Well, it has begun. We're officially house hunting.
We saw 7 houses between Saturday and today, which includes a house Guy saw in Pottstown on the way to a client's on Friday.
We went there today to see it, because he's in love with it.
My husband is in love with a house in Pottstown.
I can't believe I'm saying that.
It has a whole bunch of things about it that I like: Privacy, a driveway, quiet, school for Spencer that won't cost as much as college.
But it's in Pottstown. I'd never been there before today. I'm going to pick up and move to a place I'd only just been to today.
Oh, did I mention Guy loves it? At every turn he's mentioning something else that's great about it.
Are all men this hyperfocused? Do they get SO fixated on something that they forget that others have opinions and thoughts or even exist for that matter? Is it like dogs when they get on the scent of an animal they're stalking? Like you can't stop them unless you practically choke them with a leash?
I'm about ready to buy a choke chain and get to work on some obedience around here.
...eeesh!
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Did the Amityville Horror house have mold?
I am scared even writing the words Amityville Horror.
On the way into work this morning I was scared listening to the promo on the radio.
Don't even get me started on the tv trailers. I can't look! I'm serious, I can't!
This is like the first time I can remember ever being scared before I saw a movie.
What is it with that house?
They said slime oozed through the walls (umm, along with blood. eew).
I was wondering, could it have been toxic black mold instead?
I read a report the other day about a guy who had stuff in his lungs, went to about a million docs; half of which said he had cancer and the other half couldn't figure it out. Finally after a special biopsy some specialist was able to determine that it was some kind of bacteria growing in him caused by exposure to black mold.
They tested that house for paranormal activity, satanic spirits, native american burial ground evidence, the function of a well-like structure in the basement originally thought to be a portal to Hell, and anything else you can imagine related to a mass murder followed by a 28-day haunting a year later.
But did they test for mold? Maybe mold spores took over in that house and made everyone crazy.
Did you know there's a service where a DOG comes and looks for mold? There are specially trained pooches called Mold Dogs. They come to your house and sniff around. I wonder what would happen if you put baloney behind a wall or two...
On the way into work this morning I was scared listening to the promo on the radio.
Don't even get me started on the tv trailers. I can't look! I'm serious, I can't!
This is like the first time I can remember ever being scared before I saw a movie.
What is it with that house?
They said slime oozed through the walls (umm, along with blood. eew).
I was wondering, could it have been toxic black mold instead?
I read a report the other day about a guy who had stuff in his lungs, went to about a million docs; half of which said he had cancer and the other half couldn't figure it out. Finally after a special biopsy some specialist was able to determine that it was some kind of bacteria growing in him caused by exposure to black mold.
They tested that house for paranormal activity, satanic spirits, native american burial ground evidence, the function of a well-like structure in the basement originally thought to be a portal to Hell, and anything else you can imagine related to a mass murder followed by a 28-day haunting a year later.
But did they test for mold? Maybe mold spores took over in that house and made everyone crazy.
Did you know there's a service where a DOG comes and looks for mold? There are specially trained pooches called Mold Dogs. They come to your house and sniff around. I wonder what would happen if you put baloney behind a wall or two...
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Of Tribbles and Tasty Cakes
Cheerios=Tribbles
Ok before I explain that, I must obsess for a moment about Duran Duran again.
Well, more specifically, Simon LeBon.
I am sorry, but the man's smart-alecky smiling face was just on Conan O'Brien and he needs to meet me. Hear me Charlie? You need to meet me. Work it out, ok? Enough with the kissing of cutsie brain-absent post-teens.
He was just so smart lookin with his hair and jacket and scruff.
To quote Paris Hilton's sidekick Nicole, "That's hot."
Yeah, I have an 11 month-old son. Yeah, I'm a grown married woman.
YOU grow up.
I'm giddy. No substances involved.
I will tell you one thing: Having a teen fantasy keeps a person young. Right now I feel like an awkward kid. It's 145am and I'm awake. How old do I think I am, 16? I hope I feel like a teenager all the rest of my life...at least energy wise.
Ok, tribbles = cheerios:
This is what it looks like in my house these days.
I find them in my son's diapers, in his shoes, in closets, in the bathroom, in my bed...
Do you know that a baby can have a cheerio stuck in his hand for like, hours?
When they haven't learned to relax their hands when not in use, they remain clenched, and lo and behold, hours after lunch, a small, hardened cheerio remnant will fall from his grasp. If I'm lucky, I'll see it happen. If not, I'm likely to find it later in my purse.
Even our dog, Scavenger of Kitchen Floors, has had it with oaty goodness.
He won't even eat one and spit it out.
I am having a slightly similar problem with Tastykakes. I had chocolate cupcakes after dinner. Don't tell my husband.
I DARE you to go to the supermarket and walk past the display without at least getting Krimpets.If you don't have Tastykakes in your town, I am very sorry to tempt you with something you can't have. Oh WAIT, you can have them too!
I know they're wrong and bad for me. I know it's a lifetime on the hips. I also know that a package of six little chocolate doughnuts and a glass of milk is near perfection.
Of course, if I ate some right now, I'd really be hurting.
Speaking of hurting, EEEW, there's a special on VH1 about the worst sexy songs ever, and there is an R. Kelly video where he is pouring milk on a willing lass. Ok, appetite gone.
It's now 245 am. Goodnight Cheerios, Goodnight Tribbles, Goodnight Tastykakes.
Ok before I explain that, I must obsess for a moment about Duran Duran again.
Well, more specifically, Simon LeBon.
I am sorry, but the man's smart-alecky smiling face was just on Conan O'Brien and he needs to meet me. Hear me Charlie? You need to meet me. Work it out, ok? Enough with the kissing of cutsie brain-absent post-teens.
He was just so smart lookin with his hair and jacket and scruff.
To quote Paris Hilton's sidekick Nicole, "That's hot."
Yeah, I have an 11 month-old son. Yeah, I'm a grown married woman.
YOU grow up.
I'm giddy. No substances involved.
I will tell you one thing: Having a teen fantasy keeps a person young. Right now I feel like an awkward kid. It's 145am and I'm awake. How old do I think I am, 16? I hope I feel like a teenager all the rest of my life...at least energy wise.
Ok, tribbles = cheerios:
I find them in my son's diapers, in his shoes, in closets, in the bathroom, in my bed...
Do you know that a baby can have a cheerio stuck in his hand for like, hours?
When they haven't learned to relax their hands when not in use, they remain clenched, and lo and behold, hours after lunch, a small, hardened cheerio remnant will fall from his grasp. If I'm lucky, I'll see it happen. If not, I'm likely to find it later in my purse.
Even our dog, Scavenger of Kitchen Floors, has had it with oaty goodness.
He won't even eat one and spit it out.
Yumm. Just look.
I know they're wrong and bad for me. I know it's a lifetime on the hips. I also know that a package of six little chocolate doughnuts and a glass of milk is near perfection.
Of course, if I ate some right now, I'd really be hurting.
Speaking of hurting, EEEW, there's a special on VH1 about the worst sexy songs ever, and there is an R. Kelly video where he is pouring milk on a willing lass. Ok, appetite gone.
It's now 245 am. Goodnight Cheerios, Goodnight Tribbles, Goodnight Tastykakes.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
baglady
It's, oh, wait. I thought it was almost 1245am. Oops it's 145am.
Somebody's mommy (this is how i refer to myself most days) is way overtired and should not be up so late. However, somebody's mommy started looking for Corelle dishes, found them on Amazon.com, and then, naturally, began looking at bags again.
THIS, after finding today(yesterday) what I believe to be an awesome bag. It's an oversize pink terrycloth bowling-type bag with purple piping and accents. It's like a knock-off Juicy Couture bag. It's very girly, and very roomy for all my shmutz.
Will it never cease? Must I always be driven by bag "lust"? Am I doomed and addicted to the thrill of finding the "perfect bag?" This requires further investigation.
***DREAM INTERRUPTION***
Ok sorry, false alarm. Also, my body thinks it's time to go to sleep, as I am typing with one eye open. Now shaking my head like Bugs or Sylvester when an anvil's just landed on a forehead.
Ok, I am too tired to write. Just started thinking about eating fast food.
Ok not making any sense at all now. Every time I type a sentence and stop, I don't have any idea where I started or what I was going to say.
Oh my god this is all nastyness. Good Night little man asleep :)
Somebody's mommy (this is how i refer to myself most days) is way overtired and should not be up so late. However, somebody's mommy started looking for Corelle dishes, found them on Amazon.com, and then, naturally, began looking at bags again.
THIS, after finding today(yesterday) what I believe to be an awesome bag. It's an oversize pink terrycloth bowling-type bag with purple piping and accents. It's like a knock-off Juicy Couture bag. It's very girly, and very roomy for all my shmutz.
Will it never cease? Must I always be driven by bag "lust"? Am I doomed and addicted to the thrill of finding the "perfect bag?" This requires further investigation.
***DREAM INTERRUPTION***
Ok sorry, false alarm. Also, my body thinks it's time to go to sleep, as I am typing with one eye open. Now shaking my head like Bugs or Sylvester when an anvil's just landed on a forehead.
Ok, I am too tired to write. Just started thinking about eating fast food.
Ok not making any sense at all now. Every time I type a sentence and stop, I don't have any idea where I started or what I was going to say.
Oh my god this is all nastyness. Good Night little man asleep :)
Monday, April 04, 2005
Grow Up
I saw the re-formed Duran Duran at the Wachovia Spectrum on Saturday, April 2.
It was to be the moment I'd been anticipating for 20 years: I finally had seats close enough to possibly smell Simon LeBon's sweat. 5th Row, center.
Things couldn't have gone more my way leading in - I lost the rest of my baby weight (thanks to the Norwalk Virus-ha ha) and could now fit into all my "skinny jeans".
I wore a bold, black low-cut tunic with spaghetti straps and a sexy bra underneath to emphasize the remainder of my decolletage. I wore high-heeled boots under my well fitting dark washed boot-cut jeans, my hair was all curly and wild and I'd made sure to try green eyeshadow to really bring out the brown in my eyes.
On this night, Simon LeBon would finally feast his eyes on me. Imagine all the years gone by; I'd become a woman, started a family, grown up and looked great. What a perfect time to attract the gaze of the man I idolized for the better part of my teen years.
Confident and cocky, I waited with my friend to go to our seats when the opening band took the stage. She decided to have a hot dog, I checked out the merchandise. Finally, we sauntered over to the ticket-checker-guy and he pointed us the way to the floor. My heart raced a little as we began the descent. At the bottom of the stairs, the entry to Manna, stood another ticket-fellow with a flashlight. I showed him my ticket. He gazed at it, and began to indicate in the direction I'd just come from.
WHAAAAAAA?
"Go back up up around the stairs. That's section 202. Row 5 is on othe other other side."
Denied.
These were not floor seats. I'd told my friend and friends of hers that they were floor seats. Red-faced, I found our seats and then told my friends I was going to call my husband. By all accounts, they were still pretty darn good seats, but they were NOT near the stage. I had to wear my glasses if I really wanted to see anything. As if it wasn't bad enough not to have good seats: Now I was being reminded of my mortality.
As I went back up the stairs I confronted first ticketman. "Aren't these supposed to be floor seats?" I asked him, confusion and utter disbelief sinking in. He looked at me like I was looney.
Well, I was.
I immediately called my husband and complained. As if he could do something.
Strangely enough, as soon as the shock, humiliation, denial and depression wore off and my near tantrum subsided, it struck me that maybe this was never to happen. I was never meant to be close enough for Simon LeBon to encounter me. On a grand scale I hypothesized that this was a sign of some sort: A message from beyond, telling me it was time to let go of my girlish thoughts and embrace my adult self. It had to mean something, right?
During the encore, Simon introduced the band, then went out into the audience to have someone (a lady, DUH) introduce him. Of course he picked a pretty brunette and got real close and told her what to say because she was basically brain dead standing next to him. Upon completing the task, she was rewarded with a lovely kiss that actually lasted about 15 seconds.
I turned to my friend immediately: "I HATE THAT GIRL. I HATE HER! OH I HATE HER SO MUCH RIGHT NOW."
Great show though.
It was to be the moment I'd been anticipating for 20 years: I finally had seats close enough to possibly smell Simon LeBon's sweat. 5th Row, center.
Things couldn't have gone more my way leading in - I lost the rest of my baby weight (thanks to the Norwalk Virus-ha ha) and could now fit into all my "skinny jeans".
I wore a bold, black low-cut tunic with spaghetti straps and a sexy bra underneath to emphasize the remainder of my decolletage. I wore high-heeled boots under my well fitting dark washed boot-cut jeans, my hair was all curly and wild and I'd made sure to try green eyeshadow to really bring out the brown in my eyes.
On this night, Simon LeBon would finally feast his eyes on me. Imagine all the years gone by; I'd become a woman, started a family, grown up and looked great. What a perfect time to attract the gaze of the man I idolized for the better part of my teen years.
Confident and cocky, I waited with my friend to go to our seats when the opening band took the stage. She decided to have a hot dog, I checked out the merchandise. Finally, we sauntered over to the ticket-checker-guy and he pointed us the way to the floor. My heart raced a little as we began the descent. At the bottom of the stairs, the entry to Manna, stood another ticket-fellow with a flashlight. I showed him my ticket. He gazed at it, and began to indicate in the direction I'd just come from.
WHAAAAAAA?
"Go back up up around the stairs. That's section 202. Row 5 is on othe other other side."
Denied.
These were not floor seats. I'd told my friend and friends of hers that they were floor seats. Red-faced, I found our seats and then told my friends I was going to call my husband. By all accounts, they were still pretty darn good seats, but they were NOT near the stage. I had to wear my glasses if I really wanted to see anything. As if it wasn't bad enough not to have good seats: Now I was being reminded of my mortality.
As I went back up the stairs I confronted first ticketman. "Aren't these supposed to be floor seats?" I asked him, confusion and utter disbelief sinking in. He looked at me like I was looney.
Well, I was.
I immediately called my husband and complained. As if he could do something.
Strangely enough, as soon as the shock, humiliation, denial and depression wore off and my near tantrum subsided, it struck me that maybe this was never to happen. I was never meant to be close enough for Simon LeBon to encounter me. On a grand scale I hypothesized that this was a sign of some sort: A message from beyond, telling me it was time to let go of my girlish thoughts and embrace my adult self. It had to mean something, right?
During the encore, Simon introduced the band, then went out into the audience to have someone (a lady, DUH) introduce him. Of course he picked a pretty brunette and got real close and told her what to say because she was basically brain dead standing next to him. Upon completing the task, she was rewarded with a lovely kiss that actually lasted about 15 seconds.
I turned to my friend immediately: "I HATE THAT GIRL. I HATE HER! OH I HATE HER SO MUCH RIGHT NOW."
Great show though.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Gnawing At Me
Spencer bit me on the cheek yesterday.
I suppose he thought he was the Easter Bunny and that I was a carrot.
I do feel fairly orange as it were.
I have the Norwalk virus.
Spencer had it last week and gave it to me.
He's just got an arsenal of germs and fangs
I think the last time I was this tired was when I had mono in high school.
I cannot tell you the extreme symptoms I have suffered. It's so gross.
Guy and I were in NYC over the weekend - our first overnight away from Spencer.
We saw Spamalot on Saturday (after going the wrong night and getting to see Jackie Mason for free). I highly recommend it.
I'm too tired to be clever. Today I have eaten Spencers rice cereal, crackers and Gatorade. I feel like I'm really hungry but I can't eat. I've been reading The Dirt - about Motley Crüe - those guys were insane. Something tells me I've mentioned this, but heck, I'll mention it again.
I have a job interview tomorrow. I hope I can keep it together and appear lively.
Ok there's an ad on tv for Downy Wrinkle Releaser. You don't iron. You spray the wrinkled item and pull on it to pull out the wrinkles. Something is wrong with that. What the hell kind of chemicals are in that? The ad says it's not available in stores. Why is this? Creepy.
Anyway, email me if you've tried it and it works. I iron about as often as I sail.
I suppose he thought he was the Easter Bunny and that I was a carrot.
I do feel fairly orange as it were.
I have the Norwalk virus.
Spencer had it last week and gave it to me.
He's just got an arsenal of germs and fangs
I think the last time I was this tired was when I had mono in high school.
I cannot tell you the extreme symptoms I have suffered. It's so gross.
Guy and I were in NYC over the weekend - our first overnight away from Spencer.
We saw Spamalot on Saturday (after going the wrong night and getting to see Jackie Mason for free). I highly recommend it.
I'm too tired to be clever. Today I have eaten Spencers rice cereal, crackers and Gatorade. I feel like I'm really hungry but I can't eat. I've been reading The Dirt - about Motley Crüe - those guys were insane. Something tells me I've mentioned this, but heck, I'll mention it again.
I have a job interview tomorrow. I hope I can keep it together and appear lively.
Ok there's an ad on tv for Downy Wrinkle Releaser. You don't iron. You spray the wrinkled item and pull on it to pull out the wrinkles. Something is wrong with that. What the hell kind of chemicals are in that? The ad says it's not available in stores. Why is this? Creepy.
Anyway, email me if you've tried it and it works. I iron about as often as I sail.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Shut up Monique, I'm trying to think
It's late on Saturday night. SNL is done and Showtime at the Apollo is on NBC.
There were just two tap dancing foolish looking gals on - why they didn't get booed off stage is beyond me. The "plus-size" comedienne, Monique, started things off by yelling at everyone about kids having cell phones, and ring tones. She was yelling, and I was trying to collect my thoughts about an ad I just saw for a Saturn car.
Have you ever noticed a license plate or lack thereof in a car commercial?
Saturn apparently wasn't thinking hard about it or something because an ad was running for some new model, and I immediately noticed that there was a big space on the trunk where the plate is supposed to sit. It really bothered me that it wasn't there. What really made me shake my head is, why have I never noticed this before?
So Monique was screaming screaming screaming and I had to call on the powers of Mute Button to get her to cool it.
Hey, ever been to Marrakesh?
It's worth checking out if you're in Philly.
It's delish. Guy and I got to have dinner out tonight by our adult selves. It seems so unusual to be without our son like that. I am really appreciating that kind of time out.
Oh and hey, if you have a five-year old, KEEP THE CHILD HOME if you have a 9pm dinner reservation. It's just selfish to make the poor kid sit there while you stuff your face.
That's all I have to say about that.
Time to go read more about Motley Crüe.
There were just two tap dancing foolish looking gals on - why they didn't get booed off stage is beyond me. The "plus-size" comedienne, Monique, started things off by yelling at everyone about kids having cell phones, and ring tones. She was yelling, and I was trying to collect my thoughts about an ad I just saw for a Saturn car.
Have you ever noticed a license plate or lack thereof in a car commercial?
Saturn apparently wasn't thinking hard about it or something because an ad was running for some new model, and I immediately noticed that there was a big space on the trunk where the plate is supposed to sit. It really bothered me that it wasn't there. What really made me shake my head is, why have I never noticed this before?
So Monique was screaming screaming screaming and I had to call on the powers of Mute Button to get her to cool it.
Hey, ever been to Marrakesh?
It's worth checking out if you're in Philly.
It's delish. Guy and I got to have dinner out tonight by our adult selves. It seems so unusual to be without our son like that. I am really appreciating that kind of time out.
Oh and hey, if you have a five-year old, KEEP THE CHILD HOME if you have a 9pm dinner reservation. It's just selfish to make the poor kid sit there while you stuff your face.
That's all I have to say about that.
Time to go read more about Motley Crüe.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Boo Who
Some girlfriends and I were emailing back and forth about The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy. It's a great little tome written by a mom who was tired of panic guides and overly clinical parenting manuals. The topic of emotional sensitivity came up, and I suddenly remembered what happened to me a few days ago.
I cried watching the end of Rocky II. All I did was tune in to the station it was playing on - it was almost done - not like I'd watched the whole film all the way through...it was the fight scene where Rocky finally beats Apollo Creed and he's standing there in the ring with the microphone.."...and I just wanna say one thing...Yo Adrienne! I did it!" And I went boo hoo hoo hoo. Infact, I think I literally did that.
A good episode of Sex & The City can do it to me too. Yeah, the show did end, but HBO is smart enough to know that real fans of the show can watch episodes over and over and over. I freaking love that show. I could cry just thinking about the fact that it's over.
Out of Sight is on the Oxygen network right now. I could cry watching this. Clooney (George Clooney, DUH) is SO sexy, and it's such a bummer that his character Jack Foley and J.Lo's character (Karen Sisco) don't get to really be together. So what if he's a repeat offending convicted felon!
That Oxygen network - how silly. I hate that TV people are trying so hard to target programming at women. It seems desperate to me. SpikeTV is the men's version. It's like "Hey you modern, sensitive yet edgy person, here are some shows that will really appeal to you! And while we're at it, we've created some color schemes, graphics and voice-over personalities that will make you feel like you've found just the TV channel you've been looking for your whole life."
It's gotten to the point where entertainment execs are trying to make a tv station synonymous with your lifestyle. Barf.
Ok the sexy scene was just on when Karen Sisco is dreaming about walking in on Clooney in a bathtub and they totally make out and she gets in the tub with him. I don't feel like crying so much right now...
I cried watching the end of Rocky II. All I did was tune in to the station it was playing on - it was almost done - not like I'd watched the whole film all the way through...it was the fight scene where Rocky finally beats Apollo Creed and he's standing there in the ring with the microphone.."...and I just wanna say one thing...Yo Adrienne! I did it!" And I went boo hoo hoo hoo. Infact, I think I literally did that.
A good episode of Sex & The City can do it to me too. Yeah, the show did end, but HBO is smart enough to know that real fans of the show can watch episodes over and over and over. I freaking love that show. I could cry just thinking about the fact that it's over.
Out of Sight is on the Oxygen network right now. I could cry watching this. Clooney (George Clooney, DUH) is SO sexy, and it's such a bummer that his character Jack Foley and J.Lo's character (Karen Sisco) don't get to really be together. So what if he's a repeat offending convicted felon!
That Oxygen network - how silly. I hate that TV people are trying so hard to target programming at women. It seems desperate to me. SpikeTV is the men's version. It's like "Hey you modern, sensitive yet edgy person, here are some shows that will really appeal to you! And while we're at it, we've created some color schemes, graphics and voice-over personalities that will make you feel like you've found just the TV channel you've been looking for your whole life."
It's gotten to the point where entertainment execs are trying to make a tv station synonymous with your lifestyle. Barf.
Ok the sexy scene was just on when Karen Sisco is dreaming about walking in on Clooney in a bathtub and they totally make out and she gets in the tub with him. I don't feel like crying so much right now...
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
"Due to Illness"
Spencer is trying to walk around. He can sort-of climb down off a couch. He can pull himself to standing in his crib. He says "DaDa" a lot. That gets my goat. Language specialists say babies more often form the "d" sounds first. That's justice, isn't it? If there is a God, he really has a seriously mischevious sense of humor. A woman can give life to a child, carries it in her body for 9 months, grows it from her own flesh and blood, and the first word the child says is "DaDa".
Our family has been sick for the last 20 days or so. Spencer had his ear infection come back and had a wicked cold that produced snot the consistency of oatmeal. Guy got it after him, and it turned into the flu and sinusitis. I took Airborne until I couldn't stand it anymore and then it got me. I do recommend Airborne though. I think it kept the germies at bay for awhile. Didn't taste too bad either.
I think I also got some kind of inner ear thing, because days after I finished dosing myself with Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu, I was still loopy like someone had pumped me full of antihistamine.
I went on two job interviews like this. During the last one, I had a coughing fit that must have made my interviewers think I was terminally ill. It was the kind of cough that is mostly an itch, but it's the kind of itch that comes when you stop sucking down lozenges, and comes on intensely to the point that your eyes water and you can't even open your mouth without coughing. Oh thank you Ricola. Thank you.
It happened again in CVS while I waited for prescriptions for Spencer and myself - more antibiotics for both of us -I forgot to keep chewing a Ricola and suddenly near the refrigerated section in the back of the store, the itch came back. If I could have reached down my own throat to scratch, I would have. Instead, I quickly grabbed another lozenge and began coughing like an emphysema patient. I had to sit down in the pharmacy waiting area and huddle over while I coughed. I looked pathetic and was totally debilitated. Customers must have thought I had SARS. It was almost comical. I had to ask the pharmacist for a squirt of antibacterial hand cleaner (the alcohol based crap that eats your skin) so I could hand them money for the prescriptions. Why someone didn't offer me a surgical mask is beyond me. Talk about skulking...I tried to be as small as possible upon my exit. By the time I sat down in my car, I was exhausted.
Now Guy says he's getting sick again. If I get sick again, I'm going to go ballistic. I'm sick of giving all my money to Kleenex, Proctor & Gamble, and doctor co-pays.
This is an ugly shoe. For some reason, I am madly in love with it.
Moccasins are IN right now! So are mocs with a wedge heel. I have been looking for wedge heel shoes forever! Will be buying some very soon.
See what happens when I get tired? I start reverting to shopping fantasies.
Our family has been sick for the last 20 days or so. Spencer had his ear infection come back and had a wicked cold that produced snot the consistency of oatmeal. Guy got it after him, and it turned into the flu and sinusitis. I took Airborne until I couldn't stand it anymore and then it got me. I do recommend Airborne though. I think it kept the germies at bay for awhile. Didn't taste too bad either.
I think I also got some kind of inner ear thing, because days after I finished dosing myself with Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu, I was still loopy like someone had pumped me full of antihistamine.
I went on two job interviews like this. During the last one, I had a coughing fit that must have made my interviewers think I was terminally ill. It was the kind of cough that is mostly an itch, but it's the kind of itch that comes when you stop sucking down lozenges, and comes on intensely to the point that your eyes water and you can't even open your mouth without coughing. Oh thank you Ricola. Thank you.
It happened again in CVS while I waited for prescriptions for Spencer and myself - more antibiotics for both of us -I forgot to keep chewing a Ricola and suddenly near the refrigerated section in the back of the store, the itch came back. If I could have reached down my own throat to scratch, I would have. Instead, I quickly grabbed another lozenge and began coughing like an emphysema patient. I had to sit down in the pharmacy waiting area and huddle over while I coughed. I looked pathetic and was totally debilitated. Customers must have thought I had SARS. It was almost comical. I had to ask the pharmacist for a squirt of antibacterial hand cleaner (the alcohol based crap that eats your skin) so I could hand them money for the prescriptions. Why someone didn't offer me a surgical mask is beyond me. Talk about skulking...I tried to be as small as possible upon my exit. By the time I sat down in my car, I was exhausted.
Now Guy says he's getting sick again. If I get sick again, I'm going to go ballistic. I'm sick of giving all my money to Kleenex, Proctor & Gamble, and doctor co-pays.
Moccasins are IN right now! So are mocs with a wedge heel. I have been looking for wedge heel shoes forever! Will be buying some very soon.
See what happens when I get tired? I start reverting to shopping fantasies.
Monday, February 07, 2005
...may cause irritability...
Contrary to popular belief about the City of Brotherly Love, it is NOT a city that has perfected "The Choke", nor is it a city doomed to defeat for all time. We did well, considering we were facing a "dynasty-in-the-making". Fans didn't erupt into mass rioting, and there were only a few drunken fan-throws-beer-bottle-
at-random-inanimate-object arrests. I guess they were rioting on the inside.
I confess, I'd love to know what the hell my team was doing on the field during those last 4 minutes...what was with the huddling while precious moments slipped away? I'll never know.
What I would also like to know what it is that happens in the human brain when we've "had enough" that makes us feel like we need to suddenly smash something or throw something.
I don't mean a prolongued tantrum or a planned visit to a hall closet for a primal scream. I'm talking more like when you dropped the toothbrush behind the toilet, ran out of hot water midway through your shower, you couldn't find a sock and then finally, when you went to brush your hair, the brush got stuck and kept pulling so you snapped and threw the hairbrush at the wall. You might also yell or cry after doing so.
Tonight it happened while I was trying to wrestle some defrosted salmon out of its plastic wrap and bag to place in a pan. I could envision myself slipping and throwing the salmon right out of the bag onto the floor. Then Guy started talking with me about something - I don't even remember now. I was so focused on trying to get the stupid salmon out of the bag/wrap without making a mess, that when Guy spoke to me, I nearly hissed at him. I was told to go sit down.
It's late and I'm not feeling particularly like smashing anything, but I confess I am really tired and itchy on my arms. I saw on the Real World/Philadelphia that one roomate got Scabies. I hope I don't have scabies! Eeeew yuck.
at-random-inanimate-object arrests. I guess they were rioting on the inside.
I confess, I'd love to know what the hell my team was doing on the field during those last 4 minutes...what was with the huddling while precious moments slipped away? I'll never know.
What I would also like to know what it is that happens in the human brain when we've "had enough" that makes us feel like we need to suddenly smash something or throw something.
I don't mean a prolongued tantrum or a planned visit to a hall closet for a primal scream. I'm talking more like when you dropped the toothbrush behind the toilet, ran out of hot water midway through your shower, you couldn't find a sock and then finally, when you went to brush your hair, the brush got stuck and kept pulling so you snapped and threw the hairbrush at the wall. You might also yell or cry after doing so.
Tonight it happened while I was trying to wrestle some defrosted salmon out of its plastic wrap and bag to place in a pan. I could envision myself slipping and throwing the salmon right out of the bag onto the floor. Then Guy started talking with me about something - I don't even remember now. I was so focused on trying to get the stupid salmon out of the bag/wrap without making a mess, that when Guy spoke to me, I nearly hissed at him. I was told to go sit down.
It's late and I'm not feeling particularly like smashing anything, but I confess I am really tired and itchy on my arms. I saw on the Real World/Philadelphia that one roomate got Scabies. I hope I don't have scabies! Eeeew yuck.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Of Discipline and Madness
It's 1030, Tuesday night.
There's some ridiculous creepy movie on called Secret Window.
Johnny Depp is in it. It's about a writer whose fictional character comes to haunt him and kill people to set him up, only it's really him losing his mind. Some poor bastard sheriff is about to get it...with corn cob holders, I think. Ok, no, just the "crazy writer" showing us he likes sharp things. He kills his wife by first dragging her out of a Saab she can't seem to get in reverse cause the parking break is stuck. I wonder if the screenwriter knows us or has a Saab.
One of the most often repeated nugget of advice I've seen by successful writers is that any aspiring writer must write every day. I have been trying to figure out when I can do it regularly, because that is supposedly the key: Frequency and Regularity. However, I wonder...is it possible that this strict guideline causes aspiring writers to lose it a bit? OR is the writer mostly kooky anyway and it's just a matter of time before the cracks become apparent? Why do writers have such a tendency to write about being victimized by their characters, or about being driven to madness by isolation (isolation they actually prefer in order to create)?
Ok, frankly I'm not really pondering. It just seemed a good place to start tonight since I've been struggling to find time to write and then there's this silly movie on about a writer going nuts.
Mostly I've been conquering fears: Fear of the job market, Fear of motherhood, Fear of coffee & donuts becoming my favorite breakfast, Fear of Spencer crawling, Fear of the ski slope, etc.
This past weekend I skiied for the first time in two years. Ok, the word "skiied" weighs heavy. I don't like the presence of two i's like that anywhere. It's weird.
So I skiied. Crabbing the whole time about my crap skii boots.
OH speaking of crap, I got rid of the Ford Focus and I have my Beetle back. Only problem is, I don't have turn signals. A simple call to the dealer will have that resolved in a week or so.
Anyway, back to skiing.
If you're in a rental situation and they put something like these up on the counter, tell them NO.
I think the damage to my shins from those boots is worse than what happened to my knee when I rammed my Beetle into a streetlight pole. Speaking of which, I am wondering if I'll get a little bill from the city for that little accident. I can't IMAGINE they'd just write it off and replace it.
Ok, it's now 1144pm. Some creepy show called Carnivale is on HBO. It's about God & the Devil and freak shows and dust. Sheesh. What's with the horror theme tonight? I'm scared I'll fall asleep right here.
Ok that was funny.
So is "Giraffe-Cat"
Tootleooooooo
It's 1030, Tuesday night.
There's some ridiculous creepy movie on called Secret Window.
Johnny Depp is in it. It's about a writer whose fictional character comes to haunt him and kill people to set him up, only it's really him losing his mind. Some poor bastard sheriff is about to get it...with corn cob holders, I think. Ok, no, just the "crazy writer" showing us he likes sharp things. He kills his wife by first dragging her out of a Saab she can't seem to get in reverse cause the parking break is stuck. I wonder if the screenwriter knows us or has a Saab.
One of the most often repeated nugget of advice I've seen by successful writers is that any aspiring writer must write every day. I have been trying to figure out when I can do it regularly, because that is supposedly the key: Frequency and Regularity. However, I wonder...is it possible that this strict guideline causes aspiring writers to lose it a bit? OR is the writer mostly kooky anyway and it's just a matter of time before the cracks become apparent? Why do writers have such a tendency to write about being victimized by their characters, or about being driven to madness by isolation (isolation they actually prefer in order to create)?
Ok, frankly I'm not really pondering. It just seemed a good place to start tonight since I've been struggling to find time to write and then there's this silly movie on about a writer going nuts.
Mostly I've been conquering fears: Fear of the job market, Fear of motherhood, Fear of coffee & donuts becoming my favorite breakfast, Fear of Spencer crawling, Fear of the ski slope, etc.
This past weekend I skiied for the first time in two years. Ok, the word "skiied" weighs heavy. I don't like the presence of two i's like that anywhere. It's weird.
So I skiied. Crabbing the whole time about my crap skii boots.
OH speaking of crap, I got rid of the Ford Focus and I have my Beetle back. Only problem is, I don't have turn signals. A simple call to the dealer will have that resolved in a week or so.
Anyway, back to skiing.
| This is almost the exact likeness of the boots I wore last weekend.
|
 |
If you're in a rental situation and they put something like these up on the counter, tell them NO.
I think the damage to my shins from those boots is worse than what happened to my knee when I rammed my Beetle into a streetlight pole. Speaking of which, I am wondering if I'll get a little bill from the city for that little accident. I can't IMAGINE they'd just write it off and replace it.
Ok, it's now 1144pm. Some creepy show called Carnivale is on HBO. It's about God & the Devil and freak shows and dust. Sheesh. What's with the horror theme tonight? I'm scared I'll fall asleep right here.
Ok that was funny.
So is "Giraffe-Cat"
Tootleooooooo
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Hair-brained Schemes
I wanted to post Friday night, but I was exhausted from my travails.
You see, when one highlights one's own hair, one is responsible for reaching areas of the head that require the kind of dexterity reserved for yoga gurus.
I want to show you a picture of how I looked at 10:30 p.m. Friday night.
Here's a sketch of what I had on my head:
I'll tell you what I can't do. I can't do that again. I think I spent 90 minutes just pulling strands of my hair through that cap. I learned how to work using both hands, and backwards in the mirror. It's a lot like crossing your eyes too long and putting one arm over your shoulder and the other up behind and trying to touch fingers behind your back...and then standing that way for 90 minutes. I do believe by the end, I was hallucinating. The most torturous part is knowing that you still have to mix the creme, put it on your hair and sit around like a chemical accident for 30-60 minutes while it strips the color from your follicles.
I took a break after the plucking all these pieces of hair and checked to see what Guy was up to. Also, I had to sit, because I felt like I'd been strapped between two boards for a whole day. It was like I could barely stand anymore. I descended the stairs and when he saw me, he laughed and laughed. Ladies, it was then that I realized how stupid we all are. There I was looking hideous with my little plastic bonnet with my hair sticking out of holes like little seedlings. I spent a decent chunk of precious "me" or "us" time, creating this "look" in order to make myself look prettier. I had to explain to Guy that it was the sacrifice women have to go through...he was still laughing at how I looked in my bonnet.
I got him to help me wrap the rest of my hair in tin foil (more confusion resulted from this. I had to explain why tin foil and not a towel) and then Spencer started his 10:30 crying jag from the crib. Guy went to him, so I finished the whole dye job myself.
It looks great for someone who's no professional. At least, I'm happy with it.
Spencer just smiled alot today, I don't know if he noticed. He did try to grab my hair a little more than usual. I wonder if he was checking for damage.
Oh, for the record, I haven't actually gone anywhere since Friday. We got a good ole' blizzardy storm Saturday into today, so the only time I spent outside today was to finish cleaning off my car. Guy dug out earlier - dug an extra space and put a trash can there. He promptly shooed away some lecherous college students who attempted to usurp the space. Spencer and I will venture out tomorrow when the temperature rises a little. Guy actually took pics of the Xmas lights that are still up outside, so it looks like we had a White Xmas. Silly.
Hats off to the all NFL teams who played in the Northeast today. They should be commended. It is friggin COLD out there. Oh wait, if I was getting paid millions to run around in spandex and shoulder pads and get smacked around a little, I'd probably be willing to do it in the cold too.
Oh, I have a cold. There needs to be a new cold medicine that treats Stuffy Head, Cough, Congestion, Sore Throat, aches and pains and Post Nasal Drip itch. It should also moisturize your lips and nose so you can withstand the effects of tissue erosion.
Final thought:
EAGLES 35, Patriots 24
Superbowl XXXIX
Yeah!
I wanted to post Friday night, but I was exhausted from my travails.
You see, when one highlights one's own hair, one is responsible for reaching areas of the head that require the kind of dexterity reserved for yoga gurus.
I want to show you a picture of how I looked at 10:30 p.m. Friday night.
Here's a sketch of what I had on my head:
|
Nice, eh?
|
I took a break after the plucking all these pieces of hair and checked to see what Guy was up to. Also, I had to sit, because I felt like I'd been strapped between two boards for a whole day. It was like I could barely stand anymore. I descended the stairs and when he saw me, he laughed and laughed. Ladies, it was then that I realized how stupid we all are. There I was looking hideous with my little plastic bonnet with my hair sticking out of holes like little seedlings. I spent a decent chunk of precious "me" or "us" time, creating this "look" in order to make myself look prettier. I had to explain to Guy that it was the sacrifice women have to go through...he was still laughing at how I looked in my bonnet.
I got him to help me wrap the rest of my hair in tin foil (more confusion resulted from this. I had to explain why tin foil and not a towel) and then Spencer started his 10:30 crying jag from the crib. Guy went to him, so I finished the whole dye job myself.
It looks great for someone who's no professional. At least, I'm happy with it.
Spencer just smiled alot today, I don't know if he noticed. He did try to grab my hair a little more than usual. I wonder if he was checking for damage.
Oh, for the record, I haven't actually gone anywhere since Friday. We got a good ole' blizzardy storm Saturday into today, so the only time I spent outside today was to finish cleaning off my car. Guy dug out earlier - dug an extra space and put a trash can there. He promptly shooed away some lecherous college students who attempted to usurp the space. Spencer and I will venture out tomorrow when the temperature rises a little. Guy actually took pics of the Xmas lights that are still up outside, so it looks like we had a White Xmas. Silly.
Hats off to the all NFL teams who played in the Northeast today. They should be commended. It is friggin COLD out there. Oh wait, if I was getting paid millions to run around in spandex and shoulder pads and get smacked around a little, I'd probably be willing to do it in the cold too.
Oh, I have a cold. There needs to be a new cold medicine that treats Stuffy Head, Cough, Congestion, Sore Throat, aches and pains and Post Nasal Drip itch. It should also moisturize your lips and nose so you can withstand the effects of tissue erosion.
Final thought:
EAGLES 35, Patriots 24
Superbowl XXXIX
Yeah!
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Thou Shalt Not Worship False Idols
Ok, in my last post, I marvelled at and extolled the virtue of the Ugg Boot.
The messiah had come and it was shearling.
Uh, Melbourne(or wherever they make em down undah), we have a problem.
I believe my very lovely warm and fuzzy boots may have caused me to smash my VW Beetle into a streetlight pole yesterday while trying to dislodge a trashcan lid from beneath.
Because they are so large on my feet(as you may recall, I recommended buying them snug because they stretch. I did not take that advice in the store), it may have been the suede-like, soft shearling that wedged itself between my right foot, the gas pedal and the brake. My most revered Ugg boot caused me to accelerate and crash while trying to turn into a neighbor's driveway.
My knee is banged up a bit, and my car is quite smashed. I have a rental car while the insurance company decides how to fix the car as cheaply as possible.
Now pay attention: DO NOT EVER accept a Ford Focus for a rental. The "basic" options are from like 1994. Manual roll-down windows. Manual locking doors. Yes, you have to lock each door separately. You can't even turn the key in the driver's door just to lock them all. Can you imagine buying that car? YIKES! Oh and they're terrible in snow. I almost got Spencer and me killed trying to stop for a red light while driving only 20 mph in second gear. I had to run the light because I couldn't stop without going into a spin. Stupid car.
Oh, and speaking of worship, the new season of American Idol began last night(Tuesday). The best part is the bad singing. Here's the sad part though: Thousands of hopefuls wait and wait to be seen. They go through a screening process well before they get to see the three top judges (that's Randy, Paula and Simon if you didn't already know), which means at least two rounds of judgement. If you're a stinker, but you're funny or newsworthy in some way, they might just let you keep going until you get to the big three. It's misleading because then the bubble is broken. Someone who might really think he has talent will be encouraged all the way to seeing Randy, Paula and Simon and then his world comes crashing down. That's not really fair.
BUT IT' S GREAT TV.
Now, a little more about idolatry and the like...
There's a presidental inauguration tomorrow.
I believe the "parade" route will be underground in a secured tunnel guarded by big robots with missiles. There's a fear of a terrorist attack. Wouldn't that be intense? What if all the cabinet people got it? Who would be president? Karl Rove, perhaps? He hides behind a curtain anyway.
God Bless America.
God Bless Ugg Boots that fit correctly.
God Bless my Beetle all alone somewhere in some garage.
God Bless the uniqueness of vocal talent(or lack thereof) and it's exploitation for my amusement.
Today's Lesson: Buy Uggs that fit snug, don't accept a Focus in place of your Bug, some people's mics should always be unplugged and the next four years are gonna be hell so start doing drugs.
Thank you and goodnight.
The messiah had come and it was shearling.
Uh, Melbourne(or wherever they make em down undah), we have a problem.
I believe my very lovely warm and fuzzy boots may have caused me to smash my VW Beetle into a streetlight pole yesterday while trying to dislodge a trashcan lid from beneath.
Because they are so large on my feet(as you may recall, I recommended buying them snug because they stretch. I did not take that advice in the store), it may have been the suede-like, soft shearling that wedged itself between my right foot, the gas pedal and the brake. My most revered Ugg boot caused me to accelerate and crash while trying to turn into a neighbor's driveway.
My knee is banged up a bit, and my car is quite smashed. I have a rental car while the insurance company decides how to fix the car as cheaply as possible.
Now pay attention: DO NOT EVER accept a Ford Focus for a rental. The "basic" options are from like 1994. Manual roll-down windows. Manual locking doors. Yes, you have to lock each door separately. You can't even turn the key in the driver's door just to lock them all. Can you imagine buying that car? YIKES! Oh and they're terrible in snow. I almost got Spencer and me killed trying to stop for a red light while driving only 20 mph in second gear. I had to run the light because I couldn't stop without going into a spin. Stupid car.
Oh, and speaking of worship, the new season of American Idol began last night(Tuesday). The best part is the bad singing. Here's the sad part though: Thousands of hopefuls wait and wait to be seen. They go through a screening process well before they get to see the three top judges (that's Randy, Paula and Simon if you didn't already know), which means at least two rounds of judgement. If you're a stinker, but you're funny or newsworthy in some way, they might just let you keep going until you get to the big three. It's misleading because then the bubble is broken. Someone who might really think he has talent will be encouraged all the way to seeing Randy, Paula and Simon and then his world comes crashing down. That's not really fair.
BUT IT' S GREAT TV.
Now, a little more about idolatry and the like...
There's a presidental inauguration tomorrow.
I believe the "parade" route will be underground in a secured tunnel guarded by big robots with missiles. There's a fear of a terrorist attack. Wouldn't that be intense? What if all the cabinet people got it? Who would be president? Karl Rove, perhaps? He hides behind a curtain anyway.
God Bless America.
God Bless Ugg Boots that fit correctly.
God Bless my Beetle all alone somewhere in some garage.
God Bless the uniqueness of vocal talent(or lack thereof) and it's exploitation for my amusement.
Today's Lesson: Buy Uggs that fit snug, don't accept a Focus in place of your Bug, some people's mics should always be unplugged and the next four years are gonna be hell so start doing drugs.
Thank you and goodnight.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Salvation
(the sound of an angelic choir should be playing here)
Ok, guess what? I finally got Ugg boots. The REAL ones, not some fakey fake version like I was gonna settle for. The style I bought is pictured above.
GET THEM NOW. When you do, one hint - get them to fit snug - they will stretch. You must wear them barefoot! That's right, I'm serious. Barefoot.
I wore them all weekend. I felt like I was breaking the law when I went out - it's like wearing slippers in public. I swear to God that's what it's like. I thought everyone knew I was barefoot in my boots. It was like getting to be deviant and comfortable all at the same time. I felt like I had a little secret: Hey world, I'm barefoot in my boots! It was 26 degrees out today, but my feet didn't know it.
I do have a little problemo: I got them too big expecting to wear socks and they look it and I already have big feet to begin with. I'm 5'3 and I'm wearing size 9 in some shoes. I think it's why I've got pretty good balance, now that I think about it.
I am totally sold on these things. Oddly enough the guy in the store (The Walking Company at the Plaza @ King of Prussia by the way) said I should buy more than one pair. He was just trying to sell shoes, but I'm considering buying another pair. I am. They are awesome and I am wearing them until spring.
In case you were wondering, Spencer is better and has learned to play "tug" with his daddy's sock. That boy. We buy him every toy under the sun, and he loves socks, ripping up magazines, wrist watches and plastic water bottles.
Oh, and he needs new pajamas. We have two sleepers that I think were irregulars I bought at Costco - I think he's wearing them backwards, but when you put them on the other way, you can't get them off to change his diaper and the snaps are all down his back. We've debated the issue repeatedly, and have settled with them looking backwards. He's about to outgrow them, so I don't really care. That's another caveat of childrearing: Shopping repeatedly because of growth every month or two. I love it!
Parting message: Go buy your Uggs, people. Go buy them now. Just don't buy all the other accessories - what a joke. I mean really, who needs a shearling purse? Don't answer that, Ms. Hilton you cheeky tart you.
(the sound of an angelic choir should be playing here)
Ok, guess what? I finally got Ugg boots. The REAL ones, not some fakey fake version like I was gonna settle for. The style I bought is pictured above.
GET THEM NOW. When you do, one hint - get them to fit snug - they will stretch. You must wear them barefoot! That's right, I'm serious. Barefoot.
I wore them all weekend. I felt like I was breaking the law when I went out - it's like wearing slippers in public. I swear to God that's what it's like. I thought everyone knew I was barefoot in my boots. It was like getting to be deviant and comfortable all at the same time. I felt like I had a little secret: Hey world, I'm barefoot in my boots! It was 26 degrees out today, but my feet didn't know it.
I do have a little problemo: I got them too big expecting to wear socks and they look it and I already have big feet to begin with. I'm 5'3 and I'm wearing size 9 in some shoes. I think it's why I've got pretty good balance, now that I think about it.
I am totally sold on these things. Oddly enough the guy in the store (The Walking Company at the Plaza @ King of Prussia by the way) said I should buy more than one pair. He was just trying to sell shoes, but I'm considering buying another pair. I am. They are awesome and I am wearing them until spring.
In case you were wondering, Spencer is better and has learned to play "tug" with his daddy's sock. That boy. We buy him every toy under the sun, and he loves socks, ripping up magazines, wrist watches and plastic water bottles.
Oh, and he needs new pajamas. We have two sleepers that I think were irregulars I bought at Costco - I think he's wearing them backwards, but when you put them on the other way, you can't get them off to change his diaper and the snaps are all down his back. We've debated the issue repeatedly, and have settled with them looking backwards. He's about to outgrow them, so I don't really care. That's another caveat of childrearing: Shopping repeatedly because of growth every month or two. I love it!
Parting message: Go buy your Uggs, people. Go buy them now. Just don't buy all the other accessories - what a joke. I mean really, who needs a shearling purse? Don't answer that, Ms. Hilton you cheeky tart you.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Fear of Poop Itself
There are dark blue towels all over the floor in our living room.
I have them down around Spencer's play area in case we have repeat performance of yesterday.
He just sucked down a little formula and burped. I'm scared.
I have post-traumatic-barf-syndrome.
Earlier today he got the hiccups and I thought he might be heaving, so I carried him into the bathroom and held him over the sink in case he was going to throw up again. Nothing happened. I think he giggled a little.
I wish I could dress him in a plastic outfit.
Cleaning up poop is the most bizarre task ever.
How can you really CLEAN it? I mean, it's like the filthiest filth ever.
He's sitting next to me on the floor dragging his bottle of formula around. I wish he'd drink it.
We have another bottle of Pedialyte here too. I can't say we're overly-impressed with their choice of flavors. There has to be something more appealing to a little one. He doesn't drink OK or grape juice yet, so why would something flavored that way be of any interest?
How about Banana flavor?
There are dark blue towels all over the floor in our living room.
I have them down around Spencer's play area in case we have repeat performance of yesterday.
He just sucked down a little formula and burped. I'm scared.
I have post-traumatic-barf-syndrome.
Earlier today he got the hiccups and I thought he might be heaving, so I carried him into the bathroom and held him over the sink in case he was going to throw up again. Nothing happened. I think he giggled a little.
I wish I could dress him in a plastic outfit.
Cleaning up poop is the most bizarre task ever.
How can you really CLEAN it? I mean, it's like the filthiest filth ever.
He's sitting next to me on the floor dragging his bottle of formula around. I wish he'd drink it.
We have another bottle of Pedialyte here too. I can't say we're overly-impressed with their choice of flavors. There has to be something more appealing to a little one. He doesn't drink OK or grape juice yet, so why would something flavored that way be of any interest?
How about Banana flavor?
Illin' In Philly
Yo Yo Yo. Mom in da house...
Uh, all month long. I can't get out.
If it's not the boy, it's me.
He started off 2005 with an ear infection, I acquired strep throat last week, and now he's contracted some sort of stomach thing that's made him expunge every last drop of everything from both ends. Pleasant, huh? I'm drinking tons of water now, just in case it happens to me too.
During my time of respite, protected by the poofy, synthetic-y feel of a faux down comforter (purchased no doubt from Kmart or some other purveyor of fine home furnishings), I managed to watch almost all of Live Aid and found solace in cherry jello and hominy grits.
Apparently, when you recover from illness, the gods of mockery send down another for you to dodge by putting it in your child. So we're back on major doses of hand sanitizer and then following up later on in the evening with A&D ointment on the hands to soothe the cracking skin on the knuckles.
I feel like a boxer.
"Down goes Fraser!!!"
Yo Yo Yo. Mom in da house...
Uh, all month long. I can't get out.
If it's not the boy, it's me.
He started off 2005 with an ear infection, I acquired strep throat last week, and now he's contracted some sort of stomach thing that's made him expunge every last drop of everything from both ends. Pleasant, huh? I'm drinking tons of water now, just in case it happens to me too.
During my time of respite, protected by the poofy, synthetic-y feel of a faux down comforter (purchased no doubt from Kmart or some other purveyor of fine home furnishings), I managed to watch almost all of Live Aid and found solace in cherry jello and hominy grits.
Apparently, when you recover from illness, the gods of mockery send down another for you to dodge by putting it in your child. So we're back on major doses of hand sanitizer and then following up later on in the evening with A&D ointment on the hands to soothe the cracking skin on the knuckles.
I feel like a boxer.
"Down goes Fraser!!!"
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Dashing Through The ... holidays
Oh wait, it's OVER! Christmas and New Years are OVER!
I can't believe I let this go so long without writing. Ok thats a lie. I can too. I'm lucky I got the Xmas cards out.
I bet you're dying to know how I did on my first Xmas as a mommy, so here are the highlights:
Oh wait, it's OVER! Christmas and New Years are OVER!
I can't believe I let this go so long without writing. Ok thats a lie. I can too. I'm lucky I got the Xmas cards out.
I bet you're dying to know how I did on my first Xmas as a mommy, so here are the highlights:
- I baked nine dozen meringue cookies for a cookie swap. I am now an EXPERT at whipping up egg whites.
- We had a friend watch the baby so we could buy him Xmas presents (as if he'd have known if we took him along).
- We found a near perfect tree and it was up and decorated in two days or less. And down in two days or less after New Years. Unprecedented.
- Our ceilings were covered with big dangling snowflakes and our son now has an intimate relationship with all our nutcrackers. They talked to him from the mantle (with our help) every day. Any idea how hard it is to communicate on behalf of a nutcracker? They don't lead the most exciting lives you know.
- We rented a minivan and believe it or not, my HUSBAND thought it was God's gift to travel ("You could play FOOTBALL in here!"), and travelled to New York twice in 3 days.
- My husband bought an electric train from some mystical shop out on the Main Line. I bet if he tries to go back it'll be some abandoned ole' storefront.
- My son saw Santa for the first time at the mall. Santa was sitting in his picture-takin' chair, and I was holding the baby about 5 yards away. He smiled pretty big, but I can see we're going to have to try him in doses. Santa can be scary when you're really little.
- We had the longest Xmas morning in memory. Babies take a LONG time to open their presents.I can't imagine how it will be when he can actually speak and walk and tell us he doesn't like stuff Santa brought...
- The baby had his first ear infection that caused him to stop eating all together before New Years, so we stayed at home and had lobster and filet mignon after he went to bed. It was DELISH.
- Dick Clark had a stroke this year so Regis Philbin was in charge of New Year's Rockin' Eve and to quote another New Yorker: He's FIRED.
- The world's worst natural disaster in modern history occurred and killed probably 250,000 people. (And I was cranky cause my son was up in the middle of the night. Nice)
- We've had above normal temperatures for the last week. Seems there is no global warming problem afterall.
- Some fellas from Monty Python have adapted The Holy Grail for the stage. I am proud to announce that barring dismal failure and early closing, we will be going to see it in March on Broadway.
- So that's about it for the holidays. We got some great pics though!
On other fronts:
I finally caved and bought some high waisted khakis. They work for me and are actually stylish so I don't look like a dork. I also bought my first "track suit". It's pink. I look like a cute, comfy mommy. Couldn't you just barf?
AND BIG NEWS HERE....I will be seeing my favourite teen crush band ever: Duran Duran. We have 5th row seats. If that isn't incentive to lose that last 10, I don't know what is. Heh, and I was actually considering Weight Watchers...
Tragedy of 2005: No new diaper bag. I'm all in a twist about it. What's a mommy to do? I need a storage saviour or something.There must be someone out there that can help me find the best bag. Who are you? Where are you hiding?I MUST HAVE RESPITE FROM THIS TORTURE!
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Tummy Time
Ok, there was this mock ad on SNL from May of '03 for a product called "Mom Jeans".
You know you've seen a woman wearing 'em. You know you've laughed or cringed and thought, "Oh my god, can't she see how bad her stomach looks in those?"
I used to laugh.
Until it happened to ME.
I know why they wear them. I know why ALL jeans look like "Mom Jeans" on moms.
It's the pouch. Whatever happens to your stomach after the birth of your child once most of the baby weight is gone and you're starting to wear some old clothing again.
There may be a temporary solution: High waisted jeans.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeew! High-waisted jeans are for moms!
I hated them all my life and when low-waisted and low-rider jeans became the norm, I was ecstatic. I remember in highschool and college, trying to wear my pants low and it looked ridiculous because they were mostly all highwaisted so there was all this extra fabric in the crotch.
The low-waisted jean was my salvation. Couldn't get enough of 'em and when Levi's introduced "Super Low", I was beside myself with glee. What took them so long? Yippeeee!
They're sitting in a storage bag along with some Tilt and Gap jeans I'm not wearing.
Two weeks ago I found myself in Kohl's wanting desperately to go into the Women's section to try on some "regular" jeans. Wait is it called Misses ? "Woman" is for plus-size women. See? I don't even know what department is what. I just know where the high and low waisted jeans can be found. But I always shopped in the Juniors section.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't go there. I didn't look for a comfortable, nice looking pair of jeans. I fought with myself the way you see an actor arguing with his/her computer generated twin or imaginary friend and ended up buying a pair of boots.
I'm 7 months postpartum and everyone says you need like a year to get back most or all of your old body (or whatever's salvagable?). I don't want to give in and go get something safe until I really know what my body is going to look like! But I'll tell ya, if I saw me walking around with my belly potentially hanging precariously close to "over" my low-jeans, I'd want me in a pair of Lee jeans, tout suite!
And you know what else? It's not just how they look. It's what they mean.
Your old clothes don't fit quite right, do they?
You don't really want to wear them either, do you?
Somehow, it doesn't feel quite appropriate to wear a baby doll t-shirt that says "Kitten". I'm a "Mom" now. It looks a bit childish to wear such a thing when I'm responsible for this little person who depends on me for everything except breathing and pooping.
It feels awkward to wear a low cut top. You risk flashing the world anyway - I don't know about your baby, but mine has started pulling on my clothes and sticking his hand down my shirt when I wear a V-neck. And seriously, even though I can kind of wear some low waisted jeans under long shirts, I resist. All the bending and squatting to lift, carry and move the baby around can potentially result in more crack sightings than at a plumber's convention.
When I was in the hospital why didn't they show me pictures of what my tummy was gonna look like and instructions or a pamphlet on "Your New Mommy Body"? They had no problems grabbing my breasts and poking me and throwing Spencer at me (not literally) and invading my room at all ungodly hours of the night, so why not tell me what I might expect after my incision healed and I was up and at 'em?
So many questions...
Ok, there was this mock ad on SNL from May of '03 for a product called "Mom Jeans".
You know you've seen a woman wearing 'em. You know you've laughed or cringed and thought, "Oh my god, can't she see how bad her stomach looks in those?"
I used to laugh.
Until it happened to ME.
I know why they wear them. I know why ALL jeans look like "Mom Jeans" on moms.
It's the pouch. Whatever happens to your stomach after the birth of your child once most of the baby weight is gone and you're starting to wear some old clothing again.
There may be a temporary solution: High waisted jeans.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeew! High-waisted jeans are for moms!
I hated them all my life and when low-waisted and low-rider jeans became the norm, I was ecstatic. I remember in highschool and college, trying to wear my pants low and it looked ridiculous because they were mostly all highwaisted so there was all this extra fabric in the crotch.
The low-waisted jean was my salvation. Couldn't get enough of 'em and when Levi's introduced "Super Low", I was beside myself with glee. What took them so long? Yippeeee!
They're sitting in a storage bag along with some Tilt and Gap jeans I'm not wearing.
Two weeks ago I found myself in Kohl's wanting desperately to go into the Women's section to try on some "regular" jeans. Wait is it called Misses ? "Woman" is for plus-size women. See? I don't even know what department is what. I just know where the high and low waisted jeans can be found. But I always shopped in the Juniors section.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't go there. I didn't look for a comfortable, nice looking pair of jeans. I fought with myself the way you see an actor arguing with his/her computer generated twin or imaginary friend and ended up buying a pair of boots.
I'm 7 months postpartum and everyone says you need like a year to get back most or all of your old body (or whatever's salvagable?). I don't want to give in and go get something safe until I really know what my body is going to look like! But I'll tell ya, if I saw me walking around with my belly potentially hanging precariously close to "over" my low-jeans, I'd want me in a pair of Lee jeans, tout suite!
And you know what else? It's not just how they look. It's what they mean.
Your old clothes don't fit quite right, do they?
You don't really want to wear them either, do you?
Somehow, it doesn't feel quite appropriate to wear a baby doll t-shirt that says "Kitten". I'm a "Mom" now. It looks a bit childish to wear such a thing when I'm responsible for this little person who depends on me for everything except breathing and pooping.
It feels awkward to wear a low cut top. You risk flashing the world anyway - I don't know about your baby, but mine has started pulling on my clothes and sticking his hand down my shirt when I wear a V-neck. And seriously, even though I can kind of wear some low waisted jeans under long shirts, I resist. All the bending and squatting to lift, carry and move the baby around can potentially result in more crack sightings than at a plumber's convention.
When I was in the hospital why didn't they show me pictures of what my tummy was gonna look like and instructions or a pamphlet on "Your New Mommy Body"? They had no problems grabbing my breasts and poking me and throwing Spencer at me (not literally) and invading my room at all ungodly hours of the night, so why not tell me what I might expect after my incision healed and I was up and at 'em?
So many questions...
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Kvetching...
I now have maybe 4 different bags going.
I am deeply tormented.
Could it be a distraction from the rest of life? Who knows.
But here's the new dilemma:
Spencer is growing and growing.
How much longer will I need this bag?
I'll freakin' buy the bag and then I won't need it anymore.
I'm sick from it. SICK I tell you!
Oh no wait, I'm stir crazy because Spencer has been sick since his 6 month appt on 11/29. He had diarrhea (I hate that word. I can NEVER spell it right the first time) and then got a cold too. We've been home ALOT lately.
In the meantime, if you or anyone you know has any information about that Kalencom bag or you've seen a review, PLEASE contact me immediately!
I now have maybe 4 different bags going.
I am deeply tormented.
Could it be a distraction from the rest of life? Who knows.
But here's the new dilemma:
Spencer is growing and growing.
How much longer will I need this bag?
I'll freakin' buy the bag and then I won't need it anymore.
I'm sick from it. SICK I tell you!
Oh no wait, I'm stir crazy because Spencer has been sick since his 6 month appt on 11/29. He had diarrhea (I hate that word. I can NEVER spell it right the first time) and then got a cold too. We've been home ALOT lately.
In the meantime, if you or anyone you know has any information about that Kalencom bag or you've seen a review, PLEASE contact me immediately!