We're spending a long weekend at my parents' house, while they're on a vacation of their own (Arctic Circle, yo. Nope, not kidding.)
It's nice to "vacation" 30 minutes from home in a house full prepared for Bub, fully stocked - complete with duplicate paci and blanket.*
Due to a few really boring circumstances, we decided that it made sense for me to come down to the beach tonight and the boys will join me tomorrow. I brought the dog and my laundry (Oh, front loaders, where have you been all my life?) Now, I'm all alone in the big house with far too many windows and not nearly enough window COVERINGS. Have I ever mentioned that I'm afraid of the dark? This is why I don't watch horror movies. How exactly is one expected to sleep with the expanse of darkness outside with all sorts of dangers sure to be lurking? You might think the dog would be useful in these circumstances, but he's useless. He alternates between being passed out from the infusion of fresh, ocean air and growling at non-existent threats.
Tomorrow night we're meeting friends at the fair and I will admit right here and now that I am a full-fledged hypocrite. I will tell you that I'm not comfortable with animals in captivity, working animals, show animals. That's the absolute truth. But, yes I took my kid to Sea World. And, tomorrow? It's highly likely that he'll ride a pony and pet a sheep or two. I'll be mildly nervous the entire time. But, I'll take pictures. Maybe I don't want to project my neuroses on him. Maybe there's just something irresistably cute about a toddler on a pony.
There's always the deep fried pickle to look forward too.**
*Please, oh please don't get me started on the paci. I swore, SWORE, I would take the thing away immediately after his first birthday. And yet, still it remains. Only at bedtime and naps, but I KNOW.
**If only I were kidding.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Know Thy Audience
Dear Person in Charge of Movie Trailer Placement:
In the moments immediately preceding the last two movies I have seen (My Sister's Keeper and The Ugly Truth, respectively) I have been blindsided by what I can only describe as horrifically misplaced movie trailers.
I was ready to consider the previews for Shutter Island, and another equally horrifying movie which I won't name (because I don't remember) a fluke when they were followed by, the much more appropriate, trailer for The Time Traveler's Wife (during which I cried, thank you very much for that.) But, tonight, I could not look past a SECOND viewing of the aforementioned Leonardo Dicaprio film, and an additional three minutes of scenes from The Stepfather.
Sometimes the evening news is too much for me to take. I ALWAYS change the channel during scary movie previews or the Kids in Cars commercial. I have a brief moment of panic during the time between turning off the downstairs lights, and turning on the upstairs lights when heading to bed.
I'm a pansy, plain and simple. While My Sister's Keeper presented an entirely different kind of terror, it's not the kind that makes my heart race when I get into my car in a dark parking lot.
Isn't there some heartwarming holiday tale that you can tease during this time? Even Jackass 3 would have been welcome during this time, but the dangling chain saws? It's gone TOO FAR.
Please?
I'm a pansy and I can't take it.
In the moments immediately preceding the last two movies I have seen (My Sister's Keeper and The Ugly Truth, respectively) I have been blindsided by what I can only describe as horrifically misplaced movie trailers.
I was ready to consider the previews for Shutter Island, and another equally horrifying movie which I won't name (because I don't remember) a fluke when they were followed by, the much more appropriate, trailer for The Time Traveler's Wife (during which I cried, thank you very much for that.) But, tonight, I could not look past a SECOND viewing of the aforementioned Leonardo Dicaprio film, and an additional three minutes of scenes from The Stepfather.
Sometimes the evening news is too much for me to take. I ALWAYS change the channel during scary movie previews or the Kids in Cars commercial. I have a brief moment of panic during the time between turning off the downstairs lights, and turning on the upstairs lights when heading to bed.
I'm a pansy, plain and simple. While My Sister's Keeper presented an entirely different kind of terror, it's not the kind that makes my heart race when I get into my car in a dark parking lot.
Isn't there some heartwarming holiday tale that you can tease during this time? Even Jackass 3 would have been welcome during this time, but the dangling chain saws? It's gone TOO FAR.
Please?
I'm a pansy and I can't take it.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Done! Until we decide that we're not.
Done. We're done! All of the minor renovations in our house are DONE! It looks great if I do say so myself, but they're the kind of minor renovations that you might not notice if you don't live in this house. This is shocking to me because I feel like the entire downstairs wing* of the house is completely! different! Brand new! Apparently, this feeling is unique to the immediate members of this house. Also, to people who have had to listen to us ramble about cabinets and shutters. Those people know to Ooh and Aah when they walk in. Other people? Not so much.
Don't do that polite protesting thing. I have evidence.
Last night was my book club, my turn to pick the book and my turn to host and pick the snacks. Many of the people in my book club have been here before, some as recently as a few weeks ago. No one noticed.
Maybe they were too busy noticing that I had bought every single appetizer stocked by Trader Joe's. I always have far too much food at things like this.
In other news, Bub discovered flies today. There are a few in our house (thanks to constant in and out of contractors) that we can't seem to send on their merry way. This morning his eyes landed on one and as it flew out of sight he three up his hands and asked, "Where bubblebee go?"**
I quickly informed him it was not a bee, but a fly. If it had been a bee? Then, mommy would have gone screaming upstairs to leave daddy to dispose of the intruder. He then provided me with the funniest five minutes of my life, in the way only a two year old in the presence of a flying insect can do.
Finally, tonight we are going to brave the concert in the park. The park is directly behind our house, and for four weeks every summer for the past four years we have never actually attended, although we can hear the entire thing from our backyard. Tonight we're going with friends and the logistics are all swimming in my head. Walking there! With a two year old, and a cooler and chairs, etc. I can make a big deal out of ANYTHING.
*Wing! As if I live in home large enough for WINGS!
**A bumblebee was the star of this morning's Little Einsteins.
Don't do that polite protesting thing. I have evidence.
Last night was my book club, my turn to pick the book and my turn to host and pick the snacks. Many of the people in my book club have been here before, some as recently as a few weeks ago. No one noticed.
Maybe they were too busy noticing that I had bought every single appetizer stocked by Trader Joe's. I always have far too much food at things like this.
In other news, Bub discovered flies today. There are a few in our house (thanks to constant in and out of contractors) that we can't seem to send on their merry way. This morning his eyes landed on one and as it flew out of sight he three up his hands and asked, "Where bubblebee go?"**
I quickly informed him it was not a bee, but a fly. If it had been a bee? Then, mommy would have gone screaming upstairs to leave daddy to dispose of the intruder. He then provided me with the funniest five minutes of my life, in the way only a two year old in the presence of a flying insect can do.
Finally, tonight we are going to brave the concert in the park. The park is directly behind our house, and for four weeks every summer for the past four years we have never actually attended, although we can hear the entire thing from our backyard. Tonight we're going with friends and the logistics are all swimming in my head. Walking there! With a two year old, and a cooler and chairs, etc. I can make a big deal out of ANYTHING.
*Wing! As if I live in home large enough for WINGS!
**A bumblebee was the star of this morning's Little Einsteins.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Heart, meet Throat. Throat, Heart.
He was playing in the front yard, weaving his way through garage sale items scattered on the driveway. Mostly he was dancing at his uncle's feet, asking for, "Up high!" Occasionally he would scoot through our planters into the neighbors yard and I would herd him back home.
At one point, he reached up and grabbed a flower from the neighbor's yard and yanked HARD. I told him NO, firmly. His eyes turned to mine, daring me to make something of the situation. I started for him, in what would certainly be a futile attempt to redirect his attention.
He turned and took off, with the speed that only toddlers possess. He headed directly for the street, the street that had been packed with garage sale shoppers all morning. People not paying much attention to the road in front of them. People not aware that this was a neighborhood full of children. People peering out their windows, making a game time decision about whether or not to get out of the car.
NO! was all I could think to scream as I took off after him. He darted between two parked cars into the street, ensuring that had anyone been driving past they would most certainly have not seen him.
When my hand closed around his arm, pulling him out of the street, he laughed.
When I got down to his level and told him in no uncertain terms did we ever go into the street, he laughed.
When I took him into the house and sank onto the couch, fighting the urge to scream at him or sob, he approached slowly, looked into my eyes, and said softly, "No wuv you, mama."
At one point, he reached up and grabbed a flower from the neighbor's yard and yanked HARD. I told him NO, firmly. His eyes turned to mine, daring me to make something of the situation. I started for him, in what would certainly be a futile attempt to redirect his attention.
He turned and took off, with the speed that only toddlers possess. He headed directly for the street, the street that had been packed with garage sale shoppers all morning. People not paying much attention to the road in front of them. People not aware that this was a neighborhood full of children. People peering out their windows, making a game time decision about whether or not to get out of the car.
NO! was all I could think to scream as I took off after him. He darted between two parked cars into the street, ensuring that had anyone been driving past they would most certainly have not seen him.
When my hand closed around his arm, pulling him out of the street, he laughed.
When I got down to his level and told him in no uncertain terms did we ever go into the street, he laughed.
When I took him into the house and sank onto the couch, fighting the urge to scream at him or sob, he approached slowly, looked into my eyes, and said softly, "No wuv you, mama."
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Who ever thought WOOD could be so thrilling?
I'm going to get to the New York posts, I PROMISE, it's just taking me some time. I had all these witty observations swirling around in my head during the actual vacation, and now that we're home, in the midst of renovations* and planning for not one, but TWO, garage sales, my mind is elsewhere.
Most notably, my mind is on my gorgeous kitchen cabinets. I wish I had a before picture to show you, because Holy Stain and Varnish Batman, what a difference. I owe it all to the world's most incredible contractors who, in addition to showing up on time every day (they're actually sitting in their trucks five minutes before eight waiting to ring my doorbell,) are the nicest group of guys, and they are CLEAN. Not themselves, although they are fresh as a daisy. They clean up after themselves. Again, EVERY DAY. And? They put up with my hemming and hawing.
Throughout this process, I had to make two major decisions: paint color and stain color. And internets, I am a hemmer. I had twelve different paint samples on my wall, picked one, delivered the paint chip to the painter, then called my mother in an absolute panic that I had chosen all wrong. Fortunately, my mom is some kind of savant when it comes to home decorating and she "just happened to pick up a sample while she was out the other day, and why doesn't she just come by and see how it looks." Lo and behold, perfect color. A quick call to the painter and we were all set.
Yesterday I had to pick the stain color. Fortunately, there aren't nearly as many options as there are colors in the tan family of paint. But, still. It was a production. I had it down to two and I explained to my (very patient) painter that I liked the color of one but the darkness (tone? shade?) of another. He was quick to tell me that was No Problem! He could match the shade (darkness? tone?) of the other color. Guess what? This morning, he put up a sample for me to approve and it was, dare I say, perfect?
Tomorrow is their last day and because we're master planners, we will be at Sea World all day. Apparently this was good timing because the fumes from the finish just might fry our brains were we to be in the house all day.
*I know, I know, one minute we're unemployed, the next minute I'm all paint! and stain! and shutters! oh my. Well, the husband is re-employed with lots of caveats not to get too comfortable, so don't think we've gone crazy and spent the savings. The renovations are courtesy of my very generous mother who, well, is just awesome. Not only because she's giving my house a makeover. She's just all around incredible.
Most notably, my mind is on my gorgeous kitchen cabinets. I wish I had a before picture to show you, because Holy Stain and Varnish Batman, what a difference. I owe it all to the world's most incredible contractors who, in addition to showing up on time every day (they're actually sitting in their trucks five minutes before eight waiting to ring my doorbell,) are the nicest group of guys, and they are CLEAN. Not themselves, although they are fresh as a daisy. They clean up after themselves. Again, EVERY DAY. And? They put up with my hemming and hawing.
Throughout this process, I had to make two major decisions: paint color and stain color. And internets, I am a hemmer. I had twelve different paint samples on my wall, picked one, delivered the paint chip to the painter, then called my mother in an absolute panic that I had chosen all wrong. Fortunately, my mom is some kind of savant when it comes to home decorating and she "just happened to pick up a sample while she was out the other day, and why doesn't she just come by and see how it looks." Lo and behold, perfect color. A quick call to the painter and we were all set.
Yesterday I had to pick the stain color. Fortunately, there aren't nearly as many options as there are colors in the tan family of paint. But, still. It was a production. I had it down to two and I explained to my (very patient) painter that I liked the color of one but the darkness (tone? shade?) of another. He was quick to tell me that was No Problem! He could match the shade (darkness? tone?) of the other color. Guess what? This morning, he put up a sample for me to approve and it was, dare I say, perfect?
Tomorrow is their last day and because we're master planners, we will be at Sea World all day. Apparently this was good timing because the fumes from the finish just might fry our brains were we to be in the house all day.
*I know, I know, one minute we're unemployed, the next minute I'm all paint! and stain! and shutters! oh my. Well, the husband is re-employed with lots of caveats not to get too comfortable, so don't think we've gone crazy and spent the savings. The renovations are courtesy of my very generous mother who, well, is just awesome. Not only because she's giving my house a makeover. She's just all around incredible.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Open Letter to the Pets
Dear Animals,
It has become increasingly clear that you have no respect for the home in which you live.
Cats, your lease expired years ago. You came here on a trial basis as the Big Man is allergic to you. Only through many tears shed, were you granted temporary asylum and allowed to stay. It would behoove you to adjust your attitude accordingly. There is no need for yowling at all hours of the night. If it's loud enought to: a)wake me b)wake the baby c)be heard from outside, it's too loud. In fact, you're yowling right this very minute. Hear me: I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT. It's clearly not food, water or attention so I'm out of ideas. Send a smoke signal or something because this noise? Does not compute.
Additionally, I would happy to show you to your litter box if you've lost your way. It's about two inches to the right of what you believe to be it's present location.
Dog, I know you feel put out by the presence of the Small Man in the house. I know that you and he have a difference of opinion about what constitutes "petting nicely." I would like to ask you to remember the early years. The years in which you were treated more like a child than a dog. Please draw on those good times when you're tempted to pee on the brand new carpet out of spite.
Also, please don't pretend like your life is particularly hard. You spend your nights curled into whatever crook of my body you find most comfortable, and your days lounging on whatever piece of furniture is getting the best light. Your food is delivered at the same time daily and your water freshed often. Let's be honest, it's good to be you.
To sum up, shape up or ship out.
The Misses.
P.S. Who am I kidding? You're not going anywhere. But, please, oh please just stop the yowling and errant peeing?
It has become increasingly clear that you have no respect for the home in which you live.
Cats, your lease expired years ago. You came here on a trial basis as the Big Man is allergic to you. Only through many tears shed, were you granted temporary asylum and allowed to stay. It would behoove you to adjust your attitude accordingly. There is no need for yowling at all hours of the night. If it's loud enought to: a)wake me b)wake the baby c)be heard from outside, it's too loud. In fact, you're yowling right this very minute. Hear me: I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT. It's clearly not food, water or attention so I'm out of ideas. Send a smoke signal or something because this noise? Does not compute.
Additionally, I would happy to show you to your litter box if you've lost your way. It's about two inches to the right of what you believe to be it's present location.
Dog, I know you feel put out by the presence of the Small Man in the house. I know that you and he have a difference of opinion about what constitutes "petting nicely." I would like to ask you to remember the early years. The years in which you were treated more like a child than a dog. Please draw on those good times when you're tempted to pee on the brand new carpet out of spite.
Also, please don't pretend like your life is particularly hard. You spend your nights curled into whatever crook of my body you find most comfortable, and your days lounging on whatever piece of furniture is getting the best light. Your food is delivered at the same time daily and your water freshed often. Let's be honest, it's good to be you.
To sum up, shape up or ship out.
The Misses.
P.S. Who am I kidding? You're not going anywhere. But, please, oh please just stop the yowling and errant peeing?
Four nights. Fourteen hours of sleep. In toto. I feel drunk, or hungover, or both with a side of sandpapery dry, red eyes. And we've been home for two days.
Arrived home to a house mid-makeover. We knew it wouldn't be done and we knew we would have work to do before today for phase two. But still, I held out hope for magical fairies to have descended upon our house and rehung our pictures and emptied out our kitchen cabinets.
When I mentioned this to my husband, he reminded me that we had already been blessed by a magical fairy, in the form of my mother, who so graciously offered to do this mini-home makeover for us. When he's right, he's right.
What started out as having shutters installed was expanded to included repainting and refinishing kitchen cabinets. The paint looks FANTASTIC, even though my husband insists it's the exact. same. color. It's not, I assure you. The old color was a tan verging on yellow, the new color is a tan, verging on gray. HUGE difference.
So, to sum up. I'm tired, house is full of workers, and what are likely noxious fumes and I have a to do list a mile long. Whee!
Oh, AND. Today I was talking to the woman who runs the "school" where I'm "teaching" and she gave me some very important information about one of the students in my "class." Information that would have been good to have on, um, day one, not the start of the FOURTH WEEK.
Stay Tuned for the NYC recap.
Arrived home to a house mid-makeover. We knew it wouldn't be done and we knew we would have work to do before today for phase two. But still, I held out hope for magical fairies to have descended upon our house and rehung our pictures and emptied out our kitchen cabinets.
When I mentioned this to my husband, he reminded me that we had already been blessed by a magical fairy, in the form of my mother, who so graciously offered to do this mini-home makeover for us. When he's right, he's right.
What started out as having shutters installed was expanded to included repainting and refinishing kitchen cabinets. The paint looks FANTASTIC, even though my husband insists it's the exact. same. color. It's not, I assure you. The old color was a tan verging on yellow, the new color is a tan, verging on gray. HUGE difference.
So, to sum up. I'm tired, house is full of workers, and what are likely noxious fumes and I have a to do list a mile long. Whee!
Oh, AND. Today I was talking to the woman who runs the "school" where I'm "teaching" and she gave me some very important information about one of the students in my "class." Information that would have been good to have on, um, day one, not the start of the FOURTH WEEK.
Stay Tuned for the NYC recap.
Monday, July 6, 2009
T-minus 24 hours until maximum grandchild spoilage begins
Tomorrow night we leave for New York, but tomorrow morning we leave our house. Some genius decided that it would be a good idea to have some of the work we're doing on our house done while we're on vacation. And that IS a good idea, except that they're starting tomorrow. At 8am. And they'll likely be loud and cramp our style and not be particularly interested in having a two year old tornado at their feet. Not will said two year old take kindly to having tarps draped over his precious train table.
So. We leave tomorrow morning for my parents house where I'll probably spend the day crying in anticipation of leaving my baby. I'll also spend much of the day fretting about leaving on time, and making it to the airport, and checking and rechecking to be sure that I haven't forgotten anything.
I'm a real joy to travel with.
Right now I'm desperately searching iTunes for anything that might keep me occupied during the flights. I get bored VERY easily. And yes, Jet Blue has DirecTV but I've found that the pickings are a bit slim on a red eye flight. (Um, duh.) I have my book club book to finish, but I'm feeling kind of meh about it and so I won't be even slightly motivated to crack it open.
And yes, I know I should be sleeping but I'm incapable of falling asleep sitting up without my mouth hanging wide open, and so I spend much of the flight snapping awake with a dry mouth and sore neck and wind up far more tired than if I had just forgone sleep altogether.
*Side note: This will be our third trip to New York. Each time we SWEAR we will never take a red eye flight EVER AGAIN and yet, here we are. I'm hoping that the hotel has our rooms available at 7am, and I would think that the odds are good, because Hello? New York in July? Who would be crazy enough to think that's a good idea?
It's now 10:30pm and I haven't even begun to pack yet. I have, however, written very detailed substitute plans for the teacher who will be taking my classes for the rest of the week and made long lists of all of the things I need to remember to pack. I also made my husband retrieve the largest suitcase we own for maximum overpacking possibilities. I'm very prepared to start preparing.
And with that, I leave you for the week. Be ready for many, many pictures upon my return, along with my review of My Sister's Keeper (Spoiler alert! I cried!.) Or maybe just the pictures.
Happy week, all.
So. We leave tomorrow morning for my parents house where I'll probably spend the day crying in anticipation of leaving my baby. I'll also spend much of the day fretting about leaving on time, and making it to the airport, and checking and rechecking to be sure that I haven't forgotten anything.
I'm a real joy to travel with.
Right now I'm desperately searching iTunes for anything that might keep me occupied during the flights. I get bored VERY easily. And yes, Jet Blue has DirecTV but I've found that the pickings are a bit slim on a red eye flight. (Um, duh.) I have my book club book to finish, but I'm feeling kind of meh about it and so I won't be even slightly motivated to crack it open.
And yes, I know I should be sleeping but I'm incapable of falling asleep sitting up without my mouth hanging wide open, and so I spend much of the flight snapping awake with a dry mouth and sore neck and wind up far more tired than if I had just forgone sleep altogether.
*Side note: This will be our third trip to New York. Each time we SWEAR we will never take a red eye flight EVER AGAIN and yet, here we are. I'm hoping that the hotel has our rooms available at 7am, and I would think that the odds are good, because Hello? New York in July? Who would be crazy enough to think that's a good idea?
It's now 10:30pm and I haven't even begun to pack yet. I have, however, written very detailed substitute plans for the teacher who will be taking my classes for the rest of the week and made long lists of all of the things I need to remember to pack. I also made my husband retrieve the largest suitcase we own for maximum overpacking possibilities. I'm very prepared to start preparing.
And with that, I leave you for the week. Be ready for many, many pictures upon my return, along with my review of My Sister's Keeper (Spoiler alert! I cried!.) Or maybe just the pictures.
Happy week, all.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
I spoke too soon
I may have given my students a bit too much credit for their maturity.
During our most recent grammar lesson, we were talking about verb tenses and verb forms. I'll let you imagine the scene in my classroom when they were called on to use the verb "to come" in the present, past and future tense.
I didn't even see that one coming.
During our most recent grammar lesson, we were talking about verb tenses and verb forms. I'll let you imagine the scene in my classroom when they were called on to use the verb "to come" in the present, past and future tense.
I didn't even see that one coming.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Things I don't need to hear
From the girl at the beauty supply: "You'll LOVE this. It's great for those annoying chin breakouts. Or, erm, dry skin. Or whatever."
Really? You couldn't pick just one of my skin faults and run with it?
From anyone who hears that we're headed for New York next week: "Yeesh. New York in July? It's going to be miserably hot there."
It's July. It's miserably hot EVERYWHERE. However, the forecast calls for the weather to be nicer on the East coast than it is here, so maybe we'll get lucky. Whatever. We did not book this trip to beat the heat so don't rain on my parade.
From other parents in regards to us leaving our son behind with his grandparents while we're on vacation: "You're so brave. I just wouldn't be able to leave Junior and go on vacation without him."
Look, I get that you're judging me. Would it make you feel any better if I promise that he'll be loved within an inch of his life while we're gone and will likely receive BETTER care and MORE attention than he does on any given day with us? It's four days. Four days that will make us a better married couple and better parents. Four days where he'll have an endless supply of cookies and walks and trips to the beach.
Huh. Maybe I'm judging me.
Really? You couldn't pick just one of my skin faults and run with it?
From anyone who hears that we're headed for New York next week: "Yeesh. New York in July? It's going to be miserably hot there."
It's July. It's miserably hot EVERYWHERE. However, the forecast calls for the weather to be nicer on the East coast than it is here, so maybe we'll get lucky. Whatever. We did not book this trip to beat the heat so don't rain on my parade.
From other parents in regards to us leaving our son behind with his grandparents while we're on vacation: "You're so brave. I just wouldn't be able to leave Junior and go on vacation without him."
Look, I get that you're judging me. Would it make you feel any better if I promise that he'll be loved within an inch of his life while we're gone and will likely receive BETTER care and MORE attention than he does on any given day with us? It's four days. Four days that will make us a better married couple and better parents. Four days where he'll have an endless supply of cookies and walks and trips to the beach.
Huh. Maybe I'm judging me.
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