Hi. I know, I know, I've been MIA for a while. But, I'm back, and I have a great story for you!
So, it was kind of a gross day. It was trying to rain, so the result was insane humidity that made me look like Mufasa. Me and Chloe's aunts (Heather and Haley) decided to take Chloe to one of those indoor bounce house places. We spent a good hour bringing Chloe into all of the different bounce houses and she had a blast. We (the adults) also did some jumping. At one point, we ended up kind of parking ourselves in this one Sponge Bob-themed bounce house. It had a ladder and slide that Chloe could climb and go down all by herself. Heather decided to climb the ladder with Chloe, and while leaning against the mesh wall at the top, ended up kind of toppling over. She ended up stuck, and I mean stuck in between the mesh and the vinyl (the bouncy part) and was unable to get herself out. I left Chloe at the bottom of the slide with Haley while I tried, hastily, to climb up the slide to help her, but it was too slippery and I was laughing too hard to get up there. I went around to climb the ladder and found Heather in a very precarious position. She had her back into the mesh and her legs up on the vinyl and was in, what I can only describe as a "birthing" position. Literally. Legs up in the air and everything. I was laughing really hard at this point as I grabbed her arms and attempted to pull Heather up and out of the position she was in, all the while crying, "I'm going to pee!!" Somehow, I got Heather up but the force and projectile of the movement caused her to suddenly catapult, head first, into the mesh on the other side of the ladder. It was at that point that Heather completely disappeared and I peed myself as the bounce house started to deflate around us. I scrambled down the ladder, grabbed Chloe from Haley, and shoved her out of the entrance hole that was getting smaller and smaller as the house deflated. At the same time, a Jump Zone staff member came running and threw herself into the bounce house and began climbing the shrinking slide to save Heather. Heather would later tell us that she ended up landing on the blower, the only hard part in the bounce house, and it probably saved her life. She was able to use the blower to rock herself to a position where she could finally free herself. She had also shoved her face into mesh part so that she could breathe. I swear, if she had landed with her face into the vinyl, she probably would have suffocated. And if she hadn't landed on the blower, the staff member informed us, they would have had to call the fire department. IT WAS CRAZY. Now Heather, Haley, and I all have wet pants from peeing ourselves from laughing so hard, so we have to waddle ourselves through the establishment to the exit. Forever apologizing to the staff members for the debacle we caused. They said they were alerted the emergency by the fact that they could see the bounce house falling down from their front desk station. I'm pretty sure we're not allowed back there.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?
One of Steve's favorite sayings lately is, "You know what really grinds my gears?" It's funny because A) He's a mechanic and B) It's from our favorite show, Family Guy:
So, I decided to do my own episode of "Grinds My Gears". Here are just some things that bug the hell out of me. Enjoy!
1. Whistling.
Uggggghhhhhhh....hearing someone whistle is like the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. I seriously cannot stand it. Especially when I am trying to sleep in on a Saturday (and by "sleep in", I mean sleep past 6 am) and Steve is whistling in the shower like he's trying to break the freaking sound barrier or summon the nearest dolphin. I really can't even take it.
2. People who don't know how to use homophones correctly.
No, I don't mean gay telephones. I mean words that sound the same, but have different spellings and meanings. As in: there, their and they're. And your and you're. Even my first graders know how to correctly use these words in a sentence and I literally cannot browse Pinterest, as I do every single day once in a while, without coming across an incorrectly spelled meme. I understand, the people spreading these awful pictures and quotes are from a generation who grew up with spell check and so, they never had to learn how to actually spell... but remember: its spell check, not grammar check. So, for those of you who didn't go to elementary school, here's a little lesson for you:
Your - possessive, meaning you own it
You're - contraction, meaning "you are"
There - indicating a place
Their - possessive, meaning you own it
They're - contraction, meaning "they are"
So, seriously, use your dictionary, it is over there. If you can't find your dictionary, you're better off asking your parents. Their dictionary is also over there. They're not going to mind if you use their dictionary to check your memes before you spread them to 12.5 million people who will "like" your grammatically incorrect picture of Grumpy Cat.
3. Speaking of Grumpy Cat, seriously???
This girl is now a freaking millionaire because of her cat! Her cat! The last thing my cat did for me was leave a beheaded mouse corpse on my daughter's high chair. Yeah. That happened.
4. That I live in 2013, the year Marty McFly visited and considered the future, and yet the following things are true:
- Gay marriage is not legal in every state
- Mississippi just had their first integrated prom (seriously, google this, this actually happened. Up until THIS YEAR they still had a white prom and a black prom)
- That I am a woman, who works a full time, 40 hour a week job and is raising a toddler and yet, my fiancee' thinks my house should be spotless, all the laundry should be done and folded and put away, all the dishes should be done, and dinner should be on the table every night. And these are MY responsibilities because I'm the WOMAN. The woman. Really? I'm sorry, I had no idea women were still expected to do housework and be housewives even thought they hold full time jobs elsewhere. Excuse me while I go get my frilly lace apron to wear with my stilettos while I vacuum and greet my hard-working man-husband with a martini every evening when he gets home.
- That I am not driving a hover car
5. Taylor Swift.
Okay, hear me out on this one. I really really used to like Taylor Swift. I had her album, "Speak Now" and I loved almost all the songs on it. I learned how to play "Should've Said No", "You Belong With Me", and "Our Song" on guitar. I would turn "Enchanted" up really loud and sing it out like I was on American Idol. And I thought young girls finally had a good role model. So imagine my disappointment when "We Are Never (Ever Ever) Getting Back Together" came out. Really, Taylor? Your friends talk to my friends talk to my friends talk to me? That's what you came up with? This from a girl who wrote "I walk with my head down trying to block you out because I'll never impress you" and "I'm shining like fireworks over your dark empty town"????? What happened to you? Did you stay up too late partying withTaylor Lautner Harry Styles John Mayer Selena Gomez???? But alas, I was ready to forgive Taylor. I was ready to be a fan again. But then, oh god, on the radio comes this song. At first I thought, "Oh, a new Kesha song," but then I shook my head, "Noooo...must be Pink?" And then the chorus...."Twenty two oo oo...." Oh god, Taylor, whyyyyyyyyy???? I liked you soooo much! But you sold out. Like you even need the money. Didn't you just buy a mansion for 8 million dollars cash or something? C'mon!
I could go on and on about things that drive me absolutely bat shit cray (like people who say "cray" instead of "crazy") but I just realized how long this blog is turning out already and I'm only on item number 5...
Okay, okay, ONE more:
6. My skin
When I was a teenager, I had beautiful skin. I never EVER broke out and I never had to wear make up. I would maybe get one teensy little pimple a month and that was because it was that time of the month. This is me at 17:
I'm not wearing ANY makeup in this picture. Look at how nice my skin is. So, can someone please tell me why WHY do I have to deal with pimples now??? I am a grown, 28-year old woman for pete's sake! Why do I have to have acne now?? You're supposed to have acne as a teenager, all awkward and pimply, it's expected! But I didn't, and now I have to have pimples? They're all concentrated in one area, right on either side of my chin. And as soon as I think I have control over the suckers, as soon as I start to clear up, the same pimples just come right back! No matter what I do. If I pop them, they become angry and get worse. If I leave them alone, they turn into these hard, permanent marbles on my face that recede and leave a red or purple acne mark. WTF! Seriously, anyone out there with ANY advice, please help me! Why is this happening to me????
Okay, I think I'm done now. Stay tuned for another episode of "You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?"
So, I decided to do my own episode of "Grinds My Gears". Here are just some things that bug the hell out of me. Enjoy!
1. Whistling.
Uggggghhhhhhh....hearing someone whistle is like the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. I seriously cannot stand it. Especially when I am trying to sleep in on a Saturday (and by "sleep in", I mean sleep past 6 am) and Steve is whistling in the shower like he's trying to break the freaking sound barrier or summon the nearest dolphin. I really can't even take it.
2. People who don't know how to use homophones correctly.
No, I don't mean gay telephones. I mean words that sound the same, but have different spellings and meanings. As in: there, their and they're. And your and you're. Even my first graders know how to correctly use these words in a sentence and I literally cannot browse Pinterest, as I do
Your - possessive, meaning you own it
You're - contraction, meaning "you are"
There - indicating a place
Their - possessive, meaning you own it
They're - contraction, meaning "they are"
So, seriously, use your dictionary, it is over there. If you can't find your dictionary, you're better off asking your parents. Their dictionary is also over there. They're not going to mind if you use their dictionary to check your memes before you spread them to 12.5 million people who will "like" your grammatically incorrect picture of Grumpy Cat.
3. Speaking of Grumpy Cat, seriously???
This girl is now a freaking millionaire because of her cat! Her cat! The last thing my cat did for me was leave a beheaded mouse corpse on my daughter's high chair. Yeah. That happened.
4. That I live in 2013, the year Marty McFly visited and considered the future, and yet the following things are true:
- Gay marriage is not legal in every state
- Mississippi just had their first integrated prom (seriously, google this, this actually happened. Up until THIS YEAR they still had a white prom and a black prom)
- That I am a woman, who works a full time, 40 hour a week job and is raising a toddler and yet, my fiancee' thinks my house should be spotless, all the laundry should be done and folded and put away, all the dishes should be done, and dinner should be on the table every night. And these are MY responsibilities because I'm the WOMAN. The woman. Really? I'm sorry, I had no idea women were still expected to do housework and be housewives even thought they hold full time jobs elsewhere. Excuse me while I go get my frilly lace apron to wear with my stilettos while I vacuum and greet my hard-working man-husband with a martini every evening when he gets home.
- That I am not driving a hover car
5. Taylor Swift.
Okay, hear me out on this one. I really really used to like Taylor Swift. I had her album, "Speak Now" and I loved almost all the songs on it. I learned how to play "Should've Said No", "You Belong With Me", and "Our Song" on guitar. I would turn "Enchanted" up really loud and sing it out like I was on American Idol. And I thought young girls finally had a good role model. So imagine my disappointment when "We Are Never (Ever Ever) Getting Back Together" came out. Really, Taylor? Your friends talk to my friends talk to my friends talk to me? That's what you came up with? This from a girl who wrote "I walk with my head down trying to block you out because I'll never impress you" and "I'm shining like fireworks over your dark empty town"????? What happened to you? Did you stay up too late partying with
I could go on and on about things that drive me absolutely bat shit cray (like people who say "cray" instead of "crazy") but I just realized how long this blog is turning out already and I'm only on item number 5...
Okay, okay, ONE more:
6. My skin
When I was a teenager, I had beautiful skin. I never EVER broke out and I never had to wear make up. I would maybe get one teensy little pimple a month and that was because it was that time of the month. This is me at 17:
I'm not wearing ANY makeup in this picture. Look at how nice my skin is. So, can someone please tell me why WHY do I have to deal with pimples now??? I am a grown, 28-year old woman for pete's sake! Why do I have to have acne now?? You're supposed to have acne as a teenager, all awkward and pimply, it's expected! But I didn't, and now I have to have pimples? They're all concentrated in one area, right on either side of my chin. And as soon as I think I have control over the suckers, as soon as I start to clear up, the same pimples just come right back! No matter what I do. If I pop them, they become angry and get worse. If I leave them alone, they turn into these hard, permanent marbles on my face that recede and leave a red or purple acne mark. WTF! Seriously, anyone out there with ANY advice, please help me! Why is this happening to me????
Okay, I think I'm done now. Stay tuned for another episode of "You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?"
Friday, May 31, 2013
Random Posts of Kindness
Sooooooooo,
I realized that I hadn't posted anything in quite some time and decided I would write something today. I haven't had anything really funny or horrific happen that would create a monumental blog, so here's just a couple things since I last wrote...
1. Chloe is talking talking talking talking non-stop. She doesn't always speak English, mostly its a made-up toddler babble of nonsensical sounds that she just repeats over and over to herself, but she has all the inflections of regular speech. Including cuter than cute hand gestures. For example, if she's looking for something, she'll wander about the room, throwing her hands out to her sides going "Shoes? Shoes? Baloopadapoo shoes!!!?"
So, we were driving home the other day from day care and I hear her in the back seat going "Uh huh...uh huh...noooo...blagabloaoplop? Blajkdoepalsk? Uh huhhhhh...." I do a quick peek in the rear view and see she is talking into her fake plastic cell phone. When I ask her who she's talking to she said, "Dadee!" Cutest cutie ever!
2. Chloe has become obsessed (seriously, obsessed) with her "friend" from day care named Aubrey, who is about 3 months younger than Chloe. All through the Memorial Day weekend, Chloe was walking around the house saying, "Aubee?? Aubee?? Aubee??" I had to constantly tell her, "No, Aubrey is not here. Aubrey is at her house. You'll see Aubrey tomorrow." So, the other night Chloe has spilled her entire sippy cup of water onto our bed. I said to her, "Chloe, did you do this?" And she looked right at me and shook her head, "Noooo. Aubee!" She's a smart one, that kid. Already learning that if you do something wrong, pin it on someone else. Even if they're not there.
3. My kindergarten students are hilarious. They say the funniest things and I sometimes have to write them down so I don't forget them. We've been doing a rhyming exercise with them where the kids have to fill in the blank. Here's a couple of my favorites:
Me: "Could you please try...to swat that __________"? (The word we're looking for here is "fly")
Girl: "Guy?"
Me: "Yes, that's correct."
Me: "I like to tap...on the bottle ___________" (Its supposed to be "cap")
Boy: "Crap?"
Fantastic.
3. I only have 2 more weeks of school after this week and the kids are getting seriously stir crazy. I've probably played about 30 games of Monopoly and either I'm really gifted and just know what to do to win, or the fact that I'm playing against kids might be a factor...Anyway, I've been trying to do fun stuff with them because I remember what it was like being stuck in school when the weather started getting nice and warm. It sucks. So, yeah, I've been kind of slacking off at work but hey, I'm a sub. And after paying for gas and daycare I probably only make about 75 cents an hour... So who cares?
4. I performed my very first "random act of kindness" and I could not believe how good it felt! For a small gesture to be so greatly appreciated, it made me want to repeat the act every week! Every morning when I go to work, I have to pass by this homeless shelter. It is right across the street from my school and, every morning, I drive by at least 10-12 men standing outside of the shelter, waiting. Other times, I have to wait behind this one homeless man, pushing his shopping cart filled with all of his belongings, down the middle of the road. I don't really understand why he needs to walk down the middle of the road when there's a sidewalk, but I don't ask questions.
So anyway, the bagel place next to Chloe's daycare sells a package of 7 "yesterday's bagels" (which are 1-day old bagels baked fresh the day before that didn't sell) for only $2.00. I had expressed to Steve that I had this idea of buying a couple bags to drop off at the shelter for the men waiting outside in the morning, but that I was afraid to. Yes. You heard that right. As hard as it is for me to admit, I was scared to stop. Its Hartford. The men are bedraggled and mostly much older than me, and I'm a small, blonde, white girl. So yes, I was a little nervous about stopping my car, getting out, and giving the bagels to someone inside the shelter. Steve just scoffed and said, "Just do it. They'll be so excited over the bagels, they won't even notice you."
So, last Friday, as I was waiting for the bagel staff to make my lunch, I kept eyeing the bags of "yesterdays bagels". I thought to myself, "You know what? You're stupid. Just get the f-ing bagels," so I bought 3 bags. When I got to the shelter, it must have been earlier than usual because there were no men waiting outside. I parked my jeep on the curb, grabbed the bags, and went inside the shelter. I caught what must have been the tail-end of the conversation happening when the shelter attendees saw me pull up because the man said, "Ohhhhh....she's got bagels!" I dropped off the bags saying simply, "Here, these are for the guys." To which the astonished men replied, "Thank you!" And then drove away and went to work. I had the biggest smile on my face all morning and I couldn't believe how good it had felt, knowing I had helped someone.
I didn't tell anyone about my act, except for Steve when he got home. I felt that posting some cliche' status on Facebook would make me seem like I was fishing for compliments. Like, all I had wanted out of my act was for others to "like" it and say things like, "You are soooooooo amazing! What a good person you are!" Which I didn't. I only share my experience here to encourage you to complete your own random act of kindness. You'll be surprised at how good you'll feel afterwards, knowing that your small act brightened someone else's day.
That's all for now! Be kind!
I realized that I hadn't posted anything in quite some time and decided I would write something today. I haven't had anything really funny or horrific happen that would create a monumental blog, so here's just a couple things since I last wrote...
1. Chloe is talking talking talking talking non-stop. She doesn't always speak English, mostly its a made-up toddler babble of nonsensical sounds that she just repeats over and over to herself, but she has all the inflections of regular speech. Including cuter than cute hand gestures. For example, if she's looking for something, she'll wander about the room, throwing her hands out to her sides going "Shoes? Shoes? Baloopadapoo shoes!!!?"
So, we were driving home the other day from day care and I hear her in the back seat going "Uh huh...uh huh...noooo...blagabloaoplop? Blajkdoepalsk? Uh huhhhhh...." I do a quick peek in the rear view and see she is talking into her fake plastic cell phone. When I ask her who she's talking to she said, "Dadee!" Cutest cutie ever!
2. Chloe has become obsessed (seriously, obsessed) with her "friend" from day care named Aubrey, who is about 3 months younger than Chloe. All through the Memorial Day weekend, Chloe was walking around the house saying, "Aubee?? Aubee?? Aubee??" I had to constantly tell her, "No, Aubrey is not here. Aubrey is at her house. You'll see Aubrey tomorrow." So, the other night Chloe has spilled her entire sippy cup of water onto our bed. I said to her, "Chloe, did you do this?" And she looked right at me and shook her head, "Noooo. Aubee!" She's a smart one, that kid. Already learning that if you do something wrong, pin it on someone else. Even if they're not there.
3. My kindergarten students are hilarious. They say the funniest things and I sometimes have to write them down so I don't forget them. We've been doing a rhyming exercise with them where the kids have to fill in the blank. Here's a couple of my favorites:
Me: "Could you please try...to swat that __________"? (The word we're looking for here is "fly")
Girl: "Guy?"
Me: "Yes, that's correct."
Me: "I like to tap...on the bottle ___________" (Its supposed to be "cap")
Boy: "Crap?"
Fantastic.
3. I only have 2 more weeks of school after this week and the kids are getting seriously stir crazy. I've probably played about 30 games of Monopoly and either I'm really gifted and just know what to do to win, or the fact that I'm playing against kids might be a factor...Anyway, I've been trying to do fun stuff with them because I remember what it was like being stuck in school when the weather started getting nice and warm. It sucks. So, yeah, I've been kind of slacking off at work but hey, I'm a sub. And after paying for gas and daycare I probably only make about 75 cents an hour... So who cares?
4. I performed my very first "random act of kindness" and I could not believe how good it felt! For a small gesture to be so greatly appreciated, it made me want to repeat the act every week! Every morning when I go to work, I have to pass by this homeless shelter. It is right across the street from my school and, every morning, I drive by at least 10-12 men standing outside of the shelter, waiting. Other times, I have to wait behind this one homeless man, pushing his shopping cart filled with all of his belongings, down the middle of the road. I don't really understand why he needs to walk down the middle of the road when there's a sidewalk, but I don't ask questions.
So anyway, the bagel place next to Chloe's daycare sells a package of 7 "yesterday's bagels" (which are 1-day old bagels baked fresh the day before that didn't sell) for only $2.00. I had expressed to Steve that I had this idea of buying a couple bags to drop off at the shelter for the men waiting outside in the morning, but that I was afraid to. Yes. You heard that right. As hard as it is for me to admit, I was scared to stop. Its Hartford. The men are bedraggled and mostly much older than me, and I'm a small, blonde, white girl. So yes, I was a little nervous about stopping my car, getting out, and giving the bagels to someone inside the shelter. Steve just scoffed and said, "Just do it. They'll be so excited over the bagels, they won't even notice you."
So, last Friday, as I was waiting for the bagel staff to make my lunch, I kept eyeing the bags of "yesterdays bagels". I thought to myself, "You know what? You're stupid. Just get the f-ing bagels," so I bought 3 bags. When I got to the shelter, it must have been earlier than usual because there were no men waiting outside. I parked my jeep on the curb, grabbed the bags, and went inside the shelter. I caught what must have been the tail-end of the conversation happening when the shelter attendees saw me pull up because the man said, "Ohhhhh....she's got bagels!" I dropped off the bags saying simply, "Here, these are for the guys." To which the astonished men replied, "Thank you!" And then drove away and went to work. I had the biggest smile on my face all morning and I couldn't believe how good it had felt, knowing I had helped someone.
I didn't tell anyone about my act, except for Steve when he got home. I felt that posting some cliche' status on Facebook would make me seem like I was fishing for compliments. Like, all I had wanted out of my act was for others to "like" it and say things like, "You are soooooooo amazing! What a good person you are!" Which I didn't. I only share my experience here to encourage you to complete your own random act of kindness. You'll be surprised at how good you'll feel afterwards, knowing that your small act brightened someone else's day.
That's all for now! Be kind!
Friday, April 19, 2013
A Girl's Breast Friend
Even before I got pregnant with my daughter, I knew I wanted to breast feed. The thought of giving my infant some lab-made formula literally made me gag, and while I know that its the only option for some mothers, I knew it just wasn't for me. Just like breastfeeding isn't for some moms. I knew that I was going to do everything in my power to make breastfeeding successful for me and my infant. My plan was breastfeed exclusively for the first 6 months of my child's life, then to continue to nurse in between "meals" of actual food for the year.
In no way was breastfeeding an easy journey for me. Things started out great, but then my milk came in. Much to my fiancee's delight, I was walking around feeling like a playboy playmate for the next 3 days. Then, all of a sudden, my boobs deflated and I panicked. Thinking my milk had suddenly disappeared, I woke my fiancee up, sobbing, crying that my milk was gone! Thanks to google and a quick text to my sister, I was assured that my breasts had just gotten accustomed to the milk and that no, I would no longer resemble Dolly Parton. The upside of breastfeeding is that between not really having time to eat complete meals due to the demands of a newborn and my daughter's tendency to cluster-feed, I dropped weight like no diet or exercise had ever allowed me to do before. Within 2 weeks of having her, I had dropped 22 pounds. In the next 2 weeks, I was within 5 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight. And by the time my daughter was just 4 months old, I was 7 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight. It was like a dream come true, I could eat whatever I wanted, not do a bit of exercise, and just lose weight! It was like an infomercial:
"Do you hate to exercise hours and hours a week to get no results??? Do you just wish you could eat that hamburger without having it go right to your ass?? Do you want to get a flat stomach without doing a single crunch? Well, here's your answer, ladies! Breastfeed!!"
Now, I'm not saying breastfeeding was an easy journey for me. Chloe had a tongue-tie which resulted in a very painful latch that sent shooting, burning pains deep into my breasts. Even after she had the tongue-tie procedure done, she had already gotten into the habit of having a shallow latch, so I would spend the next year with ice on my nipples.
So flash forward past all the sleepless nights, awaking every 2-3 hours to nurse, to soreness and basically feeling like the only reason your infant loves you is because you're a cow and you're her only source of food...
And now my daughter is 18 months old. She basically weaned herself, going from nursing only at home, to nursing only at naps and bed time, to now only nursing at bed time. But yes, she's a year and a half and still technically nursing. She gets it right before bed and she will not do without it. And she only gets about 2 ounces of milk out of just the left. The right dried up probably about 6 months ago. I know she only gets 2 ounces because I've pumped and that's all I can get. Its really just her pacifier right now and that makes it that much harder to get her to stop. Not only is she using the left as her pacifier, but she has begun using the right as her security blanket or something. She HAS to stick her hand down my shirt, caress and fondle me, pushing on and pinching my nipple. Just a lovely sensation to try and fall asleep to. And, if I dare to try to push her hand away, she smacks my hand and shouts, "No!!"
So here's where I've been the past week. Chloe has been especially miserable for whatever reason and has become downright tyrannical in her bed time routine. Chloe's never been a good sleeper. I mean, she has to sleep with me and my fiancee in our bed, you cannot roll over or move or breathe lest you wake her, and she has to have my boob in her mouth. At all times. While she fondles the other one. Now, before this week, Chloe has nursed for about 10 minutes, fondled me, and then gone to sleep. I've been able to transfer her over to her bed, and we all get a few hours of sleep. Before she wakes at about 3 and I start the process again, until finally relenting and taking her into bed with me at about 5am.
But this week, for whatever reason, Chloe will not go to sleep. She nurses and nurses and fondles and nurses and if I try to slip her off (once she's asleep) she suddenly becomes possessed by some unseen demon, thrashing and screaming and kicking, flailing about like her body is being engulfed by flames. Needless to say, I have not gotten ANY sleep this week. Finally, last night, I just couldn't take it anymore. I just lost it. Chloe had just awaken in the screaming fashion I just described for about the 8th time and it was only 11:30, but I have to get up at 5:30 and I was so damned tired that I sat up and cried, "You know what????" I then grabbed my pillow and my blankets, and stormed out onto the couch. Which, has no cushions because they are currently being used to create the make-shift "toddler bed" our toddler won't even sleep on. See here: Sleepless in Harwinton
Literally the second I leave the room, Chloe stops crying, lays down with her dad, and is fast asleep. I mean, I'm not even exaggerating when I say the second. I left the room... and she went to sleep. WTF??? I then returned to my bed (because the couch was not very comfortable sans cushions) and went to sleep. For about 2 hours. Chloe then realized that I was back and began her tyrant again. But now that she had had some sleep, she wasn't as ornery as before. Ugggghhhhhhhhhhh
I know that many moms nurse their toddlers, continue well past a year and sometimes even 2. But I'm at the point where I'm feeling like enough is enough already. I want to sleep!!!! I miss sleeping so much, its like I can't even remember what it feels like to not only sleep past the night, but what it feels like to sleep in past 7 am.
I'm going to attempt googling "Weaning a Toddler" and see what I can come up with.
In no way was breastfeeding an easy journey for me. Things started out great, but then my milk came in. Much to my fiancee's delight, I was walking around feeling like a playboy playmate for the next 3 days. Then, all of a sudden, my boobs deflated and I panicked. Thinking my milk had suddenly disappeared, I woke my fiancee up, sobbing, crying that my milk was gone! Thanks to google and a quick text to my sister, I was assured that my breasts had just gotten accustomed to the milk and that no, I would no longer resemble Dolly Parton. The upside of breastfeeding is that between not really having time to eat complete meals due to the demands of a newborn and my daughter's tendency to cluster-feed, I dropped weight like no diet or exercise had ever allowed me to do before. Within 2 weeks of having her, I had dropped 22 pounds. In the next 2 weeks, I was within 5 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight. And by the time my daughter was just 4 months old, I was 7 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight. It was like a dream come true, I could eat whatever I wanted, not do a bit of exercise, and just lose weight! It was like an infomercial:
"Do you hate to exercise hours and hours a week to get no results??? Do you just wish you could eat that hamburger without having it go right to your ass?? Do you want to get a flat stomach without doing a single crunch? Well, here's your answer, ladies! Breastfeed!!"
Now, I'm not saying breastfeeding was an easy journey for me. Chloe had a tongue-tie which resulted in a very painful latch that sent shooting, burning pains deep into my breasts. Even after she had the tongue-tie procedure done, she had already gotten into the habit of having a shallow latch, so I would spend the next year with ice on my nipples.
So flash forward past all the sleepless nights, awaking every 2-3 hours to nurse, to soreness and basically feeling like the only reason your infant loves you is because you're a cow and you're her only source of food...
And now my daughter is 18 months old. She basically weaned herself, going from nursing only at home, to nursing only at naps and bed time, to now only nursing at bed time. But yes, she's a year and a half and still technically nursing. She gets it right before bed and she will not do without it. And she only gets about 2 ounces of milk out of just the left. The right dried up probably about 6 months ago. I know she only gets 2 ounces because I've pumped and that's all I can get. Its really just her pacifier right now and that makes it that much harder to get her to stop. Not only is she using the left as her pacifier, but she has begun using the right as her security blanket or something. She HAS to stick her hand down my shirt, caress and fondle me, pushing on and pinching my nipple. Just a lovely sensation to try and fall asleep to. And, if I dare to try to push her hand away, she smacks my hand and shouts, "No!!"
So here's where I've been the past week. Chloe has been especially miserable for whatever reason and has become downright tyrannical in her bed time routine. Chloe's never been a good sleeper. I mean, she has to sleep with me and my fiancee in our bed, you cannot roll over or move or breathe lest you wake her, and she has to have my boob in her mouth. At all times. While she fondles the other one. Now, before this week, Chloe has nursed for about 10 minutes, fondled me, and then gone to sleep. I've been able to transfer her over to her bed, and we all get a few hours of sleep. Before she wakes at about 3 and I start the process again, until finally relenting and taking her into bed with me at about 5am.
But this week, for whatever reason, Chloe will not go to sleep. She nurses and nurses and fondles and nurses and if I try to slip her off (once she's asleep) she suddenly becomes possessed by some unseen demon, thrashing and screaming and kicking, flailing about like her body is being engulfed by flames. Needless to say, I have not gotten ANY sleep this week. Finally, last night, I just couldn't take it anymore. I just lost it. Chloe had just awaken in the screaming fashion I just described for about the 8th time and it was only 11:30, but I have to get up at 5:30 and I was so damned tired that I sat up and cried, "You know what????" I then grabbed my pillow and my blankets, and stormed out onto the couch. Which, has no cushions because they are currently being used to create the make-shift "toddler bed" our toddler won't even sleep on. See here: Sleepless in Harwinton
Literally the second I leave the room, Chloe stops crying, lays down with her dad, and is fast asleep. I mean, I'm not even exaggerating when I say the second. I left the room... and she went to sleep. WTF??? I then returned to my bed (because the couch was not very comfortable sans cushions) and went to sleep. For about 2 hours. Chloe then realized that I was back and began her tyrant again. But now that she had had some sleep, she wasn't as ornery as before. Ugggghhhhhhhhhhh
I know that many moms nurse their toddlers, continue well past a year and sometimes even 2. But I'm at the point where I'm feeling like enough is enough already. I want to sleep!!!! I miss sleeping so much, its like I can't even remember what it feels like to not only sleep past the night, but what it feels like to sleep in past 7 am.
I'm going to attempt googling "Weaning a Toddler" and see what I can come up with.
Monday, February 25, 2013
While You Were Sleeping...
Steve and I both do some pretty strange things in our sleep. I've been known to wake up screaming on several occasions and my brother still swears to this day that when we were younger, I would bark in my sleep. One particularly strange sleep talking/walking episode occurred last year. I had fallen asleep rather early in the bedroom and Steve was still out in the living room, on the computer or something. I suddenly awoke (well, not fully) and decided that the cat sleeping on the end of the bed was not my cat, but a stray that had wandered into our house from outside. I scooped up the cat (this was our rather large obese gray cat, Mona) and took her out to Steve in the living room. I then proceeded to shake the poor cat while yelling, "Who's cat is this???? Who's cat is this???" Poor Mona was meowing and hissing, thrashing frantically trying to get out of my arms. I then dropped the cat, and went back to the bedroom and back to sleep. Steve and Mona looked at each other and said, "What the hell??"
This is only one instance, there's many. But even stranger than that episode is the things Steve will do in his sleep. For example, the other night Steve started kicking his blankets off of himself muttering something about there being too much water. I shook him and said, "Steve! Are you alright over there?" To which he replied, "What the f**k! I'm trying to sleep!" and then went back to sleep. He's always yelling after these types of stints. Still, that's a lot better than the time he drank too much and got up in his sleep to use the bathroom. From my half-awake state, I watched him walk past the bathroom and go outside. In his boxers. In the middle of winter. He then returned to bed, going right back to sleep. I said to him, "Ummmmm....where did you just go?"
"I went to the bathroom," he replied.
"Outside???" I then got up, and opened the front door, and found that he had peed right outside the front door. Jussssssstttt greaaaatttt. I still don't understand to this day why he would walk right past the bathroom to use the bathroom. Outside.
Still, this is nothing compared to some of my friends' stories of husbands doing strange things in their sleep. Particularly when alcohol is involved. One of my friends told a story about when her husband went downstairs, lifted the couch cushion, and proceeded to pee into the couch. Another tells of her husband peeing in the baby's crib. And no, the baby wasn't in it, thank goodness. Can you imagine trying to explain that little mishap???
I'm convinced Steve inherited his sleep-induced weirdness from his dad. Steve once found his dad downstairs, trying to shove a piece of pizza into the VCR in his sleep. Steve's younger sister also inherited this wonderful trait.
My favorite story of Heather's goes something like this,
She suddenly sat up in bed and began staring at her girlfriend (this is something Steve will also do in his sleep) and then punched her. When her girlfriend protested, Heather screamed at her, "Which ones????" To which her poor girlfriend replied, "What!?" Heather continued to scream, "Which onessss??? The ones on your legs? Or the ones you wipe your ass with??"
What??? To this day our family still can't figure out what the hell Heather was talking about. I'm just dying to know what you have your legs that you can also wipe your ass with. Heather's cousin was thinking of making some sort of board game out of this question. Like an Apples to Apples type thing...or Mad Gab or that one where things sound dirty but actually aren't. I think it would be quite popular with families like our's...
Well, that's all for now... sweet dreams! And don't forget those ones! Not the ones you wipe your ass with, the ones on your legs.
This is only one instance, there's many. But even stranger than that episode is the things Steve will do in his sleep. For example, the other night Steve started kicking his blankets off of himself muttering something about there being too much water. I shook him and said, "Steve! Are you alright over there?" To which he replied, "What the f**k! I'm trying to sleep!" and then went back to sleep. He's always yelling after these types of stints. Still, that's a lot better than the time he drank too much and got up in his sleep to use the bathroom. From my half-awake state, I watched him walk past the bathroom and go outside. In his boxers. In the middle of winter. He then returned to bed, going right back to sleep. I said to him, "Ummmmm....where did you just go?"
"I went to the bathroom," he replied.
"Outside???" I then got up, and opened the front door, and found that he had peed right outside the front door. Jussssssstttt greaaaatttt. I still don't understand to this day why he would walk right past the bathroom to use the bathroom. Outside.
Still, this is nothing compared to some of my friends' stories of husbands doing strange things in their sleep. Particularly when alcohol is involved. One of my friends told a story about when her husband went downstairs, lifted the couch cushion, and proceeded to pee into the couch. Another tells of her husband peeing in the baby's crib. And no, the baby wasn't in it, thank goodness. Can you imagine trying to explain that little mishap???
I'm convinced Steve inherited his sleep-induced weirdness from his dad. Steve once found his dad downstairs, trying to shove a piece of pizza into the VCR in his sleep. Steve's younger sister also inherited this wonderful trait.
My favorite story of Heather's goes something like this,
She suddenly sat up in bed and began staring at her girlfriend (this is something Steve will also do in his sleep) and then punched her. When her girlfriend protested, Heather screamed at her, "Which ones????" To which her poor girlfriend replied, "What!?" Heather continued to scream, "Which onessss??? The ones on your legs? Or the ones you wipe your ass with??"
What??? To this day our family still can't figure out what the hell Heather was talking about. I'm just dying to know what you have your legs that you can also wipe your ass with. Heather's cousin was thinking of making some sort of board game out of this question. Like an Apples to Apples type thing...or Mad Gab or that one where things sound dirty but actually aren't. I think it would be quite popular with families like our's...
Well, that's all for now... sweet dreams! And don't forget those ones! Not the ones you wipe your ass with, the ones on your legs.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Uninsured Motorist
Back when I had a life outside of changing diapers, constant breast feeding, and being perpetually covered in spit up, I had a beautiful, sporty, fast, Ford Mustang. Her name was Stella and every where I went, I would get stared at. Not "Wow, what a adorable baby!" or "She's the cutest baby!" or "Look at her eyes!" or "Excuse me, but it appears you have vomit on your shirt", No. I would get the, "Wow, look at that hot blonde in the mustang!" kinda looks. The only downside of having that much horsepower was the speeding. I can't really say I'm 100% to blame. My grandmother is a notorious speeder. Once, she was caught doing about 85 in a 55 on the freeway and when the cop pulled her over, she told him she really had to pee. So, its genetic. The speeding and making the excuses that let you get away with it. Because I would get pulled over ALOT. And I'd usually get away with a warning. "Yes, officer," I'd say sweetly, while batting my eyelashes and flipping my used-to-be perfectly colored and highlighted blonde hair, "I will slow down, I swear." But, I didn't always get lucky and I would get the occasional speeding ticket. About 3 to be precise.
Now, I don't know if you know this, but in Connecticut, you're only allowed 3 tickets a year. If you get more than that, they send you to a lovely 4-hour Saturday class called "Operator Retraining". This consists of sitting in a small room with about 20 other law-breakers and going over all of the Rules of The Road. Yes, just like when you took driver's ed when you were 16. Just like that. And how do I know? I've been 5 times. Yes. FIVE. And here's why. Because let's say you get more than 3 tickets. You pay your $65 and go to driver retraining and THEN, you're not allowed to get another ticket for 3 more years. Yes, THREE YEARS without a ticket. No speeding, no broken taillight, not even a parking ticket or you have to go back to "Operator Retraining". Last time, I made it 2 years and 8 months and got a speeding ticket and had to go back. Yep.
So, when you have to go to Operator Retraining, they send you a letter in the mail that says if you don't go by such and such a date, your license will be suspended. So this last time I went to the class, I took the class about 2 days late. So the DMV didn't process my paperwork in time and I ended up getting my license suspended. But, I didn't know this. See, they don't tell you that your license is suspended. They just expect you to know that you missed the completion date for your retraining class and they expect you to know that your license has been suspended.
So, flash forward about 8 months, I'm about 5 months pregnant and I'm driving home from the bar. Wait, before you freak out and say, "You were pregnant and at a BAR?????" No. I had dropped Steve off at the bar, which I didn't go to because I was pregnant, and was driving home. When I got pulled over. I was incredulous, "I wasn't speeding, officer!" What could possibly be the problem??"Ma'm, you're coming up with a suspended license." "WHAT???" I was so thrown off guard and was so clearly innocent that the officer allowed Steve and his friend come drive my Jeep home instead of making me get it towed. Yep. He let two guys come from the bar to drive a pregnant woman home, both of whom have DUI's on their driving records... Anyway...
So now, back to the present. I missed paying my car insurance by 2 days and they cancelled me. When I called to pay the bill and get it reinstated, they denied me. They ended up running my DMV record and lo-and-behold, there's a speeding ticket, 2 accidents, and driving with a suspended license on my record. And they don't want me back. JUSSSSSTTT GREAT. So, now I have to make about a million phone calls to try and find an insurance company who will take on a dangerous, reckless driver like myself. Its a wonder I have a license at all.
Now, I don't know if you know this, but in Connecticut, you're only allowed 3 tickets a year. If you get more than that, they send you to a lovely 4-hour Saturday class called "Operator Retraining". This consists of sitting in a small room with about 20 other law-breakers and going over all of the Rules of The Road. Yes, just like when you took driver's ed when you were 16. Just like that. And how do I know? I've been 5 times. Yes. FIVE. And here's why. Because let's say you get more than 3 tickets. You pay your $65 and go to driver retraining and THEN, you're not allowed to get another ticket for 3 more years. Yes, THREE YEARS without a ticket. No speeding, no broken taillight, not even a parking ticket or you have to go back to "Operator Retraining". Last time, I made it 2 years and 8 months and got a speeding ticket and had to go back. Yep.
So, when you have to go to Operator Retraining, they send you a letter in the mail that says if you don't go by such and such a date, your license will be suspended. So this last time I went to the class, I took the class about 2 days late. So the DMV didn't process my paperwork in time and I ended up getting my license suspended. But, I didn't know this. See, they don't tell you that your license is suspended. They just expect you to know that you missed the completion date for your retraining class and they expect you to know that your license has been suspended.
So, flash forward about 8 months, I'm about 5 months pregnant and I'm driving home from the bar. Wait, before you freak out and say, "You were pregnant and at a BAR?????" No. I had dropped Steve off at the bar, which I didn't go to because I was pregnant, and was driving home. When I got pulled over. I was incredulous, "I wasn't speeding, officer!" What could possibly be the problem??"Ma'm, you're coming up with a suspended license." "WHAT???" I was so thrown off guard and was so clearly innocent that the officer allowed Steve and his friend come drive my Jeep home instead of making me get it towed. Yep. He let two guys come from the bar to drive a pregnant woman home, both of whom have DUI's on their driving records... Anyway...
So now, back to the present. I missed paying my car insurance by 2 days and they cancelled me. When I called to pay the bill and get it reinstated, they denied me. They ended up running my DMV record and lo-and-behold, there's a speeding ticket, 2 accidents, and driving with a suspended license on my record. And they don't want me back. JUSSSSSTTT GREAT. So, now I have to make about a million phone calls to try and find an insurance company who will take on a dangerous, reckless driver like myself. Its a wonder I have a license at all.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
The Crisps, The Bloods, and The Lion Kings
I love my grandpa. I was the first grandchild, and I was a girl, so my Grandpa Harold spoiled me ROTTEN. I mean, really rotten. When I was little he would take me Toys R Us and FAO Schwartz like every weekend and bought me so many stuffed animals my mom didn't know what to do with them. That's not the only reason I love my grandpa, I love him even more now because he does really cool things with me. Like buy me tickets to The Book of Mormon, which is hands down the best musical EVER. So yeah, my grandpa's awesome. Here's another reason why he's awesome.
So, my grandpa is an oral surgeon. He's a dentist, but the type that takes your teeth out. Like your wisdom teeth. After he semi-retired, he started helping out at a correctional facility. That's a fancy word for "jail". After a couple weeks of working on "the inside", my grandpa decided to share some secret knowledge he gleaned. About gangs.
So, we're in a restaurant (another great thing about my grandpa, he always takes us to really nice restaurants and always treats) and my grandpa says in a hushed voice, "Hey, Rebecca...do you know what that is?" And he does something weird with his hand. It kind of looks like Phoebe from Friends, when she's trying to teach Joey guitar? And all of the chords have their own hand gestures and names for what they look like? Well, I think my grandpa just made the hand gesture for the "Old Lady". Anyway I say cautiously, "Nooooo...." My grandpa lowers his voice even more and says (completely serious), "That's the gang sign for 'The Crisps'." The Crisps??? I try to stifle a laugh and say to him, "You mean The Crips??" "Yeah, yeah, that," my grandpa says, "You know, there's a lot of gangs in there. There's even some members from The Lion Kings!"
Now, I really can't contain my laughter. I choke on my water and stutter and manage to get out, "You mean the Latin Kings? Oh my god..." and I continue to laugh. By now, the rest of my family members at the table want to know what is so funny, so I let them in on my and my grandpa's conversation and now the entire table is laughing so hard, we all just simultaneously peed ourselves. That being said, I would just love to live in a world where the most dangerous and notorious gangs are named after cereal and Disney movies.
Oh, those grandpas. So naive...
So, my grandpa is an oral surgeon. He's a dentist, but the type that takes your teeth out. Like your wisdom teeth. After he semi-retired, he started helping out at a correctional facility. That's a fancy word for "jail". After a couple weeks of working on "the inside", my grandpa decided to share some secret knowledge he gleaned. About gangs.
So, we're in a restaurant (another great thing about my grandpa, he always takes us to really nice restaurants and always treats) and my grandpa says in a hushed voice, "Hey, Rebecca...do you know what that is?" And he does something weird with his hand. It kind of looks like Phoebe from Friends, when she's trying to teach Joey guitar? And all of the chords have their own hand gestures and names for what they look like? Well, I think my grandpa just made the hand gesture for the "Old Lady". Anyway I say cautiously, "Nooooo...." My grandpa lowers his voice even more and says (completely serious), "That's the gang sign for 'The Crisps'." The Crisps??? I try to stifle a laugh and say to him, "You mean The Crips??" "Yeah, yeah, that," my grandpa says, "You know, there's a lot of gangs in there. There's even some members from The Lion Kings!"
Now, I really can't contain my laughter. I choke on my water and stutter and manage to get out, "You mean the Latin Kings? Oh my god..." and I continue to laugh. By now, the rest of my family members at the table want to know what is so funny, so I let them in on my and my grandpa's conversation and now the entire table is laughing so hard, we all just simultaneously peed ourselves. That being said, I would just love to live in a world where the most dangerous and notorious gangs are named after cereal and Disney movies.
Oh, those grandpas. So naive...
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Carnivorous Squirrels
Sooooo my house almost burned down yesterday. And I am convinced this is all Steve's fault.
Four days ago, on Friday, I came home from work and patiently waited for Steve to come home from work. When 6:15 came and went and Chloe was getting fussy due to wasting away from starvation, I decided to go ahead and make dinner for the two of us. So, dinner is done and I've just done all of the dishes, the kitchen's been cleaned up and I've got Chloe in the tub when Steve gets home. Steve has the brilliant idea to use our only nice pot to deep fry chicken in. Which he's never done before. Oh, and he decides to do this using an entire bottle of olive oil.
I say to him, "Please don't leave me a huge mess to clean up." "I won't," is his reply. So, the next day I come home from work and the pot of used oil is still sitting on the stove. Steve gets home from work and I say, "Could you please wash that pot?" I get a grunt in reply. Later, I let the dogs out to do their business while I get their bowls of food ready. I look out the front window and see Ty, our Black and Tan Coonhound, scarfing whole chicken wing bones. Bones that were just sitting there, on our lawn, right outside the front door. "Ummm," I say to Steve, "your dog just ate like 7 whole chicken wings that were just right out on our lawn? Whyyyy are their chicken wings on the lawn and not in the garbage?" Steve says casually, "For the squirrels." Really?? I had NO IDEA that squirrels hunted and ate chickens! Someone better warn the lake association before the people who sell fresh eggs down the street lose their flocks to these carnivorous squirrels!
I just don't get it, I really don't get his train of thought on this subject.
So, the days go by and STILL there is a pot of oil on the stove and I absolutely REFUSE to wash it. I pick up after this man each and every day. He seems to be physically incapable of the following mundane, every day activities:
1) Throwing ANYTHING away (including, but not limited to: beer bottle caps, old receipts, junk mail, empty milk cartons, empty food packages, clothing tags, etc etc)
2) Putting clothes into the hamper instead of on the floor next to the hamper
3) Putting away ANYTHING
So, I say to myself, this is not my mess. I work all day just like he does. Except when I come home, I don't get to watch Mustang and quad videos on YouTube. No, I make dinner and give Chloe her bath and get her ready for bed. Oh, and take care of the animals and write lesson plans and cure cancer and perform quantam physics, and and and...
So, I come home yesterday to a house full of smoke. I panic, leaving Chloe in her carseat outside on the front step, I rush into the house and find the flame of the front burner of our gas stove is on full blast. I quickly turn off the gas. There is smoke EVERYWHERE. And it smells like my house is a KFC on fire. Because. Of. The. Oil. In. The. Pot. On. The. Stove. Yep.
The pot of oil, the very one that has been the subject of my nagging for the past 4 days is sitting precariously on both the front burner (the one that was left on) and back burner. And it is burning. And smoking. FML. I open every window I can, but its about 2 degrees outside and can only leave them open for about a half hour before I start to freeze to death. So I close them and can't fully air out my poor house.
Steve and I conclude that one of the cats (probably the fat ass, Mona) climbed up onto the stove to drink from the pot of chicken grease and, when jumping down, knocked one of the knobs into the "on" position.
So now, everything we own - including my nice winter jacket, our shower curtain, our couch, and our bedspread - all smell as if they have been deep fried and then burned.
And, of this I am certain, all because Steve didn't wash that f-ing pot. Which is now ruined and in the garbage.
At least now the carnivorous squirrels of Harwinton have some nice chicken grease to feast on.
Four days ago, on Friday, I came home from work and patiently waited for Steve to come home from work. When 6:15 came and went and Chloe was getting fussy due to wasting away from starvation, I decided to go ahead and make dinner for the two of us. So, dinner is done and I've just done all of the dishes, the kitchen's been cleaned up and I've got Chloe in the tub when Steve gets home. Steve has the brilliant idea to use our only nice pot to deep fry chicken in. Which he's never done before. Oh, and he decides to do this using an entire bottle of olive oil.
I say to him, "Please don't leave me a huge mess to clean up." "I won't," is his reply. So, the next day I come home from work and the pot of used oil is still sitting on the stove. Steve gets home from work and I say, "Could you please wash that pot?" I get a grunt in reply. Later, I let the dogs out to do their business while I get their bowls of food ready. I look out the front window and see Ty, our Black and Tan Coonhound, scarfing whole chicken wing bones. Bones that were just sitting there, on our lawn, right outside the front door. "Ummm," I say to Steve, "your dog just ate like 7 whole chicken wings that were just right out on our lawn? Whyyyy are their chicken wings on the lawn and not in the garbage?" Steve says casually, "For the squirrels." Really?? I had NO IDEA that squirrels hunted and ate chickens! Someone better warn the lake association before the people who sell fresh eggs down the street lose their flocks to these carnivorous squirrels!
I just don't get it, I really don't get his train of thought on this subject.
So, the days go by and STILL there is a pot of oil on the stove and I absolutely REFUSE to wash it. I pick up after this man each and every day. He seems to be physically incapable of the following mundane, every day activities:
1) Throwing ANYTHING away (including, but not limited to: beer bottle caps, old receipts, junk mail, empty milk cartons, empty food packages, clothing tags, etc etc)
2) Putting clothes into the hamper instead of on the floor next to the hamper
3) Putting away ANYTHING
So, I say to myself, this is not my mess. I work all day just like he does. Except when I come home, I don't get to watch Mustang and quad videos on YouTube. No, I make dinner and give Chloe her bath and get her ready for bed. Oh, and take care of the animals and write lesson plans and cure cancer and perform quantam physics, and and and...
So, I come home yesterday to a house full of smoke. I panic, leaving Chloe in her carseat outside on the front step, I rush into the house and find the flame of the front burner of our gas stove is on full blast. I quickly turn off the gas. There is smoke EVERYWHERE. And it smells like my house is a KFC on fire. Because. Of. The. Oil. In. The. Pot. On. The. Stove. Yep.
The pot of oil, the very one that has been the subject of my nagging for the past 4 days is sitting precariously on both the front burner (the one that was left on) and back burner. And it is burning. And smoking. FML. I open every window I can, but its about 2 degrees outside and can only leave them open for about a half hour before I start to freeze to death. So I close them and can't fully air out my poor house.
Steve and I conclude that one of the cats (probably the fat ass, Mona) climbed up onto the stove to drink from the pot of chicken grease and, when jumping down, knocked one of the knobs into the "on" position.
So now, everything we own - including my nice winter jacket, our shower curtain, our couch, and our bedspread - all smell as if they have been deep fried and then burned.
And, of this I am certain, all because Steve didn't wash that f-ing pot. Which is now ruined and in the garbage.
At least now the carnivorous squirrels of Harwinton have some nice chicken grease to feast on.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Unaccompanied Minors
Over the weekend I went thrift store shopping with my friend, Laura. Oh, and her 3 young children.
First, we stopped at Burger King to get the kids dinner. We get our food and all is fine until I mistakenly try to discipline a child that is not my own. Do not do this. Ever. I mean, EVER. Seriously.
First of all, it was totally not my place to say anything, but I thought I was helping. Really. One of Laura's boys was practically sitting on his toddler sister's lap and she was getting really fussy. As in, making a noise that sounds like a drowning cat, fussy. Laura asked him (nicely) to move. Which he wouldn't. I thought I would help by adding that if he didn't listen, I was going to take his leap pad. Wrong move. Her son got very angry with me and started making a "I'm being possessed by the devil" type face and began screaming. Ugh, sorry Laura. I said I was sorry to her son and all was well, but I still feel so bad about it. Because, I mean, like who the hell am I to get involved like that? I'm surprised Laura didn't smack me.
So, we make it to the thrift store and Laura and I start browsing in separate aisles. Suddenly, I see a shopping cart filled with children careening through the store. Logan (who is 3 & 1/2) is standing up inside the cart. Paige (the 1 & 1/2 year old) is sitting in the child seat portion of the cart. They are being pushed by Jack, Laura's 6 year old. "Pushed" being the operative word here. It is more like Jack is trying to get enough speed to catapult his brother and sister into space and if they don't go fast enough, they won't break the atmosphere and will explode into millions of tiny pieces. So Jack goes flying by me, all the while Logan is making a sound that compares in both volume and sound effects to a car alarm. I turn to watch them go right past me, the slowly turn back to browsing through the store's selection of clothing while simaltaneaously muttering out loud (so the stranger shopping next to me can hear me), "Wonder where those children's mother is?" Okay, so that last part didn't actually happen. I'd be such a bitch if I had done that. But, I did turn away from Laura's kids and pretend I didn't know them. That actually did happen. Sorry, Laura. I can't believe you're still friends with me.
But, aside from this isolated incident, I really do adore Laura's kids. Jack is hilarious, constantly saying things that lead me to believe he's going to be a stand-up comedian. Like, for example, in Laura's last blog (she writes one too, btw, and you should definitely check it out- http://thematoscircus.blogspot.com) Jack smacked Laura on the ass and called her "Ol' Lady!" Awesome.
His younger brother, Logan, is just so stinking cute and adorable. He was me giving hugs and kisses yesterday that made me just melt. And he's in love with Chloe and is super sweet to her. And Paige, well, let me tell you, that girl is going to cure cancer. She's just that smart. I mean, she's 1 & 1/2 and she can count to 3. But not just say the numbers, she can actually show you 1, 2, and 3 items. I'm serious. She's a flippin' genius.
Anyway, I think these photo booth photos taken at the Danbury Fair Mall yesterday completely sum up everything you need to know about us and our kids
I think the best one is the third photo from the top in "take 2":
So in all, it was a very eventful shopping trip and Laura and I were very excited about our thrift store finds. I got about 8 or 9 pairs of name-brand pants for Chloe (Baby Gap, Children's Place, Gymboree, etc) and a shirt for $16.00. Awesome! Laura got the steal for the day, finding a brand new pair of Oshkosh snow pants for like $3. I love being white trash! Just kidding, shopping at a thrift store doesn't make you white trash. But I actually am starting to think that I am (just a little). But that's another blog.
Y'all come back now, ya hear???
First, we stopped at Burger King to get the kids dinner. We get our food and all is fine until I mistakenly try to discipline a child that is not my own. Do not do this. Ever. I mean, EVER. Seriously.
First of all, it was totally not my place to say anything, but I thought I was helping. Really. One of Laura's boys was practically sitting on his toddler sister's lap and she was getting really fussy. As in, making a noise that sounds like a drowning cat, fussy. Laura asked him (nicely) to move. Which he wouldn't. I thought I would help by adding that if he didn't listen, I was going to take his leap pad. Wrong move. Her son got very angry with me and started making a "I'm being possessed by the devil" type face and began screaming. Ugh, sorry Laura. I said I was sorry to her son and all was well, but I still feel so bad about it. Because, I mean, like who the hell am I to get involved like that? I'm surprised Laura didn't smack me.
So, we make it to the thrift store and Laura and I start browsing in separate aisles. Suddenly, I see a shopping cart filled with children careening through the store. Logan (who is 3 & 1/2) is standing up inside the cart. Paige (the 1 & 1/2 year old) is sitting in the child seat portion of the cart. They are being pushed by Jack, Laura's 6 year old. "Pushed" being the operative word here. It is more like Jack is trying to get enough speed to catapult his brother and sister into space and if they don't go fast enough, they won't break the atmosphere and will explode into millions of tiny pieces. So Jack goes flying by me, all the while Logan is making a sound that compares in both volume and sound effects to a car alarm. I turn to watch them go right past me, the slowly turn back to browsing through the store's selection of clothing while simaltaneaously muttering out loud (so the stranger shopping next to me can hear me), "Wonder where those children's mother is?" Okay, so that last part didn't actually happen. I'd be such a bitch if I had done that. But, I did turn away from Laura's kids and pretend I didn't know them. That actually did happen. Sorry, Laura. I can't believe you're still friends with me.
But, aside from this isolated incident, I really do adore Laura's kids. Jack is hilarious, constantly saying things that lead me to believe he's going to be a stand-up comedian. Like, for example, in Laura's last blog (she writes one too, btw, and you should definitely check it out- http://thematoscircus.blogspot.com) Jack smacked Laura on the ass and called her "Ol' Lady!" Awesome.
His younger brother, Logan, is just so stinking cute and adorable. He was me giving hugs and kisses yesterday that made me just melt. And he's in love with Chloe and is super sweet to her. And Paige, well, let me tell you, that girl is going to cure cancer. She's just that smart. I mean, she's 1 & 1/2 and she can count to 3. But not just say the numbers, she can actually show you 1, 2, and 3 items. I'm serious. She's a flippin' genius.
Anyway, I think these photo booth photos taken at the Danbury Fair Mall yesterday completely sum up everything you need to know about us and our kids
Take 1:
Take 2:
I think the best one is the third photo from the top in "take 2":
So in all, it was a very eventful shopping trip and Laura and I were very excited about our thrift store finds. I got about 8 or 9 pairs of name-brand pants for Chloe (Baby Gap, Children's Place, Gymboree, etc) and a shirt for $16.00. Awesome! Laura got the steal for the day, finding a brand new pair of Oshkosh snow pants for like $3. I love being white trash! Just kidding, shopping at a thrift store doesn't make you white trash. But I actually am starting to think that I am (just a little). But that's another blog.
Y'all come back now, ya hear???
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Sleepless in Harwinton
So, after our co-sleeping debacle, I decided to fashion a "toddler bed" for Chloe to sleep in. The idea was, that it would be a sort of co-sleeper. You know, those bassinet-type beds that are on level with your own bed? After the baby falls asleep with you, you just slide the baby over onto her own bed. Also, she's in arms reach should she start fussing. Here's what I'm talking about:
Look how happy that mother is. Her little one can't fall off the bed and mom has her own space on the bed as opposed to being squished into a little ball with an elbow/knee/foot in her back.
Well, Steve had decided to pull all the couch cushions off the couch and place them on the floor next to our bed in order to create a crash landing pad for our little stunt girl. I decide to take it one step further by hauling the mattress out of her crib. Which, by the way, is a very expensive "nature-pedic" organic cotton mattress that my mother bought me. One that Chloe has not once slept on. So anyway, I struggle and grunt and finally get this thing out of the crib and have it leaning against our own bed when Steve comes in. "What the..." he begins. "Listen," I tell him, "if this doesn't work then, whatever. What have we got to lose?" So I shimmy the mattress down on top of the couch cushions in between our wall and our bed. Almost a success. There's about a half a foot drop from our bed to my make-shift co-sleeper. But, if I can get her on it, there's nowhere for her to fall.
So, last night we went to bed as usual. When I was certain Chloe was in such a deep sleep that no amount of movement could possibly wake her, I start the artful process of moving her to her new "bed". I carefully slide her to the edge of the bed and then proceed to shake her violently while screaming, "STAY ASLEEP! STAY ASLEEP!!" Well, that's what I might as well have done since the second her body hit the new mattress, she began to flail all of her limbs and cry. Sigh. So, now I am on the makeshift toddler bed with Chloe, letting her nurse herself back to sleep. My plan is to get her back to sleep and then slip out, unnoticed, into my own bed. That's the plan, anyway. The reality is that Chloe clings to me like this is Sophie's Choice and any small movement I make, including breathing, results in her wailing like the world is ending.
I do eventually manage to slip out of our lovely arrangement and do get to sleep in my own bed, on my own side, without any foreign body parts touching my body...for all of an hour. I timed it. I left Chloe on her "bed" at 12:22. I woke up to her crying at 1:20, took her into bed with me, and we both went back to sleep for the rest of the night. But hey, that's the longest she has ever slept in her own bed. Ever. So, maybe we're making progress?
Anyway, here's my "toddler bed"(patent-pending):
Yes, that is a giant stuffed unicorn wearing my sweater. The idea being that Chloe would have a mass next to her that smelled like me and thus, was me. That was they idea, anyway.
That's all for now! Sweet dreams!
Look how happy that mother is. Her little one can't fall off the bed and mom has her own space on the bed as opposed to being squished into a little ball with an elbow/knee/foot in her back.
Well, Steve had decided to pull all the couch cushions off the couch and place them on the floor next to our bed in order to create a crash landing pad for our little stunt girl. I decide to take it one step further by hauling the mattress out of her crib. Which, by the way, is a very expensive "nature-pedic" organic cotton mattress that my mother bought me. One that Chloe has not once slept on. So anyway, I struggle and grunt and finally get this thing out of the crib and have it leaning against our own bed when Steve comes in. "What the..." he begins. "Listen," I tell him, "if this doesn't work then, whatever. What have we got to lose?" So I shimmy the mattress down on top of the couch cushions in between our wall and our bed. Almost a success. There's about a half a foot drop from our bed to my make-shift co-sleeper. But, if I can get her on it, there's nowhere for her to fall.
So, last night we went to bed as usual. When I was certain Chloe was in such a deep sleep that no amount of movement could possibly wake her, I start the artful process of moving her to her new "bed". I carefully slide her to the edge of the bed and then proceed to shake her violently while screaming, "STAY ASLEEP! STAY ASLEEP!!" Well, that's what I might as well have done since the second her body hit the new mattress, she began to flail all of her limbs and cry. Sigh. So, now I am on the makeshift toddler bed with Chloe, letting her nurse herself back to sleep. My plan is to get her back to sleep and then slip out, unnoticed, into my own bed. That's the plan, anyway. The reality is that Chloe clings to me like this is Sophie's Choice and any small movement I make, including breathing, results in her wailing like the world is ending.
I do eventually manage to slip out of our lovely arrangement and do get to sleep in my own bed, on my own side, without any foreign body parts touching my body...for all of an hour. I timed it. I left Chloe on her "bed" at 12:22. I woke up to her crying at 1:20, took her into bed with me, and we both went back to sleep for the rest of the night. But hey, that's the longest she has ever slept in her own bed. Ever. So, maybe we're making progress?
Anyway, here's my "toddler bed"(patent-pending):
Yes, that is a giant stuffed unicorn wearing my sweater. The idea being that Chloe would have a mass next to her that smelled like me and thus, was me. That was they idea, anyway.
That's all for now! Sweet dreams!
Friday, January 18, 2013
No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed!
So, if you read Steve's status update this morning (which he called his "blog", hilarious) then you already know what happened. Our daughter Chloe fell off the bed. Again. Now, before you go calling CPS, let me give you some background.
Chloe suprised us by being born a month early. She was 5lb 4oz at birth and we ended up bringing home a 4lb 13oz teeny tiny newborn who didn't even fit in her preemie-sized jammies. I was very very very diligant about NEVER falling asleep with her my arms. I was too scared I would crush her or drop her or that my falling asleep with her would cause her to stop breathing since everyone tells you the second you give birth how "dangerous" co-sleeping is. We didn't have to worry though, she was great. She slept in her bassinet without issue and all was well. For about 4 weeks.
As soon as Chloe hit "full term" it seemed a light switch flipped in her little brain and suddenly, 6:00pm would roll around and Chloe would start screaming. Nothing we did EVER made any difference. I would have just nursed her, she'd be dry, she'd be swaddled....and she would scream and scream and scream until about 1 or 2 in the morning. She would have screamed for so long, she'd be hoarse. I'm not even exagerating.
So, here I am in my living room with a crying infant who has now been crying for about 7 hours. She's been nursed and swaddled, I'm shushing and bouncing and falling asleep on my feet. I haven't slept in about 4 days and I'm starting to hallucinate. I enter a delirious state where I remember what it was like to sleep. Finally, I take her into my room, lay down on the bed with her in my arms, and start to drift off. When I wake up, its 10:00 in the morning. And so starts our co-sleeping journey.
Now, before you go crazy and chastise me and say "You never should have done that!" I need to ask you, what would you do? Seriously. What would you have done? Steve says I'm compeltely at fault, but this is not true. Because while I was in the living room with the banshee that possessed my lovely, sweet little newborn, where was he? Sound asleep in the bedroom, enjoying ANOTHER uninteruppted night of sleep. Now, had Steve just ONCE come out into the living room and said, "Here honey, let me take her for a little bit. You go to sleep." We might be in a different predicament. But he didn't. And to this day he'll tell you there was nothing he could have done for her. He doesn't have boobs, so what could he possibly do? Well, he could've done what I did. Walked around the living room, humming and singing, rocking and bouncing and, if all else failed, going for a ride in the car. So yes, I think we're both at fault here.
So, here we are, 13 or so months later, and our daughter sleeps in our bed. Out of which she fell last night. We're considering buying a bed-side rail (like in hospitals, or for old people) or getting a co-sleeper and then, (hopefully) transferring her into her own toddler bed. The crib is not an option. You so much as go near that thing with her in your arms and she starts to wail like I'm about to put her into a torture chamber.
Besides, how could you say no to this cutie?
Well, that's all for now. Oh, and if my dad asks? Chloe sleeps in her crib.
Chloe suprised us by being born a month early. She was 5lb 4oz at birth and we ended up bringing home a 4lb 13oz teeny tiny newborn who didn't even fit in her preemie-sized jammies. I was very very very diligant about NEVER falling asleep with her my arms. I was too scared I would crush her or drop her or that my falling asleep with her would cause her to stop breathing since everyone tells you the second you give birth how "dangerous" co-sleeping is. We didn't have to worry though, she was great. She slept in her bassinet without issue and all was well. For about 4 weeks.
As soon as Chloe hit "full term" it seemed a light switch flipped in her little brain and suddenly, 6:00pm would roll around and Chloe would start screaming. Nothing we did EVER made any difference. I would have just nursed her, she'd be dry, she'd be swaddled....and she would scream and scream and scream until about 1 or 2 in the morning. She would have screamed for so long, she'd be hoarse. I'm not even exagerating.
So, here I am in my living room with a crying infant who has now been crying for about 7 hours. She's been nursed and swaddled, I'm shushing and bouncing and falling asleep on my feet. I haven't slept in about 4 days and I'm starting to hallucinate. I enter a delirious state where I remember what it was like to sleep. Finally, I take her into my room, lay down on the bed with her in my arms, and start to drift off. When I wake up, its 10:00 in the morning. And so starts our co-sleeping journey.
Now, before you go crazy and chastise me and say "You never should have done that!" I need to ask you, what would you do? Seriously. What would you have done? Steve says I'm compeltely at fault, but this is not true. Because while I was in the living room with the banshee that possessed my lovely, sweet little newborn, where was he? Sound asleep in the bedroom, enjoying ANOTHER uninteruppted night of sleep. Now, had Steve just ONCE come out into the living room and said, "Here honey, let me take her for a little bit. You go to sleep." We might be in a different predicament. But he didn't. And to this day he'll tell you there was nothing he could have done for her. He doesn't have boobs, so what could he possibly do? Well, he could've done what I did. Walked around the living room, humming and singing, rocking and bouncing and, if all else failed, going for a ride in the car. So yes, I think we're both at fault here.
So, here we are, 13 or so months later, and our daughter sleeps in our bed. Out of which she fell last night. We're considering buying a bed-side rail (like in hospitals, or for old people) or getting a co-sleeper and then, (hopefully) transferring her into her own toddler bed. The crib is not an option. You so much as go near that thing with her in your arms and she starts to wail like I'm about to put her into a torture chamber.
Besides, how could you say no to this cutie?
Well, that's all for now. Oh, and if my dad asks? Chloe sleeps in her crib.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
The Gangsters on the Bus
Here's a snapshot of my day.
I get up at 5:30 in the morning, rouse a very sleepy, very cranky toddler and strap her into her car seat, drive her 30 minutes to day care, then drive another30 50 minutes to work. I then teach the most boring subject allllll day (7:35-3:15), pick up aforementioned toddler up from day care (at which she has not napped ONCE), drive into our area, run about a million errands, and then FINALLY go home. I get home, on average, around 5/5:30. I'll do the math for you, that's 12 hours. From start to finish.
So now, I need to change the baby, feed and walk the dogs, feed the cats, get the pellet stove going, and get dinner made. All before thehubs fiancée' gets home at 6:30. Yeeesh. So, imagine you're in your kitchen, cutting up raw chicken with a huge cutting knife while you have at least 2 burners on the stove going. You do not have any free hands and your beautiful, 15-month old daughter begins to cry. I wash my salmonella chicken-covered hands. Here's a cookie, Chloe. Back to cutting. Okay, that's bought me all of 8 seconds. Now she's really complaining in earnest because her mother is ignoring her, neglecting her, setting her on fire, sticking needles in her eyeballs...and other horrors she must imagine happen when I don't pay 110% of my attention to her. So I do the only thing that keeps her from going into full psycho fit mode: I sing "The Wheels on the Bus".
Now, for whatever reason, this song is the methadone to her tantrum and she stops immediately to listen to me. So, I'm singing every verse I can possibly think of. I've already gone through the wheels going round, the horn beeping, the lights going on and off, the doors open and shut, the mamas, the dadas, the babies wah, wah, waah-ing and now...shit. I'm drawing a blank. Chloe senses my hesitation and begins to start the pouting mouth that is the precursor to her crying and I'm starting to panic. So, what the hell, I start to make up my own verses:
"The teenagers on the bus go O.M.G, O.M.G, O.M.G! The teenagers on the bus go O.M.G...Allllll through the towwwnnnn...." and "The seniors on the bus go 'What'd you say???'"
And it is when I am doing what must be a song-writing work of genius that I turn and see Steve standing in the doorway. What was I singing, you ask? Well....
"The gangsters on the bus go, 'Yo, what up?' 'Yo, what up?' 'Yo, what up?' The gangsters on the bus go, 'Yo, what up?' Alllll through the towwwnnnn...."complete with my my own version of what I'm sure are legitimate gang signs. Genius, right? Well, I see Steve standing there like he's seriously contemplating just turning around and going right back to work, but doesn't since he probably thinks I'm a bad influence on our very impressionable young daughter and he should stick around and supervise before I start showing her how toroll a joint curse.
So, don't be surprised if you see Chloe flashing the well known gang sign for The Lion Kings. (That, by the way, is an inside joke I will have to save for another blog)
Peace Out, Yo.
I get up at 5:30 in the morning, rouse a very sleepy, very cranky toddler and strap her into her car seat, drive her 30 minutes to day care, then drive another
So now, I need to change the baby, feed and walk the dogs, feed the cats, get the pellet stove going, and get dinner made. All before the
Now, for whatever reason, this song is the methadone to her tantrum and she stops immediately to listen to me. So, I'm singing every verse I can possibly think of. I've already gone through the wheels going round, the horn beeping, the lights going on and off, the doors open and shut, the mamas, the dadas, the babies wah, wah, waah-ing and now...shit. I'm drawing a blank. Chloe senses my hesitation and begins to start the pouting mouth that is the precursor to her crying and I'm starting to panic. So, what the hell, I start to make up my own verses:
"The teenagers on the bus go O.M.G, O.M.G, O.M.G! The teenagers on the bus go O.M.G...Allllll through the towwwnnnn...." and "The seniors on the bus go 'What'd you say???'"
And it is when I am doing what must be a song-writing work of genius that I turn and see Steve standing in the doorway. What was I singing, you ask? Well....
"The gangsters on the bus go, 'Yo, what up?' 'Yo, what up?' 'Yo, what up?' The gangsters on the bus go, 'Yo, what up?' Alllll through the towwwnnnn...."complete with my my own version of what I'm sure are legitimate gang signs. Genius, right? Well, I see Steve standing there like he's seriously contemplating just turning around and going right back to work, but doesn't since he probably thinks I'm a bad influence on our very impressionable young daughter and he should stick around and supervise before I start showing her how to
So, don't be surprised if you see Chloe flashing the well known gang sign for The Lion Kings. (That, by the way, is an inside joke I will have to save for another blog)
Peace Out, Yo.
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