Girls night. Too many glasses of Riesling and Cabernet. I am sooo not pregnant, to knock out the biggest assumption on that last post.
File it away. Like in the same brain cells where you store whether or not Kevin and Winnie Cooper ever got together. You know you know it, but it only springs to mind once in a while.
Riesling is good. So is cabernet. But neither can compare to the feeling of talking Arianna Huffington and reviewing her new book with a bunch of moms who are more than just Moms. They are women, intellectual and complex, and infinitely beautiful.
And this, my friends, is my new feminism. That a woman is as she is, as complex as she is, and being a mom does not limit her conversation to gymboree or the latest cure for colic.
Did I mention I got a free copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless", for free? I will be reviewing shortly. And changing my life forever. Because becoming fearless? How can it NOT change your life? i ASK YOU?!?!?!?!?!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Here We Go Again...
I have very few pet peeves. The ones I do have tend to be very specific. For example:
Toilet paper hung on the roll the wrong way. The paper should roll forward off the top. Seriously. And don't get me started on the paper not being hung on the roll at all, I might actually go into apoplexy.
White noise. There's enough static in my head, I really have no use for unnecessary excess fuzz. T and I have had an ongoing grudge match at night, because he is a hot sleeper who requires a fan to run all night. The man literally puts out about 1000 BTU's of pure hot-hot-heat in his sleep, and without the fan we run the risk of the bed literally bursting into flame. And so, I suck it up and talk myself down from the mental ledge and accept that THE EVIL FAN WILL RUIN YET ANOTHER NIGHT OF REST.
And finally? I detest it when people say "I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell what it is."
And on that note? I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell you what it is.
Which may help explain why I have been somewhat Blog MIA of late. Things are going a little crazy, and my life is turning a little bit upside down, and I promise to spill all the details as soon as is humanly possible.
But, FEAR NOT! Console yourself in knowing that Season 3 of Battlestar Galactica premieres October 6. 2 WEEKS, PEOPLE! My Starbuck girl-crush is fully a'twitter.
To make life that much more full? Jack starts preschool in just over a week. SO, 2 days a week Toby and I will have mornings alone to play, to plan, and hopefully to get some housework done before Jack comes home to tear the house apart again.
And, seriously? BSG. 2 weeks. Let the shivers of anticipation begin.
Toilet paper hung on the roll the wrong way. The paper should roll forward off the top. Seriously. And don't get me started on the paper not being hung on the roll at all, I might actually go into apoplexy.
White noise. There's enough static in my head, I really have no use for unnecessary excess fuzz. T and I have had an ongoing grudge match at night, because he is a hot sleeper who requires a fan to run all night. The man literally puts out about 1000 BTU's of pure hot-hot-heat in his sleep, and without the fan we run the risk of the bed literally bursting into flame. And so, I suck it up and talk myself down from the mental ledge and accept that THE EVIL FAN WILL RUIN YET ANOTHER NIGHT OF REST.
And finally? I detest it when people say "I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell what it is."
And on that note? I have really REALLY big news, but I can't tell you what it is.
Which may help explain why I have been somewhat Blog MIA of late. Things are going a little crazy, and my life is turning a little bit upside down, and I promise to spill all the details as soon as is humanly possible.
But, FEAR NOT! Console yourself in knowing that Season 3 of Battlestar Galactica premieres October 6. 2 WEEKS, PEOPLE! My Starbuck girl-crush is fully a'twitter.
To make life that much more full? Jack starts preschool in just over a week. SO, 2 days a week Toby and I will have mornings alone to play, to plan, and hopefully to get some housework done before Jack comes home to tear the house apart again.
And, seriously? BSG. 2 weeks. Let the shivers of anticipation begin.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Ghana Getcha, Getcha, Getcha....
Yeah, I'm still kinda reeling from the news.... Not sure exactly how I feel about it all yet, but my parents are off on a grand adventure and, really, at nearly 70 how can I *not* be happy that they are finally getting to do something they have always dreamed of? A mission to Ghana... and they will, after all, have internet access so at least we'll be able to keep in touch electronically.
I am, of course, good and sad that I'll have to miss my mom for such a long period. I will miss my weekly phone calls with her, and I had hoped to have here come out when we have our next baby (which won't be any time soon, but very likely will occur before 3 years from now).
On the religious front - going on a mission is not, of course, something I would do for myself... but I totally support my parents in doing what they feel is right for them. Just as I would hope they would do for me. (They survived my tattoo and the revelation that I enjoy my morning cup of coffee, so I think they've held up pretty well so far. Better than I would ever have expected really).
I highly doubt that we will be able to make it out there while they are there -- just too much responsibility here with the boys and the house and T's job and everything. It would be really cool, though. I'd love to capture the sights on film, and maybe do some sketches there.
But also, given the choice and what with my brother moving his family to Rome for 3 years next summer, I have to say I would probably hit Europe before venturing off to the dark continent. I still have "Explore Paris" on my Life Goals Checklist, and I would soo love to check that off whilst sipping cappuccinos in some little french cafe... *sigh* (Nice little daydream, but of course there are no screaming children when I imagine it in my head. The reality would probably be somewhat less romantic, especially since I suspect the french likely don't have those "Koala Kare" changing tables in the restrooms and may frown on small American children who say things like "you want a piece of me?!").
So, to sum up? I'm sad they are leaving, and especially sad it's so soon -- I won't have a chance to see them again before they go -- but I'm happy for them that they have this opportunity to do something so rare and extraordinary in their lives. I would not begrudge anyone that chance, least of all the people I love.
And at least they are going with some friends - friends who have already served a 2-year mission in Ghana and who just got back a year ago. So they will have someone to look after them. I do worry about those parents of mine wandering off into the jungle or the like. Or maybe Mom going into chocolate withdrawals. I may have to fedex her a cocoa IV drip... just to take the edge off from time to time...
And the whole thing inspires me to make sure I don't wait until I'm nearly 70 before having an adventure that sounds half as exciting as living in Africa. Right now I'm honing my skills in the SAHM department (which is to say I'm constantly seeking new ways to maintain an IQ over 80 in my conversation and waging my own personal war against "mom jeans" and the cable knit sweater). And prepping Jack for preschool - he lately learned to use the potty for all the right purposes and is now looking forward to terrorizing adults beyond the ones who are related to him.
And for now those goals are right and proper. And as long as I get my next piece of ink and manage to sow a few seeds of revolution at the mommy meet-ups from time to time, I think this will be enough to tide me over until I the kiddos are old enough to appreciate going with on grand adventures. Or old enough to drop off for a while with adoring grandparents.
Maybe even ones who can regale them with tales of their adventures in Africa...
I am, of course, good and sad that I'll have to miss my mom for such a long period. I will miss my weekly phone calls with her, and I had hoped to have here come out when we have our next baby (which won't be any time soon, but very likely will occur before 3 years from now).
On the religious front - going on a mission is not, of course, something I would do for myself... but I totally support my parents in doing what they feel is right for them. Just as I would hope they would do for me. (They survived my tattoo and the revelation that I enjoy my morning cup of coffee, so I think they've held up pretty well so far. Better than I would ever have expected really).
I highly doubt that we will be able to make it out there while they are there -- just too much responsibility here with the boys and the house and T's job and everything. It would be really cool, though. I'd love to capture the sights on film, and maybe do some sketches there.
But also, given the choice and what with my brother moving his family to Rome for 3 years next summer, I have to say I would probably hit Europe before venturing off to the dark continent. I still have "Explore Paris" on my Life Goals Checklist, and I would soo love to check that off whilst sipping cappuccinos in some little french cafe... *sigh* (Nice little daydream, but of course there are no screaming children when I imagine it in my head. The reality would probably be somewhat less romantic, especially since I suspect the french likely don't have those "Koala Kare" changing tables in the restrooms and may frown on small American children who say things like "you want a piece of me?!").
So, to sum up? I'm sad they are leaving, and especially sad it's so soon -- I won't have a chance to see them again before they go -- but I'm happy for them that they have this opportunity to do something so rare and extraordinary in their lives. I would not begrudge anyone that chance, least of all the people I love.
And at least they are going with some friends - friends who have already served a 2-year mission in Ghana and who just got back a year ago. So they will have someone to look after them. I do worry about those parents of mine wandering off into the jungle or the like. Or maybe Mom going into chocolate withdrawals. I may have to fedex her a cocoa IV drip... just to take the edge off from time to time...
And the whole thing inspires me to make sure I don't wait until I'm nearly 70 before having an adventure that sounds half as exciting as living in Africa. Right now I'm honing my skills in the SAHM department (which is to say I'm constantly seeking new ways to maintain an IQ over 80 in my conversation and waging my own personal war against "mom jeans" and the cable knit sweater). And prepping Jack for preschool - he lately learned to use the potty for all the right purposes and is now looking forward to terrorizing adults beyond the ones who are related to him.
And for now those goals are right and proper. And as long as I get my next piece of ink and manage to sow a few seeds of revolution at the mommy meet-ups from time to time, I think this will be enough to tide me over until I the kiddos are old enough to appreciate going with on grand adventures. Or old enough to drop off for a while with adoring grandparents.
Maybe even ones who can regale them with tales of their adventures in Africa...
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The Boys Of Summer
Ahh Summer. We hardly knew ye.
I have been chastised for being so all-too-serious on here of late, and neglecting to appreciate all the good in my life. To demonstrate that I do, indeed, recognize that I am blessed beyond what I have any right to expect... I present the half-naked men in my life enjoying the benefits of Summer.
I don't, for a minute, think that there is nothing but bad in my life right now. In fact, I see it more as there is just too much of everything. Too many good things, bad things, indifferent things, and too many possibilities to consider. I'm overwhelmed, sure, but I'm not saying it's all bad. In fact, I'm not generally a supporter of cannibalism, but this photo? This photo makes me want to look at the baby and say "Would you mind terribly if I just took a bite out of you? Because I bet you taste like Marshmellow Peeps. And Sunshine."
Doing my part to keep America beautiful. One illegally cute baby at a time.Friday, September 15, 2006
When The Other Shoe Drops
My life has been a series of moves. Every time I get settled in somewhere, it has been the calm before the storm and I knew a change was coming.
The new meds seem to be helping more than I had hoped possible. We finally have both boys going to bed at a decent hour and without any tears, and the dog is being trained at breakneck speed.
It only makes sense that the bombs would start falling now.
My parents announced they are leaving the country for at least 18 months on a religious mission to Africa. Seriously. How does that happen?
T's work situation is growing more unstsable by the day, with layoffs left and right and no certainty as to whether we'll still be employed a year from now.
With all of this insanity? The thing weighing heaviest on my mind is Jack and his potty training. Preschool starts in 2 weeks, and yesterday he "dropped some kids off at the pool" for the very first time. I was so proud I nearly wept, and I let him stay up an hour past bedtime so he could help me make chocolate chip cookie dough.
Today, though? No such luck. In fact, no poop at all.
I feel like there's a giant highway in my brain right now that says "Road Closed, All Major Exits Blocked, Please Detour Through Potty Town". Because, you know... my Mommy being in Africa for the next few years? Totally out of reach of phone calls to relate the hilights of my life or lend a supportive shoulder on the days I feel like a total failure as a mother? Not something I am prepared to ponder for any length of time at present.
At least not unless somebody wants to write me a prescription for some much stronger meds.
The new meds seem to be helping more than I had hoped possible. We finally have both boys going to bed at a decent hour and without any tears, and the dog is being trained at breakneck speed.
It only makes sense that the bombs would start falling now.
My parents announced they are leaving the country for at least 18 months on a religious mission to Africa. Seriously. How does that happen?
T's work situation is growing more unstsable by the day, with layoffs left and right and no certainty as to whether we'll still be employed a year from now.
With all of this insanity? The thing weighing heaviest on my mind is Jack and his potty training. Preschool starts in 2 weeks, and yesterday he "dropped some kids off at the pool" for the very first time. I was so proud I nearly wept, and I let him stay up an hour past bedtime so he could help me make chocolate chip cookie dough.
Today, though? No such luck. In fact, no poop at all.
I feel like there's a giant highway in my brain right now that says "Road Closed, All Major Exits Blocked, Please Detour Through Potty Town". Because, you know... my Mommy being in Africa for the next few years? Totally out of reach of phone calls to relate the hilights of my life or lend a supportive shoulder on the days I feel like a total failure as a mother? Not something I am prepared to ponder for any length of time at present.
At least not unless somebody wants to write me a prescription for some much stronger meds.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Creepy Crawly Internet Suckage
For one reason or another, I have been unable to get a reliable connection to the interweb for more than a few minutes at a time on the wifi the last few days. Result being that many great ideas I sat down to bang out were totally gone by the time I got sick of arguing with the non-working cable modem.
I'll keep this short, since it's extraordinarily past my bedtime and I'm not sure when my connection will puke again.
Let's limit it to the hilights.
* Latest grocery shopping trip: $212 worth of groceries for $167 after coupons. ROCK!
* The dog was a disaster yesterday, and the house ended covered in animal waste. After cleaning up and starting fresh today, we ended up with only 2 accidents and one half-accident that I caught mid-squat and managed to move outside. Gizmo is learning fast.
* Jack still refuses to poop in the potty, but I may have struck on the golden bargaining chip. I told him that once he learns to do it, he will be a "big boy" and will no longer have to take a nap in his bed every afternoon. The up side here is that he will still get tired enough to nap on the couch, but he thinks he wins and I still get what I want.
* T's back is a disaster and he's convinced one leg is shorter than the other. I leave you now to do something called "The Deerfield Test". I suspect it's just an excuse to have me crawl on him while he's naked, but we'll see.....
* Started the new drugs today. A long story for another post, but the weaning is nearly complete and the pediatrician helped me come up with a way to give Toby one session in the morning and still get on the new meds and hopefully get things sorted out better.
Until next time, kids... Knowing is half the battle.
I'll keep this short, since it's extraordinarily past my bedtime and I'm not sure when my connection will puke again.
Let's limit it to the hilights.
* Latest grocery shopping trip: $212 worth of groceries for $167 after coupons. ROCK!
* The dog was a disaster yesterday, and the house ended covered in animal waste. After cleaning up and starting fresh today, we ended up with only 2 accidents and one half-accident that I caught mid-squat and managed to move outside. Gizmo is learning fast.
* Jack still refuses to poop in the potty, but I may have struck on the golden bargaining chip. I told him that once he learns to do it, he will be a "big boy" and will no longer have to take a nap in his bed every afternoon. The up side here is that he will still get tired enough to nap on the couch, but he thinks he wins and I still get what I want.
* T's back is a disaster and he's convinced one leg is shorter than the other. I leave you now to do something called "The Deerfield Test". I suspect it's just an excuse to have me crawl on him while he's naked, but we'll see.....
* Started the new drugs today. A long story for another post, but the weaning is nearly complete and the pediatrician helped me come up with a way to give Toby one session in the morning and still get on the new meds and hopefully get things sorted out better.
Until next time, kids... Knowing is half the battle.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Insanity Unleashed
We aspire to take the chaos in our lives to that next level. Regular old "dizzy and nauseated chaos" just wasn't... chaotic enough. Apparently? We need to be the Emperors of CrazyTown...
And so, may I present - for your viewing pleasure - the newest member of the team:
99.99% American Boxer, .01% pure evil.
But he's the cute kind of evil, so he fits right in. And he naps on my feet while I blog, which totally solves the problem generated by the final breakdown of my fuzzy slippers.
He also, so far, is extraordinarily gentle with both cats and children, and follows us around like a... well, like a puppy. He's curious in the extreme and loves to cuddle (especially when rewarded with liver snaps.) He also enjoys long walks and parcheesi, and his turnoffs include wet grass and anyone who does not give him liver snaps.
And so far? Just going out to take him to do his business has gotten me out of the house more in 2 days than I have in the last month or so. All I can say about that is... I think Gizmo is probably exactly what this family needed.
Even if he has already pooped on the rug in enough quantity to make me suspect he may have eaten a small village somewhere in Amish Country before we got him. If he coughs up a linen bonnet I am SO calling for an old priest and a young priest and a gallon of holy water.
And so, may I present - for your viewing pleasure - the newest member of the team:
Master "Django McQueen De Mardi Gras", Esq.
Affectionately, "Gizmo".
Affectionately, "Gizmo".
99.99% American Boxer, .01% pure evil.
But he's the cute kind of evil, so he fits right in. And he naps on my feet while I blog, which totally solves the problem generated by the final breakdown of my fuzzy slippers.
He also, so far, is extraordinarily gentle with both cats and children, and follows us around like a... well, like a puppy. He's curious in the extreme and loves to cuddle (especially when rewarded with liver snaps.) He also enjoys long walks and parcheesi, and his turnoffs include wet grass and anyone who does not give him liver snaps.
And so far? Just going out to take him to do his business has gotten me out of the house more in 2 days than I have in the last month or so. All I can say about that is... I think Gizmo is probably exactly what this family needed.
Even if he has already pooped on the rug in enough quantity to make me suspect he may have eaten a small village somewhere in Amish Country before we got him. If he coughs up a linen bonnet I am SO calling for an old priest and a young priest and a gallon of holy water.
Friday, September 08, 2006
My Breast Friend
T commented the other day that I've been a bit of a downer on here lately, and could I please perk it up a little, k thanks? So for your entertainment ("Dance, Monkey, DANCE!") I present the story of my public nudity. Sort of.
I've always been timid around the ocean. I'm no wilting flower - if you've ever met me, you can attest that I am built like a brick **** house - but the ocean is mighty and the sheer, unforgiving power of the waves scares the hell out of my inner control freak.
So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I ventured into the crashing surf on the Outer Banks. I inched into the water until the breakers crashed over my back, pushing me forward a few steps each time. Finally, I took a deep breath and threw myself into a big wave. It was exhilerating! I rode it forward, body-surfing into the shore.
I waved ecstatically to T, who was sitting on the beach blanket with the boys and filming me with the new camcorder. He waved me further out, and I went out and rode in on another wave.
After about 15 minutes of this, I heard a faint voice. I rode in on one more wave and, as I landed at the shore, I distinctly heard a voice say "Excuse me!"
I stood up, wiped the salty spray from my eyes, and looked around to see a bikini-clad blond in her 30's standing a few feet away. Just behind her was, I assume, her husband and her 4 or 5 year old son.
"Excuse me! Fix your suit!"
I stared blankly at her. Was she talking to me?
There are a lot of things nobody will ever tell you, before you have kids, about pregnancy and your body before, during, and after. One of those things is that your breasts? They lose serious sensitivity while you are breastfeeding. The makeup of the skin itself actually changes, becoming more elastic and tougher, providing less sensation.
See where this is going yet?
I looked down to find that one breast had popped entirely out of my tasteful one piece suit. Not just a little bit out - we're talking Jane-of-the-Jungle Full Exposure.
Flustered, I said "Oh! Thanks." as I tucked my errant mammary back under cover.
Oh, but the story ends not there, my friends. Not nearly. You see, it wasn't until we got home and plugged the camera into the big screen TV to watch our vacation movies that the full reality set in. You see the boob? It was in full, glorious view for quite some time. We're talking like 10 minutes or so. On a very conservative beach.
Is it wrong that I'm really not all that concerned? Is it wrong that I wanted to just say to that woman "you could have pointed that out to me with something resembling empathy for my possible embarrassment rather than acting as though my wardrobe malfunction could possibly be turning your innocent child into a future pornography addict".
Either way? I can finally say I've gone topless on the beach. Checking that off my life-list, Mr. Leonsis. Next up? Time for my next tattoo.
I've always been timid around the ocean. I'm no wilting flower - if you've ever met me, you can attest that I am built like a brick **** house - but the ocean is mighty and the sheer, unforgiving power of the waves scares the hell out of my inner control freak.
So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I ventured into the crashing surf on the Outer Banks. I inched into the water until the breakers crashed over my back, pushing me forward a few steps each time. Finally, I took a deep breath and threw myself into a big wave. It was exhilerating! I rode it forward, body-surfing into the shore.
I waved ecstatically to T, who was sitting on the beach blanket with the boys and filming me with the new camcorder. He waved me further out, and I went out and rode in on another wave.
After about 15 minutes of this, I heard a faint voice. I rode in on one more wave and, as I landed at the shore, I distinctly heard a voice say "Excuse me!"
I stood up, wiped the salty spray from my eyes, and looked around to see a bikini-clad blond in her 30's standing a few feet away. Just behind her was, I assume, her husband and her 4 or 5 year old son.
"Excuse me! Fix your suit!"
I stared blankly at her. Was she talking to me?
There are a lot of things nobody will ever tell you, before you have kids, about pregnancy and your body before, during, and after. One of those things is that your breasts? They lose serious sensitivity while you are breastfeeding. The makeup of the skin itself actually changes, becoming more elastic and tougher, providing less sensation.
See where this is going yet?
I looked down to find that one breast had popped entirely out of my tasteful one piece suit. Not just a little bit out - we're talking Jane-of-the-Jungle Full Exposure.
Flustered, I said "Oh! Thanks." as I tucked my errant mammary back under cover.
Oh, but the story ends not there, my friends. Not nearly. You see, it wasn't until we got home and plugged the camera into the big screen TV to watch our vacation movies that the full reality set in. You see the boob? It was in full, glorious view for quite some time. We're talking like 10 minutes or so. On a very conservative beach.
Is it wrong that I'm really not all that concerned? Is it wrong that I wanted to just say to that woman "you could have pointed that out to me with something resembling empathy for my possible embarrassment rather than acting as though my wardrobe malfunction could possibly be turning your innocent child into a future pornography addict".
Either way? I can finally say I've gone topless on the beach. Checking that off my life-list, Mr. Leonsis. Next up? Time for my next tattoo.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I Don't Want To Go On The Cart.
I'm not dead yet, y'all. Not even close. You thought maybe, though, didn't you? It's just that - you see - I've been settling in.
Not unpacking - the suitcases stand in the living room still full of clean clothes waiting to be put away.
Not cleaning the house - the chaos surrounding me at this moment could choke a camel.
No, I've been settling in. Getting the boys back on some semblence of a routine since returning from the beach.
Ahhhh the beach. Let's pause for a moment, shall we, and reflect on the beauty and wonder that is the Outer Banks. For all the usual vacation wacky-ness that ensued, the long drives, and the stressing about "do I REALLY need to spend the extra 5 bucks to get a coffee mug to remind me of this vacation?" (And yes, I did. It has a crab and says "Crabby 'till I get my coffee"... see? Can't you just TASTE the cheese?!) it was the most relaxed I've been in a long time.
Being home again is odd. There wasn't much time to ramp up, and we dove right back in to the chaos of living once we got home. Yesterday was spent in a half-awake stupor after Toby was up all night teething, constipated, and totally time-confused. Today was a trip to my dentist office which, because I don't trust the local good'ole boy dentists to do their best to leave me with at least SOME of my natural teeth, is located a good 40 minutes away and next to T's office. Tomorrow I plan to finally catch up on the myriad of household chores that need doing before I have a Sign Language playgroup here on Friday.
And Saturday? Well, Saturday is tentatively reserved for the arrival of our new baby.
Yes, because the hubs and I are both big children, we are breaking every known rule of parenthood and going ahead and getting the dog NOW, even though Jack has yet to prove that he will actually poop in anything not resembling a diaper. Except for that one time he took a steamy squat on my living room rug, but I'm doing my best to repress the memory. Take me at my word when I say it was right up there with stepping in cat puke first thing in the morning.
There are so many thoughts floating around in my head about things that happened on vacation, plans for the future, the total failure of my attempts to wean at the beach, and Toby's unshakeable determination to NOT give up his lordship of my breasts or sleep through the night. Or sleep at all when he can help it, for that matter. I couldn't possibly organize my thoughts enough to communicate anything coherent, so I'm afraid you will all have to deal with the slow trickle of anecdotes as they reappear at the forefront of my brain in the coming days. There are some really great stories to be told - like how I accidentally exposed myself to a beach full of strangers and how fun it is to have someone look at you strangely when you say "I got crabs from Dirty Dick's!" - but they will have to come later. I'll have to ease back into this, so be gentle... and maybe lubricate me with a scoche of Vanilla Latte. Beyond that?
It's (mostly) good to be home. (but it was better to be on vacation.)
Not unpacking - the suitcases stand in the living room still full of clean clothes waiting to be put away.
Not cleaning the house - the chaos surrounding me at this moment could choke a camel.
No, I've been settling in. Getting the boys back on some semblence of a routine since returning from the beach.
Ahhhh the beach. Let's pause for a moment, shall we, and reflect on the beauty and wonder that is the Outer Banks. For all the usual vacation wacky-ness that ensued, the long drives, and the stressing about "do I REALLY need to spend the extra 5 bucks to get a coffee mug to remind me of this vacation?" (And yes, I did. It has a crab and says "Crabby 'till I get my coffee"... see? Can't you just TASTE the cheese?!) it was the most relaxed I've been in a long time.
Being home again is odd. There wasn't much time to ramp up, and we dove right back in to the chaos of living once we got home. Yesterday was spent in a half-awake stupor after Toby was up all night teething, constipated, and totally time-confused. Today was a trip to my dentist office which, because I don't trust the local good'ole boy dentists to do their best to leave me with at least SOME of my natural teeth, is located a good 40 minutes away and next to T's office. Tomorrow I plan to finally catch up on the myriad of household chores that need doing before I have a Sign Language playgroup here on Friday.
And Saturday? Well, Saturday is tentatively reserved for the arrival of our new baby.
Yes, because the hubs and I are both big children, we are breaking every known rule of parenthood and going ahead and getting the dog NOW, even though Jack has yet to prove that he will actually poop in anything not resembling a diaper. Except for that one time he took a steamy squat on my living room rug, but I'm doing my best to repress the memory. Take me at my word when I say it was right up there with stepping in cat puke first thing in the morning.
There are so many thoughts floating around in my head about things that happened on vacation, plans for the future, the total failure of my attempts to wean at the beach, and Toby's unshakeable determination to NOT give up his lordship of my breasts or sleep through the night. Or sleep at all when he can help it, for that matter. I couldn't possibly organize my thoughts enough to communicate anything coherent, so I'm afraid you will all have to deal with the slow trickle of anecdotes as they reappear at the forefront of my brain in the coming days. There are some really great stories to be told - like how I accidentally exposed myself to a beach full of strangers and how fun it is to have someone look at you strangely when you say "I got crabs from Dirty Dick's!" - but they will have to come later. I'll have to ease back into this, so be gentle... and maybe lubricate me with a scoche of Vanilla Latte. Beyond that?
It's (mostly) good to be home. (but it was better to be on vacation.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)