What goes around, comes around.

My son never really said, "Mama" or "Mommy." We tried to coax it out of him, we did. But it never happened. And honestly, with his speech delays, I would have settled for any uttered sound that he consistently used to call for me. Ma. La. I'd even have taken Moo, though I would secretly wonder if my large post-baby ass had inspired it. But alas, it seemed not in the cards and I didn't want to press the matter so hard that he'd always associate hatred with the word, "mother." After all, we have his teenage years for that.

But as he's started to make more sounds and, now, words, I've once again been trying to get him to say, "Mama."

And do you know what that little devil does when I ask him to do so? He smiles widely and says, "Daddy, daddy!" Because, you know, he's been able to say Daddy practically since birth.

(As a side note, what is with this paternal conspiracy? I carry the boy inside me for nearly a year, breastfeed him for more than that and spend every waking moment catering to his needs and all I ever hear from other people is, "Oh, my, isn't he the spitting image of CPT Dick!" and "He's a Daddy's boy, all right." And then with the boy himself only saying, "Daddy." It's just so wrong).

But yesterday, CPT Dick called home from the field. Munchkin spent most of the day asking for the man -- pointing at pictures of CPT Dick and saying, "Daddy," and then saying "Daddy?" every time I used the phone. I know CPT Dick is missing his son and missing so much of what Munchkin is doing these days so I put the speaker phone on and called Munchkin over.

"Munchkin, it's Daddy! Say, 'Hi, Daddy!'"

*silence*

"Munchkin, don't you want to say hi to Daddy? Daddy misses you! Say, 'Hi, Daddy!'"

*silence*

"I don't understand it. He's been saying Daddy all day. Let me try one more time. Munchkin, say, 'Hi, Daddy!' C'mon now, say, 'Hi, Daddy!'"

And then Munchkin smiles widely and says, "Mommy, Mommy! Hi, Mommy!"

CPT Dick thinks I paid the kid off. If I had known that I could have done so to set up such a situation, the kid would have been rolling in greenbacks and Elmo-themed paraphernalia months ago.

Is it too much to hope?

For the record, I am one of God's most pathetic creatures -- a Red Sox fan. We've made a come back in the last few years but not without adding a few gray hairs to my soon-to-be middleaged head.

So needless to say, I was annoyed when Alex Rodriguez, a Yankees player and general schmuck, decided to break the tradition of not releasing any non-World Series baseball news until after the series was concluded. And worse, it was just to say he was opting out of his already obscenely high paying contract with the Yankees.

Scott Miller, a CBSports.com writer, got it right when he called A-Rod a good player but a colossal and utter weasel.

This morning, I see that A-Rod wanted $350 million. And of course, there are rumors that he will go to the Sox and replace Lowell, a great player and all-around good guy.

Is it too much to hope, given that A-Rod has shown himself to be a cheating, weaselly creep time and time again, that no one takes the bait? That he can remain a free agent forever?

Gosh, I hope not.

Confession #2.

I once peed on my son.

Don't look at me like that. It wasn't on purpose, exactly. Well, at least not initially. And let's face it, the kid has peed on me more times than I can count. So let's just call us even (though he still owes me big time for all the poop and vomit I've had to endure these past few years).

We were traveling, just the two of us, and I had to make a restroom run. The only toilets available at this particular airport were the squatty potty variety, very popular in Eastern Europe and Asia. If you've ever used one, you know exactly what I mean. The groan when you see it. The knowledge that it's finding a way to successfully bend down or go find an empty bottle somewhere. And if you haven't ever come into contact with one, if you are that lucky, just take a deep breath and be ever so grateful that you haven't crossed paths (though if you really want to see one, click here).

The bathroom was filthy. But when you have to go, you have to go. But what do you do with a newly walking toddler? I mean, there's absolutely nothing in the manual about squatty potties and toddlers. Seriously. I checked. And I doubted that leaving the boy outside of the stall was really the way to go either.

So with no other option available, I squat, knowing that my son will probably come over and visit, getting in the way of my urine stream. I mean, it's a given that he's going to be a little freaked out by the complete and utter nastiness of the place. And with me squatting down, almost just as I do when I'm opening my arms up to hold him close or pick him up, he was going to come calling. And, indeed, that's exactly what happened.

I tried to figure out a way to keep him at bay. I did. But when I tried the Heisman move, I realized that my lack of balance in the position would only result in me peeing on both of us. I had a change of clothes for him (two, in fact, given his reputation for diaper leakage). I didn't have one for me. Lack of foresight, I know.

He didn't mind so much. It only really dampened one of his pant legs. But I still felt like the worst mother ever. I mean, what kind of Mom urinates on her only child?

So, yeah, it happened once. I'm learning to deal with my shortcomings. And honestly, I figure that with all the other stuff that comes with CPT Dick and I parenting, this is going to be way down on the list of things he'll have to discuss with his therapist.

Best. Headline. Ever.

"No acid was ever used at Atari."

I'm a bake sale failure.

We have yet another bake sale coming up. I said I'd make brownies.

I put the first batch in to bake and set the chronometer on my watch. I figured 35 minutes was just enough time to write a quick query to a magazine I want to pitch.

Ummm, apparently not. As I was proofreading, I smelled the tell-tale stench of Cajun brownies. But I had another couple of boxes of mix in the cupboard and thought, if first you don't succeed, try, try again.

So I mixed, I poured and I put them in to bake. Then Munchkin decided to take off his diaper and pee in the corner of the guest room. The smell of Swiffer cleaning solution all too easily masked the smell of burning. *sigh*

Third time is a charm, right? I'm beginning to feel like a total failure here.

What He Missed - 10/30/2007

Dear CPT Dick,

Your son suddenly, mysteriously, has learned to count. And as we wandered through France this weekend, every time some stranger stopped to admire him (and this happened more times than I cared to count), he would break out those numbers for them. It was charming.

I have no idea how Munchkin picked up this habit, as I have not practiced counting with him, focusing instead on all of the inane word exercises that have been suggested by the SLPs who can not see him but will lecture me on my OWL (observe/wait/listen) habits after only 5 minutes on the telephone. But he's got it down cold. And now he appears to be moving on to his ABC's and tons of new words.

Bath. Pooh. Shirt. Shrek. Bed. Carousel. Light. Again. And something that sounds way too much like "Oh, shit." (Okay, that one he might have gotten directly from me).

I blame the Sesame Street. Do you think that if I continue letting him watch it, they could handle the potty training?

Once again, when you return, Munchkin has transformed a bit more into an independent little boy. You may not recognize him. But alas, my love, I think that is unfortunately something you are going to have to get used to. And it breaks my heart that you can't go through all of these changes with us as a direct participant.

Love,
NEE

We survived to tell the tale.

It was a lovely weekend trip. Munchkin was a breeze, happy as a clam as long as I was willing to put the Sesame Street/Muppet Show mix CD I made on repeat play.

6 hours of puppets singing. 6 long hours.

But it was worth it. A couple of days of wandering, eating fantastic food and drinking wine was just what the doctor ordered.

You found me how?

The top 10 search terms that brought people to this blog:

1. "locks of love"
2. "essential equipment"
3. "selma blair"
4. "open letter from a paramedic"
5. "benji king"
6. "uma boobs"
7. "chaplain's wife"
8. "cookie monster cereal"
9. "he booted all over"
10. "hugh jackman"

In examining this list, I oscillate between going "how the hell did that get you to my blog?" and "yeah, that's about right."