The last straw

I was trying to futz around with my template and somehow my Haloscan code (or whatever it is) got eaten and my comments are stuck in my Haloscan account instead of on my blog where they are supposed to be.

I want to cry.

But Miss M needs a snack and I have no idea how to bring all my comments back.

Please come to One Tired Ema, Redux. And if someone could bring lots and lots of chocolate, that would be very, very nice of you.

I need serious help.

Honestly, it's taking me more time to decide if I want to switch to Wordpress than it did for me and Taxman to decide to get married.

I am not kidding.

In the past 24 hours Blogger hasn't been giving me problems. I can post without being asked to log in 4,000 times and losing what I've written.

But on the other hand, Wordpress is easy for the technologically challenged like myself. (Easier than Blogger seems to be.)

My reasons for staying here are:

a) Haloscan comments won't import to Wordpress along with my posts. I like the comments. I think they round out my little vacuum existence. People are funny and kind and my old posts are kind of naked without them.

b) Would anyone who has me on their Blogroll actually update it?

c) Would people follow me? (Yes, right? I've jumped from Salon to Blogger with at least two people.)

Did I mention I am not big on change?

Should I take a poll? What do you think of this?

Taxman thanks you in advance.

Oy vey

I think I might actually be able to publish this post, but it's been a trying few days on the new Blogger (no longer Beta!).

If a while (say if, there's nothing by next Monday, 2/20) goes by and there's nothing doing here, I'll be at onetiredema.wordpress.com.

Sorry!

But I hope you'll stick with me.

OH NO I DIDN'T

Possessed by idiocy, I switched to Google instead of using the old-fashioned Blogger.

So far, it's taken about 12 tries to fix my profile and my new post got eaten.

Crap.

I want to go back, but I can't.

ACK!

Big and little

This picture made me so happy, and I'm not sure why. (Peaceful co-existence? Sibling love?)

But it did.

Pounding the pavement

So Miss M's school is having an "event" this Saturday evening. "The children," as the administration always refers to them (never "the kids" or "the students"), are singularly uninvited; it starts at 8pm.

Naturally, we are in a babysitting panic, because it seems that my mother in law will be unavailable. I am going to play the nursing baby card and take AM with us, and hopefully we'll come up with a trustworthy teenager to watch over the sleeping Miss M.

But that has nothing to do with this post, it's just on my mind.

To do my part for the parents' association, I volunteered to help with the event. What was needed? To solicit prizes for a raffle. OK, whatever. I should have warned them that I am BAD at this.

I took a terribly written letter from the head of the school around to some local establishments. The manager of the liquor store rolled his eyes and gave me a bottle of cheap kosher prosecco to get rid of me. The manager of the kosher Chinese restaurant was downright hostile; clearly she doesn't need my business on any level.

I got several, "You're going to have to speak to the owner/manager/boss at x time," where x is an absolutely impossible time for me to be there. Seven in the morning at the bakery. (Are you kidding me? No, seriously. What are you smoking? Will it help me sleep and can I have some?) Nine at night at the pizza shop. (Would showing up in sweats a ratty, baby-sneezed-upon T-shirt and flannel pajama pants instill confidence?)

But really, I wasn't going to chase these people.

The problem is with the businesses that said yes.

The fast-food franchise owner twho promised a voucher for a meeting room, coffee, and donuts (worth!100!dollars!) TEN days ago. He has yet to deliver. I have been in this business establishment four times in the past ten days. The owner keeps breaking his promises to have it ready, but what can I say to him? It's not like I owe him anything.

$&@#

A friend of mine who owns a small business selling baby carriers offered a sling, even though she has no connection to this community or school. It was unexpected and very nice of her. But it's Thursday now. No sling. And she's not answering my emails.

%@(!

I was supposed to report to the head of the school this afternoon. What could I tell her? That, apparently, I am the loser of the universe who causes all verbal agreements to be rendered null and void? Am I wearing a sign that says "I'm diffident and non-confrontational, please take advantage"?

*sigh*

What am I going to dooooooooooooooooooooooooooo?

Uhhhh...

So, not six hours ago did I note that Miss M enjoys writing letters of all kinds, but cannot write her name, per se.

Apparently I was incorrect.

Tonight, in an attempt to get her to just sit still for five minutes 30 seconds as we waited for our vegetable tempura and other edible Japanese treats, I pulled a notebook and pen out of the diaper bag and told her to write her name, expecting to see the normal jumble of letters all over the page.

But she wrote.her.name. Six letters long. In order. Left to right.

Now, she has been obsessed with letters for a long time. And for months she's begged us to "Write de NAMES!" of everyone in the family. Many times a day.

But still. She's two years, seven months, two weeks, and four days old.

I know it's really just rote memory and fine motor skills. But still.

Toddler blahs

Every Sunday through Thursday between 4:30 and 5. Shoot me if spring doesn't come soon. Seriously.

Miss M (crying): "Miss M sad."
Me: "I'm sorry. Why are you sad?"
Miss: "Ema, pick you up. Hug you and kiss you."

Miss M (crying; AM has wandered within six feet of the TV): "Ema, get him!"
Me: "Honey, he's just watching the video. Can't he watch with you?"
Miss M: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Miss M: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Me: "What happened?"
Miss M (snatching her paper and pen away because AM pulled up on her little table): "Ema, get AM! Miss M writing!* Ema, get him! AHHHH!"

* She actually sits there and writes letters. It's kind of scary, in a precocious sort of way. She can write all four letters that comprise her name. Never in a straight line though.

Resolved

Well, we can spend the bulk of a small part of Miss M's therapy fund.

Y was here this Shabbat. And all was well.

Taxman was home by the time she woke up from her nap to discover Uncle Y in the house. There was some hiding behind my leg, but we really had to hustle to get into her Shabbat dress and shoes.

Apparently they clicked on the walk to synagogue (less than one block), and they came home chattering like monkeys.

The high point of the evening was when Miss M announced: "Ema, Abba, poopy diaper." (Beat.) "Uncle Y change you!"

Of course, we can't spend the whole therapy fund, because after their wonderful Shabbat together, Miss M and Uncle Y had to part. He had to continue with his business trip and fly back home to his little boy; she had to take a nap. Taxman took the kids to the airport so that I could work on my latest freelance debacle.

When Y said goodbye, she finally broke down in the tears we had been expecting all weekend.

Botany Lesson

So...avocados. What do we know? Show of hands?

Grow on trees. About to become more expensive, even though the ones I've bought lately are from Mexico or the Dominican Republic. Can't make guacamole without them (as far as I know!).

They're also great baby food. No prep, has good fats (monounsaturated), lots of vitamins and minerals.

Hey, and also fiber. Did you know that an average avocado has about 10 grams of fiber?

Do you see where this is going?

No matter how much your baby likes avocado, maybe serving him a whole one isn't a great idea.

But wait, there's more:

Late breaking parenting/plant lessons learned: When your pre-schooler comes home with the proud, skinny bean stalk in the cup, do not (NOT) agree to let her hold it on her lap on the way home.

Yes, there was beanicide.

Does anyone know how to sprout the lima bean and plant it? We are going to need a do-over.