Okay, I'll admit it: I love baseball. Love it, love it, love it. Baseball is a lovely game. It's full of terrific metaphors (eg the goal is get home safe). No matter how often or how long you watch, you can still see something you've never seen before. Really, it's the perfect game--and it's one of the few places in the culture where I feel as I can afford to be blindly idealistic with no real consequences.

Best story in baseball this year? The Detroit Tigers. Here's to the World Series!

Besides, the Cardinals suck.

and because she recently gave me some killer advice, and because I made a promise...here's a kickass recipe for a yummy Fall soup. FYI: I'm kind of a terrible cook (easily distracted) and I fucked up the instructions in several places (because I'm like that) and forgot the sour cream and doubled it so I could make my family eat it for several meals (cuz I'm a lazy cook). It STILL turned out to be delicious. Here it is, Kelly. Thanks for the help! ~VP

Ingredients: 1 T. unsalted butter; 2 T. olive oil; 2 medium onions, finely diced; 2 garlic cloves, minced (I used 6); 1 t. sweet paprika; 4 cups vegetable stock; 2 large potatoes, peeled and finely diced (about 2 1/2 cups); 1 celery rib, very thinly sliced; 1 bay leaf (I used 2); 1/2 t. salt; 1 t. sugar; freshly ground black pepper to taste; 4 cups corn kernels (I used frozen); 5 scallions, thinly sliced; 1 cup milk (I forgot this, if you can believe it, and the soup was still yummy); 1/4 t. thyme (I used 1 t.); few dashes cayenne pepper; 1/4 c. sour cream.

I don't post here much anymore, just the occasional pithy comment, or three.

Alas, even the tiny bit of time I do spend lurking around here appears to be too much. Work is stacking up on my desk; I'm really, really struggling to get my writing work done; I need to take advantage of the last, lovely days of summer weather; and now that Fall is practically upon us (oy! Fall? Already?) I expect to be even busier.

So I'm going to sign off Hipmama, indefinitely, but first I wanted to say Thank You to all of you. I can only speak for myself, of course, when I say that I believe this community provides real refuge and intelligent dialogue and wonderful company for a lot of women who don't have much by way of a mama network IRL--through circumstance or geography or, in my case, their own crankiness (I can't STAND most of the mamas in my neighborhood. Seriously. Ugh. Wretched yuppies! But I digress.).

So Hank woke up this morning covered in diarrhea. Shit was everywhere--even in his hair. He was pissed off, and I don't blame him. The thing is, he's never had a single case of diarrhea and he's 15 months old (I know, I know. I am one lucky mama). So, he won't eat, doesn't really want to drink anything; he's not even that enthusiastic about the boob (also a first!). No fever. He's kind of lethargic, mostly just wants to be close to me. Oh, yeah, and he's suddenly got the worst diaper rash he's ever had--presumably from the raging, acidic shit he was covered in.

So, we're taking it easy, reading quietly, letting his ass air out, but I'm concerned about dehydration.

Hey, have you guys seen this? If you go to google and enter asshole into the search box, then hit I'm Feeling Lucky, you get a sweet little presentation. Rumor has it that this google's big Fuck You to the Administration for trying to get them to turn over records. Whatever it is or whatever it's for, it's funny! Be sure you've got the sound on! It's fabulous.

Hey, I've got a sitter who comes to my house 4 days a week from 9-1 to hang out with Hank (15 months old) and we're thinking it would be cool to find another toddler to join in. We can be somewhat flexible on hours/days and we'd also be willing to switch off houses (i.e., one day at our house, one day at yours, and so forth).

Our sitter's rate is $12/hour and she's amazing. In her other life, she's involved with Chicago theatre--she's great with imaginative play, arts and crafts, trips to the park, etc. My kid RUNS to the door every morning at 9.

If anyone's interested in this type of setup, please send me a PM or post here and we can start talking about it.

That thing toddlers do, where, they've been working on your last nerve for hours and just when you're at the end of your rope, they do something so freakin' cute, it just about breaks your heart in half?

There were times today when, I swear to God, if someone had turned up at the front door with a 6-pack and a pepperoni pizza, I would have traded Hank for them--with a tip. We drove each other bonkers today. He's starting to throw himself on the floor and beat his head against the floor when I make unreasonable requests. Things like "Don't yank on the kitty, Honey. He's a living creature, too" or "You can't play with those papers, Honey. That's my work" or "Drop the knife, Kid" (joke!).

So I've been reading Dante's "Inferno" on the toilet, because it amuses me to do so and because I've been searching for evidence that, when his time comes, W. is indeed going to find himself being used as SATAN'S BUTTPLUG. Anyhoo. Hence, my fancyschmancy new hipmama name. Virtuous Pagan.

And speaking of No Guilt. Here's mine for the day. Hank's been driving me craaaazzzzyyyy this morning. Wanting something every second, throwing rudimentary temper tantrums, following me around like I'm his freakin' mother or something. So I did something revolutionary. I plopped his little fanny down in front of Sesame Street with a stack of cookies and lemonade (TV! Sugar! Wheeeeee!). The little guy glazed over in 10 seconds flat. There they were! All the characters from his books. Big Bird, Grover, Elmo, America's favorite couple Bert and Ernie. And they were talking just to him! It was glorious. BTW: Sesame Street's just as trippy as I remember it.

Back in the day I had a dear friend who periodically, often on the Saturday morning after a particularly raucous Friday night, would do something she liked to call: "The Asshole Roundup." She would call up all involved parties and say: "Good Morning! It's an asshole roundup. Who was the asshole last night?"

And, often, whoever was getting the call would then remember the bar fight or the too-drunk-to-fuck one-night stand or the maudlin rant in the parking lot and they would say: "It was me."

Well. In blog world equivalent to an asshole roundup, I have to say: It was me.

I feel pretty shitty about the way the breastfeeding blog went; I feel pretty shitty that so many people, on all sides of the issue, felt attacked; And I feel REALLY shitty that I then freaked out and deleted the whole fucking thing in some misguided attempt to diffuse the situation. I'm pretty new to the whole blogging world, but it occurs to me that deleting a blog that big, with that much invested, is a big, big mistake. I mean, that sucker was enormous. It had taken on a life of its own. It wasn't even mine anymore--and yet I charged in, the Lone Ranger of All Things Lactation--and I deleted it. Which, effectively, took the choice away from everyone. Wow. Not my finest moment.

Sometimes, I swear, I love Chicago so much it isn't even funny.

The City of Chicago has had a longstanding informal policy of NON-cooperation with the INS when it comes to ratting out illegal immigrants who seek out city services. Now, according to tonight's NPR story, Mayor Daley is seeking to pass a formal ordinance that makes it city policy to refuse to cooperate with INS investigations because, in the words of Daley's spokesman, "The City of Chicago does not want to be in the business of separating families or denying necessary social services to the people, whoever they are."

Yeah! You know, when the political machine is Your political machine, it doesn't seem so bad.

So my really dear friend is turning 30 in two weeks, and I want to give her a little something. Problem is, I'm broke. Really broke. As in, we're not sure how we're going to buy groceries come the end of the month (we only get paid once a month).

Also, I have NO special craft talents. I can't knit, sew, crochet, paint, or even, really, match colors. My girlfriends go shopping with me and help me with decorating decisions. I'm that pathetic.

So whatcha got, Ladies? Any good ideas?

P.S. And she doesn't have any kids so I can't volunteer sitting or anything like that. Also, I give crappy massages and can't cook for shit. Really, I'm pretty useless. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure why my friends keep me around. For Entertainment Purposes Only, I guess.

So, say you have an ENORMOUS bag of Arugula (sp?) (because you thought you were grabbing spinach instead) and say that you've tasted it, ick, and think it's far too bitter to use for salad (especially if it would be the only green thing in said salad).

What do you do with a fuckload of Arugula? Me? I'm thinking about letting it turn to green slime in the bottom of the fridge, and then feeling guilty about the waste for several months. But I thought you wise ladies might have a better idea? Help!

So I'm holding Hank up to the fridge and we're checking out the photos, cartoons, propaganda, etc. Here's a photo of me. I point, Hank says: Mama. And here's Papa. Hank says: Papa.

Then I point to an old "Onion" headline with a photo of W. And I say: Honey, here's Satan. And Hank says: Saaaaay-Tan.

Awwwwww, the sweetie.

Hi Ladies:

Sorry I haven't been around much. We were out of town for a few days and then came home to fourteen kinds of bullshit that needed to be dealt with.

I could use some mama wisdom on a topic that is, I know, in the bigger scheme of things, pretty trivial. Nevertheless. Here's my situation. I've never been what you might call the most "giving" person on the planet. Especially when it comes to personal/physical autonomy issues. I like my solitude. Before BD and then Hank came along, I was one of those people who could disappear into my house for days without having any human contact. Part of this, I suppose, is the nature of my work. I'm a writer and have cultivated the desire/necessity of being alone for many, many hours/days at a time.

What music are y'all listening to this morning?

Hank and I are listening to Mr. Wilson Pickett's "Hey Jude," on vinyl--to pay our respects to this legend of soul. RIP, Mr. Pickett. Thank you for bringing all of us the music, and all your heart and soul.

May I say that his cover of "Hey Jude" is one of the greatest covers of all time? Hope all of you get a chance to hear it soon.

And don't you know that it's a fool
who plays it cool
by making this world a little bit colder?
(WP singing Lennon and McCarthy, beautiful, I love the way he addds in the word "bit" bringing that southern speech to the Beatles...so sad he's gone.)

So in his "spare time," BD's been whipping up these yummy vegetarian casseroles and freezing them (so his offspring doesn't have to live off soy dogs and macacaroni, I guess).

So tonight, Hank and I had THIS for dinner: Homemade Shepherd's Pie with green beans, peas, potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips, and those crumbled soymeat thingies. Yum!

It was so sweet. Hank was lolling in his high chair, looking bored and a little depressed--probably because the kid's seen the future as far as dinner goes and, let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

And I said, Hereya go, Honey. Here's dinner! And I plopped a big wad of Pie down on his little tray.

So, as I mentioned on Gigi's blog about dinner, Hank's have frozen soywhatevers from Trader Joe's tonight--and I was having one of my daily meltdowns about what a crappy, lacksadaisical mother I am when, suddenly, I remembered this little essay I typed up a few months ago. It was a darker time; I was even more out of it than I am now. Words in italics didn't come through and I'm too lazy to figure it out, but oh well. Here it is for your reading enjoyment, Ladies!

The Accidental Mother

Is it bad to use your baby as a Swiffer™ to clean your hardwood floors? That’s the question I’m asking myself on this, the afternoon of Hank’s seven-month birthday, as he scoots around our apartment. It turns out that those disposal diapers are a marvel for picking up all sorts of things—lint, cat hair, dust balls. But I have to wonder: Would my mother approve? Would anyone approve? What ethics are involved? I mean, it’s not as if I meant to use my baby as a Swiffer(™). It was a little like the discovery that cloth diapers were for women far, far more vigilant and committed than I, or the discovery that sucking on the cat’s tail causes more trauma to the cat than to Hank, though I worry that my child is going to be the first in history to be treated for hairballs and then I wonder: What’s in that hairball medication anyway? Should I be slipping a little into his bottle of breast milk? The diapers, the tail sucking, the fantastic discovery that Hank’s recent penchant for scooting means that finally, finally I’ve found a way to keep the floors clean (and by “clean� I mean that we’re no longer swimming in a sea of our own lint, just wading)—all these lessons came to me accidentally.

Okay, so if being an insomniac meant that I had the energy and concentration to actually get a little writing done, I might be okay with it. But, at this point, I'm so exhausted and strung out that I can't even remember the name of the bird on my bed sheets (um....flamingo? This took me a full 30 seconds this afternoon. It was frightening. I suddenly saw myself in 30 years, doddering around, drool on my chin, unable to remember the word for kitchen, you know, that room at the other end of the house, where the cheese is? where the cats pace around endlessly, waiting for someone to feed them? the place with the, um, tea kettle?), so writing's pretty much out.

Q: What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?

A: TIME TO SUPPORT YOUR PRESIDENT IN A CRISIS.

Hahahahahahaha. Ha!

Have any of you tried pasta diavolo to stimulate labor? There's a restaurant here in Chicago that swears their pasta diavolo has caused lots of babies to make the move. I went there when I was four days overdue and had an enormous plate of it. 2 hours later my water broke.

I think you can find it at any good Italian food place. Good luck. Remember: No one's ever been pregnant FOREVER (just feels like it).

I just finished reading "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time" and it was lovely. I highly, highly recommend it. The last paragraph is a zinger.

Now I'm in need of a new one, and nothing's shouting out to me from the bookcases. Anyone? Mrs. Sauce? Whatcha got?

This is not a huge deal, but I could use a little advice. My little guy (Hank, 13 months), who is still nursing about 4 times a day, is developing some pretty annoying food habits.

Here's the deal: Whenever I give him something that he doesn't like, or whenever's he's finished with whatever's on his tray, he launches his food--throws it to the floor, or across the room. I keep saying: No, Hank, don't do that. It's rude. But my otherwise sweet-natured Hank doesn't seem to be willing to be reasonable about this.

My MIL's advice is to keep making/offering different foods until we find one that suits him--as in, if you don't like soy dogs, "Mommy" (or whoever) will make you a Boca Burger; and it you don't like that, we'll make you a cheese sandwich, and if you don't like that, we'll make you some beans and rice. Now, is it just me, or is that just CRAZY? I mean, I'm barely good for getting even one meal together, much less four or five. WHo the hell has time for this? (Besides, there's a part of me that really believes that this is a terrific way to turn him into one of those children who won't eat anything).

Okay, so here's the deal. I asked members of my church a few weeks back to donate any new or very gently used baby clothes that they had. It was for a couple of projects I had in the works.

Well, long after I'd already finished up with the projects a woman at my church turned up with 6 bags of clothing, shoes, blankets, etc. 6 bags!

So I've sorted through them, removed anything that was too worn to be of any use to anyone, and I've been calling women's shelters in Chicago like crazy. Strangely, no one seems to want or need these things.

So anyone out there know of anyone (individual or organization) who could use any of the following items?

I know, I know. In terms of actually relieving any real suffering, it's like spitting into the ocean.

Nevertheless. I'm about to go light some candles--one for mountainmomma's momma; one for my dear friend who is having a miserable, lonely x-mas; one for Domesticated Ho..., who is surely laboring or recovering somewhere; one for a dear friend who is ill.

Four for Advent.

One extra as a sort of Thanksgiving...for this wonderful community. I'll bet y'all have saved some lives this year.

All best, E.

Hey, Everyone. I think my little monkey may have an ear infection. He keeps pulling on his right ear and his nose is running a bit. No temperature. Mood is okay (maybe a little clingier than usual). But the past three nights have horrible--up all night, crying, wanting to nurse until I think my tits might fall off.

He's a year old and, so far, we've avoided all antibiotics. Any way to avoid them this time? Any advice? Anything else that could be going on? I thought it might be teething, but I couldn't feel anything in his gums.

I could use some help. Another night like the last three and I might be a candidate for the booby hatch.