This is week 147 of The Life of Riley, a weekly post detailing my activities since I ended a thirteen year career as a corporate drone. These posts are usually long, personal, and geared more for my own memory than the reader’s entertainment.

Sunday (Day 1022): Eating Candy Out Of The Gutter

#1GF! got up to get the baby at normal time, and I somehow fell back to sleep. When I finally got up, it was already 8:30 AM. I was bleary and exhausted. I shuffled into the kitchen, and #1GF! had already taken the baby out and brought back coffee and a bagel sandwich for me. I had no idea that they left, although I didn’t even remember giving myself the opportunity to fall back to sleep in the first place.

We got dressed and went to the St. Patrick’s Day parade. There was a time many years ago that I could get out of standing in the street for a couple of hours watching people walk by, but those times were long gone. I’m mired in the tradition of annual parade watching, which I can only assume will expand as the baby gets older.

We were out the door a little later than we wanted, so we got an okay parking spot instead of a prime one. We walked down to the parade route, and greeted the rest of #1GF!’s family at their usual spot.

The parade started up with a long line of firetrucks blaring their sirens. The baby wasn’t bothered by it in the least. She sat and watched the whole parade without issue. At a lull, a little girl walked over and tried to touch the baby, but #1GF! warded her off without even moving. The little girl did not seem happy about it, but I was impressed with #1GF!’s evolving motherly demeanor.

Because they throw candy off of the floats, most of the spectators end up standing ten feet off the curb, forcing the parade to squeeze through riding the yellow line. I’m always amazed how far some people will go to chase down a five cent piece of candy that has been thrown by someone they don’t know, and bounced off of a dirty street a few times. You’d think that they were throwing money.

Just like every other year, there were tense moments when a kid ran out in front of a truck to save a piece of candy from its path. The kids always seem to make it out just in time, and I wonder what the hell their parents are doing besides chawing on free candy.

The kids came away with multiple freezer ziplock bags of candy, and I snagged a couple of bullseyes from them because what kid wants to eat a bullseye? They’re the lepers of candy whose popularity peaked long ago with circus peanuts, Mary Janes, and Herbert Hoover.

After the parade, we stopped into Target so that #1GF! could get a hat for the baby. I sat in the car and fed the baby because fashion and I don’t really get along. #1GF! came out without a hat, changed the baby, and took over feeding. I sat in the front seat jotting things down in my notebook. Once the baby was settled, we went to The Children’s Place for a hat. Once again, I sat in the car with the baby. The baby didn’t mind not having to shop, and neither did I.

We headed home and I made pasta salad for dinner. We put the baby to bed, and watched The Hangover. The premise of the movie was that a bunch of guys have a bachelor party and have no recollection of what happened the night before. They spend the movie trying to piece things together to find the missing groom.

I didn’t think the movie was that funny for the first twenty minutes because I was expecting it to be more of a slapstick comedy. While in the kitchen getting a second helping of dinner, I kept repeating a couple of lines from the movie. If I’m repeating lines before the movie is over, it’s probably funny.

As the movie went on, I realized that it had taken a very clever approach to what should’ve been a typical bachelor party movie. Because all the characters were blind to the night before, The Hangover eliminated the need for a constant barrage of National Lampoon style fart jokes. By making the viewer grant the characters a lot of leeway for having been intoxicated enough to have lost their memories, all the implausible situations that popped up had a pre-made excuse in the viewer’s mind, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. It was a different approach, and a clever way to drag the viewer into the story.

After the movie, I picked up my Rubik’s Cube and got halfway done before realizing that I had forgotten how to finish solving it. I slumped my shoulders and a tossed the cube back in the drawer. Baby care was already overriding my most basic of nerd skills. I was quickly approaching the mental capacity of a Perl coding goldfish.

Monday (Day 1023): A Bunch Of Hookers For The Neighbors

The baby woke up crying at random intervals all night long. Sometimes she soothed herself, sometimes she didn’t. Either way, it didn’t make for a good night’s sleep. The morning was pretty normal. I did the normal baby care stuff, and then cleaned the sink, read my e-mail and tried to piece together the weekend for LOR.

When the baby got up from her first nap, she was so fascinated by a trash truck on the street that we had to stand there staring at it for a while or risk an infant neck injury as she twisted and turned around me to keep the truck in view.

Once the truck was gone, I did some laundry and tried to make the bed. I sat the baby on a blanket on the floor nearby to keep her out of trouble, and within two minutes, she managed to whack her face on the bedroom door. I have no idea how. That was the start of the crying and the end of the bed making.

The baby took long naps, so I was able to get some writing in. It was good to get the words out, but I was getting pretty tired of spending all my free time examining and regurgitating the boring shit that happens in my daily life. There are only so many ways to describe the daily dues of domesticity. I pounded on the keys whenever I wrote, and ended up as annoyed as if every T I typed flew off the screen and swarmed around my head.

Because I needed an excuse to get away from the words, I put some parsley in the oven to dry because I had to buy a bunch of it at the supermarket, and only needed a tablespoon. I wanted to see if it could be dried instead of wasting it. The process took thirty minutes at 170 degrees. It was easy enough.

That whole last paragraph is painful for me to read, so I can’t imagine how it was for you. If I had said, “I needed to get away from the words, so I called a bunch of hookers and sent them to the neighbor’s house,” or “I needed to get away from the words, so I went outside to bust some shit that may or may not have been mine up with a sledgehammer ,” or even “I needed to get away from the words, so I put on some work boots, and went outside and leaned on a shovel,” I’d feel a little better, but drying parsley? Really? That was a highlight worth noting? That’s just sad.

Once the parsley was stored, I heard a truck pull up. I went to the front door, and took delivery of my new multifunction printer/scanner/copier/fax/sex machine. I closed the door and set the box on the hall rug. I walked away from it because I had writing to do.

I sat at my desk, and in the process of researching something to spice up an otherwise dull day of LOR, I ended up at TVTropes.com. Man, what a happy accident. The site is a goldmine of commonly used plot devices for fiction. I could’ve looked at it for hours if I didn’t have a schedule to meet. I bookmarked it and moved on.

The rest of the day was a mix of baby care and literary regurgitation until #1GF! got home.

“What’s this?” asked #1GF! while standing over the large box blocking the front door.

“It’s the new printer,” I said with a shrug.

#1GF!’s eyes glimmered. “And you haven’t opened it? Aren’t you excited? Are you going to test it out?”

I looked at it. “Nah.”

#1GF! looked shocked. “What? Why?”

“I have writing to do. Plus, even though a printer is a new piece of electronics, it’s at the low end of the exciting scale. It’s sort of like getting a new microwave. You basically know what it does.”

#1GF! shook her head, and went to put the baby to bed. I went back to writing. The baby kept waking up crying, and #1GF! would go in to soothe her. I wrote until 9:30 PM and then called it quits. #1GF! and I watched a couple of sitcoms on TV before going to bed. The printer still sat on the floor.

Tuesday (Day 1024): Lee Van Cleef And The Dirty Diapers

The baby cried out randomly through the night, but never for long enough that we had to get her. Not having to get up didn’t make the random wake-ups any less disruptive.

It had been raining all night, and I dreamed that I was walking through a flooded park near where I grew up. I avoided stepping on a wad of toilet paper, and I realized that I was walking through sewage. Water had finally seeped into my subconscious.

When I awoke, it was still dark out thanks to daylight savings time. Few things beat the bedtime tractor beam of waking up in the dark after a night of broken sleep, but I was already thinking about the basement.

“Are you okay?” asked #1GF!.

“Yep. Just thinking about the basement.”

“You want to go check it out?”

“Nope. It’s been a long night, and I’m not waking the baby. If the basement is flooded, I’ll deal with it after she wakes up.”

I went to the kitchen and poured a bowl of cereal. I ate slowly and deliberately to let any intruding water know that this was their chance to vacate because I wasn’t fucking around. I was the Lee Van Cleef of water mitigation.

I walked down to the basement and looked slowly side to side with squinted, expressionless eyes. Everything was dry. I expected the worst, but felt like I got a free pass for the day. The robot flashed a thumbs up symbol on his screen. I nodded at him slowly.

I came up out of the basement. “We’re good,” I said in a gravelly voice while squinting at #1GF!.

“Do you have a headache or something?”

“Uh, no. I’m fine.”

“Because you look like you have a headache.”

“Nope. I’m good.”

Sometimes I forget that approximately half of my life occurs within the confines of my skull. #1GF! eyed me for a minute and headed off to work.

I took the baby in for a diaper change, and she decided that she wanted to test my poop cleaning abilities by flailing every limb at her disposal. I got her partially restrained, but she managed to kick one foot free and jam it into a fresh pile of poop. I wiped off her sock and threw it into the hamper. Once I had her feet contained, she revolted by arching into the air so that there was no way that I could wipe her. It was a party. A real party.

When I finally got the mountains of poop under control, I started dressing her and found poop on her Onesie. The Onesie followed the socks into the hamper. I grabbed a new Onesie and found poop on the changing table. I stared at it. How exactly do you wipe poop from under a baby while keeping her from getting poop on herself? Logic would dictate that you simply put the baby somewhere else. But, what if she has poop on her somewhere that you haven’t found yet, and you’re just spreading the poop further and further around the room? Yea. Those are the types of logical quandaries that the stay-at-home parent faces. Oh, it’s not rocket science? You’re right. It’s not. But, when was the last time that a decision at your job had the potential to literally spread shit around?

I fed the baby ham for lunch, and she wasn’t happy about it, so she ate it cautiously. I mixed in some applesauce and she chowed down. Pork chops and applesauce. Gee, that’s swell. It’s a magical animal, baby. To show me how little she agreed, the baby threw up the ham in a perfectly aimed shot between two couch cushions, essentially tripling the time required to clean it.

I put the baby down for a nap, and sat down to write for a while. When she got up, I sat her on the blanket and lay down on the floor next to her. She wanted to lay down too, so she threw herself backwards with a thud. Once she stopped crying, I read her a book.

From there, it was typical baby care until 3 PM. I managed to squeeze a little more writing in during the baby’s nap, and when she got up, I started dinner. It was only midafternoon. The baby was suddenly fussy, so I had to move her exersaucer closer to me. Even though she was three feet away from me while I pulled apart a chicken for soup, she was continuously whining. I had to keep stopping to wash my hands and calm her down, so I didn’t finish the soup until four hours later.

#1GF! came home and took over the baby care. I wrote down the events of the day and then went to the basement to see what sort of water issues I was facing. It had been raining all day long, but with the exception of a leaking bulkhead, the basement was dry. I went back upstairs cautiously smirking.

While rushing to get dinner done, I over-salted the soup, and had to stick a potato in it to absorb some of the salt. I took the potato out of the soup and scooped off a chunk with a spoon.

“What are you doing,” asked #1GF!. “That’s going to be hot.”

I threw the piece of potato in my mouth anyway. At first it was extremely tasty. I thought about boiling potatoes in chicken stock from then on. Two seconds later, the cool outside of the potato cracked open to unleash its molten inside, which firmly attached itself to my soft palate. My eyes watered as I desperately tried to pry the steaming mass from the back of my throat with my tongue.

I managed to spit the potato into the sink. The roof of my mouth was scorched. “That was hot,” I sputtered.

“I told you,” said #1GF! while shaking her head. At that moment, the baby head butted her mother and gave her a bloody lip. Contrary to popular opinion, it was not a coordinated attack.

#1GF! put the baby to bed, and we ate soup while watching The Marriage Ref. It’s not a very good show. We finished the evening with #1GF! editing LOR 139 and LOR 140.

Wednesday (Day 1025): Writing, Not Sleeping

The baby was randomly screaming during the night. #1GF! took her for a couple of hours, and I took her for an hour. She eventually stopped, but would burst out every now and then just to remind us who was boss.

It was typical baby care all day, with writing where I could fit it in. #1GF! took over the baby once she got home from work, and I worked on LOR 141 until 9 PM, and then published LOR 140. I punched out of work and went to the kitchen to get myself some leftover soup.

Thursday (Day 1026): Misplaced Project Management

It was typical baby stuff all morning, except that the baby had taken to yelling for no good reason.

I got her to sleep at noon and stood at the counter with the intention of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This would’ve been a simple thing for a normal adult, but I stood there staring at an empty plate and calculating my options. I would like to thank higher education for the limited non-commercial interruption.

One of my favorite courses in college was a little class called operations management. It was supposed to be a required, but throwaway class aimed at people who intended to manage factories. These days, that throwaway class is referred to as project management. That one semester class still invades a lot of moments in my day, even where it’s not needed or wanted, such as, say, making a sandwich.

I stared at the plate, and thought about going outside to take the barrel in before I made my sandwich. I figured that if I made the sandwich, ate it, and then got the barrel, I would only have to wash my hands once, whereas if I got the barrel first, there would be two hand washings. I even thought that if I walked out to get the barrel while chewing the last bite, I would be saving a minute or so of time. While I ate, I thought that I should be eating and writing, but given the fact that I was eating a peanut butter sandwich, I had to calculate the time that I would be spending cleaning peanut butter from every conceivable flat surface in the office. I opted to remain standing at the counter.

I finished the sandwich, brought the barrel in, washed my hands, threw in a load of laundry, and finally sat down to write. My parents called and wanted to come over to see the baby. I had just put her down for her nap, so I told them that she wouldn’t be up for a while. They seemed disappointed, and decided not to come over. The baby woke up fifteen minutes later and wouldn’t go back to sleep, so I called them back. They said that they were in the area and that they’d be right over.

I literally ran to clean up all the junk, cleaned the toilet, bathroom sink, and kitchen counters, all while trying to keep the baby entertained. I finished up the last counter as my parents pulled in the driveway. I was winded from all the running.

My parents stayed for a couple of hours. They fed the baby and had a good time. Once they left, I took the baby in to change her, and she started peeing mid change. I was holding her legs up in the air at the time, so the pee ended up rolling down her back and all over the changing table. The back of her Onesie was soaked. I put her down to take it off, and she started peeing again. I threw a burp cloth down to slow down the tide, and wondered why all my problems seem to revolve around battling liquid.

I stripped the baby down and cleaned the pee off of her back and the changing table, and what does she do? She pees again. I did another round of cleaning, got her into a new (and probably mismatched) outfit, and got her down for a nap.

I threw the laundry in the dryer and threw the pee soaked clothes into the washer, and sat down at my desk to write notes on some of the day’s events. It was already 4:40 PM, and I had no writing done and no idea what was going to be for dinner.

#1GF! came home and took over the baby care. I went to put together dinner. I tried to make guacamole, but it came out so badly that it went right down the kitchen sink. It had the consistency of polenta and tasted awful.

Once I finished cleaning the kitchen and finished cooking, it was already 8 PM. I had no desire to start writing, but I did. I finished up LOR 141 by 9 PM and once again sat down to a late dinner.

Friday (Day 1027): I’m Ignoring You

We were up with the baby during the night again. #1GF! and I swapped back and forth and I was the one who eventually got the baby to sleep. That never happens.

During the day, I was cleaning bottles and someone knocked at the door. I looked across the kitchen and out the window of the door, but I didn’t recognize the person, so I kept on washing. By the time I was ready to answer the door, the guy was on his way up the street. Fine by me. Just because you knock and want to annoy me with a Jesus and/or sales pitch, that doesn’t mean I have to answer. That’s true even if you see me standing right there in front of you.

Saturday (Day 1028): A Memorial Service For Je-Je

I asked #1GF! how the baby was the night before, completely forgetting that I was the one who put her to bed. Take away enough sleep, and the brains eventually disintegrate.

We were going to get a little cleaning done, so I cleaned the bathroom while #1GF! handled the floors and the dusting. #1GF! somehow got swept up in the cleaning madness, and didn’t stop. When I walked into the baby’s room, it looked like Babies R Us exploded. I shook my head. I had been in the house alone all week, and I just wanted to get out.

#1GF! probably just wanted to attack some of the projects that she can’t attack while at work. I tried to clean off the desk for the new printer, but #1GF!’s side was too messy to conquer. Typically, it’s my side that draws complaints.

We eventually got out of the house at 2 PM. I really didn’t care where we went as long as we weren’t at home. We went to the mall and picked up a can opener and some pictures of the baby. We tried to feed the baby in the car at 3:30 PM, but she wouldn’t eat, possibly because her bottle was too cold. We decided to head home.

I tried to feed the baby once we got home, but she again refused to eat. Right before I gave up, the baby looked up at me, smiled, and I swore that she said, “HIIIIIiiii.” I handed the amazing talking baby over to #1GF! to see if she could get her to eat. She didn’t do any better than I did, so I took the baby back to burp her.

I walked into the kitchen and someone rang the doorbell. I opened the door to find a heavyset woman with sculpted eyebrows, grey knee socks, and comfortable shoes. A couple of steps down was a short, well-groomed man whose ear to ear smile made him look like he had an excellent psychiatrist.

“Hi,” said the woman, “we’re going around the neighborhood asking everyone if they’d like to attend a memorial service for Jesus’s death.” She held out a pamphlet.

“No thanks!” I said cheerfully and politely, while standing in the doorway with my giant beard and armful of baby.

The woman slowly retracted her pamphlet. “Okay, well…” she trailed off.

“Okay, have a good one!” I said as if I also had an excellent psychiatrist.

I closed the door and watched the two of them get in their car and leave. They said that they were going to every house in the neighborhood, but I’m pretty far from the last house on the block.

“Who was that?” asked #1GF!.

“I have no idea. They wanted me to go to a memorial service for Jesus.”

“Oh. I heard the memorial service part and you telling them no, and I thought I might have to step in.”

“Nope. It was for Je-Je.”

“That’s weird.”

I shrugged. “Yea. A normal person might’ve invited me to a mass or a service. Using the term, “memorial service” made them seem a little nuts.”

“Really weird. And don’t say Je-Je. You can say Jesus H., if you want, but Je-Je is just too catchy.”

“What about The Big J?”

#1GF! shook her head. “No, that’s not right, either.”

“You know, I probably should’ve said something like ‘Oh do you mean Heyzus up the block? I heard he was sick, but I had no idea. Oh, that’s awful,’ and then played dumb for a while. I have less and less time and brain cells to fuck with people these days.”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

“Yea, probably.”

What I Learned

• #1GF! can sneak out of the house with the baby at any time.
• Firetruck sirens don’t bother the baby.
• I no longer know how to solve a Rubik’s Cube.
• Fresh parsley can be dried in an oven at 170 degrees for thirty minutes.
• TVTropes.com is awesome.
• The baby doesn’t understand the magic of ham yet.
• A hot potato stuck to the soft palate takes about a week to heal.
• I cannot make guacamole.
• Calling a Good Friday mass “a memorial service for Jesus” probably won’t attract as many people as you expect.

Share, Bookmark, or E-Mail This Article

Posted in Life of Riley