The Terror Surfaces

There is a creature who lurks on the Western edges of Los Angeles.

This beast is so terrifying! So unrelenting! So singular of purpose! That he can only be called........SNOODZILLA!

Like his Japanese lizard-beast counterpart before him, Snoodzilla has but one mission in life, and that is the complete and merciless destruction of all he surveys. Due to the fact that this particular fiend has chosen to live in our home, my husband David and I (like panicked citizens of Toyko) can do little more than point helplessly at the rampage as we cower in his wake.

From the moment he first opens his eyes in the morning, a Snoodish campaign of terror commences. We awaken with each dawn's early light to the dulcet tones of the creature furiously shaking the bars of his crib, demanding his freedom. David and I stagger from bed and make our first futile attempts to appease him.

We lift him from his crib and find the poop is abundant. To get a better sense of what follows next, I urge you to now stop reading this blog, find a large and preferably rabid alligator, and then attempt to change its diaper.

* TIME ELAPSES *

It's not easy, is it? The best we can hope for is to achieve a complete wardrobe change without Snoodzilla

1. leaping head-first from the changing table, and/or
   
2. seizing the baby powder and using it as chemical warfare, and/or
   
3. flinging his poop towards us like a rage-fueled monkey.

Assuming we have survived the above (I am not exaggerating when I say that I have TWICE left the changing table actually bloodied) Snoodzilla is now dressed and down on the ground. His small, yet hungry eyes, scan the room, searching for his first target of the day, usually the bookshelf. I pull David in front of me, attempting to use him as a human shield as "Goodnight Moon", "Googlie Farm", and "Touch and Feel Baby Animals" go whizzing by our heads.

Including a short break for his morning bottle, the bookshelf takes about six minutes to completely decimate. When he's sure that he's emptied it completely he sits briefly on the pile of fifty or so books, satisfied with the destruction he has wrought.

We've been awake for about fifteen minutes.

Not long after, David beats a hasty retreat to the office, leaving me alone with the Beast.

Snoodzilla's victory over the bookshelf seems only to have whetted his appetite for destruction. I dash out of his way as he makes a bee-line for the diaper basket. He crawls inside for maximum damage potential and soon neatly stacked diapers are being hurled in all directions. En route to the living room, where there are two more bookshelves to empty, he makes a pit stop to upend the laundry bin and spread our dirty drawers throughout the house. Then it's the playroom, where there are toy bins to be attacked without mercy.

Now, you may ask, "Why don't you just stop him?"

Well, let me ask you this? Why didn't those folks over in Toyko "just stop" Godzilla? I'll tell you why - because he is REALLY, REALLY SCARY - especially when you make him mad!!

So, instead I choose to stay out of the way until the spree of devastation has run its natural course. Knowing that, after thirteen hours or so, Snoodzilla will inevitably tire and collapse, I let him do his thing. After I've gotten him back into his crib for the night, I lie amidst the debris, exhausted.

David arrives home from work and I must assure him that NEVER FEAR - our home has not been ransacked by a gang of meth-fueled burglars, NOR have I accidentally detonated an unexploded WWII-era ordinance I found in the closet, it's just that...

...SNOODZILLA WAS HERE!

Boo Mania!

When it comes to listing one's favorite holiday, I've have always had a deep and abiding suspicion of those people who choose Halloween.

For me, a holiday with no large meal and/or exorbitant gift exchange directly associated with it has always seemed just kinda third rate. Sure, I understand that this, the spookiest of all holidays, comes with the serious upside of allowing one to spend an entire week consuming candy in lieu of meals, but what can I say? It's been years since October 31st has really lit my fire.

HOWEVER! Having recently spent my first Halloween as the mother of a toddler, I must admit, I've had a...change of heart.

As months of previous entries here at www.shortfatdictator.com will surely attest, there are about a million downsides to having a baby. There are the sleepless nights, the Sisyphyean realities of diaper changing and laundry duty, the complete surrender of your existence to a small and unreasonable human...I could go on and on. But the good news is this - just when things seem darkest, there always seems to be some sudden and unexpected upside. For example, the opportunity to dress one's offspring in a hilariously adorable outfit completely against his or her will. Which is AWESOME!

When I was little, my mom was the queen of Halloween costumes. She would start taking orders in late August; then for the next two months the sewing machine would be rockin'. The resulting costumes were fantastic - a clown with giant home-made foam shoes and a red mop wig; the statue of liberty recreated down to the smallest detail using half a dozen hand-dyed sheets; and a pint-sized Wonder Woman, complete with blue starred shorts and a pair of bulletproof cuffs.

Now that I had my own child to costume, this September I vowed to carry on my mother's noble tradition. I would get out my Brother sewing machine and I would create my very own costume-y magic! I decided on a circus theme. With Snoodie's stocky physique and bald-ish head I imagined him as the perfect little strong man. I would be the bearded lady and for David I would whip together a fantastic Ringmaster's get-up from scratch!

It was approximately Mid-October when some reality began to set-in. It occurred to me that my shirtless tattooed mini-strong man might start to get rather cranky as evening temperatures were hovering near the mid-fifties. Also, let's be honest, there was the even more pressing reality that I can barely sew, which was putting a serious hurtin' on my plan to stitch together a three-part circus masterpiece.

Luckily, as I was going to bed one week before the big night, I had a vision! A vision of my friend Mindy's toddler wearing an adorable and more importantly pre-made lobster costume. Halloween - SAVED! By the weekend I had the hand-me-down costume in hand and IT...WAS...ON!

Halloween finally arrived and the three of us hit the streets! Total prep time: six minutes. Total cost: 12 bucks (spent at the local kitchen supply store). Result: Unspeakable awesomeness!

(chef, lobster and diner)

All night I just kept saying to my husband, "I forgot how great Halloween was!"

Instead of cramming myself into someone's crappy apartment with a bunch of people dressed as recently deceased celebrities, having to fight my way through a throng of slutty nurses on the way to get a beer, I was out TRICK-or-TREATING!

Our neighborhood was transformed into a Halloween wonderland with kids in costumes, friendly neighbors handing out candy, and general merriment abounding. Snoods was, frankly, overwhelmed by the whole experience and spent most of the evening in the role of "deeply perturbed crustacean". Nonetheless, Halloween success was undoubtedly achieved!

Back at home we de-lobsterified Snoodie and put him to bed, handed out some candy to a gaggle of adorable young'uns, ate sweets by the handful and then hung our "OUT OF CANDY" sign on the door and were in bed by 9:30pm.

I apologize to you, 31st of October, for all my past maligning! I am ready to dub thee the GREATEST OF ALL THE HOLIDAYS! At least until next month when my head is turned by the sweet, sweet lure of cornbread stuffing with sausage, turkey with gravy and PIE!

I suggest you enjoy your victory while it lasts Halloween....

I shall return

Hey Folks!

Yes, I have not posted in a while, but I have a semi-reasonable excuse. I have a writing deadline on November 4th, so there won't be any new posts until after Halloween.

When I do return, look forward to an appropriately spooky story chronicling the terrifying creature currently bent destroying my home. They call him....SNOODZILLA!

Happy Halloween to one and all!

P.S. I will add, briefly, that if there is anything better about having a kid than getting to dress him up in a costume against his will and then parade him around for the delight of the neighbors on Halloween, I truly haven't discovered it.

Party All the Time

My husband David and I complement each other in many ways, but our mutual destruction is assured unless we can figure out some way to curb our shared love of SEVERE over-planning.

The following is the actual schedule that faced us as we headed into last weekend:

FRIDAY -

MORNING - Shop for, decorate and clean house for the surprise birthday party of a family friend I'll be hosting this evening. A sit-down dinner for 10.

NOON - Make tragic, weekend-screwing mistake of checking Craigslist and discovering there is a murphy bed, which I have been wanting for our guest room, on sale for a great price. Order said murphy bed, thus assuring own doom.

NIGHT - Throw friend's birthday party in state of high-frenzy. Remove guests from home before falling into bed at midnight leaving kitchen disaster in our wake.

SATURDAY -

PARTY NUMBER TWO! It's the BIG Snoodie First Birthday Extravaganza!

MORNING - We know we're scheduled to visit a sick friend to visit for most of the morning - so best to get a jump on the day! We're out of bed with Snoods at 6am! As David attacks the kitchen fiasco, I begin making giant mound of cupcakes (pausing only to run to the neighbors to frantically beg for cupcake liners, which I have neglected to purchase during yesterday's maniacal shopping outing). Snood yells miserably from his play yard for sweet freedom, but we eagerly explain how worth it this all will seem once he sees the great Feast of Snoodie we are preparing!

LATE MORNING - We cease work to visit the aforementioned friend. Upon return (around 11am), I realize we have approximately 8 hours of preparations to complete before the party starts at 4pm. BUT, instead of helping with this, David now has to leave to go get a UHAUL and pick up the ill-advisedly purchased murphy bed. He estimates that the entire undertaking will last about 2 hours...

AFTERNOON - ...he is wrong. By early afternoon I am texting him frantically.

12pm-

ME: Where r u???

DAVID: Turns out Murp bed actually belongs to ex-boyfriend. He dsn't want 2 sell.

1pm-

ME: Where r u now???

DAVID: Convinced b-friend - getting cashiers ck. then heading bck to buy bed.

2:30pm-

ME: Where r u???

DAVID: Disassembling bed I'm gonna B a while.

By 3pm I give up on the texting and decide I better concentrate on frantically shoving detritus into every conceivable inch of closet space in our home, while simultaneously attempting to speed-ice cupcakes and hang birthday banners.

3:55pm finds David back at home! The two of us unload the final pieces of our massive new murphy bed into the guest room in the waning moments before our first guests arrive. The early arrivers help me take out the garbage and set the table before - THE PARTY BEGINS!

4pm - David emerges from a 60-second shower and joins the gathering revelers. The party is an enormous success! I've taken a friend's good advice and kept it small and super-simple. Snoodie crawls around with a handful of other babies and then shoves an entire cupcake in his face. BIRTHDAY ACHIEVED!

9pm - Our guests have departed and David and I lay semi-conscious in our backyard only to realize that we now need to start packing for a two-week trip that begins first thing tomorrow morning. I offer my husband seven million dollars if he will just let me die in the middle of the lawn instead, but he refuses. And so, I get up and follow him into the house, where we start pulling out bags and throwing in a haphazard collection of clothing before crawling into bed around midnight.

SUNDAY

5am - Wakey! Wakey! We're out of bed in the dark before dawn to head for LAX looking like rejects from the cast of Zombieland.

So, the weekend nearly killed us.

BUT now that it is behind us we are thrilled to have our new murphy bed and glad to be on our nice vacation. And as for the birthday party? As I mentioned in my last post, one friend advised me that all you really need to come away with to deem a 1st Birthday Party a success is a picture of your baby wearing a hat and covered with cake.

And to that I say - - - CHECK!

Happy Snood-day to You!

This Friday is Snoodie's FIRST BIRTHDAY!

(please do not panic, you are not actually invited to a first birthday party)

Preparations are officially underway for the Feast of Snoodie! And by preparations, I mean that I am on my way to Party City to purchase some streamers and perhaps a balloon or two.

As the date for the party draws near, I've been getting advice from all corners about what a child's birthday party should involve:

"One child for every year the kid is old!"

"Get a bouncy house! Everyone loves a bouncy house!"

"Start late! That way everyone has had their nap!"

"Start early! Get it done and out of the way!"

Perhaps the most poignant thought on the subject, however, came from my father.

He informed me in no uncertain terms that if he ever learned he had a only a month to live, he would spend each day of that month riding an exercise bicycle in the center of a children's birthday party. This way, the month would seem like several years and by its end death would be nothing but a sweet relief.

So, I've been warned.

The touchstone I keep returning to is that, whatever we end up putting together, Snoodie won't remember it. I mean, the first couple of birthdays are just trial runs before the child has any actual ability to retain the experience, right?

As a friend pointed out, for birthday number one all you really need to come away with is a picture of your baby wearing a hat and covered with cake! So, I'm adding cake mix to my list and heading off to shop!

Check back next week to see the disturbing cartoon baby above replaced by an actual photo of Snood enjoying his very own birthday cake! (If no such photo appears, please send help immediately.)

Snood Glorious Snood

When my husband and I were first dating we would meet up each Friday night at a different restaurant in Los Angeles. At the time, we were unencumbered by childcare costs and/or mortgage payments and so we could afford to splurge on some pretty nice dinners.

Each week, one of us would do extensive research before making a reservation.

We'd meet up for a cocktail before dinner and talk for an hour or so about the restaurant choice. Upon arrival, we would discuss the menu in detail before ordering. When the food was served, we'd pass our plates back and forth as we discussed the merits and missteps of each dish. After the date, we'd head out, holding hands as we lovingly revisited the meal, course by course, while strolling towards the car.

At some point, about 6 months into our relationship, I turned to David with true concern and said:

"I'm worried that our relationship is 90% based on talking about food."

He pointed out that many couples he could name made it work on less, and we set a wedding date.

Since then, the arrival of ze Snood has put a serious hurting on date nights. These days we eat mostly at home. The first year plus of marriage has reveled a whole new side of our eating selves. For example, David has had to work double time to keep track of the long list of food rules I adhere to, which includes:

• No raisins in anything. Ever.
• No cold foot that could be served hot (i.e. shrimp on ice)
• No "surprise cruch" (i.e. chicken salad with large hunks of celery)
• No condiments (this includes ketchup, mustard, relish and hot sauce)

I could go on all day.

David, on the other hand, is basically the human equivalent of a goat.

He will head to the fridge and open a tupperware container of dubious origin any night of the week and give it's contents a whirl. While I have never actually seen him devour a tin can, let's just say I'm not putting anything past him.

So it's been interesting to start introducing Snoodie to solid food. So far, I think he takes after his dad. It started with rice cereal, which he devoured with gusto. We moved onto fruits and veggies, which he ate with glee (brief product endorsement: the BEABA babyfood maker is awesome - I never would have imagined myself as a "make your own babyfood" type but I am a convert!).

And now, as he approaches his first birthday Snood is eating it all. It's a feeding frenzy in my dining room. I am beginning to give serious though to simply sitting Snood in a high-chair, putting a bowl a food in front of him and then turning on a high-powered fan and blowing the food in his general direction. I am almost certain this system would result in more food consumption and less mess than we are currently experiencing.

We've even starting heading out for date nights again!

Gone are the fancy reservations and the five courses. These days we specialize in dinner at 5:30pm. As we have a maniac in a high chair along for the ride, our dining choices are limited to loud restaurants with friendly servers and we tend to order more burgers than filets, but still we're getting out and firming up the very core of our relationship, our first true love, the thing that made it all happen for us...

...FOOD!

What I Did on My Summer Vacation!

Well, it looks as though summer has come to an end, news that is melancholy on all fronts EXCEPT ONE! Yes, folks, this year, the arrival of Labor Day brings with it a single bright light - - - the return of www.shortfatdictator.com!

*sounds of rejoicing*

I fled the blog sometime back in August, in order to devote massive amounts of quality time to dipping El Snoodo in sunscreen, before heading out in search of water sources in which to plunge ourselves.

But now that fall is in the air, I hereby declare myself ready to fall into autumn's cobwebby arms and begin, once again, to blog about my questionable parenting choices!

First, an update since my last post - - the plague has finally abated (though, not before Typhoid Snoodie managed to pass it on to his grandmother, his parents, my cousin, my sister, his babysitter and two family friends).

I tell you, this cold was one for the record books. We were laid so low by it that at one point my husband turned his goopy eyes to me and said in-between hacking coughs,

"We're never going to be well again. This is it for us."

I gave him some chocolate and sent him back to bed, figuring that it was probably useless to try to explain the unlikelihood that the two of us had managed to catch the world's first incurable cold. And, as it turned out, we were not chosen to suffer endlessly. Eventually, we all recovered and managed to crawl from our sickbeds and back out into the sunshine.

One other delightful development since my last post is that Snood has come a long way since ARP! In fact, he is now performing tricks on command!

Our relationship now involves little more than the following exchange repeated without end:

Me: How big is Snoodie?

Snood raises hands above head to indicate bigness.

Me: SO BIG!!!!

It seems simple but, let me tell you, after eight months of attempting to decipher a series of ever-loudening cries without success, this first glimmer that Snoodie actually speaks English is pretty much the best thing to ever happen to me.

So, that's the news for now! Start looking for the blog again on Wednesdays. Lots more tales to report in the weeks ahead as my little Snoodie turns one!