Don't be a Trump

I often joke, when discussing the subject of raising kids, that I hope they don’t grow up to be a serial killer or a Republican. I figure it’s good to set the bar low, that way I won’t be disappointed. To my few Republican friends out there, I apologize if you take offense at this, although with the results of our recent presidential election, maybe I don’t have to apologize anymore.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about what the election of Donald J. Trump as our next president means for our world, our country and my family. I’ve been glued to my computer reading everything out there regarding the results of the election and spending way too much time on Facebook debating and discussing it with friends and some who have since been unfriended. To say it has been weighing heavily on my mind is an understatement. It has been all consuming and frankly, exhausting. I take some solace knowing I’m not alone.

I’ve already addressed why I felt Trump was unfit to be president before the election. But now as we’re facing four years of a Trump presidency, I need to think about what this means for raising our two boys, Oskar, 6, and William, 1. I’ve read many articles about how to talk to your kids about a Trump administration, many of them testimonials of heartbroken mothers who put their kids to bed Tuesday night with the exciting prospect of waking up to the first female president, only to have to tell them the cold, hard truth Wednesday morning, that the bulliest of bullies was the winner. Oskar, who has the attention span of a hungry grizzly bear during salmon spawning season, was disappointed when he heard the news in the morning, but quickly moved onto other things. Now while I’m listening to the news on the radio and Trump comes up — which unfortunately is pretty much constantly — he’ll shout out, “Boo Trump,” then find some Legos to play with. I wish I could do the same.

I struggle with the fact that someone so entirely undeserving and unworthy of the highest office of the land has won. For some time now, we’ve been living in an age where everybody gets a medal just for showing up and participating, so maybe it shouldn’t be so hard to explain the outcome of this election to a child. Of course, it’d be one thing if Trump just showed up and had been a typical candidate. But we all know that was not the case. He was the bully, the candidate spouting hateful rhetoric toward countless groups of Americans. Really, the one area he wasn’t discriminatory about is who he insulted and attacked. He’s been an equal opportunity asshole to say the least and now he will be our Commander-in-Chief Asshole.

For as long as I can remember, children have extolled the office of the Presidency of the United States to the highest level. Just how many kids have uttered the sentence, “some day when I grow-up, I want to be President,” we will never know. In fact, Oskar recently told me that when he’s president he will make sure more trees are planted because they help people breath. As adults, most of us come to our senses and realize that no one in their right mind would want the awesome responsibility of running this great country of ours. Of course, many would argue that President-elect Trump is not in his right mind, yet he faces the enormous task of leading an incredibly divided country — one that he himself helped divide — into a very uncertain future. Sadly, knowing the most honored leadership position in our country will now be filled by a racist, misogynistic, hate-filled, con-man demagogue bigot is unsettling at best and downright terrifying at worst. Apparently the old saying “anyone can become president” is indeed true. With enough money and a platform feeding off hate and fear — combined with an uneducated, resentful or altogether disengaged electorate — even an orange, unqualified reality t.v. star with troll doll hair can become president. Someone as terrible as Donald J. Trump occupying such an important and revered position is difficult to explain to an adult, let alone a child. How do you explain something you don’t understand yourself? When Oskar tells me he’d like to be president one day, I may need to encourage him to take a closer look at Iron Man . . . or maybe dentistry.

We often drive past St. Joseph’s Home for Children in Minneapolis and I’ve explained to Oskar that not all children have parents or somebody to care of them. A few days ago, without prompting, he told me how sad he felt about orphans. It was so out of the blue and not in line with his typical conversation points, which generally consist of the question, “when is the next time I can watch TV?” I was so excited at his display of empathy and suggested that we find something nice to do for the orphans this holiday season. The past few years of parenting have been a constant struggle to instill in my son the importance of sharing and being kind to others, not to mention keeping his hands to himself and not licking people. Before the election, I found myself telling him to quit behaving like a Trump when he was being an asshole. And now . . . well, sadly I can no longer look to the president as a role model for my children. Will I continue telling him to stop acting like a Trump? If I have no respect for the man who is our president, must I retain respect for the office itself? Do I tell him to quit behaving like a President Trump? I wish I had some answers, but it all just makes my head and my heart hurt.

A few days ago, a close friend of mine posted the poem “Good Bones” by poet Maggie Smith on Facebook. I had read it before, but now, following this election, it felt profoundly poignant and difficult to read without shedding a tear.

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

Long story short — don’t let your child be a Trump.

My best, tremendous, bigly TRUTH

I am a lot of things.

I am a strong, informed, intelligent, educated, liberal woman.

I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a loyal friend.

I am a believer in science, climate change, common sense and compassion.

I am a cynic and an atheist, who believes it is completely possible to live a fulfilling, moralistic life without religion.

I am a person who can listen to both sides of most any argument and deduce and defend my position on said argument with some competence.

That said . . . I cannot wrap my head around why anybody in their right mind would even consider voting for Donald Trump for president.

Trump supporters in the media get portrayed as white, poor, uneducated masses looking to blame their problems on “others,” be it immigrants, Hispanics, African Americans, or even women.

I grew up in a small, rural, economically depressed area of the country, lacking in diversity, not unlike the areas portrayed in the news as Trump country. My dad was a delivery driver for a linen service and my mom worked as a nurse. I don’t consider myself “better” than anybody else. In fact, where I’m from, you better not think you’re better than anybody else — that’s just not how it’s done.

Yet, somehow I’ve managed to make it to adulthood without feeling the hate that seems so prominent among Trump supporters. The amount of hate involved in this election has been overwhelming and sickening.

The best hate. Tremendous hate. Bigly hate.

Frankly, I just do not understand where Trump supporters are coming from. Should I be grateful that I’ve made it to 41 without fearing and hating a major group of people based on their religion, ethnic background or color of their skin? Shouldn’t that just be normal?

I’ve heard Trump supporters say that they like their candidate’s fearless manner of speaking his mind and that he’s not part of the political establishment.

But have they actually listened to what he says? Grab em’ by the pussy? Mexicans are rapists? The possibility of not accepting the results of the election and threatening our democracy as we know it? How can they look past all of this and ignore his message of hate? It’s inexcusable.

Even if Donald Trump had some really great ideas to “make America great again,” — an actual economic plan, a way to fix all of our problems — even if he presented some kind of concrete, logical plan, voting for him would be inexcusable due to his vitriolic platform of hate. But I haven’t heard a single actual plan to fix any problem — just more hyperbole and bullshit. I guess I ought to give him credit for equally spreading the hate around. He really doesn’t seem to miss any group, aside possibly from privileged white dudes. Such an equal opportunity bigot! The best.

While growing up I never felt limited by being female. I was born after Roe vs. Wade and after Title IX and admit to taking so much for granted. I find it completely odd that now that I’m in my 40’s, I feel like my rights as a woman are more threatened than ever by the political climate in our country. Between the GOP’s continued war on reproductive rights and the complete and utter sexism thrown in our faces daily in this election, it feels like we have come so far and yet are on the cusp of losing so much. How this country can be on the precipice of voting either for the first woman president ever or the worst piece of sexist human garbage is truly astounding. Nasty women vote. Period. I am ready to see what a woman president can do for this country.

Trump supporters, if you’re looking for someone to hate and someone to direct your pent-up anger towards, why not try the big companies that hold so much sway over how our country runs. Are you feeling the squeeze of income stagnation? A Fortune Magazine article from 2015 notes, “In between 1978 and 2014, inflation-adjusted CEO pay increased by almost 1,000%, according to a report released on Sunday by the Economic Policy Institute. Meanwhile, typical workers in the U.S. saw a pay raise of just 11% during that same period.”  If that’s not enough to piss you off, I don’t know what will. So who should you blame for this unfair disparity? Muslims? Immigrants? The rigged system? Wouldn’t it make more sense to look at corporate tax loopholes that these companies use to make record profits without giving anything back to the hard working people of this country? Why don’t we ask Donald Trump about his taxes while we’re at it? Maybe it’s time for a healthy examination of Supreme Court decisions like Citizens United, which gives corporations the unlimited right to influence our elections with their money.

Long story short, I don’t have all the answers, but I do know one thing for certain, with 100% of my being. Voting for Donald Trump makes you part of the problem. Voting for Donald Trump is inexcusable. Voting for Donald Trump makes you deplorable. End of story.

Observational learning — or how to avoid raising a douchebag rapist

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and I have bad men on my mind. As a stay-at-home-mom, I spend way too much of my time online. I blame some of it on the loneliness and isolation that comes with the lifestyle. In a lot of ways, Facebook has become my window to the outside world of adult life. But really, I’m just addicted to the Internet in general. I get the feeling I’m not alone.

Back to bad men . . .  lately, the hot online topic has been the ridiculous “justice” handed down to convicted Stanford rapist Brock Turner. There have been countless articles and comments regarding the case, the victim, the smug privileged perpetrator douchebag, his douchebag father, the douchebag judge, rape culture on college campuses, etc. This topic has been popular on the Facebook mom groups I’m partial to. Most postings have been along the lines of — how do I prevent my son from growing up to be a douchebag rapist. Okay, maybe not stated quite that dramatically . . . maybe more along the lines of how do I raise a boy to be respectful of women (and not be a douchebag rapist).  At this point I confess that I’m just pasting the word douchebag whenever I get a chance. Watch out, douchebag, it’s a bit addictive . . . douchebag.

Most of the moms posting in these groups have young children, under the age of 10. I myself am the mother of two boys, a 5-year-old and a 9-month-old. I completely agree with the overwhelming sentiment expressed in these groups, that it is imperative for the parents of boys to raise them to respect women on all levels and to understand the meaning of consent. It’s been interesting to read the comments on how best this can be done, especially in light of the young age of our kids. I’m certainly no parenting expert, but I can’t help but scoff a little at some of the suggestions and concerns I’ve seen. Many parents have expressed concern with teaching their young boys about keeping their hands to themselves and respecting other kids when they say no. I agree this is an important concept and have made great efforts to talk to my eldest about personal space, but to my chagrin, he’s still a very hands on, in your face kind of kid. He loves to climb on everybody and give out hugs, quite often to complete strangers. A lot of other kids find this forwardness to be a bit overwhelming. As he gets older, he’s slowly getting a better understanding of personal space and respecting boundaries, but it’s a struggle. Does this mean he’s going to grow up to be a douchebag rapist? Aaaah, thankfully, no. I agree that it’s never too early to teach some of these concepts, but I also realize that there’s only so much one can do within various age groups.

When my second son was born, I have to admit that part of me was relieved he was a boy. Granted, part of me was disappointed that he wasn’t a girl and I would never get a chance to have that close mother-daughter relationship epitomized by the Gilmore Girls (and you, too, mom, you too). Yet, I was relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with growing up female in America and wouldn’t be dealing with our crazy culture of female body ideals. It’s also hard to ignore a survey by the Association of American Universities that found 1 in 4 college women said they were sexually assaulted during their academic career. I’m relieved I won’t be sending him to college worrying that he’d be the victim of some douchebag rapist. However, it is my responsibility to make sure he’s not on the other side of that statistic.

The statistic blows me away and makes me realize how lucky I am that I’ve made it this far in my life unscathed. It’s sad that I just wrote that. Lucky. Back in the day, I was certainly no stranger to drinking too much and making out with guys I barely knew at college parties. There were a number of opportunities where I could have easily become a part of that statistic. And yet, I did not. Did I just luck out that the guys I locked lips with were gentlemen and were able to control their basic animal instincts? Did their parents sit them down at some point in their upbringing and explain to them the meaning of consent? Was I lucky enough to have friends looking out for me and steering me clear of dangerous situations?

Frankly, I believe the best way to raise our boys to not be douchebag rapists is to simply surround them with good people — men and women both. I believe we learn best through example, observational learning. Growing up, I observed how my father treated my grandma, my mom and my sister and I. In turn, I learned to look for similar traits in the men in my life. I’m trying hard to surround my boys with the best examples of men who respect women, starting of course with their father and our male friends. My husband works hard for his family and displays a lot of respect for the women in his life, as do most of our friends. They’re a great group of nerdy guys who get together a lot to play board games and D&D. I can’t think of a single instance where I felt offended by anything these men have said regarding women, or anything else for that matter. Sometimes I think my best friend’s husband is a better feminist than I am. The concept of men respecting women in my circle of friends is just the norm. And shouldn’t that be true for everybody?

I realize that this is something I take for granted and realize I’m lucky to be in the position I’m in. There’s that word again, lucky. But it shouldn’t come down to luck, it really shouldn’t. Something is severely wrong with our society when getting through college without being raped is considered being lucky and when the concept of men respecting women is considered radical.

Happy Father’s Day to all you great men out there who serve as wonderful examples for boys and girls growing up in a messed up world. Keep it up — we need it!

 

Beware — the toxic environment of the Facebook mommy group

Here’s a little quiz for you. Can you tell me the meanings of the following abbreviations -

CIO, EBF, SAHM and STTN?

If you answered - Cry It Out, Exclusively Breastfed, Stay-At-Home-Mom and Sleep Through The Night, then chances are you, too, have spent too much of your time perusing Facebook mommy groups. However, if you answered Chief Information Officer, European Banking Federation, the Society for Adolescent Health and Medicine and Standard Technical Training Notes, there still might be some hope for you.

Facebook mommy groups have become the front-lines of the ever so hostile “mommy wars.” Attachment parenting vs. free range parenting, breastfeeding vs. formula, cloth diapers vs. disposable diapers . . . sleep training, helicopter parenting, mommy shaming. If you’re looking for some crazy judgemental shit covered in a thick layer of nasty guilt, look no further. There’s even a special name for the mother who, “has very opinionated views on child rearing and presents them upfront without any sense of humility,” — the dreaded Sanctimommy. She rears her ugly head often in these groups, laying her holier-than-thou comments on thick whenever a mom asks a question as simple as a recommendation for a diaper rash cream. The Sactimommy is often of the crunchy mom variety and doesn’t seem to have a life outside of her children. Diaper rash cream? It better be all natural, locally sourced, grass-fed, artisanal, organic diaper rash cream. Nothing but the best for Sanctimommy’s sweet baby’s bottom. Anything else will surely cause baby’s butt to explode. In fact, Sanctimommy spent hours making her own homemade diaper rash cream out of goat’s milk, coconut oil and unicorn tears. Really, it’s no sacrifice at all when it’s for the good of her precious child. And if you truly love your child, you'll do the same or risk being a shitty mom!

I find that many of these Facebook mommy groups have a dark and toxic side to them. I currently belong to six different mom groups and have come to the conclusion that it’s five too many. Arguments that erupt in the more active groups can become quite contentious and usually involve sleep training or formula. They often end up with one or more members of the group leaving voluntarily or being banned by group administers. Yes, these groups have one or more administers, who more often than not play the role of referee or babysitter.

After a few too many of these contentious arguments on the popular Minneapolis Mamas group, a splinter group called the “Cussin’ and Drinking Mamas’ Social Club of Minnesota” was formed. This by far has been the most enjoyable Facebook mom group I've been a party to. The description of the group says it all —

I'm starting this to create a community and plan activities to gather like-minded Minnesotans for fun and laughter. While drinking and cussing is not required...it is heavily encouraged. Requirements for joining...progressive politics, great sense of humor, and a desire to meet new friends. Plans to include post-workout happy hours, non-workout happy hours, picnics and bbq gatherings. Also hoping to create an irreverent - not judgmental place to bitch about your kids! Please do not look at this through PC lens. We are off the clock and having fun. Try to play along or ignore, if you can, comments that rub you the wrong way. I reserve the privilege to delete any streams that are rolling down shit hill.

And another new rule-If someone posts something looking to commiserate- don't be a dick and make them wrong. If you can't commiserate- just be classy and don't comment at all. Cool! Thanks!

Thus far, this group has lived up to the description and has become a safe place to let off steam about the stupid shit parenthood and life throws at you. Since joining this group, I spend much less time watching the shit slinging that takes place in the other groups and a lot more time commiserating and offering words of encouragement to other moms who are having a shitty day. This is refreshing, as is the lack of judgement and the freedom to be crude, crass and fucking irreverent. I love not having to use my usual disclaimer — “I love my child, but . . . “

The group does spend some of time poking fun at the Sanctimommies we run into in other groups. Personally, unless you’re feeding your child a plate full of arsenic with a side of asbestos, I could really careless what you’re doing as a parent. But that doesn’t mean I won’t laugh at your post about finding a dentist who practices “natural dentistry” or a post about your search for organic sand for your sandbox. It doesn’t mean I won’t be baffled by the fact that it has been two-and-a-half years since you’ve gone out by yourself for an evening, because you have to nurse your child to sleep every night and you can’t trust your husband to get the kid to bed. I may even question why you’re asking a group of online strangers for medical advice regarding your child’s mystery rash, or legal advice regarding the custody of your daughter. There’s a really good reason there are paid professional doctors and lawyers out there. I understand that there are a lot of different parenting styles, but wow, some of these groups really bring out the stupid in people. I honestly wouldn’t be that surprised to see a mom ask advice for what to do about her child not breathing. And if I have to look at one more photograph of some kid’s nasty skin rash . . .  PLEASE, JUST BRING YOUR KID TO A DOCTOR ALREADY!

A post looking for organic - yes organic - donated breast milk. Does this mean the mother donating the milk has to be   grass-fed?

My Photoshopped response to the idea of organic breast milk.

Raising young children in the age of social media is certainly challenging. It feels like there's a crazy amount of pressure being put on parents to do things "right" and I think a lot of this pressure comes from the online community. Parents are constantly comparing themselves to other parents and are becoming obsessed with parenting trends. I’m surprised by the very personal information perfect strangers share with each other online — from photographs of their baby’s diaper rash (yes, actual butt pictures) to intimate information about relationships with their partners. But, I'll admit, as a SAHM who recently went through CIO and now has an 8-month-old who mostly STTN, these groups can be insightful (please refer to paragraph one if confused). There’s a lot of loneliness and isolation that comes along with being a stay-at-home-mom and I’ve found myself reaching out to these online communities. It’s nice to know you’re not the only one going through some of the day to day frustrations of parenting. But I would warn people to be careful to not get sucked into the negative, toxic aspects of these groups - the judging and the guilt. And remember, there really is no true substitution for real face to face adult interaction. Get out of the house and talk to somebody, even if it's just the checkout lady at Target.   

Good-bye Sweet Prince

I’ve lived in Minnesota now for nearly ten years, most of that time in Minneapolis. I love this city and consider myself lucky to call it home. However, I grew up in the U.P. of Michigan and will always identify first and foremost as a Yooper. This Yooper pride gets in the way of truly declaring myself a Minnesotan and leads me to think of Minnesota as my adoptive home.

In contrast, my husband Adam grew up in a small town in west central Minnesota and is very knowledgeable about everything and anything Minnesota. His father was a high school geography teacher and every summer his family traveled around the state all the while learning about what makes Minnesota so great. By the time I met Adam, he could recite just about any bit of trivia regarding Minnesota. His college friends even referred to him as the President of Minnesota. Between my husband’s overwhelming love for his state and the rather noticeable Minnecentric vibe that permeates the culture here, this stubborn Yooper refused to drink the Minnesota Kool-aid. What’s so special about you Minnesota? You think you’re better than everybody else? I blame the Law of Jante. Look it up. It explains a lot about the culture where I grew up.   

But Prince. Prince! This one man was really the coolest thing about living in Minnesota. Okay, the progressive politics, good economy and high standard of living are all lovely — true, I’ll give you that. But Prince! God damn, now that’s something to be proud of — living in the city that produced one of the most gifted and talented musicians the world has ever known. I think everyone who lives here harbored the tiniest of hopes that they would one day bump into Prince. Maybe you just happen to be picking-up a pizza from Pizza Lucé, and bam, there’s Prince and his entourage sitting at a table eating a special eggplant Purple Rain pizza. Or maybe the next time you’re checking out live music at the Lake Harriet bandshell, he’d make a surprise appearance on stage. When one of the world’s greatest musicians lives 30 miles from your house, hell anything is possible. Unlikely, sure, but possible.

Sadly, this possibility is no more. Of course, the real tragedy is the world losing such a great talent much, much too soon. I was quite surprised by how deeply affected I felt by his untimely death. I can’t think of another celebrity death that has hurt this bad. I know that a lot of these feelings have to do with the memories I have associated with his music throughout my life and the simple fact that his music is just so damn amazing. But I’ll admit some of these feelings also come from the pride I have developed for my adoptive homeland. Minnesota. We produced the Purple One. He’s ours. We may never win the Superbowl or the Stanley Cup, but we’ll always have Prince. Prince Rogers Nelson, the world will never know another like you.   

I hate babies

Okay, maybe hate is too strong a word. But by no means, am I fan of babies. When someone shows up at a gathering with their infant, many of my friends go out of their way to hold the baby. Personally, I prefer to admire their cuteness from afar. If I do hold the baby, I’m pretty happy to quickly hand the baby off to another after a moment or two. If it’s my own baby at said gathering, I’ll gladly hand him to the first person who expresses interest in his cute cherub cheeks, and then go find myself a much needed strong drink.

Years ago, while studying photojournalism at the University of Missouri, I shot a photo story on a young couple with two-month-old twin boys. I had never felt a strong maternal instinct, but I found the concept of motherhood fascinating. It’s not that I necessarily didn’t want to have children, but I felt a bit indifferent about it, as my uterus was never wont to ache. Journalism provided me a great way to get a glimpse at this thing called motherhood, without actually having to give birth. I’ll always remember the mother I was photographing making the comment, “I like kids more than babies, but you have to have babies to have kids.” These days, I find I truly appreciate the simple truth in her statement. I love my two kids, but man, do I hate babies. Okay . . . maybe I should go with resents babies.

As I write this, I am at a coffee shop with my 4-month-old son William. I’ve been here about an hour now trying to compose one simple email. I think he’s finally napping, but I have no idea how much time I’ll actually have to take advantage of both my hands and really use my keyboard. Looks like about a half an hour . . . grrrrr. Back to one hand typing as I use my left hand to gently move the stroller to keep William in a semi-sleeping state. Feed baby, entertain baby, try to get baby to sleep when he gets cranky, take advantage of a very indeterminate amount of free time to get something semi-productive done then REPEAT. Throw in a weekly trip to Target with a ticking time bomb and a whiny 5-year-old who’ll inevitably need to go potty by the time we hit the dairy case, and that’s pretty much my life right now.

Just fed William the remnant of a bottle as he’s lying swaddled up like a burrito in his stroller. I think it worked to put him back to sleep. Time - 11:23 a.m.

So . .  as I was saying, I strongly dislike babies. Then why, after having a rough experience with my first son, did I think it’d be a good idea to have another one five years later? Well, I like kids and I like being a mom, and yes, you have to have babies to have kids. I also figured I was worth doubling the chances of having a caregiver in my old age. Yes, someday one of these boys will change MY diapers . . . I hope. I am grateful that William has been an easier baby than his older brother Oskar. Past experience helps. I know that babies aren’t babies forever and that what my life looks like right now is very temporary. Of course, I should have realized that with Oskar, too, but at the time, everything was so new, so hard and so sleep deprived that it felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel. And then I blinked, and now Oskar is 5 and I’m starting all over again with William.

Time - 11:30 a.m. - William is awake and crying. Time to escape the coffee shop.

So often I’ll hear about how I should be cherishing these fleeting baby moments with my little one. They’re over so quickly, those sweet baby snuggles, the tiny onsies and wide-eyed gazes filled with wonder. Maybe I’m just heartless, but frankly, I can’t stop aging William in my mind and looking forward to a time when he’s older, when he can tell me why he’s crying and what he needs. I can’t wait to never change another dirty diaper. I can’t wait to get more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep in a night. I can’t wait to stop talking in third person and stop using the word ‘potty’ instead of bathroom. I can’t wait to never wash another baby bottle.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in a hurry for him to be a teenager, grow up and move out of the house.  Really, I’d just like to fast-forward through this first year. And once we’re through the first year, time can slow down again. In fact, it can become even slower than normal, as I’m in no hurry to reach the next diaper wearing phase of my life.

I realize the toddler years are full of their own challenges, but damn it, they’re so much more fun than the year of the baby. I hate babies . . . but you have to have babies to have kids.

Five-months down, seven to go!

Okay, he is quite a cutie and melts my icy, icy heart with that smile . . .