I like vodka

It's New Years Eve and we aren't doing a damn thing. Well, I guess I shouldn't say we aren't doing anything because that would imply that we don't desire to be festive and I can assure you that after consuming copious amounts of vodka and amaretto, festive we are. Or rather I am. Davey isn't here. He took Goldie to the store to buy her some shoes and fit her with a dog harness. I wish that last part was just the vodka talking, because seriously, dog harness. My concern that Goldie will run away in Mexico and be sold on the black market (people love toddlers right?) has translated into Davey's singular obsession with keeping her under our control. Her "backpack" isn't tough enough so he is trying to convert said dog harness to toddler wrangler and I told him that as long as he can find a way to hang a Cabbage Patch Kid off the back, then I can convince her that fucker is a SLING FOR HER BABY. Am I going to jail?

Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.

Happy New Year to you and yours.

Want to hear about my nipples?

I didn't think so. Too bad. I'm going to tell you about them anyway. They hurt. A lot. Ruby has decided to grab them between her teeth and bony plate, suck like the Hoover she is and pull back as far as she can yank my poor hooters, which unfortunately, is very very far due to the saggy condition of my mammarys. Also? Blisters. And various and sundry abrasions of a scrapey nature. I think that is the medical term. Do you want to make out, because seriously? Nipple blisters are hott.

Ruby is teething what I have calculated must be a tooth the size of a Buick. I came to this conclusion by multiplying the hours of screaming x the hours of sleep I am not getting divided by the circles under my eyes and the square root of my last frazzled nerve.

We are T minus 5 days to Mexico and to say that I am freaking out would be the understatement of the year because this is not a trip where I can pack two hours before the plane leaves and forget important things because if I forget said important things we will not be going. To add to my frustration, they sent paper tickets for the plane. Are you kidding me? This is nineteen eighty what? Crap. One more thing to lose.

Cheer me up people, I am freaking out.

Still Here

As I said, Christmas was a great success. Mainly because we didn't have to rush around so I didn't have to listen to my husband complain that I drug him around all day and he's TIYIYIERD. Also, in the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that my presents included 1 light fixture for the bathroom, bandaids, hand sanitizer and no fewer than 4 bottles of sunblock, presumably to bring with me on my upcoming 3 week jaunt to Mexico. Twas very merry indeed.

Our Christmas was also great because it wasn't one of excess. Goldie got a few gifts, but not so many that her head exploded. Her favorite gift by far, is the duck from Barb who not only sings If You're Happy and You Know it, but also jumps up and down. She is happy and she most definitely knows it. She will not, however, under any circumstances, clap her hands.

The day after Christmas we left G with Godparents and Grandma, loaded up Roob and headed to the beach to celebrate our third year of wedded bliss. How much trouble can a little baby be? We thought. Turns out that she is capable of being quite a lot of trouble and she cried, screamed and coughed her way through croup for two days solid. The closest to adult time we got was screaming Motherfucker, MAKE IT STOP as we passed the baby off to one another. Also, because of the sight and smell of us, The trip shall be known from here on as The Vacation of Questionable Hygiene Practices.

Merry Merry

Christmas! Twas a success!

I am feeling human again. It was relaxing. We saw people, but not too many people. I stayed in my pjs all day. We ate breakfast at noon and crackers with dips for dinner. Davey announced that he feels that egg nog is wonderful when used as a vehicle for whiskey so I guess that means he is feeling good too.

Also?Goldie just looked up my nose and told me "Boogers in Mama's nose." Radicool.

I hope your holiday was as awesome as ours.

updates

As we were driving home after doing Christmas with my family last night, Goldie started screaming. And howling. And pleading. Saying something or rather about her nose. Whatever, she's two. But it didn't stop. So finally it occurred to ask her if something was in her nose, because, why not? She's two. Yup. She apparently was not sufficiently stimulated on the drive while we were listening to Nat King Cole so she entertained herself by tearing a plastic star off of her tutu and shoving it as far as she could up her nose. We pulled into a Plaid Pantry parking lot in a very iffy spot, but fortunately the toddler screaming followed by my husband screaming as he tried to jam the tweezers from his Swiss army knife up her nose went unnoticed among the gang violence. Finally I totally freaked out and demanded that we go to the hospital where we waited 4 hours for someone to dig the thing out. She won't be doing that again.

As for Fever Watch 2007, the misery of the fever is being eclipsed by glands in my neck of freakish proportions. Also the appearance of a fever blister. We have a fancy-ish dinner to go to tonight where I am sure everyone will have a good time staring at THAT THING ON MY LIP. Things are getting merrier all the time.

Open Letter

Dear Asshole Fever,

When you first appeared I was all "cool, I'll take some aspirin, get some pity, sneak a nap and get on with my life." But you had other plans. You laugh at Advil, chortle at Tylenol and give the big finger to Aleve.

I'm so over you. My skin hurts. The bottom of my feet even hurt. I can't get warm. Oh wait, scratch that, now the fires of hell have come up to lick at my face. Motherfuck.

Get out.

Your Host,
Kirsten

Wah wah wah. Woe is Kirsten

Now that we are into day 3 of Fever Town, Senor Strep Throat has decided to make an appearance. I need no test to tell me this because I am unable to swallow my own spit. And with no time to get into the doctor, today should be very interesting.

Do you want to hear more about my fever?

I didn't think so. Instead I will post some pictures that I forgot about from over thanksgiving.

This picture is for all the people who are against dramamine for long drives:

Would it make you nervous if you were staying in this hotel over a major holiday and the only car in the lot was yours? Yeah. Us too. There wasn't even anyone at the desk. They left us a stack of towels and were all "see ya, suckas."
The initiation of my eldest into Grandma Lorie's Turkey Hand Club.
Now I will resume the shivering and gear up for another full day of work for my volunteer gig.

I have lost my damn mind. And also the natural ability to regulate my own body temperature.

Send chocolate.

Complain, complain. Bah. Go Home.

My children are using sleep deprivation as a means of torture and I am ready to talk. I was also up for many hours in the night shivering with fever, too cold to get my ass out of bed and pop a Tylenol. Thank God Davey showed up eventually and saved me. I also do not recommend breastfeeding while you have a fever unless you like the feeling of hot needles coming out your boobs.

Today I start a big fat 3 day volunteer project. You know all of the big toy drives that go on during the holidays? Well, I will be coordinating their distribution of one such effort. It's fun, but would be even more fun sans fever. I mean I always wanted to be, you know, hot, but I had something else entirely in mind.

Wish me luck.

Are you looking for your tree Charlie Brown?

In an effort to be Reasonably Decent Parents, we decided to do a Christmas Tree this year. It started out okay, with our friends picking out and bringing home a tree for us. It went downhill from there. We have one string of ice blue not blinking LED lights. We have another string of primary colored blinking lights. We have no tinsel or other adornment because we have a baby that is on the prowl for small objects to choke on. We have 13 ornaments and I was not afraid to use them. OMG it is so ugly. But it's our tree. We decorated it as a family and we sit and watch the lights blink in the evening. Well, some of them anyway. Without further ado, I present to you the 2007 Wage-Stein Christmas Tree:



With all 13.....er make that 12 ornaments!

Because Goldie felt very strongly that the angel was just a tiny baby who needed to take a nap in a little basket.

Making me Look Bad

Goldie has a new thing. She likes to get on her little ride on toy and drive around the house with a little gift bag for a purse full of toddler essentials such as a preemie diaper, puzzle pieces, a box of pretend ice cream and an old string cheese. When I ask her where she is going she looks at me earnestly and announces "Goldie go store, buy wine for mama."

Great. Just great.

Now with More Rashes!

Too many things going on to write a complete post so I will use bullet points to describe what is going on:

• Got a second opinion. Rash is nothing to worry about. Babies get these things
• The Rash That is Nothing to Worry About has found it's way to Davey so that he can, you know, NOT WORRY ABOUT IT.
• I somehow managed to get horseradish in my eye, while fixing my lunch, at THREE o'clock. IT DIDN'T HURT VERY MUCH AT ALL.
• Roob has been dry heaving since I fed her a bread crust. Have prepared self by draping towels all over my body.
• We have much food, but it is all condiments. And vegetables. Times like these call for something tastier than broccoli with chutney.
• Have sunk to new parenting low. In order to find time to write this I sat Roob in front of a cartoon about some kind of Kryptonite Dog. WTF. She is sitting on a lot of towels.

Updates as I have them. Spellcheck has revealed that I have managed to live for 29 years without knowing how to spell towel. Awesome.

Rash

I had thought that sudden appearance of a major head to toe rash on Roob were just remnants of The Infestation and I didn't get too upset over my Scabie Baby, even though last night she had a 101 degree temp. until this morning when I took her to church and my darling friend who is a nurse was all "dude, call a dr. yo." I ended up in urgent care with my spotty kid and the dr. was all "dude, I have no idea at all what this is, but here's some hydrocortisone cream. It won't help most likely and I am just giving it to you to make you feel better" and I was all "thanks. You have been absolutely no help whatsoever." Roob was acting peaked all day and didn't even want to nurse before bedtime and she did something she has never done, she fell asleep trying to nurse and it was kind of nice to hold her so I just let her snooze a bit. When she started to stir I sat her upright and OMG the fountain of barf that had no end commenced. Straight.Down.My.Shirt. I started screaming DAVID! BARF! and he came running with the tiniest towel we own and zero sympathy for my situation. Roob looked up at him and promptly resumed the barfing. The upshot is that she had just eaten some strawberry yogurt and so at least it doesn't smell bad, but I had no idea her stomach had that kind of capacity. Wow.

Will call for 2nd opinion 1st thing.

The Pink Party

The concept of The Pink Party came to be when I was in 5th grade and unable to decide on a theme for my birthday party. The only think I liked for sure besides my 80's charm bracelet (You totally know you had the baby bottle on yours) was the color pink. So The Pink Party was born. At my party there was a prize for the person wearing the most pink. My friend Carrie thought she was clever by layering on all of her wardrobe that contained pink. Several items were sweaters. She bore a striking resemblance to the Michelin Man and was rendered immobile for the duration of the party. The winner wore a billion tiny hair clips and bracelets. She is now a professor at an Ivy League University, and I write a blog (Fie upon you Cathy Brown and your hair clips!). Hmm, go figure. So when this year Carrie's niece was planning the festivities to celebrate her third year and said that she wanted a Pink Party, Carrie knew exactly what to do. Little Belle also had one sole request when it came to presents. Gum. And when told that her Aunt Carrie would have to check in with Belle's mommy prior to granting the gum request, Belle wisely told Carrie in her most suspicious almost three year old voice: "No say her," presumably because she knew how her mom would respond. Smart kid.

Decked out in pink from head to toe, all ready for the party
The dancing to the traditional Birthday Bee-Bop rendered my gregarious child totally freaked out so she just hung out on my lap. The cupcakes! Speak! For! Themselves!

Still here. Still scratching.

And now for a special report from Scabie Central: Scabies Sucks! More in depth coverage at the top of the hour.

Telling people that you have scabies is sort of like saying that although you may not have been the first to smell it, you are the person, however, who dealt it. Oh My God. We went to a 3 year old birthday party today and I had to suck it up and call the host (Hi Katy!) and was all "Hi. About the party. Yeah, well, we had scabies but we shouldn't be contagious. Can we still come?" Good times. But the party was great, complete with bounce house and toddler attitude. Afterwards we stopped by another party goers house who has a Big and Tall men's clothing business and dropped some cash so Davey can be comfortable in Mexico next month. Those of you who know us for reals know that Davey is both Big and Tall and so finding fashionable clothes can be a challenge. Then while he went to try on clothes in their bathroom, there he found Goldie furiously trying to clean up the floor that she had most obviously pooped on. Hi people we barely know! So sorry about the pile of shit on your floor! Holy God you can't take us anywhere.

Uncle Anthony came for dinner and once Ruby decided that he was not, in fact, as serial killer, they mugged for the camera together.
He doesn't really have gas, he is just so excited to be sitting next to me and to be fair, trying to take pictures of myself without double chins showing gives me gas anyway.

Stay Away

I thought it would never happen to us. I mean the kids don't even swear (much)or know how to flip us the bird (yet). We go to church (when we aren't sleeping in). We don't cut people off in traffic (er, usually) So what in the hell did we do to deserve this pestilence that is hanging over our house? I am talking about Scabies here. Fucking yuck. I thought Goldie just had a food allergy or needed new soap or something. Did I mention.....Gross?


The only thing more fun than being diagnosed with scabies is telling your daycare provider that you are infected with scabies. And doing it through an interpreter? Well let me tell you that it was at least 12 flavors of awesome.


"Um, hi non English speaker. Could we find someone to call who speaks both languages because you know those bumps on Goldie's feet that you had assumed were from some kind of exotic Croc allergy and had blamed it on my obvious incompetence because seriously? What kind of mother lets her toddler run around in Crocs in December, right? Well, ha. Funny thing, ha ha. It wasn't an allergy, I mean, I am still unfit as a parent, which is painfully obvious, but the rash? Not the Crocs."

I would write more, but there is LAUNDRY TO DO and skin to ITCH OFF. My friend came for lunch and I am surprised that she has any hair left with all of the involuntary scratching.

Christmas Card Top Contenders

Because OMG a tiny Christmas Tree Costume!
And the Elusive Toddler Reindeer.....
And that, dear friends, is all I can muster. Expect lots of pictures this week. I could bore you with the details of how I had a repeat performance of the under bundled children vs. the scornful public and the checker in the store who said that if her child refused to put her coat on she would have to "put her foot down", but I won't. Because seriously, the temperature of my children is everyone's business. Right after my decision of cloth vs. disposable and breastfeeding vs. formula. Pahleeze.

Random Pics

I told him what would happen if he made one more sound......

Our Temporary Curtain, just for a bit until we have time to hang the new ones. FOR THE PAST YEAR. Frogger anyone?

Funny

Wouldn't it be hilarious if the one time I forgot to check EVERY SQUARE INCH of a hotel room before I left, I would forget my favorite vest? And wouldn't it be even better if inside that vest I had stashed ALL OF MY KEYS? Haha. And to top it off, the resort would have the phones still out from a bad storm and so there was no way to get ahold of them?

A fucking riot.

The Weekend That Shall Not Be Photographed

Dear My Liver,

Dude. What can I say? I'm really sorry about what I just put you through. I mean, you know I can knock one back every now and again, but the Four Day Booze Deluge was probably a little more than you were prepared for.

My Bad.

Love,
Me

Dear Ruby,

I am very sorry about any permanent damage that you may have sustained while in my care this weekend. Be thankful that your auntie is competent, a light sleeper and was sober enough to get up with you. I was apparently not.

Oops,
Mama

Dear Kirsten,

Oh my God. Could you seriously shut your gaping pie hole for just one second? I mean, did you really have to talk about that? And what about that? Now that was embarrassing. Really. You were all, " Hi new friend that I have as my captive for the next four days, now I am going to totally unload everything I ever did in my whole life including that one time at band camp and possibly totally humiliate myself and did you bring a bucket? Because seriously, you are going to need one to catch all the verbal diarrhea."

Shut up already.

Kirsten

Dear Barb,

Hi. It was great. So very great. I had an absolutely amazing time with you laughing harder than was probably reasonable. Sooooo. About the totally spilling my guts without provocation...... Please forgive me if I fail to make eye contact with you in the future.

Love,
Kirsten

An open Letter

Dear Asshole Drunken Driver Who Did This To My Car And Fence And Then Was Later Found Hiding Under A Car:

Fuck You.

Failure

OMG I am such a scumbag loser. Not 12 hours did I make totally unplugged. The Interweb, she is addictive! The car is packed. Mostly with wine. And aspirin. And cheese. Twill be a good time. When I mentioned this trip to a certain acquaintance who also has young children, she gave me a very funny look and said something about how she could never do that, leave her child and husband alone for so long. Maybe a lot of people feel that way, but for me I am trying to realize that there really isn't anyone tallying up Good Mom points and that there is no prize for the person who never does anything nice for themselves. All that would make me is mean and bitter. So give me dirty looks and make remarks behind my back if you must because I just might win a prize for Happiest Wife and Mother this year.

And with that, I will leave you until Monday. For reals. Maybe.

And I'm off!

After much panicking over getting my original reservations at my favorite beach resort cancelled after their incompetent staff called us whining something or rather about "hurricane force winds" and "we don't have power." We were re booked at a resort whose amenities indeed include running water and lights. I was briefly concerned that I might have an actual stroke with the flurry of activities in preparation. Some of these activities included actual movement and were not able to be performed while reading blogs so it was sort of a shock to my system. Understandably so.



I'm far from packed and ready to go, but I still have a few more hours left to procrastinate before I finally panic and end up with one clog, ten pairs of socks, floss and some shaving cream shoved into my suitcase and calling it good. Which is ridiculous because you know that I never remember to floss anyway. Tomorrow at this time I will be relaxing beachfront, watching the waves with a glass of Sangria in my hand. Or five. Did I mention that I'm bringing Barb the boob lady? Because seriously, I think Miss Manners has always said that a long weekend at the beach is the way you are supposed to show gratitude to your lactation consultant for all the advice regarding your hooters and you know that I am all about being proper.



P.S.

Dear readers, I am going to test my limits and attempt to remain completely offline until I return on Sunday.



Hold me.

Busy

Greetings. I've missed you. I barely recognize you, you look so good! Did you bleach your mustache? Good choice, it was getting a little darkish on the grow out there. Lots going on here at Chez Davey. I attended an annual gathering of friends where there is much wine and festiveness and also a brutal battle of wits and ornaments where the winner gets to take home an amazingly awesome ornament with which to make their holiday bright, and the losers? Well, they also get awesome ornaments.And also, they may or may not get somewhat drunk. After a trivial, but intense round of ornament stealing (I'm looking at you and the Heirloom Santa, Katy) I ended up with perhaps the cutest one of all:

Also, Holly? Those are Mulling Spices, not Mullet Spices. Two altogether different things.

We also attended a playdate with our cousins Jaxson and Jayden. Yes you are seeing double, they are identical and no, I totally can't tell them apart. We made Gingerbread Houses, and when I say Gingerbread House, I mean graham crackers and frosting with M&M's. It was fun. Especially for the person who decided that we needed at least a pound of M&Ms just in case and then got to spend naptime drinking them out of a measuring cup. Not that I would know.

Posting will be light and sporadic until next week as I am frantically getting ready for another beach getaway on Thursday where I again will leave my toddler in the capable hands of her father and whisk away a friend for three nights of booze and gossip. And also Ruby. There's always Ruby. Luckily she's small and can't talk so our secrets will be safe with her.

Open Letters

Dear Angry Man in the Giant Truck Who Tailgated me for 20 Miles,

Hi. I just wanted to let you know that, in case you didn't notice, we were driving in the center of a typhoon type situation on a road that has not been paved since approximately 1939. Do you know what happens to a highway when it has a lot of traffic and old pavement? It has deep grooves in the road. Do you know what those grooves fill with during a typhoon? Yes! Very good! They fill with water.

While I was somewhat flattered at first by the honking, weaving and flashing of lights, I was unable to respond in kind as I was busy, you know, HYDROPLANING. I hope that you were able to release your frustration without inflicting either your fists or undoubtedly GIANT genitalia on either woman nor canine.

Sincerely,

Not 90 Years Old, I Just Drive That Way


Dear Friends Who Took Us Out to Breakie This Weekend,

Had I realized that you were going to pay for our food, I totally would have ordered another morning cocktail. We had a great time! But one more coffee nudge at 10 a.m. would have taken it to a whole 'nother level.

Thanks again!
Kirsten


Dear Ruby,

While I appreciate the fact that you were actually sick this time after waiting for an hour in urgent care, did you have to make a fool of me by cooing at each staff member individually after I listed the reason that I had brought you in was INCONSOLABLE, CONSTANT SCREAMING?

I hope the Tylenol makes your raw throat feel better. Please don't make me sick again or I am putting you on Craigslist.

Love,
Mama

Dear Kaiser Permanente Urgent Care,

Surprisingly, I have no snide remarks to make. You were efficient and skillful. You were kind enough to let me have an empty exam room to nurse in as I was in no mood to show my hooters to the motley crew of phlegm guzzling freaks in the waiting room. You even had a sense of humor.

Thanks,
Grateful to be Insured