Much like Christmas, I find the stress of Thanksgiving nearly unbearable....which is likely why I'm hiding out in my car in front of my in-laws instead of socializing like I should be.
And I have a serious case of PMS. This is shaping up to be a very fine day.
Hopefully, you enjoy yours.......
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Rising from the Dead with an Axe to Grind
I know, I know. It's been a while.
A long while in fact. And I just want you to know that I'm sorry.
But having an infant in the house keeps me hella-busy.
Anyway, the last time I wrote I was covered in baby shit and breast milk.
I'm happy to report that I am now only covered in baby shit. I am able to sleep through the night (for the most part). I am back to working thanks in large part to J, my blessed nanny.
Notice how I did not mention my wonderful someday spouse and all his help? There's a little story behind that. Let me fill you in.
I have been ill exactly 3 times in the last 9 months (in other words, since TOK has been born). 2 of those times, the SS got sick at the exact same time (convenient, isn't it). The other time, he left me home alone with the baby and carpool duty (which I completed successfully after pulling over twice to puke in front of the neighbor kids) so he could go to work. Hrmph.
Since these three occurrences, I have stopped giving him credit for anything. I'll begin giving him credit again when he begins pulling up his big-boy panties and stops his goddamn whining about having the flu. Because guess what? The baby is sick right now too whiney boy....and so am I. But I'm sucking snot out of her poor little nose, cleaning up diarrhea, working and entertaining her at the same time because the nanny has a kidney stone, AND I'm running to the store to buy your sorry ass ginger ale and chicken noodles soup. Pansy.
At any rate, this was the kick in the pants I needed to get back to blogging. You can now fully expect that I will continue to rant and fill your lives with snark, one day at a time.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Covered in Breast Milk and Baby Shit: The First Two Weeks
Once upon a time, I took a clean shirt for granted.
No longer is that the case, I can assure you.
After being home with The Other Kid for two weeks, I can honestly say that I don't even bother getting out of my pajamas unless I'm going somewhere really important - and by important I mean the pediatrician's office where you have to look put together or they might call DHHS and report you as unfit.
I also no longer take 60 seconds for granted. In 60 seconds, you can get a lot done. 60 seconds also happens to be just about the length of time between when you put TOK down and when she starts screaming her bloody head off because really, she just wants to be snuggled. These 60 second intervals allow me to brush my teeth, pour myself a cup of coffee and occasionally shove a bite of food in my mouth. Not all at the same time of course.
In two weeks I have learned that, until she stops nursing, I will be covered in spit-up breast milk (no matter how large the bib or burp cloth that is used) and there will always be a hint of yellow, seedy baby shit on my hands (no matter how many times I wash them). My skin will be dry and cracked because I wash my hands 537 times a day and I will consider myself lucky if I get to take a shower before lunch.
The most important lesson in these two weeks? With a newborn in the house (no matter how damn cute and snuggle-able) you can't afford to lose your sense of humor.
No longer is that the case, I can assure you.
After being home with The Other Kid for two weeks, I can honestly say that I don't even bother getting out of my pajamas unless I'm going somewhere really important - and by important I mean the pediatrician's office where you have to look put together or they might call DHHS and report you as unfit.
I also no longer take 60 seconds for granted. In 60 seconds, you can get a lot done. 60 seconds also happens to be just about the length of time between when you put TOK down and when she starts screaming her bloody head off because really, she just wants to be snuggled. These 60 second intervals allow me to brush my teeth, pour myself a cup of coffee and occasionally shove a bite of food in my mouth. Not all at the same time of course.
In two weeks I have learned that, until she stops nursing, I will be covered in spit-up breast milk (no matter how large the bib or burp cloth that is used) and there will always be a hint of yellow, seedy baby shit on my hands (no matter how many times I wash them). My skin will be dry and cracked because I wash my hands 537 times a day and I will consider myself lucky if I get to take a shower before lunch.
The most important lesson in these two weeks? With a newborn in the house (no matter how damn cute and snuggle-able) you can't afford to lose your sense of humor.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Why Saving a Buck is Not Always Worth It
I'm typically a loyal Hannaford shopper. Close to home and with reasonable prices, it's a no-brainer.
However, in an effort to save a buck, I made the executive decision that I would travel to the new Super Wal*Mart in Scarborough to get groceries this week. I was stocking up, not wanting to have to go to the grocery store for at least two weeks and thought the home of cheap would be a good idea. Especially on a Monday morning at 9am on the first day back to school and work for many people.
Clearly, I forgot about all the unemployed people also looking for a deal.
3 hours later, I pushed $250 worth of groceries out of the store. I'm happy to report that I did get a lot of groceries and will likely not have to go to the store (except maybe for milk) for the next two weeks. However, it was what I witnessed while I was there that has me so shaken (not stirred).
Upon entering the store, I saw a man (and a large man at that) perusing the aisles wearing a full-length black and white striped fur coat with a furry black fedora and reflective aviator sunglasses. Just pushing his cart along like it was not unusual in the least.....and again, when I say he was a BIG man, I mean BIG. And not like, fat big, but big, big - like hitting the gym on a very regular basis big. I chased him all over the store trying to get a picture of him to post but at the last second I chickened out. Even pregnant, I worried he'd snatch my phone and crush it like a bug.
Then, as I get to the check-out lane, I had yet another Wal*Mart-exclusive experience. The line was short and the woman ahead of me had two carts. Not full by any means and I just assumed that she was likely shopping for herself and an elderly parent or neighbor. After I was boxed in and had part of my cart up on the check-out belt, I realized this was not the case.
She had compartmentalized her items on the belt, complete with the little divider thingy, by what she really wanted - all the way down to what she could live without. On top of that, she had multiples of everything (window cleaner, sandwich baggies, avacados.....) After the first few sections, she asked the cashier to subtotal her order.
I'm still thinking that she's shopping for herself and someone else.
Then a few more sections go by and she asks for a subtotal again. Then we get down to subtotaling after each section.
She gets to the final section and all is good. She gives the cashier (who is trying really hard not to lose his patience) the go-ahead to ring through the last 15 or so items (including the window cleaner and avacados) and when the final tally is rung, she says, "oh, I must have mis-calculated. I can't afford to pay for all of this."
She then proceeds to have the cashier void the items, one at a time, until she's at a balance that she can afford to pay. She then pays with all small bills and change. And we're talking about close to $100 worth of stuff.
Now, I'm all about being on a budget. I am that person that walks through the grocery store with a calculator to make sure that I'm sticking to our alloted grocery amount. But I'm also person that buys the store brand whenever I can (or whenever it doesn't conflict with my favorite brands that I won't compromise on). This woman had no generic items in her cart, had all reusable bags from Whole Foods and was clearly not your typical bargain shopper.
Which is what made me so damn annoyed.
So, the moral of the story? Saving a buck is not always worth it.
However, in an effort to save a buck, I made the executive decision that I would travel to the new Super Wal*Mart in Scarborough to get groceries this week. I was stocking up, not wanting to have to go to the grocery store for at least two weeks and thought the home of cheap would be a good idea. Especially on a Monday morning at 9am on the first day back to school and work for many people.
Clearly, I forgot about all the unemployed people also looking for a deal.
3 hours later, I pushed $250 worth of groceries out of the store. I'm happy to report that I did get a lot of groceries and will likely not have to go to the store (except maybe for milk) for the next two weeks. However, it was what I witnessed while I was there that has me so shaken (not stirred).
Upon entering the store, I saw a man (and a large man at that) perusing the aisles wearing a full-length black and white striped fur coat with a furry black fedora and reflective aviator sunglasses. Just pushing his cart along like it was not unusual in the least.....and again, when I say he was a BIG man, I mean BIG. And not like, fat big, but big, big - like hitting the gym on a very regular basis big. I chased him all over the store trying to get a picture of him to post but at the last second I chickened out. Even pregnant, I worried he'd snatch my phone and crush it like a bug.
Then, as I get to the check-out lane, I had yet another Wal*Mart-exclusive experience. The line was short and the woman ahead of me had two carts. Not full by any means and I just assumed that she was likely shopping for herself and an elderly parent or neighbor. After I was boxed in and had part of my cart up on the check-out belt, I realized this was not the case.
She had compartmentalized her items on the belt, complete with the little divider thingy, by what she really wanted - all the way down to what she could live without. On top of that, she had multiples of everything (window cleaner, sandwich baggies, avacados.....) After the first few sections, she asked the cashier to subtotal her order.
I'm still thinking that she's shopping for herself and someone else.
Then a few more sections go by and she asks for a subtotal again. Then we get down to subtotaling after each section.
She gets to the final section and all is good. She gives the cashier (who is trying really hard not to lose his patience) the go-ahead to ring through the last 15 or so items (including the window cleaner and avacados) and when the final tally is rung, she says, "oh, I must have mis-calculated. I can't afford to pay for all of this."
She then proceeds to have the cashier void the items, one at a time, until she's at a balance that she can afford to pay. She then pays with all small bills and change. And we're talking about close to $100 worth of stuff.
Now, I'm all about being on a budget. I am that person that walks through the grocery store with a calculator to make sure that I'm sticking to our alloted grocery amount. But I'm also person that buys the store brand whenever I can (or whenever it doesn't conflict with my favorite brands that I won't compromise on). This woman had no generic items in her cart, had all reusable bags from Whole Foods and was clearly not your typical bargain shopper.
Which is what made me so damn annoyed.
So, the moral of the story? Saving a buck is not always worth it.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
8 Weeks and Counting
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?
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?
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.
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