Bub calls Christmas trees, Christmas Treats. And he's right.
When we plug in the lights on the tree and other other various light up decorations in the home, he turns around, takes it all in and says, Wow! Look at all the Cwistmas lights!"
The pile of Christmas cards, particularly those with pictures or letters. I love that they're sitting in a card holder that used to sit on my parents Christmas counter.
Today is my husband's last day of work for two weeks. Looking forward to family time. And sleeping in.
Christmas episodes of everything, including Yo Gabba Gabba and Little Einsteins.
Buffalo chicken dip served at a holiday party last night. There's no need to dip people. Just bring a fork and go to town.
When asked what the president's name is, Bub replies "Omama."
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Better be a girl
We are hearing from everyone that they hope we're having a girl. As I'm pregnant and more sensitive than usual (which is pretty sensitive to begin with) I take this to mean that the boy child that we've already produced isn't good enough. This of course isn't the case, as there has never been a grandchild who was more loved that this boy of mine. Still, I always chime in that we'll love whatever we get. Right? RIGHT?!
People don't believe me when I tell them that I'm not hoping for a girl. And that's the truth. I would be thrilled either way. If it's a boy, then Bub will have a brother and I think that's a special thing. If it's a girl, then we'll have one of each, a girl to dress in cute bows for as long as she'll let me. Either way, I'm pretty sure we're done.
Even complete strangers chime in that they hope I have a girl, or ask if I think it's a girl this time around. Truly, I have no feeling one way or the other and even if I did, I wouldn't say anything for fear of inciting a riot.
I don't know, maybe I will experience a little disappointment when they make the big announcement. I mean this is most likely, unless one of us has a HUGE change of heart and manages to change the other's mind, our LAST baby. Boy or Girl, it's the last baby. The last chance for a brother for Bub or for a cute little girl in bows!
Crap.
If you suggest that maybe it's twins, I'll punch you in the face.
People don't believe me when I tell them that I'm not hoping for a girl. And that's the truth. I would be thrilled either way. If it's a boy, then Bub will have a brother and I think that's a special thing. If it's a girl, then we'll have one of each, a girl to dress in cute bows for as long as she'll let me. Either way, I'm pretty sure we're done.
Even complete strangers chime in that they hope I have a girl, or ask if I think it's a girl this time around. Truly, I have no feeling one way or the other and even if I did, I wouldn't say anything for fear of inciting a riot.
I don't know, maybe I will experience a little disappointment when they make the big announcement. I mean this is most likely, unless one of us has a HUGE change of heart and manages to change the other's mind, our LAST baby. Boy or Girl, it's the last baby. The last chance for a brother for Bub or for a cute little girl in bows!
Crap.
If you suggest that maybe it's twins, I'll punch you in the face.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Guilt
So, my parents are out of town and my wonderful mother sent her house cleaner over to my place in her absence. She's done this a couple of times before and it's always much appreciated, but man, the GUILT. Oh, and I know these are not the problems of the world, thankyouverymuch.
First of all, they are so much more thorough than I ever am. The only time my couch cushions have been removed for the purpose of vacuuming underneath them is when someone is being paid to clean my house. It never even OCCURRED to me to do so before I saw that. Also? The pile of things that they find in the cushions and leave for me on the counter? Embarassing. Also embarassing? Being asked for a pair of scissors, only to discover that she's going to use them to CUT THE HAIR OUT OF THE BOTTOM SPINNING PART OF MY VACUUM. I almost had to leave the house to save myself the humiliation. I was all, "Oh that's not necessary, don't worry about that." But, wouldn't you know, the vacuum was much more effective, post trim.
I just don't really know what to do with myself when they're here. Bub wants to say hello and goodbye and give hugs and "help" and I'm generally trying to keep him out of their way. Normally we have plans to be out of the house for most of the time, but today he was sick and I couldn't think of any place to take a sick kid that wouldn't infect everyone else. So, we went for a walk and that killed fifteen minutes, and then I was out of ideas. We just tried to stay one room ahead of them and look reasonably busy, like there was a reason I couldn't be scrubbing the toilets MYSELF. Middle Class Guilt.
In other news, one of our cats ran away about a month ago. I imagine that he got out when we were bringing in the groceries, but we didn't notice. The thing about cats is that we can go days without really seeing them unless they need us for something, but I noticed that night he was gone and I searched the neighborhood, calling his name and here kitty kittying. Nothing. I put up signs and called the vets and checked the animal shelter websites religiously. Nothing. I've kind of somewhat given up. I do still check the animal shelter website, but not as often as I had been. I feel terrible for saying this, but our house backs up to a canyon that is rife with coyotes and, well, draw your own conclusions there. Pet Owner Guilt.
Then we have the Christmas cards. I distinctly remember running out of cards last year. I had people sending me cards that I hadn't sent cards to and I couldn't send them one because we ran out. This year, I ordered 20 more cards. As I sit here about to print labels, I realize that's about 30 more than I need. I don't know if we've lost friends over the past year or what has happened, but I'm about to have way too many cards. Wasteful, Non-Budget Friendly, Guilt.
Finally, I'm reading Columbine and I'm fascinated. It's heartbreaking to be sure, but to hear all of the details and the way things unfolded and just how mislead we were by the media is truly riveting. It's not light fluffy reading, but I do look forward to the next chance I get to sit down with the book. This Should Be Harder Than It Is Guilt.
First of all, they are so much more thorough than I ever am. The only time my couch cushions have been removed for the purpose of vacuuming underneath them is when someone is being paid to clean my house. It never even OCCURRED to me to do so before I saw that. Also? The pile of things that they find in the cushions and leave for me on the counter? Embarassing. Also embarassing? Being asked for a pair of scissors, only to discover that she's going to use them to CUT THE HAIR OUT OF THE BOTTOM SPINNING PART OF MY VACUUM. I almost had to leave the house to save myself the humiliation. I was all, "Oh that's not necessary, don't worry about that." But, wouldn't you know, the vacuum was much more effective, post trim.
I just don't really know what to do with myself when they're here. Bub wants to say hello and goodbye and give hugs and "help" and I'm generally trying to keep him out of their way. Normally we have plans to be out of the house for most of the time, but today he was sick and I couldn't think of any place to take a sick kid that wouldn't infect everyone else. So, we went for a walk and that killed fifteen minutes, and then I was out of ideas. We just tried to stay one room ahead of them and look reasonably busy, like there was a reason I couldn't be scrubbing the toilets MYSELF. Middle Class Guilt.
In other news, one of our cats ran away about a month ago. I imagine that he got out when we were bringing in the groceries, but we didn't notice. The thing about cats is that we can go days without really seeing them unless they need us for something, but I noticed that night he was gone and I searched the neighborhood, calling his name and here kitty kittying. Nothing. I put up signs and called the vets and checked the animal shelter websites religiously. Nothing. I've kind of somewhat given up. I do still check the animal shelter website, but not as often as I had been. I feel terrible for saying this, but our house backs up to a canyon that is rife with coyotes and, well, draw your own conclusions there. Pet Owner Guilt.
Then we have the Christmas cards. I distinctly remember running out of cards last year. I had people sending me cards that I hadn't sent cards to and I couldn't send them one because we ran out. This year, I ordered 20 more cards. As I sit here about to print labels, I realize that's about 30 more than I need. I don't know if we've lost friends over the past year or what has happened, but I'm about to have way too many cards. Wasteful, Non-Budget Friendly, Guilt.
Finally, I'm reading Columbine and I'm fascinated. It's heartbreaking to be sure, but to hear all of the details and the way things unfolded and just how mislead we were by the media is truly riveting. It's not light fluffy reading, but I do look forward to the next chance I get to sit down with the book. This Should Be Harder Than It Is Guilt.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Vegas, Baby. Maybe
In Friday's mail was a letter from a Vegas casino, with a promo code and an offer that seemed a bit to good to be true. I was walking out the door, so I didn't read carefully, but I didn't see anything stating that it was restricted to weeknights, or only available for three days in May. Just something about "based on availability" through the end of March.
I mentioned it to the husband over dinner with my parents and he thought that it was probably too good to be true, but worth a phone call. So I called, and sat through one of the oddest recordings I've ever heard, then decided to go for the gold and check availability for a holiday weekend in January.
Available! Yes, that was the price. Yes, there was tax, but it wasn't exorbitant. Also included were two show tickets. A quick Googling showed me that these were typically $125 tickets. The rate we were paying for three nights was less than the nightly rate they were showing on the website, even once you included tax. Also? Fully refundable up to 48 hours before arrival.
Sold! I gave him my name and he paused. That's not the name associated with this promo code ma'am. Well, yes, I know. That's my maiden name. I've been married for over four years, and my name has changed, but I'm her.
Uh huh. Well, unfortunately, unless that is the name on your ID, we can't book the room for you.
I have a marriage license that shows that person and this person and one in the same.
Sorry ma'am. The name needs to match the ID. The promo code is specific to the individual.
I UNDERSTAND that. I'm HER.
Right. Well, like I said, nothing I can do.
Um. Okay. GoodBYE. (I really showed him with my tone of voice. Unfortunately, since I was on a cordless phone I couldn't slam it down, only press the "off" button really, really hard. I'll be he felt really bad.)
The more time that passed, the more annoyed I became. I resolved to call back in the morning, demand to speak to a supervisor and explain that this was unacceptable. They sent the letter to ME, practically begging me to come stay there and then, nothing.
In the morning, I called, explained the situation and the person on the other end of the phone laughed. LAUGHED. Well, that's absolutely ridiculous, she said. She put me on hold momentarily and came back to tell me that there wasn't a problem. She would book the room maiden name hyphen last name, but assured me that it wouldn't be a problem that my ID only had my last name.
Room booked. Show tickets booked. The wind was taken out of my sails a bit as I was all set to give someone a piece of my mind, but we're booked.
I then asked the husband which grandparents we should ask to watch Bub while we're gone.
Um, I don't know. I'm not sure I want to leave him for a weekend. I mean, I only get so much time with him.
Are you freaking kidding me?
I mentioned it to the husband over dinner with my parents and he thought that it was probably too good to be true, but worth a phone call. So I called, and sat through one of the oddest recordings I've ever heard, then decided to go for the gold and check availability for a holiday weekend in January.
Available! Yes, that was the price. Yes, there was tax, but it wasn't exorbitant. Also included were two show tickets. A quick Googling showed me that these were typically $125 tickets. The rate we were paying for three nights was less than the nightly rate they were showing on the website, even once you included tax. Also? Fully refundable up to 48 hours before arrival.
Sold! I gave him my name and he paused. That's not the name associated with this promo code ma'am. Well, yes, I know. That's my maiden name. I've been married for over four years, and my name has changed, but I'm her.
Uh huh. Well, unfortunately, unless that is the name on your ID, we can't book the room for you.
I have a marriage license that shows that person and this person and one in the same.
Sorry ma'am. The name needs to match the ID. The promo code is specific to the individual.
I UNDERSTAND that. I'm HER.
Right. Well, like I said, nothing I can do.
Um. Okay. GoodBYE. (I really showed him with my tone of voice. Unfortunately, since I was on a cordless phone I couldn't slam it down, only press the "off" button really, really hard. I'll be he felt really bad.)
The more time that passed, the more annoyed I became. I resolved to call back in the morning, demand to speak to a supervisor and explain that this was unacceptable. They sent the letter to ME, practically begging me to come stay there and then, nothing.
In the morning, I called, explained the situation and the person on the other end of the phone laughed. LAUGHED. Well, that's absolutely ridiculous, she said. She put me on hold momentarily and came back to tell me that there wasn't a problem. She would book the room maiden name hyphen last name, but assured me that it wouldn't be a problem that my ID only had my last name.
Room booked. Show tickets booked. The wind was taken out of my sails a bit as I was all set to give someone a piece of my mind, but we're booked.
I then asked the husband which grandparents we should ask to watch Bub while we're gone.
Um, I don't know. I'm not sure I want to leave him for a weekend. I mean, I only get so much time with him.
Are you freaking kidding me?
Thursday, December 3, 2009
O (fake) Christmas Tree
I had the following conversation with my dad last night:
Dad: We're just waiting for our Christmas tree to be delivered.
Mom: (in the background) Our REAL tree.
Dad: Oh, you guys have one of those fake trees?
Me: Yes, we have one of those won't burn your house down at night, doesn't leave you terrified to turn on the heat for fear of drying out the tree, no needle mess trees.*
Dad: (laughing) You're preaching to the choir kid. When mom dies, Betty Sue and I will be getting a fake tree.
Mom: (in the background) You can get remarried, but you can't have a fake tree.
*For the record, I LOVE real trees. I love the smell, the experience of picking them out, and if I could live like my parents and have someone deliver it to my house and set it up for me, I would love that part of it too. But, I'm a worrier of the highest order and the one year we had a real tree I just worried myself sick. Not to mention, my husband must have a LARGE tree, and that gets expensive. We spent a small fortune on our fake tree, but it's more than paid for itself already.
Dad: We're just waiting for our Christmas tree to be delivered.
Mom: (in the background) Our REAL tree.
Dad: Oh, you guys have one of those fake trees?
Me: Yes, we have one of those won't burn your house down at night, doesn't leave you terrified to turn on the heat for fear of drying out the tree, no needle mess trees.*
Dad: (laughing) You're preaching to the choir kid. When mom dies, Betty Sue and I will be getting a fake tree.
Mom: (in the background) You can get remarried, but you can't have a fake tree.
*For the record, I LOVE real trees. I love the smell, the experience of picking them out, and if I could live like my parents and have someone deliver it to my house and set it up for me, I would love that part of it too. But, I'm a worrier of the highest order and the one year we had a real tree I just worried myself sick. Not to mention, my husband must have a LARGE tree, and that gets expensive. We spent a small fortune on our fake tree, but it's more than paid for itself already.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Droopy
Can I just vent for a minute about the indignity of spending most of the day pulling up your jeans because they refuse to stay in any acceptable location?
When I packed away my maternity clothes last time, I considered tossing the Old Navy maternity jeans. They never fit right. Not when I was a little pregnant, not when I was very pregnant, not when I was not pregnant at all, but still looked it. I worked then and only wore jeans occasionally. Now? Jeans are a staple.
I prepared for this moment by buying jeans before I needed them. I ordered them online from Old Navy again, choosing the full panel jeans rather than just the under-belly panel. I put them on and they fit. Ten minutes later they did NOT fit. I'm hoping that once there's something for that gigantic panel to cover, they'll stay up. Right now I'm stuck with two pairs of jeans that need to be hiked up and rearranged many, many times per day.
I'm at the point of considering investing in something nicer and pricier. Since they'll likely be on a regular rotation with yoga pants, they would get considerable wear, I just can't decide if it's worth the cash. Maybe Santa will bring them. Maybe I should just wear a Santa Suit for the next six months.
When I packed away my maternity clothes last time, I considered tossing the Old Navy maternity jeans. They never fit right. Not when I was a little pregnant, not when I was very pregnant, not when I was not pregnant at all, but still looked it. I worked then and only wore jeans occasionally. Now? Jeans are a staple.
I prepared for this moment by buying jeans before I needed them. I ordered them online from Old Navy again, choosing the full panel jeans rather than just the under-belly panel. I put them on and they fit. Ten minutes later they did NOT fit. I'm hoping that once there's something for that gigantic panel to cover, they'll stay up. Right now I'm stuck with two pairs of jeans that need to be hiked up and rearranged many, many times per day.
I'm at the point of considering investing in something nicer and pricier. Since they'll likely be on a regular rotation with yoga pants, they would get considerable wear, I just can't decide if it's worth the cash. Maybe Santa will bring them. Maybe I should just wear a Santa Suit for the next six months.
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