Baby stuff

Here we are in December with only about three short months to go before a brand new person enters our household. The room that shall be hers is still the room that I am typing up this blog in. Read: Office/Computer/Bill Writing Room. We are still in need of a bigger house, but have put that on the back burner for the time being. There is just so much to do in our lives currently that we couldn't devote the time and energy needed when trying to pick a new domicile responsibly. Thus, we are here making it work. So we've got a new nursery set, new baby bedding, new baby clothes, and are acquiring other various new baby necessities and not so necessities. (Don't take the word 'New' too literally. It merely means new to us, not brandy spankin' new in most cases.) So this made me think of a few bits of baby wisdom and other things that I learned from the past 18 months with Little Guy.

Stuff that wasn't a necessity, but that I adore and am glad I had:
1. A video baby monitor. This was a present from T.G.'s parents and it was the most amazing thing ever. I could watch Little Guy while he slept and know he was breathing and safe. There is nothing like peace of mind when you have an infant. I still use it because I love it and he is a total monkey that I enjoy keeping an eye on to ensure his safety. Plus he has a tendency to wake up and put on a whole show with singing and dancing in his crib and it is better than anything they've got on TV.
2. A wipe warmer. Ok, this is not even close to a necessity, but we got it for free second-hand and there is nothing like putting a warm wipe on a baby's butt at 3AM as opposed to a freezing cold one that will make them all screamy and wakeful. Currently it is not plugged in and I use it only because it is heavy enough that when I pull a wipe out, even the very last wipe, the box stays put instead of coming along for the ride. Again, totally free, warm baby butt, stationary - this equals a win in my book.
3. A microwave bottle sterilizer. This is an amazing invention and I adore it. It's about ten times easier than boiling bottles and nuks and whatever else needs to be sterilized.

Stuff they told us at the hospital that was nonsense:
1. Don't use a wipe if the baby just pees. Um...right, and are all those nurses going to show up at my house in the middle of the night when the baby is sore from not having pee wiped off his skin? I thought not. This was terrible advice. I'm so glad I thought they were nitwits and did not follow it, as people I knew who did had constant rashes on their baby's undercarriages.

2. Don't use diaper lotion on the baby's bottom, or powder after a diaper change. Once again, these people are not going to show up at your house when your child develops a yeast infection around their little rear because they had nothing to protect them from chafing or moisture after a diaper change. It took me one rash to realize they were morons and to start using cream on Little Guy after he pooed. I found an all natural cream that worked great for him, and we've used it ever since with no problems. If I fail to put some cream on, he will begin to get red and sore within a few hours. Powder works too, but it is harder to control where it goes.

3. Stop breast feeding after ten minutes and put the baby on the other breast. Yeah. Right. And then your baby will only get the foremilk and become the Unhappy Hungry Crying Machine. Babies are actually born knowing how to breastfeed. It's amazing. Once I stopped doing the regimented hospital boob nazi version of breastfeeding and let him nurse until he felt he'd emptied the breast completely I had a happy full baby and a contented non-frantic self. I must give a giant shout out to my friend Nickel here because she bought me the La Leche book and without it I would have lost my mind. That book is invaluable if you are breastfeeding.

4. Give a sick, jaundiced baby in the NICU inoculations. Um, no. I shall not. I shall wait until said baby is better before clogging up his system with more stuff. It's not like I was running him all around town and visiting billions of people. I kept him home, I made sure everyone used soap and hand sanitizer, and I waited until he was better. Currently he is up to date on all shots, and I feel like we did the right thing, and that is all that matters. When you have a baby that almost dies and is given a drug to stop their immune system from functioning, you tend to be a bit protective. This is fine. You are the parent. It is your baby, you do what you need to do. Actually 'It is your baby, do what you need to do' is good advice for any parent. Nobody knows your baby like you do. Not everyone's methods, rules, and ideas will work for you. Find your own best way to do things. :)

Great advice I received:
1. If the baby's feet are warm, the baby is warm. Ice cold feet on a baby usually mean you don't have enough layers on them. A chilly rear really means they aren't warm enough.
2. If you give a baby assurance, love, and support you are not spoiling them.
3. Bland baby food is a waste of money, and unnecessary. Feed them what you are eating. Little Guy loves hot salsa, spicy Indian curry, and will try pretty much any type of food. We let him try things from our plates as soon as he showed interest in doing so.
4. Nuks are for naps and bedtime. This was genius advice. Not all kids are pacifier kids, but Little Guy is and he knows when the Nuk comes out it means sleep. This doesn't mean I'm totally inflexible. We use it for some other situations where he needs extra comfort, but he is not allowed to wander around the house mindlessly toting a Nuk in his face.
5. As I just sort of pointed out, don't be inflexible. Stuff will not always go to plan and that is ok. Just be the best parent you can be and love your child with all your heart and things will work out.
6. Make God a part of their life from the beginning. This was the all-time best advice ever. Thanks, mom. :)

Anyway, that is the stuff that is rolling around in my head right now. I'm sure I have a lot more to learn, and there are many people who could add so much to any of these lists. In fact, feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments if you want. I can always benefit from more mommy advice.

Blessings

I was just thinking of how blessed I am in my Christian friendships. My three closest friends encourage me, support me, hold me accountable, and love me. Isn't God so good in providing the right people in you life to help you along? We do not always agree and sometimes we have to say difficult things to one another through the love of Christ, but this makes us no less dear in the hearts of the others.
I am not a person who has a giant network of friends and acquaintances. It is more my style to have a few very close friends, and to feel complete in those friendships. This is the way the Lord fashioned me to be. For a long time I worried about it. Should I be more social? Should I join in with more outside groups of people? Was my lack of needing more outside social activities a sign of being unfriendly? Then I realized that it was ok to be peaceful and happy with the small circle I have because this is what God had planned for me. It isn't that I am not open to more friends, I have just come to understand that I do not need many 'sometimes social' friends, and that I am a person who bonds deeply with a few people. I'm sure that if God chooses to enlarge my circle He will do so in the time He finds suitable. He has always done so in the past.
So I no longer feel guilty about not being a 'joiner'. My calling just isn't social butterfly, not that there is anything wrong with social butterflies. I admire their open personalities and enthusiasm, but the world is made up of many kinds of people, and I am not that kind. Currently my focus is on the Lord, my own small and growing family, the dear friends I hold in my heart, and my duties as a wife and mother. I need nothing else to make me whole, and I am thankful to God for the quiet life He has chosen to make mine.

Potato Forgery

This shall be short as time is limited.
I was given mashed potatoes as my Thanksgiving bring along. Now, for whatever reason every single batch of mashed potatoes I make lately has been awful. They hate me. I can make desserts I can't pronounce, but I cannot seem to turn a simple spud into something eatable when mashed. Since my mom was so stressed and busy I didn't want to not help by doing the potatoes, and thus I asked if I might get Simply Potatoes and use those. She said that was fine and I merrily did so.
And honestly, they are so good. If you haven't tried them, you must. They're real potatoes and nothing weird and you truly and honestly would rather eat them than the ones I make from scratch, I can promise you that.
So I bought three containers and we served those and no one was the wiser...until...
My sister-in-law pointed out how good they were and complimented me on my great potatoes.
This is where it fell apart.
See, I felt all guilty as I had not actually done anything harder than going to Giant the week of Thanksgiving...but really...that's kind of a challenge, right? I mean, I was there longer than it would have taken me to make actual mashed potatoes, so it should count. I'm counting it.
Still...the guilt...I was all shameful and sad. Therefore I could not contain it and outed myself as a potato fraud. And then everyone knew the potatoes were a forgery and I am forever disgraced as a Thanksgiving Potato Counterfeiter. Clearly I shall never be given potato duty again. Although, in retrospect, that is probably a good thing.
Hm, perhaps the truth has set me free after all. :)

Day of Awesome Crib Findery and Bedding Delivery

Yesterday not only did my crib bedding arrive BUT we got the baby furniture problem solved.
You will never believe how.
Remember the guy from Craigslist that I had written off as a Toolbox of the First Order? Ah yes, as it turns out he was not a toolbox at all. So, sorry Craigslist guy, you are redeemed and vindicated as being a decent person. I can admit when I'm wrong, and I was totally wrong this time.
Mr. Craigslist sent me an email early yesterday morning explaining that the reason he hadn't gotten back to me was that his whole family had the stomach flu. Therefore he was very busy taking two children and a wife to the doctors and holding them with their respective heads in the toilet and thus could not respond to me email. He was terribly sorry and did we still want the furniture? HOLY COW YES! We did. We drove down and it was amazing and lovely and we brought it all home for the very low price of $115.00. Let's just add it up, shall we? One white 4-in-1 sleigh crib by a famous maker with NO recalls and a nice crib mattress, one white dresser-style sleigh changing table with pad, and the most adorable white nightstand you ever saw with a little shelf and a cabinet. Plus T.G. talked him into selling us two top of the line child gates AND the extension packages, which we desperately needed, for $40.00.
So, total spent was $155.00 which is five dollars more than we spent on Little Guy's furniture AND we got two baby gates in the deal. Also the changing table is a dresser style which is nicer than the one we got for Little Guy and his stuff did not come with a nightstand, so technically even though we paid five dollars more we did better on this bargain hunting extravaganza. Hooray!!!
T.G. is probably even more pleased than I am because now he has a wife who is not an anxiety ridden mess full of hateful pregnancy hormones. I am serene and happy in the knowledge that the items needed for the baby's room are here and the fun of picking a room color and whatnot can begin. Woot!

Crib Saga of Unending Anxiety

So, for those that don't know, we are expecting a baby girl in March. Since Little Guy is still happily using all his nursery furniture, the need to get more has arisen.
Ah yes...let the drama begin...
T.G. and I are thrifty people, remember his initials stand for Thriftmaster General. We do not see much sense in paying oodles of money for something a child will outgrow in three years. Therefore the crib searching takes place mostly on Craigstlist and Ebay. Granted we could buy a brand new crib from Walmart for the very low price of $84.00 but there are some issues with this. Issue number one is T.G.'s absolute horror and hatred of anything having to do with the evil that is Walmart, and issue number two is the fact that the cheaper cribs from Walmart do not compare to finding really good used nursery furniture for a good price. For instance, Little Guy's cherry sleigh bed style bedroom set was made by Bassett and is top of the line albeit ten years old. It never had one recall and looks like a million dollars, which is very convenient and nice seeing as how we paid a total of $150.00 for the set. It is solid and strong, and I adore it. We found it on Craigslist for $175.00 and T.G. managed to talk them down $25.00 and to throw in the mattress, changing pad, and a diaper bag for free. Seriously. Did I mention that I love that hard bargaining man of mine? He's awesome.
So we've been scouring Craigslist again for a bedroom set for baby #2. I've already got crib bedding, and boy howdy, I am so in love with it. It's Glenna Jean and the pattern is called Lola and it sold for almost $400.00 new. Ask me how much I paid for it. Go ahead...ask!
$50.00!!!! I am going to insert a large WOOT here. Ebay and I shall be BFF.
Hm. Just realized that it is very late and I am very tired. I shall finish this later.
Ok, it is now the next day and I am rested although dying of hideous allergies.
Back to crib saga...
We did think we had a crib at first, but then said crib turned out to be unusable due to recalls and other issues. So we started searching again.
Yesterday, I found a whole nursery set on Craigslist from this wealthy couple in Westchester. It was very nice and exactly what I want and had NO recalls. So I wrote back and forth with the guy all day and we arranged a date for T.G. and I to pick it up, I got childcare for Little Guy set up and everything.
Sounds like the saga is ended, right? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh no. This toolbox emails me last night after everything is arranged and tells me some lady is coming to look at the furniture and might buy it. So I email him back to find out what the deal is and he never responds. I am in baby furniture response limbo. Bleh. My only guess is that he totally sold it to that woman and is refusing to reply to me about it.
What kind of a jerk sells something out from under a person EVEN though there was a pick-up date arranged? I could not be more irritated. As my friend Nickel says, Craigslist has become fraught with ass-hattery lately. So we are back to square one with the crib search.
The bedding set is very light and girlie as you can see: http://www.babyage.com/baby-bedding/glenna-jean/lola-collection.htm
It will look best in a white crib, and truthfully I have my heart set on white furniture for the baby. Now I just have to find some.

friendship in turmoil

So friendship controversy.
At what point do you say to someone you care deeply about "I think I need to move on or re-evaluate why we are friends?"
The hardest part is when you really care about someone and have a whole friendship invested for a long period of time and then stuff starts to fall apart. Suppose you know someone or you think you know them well and then all of a sudden they do a 180 on you?
You've always seen them as a Christian and they always acted like one and then, with no warning, they say "Christianity isn't where it's at, I'm going to go off the deep end into total worldly territory instead and then call you a mean-spirited, moralistic jerk for not jumping into that deep end with me."
Yeah.
Sorry, but I've been at the edge of that diving board and looked over...and you know what? There's no water in that pool. None. It's just a long dive into a solid concrete bottom.
And nothing makes me more angry than being told I'm the problem because of my morals, ethics, values, and beliefs.
I'm loving. I'm tolerant. I do my very best to be the way the Lord asks me to be, putting my neighbor before myself and leaving judgment up to Him. I'm not perfect, I mess up often. Thank God that Jesus can cover up those mistakes for me. I'm not about to leave that surety to chase someone into whatever unfortunate pursuit they think suits them better than the the one they used to lead back when God meant something to them.
So when this happens, when friends don't just leave the fold, but race headfirst into hell, what does one do?
When you're being made to look like the bad person because you don't accept societal norms and you hold your ground on Christian beliefs, what do you say?
Do you bother to stick around in the friendship or do you realize it is time to let go?
I don't know. I'm not a quitter, but I don't see this one recovering...not if the things that are currently taking place continue.
I think I'm ready to throw in the towel. I think I have to.
It makes me sick.
But there is a part of me that wonders if once I do cut this tie...will the relief of not having it weigh on me every day be so enormous that I will have no regrets at all other than the one sad bit of knowledge that this person is giving up on their soul to follow earthly entertainment?
How do you weigh the 'what has been' up against the 'what is now'?
I just don't know.

Men and Whining. Why?

Why is it that the women I know just get stuff done no matter how they feel, what the weather is, if their back hurts, despite not having extra snacks, and without whining?
Whereas the men I know are complete babies who make me want to strangle them with their moaning and groaning and wasting my time with nonsense.
Ugh.

That is all. Post over.

Today - Bleh

Today is really shaping up to be lame right now. I can't even explain the extent of the lameness, but honestly...ugh.
First of all, three guys I totally respect and look up to as awesome, enlightened, decent men dropped the ball in my opinion by championing a gross, debasing photo-spread with the Glee stars in GQ magazine, because, and I quote "It was smokin"
Meh.
It always hurts when some of your moral compass people let you down like that. I'm blue about it.
Especially one of them, who I REALLY seriously and constantly look up to as a person who is beyond that sort of male pattern garbage. So, thus...meh and bleh today.
It is probably my fault for holding them up the standard that I did, but I don't know. Shouldn't someone holding you up to a standard of greatness be a compliment to you? It would be a compliment to me. Perhaps I'm just being unreasonable, because after all, enjoying GQ is probably hardwired into a guy's psyche. I'm sort of baffled though. And sad. Moving on.
There is other stuff too, that I can't get into. Let's just call it...Friend Weirdness and Confusion.
I hate F.W.A.C. It completely screws things up for me until it gets resolved. I just hope this all gets resolved soon.
So, meh again.
In other news, I am sure that I'm having a massive installment of baby hormones today which is, I'm positive, contributing to the general feeling of insanity/anxiety/anger/grumpiness. I am not fit to be around polite society at all. Put me behind the wheel of a car right now and I'd run over bambi's mother if she got in the way. I caught my reflection in the dining room mirror a little while ago and practically had a nervous breakdown over the size of my baby bump. If it is this big now, what on earth will I look like in a month? By March? I'll be as big as a conversion van. Why am I so much bigger with this baby? Normally this would not freak me out, but today I am coasting along in a sea of mismatched serotonin levels. Meh is very quickly turning into something far more sinister and frightening. I cannot wait until Rory gets home because he is usually my equilibrium restorer.
This is so bad. I'm getting more psycho as I type this. I feel like someone should be locking me into a basement jail cell, like the wolfman during a full moon, until whatever this is passes. I think it might be best if I just stay off of facebook for the rest of the day because I am liable to sail into my three guy friends like Joan of Arc with an automatic weapon filled with poison bullets. It. Is. That. Bad.
Oh wait, to top it off, I'm having super-massive, highly colorful migraine auras today. Everywhere I look is full of bright sparks zipping all over and I feel like I'm as some sick, soundless fireworks display that I can't leave or escape.
Ugh. It is just a bad day all around. Meh to the tenth power.

Unpopular Opinion I'm Sure

In light of the recent media coverage regarding the rash of suicides due to bullying I feel like I need to get something off my chest. I know it is not going to be well received, but then again...I'm a conservative Christian. It is a daily occurrence that something I say or think would not be well received. I have quite a few liberal friends, and very often they are the ones who attack me without provocation for my beliefs. I put up with it gracefully, because I don't deem it my job to beat them over the head with my beliefs. When they ask me outright I tell them what I think, and I will defend my position when attacked, but for the most part I am fairly easy going and non-confrontational.

HOWEVER

A thought keeps bubbling up the surface lately which I cannot push back down and this is it:

At what point does a person get off the hook for killing themselves simply because some other people were hurting their feelings?

I'm going to say another unpopular thing right now.

The people who killed themselves weren't just victims, they were murderers. They killed a human being. Ok, it was themselves, BUT that doesn't make it alright. We live in a country of touchy-feely, utterly helpful, completely compassionate suicide hotline operators, counselors, psychiatrists, psychologists, civil liberties advocates, and support groups. There is no way not even one of these options was available to the people being bullied. In addition to all these helpful groups there are lawyers, police, campus security etc... There are ways to deal with obnoxious, evil hearted, vile people without ending your life. And I certainly believe the people who were bullying them were horrendous and disgusting blights on society. Bullying is a despicable thing to do. I was bullied extensively throughout middle school. My belongings were smashed and stolen, I was verbally and physically harassed, there were prank phone calls, false rumors, and written notes full of hateful things. I cried every day. I begged my parents to send me to another school. I refused to go on the 8th grade trip where I would more or less be left to the wolves for an entire weekend. I lived, ate, and breathed the fear of being bullied for months.
But what I didn't do was kill myself or anyone else.
And don't think I didn't consider it. Please. One of my favorite things to think about was coming to school with a gun and shooting my tormentors. I'm serious, I really thought about that often. You wonder how someone can get to the point where they can believe that the abuse won't stop without violence? Try eight months of continuous horror. I could have killed them. I could have killed myself.
BUT I DIDN'T DO IT.
I knew it was wrong. I knew killing myself was wrong too, and I also knew that 8th grade doesn't last forever. And you know what? I was right. It didn't. I lived through it and came out the other side as a better person. I'm a person who will always stand up for the little guy, who will stop in my tracks to help someone in need, rescue a stray dog, comfort a crying child, and I will never put up with watching a person bully someone else.
I feel like these teens did the wrong thing. They cheated themselves out of life. They don't get off the hook for that in my book. Their tormentors certainly shouldn't get off the hook either. The psychological torture they inflicted on these kids should not go unpunished. What they did was beyond the pale of wrong. Every person on this planet deserves love and respect no matter what because that is what GOD asks of us.
I'm just saying that you don't get a free ticket to murder yourself just because you are bullied. You are shouldered with responsibility for ending your life. You didn't have to do it. You chose to do it. You forewent all other possible options and cut your own life short. I can't stand behind that. And, if you really think about it, the bullies won. They are still here, being awful, and you are wiped off the planet. Goal achieved for them. The thing they hated is gone. Now they'll just have to find someone else to terrify.
Talk about a lose/lose situation. Sigh.
I just wish, for the sake of those that loved them, for the sake of their very souls, that they had not chosen death over the myriad of assistance available to them. It is sad, and it is horrible, and it is irreversible. Who knows what amazing lives they might have led and what bright lights have forever been cut off? What discoveries will never be discovered because they decided killing themselves was their best option? Hurt feelings are not worth dying over. I know it personally. I've lived through the bullying. I just wish they had.

Idea for Best Job Ever

Recent events have helped me to come up with an idea for the best job ever.
Without further ado, here it is:

I want to be the person who gets to tell couples who have been longing for a child that the bloodwork results are positive and that they are going to finally become a family.

It's a great idea, isn't it? My official title could be The Glad Tidings of Great Joy Bringer. I could do it as simply as call them on the phone and let them know the amazing news, OR I could show up at their house like a Seraph with trumpets and and announce it with total fanfare.

Could any job bring anyone more happiness? Honestly, in what other profession would you jump out of bed every morning and say "This is going to be the best day ever!" It wouldn't matter if it was raining, or if I had a headache, or if someone ate all the good cereal. It would still be the best day ever.

There. That's my idea. What do you think?

House Buying Yard Drama

Today I am feeling the swirling whirlpool of despair following another bout of house hunting. Last night we drove up to Slatington (!) in order to see a house we found on the MLS that looked awesome. Normally I refuse to set foot in Slatington because the name of the town freaks me out, but I could not ignore how perfect this house was. It was BIG. Really big. It had 4 great big bedrooms, two bathrooms, high ceilings, hardwood floors, a den, a laundry room, the world's biggest living room of all time, a gorgeous staircase, great kitchen, and a nice dry spacious basement. There were french doors and tons of windows, and a brand new roof. All the closets were cedar lined. There was a fabulous side porch off the kitchen and a small deck off the den. The windows had adorable functional black shutters with crescent moons carved on them. All the house needed was a little cosmetic updating. Some wallpaper needed to go, the upstairs bathroom had to be redone, and some painting needed to be done and that was it. I walked around inside lost in a state of love. Upstairs near the bathroom was a built in linen cabinet with three drawers underneath. When I saw it I almost swooned. Did I mention the working fireplace in the living room with ornamental brick and a gorgeous wood mantelpiece? I didn't? Well, the house had one, with a BUILT IN brass curtain screen that swept away to the sides when you pushed this little lever. The house was so happy, so full of light and warmth that I wanted to pack my bags immediately and move in.
Yet...today I am in the swirling whirlpool of despair. "How did this happen?", you wonder in a perplexed inner head voice.
Ah, well you see the house was situated on the deadly and horrifying Slatington cliff of doom. Truly. The backyard sloped off into an abyss that could only be called absolutely terrible and completely undo-able. There was a tiny side yard which was very cute, but the edge of the side yard spilled over said cliff of doom. T.G. and I could picture losing children and dogs over the side never to be seen again. Sigh.
Needless to say, we passed on the house. Thus, today is a blue day. Will we ever find what we need in our price range? We aren't rich. I'm a SAHM and T.G. works at a metal shop. We're upstanding, hardworking people who just want a nice, safe, decent-sized place to raise our children in. Apparently that is too much to ask. Bleh.

Parkland Library is making me buy a monkey

Excerpt from an email just written to T.G. regarding his request that I renew our library stuff online:

I renewed all the books online. However, I find the website very weird and hostile while renewing. Because I did the renew thing and it was all "One or more of your items cannot be renewed, please see the circulation desk" and then I was all "Ugh, this sucks."
So I tried renewing them one at a time and it said that same dumb message for each one and I was so confused because SURELY not every single book is nonrenewable, right?
Then I looked and saw they had all renewed anyway and whole thing was just a confusing and pointless web glitch or something and I was very grumpus about it. Why say books cannot be renewed when books have in fact BEEN renewed. I'm going to buy a monkey and take it over to the webmaster's house and let said monkey throw poo at them. Of course, they might not understand why I am standing there with a poo flinging monkey instead of just telling them exactly what my problem is, but that is their fault. If they are going to be all subversive and weird about their renewing system I am going to be all subversive and weird about telling them how I feel about it.
So there.
Now, where is there a Monkey Store?

Shark Jumpers Anonymous

Hello Kids, today we are going to look at few celebrity shark-jumpers. Hooray! In case you wondering what a Shark Jumper is, the phrase was coined after the episode of Happy Days where Fonzie jumped a shark on his motorcycle. It basically means the moment things got too wacky and went too far and exceeded all good sense. One second you are a celebrity and the next you are a punch line, thus, you have jumped the shark.

1. Gwyneth Paltro jumped the shark when: She named her baby girl 'Apple'. There is a certain arrogance and attitude of superiority that goes with naming your unfortunate little girl after a piece of fruit. And don't blame this on Chris either. Everyone knows once labor starts all bets are off in the name game. You could have 'Peter Alexander' all picked out prior to transition and then during a particularly evil contraction the woman might start shrieking "We're naming him Phelonius Aardvark the Third!" and there is nothing the father can do. The poor kid is stuck with Phelonius Aardvark forever. So, yes, Gwyneth is to blame and over the shark she goes.

2. Madonna jumped the shark when: She married a Brit, moved to London and started talking in a weird faux English accent. Ever since then she has been jumping the shark on a daily basis. It's worse now that she's in her fifties. At this point even her body is trying to tell to her to stop. She's gotten all sinewy and horrible and truly should never ever ever wear underwear as outerwear in public again. Dear Madonna, it is time to get off the motorcycle and leave the extreme oceanic water sports to Lady Gaga. You are scaring me with your visible tendons everywhere.

3. Paris Hilton jumped the shark when: She was born. They named her Paris. Wheeeeee! Infant Shark Jumping at its best. Then she continued shark jumping her whole life because it was all she knew how to do. Hopefully at some point the shark will eat her.

4. Michael Stipe jumped the shark when: He appeared at the MTV VMA's looking like a holocaust victim with giant caterpillars pasted over his eyes. Dear Stipe, eat something. Please. Have second helpings.

5. Stephenie Meyer jumped the shark when: She named Bella's baby Renesmee. UM. Yeah. I really LIKE Stephenie Meyer, but I'm still shaking my head at "Renesmee". In fact, I felt like quite a bit of Breaking Dawn was sort of odd and didn't fit with the rest of the series. I want to love it, I feel like I should love it, but the truth is I don't. It's ok. So, whoosh, over the shark with her.

So there you have it. Five shark jumpers to enjoy on this fine Saturday morning. The Fonz would be so proud.

Am I boring you yet?

Ok, I KNOW that I have done my share of ranting about morning sickness already, but seriously...it is so bad. I'm nauseous all the time and nothing seems to help. At least I am nearly through this vile trimester. Let's all chant together: THREE MORE WEEKS, THREE MORE WEEKS!
I just need it to be done already. Feeling awful all the time makes me cranky and snappish and insanely whiny with violent tendencies. I'm just not myself. I know this because yesterday when I saw a picture of Kate Whatsherface taking her 8 kids back to school shopping while wearing stiletto bondage heels, a tank top that showed 89% of her boobs, and a skirt with so little fabric I think it was actually a tissue dyed black and sewn into a skirt shape, I wanted to drive down to West Chester and beat the stupid out of her. Literally. I had to restrain myself. That's where she lives, right? West Chester? Normally I do not care about Kate Whatsherface. I have never seen her dumb show, and I don't give two figs for what she does in her pathetic fishbowl version of a life. Yesterday though, I was ready to remove those stupid shoes and feed them to her one by one while simultaneously beating her with their pointy ends. Lucky for her good sense prevailed (it hung on by a precariously thin thread, but it did prevail thank goodness) and I did not make headlines by wiping her off the planet with her own shoes.
This morning I started off by feeling super and was hoping the super would last, but here it is 9:30 and I am fighting the urge to vomit up my pancakes. And I know this is a centuries old whine, BUT Rory, the other participant in creating the reason for my nausea, is sitting happily downstairs reading the paper and NOT feeling one bit sick at all. Hmph. Truthfully I know that this is actually a good thing, because later when I am lying around all limp and worthless like an overboiled noodle he will be functioning perfectly and watching Rider for me. So, it all works out, but I'd rather NOT be sick and be able to watch Rider myself.
Ok. Whine over. I can't promise forever, but for today anyway.

Sassy Morning

Ever have one of those mornings where you wake up and hit the bathroom and then casually glance at yourself in the mirror to find somehow during the night your person decided it needed to be inside the pages of Maxim magazine? Honestly, this happened to me this morning. And this leaves me in a quandary. How do I get ready for the day and NOT lose my overnight makeover? Usually I wake up in a normal waking up state, hair insane, face puffy, pale, and young without makeup, eyes full of random grit, but this morning I woke up with HUGE Brigitte Bardot hair, pink cheeks, sparkly eyes, and smooth glowing skin. How does this happen? How can I make it happen all the time? Granted I didn't wash my face last night because for whatever reason when I am pregnant I don't produce as much oil on my face skin as usual and washing more than once a day makes me look like the incredible scaly skin-monster. So this means my smattering of origins eye sparkly taupe eye cream has sort of slid and blended around my eyes making them all glimmering and doe-like and haunting. Gracious. I am beginning to get a crush on myself. It is very sad to stand in front of one's bathroom mirror pouting and shoving your hair this way and that for no earthly reason. I have got to get a grip. And a shower.

Cue the Debbie Gibson music now

I tend to have very surreal and imaginative dreams on a nightly basis. In addition to this, when I'm pregnant they are even MORE bizarre and vivid. For your entertainment, I submit last night's doozy:

I was somehow 17 again and in the cast of Glee. (just go with it, I promise it will never make sense but it will totally get good in a few seconds) So I'm in the Glee show Choir, but Glee isn't a tv show, it's just my normal high school and the other kids have replaced the people I actually went to school with. Rachel has completely disappeared from the cast and in her place is...GET READY FOR IT...Robert Pattinson. I'm not kidding. RPatz. So, none of the other guys in show choir are really cool with the RPatz/Rachel replacement and there are all these involved and overproduced sing offs to try to get rid of him. The theory being that if the whole show choir votes against him in a sing off he will be voted out of school and will have to go peddle his musical wares elsewhere. Meanwhile I have mentally replaced some of the normal cast with some of the Twilight cast. For instance, Tina Chang has been replaced by Eric Yorkie (Justin Chon) and apparently he is my very flamboyantly gay best friend. Again, keep in mind I have NO control over my dreams and just go with it. So he flounces up the risers one day and I greet him as if he has been missing in Africa for the past ten years and finally made it home. Not literally missing in Africa, I'm just pointing out how effusive and flamboyant the greeting was. So then he scoots his chair over next to mine and begins telling me this really convoluted story about how Other Asian (as Sue likes to call the non-Tina Asian on the show) is really a drug dealer and has begun selling dope made from dried, ground banana peels and how awesome it is and everyone is doing it and why don't I? I point out that I hate bananas and he desists but then we start talking about the current sing off situation between the other men in the choir and RPatz. Justin Chon does not like RPatz because he feels like there can only be one over-dramatic and temper-trantrumy male in the show choir and he is already filling that role admirably. At any rate, while this conversation is happening Finn and Robert are asked to sing a song together which OF COURSE turns into a singing contest with both of them trying their hardest to impress the rest of the show choir. Finn pretty much does what Finn normally does which is sing his heart out sincerely in a nice non-showy way, whereas Robert Pattinson begins to showboat like some sort of extra in Cats making HUGE arm gestures and opening his mouth ridiculously wide trying to show emotion. However, the choir is clearly pro-Patz and he is just eating the attention up. As a finale to his performance he grabs a bunch of yellow roses from a vase of flowers leftover from the prom. (Right, I have no explanation for how ex-prom flowers got to the choir room, but it made sense at the time. They were EVERYWHERE too. Huge vases. All over.) So he gets these flowers and sort of weaves them into a semi-circle which he holds around his face for the rest of the song. (I think the song was Open Arms by Journey...how fitting for Glee, right? At least my subconscious is fairly accurate in some ways.) Then he makes his big finish and all the people in the choir swoon except for me and the guys in Glee who are all sort of rolling our eyes and hoping he stabs himself to death on the weird Collar of Roses he made for himself. Then poor Finn comes back up the risers to sit about five seats down from me...oh I should point out that everyone was calling him Cory Monteith and not Finn, and YES they were using BOTH names like his whole name was Corymonteith and it wasn't a first and last name. So, Cory Monteith sits back down and I feel so bad about what happened that I walk over and make some inane TV show comment like "Don't feel bad, Cory Monteith, you'll always be my favorite Gleek." and then I kiss him on the cheek. Sounds harmless right? BUT here is the weirdest part. When I kiss him on the cheek I get all these tingles and happy sparkles and I realize that I am actually in love with him and I start to walk away but I turn back to see if he got tingles and I can see he totally did. AND in the background RPatz, who is still wearing the Collar of Roses, is staring at me all wounded and hurt...and I realize that he is my boyfriend. At which point Cory Monteith says "Maybe we should do that again."
But I say something completely horrendous like "No Cory, let me sing you my heart." (I swear who makes up these lines? Who? Oh right, me. I should be shot) And I get up and sing a version of "Here comes your man" by the Pixies. Weirdly while I am singing it the choir room melts away and I'm sitting in my old bedroom at night singing into a stuffed animal (but Cory Monteith is there still sitting on a riser in the corner) and my dad shouts from the other room "I hate when people sing that song!" Thankfully at this point I wake up, because I cannot even tell you how much trouble I would have gotten if my parents had found some guy sitting on a riser in my bedroom in the middle of the night.
So...yeah. I dream weird stuff. WEIRD stuff. And now you know just how weird.

House Hunting: Abyss of the Optimistic

Sooooooo, yeah...we looked at a house yesterday. Me, being me, went in all positive and hopeful as usual which made the end result all that much worse. I've got to learn to be more pessimistic like T.G. that way my soul won't be crushed by the reality of ill-placed paneling and bizarre bathroom location. Don't get me wrong, I'm not all 'Up With People' 24/7 or anything, but I am always (regrettably) way to positive when it comes to house hunting. It doesn't help that I have no concept of spacial distance either. No matter what the MLS says the square footage is I will imagine it is MUCH larger in person. This delusion doesn't even end when we get to the property either. I will gamely march about the dwelling waiting for it to suddenly grow exponentially or magically look more airy. It never does. The end result of this is that the house we saw yesterday has plummeted me into a swirling vat of horror and sadness. First of all, it was so intensely tiny and close that I felt like I was walking into a structural straightjacket. The only bathroom required walking through a bedroom to reach, and there was a very liberal use of varied types of paneling here and there with no rhyme or reason. (Note: personally I find all paneling Dante worthy. It is the circle of hades where bad contractors will be forced to go upon their death.)
Is it any wonder that the experience has left me all frownish and hateful? Ugh. However, I have not given up and we talked to the Realtor about seeing some other stuff just to torture ourselves further. Super.
But I know that ten minutes before we leave I'll start getting all bubbly hopeful again and by the time we get there I will have built the house up so much that reality will just be a speck in the distance waving sadly, wishing I would notice it. Sigh. Oh well.

Hm, I am all writey

Today is like...fifty billion post day. I'm not even sure why. I just got all verbose and found it necessary to drop some words on some virtual pages.
After the last post of mega-watt anger I felt like I needed to decompress with a little happy. I just wish the happy decompression could include a nice hard cider, but internal fetus-friend would rather I didn't.
So here is the happy:
1. The zofran is working. Hooray! And please no one look into the zofran and find bad things about it and tell me so I get all paranoid and refuse to take it. This is the first time in three weeks I have not felt like hurling all over my shoes and I just want to enjoy it guilt-free please.
2. T.G. and I are sort of vaguely house hunting-ish. It occurred to us that once internal fetus-friend grows into a nice pink and white baby and shows up on the outside our house will really be feeling the strain. We've only got three bedrooms and the third bedroom is more like a glorified airing closet. Plus we're already using it as an office and where oh where shall we put the computer once our family expands? I enjoy house hunting, but am constantly needing to reigned in by the fiscal genius that is my darling husband. I float about the MLS picking out castles in Spain while he sets actual price limits and realistic whatnot in the little spaces for the search engine. However this does not curb my enjoyment. Once we see a house we like we do a 'Driveby', also totally fun. Plus looking at houses on the MLS is often funny because you would not BELIEVE the way real estate agents word stuff to make something awful sound appealing. We giggle our way through listing after listing wondering how they come up with this crap.
3. Tomorrow, if I am not vomiting on my shoes, I shall join my mother in a little yardsaling. Wheeee! I can't wait.
Well, those are my three happy things. Ah, so chill now. I am like Ghandi meets Janice from the Electric Mayhem Band. :)

Systematic abuse of, well...the system.

T.G. came home from the grocery store all vile because the girl in front of him with the giant manicured nails, insanely be-weaved hair, and brand new iPhone was buying all her groceries with government assistance. He was all riled up and striding about pointing out how we can't afford iPhones but apparently they give them out free with a new membership at the welfare office. Poor T.G., I can only imagine what it must have been like to be behind this chick in line. He said she was there with her friend, ALSO on Access and that they had the card and the check and he was waiting for about 15 minutes while they each picked and chose which groceries they wanted to go on the card and which on the check with total disregard for the line forming behind them. It was truly an 'argh' moment for him. Knowing me, if I'd been there, I might had said something along the lines of "Gee it's nice to know my tax dollars keep you in weaves, nails, and fancy phone plans." Which would have led to a giant fracas, so it is probably better I was at home being sick and waiting for him to bring me zofran. I know that it is probably better to be really nice and not question people's motives and such, but I am not really nice. I'm far more likely to be really cynical and annoyed. Perhaps this makes me a less mature person, or a less decent person, I don't know. I just get fed up and disgruntled with having to take care of people who don't need my help and are just soaking me for every cent they can. These girls appeared to be in good health and able to work. So therefore, why was I buying their groceries so that they could use their spare welfare money to purchase manicures, wigs, and iPhones? And don't try to tell me that there aren't decent jobs around here that they could do which pay enough for them to be self-sufficient. Please. I worked at T-Mobile (the call center) and sure, that place will suck your soul out through your tear ducts, BUT the paycheck allowed me to live in a nice secure apartment and have cool clothes and whatever phone I wanted. I worked with single moms who raised whole families on the same paycheck. It can be done. I know this is an old and bitter rant, but that doesn't make it less true or needed. It's one thing to help out a person who came by their unfortunate situation honestly, but I draw the line at a nation carrying thousands of able, LAZY people who just refuse to work or better their situation. Ugh. Bleh. It's wrong. I'm so over it. Can I be president already? Please?

Mice of Destiny

There is a family of mice living in our backyard. They've been there as long as we've lived her and though I am quite sure the mice I see now are not the same mice from five years ago, I am reasonably certain they are descendants of the original rodentia. Why you ask? Well the answer is pretty darn cool. You see, our mice are not regular mice. No sir. Our mice are apparently Olympic level gymnast mice who have defected from their home country and opted to live under our garage rather than suffer the constant oppression of a Stalin-esque regime. No scurrying about under the various vegetation for these high flying mice Wallendas, oh no, our mice prefer to soar gracefully through the air from leaf to leaf. I'm not kidding. The mice that live under our garage spend their days climbing around in the tops of our bushes and vines like tiny trapeze artists swinging from branch to branch and peering at us from behind the roses. We are so charmed by their behavior that traps and removal are never discussed. They don't attempt to come in the house and we respond by allowing them free reign of the backyard. I even put up with them sometimes eating my tomatoes because watching them climb the stalks to pick the fruit is so fun to watch. They are pretty cool little critters. We're happy to have them around. So here's to the Mice of Destiny, just another small bit of wonderful in the kingdom of our home.

Your basic nonsense once again

I should probably be doing something constructive like taking a shower or spackling a wall, but instead I am here typing nonsense into the void. There's not too much new to talk about since yesterday except that my friend Nickel, awesome individual that she is, secretly bought me a box of pickle pops and had them sent to my house. Therefore yesterday I not only got a package in the mail, hurrah!, but I got a package full of salt and vinegary goodness. I stuck them in the freezer and hopefully shall try my first pop of pickleness today. Woo! Nickel rules!
I don't know what the deal is with the barometric pressure today, but my sinuses keep swelling up like balloons causing me to continually pop my ears which makes it all worse and then I have to turn my whole head upside-down to alleviate the pressure. Ugh. Plus I had a nosebleed earlier AND I am still sick to my stomach with the mythical 'morning' sickness. Please. Morning my butt. I feel sick from about twenty minutes after I wake up until I go to sleep at night and nothing really helps. At least I don't have to go to work like I did when I pregnant with Little Guy and sit there acting polite and helpful when I really wanted to throw the stapler at anyone who walked by my desk. I never did throw my stapler. I'm a good girl. Although I did get real annoyed with the one school psychiatrist at one point and following a lengthy diatribe on why conservatives are the devil I triumphantly informed him that I WAS the conservation Christian right that he so hated. I said it all with a vaguely threatening and hostile smile full of scary toothiness which sort of proved his point on some levels, but whatever. It was either that or vomit on his shoes, so all in all he got off pretty easy.
Ok, Pandora is on and I have to say...is it is just me or do the Only Ones sound JUST LIKE the Violent Femmes? Are Peter Perrett and Gordon Gano secretly the same person? If you don't know who the Only Ones are I feel really sorry for you because they are pretty awesome and fabulous. And if you don't know who the Violent Femmes are...well I have no words for that. Why don't know who they are? Go find out please. Then come back and bring a thousand word paper on how sorry you are that you didn't know in the first place. HOLY COW! They followed up the Only Ones with O Valencia by the Decemberists. Oh Pandora, you make me happy happy happy. :)
Ever since I bought my skinny jeans I keep longing for weather that would allow me to wear them. I can't remember a time in recorded history when I longed for colder weather. I must be on crack. But! Skinny! Jeans! I long to wear them and electrify Allentown with my massive inherent preggo coolness. I'm going to look like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face where she goes to the coffee house and does that bizarre modern dance except I'll be pregnant with a glorious bump in front. And I can't dance at all, but really...I'm not sure that actual dancing ability is necessary. I mean...have you ever SEEN that dance she does? Yeah. I could do that. Although now that I think of it, who would want to? I'll skip the dance and just look good without it.
Well, I am off to shower before the small person wakes up. Zooooom!

Dear Hendrix, you can start playing Foxy Lady now.

Here I am about to enter the 9th week of my second pregnancy and I realized an incredible byproduct of being bumpified is fabulous body image. Gone are all my non-pregnancy neurosis regarding thigh circumference, and butt wideness. In their place is a euphoria of hotness and self-acceptance. I can recall this happening when I was pregnant with the Little Guy too. Aside from the inevitable periodic nausea which makes everything lame, I sailed into my first trimester feeling like one hot mama. The hot mama syndrome continued until almost the end of my 8th month, after which I just felt like a dirigible full of lead with a pumpkin face.
Just to prove my point, yesterday I hit the mall with my mom and L.G. specifically looking for a pair of body skimming, leg snuggling 'skinny' jeans. I should probably point out that BEFORE yesterday non-pregnant me was still in denial that jeans styles had begun to shy away from ginormous bell bottoms. Skinny jeans scared me with their no holds barred sleekness that threatened to show the world exactly how many cookies I had eaten between lunch and breakfast.
BUT BUT BUT...the truth is that this was not my first search for skinny jeans. When I was pregnant with L.G. I can remember being in Motherhood and saying to the girl "Don't you have any NON bell bottoms?" She firmly rebuffed me by saying that no pregnant girl would be caught dead in skinny jeans. I couldn't understand it. I felt so confident and hot. Why on earth would I want to hide that inside giant swaths of denim? She then shoved me towards tent-like shirts and jeans with bottoms so belled that they could have rung in liberty for every single nation on earth and had room left for a few extra planets or possibly whole solar systems. I was unthrilled, but that was all there was so I got a few pairs to last the winter and went on with my life. Even GAP maternity had yet to hop on the skinny jeans for pregnant girls trend, so sadly I wore bell bottoms all through my pregnancy with L.G.
Now, CUE TRUMPET FANFARE!!!! Apparently something amazing has happened in the last 14 months because yesterday at the mall there were skinny maternity jeans EVERYWHERE!!! YEAH!!!! They had them at GAP and they were adorable BUT the prices were not adorable. In fact, I'd be more inclined to call the prices insane. Look, I'm all about fashion, but I'm also all about sales and $40.00 on sale is not my idea of affordable. Sorry Gap, but you lose. I did find this totally adorable black t-shirt for six bucks and purchased it happily, but the jeans stayed firmly on their trendy beechwood hangers flaunting their ridiculous price tags. My mom and I were slightly defeated but not for long. I said to her "Hey, maybe Motherhood has got with the program and isn't so lame anymore." She said it was worth a try and we busted a move up onto the second floor to check it out. HOORAY! They had skinny jeans!!!! With the secret fit belly that I so adore. Ahhhhhhhhh. I put a pair on and came out of the dressing room waiting for the mom critique with trepidation. (personally I liked what I saw in the dressing room mirror, but what I see and what another person sees is not always the same) She looked me all over and then a huge smile broke out over her face. "They look great on you! And they make your butt look really cute." she said. WOOOO! I did a little pregnant girl dance of joy. See, my mom NEVER lies. Never. Especially about how you look. She's a bit brutally honest about that, so I knew they looked good.
To recap, I now have a new sleek black t-shirt AND sexy skinny jeans in which to enrobe my bump to be and I am one happy girl.
Now I'm thinking maybe I ought to get some regular skinny jeans to wear AFTER the baby comes. You know? I mean, why stop being hot just because the baby arrived? Hopefully my confidence stays intact even without a bun in the oven. :)

No Impact Man: So far, a bit of a moron..

I'm in the middle of watching No Impact Man, which is a documentary about a guy in NYC who decides to take his (small) family off the grid for a whole year in order to discover what it is like to live with no impact on the environment.
Before saying anything else, I feel I must point out exactly how much environmental impact it must have had just to have all the cameras and microphones and crew following this misguided liberal around for a year while he muses on the benefits of wiping his butt with old rags instead of environmentally acceptable toilet paper. BTW, since he claims that the benefit of using rags instead of paper is that they can be washed and reused, AND he does laundry in his bathtub using Castile Soap, Borax, and his feet as the agitator, I am less than convinced that they are remotely sanitary. Personally, I think the whole point of living in a developed country is that you have more sanitary means of cleansing at your disposal when the need arises to take a poopy. But I digress, as I always do...happily claiming the title of Tangent Girl. My point was...cameras, microphones, crew. Um, hello? They were obviously using electricity to film him riding his bike and tooling about town buying locally grown tubers at the world's most expensive farmer's market. And, since they were filming outside, I bet they were using batteries to keep their machinery running. Do a little research on the production of batteries and see what their environmental impact is, you'd be shocked. It's a good reason NOT to drive a hybrid car.
Aside from the filming aspects, I have a few other things to point out from my current position midway through the film:
He and his wife have a conversation about having a second child and I was completely appalled by his argument for why they shouldn't. His first statement was something to the effect of "Who's work hours are going to be impacted by this, because right now are both really happy with where our careers are and we don't want a second child messing that up." Er..selfish much? From what I can tell, and I have no other basis for my opinion OTHER than the video itself, he doesn't actually go anywhere for 'work'. He's a writer. He sits at home or flits here and there to interviews with Diane Sawyer while his wife has a 9 - 5 as a reporter for a well known magazine. Now, I'm not saying being a writer isn't a real job, but I am saying that personally I find it sad that people put their jobs ahead of their children. I'm sure I'll get comments about that statement and I need to be really clear here. I'm not talking about families where both parents have to work just so they can eat, I'm talking about yuppie morons who put owning the latest iPhone and Marc Jacobs bag, and living in a NY apartment paying ridiculous rent ahead of their involvement as parents. I'm a bit confused about the parents in question though, because I can't sort out what happens with their daughter Isabella during the day. Either dad is home and takes care of her every day OR she goes to day care. If day care is where she spends her days then I need to take a moment here and talk about the environmental impact of day care. See, you can have fifty billion worms in a box composting your ex-breakfast, and use rags to wipe your rear parts, but you negate ALL of that by paying someone else to watch your kids while you gad about acting like Captain Environmental. Does the person you are paying follow your same philosophy? If not, you are spending money to ruin the environment via your child's caretaker. I'm sure they use all sorts of paper products, non-local food, cleaning products, non-recyclables, and electricity at the facility where your child attends. And that isn't even counting the daily food, cleaner, paper, electricity, and product consumption of the people assigned to watch your child. So, if they did in fact send Isabella to day care, they cleanly negated all their polar bear protecting by sending her there.
And speaking of Polar Bears...ugh. I'm so tired of hearing people spout nonsense about them drowning. For the last time, IT. IS. NONSENSE. There aren't droves of helpless polar bears being sucked into a watery grave due to me using incandescent bulbs. Sometimes, like any animal that lives half its life in water, they die in the water. I'm sure snakes drown sometimes too, but I don't hear anyone crying for them. The thing about polar bears is that even though they are the most aggressive and dangerous bear on earth, they are VERY VERY VERY cute. All that white fur and and snugly chub coating a lumbering near-sighted bear is just more than most people can resist. However, I must point out, they will eat you like nobody's business. Sometimes they die. Everything eventually dies. We aren't drowning them with global warming. Let's move on.
And speaking of global warming...here we go...
It's a lie. A huge money-sucking, big government, big business scheme. Having said that, I must say this:
I love our planet. Love it. And I hate that we are so wantonly destroying the wonder that God made just for us. Being environmentally conscious is not just for liberals or tree huggers, it's for Christians. You shouldn't need any made up global warming scheme to convince you of the importance of being good stewards of the earth. So, while I don't agree with their "science", I do agree with the suggestions most liberal environmentalists have for taking care of our planet. Less waste, more reusing, recycling, re-purposing. Eat locally. Grow your own food if you can. Get a shelter dog and not some fancy pooch if possible. There are a whole slew of little things you can do on a daily basis to look out for the little corner of the world you live in. Hey, if every person in America looks after their little corner, won't the whole country benefit when all those corners are put together?

Neurotic Mommy Vindication!

Aha! He had a double ear infection!!! Not that I'm happy about it, but just...you know...I wasn't crazy. Anyway, this is how things unfolded:
He took a three hour nap but woke up once in a while whimpering and trying to get comfortable. By the third hour I decided that a temp check was in order, so I waited for the next wake-up and got out the thermometer. He'd hit 102.2 and had turned into a little glassy-eyed dishrag. I conferred with T.G. and we called the doctor. They had me come right in with him and within minutes we had a diagnosis and a prescription for antibiotics. T.G. watched Little Guy while I zipped over to the CVS and got infant fever reducer and antibiotic pink syrup. When I got home Little Guy was flopped against T.G., eating Indian food and acting like a wet noodle. Typical Little Guy, he won't even let an ear infection come between him and a plate of palak paneer. I gave him the medicine and, after a little yogurt, he was tucked into bed. He's sleeping now and I'm watching him on the monitor. Poor little buddy. I hate when he's sick. The antibiotic they gave me is a pretty powerful one, so I'm hoping he will be feeling better by morning. Neurotic Mommy over and out.

Neurotic Mommy Syndrome

This morning I noticed that Little Guy just wasn't himself. He didn't have his normal hoover-like appetite and he was acting really clingy. One trip to the thermometer confirmed my fears, he had a fever. 101.1, nothing too scary, but me being me...well...I switched straight into mild freak out mode. See he's only been sick once before, aside from the debacle when he was born of course. I called my mom, I texted Nickel because she has three kids, I told T.G. about my concerns. T.G. said it sounded like he had a little bug, and to watch him. Nickel said it sounded like a little bug, and to watch him. My mom said it sounded like a little bug, and to watch him.
So I watched him.
One hour later he was turning into a noodle-baby and his temperature had gone up to 101.5. I called Nickel, because she is the Queen of All Things Feverish in Children. Her son has something called Periodic Fever Syndrome and what she doesn't know about fevers would fit on a tic tac with room for cliff notes. She said it was still nothing to worry about, but to keep and eye on him and to push fluids. After I hung up with her I called my mom to give her a progress report and she said the same thing. Little Guy is currently sleeping, and I'm watching him on the monitor screen to make sure there are no seizures or anything. Nickel said seizures would be a symptom she considers capital B bad, not that I wouldn't have realized they were bad, but I hadn't thought of them before she said that. So now I'm watching for them. Yeah, I'm totally neurotic. I admit it. I've come to terms with my worry-wart self. This whole mommy business still has daily surprises for me since I've only got Little Guy and literally no previous experience with children under two. Truthfully, I've gotten much better. I let him play in the yard and pick up grass and dirt. I let him eat goldfish and cheerios without helicoptering about him waiting for the choking to ensue. If his nuk falls on the floor, I don't frantically sterilize it anymore. He gets smooched by the dogs without me feeling the need to wash their kisses off. Two weeks ago he stayed in the church nursery without me. I'm learning and growing and chilling out.
But...
I'm still nervous about him being sick. So my little noodle-baby is sleeping right now, and I'm watching him like a hawk and helicopter rolled up into one. I bet Nickel can hear my propeller across the West End.

Summer Cold: Vile

T.G. took a break from his school report writing to walk the Dogs of Insanity and Little Guy is in for the night so I can steal a few precious seconds online, wheeeee!
Sadly, I haven't got much to write about as I've spent the past few days dealing with a wicked cold that apparently came from outer space or somewhere equally baffling and vast. I don't recall coming into contact with any sick people. I'm pretty careful about using hand sanitizer after going into a store or public place. Colds don't usually strike during the summer. Logically, I should not have one. I'm blaming the Liberals. I have no proof to back this theory up, but then again, they have no proof of global warming. So there.
Speaking of global warming, I wish to get a windmill. Not that I believe in global warming at all, but I do believe in being a good steward of the incredible planet God gave us. I always run into this weird situation with the environmental eco-people regarding planetary care. See, my whole life I've believed in conservation, organic farming, and respecting the flora and fauna around us. However, I don't buy into much of the baloney we get thrown at us daily regarding environmental concerns. I do buy into common sense. Common sense tells me that it would behoove us to take care of our planet because we have to live here. Our children have to live here. People who are not us or our children also have to live here. Therefore I am going to figure out ways to personally use less fossil fuels. I like animals. I like plants. I don't like eating food full of genetically altered dna and antibiotics. You know each thing you buy at a store gets noted by their computer systems and tracked? If you buy more organic products the store will stock more organic products. Amazing, right?
I think I'm rambling, and for that the Liberals do not get blamed, but the Sudafed does...wait...does that mean I'm blaming Big Pharmaceutical? Hm.
Ah well, I'm off to squirt Afrin up my snout. Hooray!

Twilight Shortie

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Bree Tanner is OUT!!! YES!!!!
I'm off to Barnes and Noble Lalalala la la la Laaaaaaaaaa!

Literary Mourning

I'm currently reading a book about a woman who takes up knitting after she loses her five year old daughter to spinal meningitis. The book is very good. I could tell it was going to be good before I'd even finished the first sentence, but for me, it is also very hard to read.
Something has happened to my psyche ever since having the Little Guy where any mention of the death of a child has the power to open up a chasm of horror inside me. It's a depth of dread and anguish I can't even describe. The love I feel for him eclipses any other emotion I've ever had and the very thought of him no longer existing is terrifying and horrible. And I don't know if this happens to everyone, but when I read a story about a child dying I cannot help but have momentary thought of 'What if it were MY child?'. The other day I was watching a movie based on E.M. Forster's book Where Angels Fear to Tread and realized that a child was going to die. I immediately turned it off, as if by stopping the video, I was able to stop the story and thereby save the child.
T.G. and I lost a baby before I became pregnant with the Little Guy. At the time I thought I understood the feelings that go with having a child, even though I never held that little baby once in my arms. I certainly did love my little unborn baby, but it was the love of a mother for an unmet and unknown potential. I longed for that baby, I prayed for it, I wanted it so very very much, but I know now that I did not love it as I love Little Guy. I couldn't possibly. With Little Guy I bonded with every nursing, I woke several times a night and tenderly cared for him, marveling at his beauty. My days are filled with him. I wake when he does, we eat together, I am the last person he sees before a nap and the first person he sees when he wakes. I, in essence, gave up the person I was before and assumed a new identity as his mother. I put the joy of his being on like a garment until it simply became me. And because of this, I know that if something ever happened to him I would be lost. I'm not me anymore, I'm his mommy. There is a certain terror that goes with loving another human being so much that your identity is completely intertwined with their existence. To be so very vulnerable and to know that I cannot protect him from everything harmful gives me pause several times a day. He is so small. He is so lovely. He is so beloved.
So I read about this mother who has lost her little girl and even though she is a character in a book, I mourn with her. I can understand her emptiness because it is almost too hard to bear imagining that emptiness for myself. And I think even though it is a very good book, I will not read more like it. At least for now, I'd rather not want to imagine what that pain feels like.

Work Dilemma of Confusion

So, T.G. used to work for a large truck manufacturing company in the Lehigh Valley who shall remain unnamed. Of course, said truck manufacturing company laid him off about two years ago, which was quite inconvenient for us as we relied on the paycheck and healthcare they provided. Happily we were blessed with another job opening up nearly immediately at T.G.'s current employment which is run by one of his childhood friends and is a really awesome place to work. However, at the aforementioned trucking company T.G. was up to top rate and the benefits were free and also very awesome. At his new job the pay is about half of what he was making before and the benefits are not free or quite as good. Not that I'm complaining, I LOVE his current job and the benefits are very good ones, just not as good as the other ones. More importantly, T.G. loves his current job, his boss, his work...everything. There is room for advancement, he does not come home dead tired and disgusted by his co-workers, and he enjoys what he does. Personally, I think that if you find a job you love, you are massively blessed and you stay right there loving it...HOWEVER
Now previous truck company job is opening up again and T.G. will most likely get called back in June and we have BIG decisions to make.
See, if T.G. goes back to the first job we will most likely be able to pay our house off in two years. We'll also have the free benefits again, and will be comfortable financially. It's not that we're uncomfortable now, but our purse is slimmer than it was, and we've had to be more frugal in order to keep our savings intact. On the other hand, if T.G. goes back, he will not be doing a job he loves and the truck manufacturing company is always a bit of gamble with possible lay-offs in the future always looming large over our heads. It is a conundrum. More money means paying off the house and car and the relief that comes with being debt-free. But more money also means a job that T.G. does not love and the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing if it will disappear again.
What I'm hoping will happen, and I think T.G. is really hoping as well is that he can go over everything with his current boss and see if he can do both jobs if he gets called back to the truck place. So that would mean full-time at truckville and a few hours a week at the other job. This would mean T.G. would be working an awful lot though and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I would miss him so much. He already has school two nights a week and those days are so lonely for me. I just don't know what to think. Anyway, I'm praying about all of it, because I know the Lord will direct T.G. and I as to how to handle this situation. He knows where T.G. is meant to work and I'm certain when the time comes He'll make our choice very apparent to us.

Post Birthday Thoughts

Ah, the first birthday party. So fun, so memorable, so...damp.
Yes, we got rained out, or rather rained on since we all fought through the weather and tried to attempt an outdoor party despite the deluge. It was sort of sad for me because I'd spent hours decorating and planning and wrapping tents in crepe streamers and balloons only to have all my carefully applied festivity turned into dripping piles of depression in mere seconds. I need to give a special shout out to Emily here for showing up an hour early and helping, and to Chrizzle for coming over the day before and assisting with the cupcake-age. Chrizzle stayed even after I had to go home and made sure all the cup cakes were gorgeous. Do check out the pictures on FB if you get a chance.
We ended up doing cupcakes and presents inside thank goodness. Priceless moments did happen, such as when my 4 yr old niece, Her Boopness, ate her first circus peanut. She took a bite and got a terrified look on her face at which point she carefully spat the bite into my hand and said decidedly, "No thank you, Mimi. I do NOT like it." I explained that circus peanuts are definitely an acquired taste. Queen Boopness the First stuck to popcorn, m&ms and other snacks she'd previously met after that. Princess Sparkle Kitty, my 9 month old niece, did not eat any circus peanuts but she did manage to brighten up anything within a ten foot radius of her with her blindingly gorgeous smile. I think Jeanine (T.G.'s cousin's wife) would have left with her if she could.
Little Guy fully enjoyed cramming a cupcake into his mouth and nose...and up his sleeves. After cleaning him off and changing him into clothes which were not liberally festooned with icing, he opened presents. He's the only baby I've seen open presents and have no interest in the paper or packaging but actually act like each and every present is the very thing he has longed for his entire life. He oohed, aahed, shrieked, gurgled, and exclaimed over every single present...even the clothes. Oh man, I love that kid. He's the best. Although once we got the new toys home he decided each and every one was actually a step stool which he could use to escape the fenced in play area we have for him in the living room. Sigh. Oh well, at some point he will probably notice they have other merits and not just jail breaking qualities.

Birthday Awesomeness!!!

Today is the Little Guy's first birthday. I can hardly believe it!!!!
And, since we are going to make our birthday breakfast right now, that is all. :)

Awesome Neighborness and other Sunday stuff

We have these newish neighbors, the muffin neighbors for those of you who read the previous post about them, and they rock. Yesterday a piece of their mail accidentally came here and we inadvertently discovered that they had gotten engaged. Hooray!!! Just so you don't start to think that T.G. and I are weirdos who open other people's mail, it was a postcard from a wedding planner that said 'Congratulations on your recent engagement' in GIANT letters. Of course we looked it and got confused before we realized it wasn't addressed to us, because...well, it came to our mailbox and usually stuff in our mailbox is for us. Anyhow, this lead to the totally awesome discovery of their engagement and we are very happy for them. (Especially since yours truly is not a fan of people playing house prior to 'death do us partage') When we got home from church, they were outside making the front of their yard look lovely with all sorts of pretty hostas and coral bells and nice chocolate brown mulch. So I took them their mail and the empty muffin basket and we talked a while. Then I helped R. prune his floribunda rose because it was beginning to eat the backyard like some sort of prehistoric thorn monster. (I just made up the prehistoric thorn monster and I'd advise you to go with it. There's no use in explaining to me that no such creature exists. Trust me.) Where was I? Erm...
Oh, right...pruning...rosebush...ah yes, we had a moment with our strangest neighbor. Weird Camera Neighbor.
While pruning the rosebush the Weird Camera Neighbor came over and acted well, weird. I don't think I've mentioned Weird Camera Neighbor. He's just...so odd. He lives at the very end of our block and has surveillance cameras mounted all around his house, mostly pointed at his various neighbors. He also seems to hate most living things and has coated his entire property with antiseptic looking white pebbles and large tufts of ornamental grass. There used to be some Japanese Pines and Weeping Cherries on his property, but he systematically cut off all their branches and killed them and then painted the stumps (which he left tall) white. Like I said, he's not exactly right. So W.C.N. came over to ask R. if he and V. had knocked over the white brick edging stuff at the front of his property. In truth he didn't ask so much as basically accuse them of it, which was typical of his brand of weirdness. They'd been no where near his edging, and why on earth would they knock it over? I mean...what normal person would just walk over to a crazy neighbor's yard and kick over their edging...especially in front of a multitude of cameras? I was standing there and wanted so badly to say to him "Listen wackjob, what's the point of all these cameras if you don't bother to review to tape to see who knocked over your edging?" But...I value my sanity and I have a very strong feeling that W.C.N. could become an extreme nuisance if he wished. For a while after we first moved in, W.C.N. would call the cops on T.G. and I every time a dog in the neighborhood barked. Granted we have dogs, and they do bark here and there, but one time he called them when they weren't even home. Plus another time he told the police our dogs had been out all day barking in the rain while I was in the house ignoring them, when in fact:
A. It hadn't been raining
B. The dogs weren't outside
C. I was at work
Like I said, he's a weirdo. The cop basically said to us "We know this guy, he's a weirdo. If you want to lodge a complaint against him you let us know." Hah. See? Even the cops think he's odd. One of the funniest parts of the dog saga was that he could never get our address right and he kept sending the police to our left hand neighbors who have no dog at all. Boy, were they perplexed. But now I'm all off topic. Getting back on...
So after he asked R. if he knocked the edging down, and R. said 'Um, no." R. offered to help him fix it and he got all jumpy trying to say that if R. hadn't knocked it down, why was he offering to help put it back etc...it just got stranger and stranger. Then, and this might be the most amusing and also most wacky part, after W.C.N. went back inside the cameras suddenly swiveled so that they were all pointed at our poor innocent new neighbors. I can only shake my head at this typical insane behavior from W.C.N., whatever. He's nuts. At least there aren't more of him. Most of our other neighbors are lovely people. We can't really complain. Besides, he spices things up with his oddities and gives me a reason to roll my eyes while I weed the pansy bed. This doesn't mean I will stop my current well-founded plan for staying out of his way though.
Hm. This is long and I am tired. I think I'll stop now. :)

Not exactly photo-drama, but...meh

Well, we got Little Guy's picture taken at Portrait Innovations last night during the storm of the apocalypse. (as Nickel is referring to it) It wasn't as bad as I thought, but I'd never go back. The girl who did our pictures and helped us choose the ones we wanted wasn't pushy and unfriendly, BUT there was another girl there who was all the evil I had read about rolled up in one. I felt so sorry for her customers. I'm not sure of her name, but if you go there and see a chunky girl with overdone hair and a nose ring, beware. She was pushy, snarky, inappropriate, and unfriendly with the two families I saw her working with. As far as the pictures went, they were pretty good. Chrizzle does better, though. T.G. wanted to do Portrait Innovations because you could get 40 prints for 10.00, and he wanted wallet size prints to hand out at Little Guy's party. We got the 10.00 package and one other print for just us. However, you get only one pose with the 10.00 package...which means you have 40 prints of the same picture, and additional prints are just a FORTUNE. 15.00 for the ONE other 8x10 we got. Ugh. They do push hard for more expensive packages, and we also found that they can get fairly annoying while you are trying to pick the poses you like. The girl we had kept suggesting the ones she liked as opposed to letting us just look and pick. Um, I'm sorry girl at P.I., I don't really care what you like. I care about what I like. Duh. That's why I'm there. To pick out a picture I like. Like I said, we aren't really thinking about going back. It just wasn't our cup of tea. One thing I did like was that they used a hand held camera, so the girl could really chase Little Guy around and get him from any angle. That was nice, but Chrizzle does the same thing and she takes magnificent pictures that just blow my mind with their fabulousness. I never would have done this except for the 10.00 package with all the wallet photos.
Oh, here's Chrizzle's website: www.paperdoves.com. You can check out her awesome work there.
In other news, on Friday I had the most fun date with the charming Chrizzle. We ate at this place called The Other Fish in Bethlehem. It's a tiny little sushi joint run by hot, punk rocky people. I was all apprehensive before we got there because I have never been to such a laid back, non-traditional sushi place. Most of the places I've gone too bring out all my eating in public anxiety with their overdone decor, however this was like a teensy little hole in the wall bar or diner with awesome sushi. Chrizzle and I sat at the counter and had a totally yummy dinner. One of the best parts is that it's so tiny, the sushi chef is right there in front of you making your roll, and you can watch him do it. After eating our sushi and such, we had Japanese ice-cream, which, if you've never had it, is such a scrumptious and fun novelty that I highly recommend it. You pick it up with your fingers and it comes in really cool flavors. I had green tea and sweet bean. Chrizzle had green tea and mango.
T.G. and I recently got tickets to see one of our favorite bands in July. We're all excited about it and called my parent's to see if they could watch Little Guy. I was a bit concerned because we won't be home until late and I felt sort of bad asking them to watch him until after midnight, but my mom said "Of course!" all happily and nicely. Dumb me didn't wonder why she sounded so very "Duh, Melissa, we will absolutely do this for you guys." Not that she and my dad aren't completely cool and nice about watching him, but that she seemed like it was so very obvious that they would say yes. It wasn't until yesterday that T.G. and I realized the day in question was our anniversary. Haha. We're so retarded. How did we miss that? No wonder my parents were so immediate to say yes. They knew it was our anniversary even though we didn't.
Anyhow, Little Guy is napping and need to do things. I'm off like a dirty shirt on laundry day. Wheeeeee!

Cue apprehensive music

We're taking Little Guy to get his picture taken today at Portrait Innovations. T.G.'s idea because they are doing 40 pictures for 10.00. However, I have heard unfun things about this place and I'm not thrilled with the idea. We'll see how it goes. You'll know if it was terrible, because there will surely be an angry tirade hoopla-ish post later. I am nothing if not a fan of the poison pen.

Shortie on Exboyfriendage

I know that this is totally immature and wrong, BUT...
Chrizzle told me today she saw the ex-boyfriend who used to break my heart on a regular basis at a trendy new bar last week.
He has gotten chubby.
AND
He was trying to pick up every girl there and striking out left and right.
Does this fill me with glee? You betcha.
Normally I'd feel more guilty about the glee, but this guy was a total jerkasaurus and for all the pain he put me through he certainly deserves some cellulite and striking out.
Wheeeeeee!

Hooray, good weather!

I'm so relieved the weather is relatively back to warm and sunny. Cold and dreary doesn't work for me since I can't garden in it. Today I intend to get back outside because I have three green zebra tomato plants to get in, plus two large interesting flower things from the fuchsia family, and six nasturtiums. The planting will be prefaced by the official 'Cleaning of the Dog Poo', because I share the back yard with the dogs of insanity. I should probably note that they don't poo IN the garden, but in the part of yard which is near it. The garden is fenced in. This is just as much to prevent pooing as it is to prevent Scout from eating all my berries and veggies. I swear, that dog would be a vegetarian with no problem whatsoever. She loves plants.
While we're on the subject of warm weather, I've got a few words regarding flip flops. I love this totally unfussy footwear because it is easy to put on in a hurry and doesn't squish my feet...BUT...
Why all of a sudden have flip flops become high price items? I mean...we're talking about TWO PIECE, mostly plastic footwear. Granted, there are some pretty cute flops out there, and I do enjoy things that are cute...but are they really upwards of $20.00 cute? I got two pair yesterday and they were on sale 60% off...one pair for $10.00 and the other for $7.00. Personally I think this is nuts, but my last pair died at the yardsale two weeks ago and desperate times call for desperate measures. Plus I could not find cheaper ones anywhere. The current flip flop price trend reminds me of the chapter in Bridget Jones where she discusses how scarves used to be five dollar items and suddenly skyrocketed in price until they reached hundreds. Now I feel like I need to be careful with my flip flops and not get them dirty because they cost as much as actual shoes. This is dumb, because for me, one of the points of flip flops is that you can treat them as if they are disposable and not worry if they start to look yucky. Hmph.
Mmmm, Pandora Radio you make almost everything ok. Even my flip flop anger is starting to dissipate under the influence of the Be Good Tanyas.
Last night, during the great flip flops excursion, we took Little Guy to Hometown Diner for dinner. A very sad thing happened there. We found out that they no longer made fried chicken. Now, Hometown Diner made the BEST fried chicken and this is just...intolerable. It was always my thing when we went there. I had to order a burger instead and it just wasn't the same. T.G. got the farmhouse chicken, which is what he always orders, and I ended up feeling all sad and deflated because he got his favorite and I was stuck with a second choice moo cow sandwich. Pft. T. G. gave Little Guy some of his chicken and Little Guy liked it so much that he began saying "Mmmmmm, NUM NUM NUM!" and frantically signing "More, More, More!" This almost made up for my lack of fried chicken, but the problem is that I'm still craving it and will continue to crave it until I get some. A really funny thing did happen though. The hostess, a young girl who clearly doesn't have kids of her own, tried to give Little Guy crayons and a placemat to color. It was very sweet of her but we had to explain that while our 11 month old would enjoy both crayons and placemat, he would most likely eat them in short order.
Now Pandora is playing Lucy Wainwright Loche covering Everywhere and I'm in folky guitar heaven. YAY!
Holy crap, they followed it up with Cat Power. This is just a good day. I have this sudden urge to rush for a cassette tape and slap on record like I used to do with radio stations when I was 12. I remember when oldies 99 was Q100. Sigh.
Later today I'm meeting with the Chrizzlelicious and we are going to discuss birthday cup cakery and check out her gallery show. And then we're going to the Heavenly Hedgehog to eat ice-cream. Yum! If the Foo Foo shop is open I'm going to get a rubber duck for Little Guy's birthday. He has three now...but um...ok...I'm a little obsessed with cute rubber ducks and um...everyone should have variety.
Whoosh! I'm off to shower so my day can officially start. Wheeeeeeeee!

Muffins Ahoy!

We love our new neighbors. They are young and fun and not weirdos, which is a blessing what with the current nutjobs we have in this neighborhood. There is a good deal of talking over the fence, handing across of beers and slices of cake, and all around friendly attitudes. Last week, R (code name for male neighbor) brought T.G. and I two cups of homemade sangria while we were out in the backyard gardening. (well, I was gardening...T.G. was watching and holding Little Guy) It was GOOD. Mmmmm. Hopefully this doesn't make T.G. and I sound like big drinkers, we aren't. I have about three beers a year and a handful of wine type thingies, but I do appreciate a nice Sangria on a hot day. Anyhow, V (code name for the female neighbor) is a great baker. I know this because yesterday she showed up at our front door with an enormous basket full of muffins for us, thereby endearing herself to me forever. (anyone who knows me will tell you that I NEVER refuse a nice fat carb, EVER) The muffins were a thank you for this rigamarole we assisted them with recently regarding leaking roofs and lawsuits. She really didn't need to thank us, as we were happy to help, but HOORAY MUFFINS! I am also told that she makes awesome tamales and am currently trying to figure out how to finagle one. I am a sucker for mexican cooking. Little Guy and I had muffins and eggs for breakfast with a nice helpng of fruit salad that T.G. bought us at the farmers market. The muffins are ridiculously good. So good, in fact, that I shall not let T.G. take any to work as I had originally planned, but shall freeze the ones we can't eat right away instead. Now I must come up with something to thank them for, so I can bake them cookies. I love baking cookies. Sadly, I don't think I can bake them cookies as a thank you for the muffins as the muffins themselves are a thank you for the rigamarole assistance. Hm.
In other news: T. G.'s parents are visiting next week for Little Guy's birthday and thus I must get the entire house in order prior to their visit. It's not that the house is a pigsty or anything, it's just that well...two busy adults and one small person live here with two rather insane dogs and things tend to get messy quickly. Plus things get put off, and pile up, and dust accumulates in record time around here. (dog related probably, but EW dog dust! ugh!) Since his parents live down south, and his mother is an exceptional housekeeper, I like to have things perfect before they arrive. Of course, this lasts ten seconds as they usually bring boxes of stuff for us and things get set about everywhere with no regard to neatness immediately. I'm not complaining though. I mean, hello? I love my in-laws and one does not complain about getting gifts. Gifts are lovely.
Speaking of gifts, I had the nicest first Mother's Day. T. G. got me a little birthstone baby with Little Guy's birthstone and two t-shirts of his favorite band, and a gorgeous apron from Country Living with big pink flowers on it. I know what you are thinking. Two t-shirts from HIS favorite band? Yes. But, I really like the band too, and he was so excited about them. He also got himself some t-shirts which means now we have t-shirts in common and possibly I'm lame for thinking this, but I am sort of all melty and affectionate about that. Anyhow, it's Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, and I'll happily wear their shirts. So whee!!!! Happy Mother's Day to me!
We got T.G.'s mother a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens, and my mother a Russian Sage plant, so all mothers were happy all around.
I have a dog behind me snoring away with her little body all curled up and round paws in a little heap in front. She could not be cuter. Now, if only she didn't shed, she'd be perfect.

Haircut of the Apocalypse

With the Little Guy's first birthday looming on the horizon, it was decreed that he must have a haircut. Well, my mother and I decreed it, quite emphatically I might add. T.G. was not as sold on it, because our previous attempt at Christmas time had resulted in a very um, interesting fringe of bangs. However, this was not anybody's fault. It was caused in full by my son not exactly grasping the need to sit still at six months old so my mother could shorten the giant sweep of hair which was falling into his eyes. (he was beginning to look like an infant Hitler, sans mustache, and I had started referring to him as the Tiny Dictator in my typical unPC way) Anyhow, the bangs had grown back in since December and he was once again sporting a Fascist comb-over. In addition to the Third Reich bangs, the hair over his ears had reached weird and epic proportions and fanning and waving like some sort of mutant cranial anemone. It had to go. Hence, the Haircut of the Apocalypse commenced at my parent's house yesterday. I need to preface this by saying that my mother is great at cutting hair. She's cut mine, she cuts my dad's, my niece's...pretty much everyone in our immediate family has been to Salon Mom. I took the Little Guy down, and she got out all her hair cutting stuff and we put him in the high chair in front of Barney. (Ok, I just want to point out here that this was his first time EVER seeing Barney. I don't do Barney. I don't really do TV, but if I did...Barney would at the bottom of the list, however desperate times and all. We just needed the Little Guy to sit still, if Barney got the job done...well then fine.) Barney didn't work. Not at all. At first things seemed ok, he was curious, but not upset. My mom was clipping away with the guard thing on the clippers and Rider was sort of passively keeping an eye on things. Then, with no warning, it all fell apart. He made a desperate grab for the clippers, and my mom was too fast for him so he missed. This led to a hardcore interest in the clippers for the Little Guy. He wanted them and was brooking no opposition. As my mother and I deemed it inadvisable to let him play with the hair clippers he decided it warranted a full blown temper tantrum. Within seconds the meltdown commenced full of wailing, red-faced fury, and copious tears. He flat out refused to allow any more hair to be cut and we once again had wiggly bangs and uneven areas. This was bad because in order to get an ok from T.G. I had to promise that we would not screw up. Things were, in fact, screwed up. Way screwed up. I tried everything. I even got a popsicle and let him hold it, which did nothing other than distract him for two seconds and coat his person in red, sticky, popsicleness. What we were left with was a hiccuping, semi-hysterical Little Guy, covered in goo, and half a haircut. The hair around his ears was nicely trimmed and the back was mostly ok, but the front was just...wrong. So, we decided to give him a break.
For six hours.
It kind of worked.
When we came back to the haircut at around six PM, he was much less miserable, at least until my mom actually started cutting. At which point, he returned to his wailing and wild fist waiving fury. This led to an odd dance between myself, my determined mother, and my windmilling child. With me chanting, "It's ok, it's ok, you're fine" punctuated with "Now! Now! I have his head still!" and my mom deftly snipping where she could, things evened up on his head. Eventually, we had an actual haircut with more or less even bangs, and a nice, symmetrical back. Besides, as my mother pointed out, I can just push his bangs to the side and no one will ever see the slightly ragged ends. Voila! No one was injured, Little Guy has a haircut, and T. G. may actually allow future styling at Salon Mom. (Although the hard part now is going to be convincing my mother to attempt this debacle again, sigh)

Finally...I did this blog thingy...

Ok, so I just started this and have NO idea what I'm doing...thus, no pictures yet or anything. I must speak to the divine Nickel and sort out how to do all that. However, I needed some sort of literary outlet before my head fell off from disuse, and for that purpose...no picture needed.
Since I tend to run on a non-conformist, totally bizarre, and mostly random thought pattern at all times, that is how I write. And talk. My poor husband. He has to deal with my stream of thought babble on a daily basis, but, after five years, he's gotten used to it.
Which reminds me...I must come up with an alias for him and the little guy. Hm.
Oh, right back to thought thingy from before...stream of consciousness...um...oh yes. Here's where I was going with that. I just watched last week's Glee (because we got rid of cable, so I have to work it into my crazy week whenever I can via Hulu) anyhow...Jessie. Yeah. I never liked him until just this week when he dumped Rachel. Clearly I have never quite gotten over my high schoolish 'unattainable man syndrome'. At least, some small part of me hasn't. Because frankly, he's sort of a douche, but not in a good Puck kind of way, and I've never liked him at all. Until now, and I'm guessing it's because Rachel can't have him. Speaking of Rachel...I used to root for her, but now she's become so irritating that I can't even stand the sight of her. I think maybe they need to tone down her character or something. She's totally unlikable lately.
Hm, my first blog here ever, and somehow it turned into a Glee tirade. I will have to work on that.
You know, I think the little guy's alias is going to be Little Guy, but I still have nothing for the husband. I think the problem is that it is very easy to come up with unflattering code names for people, but my husband is mostly lovely and it's hard to think up nice ones. He is very um..thrifty though. VERY thrifty. He's the Thriftmaster General of the Lehigh Valley, you can ask anyone who knows him and they will totally tell you that. So. Hm. Ok, he's going to be T.G. for Thriftmaster General. There. Done.
Sometimes we call the Little Guy the Poopmaster General of the Lehigh Valley. (He's not quite one, and still in diapers) I don't mind changing diapers but sometimes it leads to me doing the dumbest stuff. Like today for instance. He took a poo that required a bath, and me...being the idiot I am...carried him into the bathroom naked, and while holding him, turned the water on.
Oh yes. I so did this dumb thing. And of course he peed all over me and everything within a five foot radius. Fortunately, that was my share of drama today, so things were pretty low key.
I'm working on planning the Little Guy's birthday party right now, and am caught up in the fun of party planning. I just adore planning parties. I could do it for a living except that I KNOW I would not be able to put up with tacky people wanting ridiculous things and would end up 'having words' with people over paper fold-out bells and the like.
Wait...what was my point here? Oh...BIRTHDAY! The Little Guy is having a circus theme first birthday and we are going to have all sorts of fun stuff and I'm in negotiations (haha) with Chrizzle over using her 'Hello Cupcake' book to make circus theme cupcakes. Actually, the negotiations have gone well with me asking if I could check out the book and her offering to help make the cupcakes. She's very kind like that. She also had a very cool wedding and understands the need for untacky. It was in an art gallery with all this amazing glass sculpture stuff and she had an ice-cream wedding cake...OH and the coolest flowers. See, that was sneaky because I did her flowers. But she will tell you herself that they were cool, so there.
Hm. 10:30. I must go to bed because the Little Guy usually wakes up around 6:30 AM, and this Domestic Diva needs her beauty sleep. (or any sleep really, because in a house with a semi-toddler, sleep is at a premium) Well, I am off to bed, wheeeeeeee!