Hola, Señor Conehead; aka How Billy Got His Groove Back

Well, our Christmas festivities came and went in the blink of an eye. Having family in Munich for the season was great. It made Germany feel a lot more like home, and there is no place like Bavaria at Christmastime. One member of the family was particularly swept up in the commotion, riding a roller coaster of emotions from drunken elation at the arrival of our guests, to the crushing let down of being left home alone whilst the humans took in the sights. I speak of our chubby friend, Billy the Schnoodle.

On day 2 of our guests' stay, Billy found an itch that he couldn't scratch. By "found" I mean "psychosomatically created" and by "couldn't" I mean "did until he bled but it was never enough." As my dad put it, "I didn't know Billy was a little [searches for a word...] psycho." Yes, the dog is indeed a little psycho.

He's done this before when something exciting happens. Billy has chewed his paws until they're raw, rubbed his fur down in patches, hidden in my armoire for days, and often gone on food and water strikes. For example, Sugar almost got hit by a car once. She recovered instantly. Billy vomited for 24 hours, refused to drink water, and eventually had to be resuscitated by an IV. More recently, my mom visited this summer. When she left, I said good bye, sorry to see her go, and moved on with my week. Billy ended up with bleeding ulcers. Yes, just a little psycho.

After plying him with Benadryl for a few days, and wrapping his scratchin' paw in heaps of rags and socks, we resigned ourselves to actual concern. He wouldn't let us near his face and his depression was deep even by Billy standards. So off to the vet for some antibiotics, pain killers, and a cone to keep him from digging further into what we can now see is an incredibly injured cheek. On the walk today, he ran his cone head into trees and generally bucked like a tiny, portly donkey to try, in vain, to get that mass of plastic off his head. If "not crazy" is the rep he's aiming for, this little display did not help.

Mr. B looks just awful, but his spirits are up. I fear for his fate when we drop him off at the dog sitter's next week. Until then, counseling sessions, an intense pharmacological regiment and chew toys should put him on the path to recovery.

An Edie in the USA Debut???

In an unexpected turn of events, business will be taking Will to the US in only a few weeks, and with some air miles to use and no place else to be, the kiddo and I just might join him. Details and confirmation pending, but it looks very likely.

This leaves me little time to stress out about international travel with a baby. Which is a very good thing. Edie is 10 1/2 months old. She is entertained doing one thing for - on average - 45 seconds at a time. That average is only as high as it is because she sits in her high chair for 20 to 30 minutes for each meal time and baths take 15 or so minutes. Other than that, she is doing something new every other moment. Divide that into the 14 hours of travel time, and I am feeling a little light-headed.

So, to psych myself up, here is a list of the
Top Reasons I Am Not Afraid to Travel With Edie to the United States:(*)

1. Babies have to sleep. I have found no case studies indicating that babies can stay up indefinitely, no matter how irritated they are to be on a cramped plane instead of their spacious bed. Thus, for survival reasons, E will have to snooze sometimes.

2. Edie can't walk yet. The only thing scarier than a crawling baby on a plane is a walking one. Because if they can walk, they want to walk. And walk. And walk. Excuse me while I duct tape my daughter's legs together for the next month...

3. She weighs less than 20 lbs. In hand to hand combat, I am confident that I would be victorious.

4. Like the sands in the hour glass, the trip will, at some point, pass and then end. Hopefully not in an emergency landing in Newfoundland to remove the shrieking baby and her catatonic mother.

Wish us luck, and hope to see lots of you soon!

(*Ed note: I am petrified)

Losing weight for the holidays is not for the faint of heart

Well, there's been a brief hiatus over here due to a bout with my old friend, Food Poisoning. It struck last weekend and I am only now getting close to 100%. I have had food poisoning five times in my life, and I am not yet thirty. I either have incredibly bad luck, or I eat out of dumpsters. If I get it a sixth time, I may get a nanny cam going to see if I'm some sort of sleep-binger.

This first time I got poisoned by what seemed like an innocent meal was when I was in elementary school. I was at Pizza Hut with a friend and her family. My mom was very strict about junk food. We had an occasional Fig Newton in the house, but that was it. So that led to some desperate and hasty junk food decisions when I was out of the house. One such decision was Dessert Pizza. I remember it well. All covered in cinnamon-sugared apples, out under that heat lamp for perhaps days. Mom would have scoffed at such a request. But my friend was an only child. And it paid off. Offered the chance to go to the Pizza Hut dessert buffet, I did not need to be asked twice. When I awoke that night sweating, shaking, and more than a little queasy, I'd like to say I learned a lesson. But clearly my karma was not yet complete, as I would fall under this dreadful condition many more times to come.

This time around, I feel a little impatient with the whole thing. I don't eat out, save the occasional take out falafel. I eat no meat or dairy. Did a chick pea cause this? I call shennanigans on the whole thing. Though I do swear never to eat Dessert Pizza again.

Awesome stuff my husband has said lately

Caring, thoughtful, wonderful man that he is, Will sometimes make comments that leave me dumbfounded. And he's really been on a roll lately. Here is a choice selection from what is likely to be a recurring topic:

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[R&W just finish a movie with actress Emily Blunt]

W: What movies has she been in?

R: You probably recognize her from The Devil Wears Prada. Did you know she's married to Jim from The Office? Are you jealous that he has such a gorgeous wife?

W: Why would I be jealous? He's a celebrity. His life has nothing to do with mine.

[It takes at least two minutes of me blinking at him for Will to gather that he might have said something off-putting.]

-------

R: I just found my second gray hair today! Ugh!

W: Huh. You know, you've been really moody lately too. Maybe you've got a vitamin deficiency.

[And the crickets chirp...]

------

[Will loves chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes, because I am a very great wife, I make them for him. Last time, I burned the batch a bit.]

R: Sorry you've had a rough day. Want me to bake some chocolate chip cookies?

W: Sure. But let's keep them soft this time, ok?

[Absolutely, boss man. "Let's" do that. We've got to stop watching The Sopranos.]

Bifurcating the blog

This blog has taken on dueling personalities. One full of my inner thoughts, ala post-Seinfeldian mundane humor-servations. The other, pictures of the cutest 10 month old this side of the Isar River. Lately, I've been experiencing some inner tension between the two. I've got cute pics, but don't have anything clever to say, so I don't post. Or, I've got a good story, but I'm trying to respect that great grandmas, aunts, uncles, etc. come to this site to see E, and might prefer not to sift through stories of marital snafus or expat blues in order to get to the baby.

There is something else, too, and it's heart-on-sleeve stuff, which makes me queasy, so bear with me now. I have always loved to write. So, logically, I went to law school where writing is both vital and 100% joyless, where I was able to kill my passion much like making the kid caught smoking puff 10 at a time squelches his want for nicotine. (Actually, I just wanted a lot of student loans so I would better represent my generation. Mission: Accomplished.) This time off from law has gotten the old writing juices flowing again, and the blog has become a useful tool. Shifting the focus of this blog to my writing is scary. Because up until now, I've been able to share this with folks under the banner of "lookit my cute kid!" And that's not scary or embarrassing because, well, have you seen her? Now I am saying "hey, read about really unremarkable things that happen to me!" And that makes me feel exposed, and, frankly, possibly delusional.

So, believe it or not, this is me being brave and selling myself as a wanna be writer: Please read this blog because of my stories. Or don't. It's your call. I think I'm going to be sick now....

If you want to stick to baby pics, I do not fault you one bit. Or you could read both, and maybe start some kind of fan club for me. Please check in on Ms. E at:

www.babygrissom.blogspot.com