Random deep thoughts, meine Damen und Herren.
The Girl is Crafty Like Ice is Cold: I borrowed (stole) Jen's idea for her little dude and made these as Jackson's Christmas present:
Miss(ed) Manners: We went to our irritating-as-shit neighbors' Christmas party last Saturday. We go solely out of a sense of obligation, and take solace in the fact that other neighbors do the same. At least we like the other neighbors and can chat with them (and make plans to hang out with them on the sly). So, the less-than-awesome-total-asshole neighbors started handing out Christmas presents to select friends and neighbors in the middle of the party, including a giant Thomas-the-Train set for their friend's 17-month-old. And they insisted he open it up and play with it. I didn't expect or want a gift from them, for KB and me or for Jackson, and I didn't bring them a present (other than a host/hostess gift of a bottle of wine BECAUSE WE HAVE MANNERS) but how do I stop a toddler from wanting to play with another kid's toy when it's right there in front of him and everything else in the room is a "no-no -- please, Jackson, no-no -- oh gawd, don't grab the glass ornament or painted pinecones, etc."? The other kid's parents were nice about it, but in the kerfuffle Jackson got a huge cardboard cut on his cheek while packaging was flying around the room. That angered me so much I cannot even tell you. Gurgling, bubbling, seething anger. Not only were these jackholes being obnoxiously rude about handing out presents to just a few people, and oohing and aahing as loudly and mega-obscenely as they could, but they couldn't even muster enough class to have a small toy for Jackson while lavishing gifts and opening them for another kid nearly the same age. And then the cut on his face. Oh, and their two giant dogs roamed freely and humped the kids. Their solution? Scream at the dogs in front of the kids and otherwise do nothing. I CAN'T WAIT TO MOVE TO ANOTHER HOUSE. Did I say that out loud? No, fuckers, I shouted it. I now return to my usual programming of avoiding these un-neighborly assmonkeys like a fratboy with herpes.
Broken Social Scene: I have a playdate with a friend from grad school and her daughter tomorrow. Like, a real playdate, at my house. This is uncharted territory for me, you guys. I think this makes me a legit mama now. (I take Jackson places, I swear, and we meet other friends and their kids for activities, but people? coming to my house? a first.) This grad school friend is living a similar life now -- she did the academic postdoc (check) and left to do freelance pharma and tech consulting (check). She's also part-time and uses a nanny for her 16-month-old daughter when she works and sends her older son (around 3, I think) to pre-school. I'm looking forward to swapping stories about how we are finally free from the academic slave trade, and how part-time freelance consulting rules (uh-huh), and inquiring about how much harder it actually is to have two kids about 2-3 years apart (I'm leading my own study, ya'll, and recruiting subjects to survey). This is kind of a big step for me because I'm possibly the Greatest Homebody Ever. We'll see how it goes.
It Takes Two to Make a Thing Go Right: I poas-ed last week, everyone. Stifle your laughter, it's not nice. I realized that KB and I had done Le Deed at precisely the right time for ovulation and thought it might just be possible. Guess what happened when I tested? Besides the obvious, that it was stark-white-negative? My period started approximately one hour later. Oh, universe. *shaking fist at sky* KB's surprise was manifested as, "Oh, you mean my super-sperm didn't impregnate you?" I guess not. And we are now within the month or so in which we said we would meet with the RE to begin the process all over again. So why haven't I made the call to schedule the appointment? I should call. Maybe tomorrow.