Wow, we're getting down to the wire here. Although, I guess if I feel like 8 weeks is, "down to the wire," then once we only have a few weeks to to I'll be jumping off furniture trying to put myself into labor. And while my pregnancy is going admittedly very smoothly, I'm ready to have this baby. Little Miss Ella has taken up residence right on my Sciatic nerve and it's killing me. Sleep is done in the upright position, getting out of bed is a chore and standing, sitting or walking for more than 10 minutes at a time causes me to have excruciating pain through my back and hips.
So what do you do when you can't sit, stand, lay or move? I'm not sure about you, but I bitch about it - a lot.
For the most part, the boy has taken up residence on the couch. He says it's so I can sprawl out in the bed, but I suspect it's more for his own benefit so he can get some sleep. Which I can understand. Were I in his position, I would do the same. But last night he decided to sleep upstairs. And when he came to bed, he promptly set his alarm for 4am. It's now 4:48 and I'm up typing to all of you while he lays in bed, sound asleep. Asshole.
"Why are you setting your alarm for 4?"
"It might snow. The forecast said there's a chance for flurries, up to an inch."
"What forecast are you looking at? I watched the weather and they said no snow."
"I looked it up online, duh."
Very mature Dan, very mature.
So, at 4am, his alarm went off, he peeked out the window and saw that there was NO SNOW, and promptly went back to bed. I laid awake for 20 minutes contemplating the things I could do to him while he snored and in the end, decided to play nice and just get up.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm getting up."
"Why?"
"Because I'm awake, duh."
Real mature Stacie, real mature.
I made sure to make plenty of noise letting the dogs out, feeding them, letting individual pieces of chunky kibble clink into their plastic bowls slowly, wadding up newspaper to make a fire, dropping firewood on the living room floor and as soon as I'm done with this, I'll go ahead and start doing dishes.
Now who's the asshole?
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Old People Are Pissing Me Off
And I'm not talking "old" like my grammie and grampie (in their late 80's), I'm talking about those damn meme's that are in their 60's and have bad dye-jobs.
I just left an intramural soccer game at The Kid's school and I was sitting behind one of these meme's, which is where my bad mood started. Keep in mind that this was an intramural game - no high stakes, no trophies, no World Cup, just a bunch of kids running around chasing a soft yellow "soccer" ball in a pint-sized gym.
"Come on Hannah! Block the ball Hannah! Run Hannah! Good block Hannah! Dribble the ball Hannah, dribble the ball." And on, and on, and on. Jesus God. Really? And then when Hannah would miss-kick, "What ah ya doin' Hannah? Get on that ball Hannah!"
It's a f'ing intramural game grammaw! Half the kids playing in this game are doing so because they're not qualified to play "real" soccer. Just ask my kid, "Syd, are you good at soccer?"
"Um, no. I pretty much suck. But that's why I play intramural's. I can still play but just have fun."
And that's the way it should be.
So then I decided that I needed a change of scenery today since half of my office is disassembled upstairs and the other half is re-assembled in the basement, I've made the decision that I'll surf all the free Internet I can find in town today (meaning Panera, Border's and the library). I no sooner get to Panera and another one of these goddamn meme's is bitching because there's no light roast coffee in the urn. And as the manager comes walking out of the back with an urn in each hand she huffs and says, "Oh! So there you are. I was wondering if we were ever going to get some light roast."
It's a good thing I'm not the manager. I would have thrown the light roast right at her, hopefully drenching her ugly snowman sweatshirt and her ugly mouse-brown dye job. I mean, really, if you're going to dye your hair, at least pick a decent color.
I just left an intramural soccer game at The Kid's school and I was sitting behind one of these meme's, which is where my bad mood started. Keep in mind that this was an intramural game - no high stakes, no trophies, no World Cup, just a bunch of kids running around chasing a soft yellow "soccer" ball in a pint-sized gym.
"Come on Hannah! Block the ball Hannah! Run Hannah! Good block Hannah! Dribble the ball Hannah, dribble the ball." And on, and on, and on. Jesus God. Really? And then when Hannah would miss-kick, "What ah ya doin' Hannah? Get on that ball Hannah!"
It's a f'ing intramural game grammaw! Half the kids playing in this game are doing so because they're not qualified to play "real" soccer. Just ask my kid, "Syd, are you good at soccer?"
"Um, no. I pretty much suck. But that's why I play intramural's. I can still play but just have fun."
And that's the way it should be.
So then I decided that I needed a change of scenery today since half of my office is disassembled upstairs and the other half is re-assembled in the basement, I've made the decision that I'll surf all the free Internet I can find in town today (meaning Panera, Border's and the library). I no sooner get to Panera and another one of these goddamn meme's is bitching because there's no light roast coffee in the urn. And as the manager comes walking out of the back with an urn in each hand she huffs and says, "Oh! So there you are. I was wondering if we were ever going to get some light roast."
It's a good thing I'm not the manager. I would have thrown the light roast right at her, hopefully drenching her ugly snowman sweatshirt and her ugly mouse-brown dye job. I mean, really, if you're going to dye your hair, at least pick a decent color.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
24 Weeks and 15 Pounds
I was sitting in a client meeting yesterday with my legs crossed ever so daintily (which, btw, is no easy feat when you've got a protruding belly). I had an itch on the back of my thigh and when I rubbed my hand over it to scratch it, I actually FELT cellulite THROUGH my pants.
Seriously?!?
And while the doctor assures me that my 15 lb. weight gain over the last 24 weeks is entirely normal, I'm so grossed out by the fact that I can actually feel cellulite through my clothes that I can barely even stand it.
Here's what's interesting though. When I was pregnant with The Kid, I put on a total of 50 pounds - so right around the 24 week mark I was probably 10 pounds heavier than I am now. And I didn't care! So why am I so body conscious now?
I'm 31, feel like my boobs are becoming cow udders and my thighs are permanently soldered together. Shaving my legs has become a chore and if I stand on my feet to long, my socks leave little lined in my calves. I sleep sitting up because I have heartburn from everything I eat, whether it's a cookie or an apple.
Hi, my name is Stacie. I'm 31 and pregnant. And I fear there's no amount of therapy that will cure me.
Seriously?!?
And while the doctor assures me that my 15 lb. weight gain over the last 24 weeks is entirely normal, I'm so grossed out by the fact that I can actually feel cellulite through my clothes that I can barely even stand it.
Here's what's interesting though. When I was pregnant with The Kid, I put on a total of 50 pounds - so right around the 24 week mark I was probably 10 pounds heavier than I am now. And I didn't care! So why am I so body conscious now?
I'm 31, feel like my boobs are becoming cow udders and my thighs are permanently soldered together. Shaving my legs has become a chore and if I stand on my feet to long, my socks leave little lined in my calves. I sleep sitting up because I have heartburn from everything I eat, whether it's a cookie or an apple.
Hi, my name is Stacie. I'm 31 and pregnant. And I fear there's no amount of therapy that will cure me.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Ultrasound
Last week we went in for the standard 18-20 week anatomy scan of the baby. For weeks, the boy has stressed about his reaction if it wasn't a boy. I assured him that, if he were to swear out loud, it would be okay - he's surely not the first dad to be pissed off that they're having a girl instead of the coveted boy.Instead, I was the one swearing. No, more like demanding that the ultrasound tech take it back. She lead me on, first of all. Which is entirely unfair to a hormonally imbalanced pregnant woman who has had just about enough of tween drama.
"See those three little dots right there?" she asked.
"Uh-huh....." I responded dreamily, my eyes quickly misting with tears at our good fortune to have a boy. 3 dots surely means two testicles and a little turtle, right?
"It's a girl!"
I nearly punched her in the face. A girl?!? What?!? How am I supposed to deal with that? How, when I am FORTY-TWO-years-old am I going to deal with a whining tween coming home from school, rolling her eyes and telling me how wrong I am about everything that comes out of my mouth.
At nearly FIFTY, how am I supposed to deal with horny boys and eating disorders? I am not prepared for such things.
In the elevator, the boy tried to console me, "maybe there's still time honey - maybe one will grow."
My reply? "Honey, if it's this small now, I don't want it to be a boy. No son of mine will bear that burden."
Of course, now the guilt is setting in. My rational side is telling me that I waited a long time for this baby. I should be thrilled, even if it is a girl. I should feel blessed and overjoyed that we will soon be parents for a second time.
Instead, I'm a neurotic mess (this seems to be a golden thread that runs throughout my life). So, welcome to the family Ella Alexandra. Your mom's a neurotic nut job, your dad has decided not to put you up for sale on eBay as was his original plan if you were a girl and your sister has already picked out your wardrobe for the next 5 years of your life. We love you, even if we are crazy as hell.
Friday, September 04, 2009
The Weekend Wrap-Up
So yeah, the weekend officially ended like, 5 days ago. And there is a new one starting in approximately 7 hours, but hey, who's counting? And the fact that I'm just getting around to posting about my ever-so-exciting weekend of last, we're all just gonna go with it.
#1. I found shit in my bathroom cabinet. Not like crap that people don't bother putting away - actual HUMAN FECES folks. On toilet paper.
Now, I know my own kid well enough by now to understand that she would not do such a thing. And certainly the boy and I would not do this either. So who exactly wipes their ass and then puts the dirty toilet paper in my bathroom cabinet with my nice Downy-fresh towels? Oh, that might be the neighbor kid across the street who I heard going through my cabinets when she was using the loo the last time she was over. And I know it's her because she's the only other person that's been in our house since then. Hm.
#2. My kid was offered a Playboy. By the same neighbor girl. Who's like, 8. WTF? She came over to our house and was like, "you've got to come over, I've got to show you something." Apparently, she'd been in her parents room and (shockingly!) been pilfering through their private spaces (between the mattress - how original) only to come up with a Playboy which she promptly hid in her own bedroom to show my kid. Lovely.
The first question that I have is, "why is she rifling between her parents mattress?" The second question I have is, "why must I have this knowledge?" I can no longer look out my kitchen window without seeing the man who owns the Playboy and getting visuals that no one should ever have. Short, squat and with a beer belly, he's a man that loves his leaf blower a little too much.
#3. I wasted 3 hours of my life that I will never get back at the spanking new Wal*Mart Super Center. It's a lot like Meijer's. Which was a little nostalgic for me. Anyway, the Sunday before many kids went back to school, 30 lanes open, every one of them 15 people deep. Who do I end up in line with? The old lady on the motorized scooter with an 18-pack of Ensure, a 24-pack of Busch Light and a value-size pack of Depends. I didn't actually talk to her, but I desperately wanted to take her picture and post it - too bad I couldn't find an excuse to get in front of her and do it.
#4. I realized the boy has no clue what Orange Crush is. Again, I ask, WTF? Sometimes I wonder if his parents kept him locked in a closet when he was little. We attended an outdoor wedding reception this weekend (which was in the middle of "Hurricane Danny") and of course I couldn't drown my sorrows at the open bar, so I opted for an Orange Crush. Dan walks up and asks for one, only to get in an argument with the bartender. When he is handed said can of Crush, he is thoroughly confused because he is thinking an orange slushy-type thing. I promptly edumacated him that it also comes in Strawberry and Grape. Yikes.
#5. I bought a new-to-me-vehicle. Without consulting the boy. Which is exactly what he gets for buying a new truck and plow last fall without consulting me first. I am still sticking out my tongue at him over that one.
So that's my weekend wrap-up. I'm headed north for the weekend to visit the 'rents for a night and then Sunday and Monday I have a wee bit of work to do. I've been bit of a slacker lately and it shows. Have a fun and safe holiday weekend!
#1. I found shit in my bathroom cabinet. Not like crap that people don't bother putting away - actual HUMAN FECES folks. On toilet paper.
Now, I know my own kid well enough by now to understand that she would not do such a thing. And certainly the boy and I would not do this either. So who exactly wipes their ass and then puts the dirty toilet paper in my bathroom cabinet with my nice Downy-fresh towels? Oh, that might be the neighbor kid across the street who I heard going through my cabinets when she was using the loo the last time she was over. And I know it's her because she's the only other person that's been in our house since then. Hm.
#2. My kid was offered a Playboy. By the same neighbor girl. Who's like, 8. WTF? She came over to our house and was like, "you've got to come over, I've got to show you something." Apparently, she'd been in her parents room and (shockingly!) been pilfering through their private spaces (between the mattress - how original) only to come up with a Playboy which she promptly hid in her own bedroom to show my kid. Lovely.
The first question that I have is, "why is she rifling between her parents mattress?" The second question I have is, "why must I have this knowledge?" I can no longer look out my kitchen window without seeing the man who owns the Playboy and getting visuals that no one should ever have. Short, squat and with a beer belly, he's a man that loves his leaf blower a little too much.
#3. I wasted 3 hours of my life that I will never get back at the spanking new Wal*Mart Super Center. It's a lot like Meijer's. Which was a little nostalgic for me. Anyway, the Sunday before many kids went back to school, 30 lanes open, every one of them 15 people deep. Who do I end up in line with? The old lady on the motorized scooter with an 18-pack of Ensure, a 24-pack of Busch Light and a value-size pack of Depends. I didn't actually talk to her, but I desperately wanted to take her picture and post it - too bad I couldn't find an excuse to get in front of her and do it.
#4. I realized the boy has no clue what Orange Crush is. Again, I ask, WTF? Sometimes I wonder if his parents kept him locked in a closet when he was little. We attended an outdoor wedding reception this weekend (which was in the middle of "Hurricane Danny") and of course I couldn't drown my sorrows at the open bar, so I opted for an Orange Crush. Dan walks up and asks for one, only to get in an argument with the bartender. When he is handed said can of Crush, he is thoroughly confused because he is thinking an orange slushy-type thing. I promptly edumacated him that it also comes in Strawberry and Grape. Yikes.
#5. I bought a new-to-me-vehicle. Without consulting the boy. Which is exactly what he gets for buying a new truck and plow last fall without consulting me first. I am still sticking out my tongue at him over that one.
So that's my weekend wrap-up. I'm headed north for the weekend to visit the 'rents for a night and then Sunday and Monday I have a wee bit of work to do. I've been bit of a slacker lately and it shows. Have a fun and safe holiday weekend!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Summer is Officially Over
I truly believe that summer is over. Although we're supposed to reach 80 in a few days, it won't be the same 80 that we had last week.
And that's just fine with me. 80 and humid sucks - when you're pregnant, it sucks even more.
We're slowly getting ready to ease back into a routine. The kid is excited to go back to school, I'm excited to do the same and my mind is swimming with all the things I need to get done before February. It's a long list and includes moving my office to the basement where I'd really like to make some major changes so that it's a little more "homey" and inviting. The prospect of working next to the hum of the furnace and staring at the washer and dryer is not exactly appealing, but done right, I think it will be alright. That is my major fall project - I'll post pictures and you can be the judge of how well I do.
The summer has been productive though we didn't do anything major at all. Just laid around, spent lots of time at the pool and the kid learned about money management with not one, but two, jobs that she juggled. Pretty impressive for a 10-year-old. Now she's looking forward to May when she's 11 and can take the Red Cross Babysitters Class. When we were in NYC for her birthday we of course visited the American Girl store where she purchased a babysitter's kit, complete with business cards. She's got them filled out and ready to go. Bless her heart.
Hopefully now that fall is nearly here, I'll be visiting the blog more frequently. I'm having a hard time deciding what direction to take it - should it stay the same? Or change? I have lots of creative projects in mind that I'd like to talk about, but are those really as funny as my bitchy comments about the world around me? Probably not. And I could spend a lot of time bitching about pregnancy over 30 (because, by the way, it's a hell of a lot different than when you're pregnant at 21), but I feel like that might be bad jou-jou. Of course, after the baby is born, I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories about how our life has been turned upside down, how Dan is bitching about diaper changing (he opposes cloth, I think it's more environmentally friendly - and besides, what's the difference between disposing of dog crap and disposing of baby crap?) and how we're dealing with two kids that are a decade apart. It should be fun. But for now, I'll just keep rambling and showcase my slowly but sure changing office in the basement. Good times.
See you soon.
And that's just fine with me. 80 and humid sucks - when you're pregnant, it sucks even more.
We're slowly getting ready to ease back into a routine. The kid is excited to go back to school, I'm excited to do the same and my mind is swimming with all the things I need to get done before February. It's a long list and includes moving my office to the basement where I'd really like to make some major changes so that it's a little more "homey" and inviting. The prospect of working next to the hum of the furnace and staring at the washer and dryer is not exactly appealing, but done right, I think it will be alright. That is my major fall project - I'll post pictures and you can be the judge of how well I do.
The summer has been productive though we didn't do anything major at all. Just laid around, spent lots of time at the pool and the kid learned about money management with not one, but two, jobs that she juggled. Pretty impressive for a 10-year-old. Now she's looking forward to May when she's 11 and can take the Red Cross Babysitters Class. When we were in NYC for her birthday we of course visited the American Girl store where she purchased a babysitter's kit, complete with business cards. She's got them filled out and ready to go. Bless her heart.
Hopefully now that fall is nearly here, I'll be visiting the blog more frequently. I'm having a hard time deciding what direction to take it - should it stay the same? Or change? I have lots of creative projects in mind that I'd like to talk about, but are those really as funny as my bitchy comments about the world around me? Probably not. And I could spend a lot of time bitching about pregnancy over 30 (because, by the way, it's a hell of a lot different than when you're pregnant at 21), but I feel like that might be bad jou-jou. Of course, after the baby is born, I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories about how our life has been turned upside down, how Dan is bitching about diaper changing (he opposes cloth, I think it's more environmentally friendly - and besides, what's the difference between disposing of dog crap and disposing of baby crap?) and how we're dealing with two kids that are a decade apart. It should be fun. But for now, I'll just keep rambling and showcase my slowly but sure changing office in the basement. Good times.
See you soon.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
This Much I Know
Being pregnant is a lot like having constant PMS.
If you're a man, you only know that this means I'm being bitchy.
If you're a woman, you know that this means I'm tired, bitchy, feeling ginormous, having headaches, not sleeping well, have swelling feet and back pain.
So, here's the scoop. I'm totally not complaining - I'm only stating the absolute truth. My family is currently walking on eggshells, not sure if I'm going to be Happy Harriette or Psycho Sally at any given moment. But the other night tops all others to date.
Our neighbors are away doing who knows what and their just-barely-21-year-old children decided to throw a party the other night. Now, our bedroom window faces their house, so all of their wonderful yelling, bottle throwing and illegal firework playing assaulted us like Lionel Richie - all night long.
Just as I dozed off, I woke up to go to the bathroom (of course - what's a full night's sleep?) As I stumble downstairs, willing myself to not completely wake up thinking my chances of falling right back to sleep are greater if I can at least keep my eyes half closed, I go tinkle and flush. No sooner had I walked out of the bathroom and laid one foot on the hallway floor when I heard the tell-tale sign of a toilet that was not going to flush. No, it was definitely filling, quickly.
And before I could reach the plunger, it over-flowed.
Does life get any worse than being pregnant, half-asleep and plunging a toilet while cursing whoever took the offending shit that clogged it? It only gets worse when you realize that you still need to clean up the bathroom floor and you're now definitely fully awake.
Not surprisingly, no one in the house will admit to being the offending shitter and I've been Psycho Sally for two days.
If you're a man, you only know that this means I'm being bitchy.
If you're a woman, you know that this means I'm tired, bitchy, feeling ginormous, having headaches, not sleeping well, have swelling feet and back pain.
So, here's the scoop. I'm totally not complaining - I'm only stating the absolute truth. My family is currently walking on eggshells, not sure if I'm going to be Happy Harriette or Psycho Sally at any given moment. But the other night tops all others to date.
Our neighbors are away doing who knows what and their just-barely-21-year-old children decided to throw a party the other night. Now, our bedroom window faces their house, so all of their wonderful yelling, bottle throwing and illegal firework playing assaulted us like Lionel Richie - all night long.
Just as I dozed off, I woke up to go to the bathroom (of course - what's a full night's sleep?) As I stumble downstairs, willing myself to not completely wake up thinking my chances of falling right back to sleep are greater if I can at least keep my eyes half closed, I go tinkle and flush. No sooner had I walked out of the bathroom and laid one foot on the hallway floor when I heard the tell-tale sign of a toilet that was not going to flush. No, it was definitely filling, quickly.
And before I could reach the plunger, it over-flowed.
Does life get any worse than being pregnant, half-asleep and plunging a toilet while cursing whoever took the offending shit that clogged it? It only gets worse when you realize that you still need to clean up the bathroom floor and you're now definitely fully awake.
Not surprisingly, no one in the house will admit to being the offending shitter and I've been Psycho Sally for two days.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Holy Shit. It's Stacie.
Summer vacation is half-way over and our 1st trimester is at a close.
Hallelujah.
Overall, I'm not as crazy as I thought I would be with the kid home all the time, and my moodiness has nearly disappeared. What I am totally disgusted with is the weather - why has it rained all summer?
Last week my sister came for a visit, which was fun, and the weather was good so we weren't cooped up inside. Although, between a 14-year-old girl and a 10-year-old girl, I think we definitely came to the conclusion that military school might be in order for our oldest - at least if she gets that moody and mouthy.
And it wasn't even moody and mouthy to my face (or the kid's), it was behind closed doors and via email, which was a little disheartening. If you think your niece is being a spoiled snotty bitch, tell her to her face - don't waste your time emailing all your friends about how you can't wait until she gets her ass kicked in middle school so that you can laugh in her face and then forget to sign out of your email so I end up reading it.
Yikes.
Of course, I didn't want to confront her because I felt a little bit like I had invaded her privacy. And, I know for sure that my kid can be a spoiled snotty bitch, absolutely. In fact, I've told her as much on occasion. But to email it and then act sweet to her face? Not okay.
And, before you think I'm throwing stones in glass houses, bear in mind that if I'm bitchy to someone in my blog, I'm bitchy to their face; that includes the neighbors across the street.
So, we'll see what the rest of the summer brings. I'm feeling like the "other kid" is a girl, but the heartbeat is at 126 which is old-wives-tale boy-range. The boy is hoping for a boy - and after last week with my sister, it's become an absolute necessity for him. In fact, the other day he asked, "if it's a girl and I swear out loud at the ultrasound, do you think the doctor will be mad at me?"
I've assured him that it probably happens more often than he knows.
Hallelujah.
Overall, I'm not as crazy as I thought I would be with the kid home all the time, and my moodiness has nearly disappeared. What I am totally disgusted with is the weather - why has it rained all summer?
Last week my sister came for a visit, which was fun, and the weather was good so we weren't cooped up inside. Although, between a 14-year-old girl and a 10-year-old girl, I think we definitely came to the conclusion that military school might be in order for our oldest - at least if she gets that moody and mouthy.
And it wasn't even moody and mouthy to my face (or the kid's), it was behind closed doors and via email, which was a little disheartening. If you think your niece is being a spoiled snotty bitch, tell her to her face - don't waste your time emailing all your friends about how you can't wait until she gets her ass kicked in middle school so that you can laugh in her face and then forget to sign out of your email so I end up reading it.
Yikes.
Of course, I didn't want to confront her because I felt a little bit like I had invaded her privacy. And, I know for sure that my kid can be a spoiled snotty bitch, absolutely. In fact, I've told her as much on occasion. But to email it and then act sweet to her face? Not okay.
And, before you think I'm throwing stones in glass houses, bear in mind that if I'm bitchy to someone in my blog, I'm bitchy to their face; that includes the neighbors across the street.
So, we'll see what the rest of the summer brings. I'm feeling like the "other kid" is a girl, but the heartbeat is at 126 which is old-wives-tale boy-range. The boy is hoping for a boy - and after last week with my sister, it's become an absolute necessity for him. In fact, the other day he asked, "if it's a girl and I swear out loud at the ultrasound, do you think the doctor will be mad at me?"
I've assured him that it probably happens more often than he knows.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
And So Summer Vacation Shall Commence
So today begins my unravelling. Really.
At noon today, summer vacation will begin.
Summer vacation is always a challenge at our house. The kid is just old enough that she feels she should be able to run free and rampant all over town, yet not quite old enough to make that happen. Which means that I either have to a) drive her everywhere, or b) tell her she can't go and listen to her whine and complain until I want to rip my eyes out (or maybe hers).
And did I mention that I'm finally pregnant? That's right, months and months of endlessly pissing on ovulation sticks has finally paid off. 6 pregnancy tests later (I had to make sure none were defective) and we are expecting. My future MIL can now rest soundly knowing that "certainly, it's not Dan's fault that you can't carry a baby. There's nothing in his family history that would cause a problem." And I can rest soundly knowing that a little bit of Prometrium goes a hell of a long way in keeping things in place - bless the drug companies, bless them.
However, early pregnancy means that I'm generally in a terrible mood, tired and bitchy all the time - which should make this summer even more enjoyable. Currently, it's a rare occasion when I'm awake past 7:30 - I'm a real winner.
Not that I'm AT ALL irritated that I'm pregnant mind you - that's what we've been aiming for. But I'm notoriously neurotic, and pregnancy is only compounding the issue. Of course, we're early in the pregnancy and so I'm neurotic about every ache and pain that I might have, but after seeing the heart beat earlier this week, I'm pretty confident that this kid is sticking around. And so we'll have "The Kid" and, "The Other Kid." Along with two dogs and a cat in our hobbit house.
If I'm not certifiably crazy now, I sure as hell will be by next summer.
At noon today, summer vacation will begin.
Summer vacation is always a challenge at our house. The kid is just old enough that she feels she should be able to run free and rampant all over town, yet not quite old enough to make that happen. Which means that I either have to a) drive her everywhere, or b) tell her she can't go and listen to her whine and complain until I want to rip my eyes out (or maybe hers).
And did I mention that I'm finally pregnant? That's right, months and months of endlessly pissing on ovulation sticks has finally paid off. 6 pregnancy tests later (I had to make sure none were defective) and we are expecting. My future MIL can now rest soundly knowing that "certainly, it's not Dan's fault that you can't carry a baby. There's nothing in his family history that would cause a problem." And I can rest soundly knowing that a little bit of Prometrium goes a hell of a long way in keeping things in place - bless the drug companies, bless them.
However, early pregnancy means that I'm generally in a terrible mood, tired and bitchy all the time - which should make this summer even more enjoyable. Currently, it's a rare occasion when I'm awake past 7:30 - I'm a real winner.
Not that I'm AT ALL irritated that I'm pregnant mind you - that's what we've been aiming for. But I'm notoriously neurotic, and pregnancy is only compounding the issue. Of course, we're early in the pregnancy and so I'm neurotic about every ache and pain that I might have, but after seeing the heart beat earlier this week, I'm pretty confident that this kid is sticking around. And so we'll have "The Kid" and, "The Other Kid." Along with two dogs and a cat in our hobbit house.
If I'm not certifiably crazy now, I sure as hell will be by next summer.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Oh My Blog.....How I've Ignored You.....
I actually had someone tell me today that they thought I'd closed the doors on my blog - can you imagine?
As if.
What I have done though is be completely ignoring it.
There's a good reason - I promise. It's mostly because I've been totally uninspired to write anything snarky and I don't find myself funny AT ALL unless I'm making fun of someone - like my kid, or the boy, or random strangers.
However, all that changed with just one trip to Hannaford last night. The kid and I are breezing through the store, grabbing just four things: milk, peanut butter, wraps, and toothpaste. We get to the Express Lane, which by the way, I don't know why I bother, it's not like the damn Express Lane is ever fast. If anything, it's slower than any other lane in the whole effing store.
Anywho, the guy in front of me has 14 assorted bottles of liquor on the conveyer belt - let me make that even more clear - 14 assorted FIFTHS. So, needless to say, lots of liquor. The cash register guy gives him his total which is well over $100 and when the guy whips open his wallet, I peek.
That's because I'm nosy.
And what do I spy in the very front of his wallet, in that little clear place where his license should have been?
His Food Stamp Card.
How does he pay for his liquor? 2 crisp benjamins my friend.
This enrages me more than you could ever know. First of all, I want to know why people are allowed to do that. Like, "oh, I don't have enough money to buy food to feed my family, BUT I can pay cash money for my liquor." Why is that allowed????
Second, it makes me angry because there are people out there that could legitimately use a program like that to help feed their children that do not use it, simply because of the stigma caused by assholes like this. I mean, they'd rather let their kids go hungry than whip out a Food Stamp card because of the stigma.
It's a sad world we live in kids, a sad, sad world.
As if.
What I have done though is be completely ignoring it.
There's a good reason - I promise. It's mostly because I've been totally uninspired to write anything snarky and I don't find myself funny AT ALL unless I'm making fun of someone - like my kid, or the boy, or random strangers.
However, all that changed with just one trip to Hannaford last night. The kid and I are breezing through the store, grabbing just four things: milk, peanut butter, wraps, and toothpaste. We get to the Express Lane, which by the way, I don't know why I bother, it's not like the damn Express Lane is ever fast. If anything, it's slower than any other lane in the whole effing store.
Anywho, the guy in front of me has 14 assorted bottles of liquor on the conveyer belt - let me make that even more clear - 14 assorted FIFTHS. So, needless to say, lots of liquor. The cash register guy gives him his total which is well over $100 and when the guy whips open his wallet, I peek.
That's because I'm nosy.
And what do I spy in the very front of his wallet, in that little clear place where his license should have been?
His Food Stamp Card.
How does he pay for his liquor? 2 crisp benjamins my friend.
This enrages me more than you could ever know. First of all, I want to know why people are allowed to do that. Like, "oh, I don't have enough money to buy food to feed my family, BUT I can pay cash money for my liquor." Why is that allowed????
Second, it makes me angry because there are people out there that could legitimately use a program like that to help feed their children that do not use it, simply because of the stigma caused by assholes like this. I mean, they'd rather let their kids go hungry than whip out a Food Stamp card because of the stigma.
It's a sad world we live in kids, a sad, sad world.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Our first ACTUAL touristy adventure.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Monday, May 18, 2009
And So The Trip Begins...
Yesterday, the kid turned the big 1-0. A major event. And it hasn't just been a birthDAY, but a birthWEEKEND.. There has been breakfast out, nail services, blue streaking of the hair, and now the trip to NYC.
The flight down was good - actually great - but the shuttle rides sucks. I've nearly shit my pants several different times already. My stomach is growling and I have to take a piss. And we're still 20 blocks from the hotel.
On.a positive note, we've already had 1 celebrity sighting.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Kids and Condoms
Recently, the weather has been nice enough that the kid and her friend can actually walk home from school together. To walk home from her school, there are two routes: stay on the sidewalk or walk through the woods behind the baseball fields.
So, the only rule has been, "stay on the sidewalk."
Of course, the kid has questioned why.
So I explained that sometimes older kids hang out back there, drinking, smoking pot and having sex.
Naturally, the next question was, "how do you know they're having sex?" I answered by saying that I had seen used condoms back there at one point. The following is an actual transcript of our conversation - it is, of course, one of the funniest things that has happened in the last 6 weeks.
The Kid :: "What's a condom?"
I struggled a tiny bit with this. Not quite knowing how to answer, but also knowing that a) she knows enough about the birds and the bees to know what sex is, b) she's had family living class already, c) by the second day of Kindergarten, where babies come from - right down to the tadpoles, the eggs, and the rivers - thanks to a playground conversation with a boy named Drew (who also divulged that he set his bathroom trash can on fire), and d) if I acted like this was an awkward moment, she'd be less likely to talk about this stuff later on. So, I just went for it.
"A condom is used by the boy when he and a girl are having sex. It's kind of stretchy like the rubber gloves they have in doctor's offices and the boy puts it over his penis. It's meant to protect both the boy and girl from any sexually transmitted diseases and it also is a protection from pregnancy. You should NEVER, EVER have sex without a condom."
After initially wrinkling her nose in disgust at the word "sex," she got a sudden look of recognition on her face. "Oh! I've seen a condom before!! (Holy shit, internal freak out moment for mom) It's what Uncle Matthew wears when he plays baseball!!"
At nearly 10 years old, my daughter thinks that a condom is a cup. Awesome.
*********
Note: once again, I apologize for my absence. Life has definitely gotten in the way. However, I am headed to NYC next week to celebrate my girl's big 1-0. I'm sure there will be PLENTY of posting considering the fact that both my ex-husband AND my neurotic childhood friend will be in town. Neurotic as in, "I love her but she takes Germaphobia to a whole new level." Which I think should be fantastic in a city the size of NYC. This is why she's taking a car service from the airport instead of a shuttle or a taxi. Ha!
So, the only rule has been, "stay on the sidewalk."
Of course, the kid has questioned why.
So I explained that sometimes older kids hang out back there, drinking, smoking pot and having sex.
Naturally, the next question was, "how do you know they're having sex?" I answered by saying that I had seen used condoms back there at one point. The following is an actual transcript of our conversation - it is, of course, one of the funniest things that has happened in the last 6 weeks.
The Kid :: "What's a condom?"
I struggled a tiny bit with this. Not quite knowing how to answer, but also knowing that a) she knows enough about the birds and the bees to know what sex is, b) she's had family living class already, c) by the second day of Kindergarten, where babies come from - right down to the tadpoles, the eggs, and the rivers - thanks to a playground conversation with a boy named Drew (who also divulged that he set his bathroom trash can on fire), and d) if I acted like this was an awkward moment, she'd be less likely to talk about this stuff later on. So, I just went for it.
"A condom is used by the boy when he and a girl are having sex. It's kind of stretchy like the rubber gloves they have in doctor's offices and the boy puts it over his penis. It's meant to protect both the boy and girl from any sexually transmitted diseases and it also is a protection from pregnancy. You should NEVER, EVER have sex without a condom."
After initially wrinkling her nose in disgust at the word "sex," she got a sudden look of recognition on her face. "Oh! I've seen a condom before!! (Holy shit, internal freak out moment for mom) It's what Uncle Matthew wears when he plays baseball!!"
At nearly 10 years old, my daughter thinks that a condom is a cup. Awesome.
*********
Note: once again, I apologize for my absence. Life has definitely gotten in the way. However, I am headed to NYC next week to celebrate my girl's big 1-0. I'm sure there will be PLENTY of posting considering the fact that both my ex-husband AND my neurotic childhood friend will be in town. Neurotic as in, "I love her but she takes Germaphobia to a whole new level." Which I think should be fantastic in a city the size of NYC. This is why she's taking a car service from the airport instead of a shuttle or a taxi. Ha!
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Funny Things on TV
Amazing things happen when you get up really early in the morning with a needy dog. And for whatever reason, these damn commercials seem to creep up on CNN of all places.
A few weeks ago, I was talking about SugarDaddie.com - the site where the wealthy find love. If you happen to be a wealthy woman, a man can find you by searching for a SugarMomma.
Now, maybe I was the only person under the mistaken impression that, if you employ online dating, it's for the purpose of finding someone you're compatible with. But this site is really like, "to hell with love, admit you're in it for the money." In some respects, I admire their bluntness, but has anyone using that site stopped to think that maybe - just maybe - most people on there are exaggerating their net worth just a bit?
Just a thought.
Then today I see a commercial for OnlineBootyCall.com - why promise marriage when you just want a date? Just click, "find booty" and they'll locate you a match. You can also "invite booty" and "rate booty." On the commercial, they inform hopeful men that, "nice guys finish last."
Ha!
I think this is fabulous for a number of reasons. But, primarily because this is like the lazy daters yellow pages. What ever happened to going to a bar and hooking up? Isn't that what the 20-somethings like to do? Or maybe I'm way out of touch. But really, there's also the online classifieds like Craigslist and the personals section in the local paper. Do you really need to pay a fee to find a piece of ass? And, isn't that kind of like one big prostitution ring?
The icing on the stupid commercials cake came on HLN this morning when they devoted an entire segment to whether or not the Chia Obama is offensive. Turns out the American people are split. Some are concerned about the potential offensive nature of the ceramic bust's afro, while others think that it's simply cute.
Really? Like, wtf? First of all, an entire news segment being devoted to this is ridiculous - especially considering there's wildfires going on, a ship captain being help captive, and a baseball player that was just killed by a suspected drunk driver.
But what made this segment the best was that HLN went to the streets to interview people and get their take on it. How many people do you think they spoke with? 10? 50? They chose two interviewees to put on the news: one white, one black. Can you guess who thought it was cute and who thought it was offensive? Why is this news people? Why???
Argh.
Naturally 7 :: Wall of Sound
I'm completely loving this. Why? Because they use no instruments. Totally worth watching.
I would have embedded it, but YouTube wouldn't let me.
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I would have embedded it, but YouTube wouldn't let me.
: (
Monday, April 06, 2009
Sight Seeing
Yesterday was a nice day here in Maine. Sunny, nearly 60, very little breeze.
Come to think of it, it's the kind of weather we should be having right now, but since winter won't seem to leave, it's like a this great big treat when we actually get there.
But in Maine, because our winter season seems to last forever, people get a little crazy when the weather gets warm. And not really in a good way.
There are the high school girls wearing minis and tube tops the first day it hits 40, and this weekend, that effing ice cream truck decided to come out of the garage and start cruising the neighborhood. I wonder why there are so many self-medicated moms in the neighborhood; one can only hear the tinny version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" so many times in a day before you want to run outside and jam a knife in the truck speaker.
Ah...but I got off track.
So the weather was nice yesterday and when I drove into the Old Port I got an eyeful. Male, straight, 6' - 6' 2", 180+ pounds, big beer gut, bald, chest hair and full back hair wearing a wife-beater screen printed with "Who's Your Daddy?" and walking a Chiuaua.
This, of course, is a HUGE issue for me.
If you're a gay man, having a small dog might be fitting - it's a little more feminine. But if you're a straight man, you should NOT be walking a Chiuaua. I don't care if it belongs to your wife/girlfriend/mother/kid. You just shouldn't be walking it. If you're a straight guy, you need a big dog. One that looks mean even if he is really friendly. A dog that looks like it could rip your face off at any moment, even if he's an 80lb lap dog. A dog kinda like my Dodger. And never, under any circumstance should you be wearing a wife beater that says, "Who's Your Daddy?"
Which is why I know that the guy was straight and not gay. Gay men are always the best dressed people in a crowd. A gay man wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt. He might have a small dog but he would never let anyone see him in that shirt - especially if he had that kind of back hair. Gay men wax.
Oh how I wish had I snapped a picture.
Come to think of it, it's the kind of weather we should be having right now, but since winter won't seem to leave, it's like a this great big treat when we actually get there.
But in Maine, because our winter season seems to last forever, people get a little crazy when the weather gets warm. And not really in a good way.
There are the high school girls wearing minis and tube tops the first day it hits 40, and this weekend, that effing ice cream truck decided to come out of the garage and start cruising the neighborhood. I wonder why there are so many self-medicated moms in the neighborhood; one can only hear the tinny version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" so many times in a day before you want to run outside and jam a knife in the truck speaker.
Ah...but I got off track.
So the weather was nice yesterday and when I drove into the Old Port I got an eyeful. Male, straight, 6' - 6' 2", 180+ pounds, big beer gut, bald, chest hair and full back hair wearing a wife-beater screen printed with "Who's Your Daddy?" and walking a Chiuaua.
This, of course, is a HUGE issue for me.
If you're a gay man, having a small dog might be fitting - it's a little more feminine. But if you're a straight man, you should NOT be walking a Chiuaua. I don't care if it belongs to your wife/girlfriend/mother/kid. You just shouldn't be walking it. If you're a straight guy, you need a big dog. One that looks mean even if he is really friendly. A dog that looks like it could rip your face off at any moment, even if he's an 80lb lap dog. A dog kinda like my Dodger. And never, under any circumstance should you be wearing a wife beater that says, "Who's Your Daddy?"
Which is why I know that the guy was straight and not gay. Gay men are always the best dressed people in a crowd. A gay man wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt. He might have a small dog but he would never let anyone see him in that shirt - especially if he had that kind of back hair. Gay men wax.
Oh how I wish had I snapped a picture.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
The Dilemma
This morning when I got up and tinkled, I realized, too late, that we were out of toilet paper.
I looked in the bathroom cabinet. Nil.
I looked for a box of tissues. Nada.
Dammit. Now what? Ugh. Drip Dry.
So I come downstairs to look in what we lovingly refer to as "the bomb shelter." The big closet in the basement that stores the bottled water, the canned goods, the Coleman camping stove, and tons of candles. It is also where we usually store our year's supply of toilet paper and paper towels.
Do you think that I found any there? Hell no.
How does someone carry the last package of toilet paper upstairs and NOT mention that. Like, "hey, by the way, the next time you run to BJ's, can you pick up some TP? We're about to run out." This shit happens all the time in this house and it drives me nuts.
It's why I have a "running low list" on the fridge. As a big fat reminder that, when you notice we're almost out of butter or you drink the last of the milk, you write it on the list. Dog food, on the list. Cat litter, on the list. Toilet paper? NOT ON THE LIST!! The whole purpose of the list is so that, the next time someone goes to the store and says, "do we need anything while I'm out?" Someone else can read the list and say, "oh yeah, can you pick up butter, milk, and TOILET PAPER???"
What's worse is that the kid had a friend spend the night last night and so this morning, after my bathroom debacle, I was digging through every cabinet I could find to locate even just a few napkins that I could cut up into little squares of toilet paper. I hate to think what will happen when she goes home.
"Geez mom, Syd's family just has cut up napkins for toilet paper. It's so weird. Do you think they can't afford toilet paper?" Christ.
Anyway, moving on.....I also have a very special note to write here at the end of this blog. A note for someone that is currently overseas and who, although we're no longer friends, seems to read this blog regularly. Please stay safe.
Oh, and I also want you to know that, although I said that I would never talk to any of your friends again, that was before Facebook and some of your friends have "friended" me. I accepted that invitation - I hope that's alright. I wasn't really sure how to say no because I felt like it was pretty complicated. The only exception is Wendy - she hates me. Ok, that's it. I'll resume not speaking to you again.
I looked in the bathroom cabinet. Nil.
I looked for a box of tissues. Nada.
Dammit. Now what? Ugh. Drip Dry.
So I come downstairs to look in what we lovingly refer to as "the bomb shelter." The big closet in the basement that stores the bottled water, the canned goods, the Coleman camping stove, and tons of candles. It is also where we usually store our year's supply of toilet paper and paper towels.
Do you think that I found any there? Hell no.
How does someone carry the last package of toilet paper upstairs and NOT mention that. Like, "hey, by the way, the next time you run to BJ's, can you pick up some TP? We're about to run out." This shit happens all the time in this house and it drives me nuts.
It's why I have a "running low list" on the fridge. As a big fat reminder that, when you notice we're almost out of butter or you drink the last of the milk, you write it on the list. Dog food, on the list. Cat litter, on the list. Toilet paper? NOT ON THE LIST!! The whole purpose of the list is so that, the next time someone goes to the store and says, "do we need anything while I'm out?" Someone else can read the list and say, "oh yeah, can you pick up butter, milk, and TOILET PAPER???"
What's worse is that the kid had a friend spend the night last night and so this morning, after my bathroom debacle, I was digging through every cabinet I could find to locate even just a few napkins that I could cut up into little squares of toilet paper. I hate to think what will happen when she goes home.
"Geez mom, Syd's family just has cut up napkins for toilet paper. It's so weird. Do you think they can't afford toilet paper?" Christ.
Anyway, moving on.....I also have a very special note to write here at the end of this blog. A note for someone that is currently overseas and who, although we're no longer friends, seems to read this blog regularly. Please stay safe.
Oh, and I also want you to know that, although I said that I would never talk to any of your friends again, that was before Facebook and some of your friends have "friended" me. I accepted that invitation - I hope that's alright. I wasn't really sure how to say no because I felt like it was pretty complicated. The only exception is Wendy - she hates me. Ok, that's it. I'll resume not speaking to you again.
Friday, April 03, 2009
The Cock Shot :: Order Now
All I can say is, clear the room of kids first, watch second.
Thanks Aaron for sending this along....you made my Friday.
Thanks Aaron for sending this along....you made my Friday.
The Friday Edition of "You Know You're An Asshole When......."
I'd had several cases of......"you know you're an asshole when".....things happen this week.
The first one was on Wednesday when I forgot my child at school. That's right. I forgot her. She actually had to call me and ask me where I was. In my defense, I was sleep deprived and had my mind on women's land rights in Ghana due to a doctoral thesis that I was editing, but still, I forgot her.
Worse yet, when she called I was actually surprised to hear from her. Like, "what do you mean where am I? I'm sitting at Julie's school waiting to pick her up and then we're coming to get you."
"What?!? Mom, I got out of school 45 minutes ago!!"
Shit, it's early release day.
The second happening actually involves a blind man - which is a little ironic since my friend Jess actually said something to me about making fun of people that wear sunglasses when it's not sunny out. Her comment was "what if they're blind?" Anyway.
This man has dressed up as Uncle Sam for the last 5 years and stood outside Liberty Tax Center, which happens to be owned by a couple of Middle Eastern men that dress in cheap suits and circa-late-80's leather jackets.
Of course, I find all sorts of things wrong with this picture, but I won't get into them except to say that, yes, I do find irony in the fact that two men of Middle Eastern descent own an American tax refund center that is called "Liberty Tax Center." Enough said.
So for the last 5 years, I've seen this man outside their place, pacing the sidewalk and waving to people. My dogs bark and growl at him every time we drive by and I happen to trust their judgment. And I haven't really made fun of him as much as I've said things like, "poor bastard," and "what kind of criminal record must you have if this is the only job you can get?"
Turns out he's blind.
And now I feel like a HUGE asshole.
Like, just to make it up to him I want to buy him a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich or something. And I'm not sure if I should be grateful to the men who own the tax place for giving him a job (although it's humiliating and probably doesn't pay well) or if I should be angry at them for exploiting a blind man to do work that no one else wants to do.
So, maybe someone in the universe is trying to teach me a lesson about being a better person - I don't know. What I do know is that, overall, I really thought I was a pretty good person to begin with. I have a lot of friends and I make people laugh a lot.
Like, sure, there are a few people on planet that hate me in a major way and it weighs heavily on me, but there isn't anything I can do to change that now, so rather than dwell on it, I've had to learn to let it go and hope that someday they can too. But to think that the big man upstairs is screaming, "hey asshole!! Hello?!? Are you listening Stacie? It's me, God. And I think you're being an asshole!!! You forgot your kid at school, you've made fun of a blind man, what's next?? An attack on the Little People of America?"
Well, that kind of shit makes you sit up and take notes.
The first one was on Wednesday when I forgot my child at school. That's right. I forgot her. She actually had to call me and ask me where I was. In my defense, I was sleep deprived and had my mind on women's land rights in Ghana due to a doctoral thesis that I was editing, but still, I forgot her.
Worse yet, when she called I was actually surprised to hear from her. Like, "what do you mean where am I? I'm sitting at Julie's school waiting to pick her up and then we're coming to get you."
"What?!? Mom, I got out of school 45 minutes ago!!"
Shit, it's early release day.
The second happening actually involves a blind man - which is a little ironic since my friend Jess actually said something to me about making fun of people that wear sunglasses when it's not sunny out. Her comment was "what if they're blind?" Anyway.
This man has dressed up as Uncle Sam for the last 5 years and stood outside Liberty Tax Center, which happens to be owned by a couple of Middle Eastern men that dress in cheap suits and circa-late-80's leather jackets.Of course, I find all sorts of things wrong with this picture, but I won't get into them except to say that, yes, I do find irony in the fact that two men of Middle Eastern descent own an American tax refund center that is called "Liberty Tax Center." Enough said.
So for the last 5 years, I've seen this man outside their place, pacing the sidewalk and waving to people. My dogs bark and growl at him every time we drive by and I happen to trust their judgment. And I haven't really made fun of him as much as I've said things like, "poor bastard," and "what kind of criminal record must you have if this is the only job you can get?"
Turns out he's blind.
And now I feel like a HUGE asshole.
Like, just to make it up to him I want to buy him a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich or something. And I'm not sure if I should be grateful to the men who own the tax place for giving him a job (although it's humiliating and probably doesn't pay well) or if I should be angry at them for exploiting a blind man to do work that no one else wants to do.
So, maybe someone in the universe is trying to teach me a lesson about being a better person - I don't know. What I do know is that, overall, I really thought I was a pretty good person to begin with. I have a lot of friends and I make people laugh a lot.
Like, sure, there are a few people on planet that hate me in a major way and it weighs heavily on me, but there isn't anything I can do to change that now, so rather than dwell on it, I've had to learn to let it go and hope that someday they can too. But to think that the big man upstairs is screaming, "hey asshole!! Hello?!? Are you listening Stacie? It's me, God. And I think you're being an asshole!!! You forgot your kid at school, you've made fun of a blind man, what's next?? An attack on the Little People of America?"
Well, that kind of shit makes you sit up and take notes.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Black Market Fertility Drugs
The other day I was browsing the interweb (as the boy calls it), looking for some information about ovulation.
Exciting, I know.
But then I come across this website where there are hoards of women discussing their fertility problems and how they are seemingly unable to conceive.
Here's what struck me. This was not just a discussion about trying to conceive, it was a conversation about how to get Clomid from online pharmacies because their doctor's wouldn't give it to them. They didn't need it, but they were taking it anyway.
What?!?
After that whole thing, I suddenly decided that I was over it. Like, I really want to have a baby, but those chicks are just effing crazy. Their craziness completely cured me.
So that's it. No more counting. No more planning. No more peeing on sticks. We're sticking with the one we've got and we're moving ahead with planning our early retirement.
Thanks crazy ladies with your black market Clomid; you just made my life a whole lot less stressful.
Exciting, I know.
But then I come across this website where there are hoards of women discussing their fertility problems and how they are seemingly unable to conceive.
Here's what struck me. This was not just a discussion about trying to conceive, it was a conversation about how to get Clomid from online pharmacies because their doctor's wouldn't give it to them. They didn't need it, but they were taking it anyway.
What?!?
After that whole thing, I suddenly decided that I was over it. Like, I really want to have a baby, but those chicks are just effing crazy. Their craziness completely cured me.
So that's it. No more counting. No more planning. No more peeing on sticks. We're sticking with the one we've got and we're moving ahead with planning our early retirement.
Thanks crazy ladies with your black market Clomid; you just made my life a whole lot less stressful.
Monday, March 23, 2009
This is Too Good Not to Share
I got a note from my daughter today - a note in which she was very displeased with me.
But first, a little background.
Waaaayyyy back in January, I pre-ordered the Twilight movie from Borders. While it shipped on Friday of last week, the FedEx website reports that it will not arrive on our doorstep until the 27th. Of course, the kid is freaking out over that.
In an effort to make it up to her, I offered to rent it from iTunes, thinking we could cozy up in bed and watch it together tonite on my newly repaired computer. This is where things got ugly.
I've never rented a movie from iTunes before, so I guess I was unprepared for the amount of time it can take to download it. We are currently at T-6 hours and counting. The kid is not very happy about it.
An argument ensued in which I became so frustrated that I did something I usually avoid at all costs. I called her a name, albeit a little bit indirectly. In fact, what I said was, "you are acting like such an ungreatful brat. All I did was try to do something nice for you, and you're acting like it's my fault that it takes some time to download it. Do you think I'm controlling iTunes Sydnie? Do you???"
It is a rarity that I ever say anything mean to the kid. In fact, for the most part, we have a pretty great relationship. And now I'm beating myself up for the possible emotional trauma I've caused her. Next thing you know, we'll be on Dr. Phil.
Anyway, she storms to her room and very quietly closes the door. The next thing I know, she comes back in our room with a smirk on her face and a note in her hand. This is what it says:
"I dis liked that you called me an ungreatful little brat I can see why you are upset with me but, like you say to me is there a better way you have said it? Please write back! - Ungrateful brat Sydnie!"
Sadly, all I could do was laugh at the note. And laugh I did - only because she sounds so much like me that it is absolutely frightening.
We've patched things up, but this note was too good not to share.
But first, a little background.
Waaaayyyy back in January, I pre-ordered the Twilight movie from Borders. While it shipped on Friday of last week, the FedEx website reports that it will not arrive on our doorstep until the 27th. Of course, the kid is freaking out over that.
In an effort to make it up to her, I offered to rent it from iTunes, thinking we could cozy up in bed and watch it together tonite on my newly repaired computer. This is where things got ugly.
I've never rented a movie from iTunes before, so I guess I was unprepared for the amount of time it can take to download it. We are currently at T-6 hours and counting. The kid is not very happy about it.
An argument ensued in which I became so frustrated that I did something I usually avoid at all costs. I called her a name, albeit a little bit indirectly. In fact, what I said was, "you are acting like such an ungreatful brat. All I did was try to do something nice for you, and you're acting like it's my fault that it takes some time to download it. Do you think I'm controlling iTunes Sydnie? Do you???"
It is a rarity that I ever say anything mean to the kid. In fact, for the most part, we have a pretty great relationship. And now I'm beating myself up for the possible emotional trauma I've caused her. Next thing you know, we'll be on Dr. Phil.
Anyway, she storms to her room and very quietly closes the door. The next thing I know, she comes back in our room with a smirk on her face and a note in her hand. This is what it says:
"I dis liked that you called me an ungreatful little brat I can see why you are upset with me but, like you say to me is there a better way you have said it? Please write back! - Ungrateful brat Sydnie!"
Sadly, all I could do was laugh at the note. And laugh I did - only because she sounds so much like me that it is absolutely frightening.
We've patched things up, but this note was too good not to share.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Toddlers and Tiaras :: This is NOT a Good Thing
Have you seen this show? TLC's Toddlers and Tiaras?This show is absolutely disgusting. Unbelievable. Does this look like the face of a happy child?
During the course of the show I watched her mother berate her, force her to get a spray tan, force her to wear makeup, and coach her through an entire routine designed to "flirt."
Here's what else I observed:
Every stage mom is fat - many are bordering on obese. Which makes me question why the eff they have any business telling their daughters that "they look a little pudgy," or asking "if they ate any cookies today." Are you kidding me?
Then we've got the mom who's sobbing - not because her kid won, but because he's just done his last pageant and he won't be competing anymore.
These women are nuts. And not nuts like a little Paxil is going to cure them. These women need some to shake them and be like, "Woman! You're an effing train wreck! Get your shit together you bitch and stop making your pre-pubescent kid more self-conscious than she's already going to grow up to be!"
Then they need to be kicked or something.
Seriously. This is infuriating. As if our poor girls don't have enough to worry about. How about we dress them up like little china dolls, stand in the audience prompting them to shake their asses and "flirt," and then, when they don't win a crown tell them, "well, you didn't deserve to win - your routine was off."
By the way, there is nothing more disgusting than a really obese woman in a tight shirt jumping up and down and coaching her kid to "shake it." I'm all about embracing your body, but you've got to know your limitations - really.
Here's what I actually find funny about this though. These women are willingly on this show, justifying their behavior, and thinking that America actually agrees with them. When all most people are doing is sitting around laughing at what a bunch of effing idiots they are.
But, that's entertainment in America, right?
Oh, and what's really sad? That the little girl at the top of this post is actually a really beautiful little girl - without any makeup. However, due to her mother's great guidance and wonderful example, she was sure she would win because, as she said, "I'm prettier than the other girls here."
Photos Courtesy of TLC.discovery.comSaturday, March 14, 2009
How Facebook Is Ruining My Life
It's pretty simple. It's a total time-suck.
I spend so much time on Facebook that I rarely get anything accomplished anymore.
And if I'm not at my computer on FB, I'm using it from my CrackBerry.
Combine that with my Twitter addiction and it's over. Someone call the doctor because I need to be committed. Seriously.
But it's ruining my life for other reasons as well. For example, I'm catching up with old classmates, which isn't a terrible thing at all. But I look at some of them - particularly those still living in the town that I'm from - who are driving mini-vans and coaching soccer and attending church every Sunday.....and I can't help but wonder, is that what would have become of me had I stayed?
Then of course, my imagination runs wild with all the, "what if's."
I start panicking about our upcoming reunion. I'm almost afraid to go lest I make a total ass out of myself with my potty mouth and liberal opinions about gay marriage and having babies out of wedlock.......
See, it's started again. Now I've just wasted another 30 minutes. Dammit Facebook!
I spend so much time on Facebook that I rarely get anything accomplished anymore.
And if I'm not at my computer on FB, I'm using it from my CrackBerry.
Combine that with my Twitter addiction and it's over. Someone call the doctor because I need to be committed. Seriously.
But it's ruining my life for other reasons as well. For example, I'm catching up with old classmates, which isn't a terrible thing at all. But I look at some of them - particularly those still living in the town that I'm from - who are driving mini-vans and coaching soccer and attending church every Sunday.....and I can't help but wonder, is that what would have become of me had I stayed?
Then of course, my imagination runs wild with all the, "what if's."
I start panicking about our upcoming reunion. I'm almost afraid to go lest I make a total ass out of myself with my potty mouth and liberal opinions about gay marriage and having babies out of wedlock.......
See, it's started again. Now I've just wasted another 30 minutes. Dammit Facebook!
Not Everyone Appreciates My Sense of Humor
So we all know that I write for a living, yes?
And we also all know that my sense of humor can be slightly off-color, snarky, and wholly inappropriate. In fact, I regularly offend people, like those in Sanford.
Now, it's not secret that I write for a couple of big companies that have legal departments with the ability to pull the plug on any article I come up with; so for the most part, I try to be pretty good about what I say, and I typically keep it pretty clean.
So imagine my surprise when I got something sent back to me yesterday, covered in strike-throughs. What was the offending statement you might wonder?
Something about how the maxi-dress style can often make you look like a beached whale if you're not careful when you wear it; or, for example, if you're short like me.
What I want to know is, how is that offensive? It's totally true. I mean, find any short chic and throw her in maxi-dress and see how it turns out. I'm telling ya right now, she's not looking like Angelia Jolie. There are girls out there making bazillions of dollars being bitchy and snarky - for example, Ms. Jen Lancaster.
Not that I'm funny like her, but still, I'm trying to make a point here.
And we also all know that my sense of humor can be slightly off-color, snarky, and wholly inappropriate. In fact, I regularly offend people, like those in Sanford.
Now, it's not secret that I write for a couple of big companies that have legal departments with the ability to pull the plug on any article I come up with; so for the most part, I try to be pretty good about what I say, and I typically keep it pretty clean.
So imagine my surprise when I got something sent back to me yesterday, covered in strike-throughs. What was the offending statement you might wonder?
Something about how the maxi-dress style can often make you look like a beached whale if you're not careful when you wear it; or, for example, if you're short like me.
What I want to know is, how is that offensive? It's totally true. I mean, find any short chic and throw her in maxi-dress and see how it turns out. I'm telling ya right now, she's not looking like Angelia Jolie. There are girls out there making bazillions of dollars being bitchy and snarky - for example, Ms. Jen Lancaster.
Not that I'm funny like her, but still, I'm trying to make a point here.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
If We Both Come Out Alive, It Will Be a Miracle
I am not allowed to drive the truck that sits in our driveway - that's his truck. Just because of some little dent I put in his old truck, he claims that I am far too reckless and irresponsible to drive the new truck. Apparently it doesn't matter that my name is on the loan.
Why is this important? Read on.
I drive a 1998 VW Wagon. And I love my car, don't get me wrong. But indeed, it is possessed by electrical demons, just like all other VW's out there. My sunroof opens for no reason, you actually have to turn the radio UP, to get the volume to go down....you know, just little electrical demons. And primarily, I am the only one that drives it, so it doesn't really matter because I'm used to such things and I handle them accordingly. For example, when it's raining out, I don't roll anything down or open anything up, just in case it decides to not cooperate later on.
A few days ago, the boy asked if he could drive my car. Initially I told him "no," because he always smokes in my car, and then lies about it. It doesn't matter that I find ashes along the window, or that the car smells like smoke, he really doesn't smoke in it. Whatever.
I finally relented because I was too lazy to go out in the pouring rain to move my car so he could get out. I told him not to smoke in the car or I would do something equally evil to his truck.
A few hours later I hear him come in, swearing to high heaven. I am in my office and completely ignore him because that's what I do best. Then I hear him get on the phone and the words, "well, when could you repair it?" come out of his mouth.
As I look out the window, I see a towel draped over the driver's window.
Me: What the hell happened to my car?
Him: Um, the window broke.
Me: How?
Him: Well, I had the window down a little bit and then it got stuck and when I tried to pull it up it shattered.
Me: It's raining. Why was the window down?
Of course, no response.
Me: Were you smoking in the car?
Him: No. Of course not.
Me: Then why was the window down?
Him: Shh! I'm on the phone.
When he finally finds a place to replace the window, he leaves again and I don't offer to follow him and bring him home. After all, I'm not allowed to drive the truck and I'm certainly not driving my car in the pouring rain without a window. When he comes home, he's even more angry.
Me: What now?
Him: The driver's door is stuck shut.
Me: How the eff does this shit happen to you?
Him: Well, when they replaced the window, they messed something up with the power locks and now the door is locked shut.
So, again, I tell him this is his to deal with. He calls the mechanic he likes and schedules an appointment - 3 days later. For 3 days, I am forced to climb over the stick shift and the emergency break to get in and out of my car. Finally, yesterday, the car went in to get fixed.
When he drops me off to pick it up, I open the drivers door - so far so good. It's freezing and all the windows are rolled down, so I push the button on my door to roll them all up. Nothing happens.
Me: Excuse me, do my windows not work?
The Mechanic: Um, well, not from the driver's door they don't. But each person can roll their window up or down on their own door.
Huh. Ok, so then I notice that, although I'm sitting in the car and three doors are unlocked, the driver's door lock is down. I push the button to unlock it, nothing happens.
Me: Excuse me, does my door lock not work?
The Mechanic: Ah, geez, well, yeah. It's definitely not locking. But all the other doors lock.
Me: OK, but what good does that do me if one door doesn't lock at all?
The Mechanic: Well the good thing is that, since it's stuck down, it looks locked, so chances are, no one is going to try to open it.
WTF?!?
After driving home, I came in the house, took his keys, and left with the kid. Then we went to McDonald's and got french fries and chocolate milk shakes. I told her to sit in the back seat of the truck and to make sure she got plenty of food stuck in the crevices. I pushed all the buttons and gadgets to make sure his seat position was all messed up and I deleted all of his radio stations.
Petty? Sure. Is he pissed at me? You bet. And just like a good woman, I reminded him that, if he hadn't smoked in the car in the first place, this entire chain of events would not have occurred.
I'm pretty sure he's mentally willing me to step in front of a bus.
Why is this important? Read on.
I drive a 1998 VW Wagon. And I love my car, don't get me wrong. But indeed, it is possessed by electrical demons, just like all other VW's out there. My sunroof opens for no reason, you actually have to turn the radio UP, to get the volume to go down....you know, just little electrical demons. And primarily, I am the only one that drives it, so it doesn't really matter because I'm used to such things and I handle them accordingly. For example, when it's raining out, I don't roll anything down or open anything up, just in case it decides to not cooperate later on.
A few days ago, the boy asked if he could drive my car. Initially I told him "no," because he always smokes in my car, and then lies about it. It doesn't matter that I find ashes along the window, or that the car smells like smoke, he really doesn't smoke in it. Whatever.
I finally relented because I was too lazy to go out in the pouring rain to move my car so he could get out. I told him not to smoke in the car or I would do something equally evil to his truck.
A few hours later I hear him come in, swearing to high heaven. I am in my office and completely ignore him because that's what I do best. Then I hear him get on the phone and the words, "well, when could you repair it?" come out of his mouth.
As I look out the window, I see a towel draped over the driver's window.
Me: What the hell happened to my car?
Him: Um, the window broke.
Me: How?
Him: Well, I had the window down a little bit and then it got stuck and when I tried to pull it up it shattered.
Me: It's raining. Why was the window down?
Of course, no response.
Me: Were you smoking in the car?
Him: No. Of course not.
Me: Then why was the window down?
Him: Shh! I'm on the phone.
When he finally finds a place to replace the window, he leaves again and I don't offer to follow him and bring him home. After all, I'm not allowed to drive the truck and I'm certainly not driving my car in the pouring rain without a window. When he comes home, he's even more angry.
Me: What now?
Him: The driver's door is stuck shut.
Me: How the eff does this shit happen to you?
Him: Well, when they replaced the window, they messed something up with the power locks and now the door is locked shut.
So, again, I tell him this is his to deal with. He calls the mechanic he likes and schedules an appointment - 3 days later. For 3 days, I am forced to climb over the stick shift and the emergency break to get in and out of my car. Finally, yesterday, the car went in to get fixed.
When he drops me off to pick it up, I open the drivers door - so far so good. It's freezing and all the windows are rolled down, so I push the button on my door to roll them all up. Nothing happens.
Me: Excuse me, do my windows not work?
The Mechanic: Um, well, not from the driver's door they don't. But each person can roll their window up or down on their own door.
Huh. Ok, so then I notice that, although I'm sitting in the car and three doors are unlocked, the driver's door lock is down. I push the button to unlock it, nothing happens.
Me: Excuse me, does my door lock not work?
The Mechanic: Ah, geez, well, yeah. It's definitely not locking. But all the other doors lock.
Me: OK, but what good does that do me if one door doesn't lock at all?
The Mechanic: Well the good thing is that, since it's stuck down, it looks locked, so chances are, no one is going to try to open it.
WTF?!?
After driving home, I came in the house, took his keys, and left with the kid. Then we went to McDonald's and got french fries and chocolate milk shakes. I told her to sit in the back seat of the truck and to make sure she got plenty of food stuck in the crevices. I pushed all the buttons and gadgets to make sure his seat position was all messed up and I deleted all of his radio stations.
Petty? Sure. Is he pissed at me? You bet. And just like a good woman, I reminded him that, if he hadn't smoked in the car in the first place, this entire chain of events would not have occurred.
I'm pretty sure he's mentally willing me to step in front of a bus.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Why I Don't Grocery Shop with The Boy
I have a lot of friends that refuse to shop with their other half, simply because there is always an argument at the store. Whether it's over what to buy, how much they're spending, or just what section of the store to start in (produce or dairy), they've all got a story.
I, on the other hand, don't mind shopping with the boy. Sure he usually tries to sneak Yodel's in the cart, and he often begs for crap like Cocoa Puffs, it's not a bad trip.
Until today.
After we got all hopped up on Starbucks, we headed to the local Hannaford. After navigating the aisles and loading up the conveyor belt, I stood in line to pay while he ran outside to grab the car. I go outside and he hops out to help load the bags in the car. We make quick work of it and I go return the cart.
When I come back outside, the car is gone.
I scan the parking lot and realize that he's all the way at the other end of the parking lot, near the actual entrance, with his blinker on to leave. I start to jog down the sidewalk, thinking he's stopped to wait for me, and calling him an asshole the whole way.
Then I notice that the car is moving, but not in my direction.
It was then that I realized he was leaving without me.
I was just getting ready to call him when I saw the reverse lights pop up. I climb back in the car and slam the door shut.
Me: Oh, you're really funny.....asshole.
Him: *nervous chuckle*
Me: What's so funny? Were you trying to be funny?
Him: No.
Me: What the hell were you doing then?
Him: Driving home.
Me: Without me?!?
Him: I didn't realize you weren't in the car.
I'm speechless, but sadly, not surprised.
I, on the other hand, don't mind shopping with the boy. Sure he usually tries to sneak Yodel's in the cart, and he often begs for crap like Cocoa Puffs, it's not a bad trip.
Until today.
After we got all hopped up on Starbucks, we headed to the local Hannaford. After navigating the aisles and loading up the conveyor belt, I stood in line to pay while he ran outside to grab the car. I go outside and he hops out to help load the bags in the car. We make quick work of it and I go return the cart.
When I come back outside, the car is gone.
I scan the parking lot and realize that he's all the way at the other end of the parking lot, near the actual entrance, with his blinker on to leave. I start to jog down the sidewalk, thinking he's stopped to wait for me, and calling him an asshole the whole way.
Then I notice that the car is moving, but not in my direction.
It was then that I realized he was leaving without me.
I was just getting ready to call him when I saw the reverse lights pop up. I climb back in the car and slam the door shut.
Me: Oh, you're really funny.....asshole.
Him: *nervous chuckle*
Me: What's so funny? Were you trying to be funny?
Him: No.
Me: What the hell were you doing then?
Him: Driving home.
Me: Without me?!?
Him: I didn't realize you weren't in the car.
I'm speechless, but sadly, not surprised.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Conversations with The Kid
Me: I'm impressed with your recent willingness to try new foods.
The Kid: Yeah, those wraps were pretty good - but don't buy other ones.
Me: Why not?
The Kid: Those are the only kind I like.
Me: Well, that's not a bad thing, they have lots of good Omega-3's in them. You know, fatty acids are good for you.
The Kid: What?!?
Me: Fatty acids are good for you.
The Kid: How on Earth are Fatty Asses good for you? That's gross mom.
The Kid: Yeah, those wraps were pretty good - but don't buy other ones.
Me: Why not?
The Kid: Those are the only kind I like.
Me: Well, that's not a bad thing, they have lots of good Omega-3's in them. You know, fatty acids are good for you.
The Kid: What?!?
Me: Fatty acids are good for you.
The Kid: How on Earth are Fatty Asses good for you? That's gross mom.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Top 10 Reasons I Haven't Been Blogging
Clearly, I've been out of the loop for a while - roughly 6 weeks to be exact. But really, there's been good reason:
1. I've been really busy. Like, working crazy amounts of hours, and by the time I'm done, I have nothing left to give my little blog.
2. I have a dog that's been getting me up at 4:30 to use the bathroom; at the end of the day, I'm simply exhausted.
3. I've been trying to avoid the house. The boy is home now, except for when it snows (which is much less in February), and the more time I spend cooped up with him, the more I want to cause him serious bodily harm.
4. Did I mention I've been working a lot?
5. And spending a ton of time on Facebook.
6. And Twitter.
7. The only really funny stuff that's happened involve the boy, and he's been pretty adamant that I leave him out of this.
8. I've become addicted to Mario Kart.
9. And realized that I sucked so I need to practice a lot.
10. I hate the month of February and am always in a bad mood the entire month.
So, overall, the excuses really aren't good. And I know that I need to either cut-off the blog, or spend a little more time with it. So, I'll try to be better, and spend a little more time blogging, a little less time playing Wii, and a lot less time trying to figure out how to magically make the boy disappear until April.
1. I've been really busy. Like, working crazy amounts of hours, and by the time I'm done, I have nothing left to give my little blog.
2. I have a dog that's been getting me up at 4:30 to use the bathroom; at the end of the day, I'm simply exhausted.
3. I've been trying to avoid the house. The boy is home now, except for when it snows (which is much less in February), and the more time I spend cooped up with him, the more I want to cause him serious bodily harm.
4. Did I mention I've been working a lot?
5. And spending a ton of time on Facebook.
6. And Twitter.
7. The only really funny stuff that's happened involve the boy, and he's been pretty adamant that I leave him out of this.
8. I've become addicted to Mario Kart.
9. And realized that I sucked so I need to practice a lot.
10. I hate the month of February and am always in a bad mood the entire month.
So, overall, the excuses really aren't good. And I know that I need to either cut-off the blog, or spend a little more time with it. So, I'll try to be better, and spend a little more time blogging, a little less time playing Wii, and a lot less time trying to figure out how to magically make the boy disappear until April.
Monday, January 12, 2009
This Goes Out to All Those Hunting Widows......
Some of my friends are "hunting widows." And while their husbands are out hunting, they piss and moan about how they're home all by themselves.
WTF? Are you kidding me?
How long is hunting season? A month? Maybe 6 weeks?
Here's the deal. Embrace it. Sit your ass on the couch in your underwear and watch endless seasons of old 90's sitcoms like the original 90210 or TIVO soap operas and enjoy the drama. Give the kids a little Dramamine and pour yourself a glass of wine. For Christ's Sake, ENJOY IT!!
But please, stop bitching about it. And here's why.
Because I can't take it. See, I'm a "snow widow." My season lasts 6 months because I live in Maine. While your husband is out slaughtering food to throw on your table, mine is out plowing everyone else's driveway and hoping his clients will pay the invoices, while I snow blow ours. And let's not forget about the roof rake, shall we?
So please, please don't bitch about being a hunting widow. Of course, unless you're a vegetarian and having a dead animal hanging in your garage grosses you out. Then you're entitled.
WTF? Are you kidding me?
How long is hunting season? A month? Maybe 6 weeks?
Here's the deal. Embrace it. Sit your ass on the couch in your underwear and watch endless seasons of old 90's sitcoms like the original 90210 or TIVO soap operas and enjoy the drama. Give the kids a little Dramamine and pour yourself a glass of wine. For Christ's Sake, ENJOY IT!!
But please, stop bitching about it. And here's why.
Because I can't take it. See, I'm a "snow widow." My season lasts 6 months because I live in Maine. While your husband is out slaughtering food to throw on your table, mine is out plowing everyone else's driveway and hoping his clients will pay the invoices, while I snow blow ours. And let's not forget about the roof rake, shall we?
So please, please don't bitch about being a hunting widow. Of course, unless you're a vegetarian and having a dead animal hanging in your garage grosses you out. Then you're entitled.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Happy New Year - A Little Bit Late.....
The beginning of my New Year has been hectic and crazy. Even though I've gotten a ton done, I feel like I've gotten nothing done; it's frustrating.
So how about you? Anything exciting? Did you get what you wanted for Christmas? Did you paint the town red on New Year's Eve?
I spent much of the week between Christmas and New Year's playing my new Wii Fit. I'm a big fan of the hula-hooping. And I'm pretty effing awesome at it too. Though I'm sure that I look absolutely ridiculous swinging my hips around.
New Year's Eve we were invited to a party - two hours before it started - and had to decline. Sometimes I wonder why babysitter issues never occur to people who have no children. So, it was a 6-hour Disney marathon and an amped up kid poking me to open my eyes as the ball dropped at midnight. Truly, it's pretty pathetic.
On the bright side, the boy finally (after much nagging from the kid) decided to teach her how to ice skate. I was thoroughly impressed. He took her out, got her fitted for skates, and took her to the pond, all in the same day. The next day, they took me with them, and the sight of them whizzing around the pond and laughing together was enough to make my breath catch in my throat.
I've been waiting a really long time to see them find some common ground. Then, when she took a spill, he was by her side brushing her off before I could even comprehend what had happened.
I know that I spend a lot of time picking on him when I write this blog, but I've got to be honest: I couldn't have ended up with a better man in my life.
I'm going to sign off before I start getting all weepy and shit.
So how about you? Anything exciting? Did you get what you wanted for Christmas? Did you paint the town red on New Year's Eve?
I spent much of the week between Christmas and New Year's playing my new Wii Fit. I'm a big fan of the hula-hooping. And I'm pretty effing awesome at it too. Though I'm sure that I look absolutely ridiculous swinging my hips around.
New Year's Eve we were invited to a party - two hours before it started - and had to decline. Sometimes I wonder why babysitter issues never occur to people who have no children. So, it was a 6-hour Disney marathon and an amped up kid poking me to open my eyes as the ball dropped at midnight. Truly, it's pretty pathetic.
On the bright side, the boy finally (after much nagging from the kid) decided to teach her how to ice skate. I was thoroughly impressed. He took her out, got her fitted for skates, and took her to the pond, all in the same day. The next day, they took me with them, and the sight of them whizzing around the pond and laughing together was enough to make my breath catch in my throat.
I've been waiting a really long time to see them find some common ground. Then, when she took a spill, he was by her side brushing her off before I could even comprehend what had happened.
I know that I spend a lot of time picking on him when I write this blog, but I've got to be honest: I couldn't have ended up with a better man in my life.
I'm going to sign off before I start getting all weepy and shit.
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