Today is Cast Day.
It's about time too, because keeping a two year old in an ace bandage should be criminal. Sure, clueless nurse at the orthopedist's office, I can tell him not to touch it, to leave it alone, not to mess with it. That's been remarkably effective, thank you.
I've had a lot of time to worry over these past few days. Is he in pain? Is he ever going to get his appetite back? Will he have to relearn to walk? Will we ever get a full night's sleep again? What if it gets cold? It's still very much summer here, but it's not hard to imagine that it will get cold sometime in the next six weeks, since we'll be well into NOVEMBER and wearing shorts exclusively might not fly. How filthy is he going to be after six weeks of only sponge baths? Is he going to miss Halloween and all of the fun things we had planned for fall? It's only 11am and we've already colored, played with cars, played catch, gone for a walk, done puzzles, put together and taken apart Mr. Potato Head, read 15 books, NOW WHAT?
I know all mothers of two year olds have silently wished that they would just sit still for a few minutes. I'll be more careful what I wish for next time.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Better (ish)
What a difference a good nights sleep makes.
Last night I was a weepy mess, due in part to fretting over my sons injury and in part to severe sleep deprivation. Add in a dose of adrenaline let down and you had me. Mess.
Also, last night, Bub went to bed at seven and didn't wake until 1am. A marked improvement over the night before when, at 1am, we had slept for maybe 30 minutes total. A cracker, some water, more Tylenol and a story and he was out until 7:00. I woke up feeling human again.
For the record, I know that this is something that I'm going to deal with in bulk over the next number of years. He's a boy. They fall, bleed, get hurt. I'll probably come to appreciate the valet parking at my children's hospital, more than words can say. I also know that he'll heal. He'll walk again. But, he's my baby. And at two, still in many senses, a baby. It's hard to explain why he can't get down and run around, or why he has to settle for a sponge bath and washing his hair in the sink.
Now that I'm out of the my baybee is broooken stage, I'm into the harsh reality stage.
Things that are currently difficult:
Last night I was a weepy mess, due in part to fretting over my sons injury and in part to severe sleep deprivation. Add in a dose of adrenaline let down and you had me. Mess.
Also, last night, Bub went to bed at seven and didn't wake until 1am. A marked improvement over the night before when, at 1am, we had slept for maybe 30 minutes total. A cracker, some water, more Tylenol and a story and he was out until 7:00. I woke up feeling human again.
For the record, I know that this is something that I'm going to deal with in bulk over the next number of years. He's a boy. They fall, bleed, get hurt. I'll probably come to appreciate the valet parking at my children's hospital, more than words can say. I also know that he'll heal. He'll walk again. But, he's my baby. And at two, still in many senses, a baby. It's hard to explain why he can't get down and run around, or why he has to settle for a sponge bath and washing his hair in the sink.
Now that I'm out of the my baybee is broooken stage, I'm into the harsh reality stage.
Things that are currently difficult:
- Diaper changes
- Explaining to him that we can't take the splint off, no matter how much it itches
- Finding activities that keep him occupied while in a sitting position (It's not so much finding the activities as it is convincing him that they're worth participating in)
- Meals. He can't sit in his booster seat because of the location of the splint, so we've been feeding him on the couch. Trying to keep crumbs and such out of his splint is not so easy. Oh sure, we could drape something over his lap, but he seems to understand that this is making things easier for us, and refuses to keep himself covered.
- Not falling into the trap of keeping the TV on all day.
- Not spoiling him rotten.
- Seeing his face crumple as he reminds me that "It's not better."
- Realizing that last night's sleep was probably a fluke as we're nearly three hours past bedtime with no sign of sleep in sight.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Ouch
Our plans for the weekend were as follows:
Birthday party on Saturday. Spend the day at my parents beach rental on Sunday. And yes, it's a bit weird that they're staying in a beach rental, just down the street from their own beach house. I think my mom "won" the house in a silent auction and decided to stay there while they were having some work done on their house.
About two hours into the birthday party, things went horribly wrong.
My brother in law was taking Bub up the inflatable water slide and no one is quite sure what happened. All we know for sure is that he was crying and crying and crying, before he even made it down the slide. He continued to cry and refuse to be put down and would bear absolutely no weight on his legs. He was remarkably clear about what hurt and where, and it wasn't long before we were packed into the car, headed for urgent care.
I had to explain what had happened multiple times. No, he did not fall OFF, the slide, he fell into it. Apparently telling someone that he hurt himself by falling into an inflatable slide, is akin to saying, "Well, he bumped his head on a balloon and BLAMMO! Concussion."
Four hours later, his leg was pronounced broken. Broken.
They put his leg in a splint with instructions to go to our Children's Hospital today for a cast.
Now, if we had chosen to go directly to the Children's Hospital, rather than the chop shop urgent care, we would have bypassed the four wasted hours today we spent there, only to be told that they don't do casts there and haven't since 1991. They splint it, wait for the swelling to go down, then send you to an orthopedist a few days later.
Since we already had a splint, we were about to be sent on our way when I asked if there was anything I could give him for the pain. I'm not one to jump to medicate my child, but we got a combined total of maybe two hours of sleep last night, and the poor kid was exhausted. The doctor was shocked that no one had given him anything up to this point, and seconds later we had a syringe of Tylenol with codeine in our room and prescription to go. The urgent care doctor had told us that once his leg was immobilized, the pain would go away. He was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Now, we're home with an elaborate couch set up, piles of books, one broken leg, and two broken parents. I held it together until my dad called tonight and then broke down.
This afternoon Bub, with teary eyes and a shaky voice, told me, "It's not better."
Ouch.
Birthday party on Saturday. Spend the day at my parents beach rental on Sunday. And yes, it's a bit weird that they're staying in a beach rental, just down the street from their own beach house. I think my mom "won" the house in a silent auction and decided to stay there while they were having some work done on their house.
About two hours into the birthday party, things went horribly wrong.
My brother in law was taking Bub up the inflatable water slide and no one is quite sure what happened. All we know for sure is that he was crying and crying and crying, before he even made it down the slide. He continued to cry and refuse to be put down and would bear absolutely no weight on his legs. He was remarkably clear about what hurt and where, and it wasn't long before we were packed into the car, headed for urgent care.
I had to explain what had happened multiple times. No, he did not fall OFF, the slide, he fell into it. Apparently telling someone that he hurt himself by falling into an inflatable slide, is akin to saying, "Well, he bumped his head on a balloon and BLAMMO! Concussion."
Four hours later, his leg was pronounced broken. Broken.
They put his leg in a splint with instructions to go to our Children's Hospital today for a cast.
Now, if we had chosen to go directly to the Children's Hospital, rather than the chop shop urgent care, we would have bypassed the four wasted hours today we spent there, only to be told that they don't do casts there and haven't since 1991. They splint it, wait for the swelling to go down, then send you to an orthopedist a few days later.
Since we already had a splint, we were about to be sent on our way when I asked if there was anything I could give him for the pain. I'm not one to jump to medicate my child, but we got a combined total of maybe two hours of sleep last night, and the poor kid was exhausted. The doctor was shocked that no one had given him anything up to this point, and seconds later we had a syringe of Tylenol with codeine in our room and prescription to go. The urgent care doctor had told us that once his leg was immobilized, the pain would go away. He was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Now, we're home with an elaborate couch set up, piles of books, one broken leg, and two broken parents. I held it together until my dad called tonight and then broke down.
This afternoon Bub, with teary eyes and a shaky voice, told me, "It's not better."
Ouch.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
School Days
Well, that last post was depressing and vague, wasn't it?
On to our regularly scheduled mommy programming.
Bub started a class today that is essentially a "preschool practice" class. I've taken in some eye rolls in regards to this class, but really it's just play and stories and songs and crafts and what could be wrong with that? We've had a bit of a television obsession in this house lately, so I've been desperate for some structured class to keep us busy. My good friend also signed up for the class, but her son is on the other side of the "two and a half" cut off, so he's in the later class.
I kept my eyes open for a friendly face, but it appeared that people had signed up for the class with one of two attitudes, 1) I will spend the length of the class chatting with my friend who signed up for the class with me, or 2)Please, oh please, do not talk to me.
So, I spent the entire class, focused on my kid. Which, I know is the point, and I'm not suggesting that it was a bad thing at all, just that it was odd to stand in a room full of adults, observing their children and not interacting, save those who came with friends (and arranged a snack schedule among themselves ahead of time.)
All of this is to lead in to say that it was awesome. Not that I don't get to spend all day watching my kid do whatever is that he's doing, but to watch him explore new things and play well with others and actually share, well it warmed my heart it all I can say. I realize, that now that I've said all of that, I'm gearing up for a massive meltdown of epic proportions next week, but I'll take it.
I'm not saying any of this in a "my kid is superior" kind of way, only to note that I don't take enough time to appreciate the cool kid that he is and it's high time I started making mental notes of all of the cool things that he does. Before I know it, he'll be in real preschool, then we're moments away from college and it's all going just too, too fast.
On to our regularly scheduled mommy programming.
Bub started a class today that is essentially a "preschool practice" class. I've taken in some eye rolls in regards to this class, but really it's just play and stories and songs and crafts and what could be wrong with that? We've had a bit of a television obsession in this house lately, so I've been desperate for some structured class to keep us busy. My good friend also signed up for the class, but her son is on the other side of the "two and a half" cut off, so he's in the later class.
I kept my eyes open for a friendly face, but it appeared that people had signed up for the class with one of two attitudes, 1) I will spend the length of the class chatting with my friend who signed up for the class with me, or 2)Please, oh please, do not talk to me.
So, I spent the entire class, focused on my kid. Which, I know is the point, and I'm not suggesting that it was a bad thing at all, just that it was odd to stand in a room full of adults, observing their children and not interacting, save those who came with friends (and arranged a snack schedule among themselves ahead of time.)
All of this is to lead in to say that it was awesome. Not that I don't get to spend all day watching my kid do whatever is that he's doing, but to watch him explore new things and play well with others and actually share, well it warmed my heart it all I can say. I realize, that now that I've said all of that, I'm gearing up for a massive meltdown of epic proportions next week, but I'll take it.
I'm not saying any of this in a "my kid is superior" kind of way, only to note that I don't take enough time to appreciate the cool kid that he is and it's high time I started making mental notes of all of the cool things that he does. Before I know it, he'll be in real preschool, then we're moments away from college and it's all going just too, too fast.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Exhausted
This weekend.
Yes, it was my birthday and my birthday was glorious. The party was beautiful, the food was delicious, my friends were fabulous. I have much more to say about that, but it's going to have to be on another day.
There's been some rough stuff in my family lately. And, while I have great friends and a wonderful husband who are more than willing to listen to me sort out my thoughts about all of it, sometimes it would be nice to put it all into writing. To sit down and write thoughtfully and explain why hearing the stamps.com commercial on the radio yesterday was almost too much for me.
These stories, while the affect me, don't involve me directly. Don't get me wrong, I'm involved, but they're not my stories to tell. Not in this space. Not to all the world. Not yet.
So, this weekend was emotionally wearing and the self imposed silence leaves me feeling jittery and useless. I wait by the phone and relay messages to the necessary parties. I'm sitting at my mom's house while she can't be here to supervise the alarm guy she didn't have time to cancel and the woman picking up the chairs to be recovered because there were just too many little details to manage while booking a flight on Saturday morning that left later Saturday morning, and so, here I am.
Weary.
And yes, I know exactly how annoying this type of no information post is.
Yes, it was my birthday and my birthday was glorious. The party was beautiful, the food was delicious, my friends were fabulous. I have much more to say about that, but it's going to have to be on another day.
There's been some rough stuff in my family lately. And, while I have great friends and a wonderful husband who are more than willing to listen to me sort out my thoughts about all of it, sometimes it would be nice to put it all into writing. To sit down and write thoughtfully and explain why hearing the stamps.com commercial on the radio yesterday was almost too much for me.
These stories, while the affect me, don't involve me directly. Don't get me wrong, I'm involved, but they're not my stories to tell. Not in this space. Not to all the world. Not yet.
So, this weekend was emotionally wearing and the self imposed silence leaves me feeling jittery and useless. I wait by the phone and relay messages to the necessary parties. I'm sitting at my mom's house while she can't be here to supervise the alarm guy she didn't have time to cancel and the woman picking up the chairs to be recovered because there were just too many little details to manage while booking a flight on Saturday morning that left later Saturday morning, and so, here I am.
Weary.
And yes, I know exactly how annoying this type of no information post is.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Drink up me hearties, yo ho
Tomorrow, September 19, is Talk Like a Pirate Day.
No, really, it's a thing.
Tomorrow is also Alison Sweeney's birthday. Jimmy Fallon's too, as well as Soledad O'Brien, Marc Jacobs, and Trisha Yearwood.
The number one song on the Billboard charts this week in 1979 was My Sharona.
Tomorrow, September 19 is my 30th birthday. I love my birthday. Last night, I told my husband that it was almost the day of 24 hours of being nice to your wife. He told me not to push it, it's only Thursday.
Tomorrow, we're having a party, and while it makes me kind of nervous having a party all about me, I'm so excited for the excuse to have my favorite people in one place. Also? There will be cupcakes.
If I could have one selfish birthday wish, it would be for my skin to realize that we're not sixteen anymore. The rest of my body has gotten the message loud and clear, so I'm not sure what's getting lost in the translation. Doesn't seem fair to wake up with a wrinkle and a pimple on your birthday.
No, really, it's a thing.
Tomorrow is also Alison Sweeney's birthday. Jimmy Fallon's too, as well as Soledad O'Brien, Marc Jacobs, and Trisha Yearwood.
The number one song on the Billboard charts this week in 1979 was My Sharona.
Tomorrow, September 19 is my 30th birthday. I love my birthday. Last night, I told my husband that it was almost the day of 24 hours of being nice to your wife. He told me not to push it, it's only Thursday.
Tomorrow, we're having a party, and while it makes me kind of nervous having a party all about me, I'm so excited for the excuse to have my favorite people in one place. Also? There will be cupcakes.
If I could have one selfish birthday wish, it would be for my skin to realize that we're not sixteen anymore. The rest of my body has gotten the message loud and clear, so I'm not sure what's getting lost in the translation. Doesn't seem fair to wake up with a wrinkle and a pimple on your birthday.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Best. Weekend. Ever.
Saturday morning we went to visit my parents. My parents live at the beach, so we typically take Bub to the beach when we go there. Now, I'm about to confess something that I'm not proud of. I loathe the beach. I love that Bub loves it. I love the idea of the beach. But, the reality? The sand? The many layers of sunscreen necessary to keep the particular shade of pasty whiteness that I'm so proud of? The seaweed and ocean creatures? (We took Bub to the beach on his birthday and there was a LARGE (and dead) sting ray washed up on shore. *Shudder*)
No, thank you.
Still, we take Bub frequently. Before Saturday, I had suggested that we go out on my parents little boat, rather than going to the beach. You would have thought, by the look on my husband's face, that I had suggested roasting baby seals for dinner, since clearly I was trying to rob my child of all of the joy in his life.
Um, he might like a boat ride too.
Of COURSE, he liked the boat ride.
How could he not.
If I came out to find a sea lion on my boat? It would quickly become the sea lion's boat. Also? That's not our boat. Obv.
Oh, confession #2. I love going on out the boat, but ONLY if we go with my parents. I'm perfectly capable of driving it, but I get so nervous that I can't relax.
Bub also got to go swimming with daddy and we ordered lunch by the pool, which was quite possibly the best tasting BLT ever.
Then, home, naps and steaks for dinner.
I could spend every Saturday with my parents. And, not just because they buy the good steaks.
Sunday, I got to enjoy an early birthday present, tickets to Legally Blonde: The Musical with two of my girls. I have just one word, LOVE.
I mean, tell me you can watch this without smiling.
No, thank you.
Still, we take Bub frequently. Before Saturday, I had suggested that we go out on my parents little boat, rather than going to the beach. You would have thought, by the look on my husband's face, that I had suggested roasting baby seals for dinner, since clearly I was trying to rob my child of all of the joy in his life.
Um, he might like a boat ride too.
Of COURSE, he liked the boat ride.
How could he not.
If I came out to find a sea lion on my boat? It would quickly become the sea lion's boat. Also? That's not our boat. Obv.
Bub also got to go swimming with daddy and we ordered lunch by the pool, which was quite possibly the best tasting BLT ever.
Then, home, naps and steaks for dinner.
I could spend every Saturday with my parents. And, not just because they buy the good steaks.
Sunday, I got to enjoy an early birthday present, tickets to Legally Blonde: The Musical with two of my girls. I have just one word, LOVE.
I mean, tell me you can watch this without smiling.
Friday, September 11, 2009
I remember
The phone rang before our alarm clocks buzzed.
I saw light flood the hallway, heard her television go on.
I crawled out of bed and pushed her door the rest of the way open. Her eyes were fixed on the television, phone glued to her ear. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes just in time to see a plane crash into the World Trade Center.
We watched the news for a while longer, not speaking. Eventually we got out of bed, showered and dressed, still silent. The silence was finally broken by a phone call.
Work. Don't come today. The building is shut down. I worked in Century City, in the shadow of the other Twin Towers.
My roommate got the same phone call, moments later. She worked in downtown LA, in the shadow of, well, many, many things.
We abandoned our efforts and parked ourselves in front of the TV.
The phone rang again, my mom.
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm staying home."
"I want you to come home."
Oh.
"Mom, the freeways are closed. You can't get within ten miles of the airport. I don't think I could get home if I tried."
Oh.
I don't remember much of the rest of that day. I'm not sure that we ever moved from the couch, that the television was ever turned off. I am sure we both cried ourselves to sleep.
I remember.
I grieved for all of them. The ones lost, the ones who lost, the ones who helped, the ones who were helpless.
I won't ever forget.
Need help remembering?
So do they.
I saw light flood the hallway, heard her television go on.
I crawled out of bed and pushed her door the rest of the way open. Her eyes were fixed on the television, phone glued to her ear. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes just in time to see a plane crash into the World Trade Center.
We watched the news for a while longer, not speaking. Eventually we got out of bed, showered and dressed, still silent. The silence was finally broken by a phone call.
Work. Don't come today. The building is shut down. I worked in Century City, in the shadow of the other Twin Towers.
My roommate got the same phone call, moments later. She worked in downtown LA, in the shadow of, well, many, many things.
We abandoned our efforts and parked ourselves in front of the TV.
The phone rang again, my mom.
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm staying home."
"I want you to come home."
Oh.
"Mom, the freeways are closed. You can't get within ten miles of the airport. I don't think I could get home if I tried."
Oh.
I don't remember much of the rest of that day. I'm not sure that we ever moved from the couch, that the television was ever turned off. I am sure we both cried ourselves to sleep.
I remember.
I grieved for all of them. The ones lost, the ones who lost, the ones who helped, the ones who were helpless.
I won't ever forget.
Need help remembering?
So do they.
Things I won't be asking for for my birthday, but secretly want
My birthday is in eight days.
In eight days I turn 30. I'm not having a problem with turning 30, although people seem to keep suggesting that maybe I should have a problem with it. I think my lack of problem comes from being thought to be somewhere in the range of age 13-16 for most of my twenties. I kid you not, when I walked into take my teacher picture for my ID one year, the PTA mom asked me who my homeroom teacher was. ME! It's ME. As a matter of fact, I'm YOUR kid's homeroom teacher. Cue awkwardness.
So, we're having a party and I'm exceedingly excited. The invitations say, in large letters, NO GIFTS. Unfortunately (for him,) the husband is exempt from this command.
I'm not sure what the husband has in mind, but here are a few ideas of things I'm kind of thinking I might want.
Beatles Rock Band
Here's the thing. we're kind of a one game at a time kind of family. Currently, we're on a Mario Kart kick that I don't see ending anytime soon. (Oh, and the BEST part about watching my husband play Mario Kart is his outright insistence that the game is rigged. Seriously, he gets irate. Kills me.) Also, this is not a game I see myself playing alone. Also? I SUCK at Guitar Hero and don't imagine that I would be any better at this. But, I still kind of want it anyway.
A kindle.
See, here's the thing. I read. A lot. But, there's really no reason I can't check out books from the library and use Paper Back Swap, like I have been. I don't travel, I don't find myself out and about with a lot of down time and need a book handy to keep me busy. Truthfully, what I would really like would be for my mom to pass down one of her used Kindles, as she and my father go through them like water. I believe there are four of them kicking around her house right now. Let's call it recycling.
An iPhone. Of all of the things listed above, this is the least likely to happen. I do like my Blackberry, but covet an iPhone.
So pretty. Oh apps, come to me.
Eight days and the truth shall be revealed.
In eight days I turn 30. I'm not having a problem with turning 30, although people seem to keep suggesting that maybe I should have a problem with it. I think my lack of problem comes from being thought to be somewhere in the range of age 13-16 for most of my twenties. I kid you not, when I walked into take my teacher picture for my ID one year, the PTA mom asked me who my homeroom teacher was. ME! It's ME. As a matter of fact, I'm YOUR kid's homeroom teacher. Cue awkwardness.
So, we're having a party and I'm exceedingly excited. The invitations say, in large letters, NO GIFTS. Unfortunately (for him,) the husband is exempt from this command.
I'm not sure what the husband has in mind, but here are a few ideas of things I'm kind of thinking I might want.
Beatles Rock Band
Here's the thing. we're kind of a one game at a time kind of family. Currently, we're on a Mario Kart kick that I don't see ending anytime soon. (Oh, and the BEST part about watching my husband play Mario Kart is his outright insistence that the game is rigged. Seriously, he gets irate. Kills me.) Also, this is not a game I see myself playing alone. Also? I SUCK at Guitar Hero and don't imagine that I would be any better at this. But, I still kind of want it anyway.
A kindle.
See, here's the thing. I read. A lot. But, there's really no reason I can't check out books from the library and use Paper Back Swap, like I have been. I don't travel, I don't find myself out and about with a lot of down time and need a book handy to keep me busy. Truthfully, what I would really like would be for my mom to pass down one of her used Kindles, as she and my father go through them like water. I believe there are four of them kicking around her house right now. Let's call it recycling.
An iPhone. Of all of the things listed above, this is the least likely to happen. I do like my Blackberry, but covet an iPhone.
So pretty. Oh apps, come to me.
Eight days and the truth shall be revealed.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Get Happy
Things that are bringing me joy right at this very minute.
1. The half of a Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory caramel apple leftover from last night. Well, slighly less than half as I've already had to sneak a bite, complete with head in refrigerator, away from the eyes of my child. Mama doesn't share treats.
2. Glee waiting for me on the DVR. Oh naptime, you're even more glorious today.
3. My Old Navy online order.
There was this dress.
I bought the grey/navy, even though what I really wanted was the grey/white. Serves me right for putting it into my cart last night, then going to bed without completely my order. Love the pockets.
These shoes.
Again, I'm kicking myself. I put these into my cart last night and by this morning, my size was sold out. I ordered a half size smaller, which sometimes will fit, but I'm not holding out any high hopes. Also, I've seen a lot of Old Navy shoes online, then in the store and the online photos make promises that the shoes can't keep. But hey, I had free shipping, so we'll see.
This scarf. Part of my plan to rejuvenate my wardrobe with accessories.
4. Finally, lunch with a friend today. At a bakery. Ostensibly, to pick out a cake for her baby shower. Right.
1. The half of a Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory caramel apple leftover from last night. Well, slighly less than half as I've already had to sneak a bite, complete with head in refrigerator, away from the eyes of my child. Mama doesn't share treats.
2. Glee waiting for me on the DVR. Oh naptime, you're even more glorious today.
3. My Old Navy online order.
There was this dress.
I bought the grey/navy, even though what I really wanted was the grey/white. Serves me right for putting it into my cart last night, then going to bed without completely my order. Love the pockets.
These shoes.
Again, I'm kicking myself. I put these into my cart last night and by this morning, my size was sold out. I ordered a half size smaller, which sometimes will fit, but I'm not holding out any high hopes. Also, I've seen a lot of Old Navy shoes online, then in the store and the online photos make promises that the shoes can't keep. But hey, I had free shipping, so we'll see.
This scarf. Part of my plan to rejuvenate my wardrobe with accessories.
4. Finally, lunch with a friend today. At a bakery. Ostensibly, to pick out a cake for her baby shower. Right.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
School Year's Resolutions
When I started writing here, I thought I would chronicle my way through my New Year's Resolutions. Turns out, that's an incredibly boring idea. I'm sure there's someone who could take that idea and come out on the other end with a book deal. That someone is not me. This is due largely to the fact that I broke just about every single one of my resolutions before mid-January.
So.
It's no secret that I am not the friend whose always clean and organized house you are jealous of. I wish I was that person. I enjoy the moments when I can pass for that person, but I'm not her. My husband would LOVE if I were that person. I could be guaranteed nightly deliveries of frozen yogurt if he were to come home to a house with made beds, put away laundry and a clutter free kitchen.
I'm on my way.
Over the past few months I've made it my goal to keep the kitchen clutter free. The kitchen table is the natural dumping ground for mail, recycling, things that need to go upstairs, snacks, etc. Keeping this area clear means that the clutter just gets relocated (do NOT look on, under, near, behind my nightstand) but we're talking baby steps people.
I am NOT making a sweeping resolution to keep a cleaner house and be more organized. This is certain to be a failure. I am making an effort to notice things more.
For example, last Friday the husband took the bathroom cleaning supplies out of the cabinet and left them on the counter so they would be ready for him when he gets home. I cleaned the bathroom and put everything away. It took about eight minutes of my time. I mentioned that if he remembers to take the stuff out on Fridays, I'll clean the bathroom. Done and DONE. It just won't occur to me otherwise.
I almost hesitate to mention this so soon on the heels of my last post, but Swistle is a huge inspiration, what with her regular cleaning updates. It's updates like those that inspired me to clean out a drawer in my bathroom when I had three spare minutes the other day. A whole drawer, I KNOW, but it does make a difference. Bring trash can to drawer, toss just about everything, pile remaining items into small corner of drawer so as to give the illusion of spaaace. Done.
Try and stop me.
So.
It's no secret that I am not the friend whose always clean and organized house you are jealous of. I wish I was that person. I enjoy the moments when I can pass for that person, but I'm not her. My husband would LOVE if I were that person. I could be guaranteed nightly deliveries of frozen yogurt if he were to come home to a house with made beds, put away laundry and a clutter free kitchen.
I'm on my way.
Over the past few months I've made it my goal to keep the kitchen clutter free. The kitchen table is the natural dumping ground for mail, recycling, things that need to go upstairs, snacks, etc. Keeping this area clear means that the clutter just gets relocated (do NOT look on, under, near, behind my nightstand) but we're talking baby steps people.
I am NOT making a sweeping resolution to keep a cleaner house and be more organized. This is certain to be a failure. I am making an effort to notice things more.
For example, last Friday the husband took the bathroom cleaning supplies out of the cabinet and left them on the counter so they would be ready for him when he gets home. I cleaned the bathroom and put everything away. It took about eight minutes of my time. I mentioned that if he remembers to take the stuff out on Fridays, I'll clean the bathroom. Done and DONE. It just won't occur to me otherwise.
I almost hesitate to mention this so soon on the heels of my last post, but Swistle is a huge inspiration, what with her regular cleaning updates. It's updates like those that inspired me to clean out a drawer in my bathroom when I had three spare minutes the other day. A whole drawer, I KNOW, but it does make a difference. Bring trash can to drawer, toss just about everything, pile remaining items into small corner of drawer so as to give the illusion of spaaace. Done.
Try and stop me.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Silly, silly me
If you were to have asked me a week ago if I like Nutella, I would have made a face and said, "No."
Have you ever tried it? Well, no, but it just sounds gross. Chocolate spread. No, thank you.
I'm here to state, unequivocally, that I'm an idiot.
Last week, Swistle stated that Nutella on bread is remarkably similar to a donut. Donut is one of those words you can't say near me without me immediately needing to have a donut in hand. Like, NOW. All I could think for the rest of that day, into the next was, MUST. HAVE. NUTELLA. I think what I was really thinking was MUST. HAVE. DONUT, but if Nutella is an acceptable substitute that I can enjoy away from judging eyes in the comfort of my own kitchen, then I must have that, too.
Finally, nearly 48 hours later, I was standing in Target, looking directly where the Nutella should be located, but wasn't. I started to panic. I had hung the success of the day on the Nutella itself and needed it. I looked a little closer and discovered two jars at the very back of the shelf. A Swistle induced run on Nutella? I think so.
Ahem.
The verdict? Nutella bread IS remarkably like a donut. Not even in a it's a poor substitute but it will do because it's all I've got sort of way. That Swistle, she's a genius.
The bad news to come out of all of this? Nutella bread is remarkably like a donut. I've already found myself fantasizing about ways to enhance the experience. Nutella on Hawaiian sweet bread?
O.M.G.
Also? Nutella on a spoon will do just fine when you find yourself completely out of bread on a Sunday morning.
I'm just saying.
Have you ever tried it? Well, no, but it just sounds gross. Chocolate spread. No, thank you.
I'm here to state, unequivocally, that I'm an idiot.
Last week, Swistle stated that Nutella on bread is remarkably similar to a donut. Donut is one of those words you can't say near me without me immediately needing to have a donut in hand. Like, NOW. All I could think for the rest of that day, into the next was, MUST. HAVE. NUTELLA. I think what I was really thinking was MUST. HAVE. DONUT, but if Nutella is an acceptable substitute that I can enjoy away from judging eyes in the comfort of my own kitchen, then I must have that, too.
Finally, nearly 48 hours later, I was standing in Target, looking directly where the Nutella should be located, but wasn't. I started to panic. I had hung the success of the day on the Nutella itself and needed it. I looked a little closer and discovered two jars at the very back of the shelf. A Swistle induced run on Nutella? I think so.
Ahem.
The verdict? Nutella bread IS remarkably like a donut. Not even in a it's a poor substitute but it will do because it's all I've got sort of way. That Swistle, she's a genius.
The bad news to come out of all of this? Nutella bread is remarkably like a donut. I've already found myself fantasizing about ways to enhance the experience. Nutella on Hawaiian sweet bread?
O.M.G.
Also? Nutella on a spoon will do just fine when you find yourself completely out of bread on a Sunday morning.
I'm just saying.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Wearing
Of course I'm grateful my son has such a close relationship with his father.
Of course I recognize that I'm lucky to have a husband who is such an active participant in his son's life.
Of course I know that I should cherish those moments, take a mental picture of my son curled on his daddy's lap.
He squirms away from me, "Daddy wead stowies."
"How about Mommy reads your stories tonight, buddy?"
Tears well in his eyes. His lip trembles. "Daddy stowies."
Because he's not feeling well, we both give in sooner rather than later. It seems silly to fight over this. He wants daddy. He's sick, so he gets daddy. If daddy had left the room, it's entirely likely that he would have tolerated mommy reading the stories.
That's not what he asks for. Given a choice, he chooses daddy every single time. Certainly there are probably reasons, but they can't explain it away.
And as much as I cherish the relationship between my husband and a son, that choice wears on me a little bit.
It would be nice to be chosen.
Of course I recognize that I'm lucky to have a husband who is such an active participant in his son's life.
Of course I know that I should cherish those moments, take a mental picture of my son curled on his daddy's lap.
He squirms away from me, "Daddy wead stowies."
"How about Mommy reads your stories tonight, buddy?"
Tears well in his eyes. His lip trembles. "Daddy stowies."
Because he's not feeling well, we both give in sooner rather than later. It seems silly to fight over this. He wants daddy. He's sick, so he gets daddy. If daddy had left the room, it's entirely likely that he would have tolerated mommy reading the stories.
That's not what he asks for. Given a choice, he chooses daddy every single time. Certainly there are probably reasons, but they can't explain it away.
And as much as I cherish the relationship between my husband and a son, that choice wears on me a little bit.
It would be nice to be chosen.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Do you see what I see?
Coming Soon: Chick Fil A
If they put in a drive-through Starbucks, my neighborhood will officially be Utopia.
If they put in a drive-through Starbucks, my neighborhood will officially be Utopia.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Best Weight Loss Plan EVER
I have developed an addiction.
An addiction to frozen yogurt. Specifically of the self-serve variety. When I read this post, I couldn't comment fast enough. I mentioned that I have schooled my husband in the proper yogurt to topping ratio. Except for the one time that he got carob chips rather than dark chocolate chips, he does just fine.
Over the summer he was more than happy to go out every so often for me. The problem is, that while there seems to be a new yogurt place on every corner, the closest one to our house is about ten minutes away. This doesn't seem like a big deal. but it usually turns into a thirty minute round trip. Again, over the summer, this wasn't an issue. He didn't have a job to wake up early to, and our schedule was very relaxed.
Summer's over folks. Asking him to make the thirty minute round trip after he's worked all day and just wants to be home and relaxing wouldn't be fair. So, every night since he's been back to school (or rather, BOTH nights) I've been struck with a craving. So I've devised a test. After we put Bub to bed, I take a look in the mirror to assess my presentability. Inevitably, 13 hour old makeup doesn't pass, particularly considering the three digit temps we've been experiencing. So, no yogurt for me.
Yes, I am that vain. The yogurt place is HOPPING every night and I've yet to go there without running in to someone I know.
Let's face it. I'm entirely too lazy to go through the motions of getting myself ready all over again, so I stay home.
Laziest Best diet plan ever? I think so.
Unfortunately, I currently have the supplies to make enough s'mores to get me through December, and having perfected my microwave s'more, we may be in a bit 'o trouble.
An addiction to frozen yogurt. Specifically of the self-serve variety. When I read this post, I couldn't comment fast enough. I mentioned that I have schooled my husband in the proper yogurt to topping ratio. Except for the one time that he got carob chips rather than dark chocolate chips, he does just fine.
Over the summer he was more than happy to go out every so often for me. The problem is, that while there seems to be a new yogurt place on every corner, the closest one to our house is about ten minutes away. This doesn't seem like a big deal. but it usually turns into a thirty minute round trip. Again, over the summer, this wasn't an issue. He didn't have a job to wake up early to, and our schedule was very relaxed.
Summer's over folks. Asking him to make the thirty minute round trip after he's worked all day and just wants to be home and relaxing wouldn't be fair. So, every night since he's been back to school (or rather, BOTH nights) I've been struck with a craving. So I've devised a test. After we put Bub to bed, I take a look in the mirror to assess my presentability. Inevitably, 13 hour old makeup doesn't pass, particularly considering the three digit temps we've been experiencing. So, no yogurt for me.
Yes, I am that vain. The yogurt place is HOPPING every night and I've yet to go there without running in to someone I know.
Let's face it. I'm entirely too lazy to go through the motions of getting myself ready all over again, so I stay home.
Unfortunately, I currently have the supplies to make enough s'mores to get me through December, and having perfected my microwave s'more, we may be in a bit 'o trouble.
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