Every 5,000 Miles

I am declaring Dylan's brief and tempestuous fling with bottles officially over. No More Pumping.

They said she is going to be moved up to the next room in October or November. That is sure to be traumatic for all. One of her teachers told me she knows Dylan so well she can tell her poop from all the other babies by the smell. (hmmm, to me that means she probably isn't digesting something she's eating that well if it has such a distinctive smell) I forgot to tell them that she has been saying and signing "book" until today and they were like, ah, so that's what she was doing. I think she is less interested in walking since she realized it is work (ahem Aaron, your kid I believe), although in the long run she may find it to be less work than crawling everywhere like an enormous crawling doofus. I'm pretty sure if she wanted to she could just start running around.

The car repair place at the end of our block takes forever, has terrible service, and I can only assume overcharges us...but the "at the end of the block" part is so hard to resist that we keep ending up there anyway. Today our interactions went thusly:

Kate drops off car for oil change at lunch

"Can I bring my other car in for an oil change also when my husband gets home from work at 4:30 or 5:00?"

"No. That's way too late. You'll have to call Monday."

Kate calls at 4:30pm to see if car is ready

"No, he's working on it now."

"So, can you call when it's done?"

"Oh...you want us to call you?"

"Okay then, what time should I come by?"

"Oh...well...why don't you just call back in twenty minutes?"

Ten minutes later: the phone rings

"Okay, it's done. You can bring your other car in now."

I guess in the end it worked out well and the cars are appropriately serviced, but the mind games made it feel a little surreal.