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?
Showing posts with label life with the boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life with the boy. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
My Whiney Ass Can't Stop Complaining.
I got this really hair-brained idea lately that I should start keeping a gratitude journal. Nothing fancy, just a few notes every morning about the things in my life that I'm grateful for. The purpose of the exercise was to try and pep me up. Make me a happy gal. Get me out of my funk.
Now, maybe I'm a little sick and twisted, but the shit I'm thankful for is really pretty lame. And when I'm writing down the teeny little stuff that I'm thankful for (that the boy shoveled the driveway before he left for work), I'm thinking about all the really big shit that I'm pissed about (that he waited until the last possible second to try to buy the shoes I asked him for as a Christmas gift and now he can't find them so I'll be the only person at home without anything to open). I realize in the grand scheme of things that this last sentence makes me a) incredibly shallow and b) sound really dumb for complaining about shoes when there's all sorts of people starving in the world.
But here's the deal. I'm not so much pissed about the fact that I won't have a gift under the tree to open, I'm more pissed about the fact that he waits until the last possible minute to do anything. Therefore, most of everything falls in my lap. I'm finding it difficult to turn that into something I'm grateful for in my little gratitude journal.
Other things I'm not grateful for :: all this effing snow, the fact that infertility testing involves the boy sperminating (Sarah's word) in a plastic cup which he's mad at me about, that tomorrow will probably be a snow day which means I'll spend the whole day explaining that "no I can't entertain you right now because I have work to do," to a child that just doesn't get that the world does not revolve around her 24/7. I'm not grateful that it's so effing cold, nor am I grateful for the fact that our firewood supplier screwed us out of 2 cords and $400; I hope he has a shitty holiday. Oh, and I'm also really not grateful that I totally lack willpower and I inhaled almost an entire 9x9 pan of brownies today - for breakfast.
So, what am I grateful for? I'm grateful for my job - I love the fact that I get paid to sit home and write every single day. I'm grateful that I had most of my holiday shopping done way ahead of time and that I have a snowblower and I'm not afraid to use it. I'm grateful that my daughter gave up her crusade to keep us from running the dishwasher because I couldn't take one more sinkful of dirty dishes. And mostly, I'm grateful for the fact that even though it's really effing cold out, it's pretty darn purty looking.
Ok, so I'm not a total grinch. And now I'm going to sign off, go put my feet up by the fire, knit some more, drink a big fat glass of Pinot, and finish watching The Wizard of Oz with the kid.
Happy Holidays!
Now, maybe I'm a little sick and twisted, but the shit I'm thankful for is really pretty lame. And when I'm writing down the teeny little stuff that I'm thankful for (that the boy shoveled the driveway before he left for work), I'm thinking about all the really big shit that I'm pissed about (that he waited until the last possible second to try to buy the shoes I asked him for as a Christmas gift and now he can't find them so I'll be the only person at home without anything to open). I realize in the grand scheme of things that this last sentence makes me a) incredibly shallow and b) sound really dumb for complaining about shoes when there's all sorts of people starving in the world.
But here's the deal. I'm not so much pissed about the fact that I won't have a gift under the tree to open, I'm more pissed about the fact that he waits until the last possible minute to do anything. Therefore, most of everything falls in my lap. I'm finding it difficult to turn that into something I'm grateful for in my little gratitude journal.
Other things I'm not grateful for :: all this effing snow, the fact that infertility testing involves the boy sperminating (Sarah's word) in a plastic cup which he's mad at me about, that tomorrow will probably be a snow day which means I'll spend the whole day explaining that "no I can't entertain you right now because I have work to do," to a child that just doesn't get that the world does not revolve around her 24/7. I'm not grateful that it's so effing cold, nor am I grateful for the fact that our firewood supplier screwed us out of 2 cords and $400; I hope he has a shitty holiday. Oh, and I'm also really not grateful that I totally lack willpower and I inhaled almost an entire 9x9 pan of brownies today - for breakfast.
So, what am I grateful for? I'm grateful for my job - I love the fact that I get paid to sit home and write every single day. I'm grateful that I had most of my holiday shopping done way ahead of time and that I have a snowblower and I'm not afraid to use it. I'm grateful that my daughter gave up her crusade to keep us from running the dishwasher because I couldn't take one more sinkful of dirty dishes. And mostly, I'm grateful for the fact that even though it's really effing cold out, it's pretty darn purty looking.
Ok, so I'm not a total grinch. And now I'm going to sign off, go put my feet up by the fire, knit some more, drink a big fat glass of Pinot, and finish watching The Wizard of Oz with the kid.
Happy Holidays!
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Guitar Hero Corrupted Me
One thing I love most about the boy is his predictability in most situations. For example, you can count on the fact that if the cat is crying to get fed in the morning, he'll tell her to shut-up on his way to the coffee pot, instead of just feeding her.
Or, if he comes home from work and he's grouchy, you can make fun of him and he'll actually laugh at how stupid he's acting. You can always count on the fact that he will not take the initiative to plan a romantic weekend away, or even get his mom to babysit so we can go to a movie.
Now, he wasn't always this way. He used to be highly unpredictable, which drove me kind of crazy, and there were many arguments about his erratic moods, so in some respects I only have myself to blame for the way he is now; he has become predictable as a defense mechanism.
So imagine my surprise yesterday, when he called me at 11:30 to see if he could take me out to lunch.
Typically, this would thrill me. A mid-week, mid-day date. However, when he called, I was still in my pink polka-dot pajamas, UGGS, and winter hat that I had done car pool in 3 hours earlier. Why was I not showered or dressed?
Um, I was playing Guitar Hero.
Yes, it's true. When he called I was actually working, but for the 2 hours before that, I had been a bona fide rock star. Strumming the notes of Joan Jet, Blink 182, and No Doubt while the dogs howled and barked like a perfect audience.
So, did I fess up? Hell no. I had 20 minutes to get presentable. I absolutely ran through this house, shedding pajamas, kicking off UGGS, and throwing on the first clothes I could find that weren't wrinkled. Which were not necessarily the cutest clothes I own, but they were acceptable.
By the time he pulled in to the driveway, I was not showered, but dressed, with my teeth brushed and make-up on. He even commented on how cute I looked. And of course, I pecked him on the cheek and said, "why thanks honey, you're looking pretty dapper yourself."
He was none the wiser and I didn't have to admit that I had wasted my morning playing a video game. It was the perfect beginning to a perfectly unpredictable mid-day lunch date.
Or, if he comes home from work and he's grouchy, you can make fun of him and he'll actually laugh at how stupid he's acting. You can always count on the fact that he will not take the initiative to plan a romantic weekend away, or even get his mom to babysit so we can go to a movie.
Now, he wasn't always this way. He used to be highly unpredictable, which drove me kind of crazy, and there were many arguments about his erratic moods, so in some respects I only have myself to blame for the way he is now; he has become predictable as a defense mechanism.
So imagine my surprise yesterday, when he called me at 11:30 to see if he could take me out to lunch.
Typically, this would thrill me. A mid-week, mid-day date. However, when he called, I was still in my pink polka-dot pajamas, UGGS, and winter hat that I had done car pool in 3 hours earlier. Why was I not showered or dressed?
Um, I was playing Guitar Hero.
Yes, it's true. When he called I was actually working, but for the 2 hours before that, I had been a bona fide rock star. Strumming the notes of Joan Jet, Blink 182, and No Doubt while the dogs howled and barked like a perfect audience.
So, did I fess up? Hell no. I had 20 minutes to get presentable. I absolutely ran through this house, shedding pajamas, kicking off UGGS, and throwing on the first clothes I could find that weren't wrinkled. Which were not necessarily the cutest clothes I own, but they were acceptable.
By the time he pulled in to the driveway, I was not showered, but dressed, with my teeth brushed and make-up on. He even commented on how cute I looked. And of course, I pecked him on the cheek and said, "why thanks honey, you're looking pretty dapper yourself."
He was none the wiser and I didn't have to admit that I had wasted my morning playing a video game. It was the perfect beginning to a perfectly unpredictable mid-day lunch date.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Playing Russian Roulette with Auntie Flo
I've noticed that since I've declared that I don't care if we ever get pregnant, the boy has suddenly become incredibly invested in things.It's sort of the same thing that happened when I was half-heartedly trying to plan a wedding and he kept putting things off; I finally came home and said, "I've decided I don't want to marry you. I've got the pretty ring, the house, the two dogs, the kid, and a decent tax bracket, why the hell do I need to be bound to you 'till death do us part?" Suddenly he was picking out colors and place settings.
This whole getting pregnant thing has almost become this 007-style mission for him. He maps ovulation cycles and when it's time, he becomes Barry White, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Of course, I can only laugh because he's about as far from Barry White (or romantic) as you could get.....but he tries.
Our months have become compartmentalized and we live on an ever moving roller coaster of emotions. Now, some of you have asked why we don't just adopt. And we've considered that. But when we look at the numbers, we ask ourselves, "should we really spend that much money to bring another child home when we could be investing it in the future of the perfectly perfect child we already have?" And our answer is always the same, "no."
So until we give up, or decide to throw college for the kid into the hands of fate, my months shape up like this:
Days 1-10 :: Waiting for Barry White to visit.
Days 10-15 :: Shagging shamlessly and reminiscing about what life was like when we were "just dating."
Days 15-27 :: Life is back to normal. But every now and again, I look out the front window and see Auntie Flo parked in her 1983 Lincoln Towncar. The window is cracked, and she looks comfortable out there, in her plush velour seats with her Virginia Slim dangling from her lips. She's staring at the house though, not a good sign.
Day 28 :: Even though I'm not counting days, I know when day 28 arrives. I'm not productive on these days because Auntie Flo is usually not late for the party, but sometimes she gets sidetracked at someone else's house. When she doesn't show up, I secretly smile and go back to praying.
Day 29 :: Sometimes, there's still no Auntie Flo. Maybe she got in a car wreck. Don't know, don't care. I shadow box in front of the calendar, taunting her. "Whatcha got, huh? You think you can take me? I don't think so!" I'm childish, I know. I repeat this exercise every day until I feel it's safe to open, "the cabinet."
Day T-0 :: On the rare months we get this far, this happens to be any day I feel confident. It could be Day 30, it could be Day 35. I open the cabinet and take out the sacred box. Carefully unwrapping that little package, like I'm Charlie and it's holding my Golden Ticket. I haven't seen Auntie Flo's Towncar out front lately, so I think it's safe.
But, of course, it never is. Before I can even get the packaging open, I hear the screeching of tires as she swings into the driveway. She doesn't even knock, she just bursts through the door, smoking her Virginia Slim, cackling like an old hen at a Friday night Bingo game, and waving a tiny little pistol.
"Sorry I'm late kid."
"Geez, you shouldn't have."
"Oh honey, you should know I'd never let you down." This bitch is sarcastic!
I smirk. "Listen, do what you need to, and get the hell out. Your ass is so not invited to Thanksgiving dinner."
**Auntie Flo's picture, courtesy of Daily Mail UK**
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Date Night
The boy and I ventured out on a date night this weekend - I know, amazing, isn't it? What was even more amazing was that, it was the first date night in a while where we didn't spend $150 between dinner and a babysitter because the kid had a sleepover party to go to. Yee Haw!!
So we went back to a local favorite of ours, The Frog and Turtle, so I could very unsexily gorge myself on poutine again. This time, I didn't even have the advantage of company to distract the boy, so he got to cringe every time I shoved a forkful in my mouth.
I jest, sort of. He wasn't cringing, but I'm sure watching me not so delicately scarf down gravy and cheese laden fries was definitely not sexy at all.
Anyway, our experience there this time was not quite what it was the others. The last time we were there, the restaurant was celebrating their 1 year anniversary - it seems they went hoity-toity the very next day.
When we arrived, we were asked if we had reservations. What?!? I don't think I've ever MADE reservations, anywhere. We were put in to a tiny little table for two that barely had enough room for our drinks, much less our dinner, our waiter looked like Werewolfe from X-Men, and he was so incredibly condescending that I wanted to slap him.
I ordered the Banana Squash soup (after he told me what a rare thing a banana squash is) along with a fruit and cheese plate. My cheese plate had 3 little pieces of cheese on it, really. All in total, their weight probably did not add up to 1 oz. And my fruit plate was actually a tiny little plate with "accouterments" on it.
After it was delivered, he stopped by to ask if anyone had even bothered to explain the cheese and accouterments to me. Really? Do you think I need someone to explain to me the history of this apple and raisin compote? Probably not.
By then, I was so annoyed that I started looking at everyone else in the place. And it was busy. The blond girl who was really quite cute, but who was so busy shoveling bread in her mouth that she couldn't talk to her date. And when she did, she'd shove the bread to one side so it looked like she had a face tumor or something. The other couple sitting next to them - at a table for six I might add, where the girl was very chic and the boy was wearing a baseball cap at the table. She spent their entire meal telling him which fork to use, how to sit, and when to eat - it was horrifying.
All in all, the date was good because we had a night out to ourselves. On the downside, I think that we're over the Frog and Turtle. Not because the food was bad, but because our waiter was way too obnoxious for me to ever want to return. Oh yeah, and he wore a pinkie ring, so I can throw in "bad taste" as well.
So we went back to a local favorite of ours, The Frog and Turtle, so I could very unsexily gorge myself on poutine again. This time, I didn't even have the advantage of company to distract the boy, so he got to cringe every time I shoved a forkful in my mouth.
I jest, sort of. He wasn't cringing, but I'm sure watching me not so delicately scarf down gravy and cheese laden fries was definitely not sexy at all.
Anyway, our experience there this time was not quite what it was the others. The last time we were there, the restaurant was celebrating their 1 year anniversary - it seems they went hoity-toity the very next day.
When we arrived, we were asked if we had reservations. What?!? I don't think I've ever MADE reservations, anywhere. We were put in to a tiny little table for two that barely had enough room for our drinks, much less our dinner, our waiter looked like Werewolfe from X-Men, and he was so incredibly condescending that I wanted to slap him.
I ordered the Banana Squash soup (after he told me what a rare thing a banana squash is) along with a fruit and cheese plate. My cheese plate had 3 little pieces of cheese on it, really. All in total, their weight probably did not add up to 1 oz. And my fruit plate was actually a tiny little plate with "accouterments" on it.
After it was delivered, he stopped by to ask if anyone had even bothered to explain the cheese and accouterments to me. Really? Do you think I need someone to explain to me the history of this apple and raisin compote? Probably not.
By then, I was so annoyed that I started looking at everyone else in the place. And it was busy. The blond girl who was really quite cute, but who was so busy shoveling bread in her mouth that she couldn't talk to her date. And when she did, she'd shove the bread to one side so it looked like she had a face tumor or something. The other couple sitting next to them - at a table for six I might add, where the girl was very chic and the boy was wearing a baseball cap at the table. She spent their entire meal telling him which fork to use, how to sit, and when to eat - it was horrifying.
All in all, the date was good because we had a night out to ourselves. On the downside, I think that we're over the Frog and Turtle. Not because the food was bad, but because our waiter was way too obnoxious for me to ever want to return. Oh yeah, and he wore a pinkie ring, so I can throw in "bad taste" as well.
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