Sunday, September 30, 2007

6 Months

Dear Ruby,

I had wanted to celebrate your 6 months on this earth by finally writing out the story of your birth. Unfortunately, I had actual work that pays shiny dollars to attend to and so it isn't quite yet complete. Hopefully it will be done soon because it is something that I want to do just right so that you can always know each gory detail of exactly how painful and miserable it was to bring you into this world and take solace in the knowledge that if you ever bring further pain and misery, I will indeed, take you out of it.

Six months. Wow. You are such an amazing Little Pumpkin Face. Every day I take a snapshot of you in my mind and file it away under: Amazing, Ruby M. Your fussiness is now predictable and it is so much easier to calm you down. I must admit that when I hear you screaming your little heart out with someone else and then I rescue you and the tears stop, my heart melts a little.

You will.not.take.a.bottle. Under any circumstances. I've tried breast milk in a playtex, formula in a dr. browns and liquid gold with angels and Jesus Christ himself in a dollar store cheapie and it is just not happening. It's ok. Secretly I love the fact that only mama will do. I really, really love it.

Life has changed so much since you figured out the whole grasping shiny toys concept. You no longer loathe the car as much because I can give you a toy like a duck, giraffe, or perhaps the empty Teddy Grahams package and you are content for quite awhile.

Ruby Mae, you are a drama queen. I don't mean to hurt your feelers, but I am your mother and it is my job to make you face ugly truths about yourself sometime. I promise that not being held for five seconds so mama can finally pee because she has been holding it for three hours already and ran out of Depends so that she can be at your service, will not, in fact, cause you bodily harm. Being changed instead of being fed first will not, in fact, actually kill you as you have been led to believe. No one is trying to murder you at 3:45 a.m. , it is just mama moving a little slowly to get your demands met.

You are such a joy to me. Sometimes my love for you fills my heart so much that I think it might burst. I am so proud that you are mine, little girl with the hundred year old soul who is at least half eyes. Every day with you is a gift and I pray I have a million more to share with you.


Saturday, September 29, 2007


Wouldn't it be funny if someone spent months planning every last detail of their kitchen remodel but totally forgot to include enough space to put a table large enough for actual humans to sit down and dine at? Even better would be if they had actually finished all the work before they realized this! Absolutely hysterical no?

We are very, very hilarious people.

Anyone have any Barbie furniture for sale? Nothing too big though.

Friday, September 28, 2007

A Thank You

Dear Internets,

Thank you so much for your enthusiastic (and plentiful!) responses to the question: What the hell should I sing to my kid? I have be revitalized by your suggestions and am trying them all out. I regaled the whole neighborhood with my lively renditions of the Hallelujah Chorus (Thank you 10th grade choir!), Baby Beluga and possibly the Hillshire Farms GO MEAT! commercial last night.

Anyway, your ideas were much appreciated.

Your humble blogger,


P.S. to Molly: Giiiirl, I recently located the cast photos of all the shows we were in together. I think we should start adding Ooompah pah, The Lullaby League and the entire score from The Pajama Game to our baby singing repetoire. Ahhhh, the inocence of youth no? Also, in the Wizard of Oz? Your eyebrows were quite pointy. Loves!

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Open Letter

Dear Davey,

While I appreciate your desire to be part of the group in the lunch room, I was disturbed when you told me that the discussion today was centered around the condition and/or discoloration of my nipples as a result of feeding our child. The discomfort I feel is compounded by the fact that these women are also former co-workers of mine as well, including a supervisor whom I may need a recommendation from someday. Unfortunately, when she thinks of me now, instead of her most recent knowledge of me being an employee hard at work in her cube, she will envision my giant, maltreated hooters. Not the image I was going for.

I am offering you a chance at redemption. Please keep this item in mind while you are shopping for the plentiful presents that you will be presenting me with for my birthday celebration which will be taking place in t-minus less than two weeks.


Your Loving Wife

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Google Files

It's time for the next monthly installment of How People Got Here. Gets weirder every day. Here goes:

  • grunting red face poop mommy- Whaaa?
    peed her pants fear-Yes indeed, I can think of nothing more fear inspiring.
  • Letter to my lover making love-Maybe you would have time to do just that if you didn't use so many Goddamn words. And also if you made sense.
  • hooters as a weapon-Lets just say you don't want me to turn quickly while you are in my radius.
  • breastfeeding stinging boobs-my life ad nauseum
  • infant ear infection laryngitis-Of all of the disease combinations I can think of, this one would be the best in my opinion.
  • Letter of hopes and dreams for my baby-to be followed by the letter of tears and despair approximately 2.2 years later.
  • Doctor visit embarrassing-"embarrassing"? Does that really even begin to scratch the surface of the humiliation I face each time somebody around here gets a sniffle.
  • love letters about being pregnant- Fuck you. Are you kidding me?
  • Some lady peed her pants- I'm sorry, can you be more specific? I mean, if I am the lady you are looking for I won't be surprised. I mean, having babies, um, changes, um, things. I don't want to talk about it.
  • King sheet too big for bed-Try a queen, Einstein.
  • Sharp stabbing pain in cervix-Two things I know about this: 1. It is really real. and 2. There is not one Goddamn thing you can do about it. So glad not to be the only one who experienced this. My midwife looked at me like I was a crazy person when I asked about it. I swear that people were ready to commit me when I would drop to the floor screaming in the middle of a sentence when the little creep punched me down there.

And Two That Defy My Ability to Think of Comments:

  • Pull ups pics+teenage pics
  • Pooping my panties cousin party

I mean, really, who are you crazy a-holes

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


I am a Mama. I am not a Mother and am definitely not a Mommy. I will keep you fed and clothed and possibly supervised (sort of. GET YOUR FINGERS OUT OF THE BLENDER!) , but that is where my madd parenting skillz end. Because of the lack of Mommyness in my DNA I often find myself wondering what in the name of Christdom I am supposed to do with these miniature people that live in my house.

Because I am a slow learner, I have discovered singing as a means to calm my children down. Like two years late, but whatevs I am getting there. Unfortunately I am unable to remember many child-friendly-sleepy-time-songs. And now the toddler? Points to the rocking chair and demands that there will be! Singing! and it will be terrible! and possibly dirge-like!

So far I tell her the I Love You Forever story and sing the verse, lots of old hymns and some made up songs that feature a curious number of little girls named Goldie and why did she not obey her mama when she asked her to not wear dirty underwear on her head? Also, I taught her Jesus Loves Me which is the hands down favorite. I ask her what we should sing and invariably the answer is "JESUS! JESUS!." The worst part is that she demands that we sing it with our eyes closed like we are praying (which, side note, I haven't taught her to pray yet. Is on list of Things to Teach Children) and while I am singing through the song she chants quietly "this I know, this I know" and it is starting to get weird. It sort of feels like a toddler revival meetin'.

Internets, I need your help. What are some good bedtime songs? I asked my mother and she can only remember singing Old Man River to me as a baby which really was the final piece of the puzzle explaining a few personality glitches, but no help whatsoever on the There Must Be Another Song Besides Jesus Loves Me campaign trail.


Monday, September 24, 2007


Dateline, My bed, 3:00 a.m.

Stumbled out of bed to discover Roob shoved in the corner of her crib, face up with with a tiny jacket spread over her face. Goldie had contributed jacket to the crib contents the night before after insisting that "sissy. cold." and refusing to leave until she was certain that the jacket was going to stay. Am wonderful mother and did not return for jacket that was safely tucked in opposite end away from Roob. Sigh.

Room is freezing cold. I snatched up my babycicle, changed her quickly and tucked her into my bed as she started to eat. and eat. For well over 30 min. the child chowed down. Great, I thought. "She will be so full and happy that she will sleep till 10 a.m.!" Am impressed with flawless plan and self for having so much milk! Reluctantly pick up sweet, content baby and head for her room.

Ruby does not spit up. Ever. Her burbs are dry. Always. So I was unconcerned when I had her over my shoulder and heard a little burp. Then a bigger burp. Then....OH MY GOD, a splat. Down my back. Yowsa, what a freak occurrence that was! Put baby on my chest to hold her and "buuuuuurp" HOLY CRAP. The barf. Is unstoppable. I did what anyone who was being rapid fire barfed on would do: I stood there like an idiot clutching the person who was barfing on me and started screaming. Davey came running as I was still holding the Incredible Exploding Baby and he turned on the light. I tossed Roob into his arms and ran to get the barfy clothes off. Then the baby, in her father's arms started grinning like a Gerber baby uncontrollably and her father, powerless against her cuteness, forgot about his barf-soaked wife and started a coo-fest that went on forever as I tried to soak it up from the carpet (Thank you Roob for barfing on the only carpeted surface in the house. I think that's great).

Everyone changed, calm, and ready to get back in bed by 4 a.m. Am supermom. Dipped in barf.

Am secure that I no longer suffer from low milk supply.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Beach Time: A Photo Essay

We got into town late after fighting Friday traffic and lots of potty stops. We worked on getting the girls into bed. They worked on stalling. Goldie thought she saw a piece of chicken in between Roob's bony plate and stepped in to assist.

Macaroni and cheese served, children tucked into bed, and several tantrums later, Mindy and I decided it was time to hit the Chianti.
After the wine worked it's magic and we had fallen asleep in our respective beds, the girls had other ideas. See: up all night; sleep deprivation as a torture method.
It was one of those rare, magic sunny days at the beach and Goldie got to see the ocean for the first time. She decided that it was much larger than the white noise machine she sleeps with had led her to believe.
Mama decided it was time for Goldie to know what the real ocean was and when I say real ocean, I mean, the NW coast. Cold. Wet. Miserable.
Helping my baby discover her world for the first time: Priceless.

***We will not be discussing the bedbug infestation that my bed in the motel suffered from. Nor will we mention the bites from head to toe, even after I brought MY OWN FREAKING BLANKET AND PILLOW, possibly involving The Lady Garden that resulted. I am far too shy.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Happy Weekend

During a lovely dinner with Good Friend Mindy last night we decided to let Davey have a manly weekend alone with the contractor so they could install the cabinets with no interference. We found a hotel at the beach and we are headed outta town in T-minus 20 minutes.

I wouldn't exactly call it a vacation, but it should prove to have some fun moments. If you happen to be travelling to Manzanita this weekend, look for us.

Not bringing the computer so as to give my poor hands a break. Have a good one!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

mama never told me there'd be days like this

Today started off wonderfully with a leisurely morning filled with getting a few extra Zzzzs and long phone chats with friends. After a long night with a very grumpy baby, it felt well deserved. Things continued to be very pleasant as we headed to Barb's office to figure out the boob situation. Goldie loves to visit Barb because she is The Bringer of Forbidden Frozen Treats and handed over a blue Popsicle first thing and made a friend for life. I had Roob's ears checked by a doc just in case her fussiness was due to an infection, but no, my baby continues to be a riddle wrapped in a rhyme and refuses to have her moods de-coded.

I prepared to leave the office with Roob tucked in the sling, bag in one hand, Goldie holding the other. We were headed home! And then we reached the lobby of the fairly large medical office where G somehow shook free of my grasp and she was gone. First she ran behind the desks of the people who check patients in and when I dragged her out she flopped on the floor like a fish and actually pounded her tiny fists and giant feet into the floor. Awww Hells naw. I tried to drag her off the ground while gritting my teeth and yelling at her softly under my breath, but she knew the score. I couldn't go ballistic as long as we were in public. She made like toddler velcro and was not going anywhere. At the precise moment that she was having her Grand Mal Tantrum, the exceptionally kind doc who had just seen us walked by and gave me the hi sign. Oh. My. Hell. She brought shame on the house of Wage-Stein and the Maximum Freakout continued as I finally got her to her feet and she took off to the pharmacy where she screamed like her life depended on it. From there she ran down a ramp to a patient area where she streaked past the elderly people in wheelchairs and into the doctor/patient area. By some stroke of luck I finally caught my demon spawn who flopped like a fish in my arms. Mind you I still had the baby in the sling and all our crap and now a toddler sized slinky trying her damnedest to escape my grasp as I got her onto my hip.

When we got to the parking lot, I thought I had it made as I maneuvered the keys out of my pocket. I almost made it. almost. In one final push to assert her freedom, Goldie got her legs under her and started to climb me like a tree. Even this would have been ok had she not found her leverage at the waist of my jeans. Yes, folks, indeed I was pantsed in the parking lot of the doctors office.

I am choosing to believe that all of the people who were in the parking lot were there to be treated for cataracts or glaucoma.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The Purple People Feeders

****Disclaimer: Once again I am spouting off about my hooters. If you are not currently breastfeeding or you are a man who is not looking to put the big kabosh on his libido, stop reading here and come back tomorrow for something for the whole class. This will not prove interesting to 99% of the populous and is kind of graphic and possibly quite long. And boring.

Awhile back I told you all that I wasn't going to complain any more about the bottomless pits of pain that my boobs have become. I lied. I went to see the lovely, wonderful, kind hearted Barb, my friend and lactation consultant this week and she was all "giirrrl, um, did you notice that your nipples are ummmm, how do you say? PURPLE!?" Apparently the girls have been used and abused to the point where there is actual bruising. And cracking. Crikey. I also must say that I am so lucky to have Barb to help me, but I usually do not encourage women whom I hang out and drink wine with feel me up. I am desperate, however, so I will just be grateful and get over it as I would not have met her if it were not for the feeling up.

It is interesting because I thought I noticed this change of color about two months ago and when I asked Davey what he thought he said "They are always like that." Then he went back to The Game. When I returned from my appointment with Barb I did what any wife would do and took advantage of the opportunity to make him feel like a real jerk and shoved my mangled mammaries at him and said "I WAS SO RIGHT! THEY ARE FREAKING PURPLE AND BRUISED! FEEL VERY SORRY FOR ME AND PURCHASE JEWELRY. I LIKE DIAMONDS. THEY ARE SHINY." I did not get the response I was hoping for. Instead, he looked, shrugged and was not impressed. Finally he said "Well, they have just looked so haggard since you started nursing again that I couldn't really tell." Then I killed him.

I am not sure exactly the cause of all of this but it seems that I am in a cycle where I am afraid of the pain so it is affecting the milk letdown and so Roob is sucking too much trying to bring in the milk and so around and round we go. There isn't much I can do about it except try to not nurse as frequently by giving her more solids (because she will flip you the bird if you so much as put a bottle in the same room as her), which sounds great in theory, but when the baby is latching onto my mouth and nose and pleading with me, I cannot resist or deny my nittle' preshus baybee. I was totally willing to slink off to my recliner and cry my way through the next 6 months of this, but Barb made the mistake of emailing me to check on how things were going. She will now know better than to do that again after I whined her ear off with my woeful tale of the nipular persuasion.

Heading back in tomorrow to see if there are any further options. Makes me wish for simpler times when the only time I thought about the hooters was when I was trying to keep them from escaping my tank top due to the extreme perkiness. Ha. I no longer suffer from this problem.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007


Things are looking up here at Chez Davey! The walls are closed! Plumbing complete! Cabinets to be installed Saturday! Sunday night we will celebrate with a feast whose caloric content cannot possibly be contained in my USDA Recommended Daily amount.

Excuse me? What was that you say? The electrician will not be coming to finish until a week from Thursday? There will be no culinary delights? Even from the microwave? Radicool.

Have you ever wanted to make out with your linoleum?
I have.

Yeah, my kid is 2 and has a binky, what of it?

Goldie still has a binky. And when I say has I mean is completely obsessed with. It was to the point that when she was about 18 months old and not talking, I figured out that i had better get it out of her mouth some of the time so she could learn to communicate. That's how much she loves her binky. Now she only gets it in the car and in bed which works out really well considering how much I hate the hateful glares I would get at the store. Hey you in the back! I can feel your stares through the internet. Tell you what, you tell her she can't have it any more and then take her home with you and see how long you can hold out to the screams of Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinkiiiiiiiiiiiyeee-yeeeee-yeeee.

I thought about taking it away on her birthday, but I simply don't have the heart. It is her best friend and confidant. She sings to it, snuggles it, shares it and has discussed possibly bringing it as her date to weddings and holiday celebrations.

We have recently discovered a new reason to let her keep it for now. So we can take it away. Let me explain. I have heard over and over that you have to find a child's currency when dealing with discipline. Lets say that labeling G as strong willed would be the understatement of the year. Are you whining Goldie? Hand me that binky. Sucking toothpaste out of the tube for a snack? Give it here kiddo. Did you sit on your sister? You know the drill. If I take it away for good she will have nothing to look forward to. You should seriously see how much this kid wants her binky.

This strategy is working awesomely. So now I am looking forward to other take away toys as she gets older. Thinking that a cell phone and car might be in her future......

Monday, September 17, 2007

Make-o Mistake-o

Dear Best Friend of my Mother,

Just a note to say that I am so very, very sorry that I decided to send you the link to this little blog after it was brought to my attention that you were interested.

I am an idiot who suffers from poor judgment and possibly multiple head injuries.

You are a very special person in my life whom I consider to be family. Since I only get to see you once a year or so, this blog is not the impression of me that I was hoping you would hold close to your heart. The fact that you have probably, by now, ingested pages and pages of my incessant drivel laced with every conceivable polite word/F-bomb combination and the fecal follies makes me sort of, well, horrified.

I have to go now and contemplate creative ways to avoid eye contact next time I see you.

Love you,

Above Average

We are not small people anywhere you want to look. We are big, sturdy people. Davey, in particular suffers from The Giant Hands. (Note to self: Should totally be wedding photographer in spare time)

And The Giant Hands, they require a Giant Pencil. You would think that they could come up with a more manly name for these Giant Pencils other than calling them My First Ticonderoga. Sheesh.
****Special thanks to Davey for interrupting his frantic trying to get out of the damn house and get to work, so his wife could take pictures of his giant paws and make fun of something he totally can't help in front of the entire Internet. Thanks Honey.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Seeing Red

A very timely thing happened today. As I mentioned earlier this week, I have been trying to get in touch with my anger and the perfect situation presented itself in the form of contractors who are trying to FUCK WITH MY LIFE.

The kitchen project has been, up until today, going swimmingly. Many days I am required to be out of the house and today was one of those. I packed up my girls, all their crap and got myself together enough to leave the house by 7:45 a.m. (no matter that it has been several days since I have seen the inside of a shower and my jeans are so filthy that they are fixin' to get up and walk around on their own) I was running early! Am wonderful mother and model wife. All people should have themselves together like I do! Am very impressed with self.

I left the door open for the drywall guys and called David to have him call the head guy and tell him that his wife is an amazing person who got herself out of his way early so please come on in. He made the call and the guy was out on the ocean fishing, but not to worry, his guys were on the case and will let themselves in. All is peachy.

I spent my day hanging out at my friends house and then at my mother's for naps and so I could get a few hours of actual work in. The day dragged on. and on. Finally, it approached 4:00, the hour I could come home. I found this on the door:

For those without super-human vision it says:
Good Morning.
I was here from 8:00-8:30 this morning to work on your kitchen. Please call me so we can set up another time.
So. Now the schedule is screwed. I have to paint. I have to get the floor installed. I have to make an appointment with a shrink. I wasted an entire day for these imbeciles?
I can't write any more right now. My head just exploded.
P.S. Why are my paragraphs not separating right? The formatting on this looks awful. All apologies.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

And the poop stories keep coming

Another doozy today. I hate being stuck in the house. I like to be out and about doing whatever it is that I do. Go to the park, meet up with friends, whatever. Today I was stuck inside with two weeny whiners because we were waiting for the inspector to come tell us that it is ok to close up the walls of the kitchen. They said between 8-12. They did not arrive until 12:15. Fuck me.

Basically, the kids were bored. Very bored. When I finally thought that I had earned a moment of quiet reflection while I was nursing Roob and Goldie was off being so good, I found this:

She found the effing lipstick. Bad quality pic, but I figure that you people are going to stop believing my wild toddler stories if I don't post proof. Two baths and a slathering of cold cream later she is still looking bruised and sun burnt.

I can't leave this post without a poop story because as you are starting to understand, chaos ensues every time my child defecates. Early this a.m. I had just gotten Goldie dressed and had moved on to Ruby when I saw a naked toddler streak down the hallway. I got upset that blah blah just put your clothes on blah blah when I noticed turds falling behind her when she ran. I got her directed to the potty chair to finish when she insisted she was done, then stood up and peed on the floor. I pulled the potty into the front room so I could keep an eye on things which becomes important later in our story. Three hours later I had just given up on Mclate inspectorpants when Goldie bounces up to me and says "Goldie! Potty!!" so I put on my best so-excited-for-you-to-not-pee-on-my-floor face and was all "good girl! sit on the potty!" At that moment, two things happened: I looked out in front of my house and saw the inspector pull up and then I looked at Goldie who in turn looked at me, made a face and grunted in her most gravelly toddler voice "Goldie pooooooop." No. I have been waiting for this jackass for like 5 years and he has to show up at the precise moment that someone is POOPING IN FRONT OF THE DOOR. Have you ever seen a grown woman in the fetal position?

I grabbed the potty full of poop and stuck it in another room and then frantically tried to get panties on the child who had not been wiped and was still covered in red lipstick. I am really surprised that child services hasn't been here yet. Maybe tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

The Jean Files

Those of you who know me in real life are all too familiar with the fact that I always.wear.jeans. I wear them to work, to church and funerals of people I didn't know that well. I have always felt that I should never pay more than $40 for a pair since, well, they are jeans for Chrissake and aren't all jeans alike?

As I have grown older I have realized that perhaps, just maybe, more expensive jeans might be better. So I have waged a search, far and wide (mostly wide considering my pant size) for the perfect pair, regardless of price. I talked to people, I read reviews and Seven jeans came up the winner! I went online and found a gorgeous, funky flared pair that looked just perfect. Then I waited. For two effing weeks. I think they sent them by amputee donkey.

Then today! They were here! And they were so cute! And they TOTALLY DON'T EFFING FIT. Can somebody tell me when I became a fat midget because seriously?

WTF? Also, they fit at the waist but have a really low PB (pot belly) pouch. Like nearly $100 are you kidding me? But, I will admit that my enormous ass? Totally smokin'. So, am debating whether to send them back or get them altered. I really don't want to spend any more money, but I am already in too deep. Does everything have to be hard?

Monday, September 10, 2007

Mama Lost Her Cool

Tonight, I totally lost my cool. I think it was because my house was so full of The Hot. I had a very frustrating day of not getting done what needed to get done and the 95 degree weather in my very not air conditioned surroundings sort of baked my brains. I picked up Goldie from the babysitter's who does not speak english and her little 10 year old was waiting for me. Uh. oh. She said "My mom wants me to tell you that Goldie went down for a nap with my baby sister and she pooped in her pants, then she took the poop out of her pants and put in on my sister's head and rubbed it in." What. The. Fuck. Awesome. My afternoon went downhill from there.

I am really not very good at being mad. That is why people like me. Chances are I will never hate them. It simply takes too much energy to be pissed off and I am very lazy. unfortunately anger left unresolved tends to creep out in different ways and so David is trying to teach me that it is ok to get pissed. The first time I got mad and let it out was over leaving my phone somewhere and expecting an important call. I stomped my feet and I squeeled in anger. David looked amused. Tonight when he saw me losing it he suggested that I get in the car and get the hell out of the house for awhile.

Best. Idea. Ever. I took a drive and Mary Chapin Carpenter soothed away the rawness. I realized I had not even got my messages off the phone today in all the chaos. I dialed in and there was the voice of a friend and her voice was so full of love and she told me that we should get together this week and I could just feel the warmth coming from her. I calmed down and thought about all of the great things that had happened in the last week. My two oldest friends invited me over for dinner and wine and we had so much fun laughing and telling stories. Four other friends invited us to the park and it made me wonder if there are any other two year olds who can get five adults to go swing with them. Then there was my new friend who had us over for a lovely meal and let Goldie get wild outside and held Roob while she was screaming so I could have a moment of peace. And then there were impromptu dinner gatherings and folks who let us nap at their house during construction and disrupt their day.

I ended up grocery shopping tonight on my little outing. After thinking about all of the people that bless my life I really started to miss my girls. I actually like taking them grocery shopping. It is our special time where Goldie chants "Ham! Ham!" until I go to the deli where everyone knows her name and gives her samples. She "helps" me shop and I tell her the names of all the foods and let her put it in the basket while Roob sleeps quietly in the sling on my chest. I got home and Davey had got them both to sleep, bless his heart. I peeked in and saw my little girls, angels while they sleep.

It was a good day after all.

Sunday, September 09, 2007

We can't possibly be this lame

Or, How I Spent My Friday Night. A camera phone essay.

Good Friend Mindy gave me a call on Friday as she was leaving work to see if we had dinner plans. We did not have anything beyond the usual shoveling of some food-type microwaved crap eaten in the dungeon that is functioning as a meal station into our gaping throats planned. And tantrums. We jumped at the chance to meet up at a local Mexican joint where Goldie ate approximately 5 lbs of chips because we are all about The Healthy.
The grownups were busy talking about important adult-type things like porn and crack pipes when the baby started crying. Goldie did what any good big sister would do, she gave her The Finger.
I was no where near done shoveling in The Giant Mexican Meal That Ate My House, so I broke all of my normal thou shalt not show strangers your hooters rule and whipped it out. So glad that Good Friend Mindy also whipped out her camera phone to document.
Home Depot was the natural next stop. I didn't have enough indigestion after all the salsa so I figured that picking out fixtures was a sure way to ensure heartburn until Sunday.
Good Friend Mindy is a great child entertainer. If you do not have a Good Friend Mindy, then I suggest you head to the shower section of your local Home Depot and pick one up.

Not pictured were the Giant Cookies of Fat Thighs that were consumed after we got home. Because, you know, we're not fat enough already. That is why we have skinny friends. We carry them around in our pockets with their small pants and tiny, emaciated rib cages. They are a constant reminder to remember to eat more brownies.
And that is how I spent my Friday night. In another life I considered Friday night to be the Holy Grail of all days. The night of fun and possibilities and quite likely, hard liquor. These days were are in bed by 10 p.m. and happy to have left the house at all. Wow. I totally can't believe I just admitted that.
I still think that this was a better choice for a post than the planned "Saturday Morning or How we grabbed our ankles at Verizon and still couldn't even walk out with the hottest phone of 2004." You are really glad I spared you.

Friday, September 07, 2007

A day in the life

I must say that guest blogging was one of the more pleasant things I have done this week, considering all of the unpleasant things I have been confronted with. Today, we will cover just one brief interlude of the Yuck Factor that seems to permeate my life these days.

Because of the kitchen remodel, and the working-type people who populate my house on most days I have been exiled several days this week. Do you know what it is like to not be able to go home when you have run every errand you ever had to do in your whole life and even your toddler is all like "Mom....hellloooo. Aren't you the grown-up type person who is supposed to make sure I get a nap. Take me the hell home already."

So on day two of this I got both Pack and Plays (portable cribs for those not in the know and yes I lug two of them around with me at all times. Shut your trap.) and headed to my moms house where she said I could hang out as long as we don't touch anything.

We get there and I somehow embrace the struggle that is my life and got them both upstairs and set up and kids lunched and changed and nursed and sippys and asleep. Or so I thought. Goldie started screaming like someone was murdering her. She peed through pull-up and clothes. What in the hell did you drink, child? Ok, no problem, changed. Great. Screaming from other room. Roob. The child who poops like once a month? Pooped. Everywhere. Grab diaper bag. No effing wipes. Super. Paper towels! Cleaned up, back to bed. Silence. Howling. GOLDIE! For Chrissake. Pooped. Still no wipes. Holy God. More paper towels, except she knows whats up and she all "whats up with this shit mom?" Shut up kid. Oh. Out of pull ups. CRAP. Ok, ok, am Mom. Can handle crisis. No problem. Ruby has one diaper left. Will put inside her shorts like a pad. Am genius. Goldie a bit confused, but no worry. "Sissy! Diaper!?"Can work out in therapy later. Back to bed, silence.

I actually get a few hours of work in before they wake up. Roob! You simply cannot have crapped your drawers again. That would be ridiculous. She is very very ridiculous. Out of diapers. Fuck. don't panic. Will get out of here and head home. I am the only family member who isn't going Commando on the way home. "please, just no one pee!"Fold up cribs, schlep downstairs to car. Carseats, nurse, toys, books, bags, shitty diapers bagged up with paper towel, cats inside, door locked. I haven't sweat like this.....well.....ever.

Get home. What's for dinner? Are you fucking out of your effing mind? Pizza. Pizza is for dinner. Do not complain. I do not want to hear how hard your day was. You do not want a piece of this.

Kids fed, nursed, bathed, changed, read to, in bed with Davey's help, of course.Work a couple more hours on paid job. Die.

This could not possibly be my life. Someone is totally going to daycare today.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Gone Bloggin'

Do you want to read more about my hooters than you ever wanted to know? Click on over here.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Actual Email Exchange

from : Kirsten
To : David
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:24 PM
subject: Where are the cookies?

Where are the cookies? Do not toy with me.

from : David
To : Kirsten
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:28 PM
subject: Where are the cookies?

what cookies would those be? hehe

from : Kirsten
To : David
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:33 PM
subject: Where are the cookies?

The cookies that I want to eat. You do not want to taunt me.

from : David
To : Kirsten
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:37 PM
subject: Where are the cookies?

Do we even have any cookies? ;)

from : Kirsten
To : David
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:42 PM
subject: Where are the cookies? you remember the nookie you have been asking about since Ruby was born? Well, cookies put me in the mood.

from : David
To : Kirsten
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:48 PM
subject: Where are the cookies?

I might look in a basket somewhere. hmmm magazines hmmm shelf hmmm out of childrens reach hmmm

from : Kirsten
To : David
Date Sep 4, 2007 3:51 PM
subject: Where are the cookies?

Thanks baby! Also, have sudden headache. Scratch nookie.

Monday, September 03, 2007

The Anatomy of a Remodel

This is a tale that is meant, more than anything to remind me that I should really be more humble. I should have not had thoughts like "oh, not having a kitchen for a month is really no big deal and I scoff at those who complain about such minor inconveniences when there are millions of children without health care." All I can say is that I am a moron.

Last Thursday morning we left our little house for the day and said goodbye to our little kitchen from the 50's.
We came home with our new Cookie Monster doll who incidentally has taught Goldie not about LEARNING which is like, his JOB. He is all about the fucking COOKIES. Anyway, I digress. We came home to this God forsaken mess:

Oh.My.God. What have we done? So my sweet Davey set about making me a makeshift microwave cookery center in the Scary Basement complete with cobwebs, spiders and maybe escaped convicts hiding in the shadows. Also a concrete sink. And a crock pot!

I generally try to make reasonably healthy meals for our family. These, however, are desperate times. I actually fed my child this for dinner last night: I think macaroni and cheese is considered a vegetable in some parts of the country right?

This is the point where I would love to show you an after picture. But I can't. Because the new cabinets don't get in until the 23rd.
Also, did I ever tell you the story where we didn't have a kitchen and had to eat in the FREAKING basement and I was trying to serve something reasonably healthy when we hadn't yet eaten dinner by 8:30 at night because the electrician was there so I lovingly heated up vegetable soup bowl by bowl in the microwave in paper bowls and when it came time to heat my bowl it got dumped onto the floor so there WAS NO SOUP FOR ME and then I yelled MOTHERFUCKER and the electrician ran out of the house and then I got wild eyed and grabbed keys to the car and told my husband to just enjoy his soup because I was going to Taco Bell and then went on to write a really long run on sentence about it with no punctuation? No? Well I should really tell you that story sometime.

Has My Life Come to This?

Oh. my.hell. 1st the minivan, then this..... The mommy-mobile of Target. It's like manuevering a cruise liner where only speedboats should tread.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Please Leave a Message After the Tone

Hi, you've reached The Blog. No one is here to provide you with interesting content right now. We are busy eating BBQ and cheesecake and drinking unholy quantities of wine. Please check back Tuesday after the headache dies down and vision returns to normal.

Thanks and we look forward to providing you with a much needed place to goof off on company time in the very near future.