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Today is Wednesday, which means the Hatchling and I have our weekly playdate with P and her daughter. We decided to lunch at a chi-chi little mall in Uptown and then do some Christmas shopping until the girls gave out. As I left the house, baby in tow, it crossed my mind that I hadn’t charged my cell phone in a while … but I was running late and didn’t have time to do anything about it. Anyway, I thought, I’ll be fine. I won’t need it. Got out to the car and the key wouldn’t turn in the ignition. This has happened before, though not in months, and a quick jiggle of the wheel-tilt mechanism usually solves it. I jiggled, the key turned, and we were off, only a little late. Got to the shops, met up with P, and strolled over to the Vietnamese restaurant we like. Had a delightful lunch; both babies were extremely well-behaved; all was going well. It was my turn to get the check, so when we were done I went to grab my wallet out of my copious purse/diaper bag … and it wasn’t there. Huh. Checked again … and nope. No wallet. Awesome. Must’ve left it at home. P graciously picked up the tab and promised to loan me enough money to get out of the parking garage. By now I’m feeling like a REAL genius, but am hoping a little Christmas browsing will make me feel better. We ding around a couple of the shops, and then it’s time to get the babies home for their naps. P slips me a $10 (bless her) and we part ways. Get in the car, and lo! The key will not turn in the ignition. Jiggle the wheel tilt, and lo! It still won’t turn. Fabulous. By this time the Hatchling is seriously ready to be in her crib, sleeping, so she cranks up the pipes. Speaking in soothing tones, I start jiggling the CRAP out of the steering wheel, moving it into every position it will go into and several that it probably won’t. I try shifting the car into neutral to see if that makes a difference. I start to lose my mind a little and put the emergency brake on and off, turn off the heat and radio buttons, open and close the doors – anything to voodoo my piece-of-crap automobile into succumbing to the key. Nothing doing. I go into the back seat, comfort the Hatchling until she calms down, and then try the whole rigamarole again. Having pushed both of our patiences to the limit, I give up. I’ll have to call AAA. Oh … except I don’t have my wallet, which has my AAA card in it. Fuck. OK, I’ll have to call Mr. Squab. Oh … except my phone has no charge. Fuckety-fuck-fuck. To infinity. Right. Get out of the car, get very cranky Hatchling out of the car, and trudge back into the mall to use the pay phone. Thank Christ, I actually have 50 cents in my pocket for the phone, and thank Krishna, Mr. Squab is actually at his desk. An hour later, we’re back at home, Mr. Squab having made arrangements to meet AAA at the parking garage at 7:00. Still can’t find my wallet, anywhere; realize I must have lost it yesterday when running errands at Target, and somehow didn’t notice because I’M INCREDIBLY STUPID. Argh. Mr. Squab gets home and takes us out to dinner at Famous Dave’s, because I need me some damn barbecue. The car gets towed to the mechanic, we call Target and they actually have my wallet, which I just got back from retrieving. All of which only proves that there really are guardian angels for the mentally deficient. OF WHICH I AM ONE.

Do you think if I stay in bed tomorrow I can avoid any more of this crap?

Did you hear that Ortho-McNeil, one of the largest makers of birth control products like the pill and the patch, has just hiked its prices by 1800%?

No one much noticed, but thousands of family-planning clinics across the country went into a tailspin last month. They were reacting to a drastic price increase by Ortho-McNeil, a major supplier of birth-control pills and maker of the popular contraceptive patch. The company used to charge publicly funded clinics as little as a penny a pack for the pills. Then, as of July 1, the price of some pills jumped to more than $18 a pack. Ortho’s move was apparently legal under federal pricing rules. But it’s anybody’s guess as to why the company chose to do this now, without giving the clinics any real notice.

No one much noticed, indeed. Why hasn’t this been getting major coverage? Oh, wait – because it only affects low-income women. Duh.

One of the things we got the most compliments on when the Hatchling was born was her name: Eleanor Johanna. It is a pretty one, and while my southern relatives were quick to point out that the perfect nickname for her would be Ellie Jo, there are also lots of less redneck nicknames for her (Nellie, Ellie, Nora, etc.) and in fact that’s one of the reasons we picked that name. There’s only one problem: I rarely use any variant of the Hatchling’s actual name when I’m talking to or about her. Mr. Squab has been giving me crap that she won’t even know her own name because I’m always calling her something different. In my defense, this is something of a family habit, but I admit I’ve taken it to something of an extreme. Here’s a list of names I regularly call her:

Stanley
Bobbie Jo
Hinky
Baby Doll
Fussbudget
Stinky
Scoobers
Drooly Julie
Hoose Foose
Stinkpot
Crankypants
Sweetest
Honey Pie
Baby Girl
Doodle Bug
Snickerdoodle
Squablet

And I’m sure there are some I’m forgetting. Does anyone else have this problem? What nicknames do you use on your kids? Or, conversely, what were you called when you were little?

I know I’ve blogged before about how awesome my family is, but here’s more evidence: my aunt came to visit us this weekend, and in the course of three days, she

– weeded the entire front and back yard, which were rife with weeds
– helped Mr. Squab kill the creeping charlie that was preparing to down our power lines
– painted the radiators in the living room
– bought us two lovely dinners out
– and BEST of all, lookit what she got me (and the Hatchling) for an early birthday present:

HOW CUTE IS THAT?!?! The Hatchling loves to sit up and this way she can do it all on her own for as long as she wants. Leaving me free to actually eat lunch! or check email! or blog!

Thanks, Tante Buttje. You can come stay with us whenever you want.

… that I am sick unto death of shedding? I thought I was DONE with all the post-pregnancy body weirdness, but my hair is coming out in HANDFULS. I think I’ve stopped up every drain in the house, and the Hatchling is covered in the remnants of my tresses. I had a lot to lose, so it’s not like I’m worried about going bald or anything, but man, it is a pain in the ASS washing, brushing, fixing, looking at – basically, just having hair right now. On the plus side, if I collected it all together I could make a very unique sweater. On the minus side, that would be extremely gross.

The guy who produces the “Girls Gone Wild” videos is a violent, woman-hating, asshole.

No, really – read the profile. This man is scary.