Advantage: Bub

Scene: Kitchen, Dinnertime.

Bub takes a large swig from his sippy cup, leans over the edge of his high chair and allows the milk to splatter from his mouth to the floor. As I move in to confiscate the cup, he leans forward and smacks my hand. He immediately demands, "Hug." I hesitate briefly, not sure if I want to reward these behaviors. His demands get more insistent and I lean awkwardly over the highchair tray to allow him to wrap his sticky fingers around my neck.

"No spit. No hit, Mama. I sowwy, Mama."

Well played, kid. Well played indeed.

Shiny Distractions

Rather than whine about my mile long to do list and the outrageous way a two year old's birthday can take on a life of its own, I'm going to tell you two cute stories. Both of which brought tears to my eyes. This may not mean anything to you as EVERYTHING brings tears to my eyes. Including Every. Single. Episode. of Tori and Dean.

***

A close friend of my mom's has two grandchildren, twins, who just turned five. On their birthday she gave each of them five one dollar bills. She then took them to the toy store and said, "Everything in this store costs five dollars and you have five minutes to pick out whatever you want."

***

My parents were having dinner on vacation. They were at a restaurant only accessible via gondola and snow mobile with, what I can only imagine, was a view to die for.

In my mom's line of sight was a young couple. (I'm going to assume she means young like my age, not young like not legal to drink.) At one point she says to my dad, "Don't turn around now, but he's proposing!"

Of course she said yes (and of course my dad turned around to look.)

When their waitress returns, my dad said, "Listen, I'd love to pay for their dinner; it was great to be able to see that. BUT, do not tell them who it's from, and wait until we leave. Just tell them that we've been married for 37 years and we hope they will be as happy as we have been."

As they were leaving the restaurant, two of the waitresses come running out the front door to tell them that they entire waitstaff was in the back crying. At this point, so was my mom.

P.S. My dad firmly believes that it's not a good deed if you tell someone about it, so he would NEVER have repeated this story. Thank goodness for my mom!

Home again, home again

Naptime started 43 minutes ago.

What I wouldn't give for a video monitor to see what exactly he's doing in there, because there isn't any sleeping going on.

I'm paying the price for a weekend away. A weekend in the desert, not a vacation mind you, because vacation doesn't mean nap schedules and packing with every single item from the kid's room, and the kitchen and the garage while you're at it, but a weekend away all the same.

You might think spending all day in the pool with an endless supply of people willing to entertain would tire a child out such that he would pass out at an early hour and sleep long past the rising of the sun.

If you had thought that, you would be sorely, sorely mistaken.

We're all tired.

Mommy handles the exhaustion with a very large Coke (screw you no soda during the week mandate.)

Bub handles exhaustion with more exhaustion.

Naptime started 52 minutes ago.

What started as playing and babbling has devolved into a sad little whimpering. It's hard to tell if this means sleep is imminent or if naptime rest time is quickly coming to an end.

Was it worth it?

You tell me.

The making of an obsession

View this giveaway. Think, Hmm, that cup is impossibly cute. Would be fun to win.

Enter said giveaway.

Lose said giveaway.

Walk into your local Starbucks 3 or 4 times and peruse the shelves for the cup. On the third or fourth visit get the nerve to ask the barista if they have the cup in stock in some super special hiding place. Watch as barista laugh and point at empty black tableclothed table reserved for the cup. Apparently you're not the first to ask.

Ask same question at a different Starbucks. Blush furiously when the barista rolls her eyes and says something unintelligible but sounds an awful lot like, Good luck sucka.

Go to Starbucks.com. Shed a few tears over the teensy tiny print bearing bad news: Out of stock.

Go to google. Discover that some shameless bastards are attempting to sell your precious on eBay for the bargain price of $46. Briefly consider the marital discord that would ensue if you were to spend $46 on a cup. Hesitate and then decide that this falls into the category of Bad Ideas.

Click through to starbucks.com daily to see if cup is back in stock. Experience brief moment of glee only be be thwarted by teeny tiny print, yet again.

Sigh heavily and rail against the unfairness of it all.

Or bust

I'm just going to say this once and for all and get it off my chest.

I'm not going to BlogHer.

Not that a fresh out of the box blogger like myself has any place there, I had just convinced myself that I really, REALLY wanted to go.

I even managed to get the husband on board.

That was back when unemployment* was just a possibility, not a reality.

Truthfully, I didn't think I would get the chance to choose whether or not to go. I hemmed and hawed and then it sold out. I put myself on the waiting list, but didn't think much of it.

Last week I got an email that I was off the waiting list. There was a ticket just waiting for ME.

I called my husband at work. He laughed.

I know, I know, it's so selfish, but I actually considered it. And I whined. And then I came to my senses and emailed back and said to release the ticket to someone else. So hopefully someone, who is just dying to go, got that email today and hopefully it made their day.

I, like scores of other people, have entered contests to win a trip, so if that happens, then I'm THERE.

But really, I know that this isn't my year.

*I'm not playing the unemployment card for sympathy. Please, please don't tell me that you're sorry. It's just part of our reality and honestly a little surreal that we're actual adults with actual responsibilities who are being affected by the real world.

Go ahead, try to tell me it's not still the weekend

For the record, Jillian and I will never be friends.

Now that we're clear on that, I should say that today is day five of my new, improved me plan.

*I've only shredded twice. I decided that shredding on weekdays would be sufficient and now I'm lobbying to put Monday in the weekend category.

*Limiting soda has been surprisingly easy. I had a soda with lunch on Saturday and didn't even finish half of it. I can't drink diet soda because all artificial sweeteners (including Splenda) make me violently ill so there's no "better" option for me.

*I'm not dieting. I AM trying to make myself more aware of what I'm eating. That doesn't mean I haven't had cookies. That does mean that I try to make a better choice first. I'm a snacker. I eat when I'm bored, which is a lot of the time. And, since I spend the vast majority of my time in close proximity to my kitchen, snacking is easy. I think this has been my major downfall.

*Carrot sticks are not cookies. Eating carrot sticks and drinking water will never be as satisfying as eating Oreos. It might cause enough of a distraction to make you momentarily forget about the cookies, but when the cookie craving comes back, WATCH OUT. I would not recommend standing in my way during this time.

*It is not helpful to say things like, Isn't working out a waste of time if you're just going to steal french fries off my plate?

*Also not helpful? Adding ice cream to the shopping list.

*Celery? Is not a cookie either. Is, in fact, less satisfying than just drinking water.

I just can't help myself

I make no secret of my love of reality television. I look forward to the summer for three nights a week of Big Brother drama. I watched every minute of Laguna Beach and it's step child spinoff - Newport Harbor (oh yes, yes I did.) Don't even get me started on Jon and Kate.

The two things I'm happiest to see in my DVR these days?

The Hills
Sweetney wrote about the love/hate relationship we all seem to have with the show. My poor husband can't get through the show without my running commentary. The thing that makes me the most crazy? The way these people treat their "jobs." Am I taking this all too seriously? Because the way Stephanie handled the game time phone call from Lauren by responding, "I'm on my lunch break," nearly caused my head to blow off my shoulders. Also, Spencer and Heidi. Who believes them? Tell me, WHO? Spencer and his clear beard (TM my friend Morgan) nearly put me over the edge every Monday night.

The Real Housewives of ... wherever.
I've been a Real Housewives fan since the beginning. Since I am a bona fide real housewife of the OC, I was naturally intrigued. I missed one OC season and the Atlanta season due to not having Bravo but now I'm back in the game. I was bound and determined to walk away at the end of the New York season. I just didn't think I could mentally handle what New Jersey had to offer and I'm still not sure that I can, BUT there were a few gems in the first episode that reeled me in.

What is it about the delivery of lines like:

I don't want to live in someone else's house. That's gross.

and

Of course they have a chandelier lift.

that has me thinking, "Right? What were we thinking buying a USED house and one with an obvious lack of chandelier lifts. Well, a lack of chandeliers too, but let's not split hairs."

These bitches suck me in every time.

Jumping on the bandwagon, or hoping to be run over by it

Yesterday, on our way out of the house I balanced Bub on my hip while making our way downstairs. Bub, for all of his fabulous qualities, never learned the fine art of hanging on like a baby Koala so my arm always burns trying to keep his 30 pound body wedged next to mine. I was turning off lights and gathering my keys when I saw it.

Pushed into relief by my toddler's body was, well there's no other word for it, FAT. Fat that's been two years in the making. Fat that I spent a long time calling baby weight, and then said it wasn't actually fat, but rather the new shape of my body after baby. Fat that I've told myself will work itself out chasing after the kid. Fat, helped along by being a stay at home mom and having endless access to my well-stocked pantry and no one to witness me having three Reese's eggs and a Coke and calling that lunch.

Earlier this week I was trying on jeans. Someone had recommended a brand that they liked and were a bit forgiving without crossing the line into mom jeans. I tried on several styles, sizes and cuts. I left with nothing, convinced that I just needed to find the right pair that would hide my muffin top.

Like how I blamed the jeans for that?

Fast forward to this morning.

I busted out the Shred DVD, dug my hand weights from the dusty recesses of the garage and finally bit the bullet. I would have welcomed a bullet to a non-essential organ about halfway through, let me tell you.

In case you've missed the bazillion posts and tweets about Shredding, it's hard y'all.

Also, it doesn't make sense to put myself through this without making some dietary changes, but I'm not about to set myself up for failure.

Step #1 Eliminate soda. Realistically, I'll allow myself one on the weekend, but it just doesn't make sense to drink my calories.

Baby steps, yo.

Day 1 down, 29 to go.

Wonder

Sometimes I wonder if this is your way of saying, I told you so.

Is it because they whisked you away from me after allowing only the briefest of snuggles, during which I sobbed all over your tiny body (tiny being relative here as you were over nine pounds when you were born and one of our visitors exclaimed, "Oh my goodness, she gave birth to a three month old!")?

Is it because I had no earthly idea how much my world would change? I was born to a woman who loved having babies. Pregnancy, drug-free labor, changing diapers, she loved it all. She described the baby blues as being "overcome" and said that wasn't the right word at all, blue, because you're just the opposite.

Is it because your father, nine months more well rested than I and free of the hormone roller coaster, was so easy with you from the beginning. Concerned, sure, but never anxious like I was. Not afraid to fall asleep or turn his back while you napped in the swing, or grandma's arms. He read you your first book, Peter Pan, in the hospital, while I cried in the shower. Did you know?

Is it because during your early weeks, on the 9pm to midnight shift, which was your hardest time, you only wanted me? You would scream as your poor father would walk, bounce, rock and swing. Nothing would do but to have mommy. And mommy would hide in her room, pretending to nap, pretending not to hear her child, who was in fact fine, not really needing any of his basic needs met, just the familiarity of the body he had shared for so long.

You can't possibly remember that, right?

Is it because he goes to work? Because he's only home for a few hours in the evening and the weekends that you have to show him just how incredible you think he is in the time that you have with him? Because you're never really sure if this is the time when he gets in his car and leaves for the day, or if it isn't?

Is that why he's your favorite? I really hope it's that because then it's not about me at all.

Thank you

Thank you to my husband for taking the kid to Disneyland in the morning so I could finish cleaning the house, getting breakfast baking and take a long leisurely shower with no distraction, except for the Ace of Cakes season finale. And thank you for being home with time to spare. Time to take out the trash and sweep the yard and light the candles.

Thank you to my parents and in-laws for raving about brunch. After two Thanksgiving FAILS, I was determined to make this one memorable in a good way.

Thank you to whoever did the dishes. There were only nine of us here, so the possibilities are somewhat limited, and still I never saw it happen.

Thank you to my husband, again, for letting me crash on the couch with a stack of magazines for the rest of the afternoon, handling bathtime and bedtime, letting me do the easy part - the kiss goodnight - and leaving you with the teeth brushing.

Thank you to my boy, the one who made me a mother, the one who gave me this day. Thank you for the moments you granted me even though both grandmas and grandpa, GRANDPA and oh, wait GRANDPA'S HERE? Look mama, Grandpa?! In my house! Right over there! were here to see you.

Kate Gosselin I'm not

My very best mom friend is pregnant with baby #2 and she's in that awful feel sick all day part of the first trimester.

You know what is even worse than feeling on the verge of vomiting all day long? That feeling, plus having the nose of a bloodhound, while changing diapers. Or so I would imagine.

Because I'm nothing if not a great friend (and also hoping for some karmic kick-back if and when I find myself in a similar situation,) I strapped the extra car seat into my car and went to pick up her son.

Except for one dicey moment in the car when he realized that mommy was not in the front seat, and the look on his face nearly broke my heart, everything was great. It was easy! Two kids, no problem! I should have had twins!

Ha.

Okay, truth be told it wasn't exactly hard. Both boys were on their best behavior. We went for a long walk and then had a quick-ish lunch. But seriously, how do you moms of more than one do it? There were no seats directly in the line of site of the front counter, so after settling them into highchairs I sprinted back up to get our food and drinks, sure that people were judging me for leaving two toddlers alone at the table. For maybe 4 seconds. I assure you this was a better option than taking them both with me to the counter and then trying to get back to the table with a tray of food and two small people running in opposite directions. I imagined myself twisted in a spiral not unlike something Wile E. Coyote might experience. From there, it was a blur of wiping hands, cutting food, picking up sippy cups, keeping Bub's fork out of friend's hair, etc. I was sweating and still certain people were judging me. What for, I'm not sure, because these boys were really downright delighful, fork combing aside.

In that moment I knew what they say is true, two children isn't twice as hard as one. It's 352 times as hard.

Once everyone was strapped into their car seats and we were headed home, I imagined that I could do it all again, except next time - DISNEYLAND.

That day would certainly be the best birth control EVER.

Which one are you?

It's become obvious that there are two kinds of people in this world. Those with a sense of direction and those without.

Those of you who were blessed with the ability to know which way is west, no matter your location? I DON'T GET YOU.

And yes, I know you don't get me either.

You see, my husband falls into the former category. We often have conversations that go like this:

Him: You're going to need to go west when you get off the freeway.

Me: Blink, blink.

Him: West. You know, like towards the ocean, dumbass. (the dumbass being more implied than actually spoken here.)

Me: Um, I can't see the ocean.

Him: You don't need to SEE it to know where it is.

Me: Blink. Cough. Shift nervously in my seat.

Him: Seriously?

Me: We're 20 miles from the ocean. How the hell should I know where the ocean is in relation to my current position?

Him: How do you ever find your way home?

Me: My boyfriend, the navigation system, helps me out.

And don't even get him started on the navigation system. Yes, sure, it has made mistakes before, but it always gets me there. More or less.

Listen, I know those of you human compasses think that having a sense of direction is something you can just try hard enough and make it happen, like learning geometry or something. I assure you, it isn't that easy.

Sometimes, I get lucky. Like, because I know that I live south of the freeway*, if I orient myself to the freeway, then I know that the grocery store is west of Main St. Or whatever.

And yes, I can read a map, but I'm always shocked when I look at a map and see where things are in relation to each other. SHOCKED I tell you.

*The ONLY reason I know that I live south of the freeway is because I live in a wildfire prone area, and during the most recent evacuation I was listening to the news, hearing them say that all homes south of the freeway are under mandatory evacuation and I had to do some very complicated algorithm in my head to figure out that meant ME and to get my ass home and save my baby. And my husband who, while he has an awesome sense of north vs. south, has no fear of wildfires. Seriously.

Crazymaking

You know those taglines on the cover of magazines? The ones that are intended to draw you in?

I would like to suggest that when magazines print their covers, they take the time to ensure that the promised information actually made the cut.

Twice this month, I've received a magazine, seen something on the cover, searched every last inch of the magazine, only to find NOTHING.

Both times these were local publications, so we're not talking about Newsweek here. And once, it was a promised coupon that was missing, but still.

Today, I even went so far as to Google the information, and then searched the magazine's website and still came up lacking.

That's annoying.

The end.

Yep, that's all I've got. Bub has chosen to wake up sometime before 5:30 am every day this week (it's light out at that time. Who knew?) so mustering up misprint rage is about the most emotion I can muster.

Shopping, Recession Style

I adore catalogs. I almost always forget what I've seen and very, VERY rarely actually order from them, but they seem to satisfy a smidge of my urge to shop.

Occasionally, something sticks with me and I begin to imagine that we NEED it. That I just can't possibly have people over to my house until I have it.

Thus, today begins the first of what I assume to be many (or maybe two, considering my propensity for giving up on things) posts on things I want, but won't be buying due to a ban on most non-essential items.

We begin in the backyard.

We have a teeny, tiny backyard. Hello, Southern California real estate. I mean, the fact that we have a yard, with both grass and planters and concrete spaces means something, but it's small. I've seen what some of y'all have posted and I have to step away from your blogs for a few days for fear the jealousy will take me down.

Anyway.

Since we spend a lot of time outside in this space, I want to make it a happy space. Hence, these.


They are just the perfect shade of green to match the pillows on our patio furniture. But, the best part is, they hang from my patio umbrella. Out of the reach of toddler fingers. So I can light citronella tealights and keep the bugs away and be safe too.

Oh, I know, they're on sale. And, they're only $9.95. But, I would need three of them. And, the chain. And probably these tealights. And, there goes $50.

So, for now, I'll come here to look at this impossibly small picture of the cutest outdoor lantern, EVER.

Overreacting

Bub and I went to a playdate with my MOMS club today.

We made these vases and these flowers.

I highly recommend both of these crafts, provided you are not the person responsible for preparing the supplies or cleaning up afterward.

As you might imagine, Bub was interested in this craft for all of 32 seconds so I completed both the vase and the flower for him.

He had a good time running around with the older boys and pushing around a pink stroller with the girls. For the second time this week I'm reminded that my boy is no longer a baby and that he is more and more able to participate in activities, rather than just watch from his perch on my hip.

It was a good day, an easy day.

Then, a small gust of wind knocked our vase to the ground, where it shattered. We could have made another, but the only thing I wanted less than to leave without our craft, was to leave with a vase covered in sand and wet glue.

I almost cried.

This is completely irrational. We're not talking about something that my kid had slaved over, hell, he hadn't even looked at it long enough to recognize it.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me.

No, I'm not pregnant.

Yes, I'm sure.