Cheeky's Hideaway

Doze. Awaken. Cry. Doze. Awaken. Repeat Hourly.

Remember how well I said Chloe was doing with the night-sleeping thingee?  Yeah, not so much anymore.  Claud and I have been shuffling from room to room on an hourly basis the last few nights because Chloe's gastro-intestinal and/or nervous system sending audible alerts.  There's usually a few minutes of confusion, followed by some mild-cursing, then one or both of us travels the 3,417 miles from our bedroom to hers to pick her up and let her scream in our ears.  She also has one volume with no modulation whatsoever, so you can imagine how sleep-deprived brains react to that.  We're ready to start filling her bottles with Jägermeister, which has helped me sleep in the past...as well as make me both handsome and bullet-proof.

I worked from home today to give Claud an extra set of hands for once.  With Chloe degrading into high-maintenance mode, it was pretty clear she was becoming more than a one person job.  It's not easy to type urgent e-mails with a 7-week old kicking you in the chest, but I did my best.  Poor Claudia doesn't have much time to catch a nap, and is eager to begin working out again.  Both Chloe and Claudia are checked out in their respective bedrooms right now, leaving me to either update the budget request template for 2006 funding or escape from killer zombies on the Xbox.  Sadly, it's going to have to be the former, at least until one of them has a breakdown (in 5...4...3...2...1...gotta go)

Hey baby, what's your sign?

Claudia and I actually had a date this weekend, if you can believe it.  We've scored a near perfect baby-sitter in the 15 year old girl who lives downstairs from us.  She's great with kids, doesn't require cab-fare, and is a market-leading $6/hour.  To all my friends who are paying more, I have this to say.  We tried a new place on the LES called Porcupine, deliciously named after the second largest rodent native to North America.  The meal didn't exactly live up to expectations, so we tried to compensate with gin and vodka...a dubious plan considering it would take a hammer-blow to wake one of us up to feed Cheeky at 3 AM.  But she's been pretty good with that whole sleep thing lately, so we dodged a bullet.

Little else to report, however.  After a few nice days, New York once again feels like hell's septic tank, with the soonest break in the weather being Hurrican Katrina, fresh off decimating America's colored-bead business.  I made my first solo foray into children's clothing stores on Saturday, but my eye started twitching when deciding between pink stripes or flowers, so I fled.  Not before buying Chloe a Guns 'n' Roses t-shirt, though...I know she'll want that when she's older.  We also took her to another movie, the 40-Year-Old Virgin, which she sort of slept through, and then out for burgers and quesadillas on Atlantic Ave.  I think she's sleeping well during the night, but as I wake up to her complaints when her bottle drops from my limp, sleeping hand at 5:00 AM it's hard to say that we've turned the corner.

Mmmm...Forbidden Cinema

For what I suspect will be the last time this summer, I'm home alone while Chloe and Claudia visit family in NoFo.  The theory behind this is that people will be around all day and all night to help care for them, whereas I can't be there during the day while I'm working in Queens.  It's a good idea...in theory.  So was the geocentric universe, Lamarckism, and the phlogiston theory (never give a liberal arts major a keyboard).  NoFo has been a virtual B&B for itinerant family and random acquaintances, and sometimes even Chloe's super-human cuteness and piercing screams can't compete with other distractions.  For me, I'm left with the nagging feeling that I should be DOING something while at home...like take the socks out of the kitchen sink, open the mail, or put out the fire on the stove.  I'm kidding, of course...I'd never use the stove on my own.

So I've been watching movies.  Claudia has pretty broad taste in film, but my Y-chromosome and nerdy addiction to cult films block a complete overlap in taste.  Last night I went out to see The Aristocrats, which was one of the most horrifically vile and hilariously funny movies I've ever seen.  The premise is a documentary about a joke told by comedians to each other which is structured in such a way as to allow them to be as creative (and disgusting) as their twisted, warped imaginations will let them, but which they would never tell to their audiences because (a) it's not that funny, and (b) they would probably be jailed or deported for the content.  Great stuff if you can tolerate 2 hours of scatological humor and human depravity.  Of note:

1. It answers the important question, "Phyllis Diller:  Alive or Dead?"  The answer, somewhat surprisingly, is alive .
2. It confirms what I've always suspected, which is that Bob Saget should never EVER be allowed near children.  I'm surprised the Olsen twins aren't naked cannibal hobos from such early exposure.
3. People still do use the word "shillelagh" in a sentence, but not in the way you would think.
4. Sarah Silverman may be the funniest person on the planet.

I actually did see a couple comedians try to tell this joke to their infant kids, and they got the same look I get when I try to explain the 3-4 defense to Chloe.  Hopefully the joke will never register and the children will grow up without major scarring.  Or at least as little scarring as you can get as Andy Richter's son.

I also finally got around to seeing Donnie Darko, which is as freaky as it looks.  No stuffed bunnies for Chloe's crib.  No stuffed Jake Gylenhaal's either...that's even spookier.

Tonight I'll probably lay low and think about doing some of those things mentioned above before She-Who-Demands-Your-Attention returns.  And Chloe, too.

And yes, we will get around to posting more picture of Chloe, as soon as someone uses OUR camera to take the pictures...

Using the whole fist, Doc?

It's been a quiet week so far at Casa de Cheeky.  Yesterday was my birthday, having surpassed such luminaries as John Keats, Alexander the Great, and River Phoenix to reach the ripe old age of 35.   Chloe, employing the same logic I once employed buying gifts for my dad, got me Old Spice.  Next year I expect to get a tie with golf balls on it.  As a side note I did get a 60 GB iPod, which is a wicked-awesome gift for when I want to listen to a month's worth of music non-stop without repeats (which I do).  The whole family went out for a sushi dinner to celebrate, and we were all in bed by 10:30.  Not quite the all-nighter my birthday used to be, although I felt much better the next day...

The only other news to report is Chloe's most recent check-up.  Dr. Rosenrosen said she's 10.4 pounds and 22 inches, which puts her in the 70th percentile (not quite WNBA material, but good enough for the swim team).  We also got some questions answered, such as:

• Ignore the rash
• Don't allow her to cry herself to sleep.  That doesn't mean we can't, though
• Start putting in her crib at a regular time each night.  No more falling asleep on the bean bag chair after the bowl is cashed
• We can't overfeed her.  (I'll bet we can)
• Oh, and she's the cutest, most well-behaved child in the world, so stop your whining.

Generally a glowing report.  Mommy is next up for a check-up.  Me, maybe I'll get a haircut in a couple weeks.

Super Peanut Turtle Monkey Hyperforce Go!

Take one sensory-deprived infant, add three baby-crazed nieces, and blend in a healthy dose of scones, sunshine, and squirtguns, and you've got one tough act to follow-up.  Cheeky was introduced to "The Girls," genetically perfect über-children whose fatal flaw is that they sometimes "love too hard."  I arrived two days after they did, so I missed the initial tsunami of attention, and by the time I got their my child looked completely dazed.  What surprised me most was that until that point I didn't think she had a facial expression for "dazed," but she must have been forced to grow up fast. 

We only get to see Carl, Layne, and "The Girls" about three times a year, so it's a treat when they're in town.  When they weren't fawning over Cheeky (or doing pre-vocational training for Gattaca Corp.) "The Girls" kept everyone generally entertained with Super-Soaker battles (in which they learned a valuable lesson from their Uncle Tony about disarming your opponent--the hard way), hitting on the pre-teen next door, and innocent references to the breathing patterns of people on oxygen tanks.  Layne, a "baby whisperer," took care of Chloe a lot, to the point where we thought she'd be packed away in her luggage before the weekend was out.  Unfortunately, this was our suggestion, not Layne's, so they went back to New Hampshire this morning with only the spawn they brought with them.   

It does look like Cheeky is looking less like an alien and more like a human every day.  She's super-attentive and looks like she's checking things out everywhere.  She even smiles occasionally, although it's probably an involuntary reaction to one of her farts (hey, farts are funny...everyone knows it).  It's pretty cool, except at 3 AM.  Or when she's squeezing zesty Grey Poupon onto your hand.  Or when her forehead explodes when the car goes below 55 miles per hour.  Where's Keanu when you need him....?

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes and the grass grows by itself

Much as I would love to be overrun by excited pre-teen nieces who would arm-wrestle for the chance to babysit my daughter (lazily nicknamed "the Girls"), I'm glad to say that I'm once again holding down the fort here in Brooklyn while Mother and Child are in NoFo.  For the last 24 hours, "the Girls" (which will soon have the same cache as "the Crazy 88s" or the "Baseball Furies") have been in NoFo with the rest of their family fawning over Chloe, while I feign interest in selling credit cards until Friday and I go join them.  I'm expecting the decibel level to be somewhere near that of a shuttle launch by the time I arrive, so I'm treasuring these last few hours of peace and quiet.

I've had another ridiculously busy week in the office (including another meeting with the risk modellers from last week...follow this link to meet one of them), and am ready for the weekend.  I did manage to catch up with a couple friends while I had the time, including Hud, who I've known since the earth cooled, and who knows so much dirt about me that only the equally enormous amount of dirt I have on her keeps her from hitting up the Enquirer for cash.  I also talked with Geoff (a misspelling of the word "Jeff") who is much hipper than me and basically everyone I know, but still forgave me for buying a BMW.

Geoff and I have a long-standing interest in music, and we brought up Live8, the multi-continent concert which was supposed to raise awareness of fair trade issues with Africa, but which failed to raise awareness of its own existence with me until after the fact.  Disregarding the lives in Darfur lost because of this oversight (blissfully ignored by the screaming MTV VJs narrating the show) the big event was the reunion of Pink Floyd, whose music is the subject of 1/3 of all term papers handed in by freshman college students.  Why is this news?  Because the two main members, Dave Gilmour and Roger Waters, absolutely loathe each other, and it was really obvious during the show.  Gilmour looked so constipated on stage he reminded me of Kuoto from "Total Recall", while Waters looked like he had just dropped a frog in Gilmour's pants.  "Anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."

In honor of these emotions , I present the newest addition to our blog..."People I Hate," available in our photo album section....which chronicles those who are so evil that my skin burns speaking of them.  My task in life is to protect my daughter from these creatures at all costs.  Feel free to add comments if I left anyone off...

People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one

Today marks Chloe's five-week anniversary (six if you go back to the due-date) which according to the books is supposed to be a turning point of some kind.  All I can say is that it had better be.  Chloe has been on a rampage the last couple of days, using her Dementor's Kiss to suck the life out of both of us.  She pulls that move where she'll get all cute for a few minutes until you feel like you can put her down for a second, then bursts out into pure Klaus Meine the second your eyes start to close. 

I'm told this all has to do with an under-developed digestive and nervous system.  I guess if my neurons we randomly firing I'd be upset a lot, too.  Her arms whip around like a Russian folk dancer, and I have to use the "Dragon Sleeper" move I learned from Ultimo Dragon to feed her.  She unfortunately didn't inherit my digestive system, which enabled me to chug a gallon of salsa in college (I won $10!) and is soothed with the proper application of cheddar cheese or ranch dressing to any meal.  If anyone has any silver-bullets for this, please let us know!

In the meantime, we're trying to stay sane through it all, while reviewing pamphlets for exciting weekend getaways.  I'm going to curl up under the desk and nap now.

I beg your pardon, sir -- I thought you were signaling for the check.

The summer in New York has been disgusting, and now it's spreading to the NoFo.  We were up there again this weekend, and the heat and humidity were so bad it felt like we were floating in a pot of boiling pasta.  And with all the air-conditioners running at full capacity, we were blessed with some rolling black-outs as well!  I made the mistake of going for a run (which is usually how I start every story about going for a run) and thought I'd need to be choppered back to the city.  We're thankfully back in the our climate controlled apartment, but I dread that first step into the subway station tomorrow morning...it's like being locked in a baking dumpster.

We did, however, try to relax and take advantage of the help this weekend.  ECG has taken to calling Chloe "Turtle," which conjures images of a recent trip to the Central Park Zoo (Parental Advisory Suggested)  I'm not sure that's my top choice for pet-names.  But if she's willing to take the 3-5 AM shift for a night then she can call her "Turd Blossom" for all I care. 

The big event for us was visiting our friends Mary and Jimmy for a barbecue with other parents.  This was the first time EVER I've sat with people who had kids and not felt like I was from a different planet.  The conversation ranged from a recent story on "Clothing Optional Dinners" on NPR (thus the headline above) to the advantages of having an adopted child.  This last one was fascinating to me.  Apparently, if you have a belligerent Korean child who likes to punch other kids at the playground, and you look and talk like a bloke who stays up late watching Arsenal v. Newcastle United on BBC, then you can pretend that the child isn't yours when he misbehaves, dodging some awkwardness with the other parents.  A nifty trick, albeit with disturbing implications.  "Why are you following me??  Go find your real dad!" 

In any event, we're glad to be home for a few days.  Chloe's weekend involved six-hours of gas pain and crying before each bowel movement, which unfortunately for us also occurred every six hours.  She's sleeping now (somewhat inexplicably) and I'm waiting to bathe and squeegee the two inch thick film from her body.  That's probably not something you'd see on a "restaurant nude", or at least let's hope not....

Whatever Happened to Pong?

I had another night on my own tonight while Chloe, Claudia, and two hundred contractors were trolling around the NoFo house.  I came back exhausted from work after long day fighting with credit risk modellers (which is like arguing differential equations with Danica McKellar) and stalking, hunting, and plotting revenge on the guys who now refuse to install our dishwasher (long, ugly story, but do NOT buy a GE dishwasher from Home Depot unless your plumbing is from the future).  Anyway, I settled into a pleasant evening of television that Claudia would never let me watch, and I got a disturbing reminder of just how old I am.

So I'm watching G-Phoria, which is basically an awards show for video games.  It was one of those mindless exercises which seemed ideal for killing overtaxed brain cells.  Not long into it, I noticed several striking things:

• The witty banter from the presenters was SO not funny.  It was like watching a Chevy Chase interview
• It was self-consciously hip in a way that only unhip people my age could come up with.  It played like an extended Mountain Dew ad with an applause sign
• I had absolutely no idea who half the celebrities and bands were.  Thank god for William Shatner, Michael Chiklis, and "Soul Patch" from 24
• The audience looked like they'd just arrived from Chuck E. Cheese

As my mild interest evaporated into apathy, I felt completely removed from the long hair and "rock and roll" music that those kids today are into.  I can only imagine how completely out of touch I'll be when Chloe goes on TRL or asks me what a "VCR" is. 

For those of you with an overly-developed sense of irony, however, the show had one thing that will be burned into my retinas forever -- Ron Jeremy dressed up as Super Mario. (View this photo)

And this here's the T.V. Two hours a day, either educational or football, so you don't ruin your appreciation for the finer things.

For the last couple days, the girls have been in NoFo while I've been holding the fort here in Brooklyn.  It's the first time I've legitimately been on my own since well before Chloe was born, and I'm taking advantage of it. The original plan was to hang out at home, nurture my ch'i, and get the place in order.  Instead, I've hit a couple happy hours, eaten a tub of hummus, and boarded a speeding train to interrogate a former CIA operative who may know secrets of a secret terrorist operation.  What can I say...that's how I roll.

I probably SHOULD be cleaning up the crumbs and dirty socks I've left on the floor as I write this, but I'm enjoying the temporary quiet.  I spent the whole day in a leadership training class at work, which was designed to make me a more effective leader while simultaneously absolving more important and influential people in the company from meeting a similar standard by "empowering management" to do their dirty work for them.  Not that I'm cynical or bitter or anything.  I just think that a whole day spent talking about how important it is to "engage" your employees could be better used doing something else, and that employing an office linebacker is much more effective.

Anyway, I'm off to straighten up the abode and make it presentable for Cheeky's return.  Then, when I'm done with that, Master Chief and I have to fend off some Covenant invaders.  Hopefully we'll be done before I go to work in the morning.