you'll all do better than we did.

Baby Mop

Why doesn't everybody have one of these?

(Once again, much thanks to K-la for the image)