I wish this (insert fruit) had more SEEDS, you know?
Why isn't this a word referring to a gentleman's collection of haberdashery?

My mandrobe is seriously lacking in suspenders and wing-tips - what an oversight! I must rectify this gaffe immediately with a trip to the suspender and wing-tip district!
- Mandrobe Owner, Portland

Seems logical to me.

According to UrbanDictionary, however, the word "mandrobe" actually refers to:


"A nick name for THE crappest music teacher on Earth. Few people suffer from Mandrobe and are actually taught music at high school, but the unfortunate few have to suffer the BO, terrible singing, imensly bad keyboard playing and of course the testicle chair.

Those who have never met the beast will not understand this but if you have had the misfortune to have met Mandrobe you'll know exactly what I mean...
Hamish: Mandrobe was chasing me again down the music corridor.
Ron: Really? Why? was it to make you sing for her?
Hamish: No worse, she wanted me to push her testicle chair!"
Hamish, Ron, we're going to leave the discussion of how to spell "immensely" for another day. Because there's a much bigger issue in play here.
What. the fuck. is a testicle chair.
Is it bouncy and covered with pictures of froggies? Because if so... I THINK I AM IN A TESTICLE CHAIR.
Angel on my left shoulder: Google it!
Angel on my right shoulder: Are you fucking crazy? Do you even want to KNOW what kind of ads will pop up in your gmail sidebar if you're caught googling testicle chair? Talk about getting Scroogled.
AOMLS: Hey, Katie, one word for you: YOLO.
You're right, Left Shoulder Angel.
(Googled it)
Huh.

Follow-up question: Why does the Mandrobe Music teacher sit in this?
So that's a testicle chair. Why is it famous? What famous person sat in this chair?

Was it Henry VIII? Ron Jeremy? Liberace?

Hell no.

It was the fucking POPE, that's who.
Because one time a woman was accidentally appointed (voted? named? picked? drew the straw? spun the bottle? jumped the broom? played the pony? plucked the fiddle? shucked the corn?) pope, so now new popes have to sit in this chair so you can see the fellas danglin' and ensure that never again will such an egregious violation of Christian doctrine occur. 
Because as long as a man is in charge of the church, nothing bad will happen. 
A woman! The pope! I cannot even imagine what kind of hellish shenanigans she wrought upon the heads of innocent Catholics. She probably didn't let her Cardinals telecommute. (BOOM! Y'all should Yahoo Search that to see how funny it was.) (Almost as funny as people telling each other to Yahoo Search in 2013.) (Sorry Melissa. The truth hurts.)
So seriously, Hamish, is this testicle chair a real thing? And is your music teacher the Pope?
 
FML I have to start reading more nonfiction. 
Also Dan Brown novels. 


What would YOU do to keep your baby awake until you get home to put him down for his nap?

It seems counter-intuitive. Let the child sleep, right? If he's sleepy now he'll be sleepy when he gets home, too, right?

Ssssh, little bunny. Let me give you some truth.

Babies get sleepy at the following times:

1. When you pull into the driveway.
2. When you pull into a parking spot at the grocery store.
3. When you're 4 blocks from home on foot.
4. When you are leaving for brunch.

Babies wake up like a freshly-hit crack ho at the following times:

1. When you walk in the front door of your house.
2. When it's bedtime.
3. When it's naptime.
4. When you arrive at brunch.

There's nothing worse on this earth than the under-10-minute powernap. Chicken falls asleep, seriously, as soon as I can see my house. By the time I'm in the front door he's been asleep for 4 minutes and thinks that's pretty much a wrap on the whole napping gig for the day.

"Mom, I know I usually do, like 90 minutes in the afternoon. But today, I think 4's good. Yeah, so that's like... sorry, I'm still wrapping my head around this whole "percentage" thing... 4% of my regular napping. That. Is. Clutch! Let's play with BUBBLES!"

... fast-forward 18 minutes...

THESE BUBBLES ARE FREAKING ME OUT!!!
WHY DON'T THEY EVER LAND?
IT'S SO BRIGHT IN HERE!
PICK ME UP!
NOT LIKE THAT!
PUT ME DOWN!
WHY AM I DOWN?
WHY AM I UP? I HATE UP!
TURN OFF THE LIGHTS!
OH MY GOD THE LIGHTS WENT OFF!
WHY ARE WE GOING IN THE NURSERY?
WHY IS THE WORLD SO CRUEL AND COLD?
WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BINKY?
NOT THAT ONE!

... fast-forward 45 minutes... 

NAPS ARE BULLSHIT!
MY CRIB SUCKS!
MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!
LOOK AT ME!
STOP LOOKING AT ME!
LOOK AT ME!
IF YOU'RE LOOKING AT ME WHY AREN'T YOU HOLDING ME?

... fast-forward another 45 minutes... 

I'M NOT TIRED!
I'M NOT TIRED!
I'M NOT TI--zzzzzzzzzzzz...

This, quite obviously, sucks. It is the major contributing factor to the empty bottle of gin in the spice cabinet. I keep it there so it's both handy and aromatic. (Just kidding. Who wants gin that smells like nutmeg? I'll tell you who, GOD, that's who. Nutmeg gin sounds freaking delightful and festive. I'm surprised Starbucks isn't already on top of that.)

So the other alternative is engaging in bizarre, public antics to keep Chicken awake until we can get into the nursery.

I have, in fact, myself, done the following to keep my child awake within a half-mile of my house:

1. In the carrier, loudly shaken and crumpled a paper bag next to his head.
2. In the car, reached back and snapped my fingers in front of his face. Like, an inch in front of his face. I'm not Stretch Armstrong.
3. In the carrier, jumped up and down while smacking his butt and chanting "CHICKA-CHICKA-CHICKEN!" or singing "This is the song that doesn't end..."
3. In the car, reached back and put my hand on his face a la Helen Keller. It seems like it should work really well but I think he just finds it comforting. Thanks a lot, Miracle Worker. Oh, I'm sorry, you need me to write it in your hand? Here goes: "F. U."
4. In the carrier, taken off his socks and shoes in January.
5. In the carrier and in the car, actually held open one of his eyelids.

Don't hate. Today when we made it home and he was still barely awake, I took him into the nursery and he went down like a sack of drunken lead potatoes in a centrifuge.

Boom.
The way I love my son?

I've been loved like that for my entire life.

I had no idea.
What if we're all reading this the wrong way. What if Chicken WANTS the apple slices to be on the ground, and every time we pick them up, he's like, 

MOM. Seriously. This is the last time I'm putting these apples back where they're supposed to be. (sigh) WHEN are you going to learn consequences? Hey Dad, look at Mom's new favorite game. It's called 'Don't leave the apple slices on the ground where they're supposed to be but instead keep putting them on my high chair tray so I have to keep putting them back down on the ground.' Dad, Dad watch this. Mom, I'm going to drop these apple slices onto the ground now. And if you pick them up, I will NOT DROP THEM AG-- see? See? She just did it again. Moms. They're so funny, right?


__

Babies' butts on babies = adorable
Babies' butts on actresses = cover of Star's Worst Beach Bodies issue

__

What can I add to cheese fries to make it an acceptable dinner?


__

 Fruit is not cookies. Damn you, beach vacations. Damn you to salad-eating hell.


__

I shaved my legs in a hurry. Now my right shin has a mohawk.
"If I ever met a girl who didn't have cellulite I would cut her face
and then I would say 'Welcome to the wild west, Flaca.'"
Mom:

He's growing up so fast! Look at our sweet little man!


Dad:

He doesn't walk. Why does he need shoes.

Chicken:

LACE MONSTERS ATE MY TOES! LACE! MONSTERS! ATE! MY! TOES!

Pre-Baby:

(in bed)

Me: Ryan
Him: mmm?
Me: Oh, sorry! I thought you were up!
Him: It's ok, love. (roll over, kiss, cuddle.)
Me: What time is it?
Him: 10:30.
Me: (stretch)
Him: So... what do you want to do today?
Me: Mmmmm... let's watch Lord of the Rings and eat waffles.

(sigh)

Post-Baby:

(in bed)

Me: Ryan.
Him: mmm?
Me: RYAN.
Him: What?
Me: The Chicken is up.
Him: ... (employs the classic "If I don't move maybe she'll forget I'm awake" strategy.)
Me: (SIGH) So I guess I'll get him... What TIME is it?
Him: 6:20.
Me: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Him: What are we doing today?
Me: Well, not sleeping in, that's for sure.

(sigh)

Why do people have babies?

There are the spiritual reasons:

"I felt like it's my purpose in life."
"God told me to."
"It felt like the right time."
"My wife told me it was the right time."

The practical reasons:

"I want to carry my family into another generation."
"Tax breaks! Hellooo!"
"My parents were bugging me for grandchildren."

The biological reasons:

"I felt a void that only a baby could fill."
"I had an uncontrollable biological urge."

The somewhat less savory reasons:

"My boyfriend was totally cheating on me. Now he'll love me even more."
"Gisele looked so pretty when she was pregnant, plus I hear your nails get really strong."
"One of my friends had a baby. But I'm better than she is, so I have to have TWO babies."
"I was drunk and didn't wrap it before I tapped it... but now I'm really happy I did. I think I unconsciously wanted it. I don't miss my old life at all."


All of these reasons are perfectly valid. (Except that last one. His baby mama is standing behind him with a garrotting wire.)

So why did I have a baby?

Did I feel a void? Not really. I mean, yes, there was a void, but it could pretty much be filled with pizza.

Spiritual yearning? Yes. But again, for pizza.

Peer pressure? I was the first of my close friends to get knocked up, so if anything I was, for the first time in my life, an early adopter, so to speak.

Holy shit.

I have no idea why I had a baby.


Honestly, I'm pretty sure that after the wedding I needed a new project, and our apartment building had a two-pet limit, so we had to think outside the box.

Is that bad?

I should probably tell people it was the spiritual void thing.


... if I ever teach my baby to crap in a bowl while at a friend's house for a party.

These people are the reason I'm afraid to let Chicken eat dandelions at a public park.

Who knows what hippie toddler has been dropping trau in the middle of the playground?
English: Giovanni Ribisi at a ceremony for Jam...
Ribisi Fine Carded Wools. Moustachio Smithy, Proprietor.

I was just sitting here thinking, "What the hell happened to Giovanni Ribisi?"

So I Googled him.

I was expecting him to have retired to Austin to open a wool-carding business. 

Huh.

Turns out he's been pretty busy. He was in some movie called "Avatar." Have we heard of this? From the small bits of information I was able to glean from various Hollywood gossip blogs I've cobbled together the following: It's Fern Gully, a la James Cameron.

Oh! He was in "Ted"! Right! As that creepy dad with the 80's music fetish. Now I remember.

He was in Gangster Squad, which I never saw because it looked like Sean Penn spent the whole movie yelling. 

So he's batting .333 for movies in the last 3 years that I've seen. 

Better than Colin Farrell, I guess.
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If my whole purpose for existing is to teach my son what love looks like, so he can teach his children, so they can teach their children, forever and ever, that will be enough.