So I am a big believer in the whole thing about how people come into our lives for specific purposes. I'm also a big believer in the idea that some people come into our lives for an allotted time period, and then for whatever reason, they exit. I am a believer in friendship, and loyalty, and basically all that is well and good in the world. And finally, I'm a big believer in bridges. And burning them when enough is enough, and that bridge just isn't getting me from point A to point B.
I've decided to burn a bridge after much thought and consideration. This bridge is one that I really hoped I'd never burn, and it's certainly one I never expected to need to burn. This family brought so much into my life that it's difficult to imagine where I'd be without having met them. That brings me back to the whole thing about people coming into our lives for a purpose, though. I asked myself over and over again whether I should walk away or keep repairing the cracks...and it turns out there are too many damn cracks in the relationship, not to mention that it seems pretty one-sided. It worked out great for them, of course, because I tend to be a giver. So I was constantly offering to help out, attending events, giving gifts, offering to babysit (free of charge, of course), inviting them to parties, etc. And I am totally cool with all of that, except that nothing was reciprocated. In fact, they offered to babysit for Mark and me one weekend and then cancelled on us a couple hours before we were supposed to go out!
The last straw was the garage sale. They usually add things to our sale each year, and I happily sell them and give them whatever money their things sell for...They've never once offered to help with the sale. Last year they brought over an entire TRUCK load of crap and 2 tables, which I had asked to use for my own things. This year, they decided to put several large items in the sale: a washer & dryer, a dishwasher, power wheel and a cook top. Well, I sold the washer and the power wheel...Today, nearly a month after the sale, I get a voicemail saying that they are about 10 minutes from my house and will be stopping by to pick up the money. REALLY?! You have got to be kidding me, right? It's FATHER'S DAY. It's lunch time, and BOTH of my girls are napping. It's a MONTH later, and how about asking if there is anything that didn't sell that I'd like you to HAUL AWAY?! This, to me, is unbelievably inconsiderate. What is wrong with them?! I was so pissed that I had Mark put the UPS sign on our door (for when the girls are sleeping so he doesn't knock or ring the bell) with an envelope with their money in it taped to the door. After they picked it up, I received a text message that said, "thanks." Nothing more.
So, I'm burning the bridge. I'm done. And I have an opening for a true friend, one who's willing to be as much of a giver as I am.
Til next time...
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Are Those [Mom] Jeans?!
So I was thinking...I had a discussion with one of my girlfriends today about fashion. Yes, I talk about fashion. I'm into a lot of things, and though I may not dress upper east side NYC, I might know a thing or two. Or maybe not, but who cares?! It's my blog, and I can write what I want.
So here's the deal. Once you become a mom, you have to start acting like one, or at least you should anyway. And really, that includes how one dresses. So, being that I am a somewhat young mom, I feel like there is some kind of disconnect between what people my age might wear...and what moms my age might wear. And for that matter...what moms not my age are wearing.
I feel like I should dress in a way that won't embarrass my children in any way. It doesn't even matter that one doesn't speak and the other can't enunciate. They both have feelings. And eyes, for that matter. I just remember my mom wearing the most embarrassing things when I was a kid and just wishing I could crawl in a hole and die every single time she wore the hot pink elastic belt (honestly, what is the point of this?!) with the gaudy flower printed poodle skirt. I can still picture this outfit, friends. It's that bad. I never want to do that to my girls. In fact, I'd rather they not remember anything I wore. That means I blended in with the other parents and looked normal...well, except for the inappropriately dressed parents. My girls can laugh at them and feel bad for their children.
I went to a high school fundraiser a few months back, and I couldn't believe what some of these people were wearing. Let me first say that I agonized over what to wear to this shindig because I am a mom, and I wanted to dress appropriately. I wanted to look mom-like, not old, and not like a disco ball in heels or anything. Disco ball in heels was my 25th birthday party, not high school athletics fundraiser. So, I spent a good 2 hours in Target trying to find just the right thing. I eventually settled on a top that was figure-flattering, no cleavage, not too tight, with a long tank underneath and black leggings. I went with flats for shoes because I thought heels would be over the top. This looked great! Promise. Anyway, I am positive that there had to be some kids that were thanking their lucky stars that they weren't going to this event with their parents...I swear, one lady was wearing a bedazzled turquoise lycra/spandex single-shoulder tank top, a white mini skirt and heels. Another lady was the disco ball, in a completely sequined tank dress and 6 inch wedge sandals (maybe she was channeling Lady Gaga?)...
They were everywhere: mid-life crises that is. I had to shrug off the men in the Hawaiian shirts because the theme of the night was a beach party (I was unaware of this until I arrived). The point is that I would have placed some of these people at a club downtown (not even downtown INDY, more like LA or something), rather than a high school fundraiser. It was just weird.
And my husband asked me the other day if the jeans that come in even sizes, rather than odd sizes are the "mom jeans." The subject came up as we were discussing my girls' night over the weekend. I told him that the jeans were sized in odd sizes (juniors), which don't fit those of us ladies who have had kids. So, I said that I didn't want to get them because they didn't fit me quite right. And he said, "Oh, so you have to buy those 'mom jeans' now?" He sounded completely let down and disappointed, like I just told a little kid we weren't getting a puppy for Christmas because Santa is broke or something. I just about died. It was hilarious. So I asked him what he meant...and he explained that mom jeans are the ones that come up past your belly button and make your butt look flat.
I about peed myself. I told him that I already have some jeans that I would consider mom jeans but aren't exactly his version of them. They just fit me better because they're misses (even sizes) instead of juniors. Yes, they come up a little higher. Why? Because us moms are constantly bending over to pick shit up that our kids drop or to pick our kids up. If I wore low rise jeans now, my ass would be permanently hanging out of them. No, my mom jeans don't make my butt look flat. In fact, they make it look damn good! But see, we're getting back to the point of this matter, which is that moms really need to think before they dress themselves in the morning (or afternoon, whenever we end up getting dressed). We need to make sure we aren't embarrassing our children or ourselves.
Til next time...
So here's the deal. Once you become a mom, you have to start acting like one, or at least you should anyway. And really, that includes how one dresses. So, being that I am a somewhat young mom, I feel like there is some kind of disconnect between what people my age might wear...and what moms my age might wear. And for that matter...what moms not my age are wearing.
I feel like I should dress in a way that won't embarrass my children in any way. It doesn't even matter that one doesn't speak and the other can't enunciate. They both have feelings. And eyes, for that matter. I just remember my mom wearing the most embarrassing things when I was a kid and just wishing I could crawl in a hole and die every single time she wore the hot pink elastic belt (honestly, what is the point of this?!) with the gaudy flower printed poodle skirt. I can still picture this outfit, friends. It's that bad. I never want to do that to my girls. In fact, I'd rather they not remember anything I wore. That means I blended in with the other parents and looked normal...well, except for the inappropriately dressed parents. My girls can laugh at them and feel bad for their children.
I went to a high school fundraiser a few months back, and I couldn't believe what some of these people were wearing. Let me first say that I agonized over what to wear to this shindig because I am a mom, and I wanted to dress appropriately. I wanted to look mom-like, not old, and not like a disco ball in heels or anything. Disco ball in heels was my 25th birthday party, not high school athletics fundraiser. So, I spent a good 2 hours in Target trying to find just the right thing. I eventually settled on a top that was figure-flattering, no cleavage, not too tight, with a long tank underneath and black leggings. I went with flats for shoes because I thought heels would be over the top. This looked great! Promise. Anyway, I am positive that there had to be some kids that were thanking their lucky stars that they weren't going to this event with their parents...I swear, one lady was wearing a bedazzled turquoise lycra/spandex single-shoulder tank top, a white mini skirt and heels. Another lady was the disco ball, in a completely sequined tank dress and 6 inch wedge sandals (maybe she was channeling Lady Gaga?)...
And my husband asked me the other day if the jeans that come in even sizes, rather than odd sizes are the "mom jeans." The subject came up as we were discussing my girls' night over the weekend. I told him that the jeans were sized in odd sizes (juniors), which don't fit those of us ladies who have had kids. So, I said that I didn't want to get them because they didn't fit me quite right. And he said, "Oh, so you have to buy those 'mom jeans' now?" He sounded completely let down and disappointed, like I just told a little kid we weren't getting a puppy for Christmas because Santa is broke or something. I just about died. It was hilarious. So I asked him what he meant...and he explained that mom jeans are the ones that come up past your belly button and make your butt look flat.
Til next time...
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
}*{ Baby Magic }*{
A little while back, I posted about Mommy Magic...It's so funny that babies reciprocate that magic when we need it the very most, isn't it? I've been having a rough time over the past few days, but there are these moments each day that make everything okay. It's moments like these...
The uncontrollable laughter of my toddler...the love between sisters...those silly things that only babies can do...When my toddler holds me tight, for no reason at all and says, "love you, mommy"...the soft sigh of my baby as she falls to sleep...Those are the moments that bring me back. Those are the moments when I realize that no matter how bad I feel, there are 2 little ladies that will love me, no matter what my faults (or how many). There are 2 little ones who need me to smile and giggle with them. My babies have the same magic that they see in me! And though I may fall backward multiple times a day, they also bring me so much joy, that if I zero in on those moments, I just know I'm going to be fine...no, not fine...happy.
Til next time...
Til next time...
Monday, May 30, 2011
A Tear-stained Pillow & Puffy Eyes...
Awhile back, I posted a blog about image projection and related it to the story of any super hero, but specifically that of Superman. To summarize it, my theory is that we're all Clark Kent in some way or another. We project what we want people to know and see, and we leave the rest out. We all have somewhat of an alter ego, and there are certain things we will share with only our closest confidants and friends. So, while one person might think that I'm Mother Theresa, another person might see me as a frazzled mom...It's all in what we put out there.
I'm the person who holds it all together for the public, and late at night you might find me broken down, silently crying in bed. So how do you decide who you can trust with those silent tears? How do you trust anyone when those closest to you have some of the worst things to say about you? How do you trust anyone when almost everyone you know has exaggerated or flat-out lied for whatever reason? And really, I shouldn't say almost everyone. I'm really speaking more about the women in my life, those who shaped and molded me, those who were my greatest influence before adulthood, and those who should have taught me how to be the best, most productive woman I could be.
I think it really screws with your ability to have solid, meaningful relationships in life. The last few years of my life have been nothing but soul-searching and self-reflection. I've focused on the big questions in life: why am I here? What happens when I die? If I died today, would I be satisfied with the way I've treated everyone around me? I wake up each morning hoping to be a better wife, mother, and friend than I was just one day prior. I think this constant push for bettering myself has changed me in so many ways. If I look at who I was just 4 years ago, I don't even recognize myself. Physically? Sure, but my soul has opened so much more. My heart is bigger, my anger less, and my belief in the good of humanity has blossomed.
What really sucks is that there are a couple people in my life who haven't noted this change, and who constantly look at the past to gauge my actions and thought process today. Okay, there's one person in particular. We're at odds right now due to disagreements in priorities, but it has become about so much more than that...At this point, I'm not sure if the damage is reparable. I honestly hope that it is, but this is one instance where optimism has forsaken me.
I guess I wonder how deep one's projection runs. Like, because I was so different a few years ago, will I ever be able to change my image? What would happen if Clark Kent started wearing contacts? What if he started wearing colored contacts? Just because I was selfish and angry 5 years ago, will the one person I need to recognize the positive changes I've made always see that anger? Will she always see my 20-something selfish persona? And will she ever take any responsibility for the role she played in creating that person?
I received the best advice from a person who, 5 years ago, I never would have expected it. I never would have guessed that my dad would have the soundest advice for me, the kindest things to say about me, and would be proud of the person I've become. I never would have guessed that, despite our differences, we'd be closer than ever and that he'd be the one to receive the late night phone call and hear me cry. In fact, if a psychic (a real one) had told me that, I would have laughed at her. The thing is, though, that he did have the best things to say. He told me that I know better, that I know my true intentions, I know that I have an open heart (a BIG one). He told me not to listen to the naysayers, no matter how many of them there are, who they are and no matter how hurtful their words may be. They probably haven't taken the time to get to know the woman I've become over the last few years. They are ill-informed or just ignorant. They're messed up (and need to be medicated).
And you know, he's right, but it doesn't take the sting away for some reason. I want that closeness, you know? I want to have that person to call on, no matter what the hour, to laugh hysterically or cry or share something heartfelt. I want to hear that I'm doing such a great job as a mom and a wife. And instead, I've been called disgusting for using my children as pawns (untrue), begrudging & angry, childish, and that I act superior to other people...but as my dad says, you can't change people. You can only work on you.
So I guess that I hope to somehow fill this void in my life with true friends, the kind who see the real me, the kind who I can call at midnight, the kind who won't judge my tear-stained face and puffy eyes...the kind who realize that my heart is good, and my arms are open, and I will happily return the favor anytime. The kind of friends that know that no matter how many offensive words I use, they're just my way of being expressive...the kind of friends who realize it's not their job to judge me, but just to love me for me, the way I do with them.
I pray for the strength and the courage to trust...and the ability to forgive, no matter how many knives have been driven into my back...
Til next time...
I'm the person who holds it all together for the public, and late at night you might find me broken down, silently crying in bed. So how do you decide who you can trust with those silent tears? How do you trust anyone when those closest to you have some of the worst things to say about you? How do you trust anyone when almost everyone you know has exaggerated or flat-out lied for whatever reason? And really, I shouldn't say almost everyone. I'm really speaking more about the women in my life, those who shaped and molded me, those who were my greatest influence before adulthood, and those who should have taught me how to be the best, most productive woman I could be.
I think it really screws with your ability to have solid, meaningful relationships in life. The last few years of my life have been nothing but soul-searching and self-reflection. I've focused on the big questions in life: why am I here? What happens when I die? If I died today, would I be satisfied with the way I've treated everyone around me? I wake up each morning hoping to be a better wife, mother, and friend than I was just one day prior. I think this constant push for bettering myself has changed me in so many ways. If I look at who I was just 4 years ago, I don't even recognize myself. Physically? Sure, but my soul has opened so much more. My heart is bigger, my anger less, and my belief in the good of humanity has blossomed.
What really sucks is that there are a couple people in my life who haven't noted this change, and who constantly look at the past to gauge my actions and thought process today. Okay, there's one person in particular. We're at odds right now due to disagreements in priorities, but it has become about so much more than that...At this point, I'm not sure if the damage is reparable. I honestly hope that it is, but this is one instance where optimism has forsaken me.
I guess I wonder how deep one's projection runs. Like, because I was so different a few years ago, will I ever be able to change my image? What would happen if Clark Kent started wearing contacts? What if he started wearing colored contacts? Just because I was selfish and angry 5 years ago, will the one person I need to recognize the positive changes I've made always see that anger? Will she always see my 20-something selfish persona? And will she ever take any responsibility for the role she played in creating that person?
I received the best advice from a person who, 5 years ago, I never would have expected it. I never would have guessed that my dad would have the soundest advice for me, the kindest things to say about me, and would be proud of the person I've become. I never would have guessed that, despite our differences, we'd be closer than ever and that he'd be the one to receive the late night phone call and hear me cry. In fact, if a psychic (a real one) had told me that, I would have laughed at her. The thing is, though, that he did have the best things to say. He told me that I know better, that I know my true intentions, I know that I have an open heart (a BIG one). He told me not to listen to the naysayers, no matter how many of them there are, who they are and no matter how hurtful their words may be. They probably haven't taken the time to get to know the woman I've become over the last few years. They are ill-informed or just ignorant. They're messed up (and need to be medicated).
And you know, he's right, but it doesn't take the sting away for some reason. I want that closeness, you know? I want to have that person to call on, no matter what the hour, to laugh hysterically or cry or share something heartfelt. I want to hear that I'm doing such a great job as a mom and a wife. And instead, I've been called disgusting for using my children as pawns (untrue), begrudging & angry, childish, and that I act superior to other people...but as my dad says, you can't change people. You can only work on you.
So I guess that I hope to somehow fill this void in my life with true friends, the kind who see the real me, the kind who I can call at midnight, the kind who won't judge my tear-stained face and puffy eyes...the kind who realize that my heart is good, and my arms are open, and I will happily return the favor anytime. The kind of friends that know that no matter how many offensive words I use, they're just my way of being expressive...the kind of friends who realize it's not their job to judge me, but just to love me for me, the way I do with them.
I pray for the strength and the courage to trust...and the ability to forgive, no matter how many knives have been driven into my back...
Til next time...
Saturday, May 28, 2011
All Official & Stuff
Well, if you've been following this story at all, you already know, and if not, where the hell have you been??? This is interesting, newsworthy stuff!
Sissy and Sassy saw the invisible sign in our yard on Tuesday, May 17th, 2011. Check my blog for further details if you're lost. At any rate, we tried everything to find their owners, short of driving around in an ice cream truck with a megaphone and shouting. We found nothing, and it seems no one was looking. So, being the saps that we are, we decided to adopt them. Nevermind that we have a 5 month-old baby, a potty training toddler, a shiba inu with an attitude, and not enough money to feed TWO extra mouths. Who cares?! And what the eff is wrong with Indiana that the Humane Society can't return a damn phone call and only takes in animals by appointment? Grrr....
So today, Sissy and Sassy (who have now learned their names and listen when it suits them), have officially joined the Skoglund clan. We took a trip down to F.A.C.E. clinic, which I HIGHLY recommend for all of your pets' vaccination and spay/neuter needs. It began on a high note, with Sassy jumping into Hayden's carseat, unbeknownst to Mark and me. That is, until we heard her in the back seat saying, "Mommy, puppy!" excitedly. I turned around...and well...
When we arrived at the clinic, we had a bit of a wait ahead of us, as their policy is "first come, first served." We, of course, had the most well-behaved and quiet children and animals. HA! More like, the loudest, most obnoxious bully dogs and the most talkative toddler on the planet. The only one who actually behaved herself was the baby! Thank goodness people were at least seemingly understanding...Although I'm sure they had plenty to talk about when they got home to their spouses...
When it was finally our turn to torture our animals with multiple needles, the fun began. We somehow managed to get all of our belongings (read: mommy's purse, baby's infant seat, baby toys, baby blanket, etc.), children & animals into the tiny little exam room, when our super smart (okay, well, just maybe normal) toddler began exploring all of the different doors!
Sissy and Sassy saw the invisible sign in our yard on Tuesday, May 17th, 2011. Check my blog for further details if you're lost. At any rate, we tried everything to find their owners, short of driving around in an ice cream truck with a megaphone and shouting. We found nothing, and it seems no one was looking. So, being the saps that we are, we decided to adopt them. Nevermind that we have a 5 month-old baby, a potty training toddler, a shiba inu with an attitude, and not enough money to feed TWO extra mouths. Who cares?! And what the eff is wrong with Indiana that the Humane Society can't return a damn phone call and only takes in animals by appointment? Grrr....
So today, Sissy and Sassy (who have now learned their names and listen when it suits them), have officially joined the Skoglund clan. We took a trip down to F.A.C.E. clinic, which I HIGHLY recommend for all of your pets' vaccination and spay/neuter needs. It began on a high note, with Sassy jumping into Hayden's carseat, unbeknownst to Mark and me. That is, until we heard her in the back seat saying, "Mommy, puppy!" excitedly. I turned around...and well...
When it was finally our turn to torture our animals with multiple needles, the fun began. We somehow managed to get all of our belongings (read: mommy's purse, baby's infant seat, baby toys, baby blanket, etc.), children & animals into the tiny little exam room, when our super smart (okay, well, just maybe normal) toddler began exploring all of the different doors!
Damn lever handles!
So the vet ignored this and our single ring circus and says, "Okay, who's first?!" While juggling leashes, a baby, an escaping toddler, and baby gear, Mark decided on Sassy. So the vet picked her up and put her on the table, and Gi decided this would be the perfect time to puke. AWESOME! The vet still ignored the circus in her midst and said, "Well, she definitely needs a dental cleaning. Okay, so 2 small pinches back here and then we'll do the microchip up front..." Meanwhile, I'm trying to reach down and find the receiving blanket to clean up the puke, and Mark is trying to catch Hayden, who had escaped into the "STAFF only" area at the clinic. Maybe she didn't notice our struggle, but the vet got clearly annoyed and said sternly, "I'm going to need someone to hold her." Ummm, sure, lady! Just give me one damn minute so I can clean the puke off my baby and catch my toddler before she vaccinates your STAFF, okaaaay?!
Thank goodness Sassy was super cooperative and didn't mind the pinches at all. She stood there and proudly took her shots, knowing (I'm sure) that she now had a permanent home. Sissy did the same, with only one very tiny squeal when they put in the microchip. They made mama and daddy proud, and yes, we are now officially Mama and Daddy.
Til next time...
The Other Side of the Coin...Casey Anthony & Jared Loughner
So I was thinking...everyone is talking about these two people lately, you know, Casey Anthony & Jared Loughner. One allegedly murdered her daughter, and the other shot up a political event outside a grocery store (okay, that, to me, was a little bit of an odd place for some political meet-n-greet, but whatevs). Now, everybody wants justice.
Let's first talk about Loughner. He was found incompetent to stand trial earlier this week, which means that he was transferred to a facility in Missouri (Coincidence? Missouri?? Misery? I don't know...). Either way, the judge basically said that the dude is whacked out of his mind and won't be able to understand what is going on. Some people are really pissed about this. Personally, I'm not surprised.
The other trial going on that everyone seems to be following is that of Casey Anthony. Let's assume for the moment that she did kill her daughter. I'm not saying one way or another because I haven't followed the story closely enough, nor is it my job to make that determination. However, let's say she did. So these 2 people both committed unspeakable acts of violence and injustice, right? Okay, great (well, not really, but you know).
One of these people is found incompetent to stand trial, and the other is chasing her tail and can't decide which story is the truth. People in America are outraged at both of them. People are disgusted and angry and want justice. So this is where I come in with an opinion.
I would argue that our "justice system" is incompetent. Our justice system is really systematic revenge that is socially acceptable. Here's why: humans are inherently good. (I understand that this is an opinion, but it's one of my core beliefs) If humans are inherently good, no one would intentionally harm another human being unless something is wrong with that person. Criminal acts are committed out of desperation, misunderstanding, fear and mental illness. It is believed by many that Loughner suffers from paranoid schizophrenia. And it could easily be argued that Anthony suffered (suffers?) from post-partum depression, which was the reason that she killed her own daughter.
Now, justice is defined as the quality of being just, impartial or fair. That said, is it really fair to punish either of these human beings for committing an act that they were compromised mentally while committing? Wouldn't the fair thing to do be to fix the problem, rather than to kill them or lock them up? And if they can't ever be "cured," wouldn't the fair thing to do be to treat them in a mental hospital? I'm not saying that they should be held in the same facility as just anyone with a mental illness, but a confinement facility for the mentally ill who have committed crimes against humanity.
I realize that Anthony claims she didn't kill her daughter, but again, this all goes back to human nature. As humans, one of the most common reasons that we lie is to avoid punishment out of fear. So maybe now that she is in her right mind (if she even is), she is scared. Who wants to go to jail? Raise your hand! I mean, I'm not saying that lying is the right thing to do. I'm just saying that none of us can say what we would do in her situation...unless we're in it.
For me, I could never agree with capital punishment because it goes against everything I believe. It's a hell of a lot cheaper to kill the stray animal than it is to rehabilitate it, love it, and take care of it though, isn't it?
Til next time...
Let's first talk about Loughner. He was found incompetent to stand trial earlier this week, which means that he was transferred to a facility in Missouri (Coincidence? Missouri?? Misery? I don't know...). Either way, the judge basically said that the dude is whacked out of his mind and won't be able to understand what is going on. Some people are really pissed about this. Personally, I'm not surprised.
The other trial going on that everyone seems to be following is that of Casey Anthony. Let's assume for the moment that she did kill her daughter. I'm not saying one way or another because I haven't followed the story closely enough, nor is it my job to make that determination. However, let's say she did. So these 2 people both committed unspeakable acts of violence and injustice, right? Okay, great (well, not really, but you know).
One of these people is found incompetent to stand trial, and the other is chasing her tail and can't decide which story is the truth. People in America are outraged at both of them. People are disgusted and angry and want justice. So this is where I come in with an opinion.
I would argue that our "justice system" is incompetent. Our justice system is really systematic revenge that is socially acceptable. Here's why: humans are inherently good. (I understand that this is an opinion, but it's one of my core beliefs) If humans are inherently good, no one would intentionally harm another human being unless something is wrong with that person. Criminal acts are committed out of desperation, misunderstanding, fear and mental illness. It is believed by many that Loughner suffers from paranoid schizophrenia. And it could easily be argued that Anthony suffered (suffers?) from post-partum depression, which was the reason that she killed her own daughter.
Now, justice is defined as the quality of being just, impartial or fair. That said, is it really fair to punish either of these human beings for committing an act that they were compromised mentally while committing? Wouldn't the fair thing to do be to fix the problem, rather than to kill them or lock them up? And if they can't ever be "cured," wouldn't the fair thing to do be to treat them in a mental hospital? I'm not saying that they should be held in the same facility as just anyone with a mental illness, but a confinement facility for the mentally ill who have committed crimes against humanity.
I realize that Anthony claims she didn't kill her daughter, but again, this all goes back to human nature. As humans, one of the most common reasons that we lie is to avoid punishment out of fear. So maybe now that she is in her right mind (if she even is), she is scared. Who wants to go to jail? Raise your hand! I mean, I'm not saying that lying is the right thing to do. I'm just saying that none of us can say what we would do in her situation...unless we're in it.
For me, I could never agree with capital punishment because it goes against everything I believe. It's a hell of a lot cheaper to kill the stray animal than it is to rehabilitate it, love it, and take care of it though, isn't it?
Til next time...
Friday, May 27, 2011
One Friend's Trash Is...Well, Another Friend's Trash?
Okay, so you know how you tell someone a story that you just think is pee-your-pants funny, and the other person looks at you like you just peed your pants? Well, this might be that kind of story. Or...you might pee your pants. So, consider yourself warned either way.
So I've been lending one of my friends some baby clothes, and she's been giving them back to me a little at a time. Her daughter still fits into these clothes, but I think she just wants an excuse to go shopping...Or maybe this is her way of slowly telling me that she thinks the clothes my daughters wore are hideous. Either way, she's been really sweet about it, and I'm happy to loan out my daughters' hideous clothes to whomever will take them off my hands for a little while.
At any rate (a phrase I use that always gets a chuckle out of my dearest husband), she dropped by for a quick second the other day to give me a plastic shopping bag with a few clothing items in it so that I could sell them at my leisure. After she left, I proceeded to open said bag to find...well, TRASH.
Can you say, "oops?!" I just about peed myself and DIED at the same time at this discovery. My exact words to Mark were, "OMG. _______ is going to DIE!!!!" And I continued laughing hysterically while I attempted to text her. She called me back a little while later to tell me that she was "dying." See?? I knew it!
It gets better. OH, YES, people. Fast forward to the next day, when she promised to drop off the actual clothing. Although, I must admit that part of me is thinking that the trash bag was a subtle message letting me know that she does think my clothes are trashy, hence why she mixed up the two bags by her front door. I digress. She put the other plastic bag (the correct one) on my front door, but she also told me that she had to first take it out of her trash can outside. HILARITY. If you're not laughing, too effing bad. I think this is the funniest S*** EVER.
She did say something very interesting to me though. She said, "thank God it was you!" I'm interested to know if she was happy that it was me because I am less likely to judge her for it...OR...maybe it is how she truly feels about me?
And the next time I tell her I'm going to loan her some baby clothes, I'm going to make sure to bring her a nice bag 'o trash! HA!
Honestly, though, I have some of the best friends a girl could ever ask for, and my best friends know they need not be embarrassed if they give me a bag of trash. That's just the kind of friend I am, you know, the kind that you can dump s*** on her front porch...and rather than chastise and judge you for it, I'll smile & laugh, and then throw it away for you. Oh, and then tease you about it...FOREVER!
So I've been lending one of my friends some baby clothes, and she's been giving them back to me a little at a time. Her daughter still fits into these clothes, but I think she just wants an excuse to go shopping...Or maybe this is her way of slowly telling me that she thinks the clothes my daughters wore are hideous. Either way, she's been really sweet about it, and I'm happy to loan out my daughters' hideous clothes to whomever will take them off my hands for a little while.
At any rate (a phrase I use that always gets a chuckle out of my dearest husband), she dropped by for a quick second the other day to give me a plastic shopping bag with a few clothing items in it so that I could sell them at my leisure. After she left, I proceeded to open said bag to find...well, TRASH.
It gets better. OH, YES, people. Fast forward to the next day, when she promised to drop off the actual clothing. Although, I must admit that part of me is thinking that the trash bag was a subtle message letting me know that she does think my clothes are trashy, hence why she mixed up the two bags by her front door. I digress. She put the other plastic bag (the correct one) on my front door, but she also told me that she had to first take it out of her trash can outside. HILARITY. If you're not laughing, too effing bad. I think this is the funniest S*** EVER.
She did say something very interesting to me though. She said, "thank God it was you!" I'm interested to know if she was happy that it was me because I am less likely to judge her for it...OR...maybe it is how she truly feels about me?
And the next time I tell her I'm going to loan her some baby clothes, I'm going to make sure to bring her a nice bag 'o trash! HA!
Honestly, though, I have some of the best friends a girl could ever ask for, and my best friends know they need not be embarrassed if they give me a bag of trash. That's just the kind of friend I am, you know, the kind that you can dump s*** on her front porch...and rather than chastise and judge you for it, I'll smile & laugh, and then throw it away for you. Oh, and then tease you about it...FOREVER!
Friday, May 20, 2011
Sissy & Sassy: Unofficially Skoglunds
Well, it's been 4 days since Sissy and Sassy found their way to us, and it seems as though they are now Skoglund girls. That makes the female ratio in our house now 6:1. Poor Mark, right?! We have decided to adopt them because we're softies. HUGE softies. We are totally in love with them, dammit.
Yesterday evening we went to Walmart and got them collars and tags (because if they ever "run off" again, we want them to have a HOME to come back to), special treats (for training & lovin'), allergy medication (for Sassy), shampoo, and of course FOOD. Today, after the garage sale, we made the trek over to PetSmart to get their nails done & ears cleaned, and Monday they have an appointment to see the doctor for a good once-over. If anyone comes out of the woodwork to claim them, they're pretty much out of luck at this point, unless they'd like to reimburse us for all of the money we'll have spent on them...And that's if they even WANT to leave. I'm pretty sure they're happy where they're at though!
The groomer at PetSmart said she is 150% sure they are Schnauzers, though "not the best bred" she's ever seen. HA! They absolutely HATED having their nails done, and the ear cleaning & plucking was horrible to watch. Apparently, they weren't very "well" taken care of...they just weren't raised on the streets or anything. Neither of them has been spayed, so that is another giant expense we will take on, but again, it's all about Karma. And I keep going back to the fact that if it was me, and I was Sassy or Sissy, I would just PRAY that a nice family would take me in and give me something to eat, a shower, a pedicure, and some love. So even though it might cost us a crapton of money, we are doing the right thing.
I am posting photos now because they are now OUR dogs. I didn't want to post any photos earlier, just in case some fake owners decided they were cute and wanted to steal them from us. lol.
Yesterday evening we went to Walmart and got them collars and tags (because if they ever "run off" again, we want them to have a HOME to come back to), special treats (for training & lovin'), allergy medication (for Sassy), shampoo, and of course FOOD. Today, after the garage sale, we made the trek over to PetSmart to get their nails done & ears cleaned, and Monday they have an appointment to see the doctor for a good once-over. If anyone comes out of the woodwork to claim them, they're pretty much out of luck at this point, unless they'd like to reimburse us for all of the money we'll have spent on them...And that's if they even WANT to leave. I'm pretty sure they're happy where they're at though!
The groomer at PetSmart said she is 150% sure they are Schnauzers, though "not the best bred" she's ever seen. HA! They absolutely HATED having their nails done, and the ear cleaning & plucking was horrible to watch. Apparently, they weren't very "well" taken care of...they just weren't raised on the streets or anything. Neither of them has been spayed, so that is another giant expense we will take on, but again, it's all about Karma. And I keep going back to the fact that if it was me, and I was Sassy or Sissy, I would just PRAY that a nice family would take me in and give me something to eat, a shower, a pedicure, and some love. So even though it might cost us a crapton of money, we are doing the right thing.
I am posting photos now because they are now OUR dogs. I didn't want to post any photos earlier, just in case some fake owners decided they were cute and wanted to steal them from us. lol.
Sissy & I
After baths, they're SO relaxed!
Sissy
Relaxing on the sofa, watching a little Disney Channel
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Here's Our Sign: Lost/Orphaned Animals Welcome...
So, call me a sucker, but I just can't leave animals out running wild when I know they're not wild animals. Mark and I have found (and returned) enough dogs over the course of our relationship to start an orphanage. Swear. Just last week we found a Chihuahua. No tags, no collar, nothing. Thank GAWD the owner posted all over our subdivision, and we were able to return her within a matter of hours. A few months back it was a Schnauzer mix from the neighborhood next door. This one was well-marked and returned faster than that. Before THAT it was a Jack Russell that we found running on the side of the road (a busy one), thankfully the owner was only a few minutes behind him. Last summer, "Lucky" wandered over to our house to play 4 times before we told the owners that we would call animal control the next time...which we actually ended up having to do. I digress...
Last night around 7:45pm, it was raining and nasty and chilly out, and 2 adorable little dogs wandered into our yard..Mark had just been telling me about a bird who had been dive-bombing our poor cat for awhile, so when I heard him say "Oh. no. Oh. My. God." I was certain that the bird had succeeded in his efforts to at least maim our poor guy. Nope. I was wrong. There were the 2 cutest little orphans one ever did see...and WHO would leave them out in the cold and rain? Well, apparently, most other people that I've talked to...not us. First, I walked them through our neighborhood, which was completely quiet. There were no signs of anyone searching for these ladies...So then Mark took off in his Jeep with them to look around the neighborhoods nearby and then to the Emergency vet to see if they were micro-chipped or if anyone had come looking there for them. Nope, no luck...so he came home and slept on the kitchen floor with them.
He did this, of course, because they are suffering from some kind of separation anxiety and would bark and cry if someone left the room. It's not like we had 2 sleeping kids and another female (territorial) dog in the house or anything. I mean, what the eff?! So rather than spend my day pricing crap for my garage sale, which starts TOMORROW, I have spent the day trying to acclimate all of the dogs, keep the kids happy, clean up poop (from a potty training toddler AND one of the dogs--not sure which one), oh AND clean up toys so the new dogs don't eat them.
At any rate, I am pretty sure there is an invisible sign that only dogs can see and read (somewhat like a dog whistle?) in our yard that says: "Lost/Orphaned Animals Welcome. Will feed, bathe & love. Ask for nothing in return." Yes, we're saps. But I'm pretty certain it will pay off in one way or another. That's Karma, folks, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Til Next time...
Last night around 7:45pm, it was raining and nasty and chilly out, and 2 adorable little dogs wandered into our yard..Mark had just been telling me about a bird who had been dive-bombing our poor cat for awhile, so when I heard him say "Oh. no. Oh. My. God." I was certain that the bird had succeeded in his efforts to at least maim our poor guy. Nope. I was wrong. There were the 2 cutest little orphans one ever did see...and WHO would leave them out in the cold and rain? Well, apparently, most other people that I've talked to...not us. First, I walked them through our neighborhood, which was completely quiet. There were no signs of anyone searching for these ladies...So then Mark took off in his Jeep with them to look around the neighborhoods nearby and then to the Emergency vet to see if they were micro-chipped or if anyone had come looking there for them. Nope, no luck...so he came home and slept on the kitchen floor with them.
He did this, of course, because they are suffering from some kind of separation anxiety and would bark and cry if someone left the room. It's not like we had 2 sleeping kids and another female (territorial) dog in the house or anything. I mean, what the eff?! So rather than spend my day pricing crap for my garage sale, which starts TOMORROW, I have spent the day trying to acclimate all of the dogs, keep the kids happy, clean up poop (from a potty training toddler AND one of the dogs--not sure which one), oh AND clean up toys so the new dogs don't eat them.
At any rate, I am pretty sure there is an invisible sign that only dogs can see and read (somewhat like a dog whistle?) in our yard that says: "Lost/Orphaned Animals Welcome. Will feed, bathe & love. Ask for nothing in return." Yes, we're saps. But I'm pretty certain it will pay off in one way or another. That's Karma, folks, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Til Next time...
Monday, May 16, 2011
All Kidding Aside...An Update on My Birth Trauma
For all of those who have offered me any kind of support since the birth of Genevieve, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, even if it was just by listening to me or reading my story. It has been a difficult road, but it's one that I am almost grateful for because it has given me so much perspective and has allowed me to understand the countless women who have endured what I have. I remember wondering in the beginning if time really does heal all things and how much scar tissue would remain in the weeks, months, and years that would follow that day.
I remember wondering how I would love my second daughter as much as my first, being that her birth was such a painful experience and one that I knew would haunt me for a long time to come. I remember thinking about it every single time I looked at her face, no matter how perfect and beautiful she was. Each time I looked at her, each time I held her, every single suckle at my breast I was holding back tears. Add to that the fact that our breastfeeding relationship started out as rocky as could ever be possible, and one can easily see why I felt the way that I did. Each day brought new trials, each hour tested my character and tenacity. I remember wondering how on Earth I would make it through 6 weeks of nursing when so much trauma had occurred in the first hours and days.
That said, I wanted to let everyone know that though time hasn't necessarily healed me, it has allowed me to understand that life isn't perfect. It has allowed me to realize that sometimes you have to detour in order to really see the beauty around you. So even though Genevieve's birth was horrible and painful and unfair, I have bonded with her in a way that I had always hoped was possible. A week or so ago, Birthing Naturally posted on Facebook and posed a very interesting question about breastfeeding: who taught you? Was it a nurse, a lactation consultant, a book, a friend, your baby? So, I thought about it...and it made me realize that Genevieve Rose has taught me. She and I are making this journey together, each day as we learn from one another and grow our bond. Who would have ever thought that a baby could teach you how to breastfeed? I've got all the best books out there, had lactation consultants and nurses at my disposal, friends who have been there done that, and the best teacher is my beautiful daughter.
I think what makes this so much more important is that Genevieve has helped to heal the pain of not being able to nurse Hayden. I was absolutely devastated when I had to start formula with her at 6 months. I felt that my body had failed me, that I had failed to do what every woman is meant to do. So it's like I've come full circle. And even though I know there will always be some amount of pain associated with Genevieve's birth, she has healed the pain I had with not being able to breastfeed Hayden. She's an amazing teacher, and I told Mark yesterday, she truly is the BEST medicine.
And at 4 months and change, she is my breastfeeding TROPHY, weighing in at 17lbs 8oz!
Til next time...
I remember wondering how I would love my second daughter as much as my first, being that her birth was such a painful experience and one that I knew would haunt me for a long time to come. I remember thinking about it every single time I looked at her face, no matter how perfect and beautiful she was. Each time I looked at her, each time I held her, every single suckle at my breast I was holding back tears. Add to that the fact that our breastfeeding relationship started out as rocky as could ever be possible, and one can easily see why I felt the way that I did. Each day brought new trials, each hour tested my character and tenacity. I remember wondering how on Earth I would make it through 6 weeks of nursing when so much trauma had occurred in the first hours and days.
That said, I wanted to let everyone know that though time hasn't necessarily healed me, it has allowed me to understand that life isn't perfect. It has allowed me to realize that sometimes you have to detour in order to really see the beauty around you. So even though Genevieve's birth was horrible and painful and unfair, I have bonded with her in a way that I had always hoped was possible. A week or so ago, Birthing Naturally posted on Facebook and posed a very interesting question about breastfeeding: who taught you? Was it a nurse, a lactation consultant, a book, a friend, your baby? So, I thought about it...and it made me realize that Genevieve Rose has taught me. She and I are making this journey together, each day as we learn from one another and grow our bond. Who would have ever thought that a baby could teach you how to breastfeed? I've got all the best books out there, had lactation consultants and nurses at my disposal, friends who have been there done that, and the best teacher is my beautiful daughter.
I think what makes this so much more important is that Genevieve has helped to heal the pain of not being able to nurse Hayden. I was absolutely devastated when I had to start formula with her at 6 months. I felt that my body had failed me, that I had failed to do what every woman is meant to do. So it's like I've come full circle. And even though I know there will always be some amount of pain associated with Genevieve's birth, she has healed the pain I had with not being able to breastfeed Hayden. She's an amazing teacher, and I told Mark yesterday, she truly is the BEST medicine.
And at 4 months and change, she is my breastfeeding TROPHY, weighing in at 17lbs 8oz!
Til next time...
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Playset Envy: The Story of Our Swingset
So, we did it. We bought a swingset. It's funny that when you're in the market for one, you start checking out other people's sets like you check out cars. You compare, contrast, stop & stare. It's pretty sick, actually. I think Mark and I have both almost wrecked while checking out someone else's swingset...
So we checked around and decided to go with Lowe's. We first went to Home Depot because I found one online that I liked that was $870. It's a lot, but you know it's worth it not to have to drag everyone out of the house, load up the car and go to a park with the baby...oh, and a 2 year-old who'd much rather get 40 vaccines in a day than listen to anything Mommy tells her to do. So we get there only to find out that this price doesn't include a SLIDE (???) or the support beams needed to complete the assembly. Who the EFF thought of this one? I mean, when you buy a KIT for a swingset, you would THINK it would include the things you need to put the damn thing together, right? Anyway, after making my case to the manager about why this was the most misleading and ridiculous thing I've ever seen, she basically said that she's not the company who makes the kit, and so she's not responsible. So off to Lowe's we went!
Our first trip was to the one over on Shadeland. We were directed to the right aisle by a super nice guy...GREAT start! I looked and immediately fell in love with the most expensive one (DAMMIT)...I mean,
it has a BRIDGE, people!
So I decided we had to have it, and I needed to speak with the manager so we could get a deal on it. As soon as I saw this character, I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with him, but I gave it a go anyway. I told him I wanted 10% off, and he asked me WHY? I told him that I knew I didn't have to pay full price, and that was that. He told me I needed to "work with" him in order for him to work with me. Ridiculous, right? I mean, *I* am the customer. *I* am the one who is either going to drop the cash or walk out of your store with nada. Well, he chose to let me walk out...and right over to the store on Post instead. I walked directly to the customer service desk and told the assistant manager that I wanted the swingset, and I wanted 10% off. He said "no problem." So we bought it right then. How exciting! We set up delivery for the following Friday because this thing is the size of a CAR, and we'd have no way of getting it to our house.
So I get a call Friday around lunch time that the delivery guy cannot find the swingset, and he asked me how I'd like to proceed. Um, how about you find my damn swingset that I paid well over $1K for and drive it on over to my house?! I had to practically hold this guy's hand and explain how to problem solve...hilarious. I asked if they could get it from a different store (preferrably the Shadeland location!), and he said he'd try to get his hands on one and give me a call back. So he calls back a few hours later to tell me they found mine in HIS store. He said it was "hiding." Really??? HIDING?! Like how you stash a doorbuster deal on Black Friday? I can totally see some lady doing that with this thing. Anyway, I held back my laughter and told him that was great. So we reset delivery for the following day.
It was the most ridiculous circus I've ever seen. It came on a flatbed semi, and he had to get it off using a forklift. Well, the box is longer than it is wide, so he had to pick the pallet up so that it was much wider than it was long. He wanted us to move BOTH vehicles out of our garage in order to get it in...UM, NO. So I explained to Mark that it was ridiculous that he couldn't figure out that he could drop it in the driveway and then use the forklift to PUSH it into the garage long-ways, rather than lifting it in and taking up the entire garage. I went inside to take a few deep breaths, and amazingly, my plan worked!
So now we're just waiting for my dad to come down to put the thing together. I promise to post more pictures of the entire charade once we're all done!
Til next time...
So we checked around and decided to go with Lowe's. We first went to Home Depot because I found one online that I liked that was $870. It's a lot, but you know it's worth it not to have to drag everyone out of the house, load up the car and go to a park with the baby...oh, and a 2 year-old who'd much rather get 40 vaccines in a day than listen to anything Mommy tells her to do. So we get there only to find out that this price doesn't include a SLIDE (???) or the support beams needed to complete the assembly. Who the EFF thought of this one? I mean, when you buy a KIT for a swingset, you would THINK it would include the things you need to put the damn thing together, right? Anyway, after making my case to the manager about why this was the most misleading and ridiculous thing I've ever seen, she basically said that she's not the company who makes the kit, and so she's not responsible. So off to Lowe's we went!
Our first trip was to the one over on Shadeland. We were directed to the right aisle by a super nice guy...GREAT start! I looked and immediately fell in love with the most expensive one (DAMMIT)...I mean,
it has a BRIDGE, people!
So I get a call Friday around lunch time that the delivery guy cannot find the swingset, and he asked me how I'd like to proceed. Um, how about you find my damn swingset that I paid well over $1K for and drive it on over to my house?! I had to practically hold this guy's hand and explain how to problem solve...hilarious. I asked if they could get it from a different store (preferrably the Shadeland location!), and he said he'd try to get his hands on one and give me a call back. So he calls back a few hours later to tell me they found mine in HIS store. He said it was "hiding." Really??? HIDING?! Like how you stash a doorbuster deal on Black Friday? I can totally see some lady doing that with this thing. Anyway, I held back my laughter and told him that was great. So we reset delivery for the following day.
It was the most ridiculous circus I've ever seen. It came on a flatbed semi, and he had to get it off using a forklift. Well, the box is longer than it is wide, so he had to pick the pallet up so that it was much wider than it was long. He wanted us to move BOTH vehicles out of our garage in order to get it in...UM, NO. So I explained to Mark that it was ridiculous that he couldn't figure out that he could drop it in the driveway and then use the forklift to PUSH it into the garage long-ways, rather than lifting it in and taking up the entire garage. I went inside to take a few deep breaths, and amazingly, my plan worked!
Til next time...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Whose Paradise Is THIS?!
So I pretty much stopped listening to the radio several years ago when I discovered Napster. Why is that? You might ask. Well, it's because pop stations (and I imagine other stations as well) generally play the same 10 songs over and over and over. I would hear what I thought to be a great song and would be sick of it by day 3 on the radio because I had heard it 50 bajillion times. I mean, yeah, it's a great song and all, but monotony drives me insane. I think it probably gets on most people's nerves.
Well, I have news for you, people. If you think the radio is bad, try having a toddler! I LOVE Disney. I love Radio Disney, the Disney Channel, Disney movies, Disney theme parks, Disney anything. That said, I am going to drink the Disney haterade (that has been circulating for a couple weeks now---a blog for another day) for just a moment. My little one has latched onto "This Is My Paradise" from Bridgit Mendler like her ratty little bunny that she can't sleep without. However, I didn't realize this until after I had purchased the mp3 and put it on her playlist for car rides...
Case in point: yesterday, we rode all the way from Greenwood to Geist in "Paradise." With anything else, I can tell her "all done" or "all gone," and we move on with our lives. For some reason, though, this is one song she's not willing to let go. So I had a choice yesterday: listen to her scream bloody murder because she wants to hear Bridgit -OR- listen to Bridgit for 45 minutes...I chose Bridgit. I think it was the lesser of 2 evils, really, even though I do think the song is cute. If I had let her cry, I'd have had TWO screamers because the baby would've been startled and scared. Also, I'm pretty sure I would've suffered some kind of temporary (possibly permanent?) hearing loss if I allowed my little monster to scream. She has quite a set of lungs. So, I believe I made the right choice.
I guess, more than anything, I find it fascinating that someone her age can show such a preference for anything. The girl clearly has preferences, too. Tinkerbell is one of them. If she sees anything with Tinkerbell on it, she goes nuts. She always has, even back before she could say anything. Hell, she still can't SAY Tinkerbell. Doesn't matter, though, she loves her. She also loves dresses. If I put her in a dress, she just lights up. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen, honestly. It melts my heart. She loves to spin and twirl in her dresses...And now Bridgit's new song. So, I am truly hoping that this phase passes soon so that I can enjoy some of the other songs that Radio Disney has to offer!
Til next time...
Well, I have news for you, people. If you think the radio is bad, try having a toddler! I LOVE Disney. I love Radio Disney, the Disney Channel, Disney movies, Disney theme parks, Disney anything. That said, I am going to drink the Disney haterade (that has been circulating for a couple weeks now---a blog for another day) for just a moment. My little one has latched onto "This Is My Paradise" from Bridgit Mendler like her ratty little bunny that she can't sleep without. However, I didn't realize this until after I had purchased the mp3 and put it on her playlist for car rides...
Case in point: yesterday, we rode all the way from Greenwood to Geist in "Paradise." With anything else, I can tell her "all done" or "all gone," and we move on with our lives. For some reason, though, this is one song she's not willing to let go. So I had a choice yesterday: listen to her scream bloody murder because she wants to hear Bridgit -OR- listen to Bridgit for 45 minutes...I chose Bridgit. I think it was the lesser of 2 evils, really, even though I do think the song is cute. If I had let her cry, I'd have had TWO screamers because the baby would've been startled and scared. Also, I'm pretty sure I would've suffered some kind of temporary (possibly permanent?) hearing loss if I allowed my little monster to scream. She has quite a set of lungs. So, I believe I made the right choice.
I guess, more than anything, I find it fascinating that someone her age can show such a preference for anything. The girl clearly has preferences, too. Tinkerbell is one of them. If she sees anything with Tinkerbell on it, she goes nuts. She always has, even back before she could say anything. Hell, she still can't SAY Tinkerbell. Doesn't matter, though, she loves her. She also loves dresses. If I put her in a dress, she just lights up. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen, honestly. It melts my heart. She loves to spin and twirl in her dresses...And now Bridgit's new song. So, I am truly hoping that this phase passes soon so that I can enjoy some of the other songs that Radio Disney has to offer!
Til next time...
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Where's My Effing Chapstick?!
Here's the thing: I have never, ever had to buy chapstick because I ran out. EVER. Chapstick is like socks. You know, it magically disappears without regard to reason. And why is that exactly? If I'm looking for my favorite lipgloss or lipstick (which I rarely wear btw, I'm more of a gloss girl), I have no trouble locating it. If it's chapstick, something ridiculous happens. It miraculously disappears as though David Copperfield himself came into my house and "abracadabra-d" it to his basement...or wherever it is that he keeps stuff that he makes disappear. Either that or I leave it in my pocket (the one day of the week that I'm not wearing yoga pants and actually put jeans on), and it goes therough the washer and dryer. Or my dog eats it. Or better yet, my toddler eats it. It drives me insane.
However, I am making it my new year's resolution (I realize I'm a bit late to the party on that one) to make it through an entire tube of chapstick without David Copperfield stealing it. Even if it's just one, I'll feel like it was a monumental victory.
Til next time...
However, I am making it my new year's resolution (I realize I'm a bit late to the party on that one) to make it through an entire tube of chapstick without David Copperfield stealing it. Even if it's just one, I'll feel like it was a monumental victory.
Til next time...
Why People Are Not @$$holes
So I was thinking this morning, while Hubby was driving us to my hair appointment, and I said to him, "I think I'm going to start calling people potholes instead of a**holes." This was after we almost crashed the truck and would have then gone flying into Fall Creek (okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but still) due to an exorbitant amount of potholes on 79th Street. He looked at me, quite perplexed, and so I went into an explanation of why this is a completely sensible alternative.
The entire premise of calling someone an a**hole is due to the fact that they have been rude, disrespectful, hurtful, or *insert negatively charged adjective here.* Well, my line of thinking is that this doesn't really fit with what the true definition is of what an a**hole actually is. I mean, an a**hole isn't so bad, is it? It actually aids in ridding the body of toxins and waste. Maybe it's not the most attractive piece of my anatomy, but there's no reason to hate on it by using it to reference rude, mean and disrespectful people. The a**hole isn't vile or unforgiving or disrespectful or damaging or hurtful.
Potholes, on the other hand, are demonic creatures from the fiery depths of the underworld. They cause thousands of dollars worth of damage to people's vehicles. Avoiding them and hitting them causes people to wreck or lose control of their vehicles. They screw with the alignment of my truck. They cost the city loads of money to repair. They have even caused major trauma to my (and I'm sure many other moms') lactating tatas. All in all, they're awful. Due to these facts, I have come to the conclusion that a**holes aren't the problem. It's potholes.
The bonus about switching up my daily (yes, I curse daily) vocabulary? It's the simple fact that I am much less likely to be chastised when my daughter calls someone a pothole. Let's just hope she isn't already waiting to bust out with a**hole...
Til next time...
The entire premise of calling someone an a**hole is due to the fact that they have been rude, disrespectful, hurtful, or *insert negatively charged adjective here.* Well, my line of thinking is that this doesn't really fit with what the true definition is of what an a**hole actually is. I mean, an a**hole isn't so bad, is it? It actually aids in ridding the body of toxins and waste. Maybe it's not the most attractive piece of my anatomy, but there's no reason to hate on it by using it to reference rude, mean and disrespectful people. The a**hole isn't vile or unforgiving or disrespectful or damaging or hurtful.
Potholes, on the other hand, are demonic creatures from the fiery depths of the underworld. They cause thousands of dollars worth of damage to people's vehicles. Avoiding them and hitting them causes people to wreck or lose control of their vehicles. They screw with the alignment of my truck. They cost the city loads of money to repair. They have even caused major trauma to my (and I'm sure many other moms') lactating tatas. All in all, they're awful. Due to these facts, I have come to the conclusion that a**holes aren't the problem. It's potholes.
The bonus about switching up my daily (yes, I curse daily) vocabulary? It's the simple fact that I am much less likely to be chastised when my daughter calls someone a pothole. Let's just hope she isn't already waiting to bust out with a**hole...
Til next time...
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Struggle For Inner [Pink]
Recently, I read an interview in Parents magazine with the author of Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Peggy Orenstein. The article pissed me off and made me want to burn my copy of the magazine, but unfortunately, it also has some great vacation ideas...So, rather, I decided to venture over to Amazon.com and see what the hype is all about with this book.
From what I can guage, Ms. Orenstein has started a war with Disney and anything "princess." She has begun (or maybe just further exaggerated) the anti-princess movement. One of the chapters in this book is entitled: The Other Disney Princesses: From Wholesome to Whoresome. What kind of judgment is THAT?! I already didn't like this woman, and now she made me want to burn her book and Parents magazine. I mean, how can someone say that princesses are ruining are kids and then go and say something like that? Does Ms. Orenstein know these young women? Honestly! I don't know, but if it's me, and I'm going to put myself out there for the world to see and make a really bold statement such as suggesting that Cinderella is eating my daughter, I certainly wouldn't follow it up by calling anybody a whore. I'm pretty sure that's not going to help my credibility, you know?
Well anyway, this woman, coupled with the backlash that has come from Walmart announcing its new line of cosmetics for "tweens" (which is just filling a hole since MaryKate & Ashley Olsen's line went kaput) got me thinking about how these things fit into my own life as both a young girl and now, as a mom.
My mom used to call me a princess all the time, especially in my teen years, which I totally resented. In fact, I still hate it. I hated it because it was her way of telling me that I was being a spoiled rotten brat, but it was more socially acceptable...I guess. Even in my early 20s, she would still bust it out whenever she felt I was being high maintenance or when I didn't know how to do wife-ish things. "You're such a princess," she would say. So for me, the whole idea of little girls being called "princess" has a negative connotation. In fact, I really hadn't thought about this until recently, but when my first daughter received any clothing that had "princess" on it, I subconsciously ignored it and never put it on her. I'm beginning to understand why now...
So, I had always been a "girly girl" growing up. I loved to play with make-up, loved dresses and Barbies and anything with ruffles. I loved ballet class, shopping, and one of my favorite things to do at my Grandma's house was to put on her costume jewelry and lipstick.
I didn't have any kind of interest in trains, despite the fact that I remember my uncle having a model train in his basement. I had no interest in cars, though my dad was a mechanic and even owned his own shop. When I played over at my (boy) cousin's house, we sometimes played with Lincoln Logs or blocks, but that was the extent of my interest in anything "boyish." I hated fishing, I couldn't stand being dirty...are we getting the idea yet? I grew up on a street that had about 50 boys and 3 girls: my sister, my friend Kristin, and me. The boys would want to play sports, whether it be baseball, basketball, football or wrestling; I always wanted to be the cheerleader. I started dance lessons at age 7, and I continued dancing all through high school.
The funny thing is that at some point during high school, I started a war with myself. I'm fairly certain now, looking back, that I started this war as a rebellion against the "princess" that people saw in me. I think that even some of my friends were annoyed at my femininity...I felt like I was disappointing my dad because I had no interest in the only ways he knew how to bond with me: fishing, hunting & cars. This, coupled with my mom's use of "princess" in daily conversation, really flipped my switch. I began a movement. I forced myself to learn how to change the oil in my car, I went on a couple fishing trips with my dad, and I even stopped wearing skirts and anything pink. I wanted to prove to everyone (more than myself, really) that I was more than a tiara. It was exhausting. It wasn't fun. And frankly, it just wasn't me.
My senior year, I finally gave in to myself. I realized that I really just didn't care what anyone thought of me. I LOVE pink. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE putting on make-up. And damnit, I LOVE a great pair of stilletos and a little black dress. And I'll be damned if someone's going to make me feel guilty about it. My love of all things girly has nothing to do with marketing. It has nothing to do with all the fairy tales I read and watched growing up. It doesn't even coming from my mother's influence, since she didn't teach me anything about make-up, hair or fashion. I learned that all on my own and from some of my friends on my dance teams. It comes from my heart, and I'm good with that.
The problem I have with Ms. Orenstein is that she doesn't realize (or maybe she does) that having a love of pink, frilly stuff and princesses doesn't make her daughter (or anyone else's) less of a person. It doesn't make her promiscuous or materialistic. It makes her who she is. I think people like Orenstein have this narrow-minded view that says if a girl likes pink and shoes and make-up and fashion that she's destined for a life of materialism and stupidity. Feminine isn't synonomous with stupid or promiscuous. And princess isn't synonomous with entitlement, materialistim, and superiority either.
I'm really glad that I learned these things. I'm really glad that I could look within myself and realize that I don't have to feel bad because I love the things that I do. I can love shopping and pink. I can love make-up as a way of artistic expression, not just "sexualization." And so can my daughters. I'll teach them what it means to be a true princess, one who's humble and loving, compassionate and giving, and who's beautiful both inside and out.
From what I can guage, Ms. Orenstein has started a war with Disney and anything "princess." She has begun (or maybe just further exaggerated) the anti-princess movement. One of the chapters in this book is entitled: The Other Disney Princesses: From Wholesome to Whoresome. What kind of judgment is THAT?! I already didn't like this woman, and now she made me want to burn her book and Parents magazine. I mean, how can someone say that princesses are ruining are kids and then go and say something like that? Does Ms. Orenstein know these young women? Honestly! I don't know, but if it's me, and I'm going to put myself out there for the world to see and make a really bold statement such as suggesting that Cinderella is eating my daughter, I certainly wouldn't follow it up by calling anybody a whore. I'm pretty sure that's not going to help my credibility, you know?
Well anyway, this woman, coupled with the backlash that has come from Walmart announcing its new line of cosmetics for "tweens" (which is just filling a hole since MaryKate & Ashley Olsen's line went kaput) got me thinking about how these things fit into my own life as both a young girl and now, as a mom.
My mom used to call me a princess all the time, especially in my teen years, which I totally resented. In fact, I still hate it. I hated it because it was her way of telling me that I was being a spoiled rotten brat, but it was more socially acceptable...I guess. Even in my early 20s, she would still bust it out whenever she felt I was being high maintenance or when I didn't know how to do wife-ish things. "You're such a princess," she would say. So for me, the whole idea of little girls being called "princess" has a negative connotation. In fact, I really hadn't thought about this until recently, but when my first daughter received any clothing that had "princess" on it, I subconsciously ignored it and never put it on her. I'm beginning to understand why now...
So, I had always been a "girly girl" growing up. I loved to play with make-up, loved dresses and Barbies and anything with ruffles. I loved ballet class, shopping, and one of my favorite things to do at my Grandma's house was to put on her costume jewelry and lipstick.
The funny thing is that at some point during high school, I started a war with myself. I'm fairly certain now, looking back, that I started this war as a rebellion against the "princess" that people saw in me. I think that even some of my friends were annoyed at my femininity...I felt like I was disappointing my dad because I had no interest in the only ways he knew how to bond with me: fishing, hunting & cars. This, coupled with my mom's use of "princess" in daily conversation, really flipped my switch. I began a movement. I forced myself to learn how to change the oil in my car, I went on a couple fishing trips with my dad, and I even stopped wearing skirts and anything pink. I wanted to prove to everyone (more than myself, really) that I was more than a tiara. It was exhausting. It wasn't fun. And frankly, it just wasn't me.
My senior year, I finally gave in to myself. I realized that I really just didn't care what anyone thought of me. I LOVE pink. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE putting on make-up. And damnit, I LOVE a great pair of stilletos and a little black dress. And I'll be damned if someone's going to make me feel guilty about it. My love of all things girly has nothing to do with marketing. It has nothing to do with all the fairy tales I read and watched growing up. It doesn't even coming from my mother's influence, since she didn't teach me anything about make-up, hair or fashion. I learned that all on my own and from some of my friends on my dance teams. It comes from my heart, and I'm good with that.
The problem I have with Ms. Orenstein is that she doesn't realize (or maybe she does) that having a love of pink, frilly stuff and princesses doesn't make her daughter (or anyone else's) less of a person. It doesn't make her promiscuous or materialistic. It makes her who she is. I think people like Orenstein have this narrow-minded view that says if a girl likes pink and shoes and make-up and fashion that she's destined for a life of materialism and stupidity. Feminine isn't synonomous with stupid or promiscuous. And princess isn't synonomous with entitlement, materialistim, and superiority either.
I'm really glad that I learned these things. I'm really glad that I could look within myself and realize that I don't have to feel bad because I love the things that I do. I can love shopping and pink. I can love make-up as a way of artistic expression, not just "sexualization." And so can my daughters. I'll teach them what it means to be a true princess, one who's humble and loving, compassionate and giving, and who's beautiful both inside and out.
Friday, January 28, 2011
The Magic of Baby Wipes
So this whole crayon thing got me thinking on this topic the other day...You see, when she first colored on the wall I thought, "no big deal. I'll use baby wipes." I figured I had out-manuevered my toddler and wasn't worried one bit. The problem was, though, that my "magic eraser" didn't work! I couldn't believe it. The baby wipe didn't even SMUDGE the crayon. Now, some of you (especially non-parents) out there in cyber space might think I'm insane for thinking it would work or for even trying, but please allow me to explain to you the magic that is baby wipes.
In our house, we have a container of baby wipes in every room. This is no exaggeration, folks. Why have them in the kitchen? Well, in the kitchen, they can be used to clean spaghetti sauce off of a toddler, or better yet---off of said toddler's white shirt! They can also be used to wipe down the table quickly once mealtime is finished, especially since the toddler is bound to make a quick exit, and there is not enough time to bust out the antibacterial cleaner and paper towels, which are of course in a child-locked cabinet...And maybe while your little one is chowing down, you notice that your white board is looking a bit cluttered and could use a cleaning...Guess what you would use to clean it off...anyone? Baby wipes! Did you notice that white scuff mark on my black oven? No? Well, that's because my baby wipes took it off!
Moving on to the living room, the baby wipe possibilities are seemingly endless. Of course, combined with a portable changing pad, the living room is a great place to change a diaper...well, provided that you aren't entertaining company (non-parents who might be grossed out) of course, in which case you may want to move to a more "appropriate" venue. That's boring though. Say that you notice you have some water spotting on your off-white microfiber sofa (what idiot parent would ever buy an off-white microfiber sofa you might ask? ME)...When your steam-vac doesn't do the job and where Oxy Clean fails, the baby wipe prevails! And when your little one decides to sip on your orange soda and spills it all over your ivory carpeting (and what parent in her right mind would ever have IVORY carpeting? Well, I will never claim to be in my right mind, but yes, me again), don't despair! Grab a baby wipe! Are we getting the idea yet? Trust me, my dearest non-parent friends and followers, these babies can provide a benefit in your home as well. For example: drunken buddy spills Captain & Coke on your off-white microfiber sofa? It's no match for the baby wipe! Girls' night get a bit crazy? Red wine on your carpet? No problem! You see where I'm going with this?
I think the best baby wipe victory so far, though, has definitely been getting latex paint off the carpet. Yes, people, you read that right. Latex paint off ivory carpet. PURPLE latex paint, in fact. I was about to lose it when my hubby had an oopsie while we were so carefully painting our daughter's room. We had put a sheet down and everything, and when it came time to clean up that day, we moved the sheet only to find a HUGE blob of purple paint on the carpet. The blob was gone with a couple baby wipes and some elbow grease. UN-freakin-believable.
So with all of these victories, baby wipes have become my go-to item for any kind of mess on any surface. It only stands to reason that I would have expected the wipes to do the trick on the crayon...the WASHABLE crayon. But alas, this time baby wipes were defeated by Kleenex! Who knew?!
I've said this to my hubby a few times since the whole latex paint thing: "What is in these things anyway?!" But the truth is, I'm really not sure that I want to know...because if I find out, I'm afraid I might have to deem them unsafe for my kids' behinds. And then what?! So I have decided not to do any further research into the 'why' they work and to just consider it magic.
Til next time...
Moving on to the living room, the baby wipe possibilities are seemingly endless. Of course, combined with a portable changing pad, the living room is a great place to change a diaper...well, provided that you aren't entertaining company (non-parents who might be grossed out) of course, in which case you may want to move to a more "appropriate" venue. That's boring though. Say that you notice you have some water spotting on your off-white microfiber sofa (what idiot parent would ever buy an off-white microfiber sofa you might ask? ME)...When your steam-vac doesn't do the job and where Oxy Clean fails, the baby wipe prevails! And when your little one decides to sip on your orange soda and spills it all over your ivory carpeting (and what parent in her right mind would ever have IVORY carpeting? Well, I will never claim to be in my right mind, but yes, me again), don't despair! Grab a baby wipe! Are we getting the idea yet? Trust me, my dearest non-parent friends and followers, these babies can provide a benefit in your home as well. For example: drunken buddy spills Captain & Coke on your off-white microfiber sofa? It's no match for the baby wipe! Girls' night get a bit crazy? Red wine on your carpet? No problem! You see where I'm going with this?
I think the best baby wipe victory so far, though, has definitely been getting latex paint off the carpet. Yes, people, you read that right. Latex paint off ivory carpet. PURPLE latex paint, in fact. I was about to lose it when my hubby had an oopsie while we were so carefully painting our daughter's room. We had put a sheet down and everything, and when it came time to clean up that day, we moved the sheet only to find a HUGE blob of purple paint on the carpet. The blob was gone with a couple baby wipes and some elbow grease. UN-freakin-believable.
Til next time...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
In Living [Room] Color
Well, it finally happened. My hubby and I have been planning for this day since the day we found out we were pregnant with our first baby...you know, the day when they realize that walls are FAR more fun to color on than paper. Thankfully, since we've just pretty much been waiting for it, we weren't necessarily all that shocked or ridiculously pissed off.
Here's the thing, though. We've been teaching her for months, yes, MONTHS that "we only color on paper." We always tell her "paper only" so that she understands that paper is the only thing you can color on...This became a bit more complicated when we started introducing her to books, other than the board books she's had since she was a baby, as books ARE paper. So we've struggled a bit there, which I suppose is to be expected. For the most part though, she's stayed on track and only colors on paper. I found out today, though, that this was all a ploy. It was all a way to earn my trust, so that she would be allowed to have unlimited access to crayons, even when Mommy isn't in the room...
This morning, I went to the bathroom, and surprisingly she didn't follow me when I said "Mommy has to go potty." Yes, I announce every SINGLE time that I am going to the bathroom. I should have known that something was about to go down right then, but I didn't. Instead, I relished the idea of peeing without supervision, a rare opportunity once you become a parent. While I was in there (for what, I mean 2-3 minutes???) I heard it. I heard it, and there was NOTHING I could do to stop it...
When I came out of the bathroom, I saw her beautiful smile and the beautiful toddler mural with which she had so creatively enhanced our living room wall. I looked at her with the mom look: you know, serious eyes, head slightly tilted downward and to the side, arms on the hips and said, "Hayden, we only color on PAPER! Paper only!" And pointing at the recently enhanced wall, "THIS is NOT paper, Hayden. This is a WALL." She giggled incessantly, as if to say, "Come on, Mommy! White is BORING! Red is a much better color"...She never takes me seriously, even when I do the "mom face"...I think it's a toddler thing. Anyway, I said to her, "Give Mommy the crayon, please," and surprisingly she handed it over.
I guess I'm happy that this was the ONE room in the house that hasn't gotten a fresh coat of paint since I moved in, though. I mean, at least she didn't take a crayon to HER bedroom, which we spent WEEKS painting. So now, the question is whether or not we should paint the living room this spring or wait even longer, being that we still have one more creative little one who I'm sure will be just itching to add her creative touch to the walls.
Til Next time...
Here's the thing, though. We've been teaching her for months, yes, MONTHS that "we only color on paper." We always tell her "paper only" so that she understands that paper is the only thing you can color on...This became a bit more complicated when we started introducing her to books, other than the board books she's had since she was a baby, as books ARE paper. So we've struggled a bit there, which I suppose is to be expected. For the most part though, she's stayed on track and only colors on paper. I found out today, though, that this was all a ploy. It was all a way to earn my trust, so that she would be allowed to have unlimited access to crayons, even when Mommy isn't in the room...
This morning, I went to the bathroom, and surprisingly she didn't follow me when I said "Mommy has to go potty." Yes, I announce every SINGLE time that I am going to the bathroom. I should have known that something was about to go down right then, but I didn't. Instead, I relished the idea of peeing without supervision, a rare opportunity once you become a parent. While I was in there (for what, I mean 2-3 minutes???) I heard it. I heard it, and there was NOTHING I could do to stop it...
When I came out of the bathroom, I saw her beautiful smile and the beautiful toddler mural with which she had so creatively enhanced our living room wall. I looked at her with the mom look: you know, serious eyes, head slightly tilted downward and to the side, arms on the hips and said, "Hayden, we only color on PAPER! Paper only!" And pointing at the recently enhanced wall, "THIS is NOT paper, Hayden. This is a WALL." She giggled incessantly, as if to say, "Come on, Mommy! White is BORING! Red is a much better color"...She never takes me seriously, even when I do the "mom face"...I think it's a toddler thing. Anyway, I said to her, "Give Mommy the crayon, please," and surprisingly she handed it over.
I guess I'm happy that this was the ONE room in the house that hasn't gotten a fresh coat of paint since I moved in, though. I mean, at least she didn't take a crayon to HER bedroom, which we spent WEEKS painting. So now, the question is whether or not we should paint the living room this spring or wait even longer, being that we still have one more creative little one who I'm sure will be just itching to add her creative touch to the walls.
Til Next time...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Mission: Accomplished
So, this morning I decided to tell my hubby that he should go to work and that I'd take the girls by myself to Gigi's (Hayden's nickname for Genevieve) one month check-up. I knew this was a suicide mission, but I also know that our mortgage is due with this coming paycheck, and it's been ridiculously slow at hubby's work due to weather. That said, I was willing to sacrifice my sanity in order to well...save my sanity.
I set my alarm for 7am, hoping that I would beat everyone else to the punch. Surprisingly, the little ones actually cooperated and allowed me to get up and brush my teeth, have a cup of coffee, get laundry started AND set them all up for the morning trip! I actually had to wake up BOTH of them!
After waking them, I had to get them both dressed, diapers changed and fed...Parents, you know the drill. So, I gave Hayden her milk and some cereal while I fed G. I knew I'd be cutting it close at this point, since it was 8am, and we needed to be on the road by 8:30...So while feeding G, she decided it would be a good time for a blow-out...and I am NOT talking about a hairstyle here, people. She finished up eating, and I had 5 minutes to get them both loaded up and be backing out of the drive. Keep in mind that I now had to change G's outfit (2nd time this morning) AND her diaper AGAIN. It was 8:30 at this point. As soon as I got her loaded up into the truck, she puked...EVERYWHERE. And we were already running late. Thank goodness I had thrown their laundry in the dryer this morning, so I was able to run in and grab a sleeper out of the dryer and throw it into the diaper bag...I had to leave her covered in puke for the ride or we'd lose our appointment, be charged a fee AND need to reschedule...grrr.
So, I backed out of the drive at 8:40 in the biggest rush ever. Did anyone think to plow our neighborhood since we last got snow? Apparently. NOT. So I fishtailed my way out of our cul de sac and decided it was probably best if I slowed my roll until I got out of our subdivision...FINALLY, we were on the road. And as we got on the road, I looked down...and BAM. Gas light. Seriously?!
So I decided to ignore the gas light and just get to the appointment. We walked in at 9:02, which I consider a monumental victory. When we got into the exam room, the nurse asked me to get G out and get her undressed (which I needed to do ANYWAY), and as I was trying to undo the harness, I busted a nail, my thumb. My right thumb, which I desperately need for both typing AND texting. Do I have nail clippers with me? Of course not! Well, while the nurse was asking me all the stupid questions the ped always asks (do you have working smoke detectors in your home? Where does baby sleep? etc.), I used some wipes to clean up the carseat, which was completely doused in my kid's upchuck. I really had no idea how bad it was until I took her out of the seat...ahh well, shit happens I guess...and so does puke.
The appointment went fairly well, and then when it came time to pack everyone back up, Hayden decided to make a run for it. It's a crying shame when they get to the point where they can open doors without assistance, isn't it? I mean, and whose bright idea was it to put the easiest handles EVER on the doors at the PEDIATRICIAN'S office anyway? A lever handle? REALLY?
At any rate, G was only half buckled when I had to sprint down the hallway and into the breakroom to retrieve my toddler. After doing so, I had to very quickly finish buckling G into her seat and then ended up carrying BOTH of them out to the car...Yes, you read that right. I had my 26 lb toddler in one arm, and my 11 lb infant in an infant seat on the other. I opened the door to the outside with my FOOT...I guess the lever handle came in handy (or more like "footy") after all.
So, overall, I'd say I did pretty well. I mean, I made it to the appointment on time-ish, alive, with both kids AND I made it back home alive with both kids. It's always an adventure though, ya know?
Til next time...
I set my alarm for 7am, hoping that I would beat everyone else to the punch. Surprisingly, the little ones actually cooperated and allowed me to get up and brush my teeth, have a cup of coffee, get laundry started AND set them all up for the morning trip! I actually had to wake up BOTH of them!
After waking them, I had to get them both dressed, diapers changed and fed...Parents, you know the drill. So, I gave Hayden her milk and some cereal while I fed G. I knew I'd be cutting it close at this point, since it was 8am, and we needed to be on the road by 8:30...So while feeding G, she decided it would be a good time for a blow-out...and I am NOT talking about a hairstyle here, people. She finished up eating, and I had 5 minutes to get them both loaded up and be backing out of the drive. Keep in mind that I now had to change G's outfit (2nd time this morning) AND her diaper AGAIN. It was 8:30 at this point. As soon as I got her loaded up into the truck, she puked...EVERYWHERE. And we were already running late. Thank goodness I had thrown their laundry in the dryer this morning, so I was able to run in and grab a sleeper out of the dryer and throw it into the diaper bag...I had to leave her covered in puke for the ride or we'd lose our appointment, be charged a fee AND need to reschedule...grrr.
So, I backed out of the drive at 8:40 in the biggest rush ever. Did anyone think to plow our neighborhood since we last got snow? Apparently. NOT. So I fishtailed my way out of our cul de sac and decided it was probably best if I slowed my roll until I got out of our subdivision...FINALLY, we were on the road. And as we got on the road, I looked down...and BAM. Gas light. Seriously?!
So I decided to ignore the gas light and just get to the appointment. We walked in at 9:02, which I consider a monumental victory. When we got into the exam room, the nurse asked me to get G out and get her undressed (which I needed to do ANYWAY), and as I was trying to undo the harness, I busted a nail, my thumb. My right thumb, which I desperately need for both typing AND texting. Do I have nail clippers with me? Of course not! Well, while the nurse was asking me all the stupid questions the ped always asks (do you have working smoke detectors in your home? Where does baby sleep? etc.), I used some wipes to clean up the carseat, which was completely doused in my kid's upchuck. I really had no idea how bad it was until I took her out of the seat...ahh well, shit happens I guess...and so does puke.
The appointment went fairly well, and then when it came time to pack everyone back up, Hayden decided to make a run for it. It's a crying shame when they get to the point where they can open doors without assistance, isn't it? I mean, and whose bright idea was it to put the easiest handles EVER on the doors at the PEDIATRICIAN'S office anyway? A lever handle? REALLY?
So, overall, I'd say I did pretty well. I mean, I made it to the appointment on time-ish, alive, with both kids AND I made it back home alive with both kids. It's always an adventure though, ya know?
Til next time...
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Murphy's [Boob] Law
So. Murphy's Law states that anything that can go wrong, WILL go wrong. I am applying this axiom to my breastfeeding life. I was diagnosed with mastitis (funny that it has "tit" in the name, isn't it?!) 9 days after Genevieve was born.
My vindictive little shit of a doctor prescribed me the WORST antibiotic known to man, which I took because I had to take it. I'm pretty sure she got off the phone with me and did that evil laugh,you know the one: "muaaahhaahaahaa!" I'm fairly certain it was her aim to torture me in any way that she could possibly think of...Back to my story: I had to take this crap FOUR TIMES a day, in between meals. Literally people, I had to take this stuff 2-3 hours AFTER eating and 1 hour BEFORE eating again. Parents out there, you KNOW that this is virtually impossible to do as a mother because you never know if/when you will get to eat in the first place. I skipped more meals in that 10 day period than I have...well...EVER. I could never be anorexic. ANYWAY....
6 days after being diagnosed with the mastitis, I came down with thrush. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. After nursing my little one that fateful morning, out of nowhere, I suddenly felt like someone was stabbing me with 10,000 needles in my nipple. The pain was enough to take my breath away and have me grabbing at my chest. Tears came streaming down my face, and I just thought, ARE YOU SERIOUS?! WHAT THE EFF IS THIS?!
So, I called the on-call number AGAIN, and AGAIN it was my favorite OB. Fan-effing-tastic. So the woman calls in two "magic" pills that are supposed to get rid of this infection. HA. Yeah, right.
Thankfully I had a meet-n-greet with a potential new doctor the following Monday (2 days later), which I was just PRAYING would go well enough that she'd realize my previous doc is a moron and help me out in a pinch. Well, someone is watching over me because she was awesome. She knew that those two "magic" pills weren't going to get rid of the thrush, so she called in more meds for that. She was happy with where the mastitis was and said it seemed to be almost gone so I should just finish taking the nightmare antibiotics...
Fast forward another week, and this Domestic Goddess is still in a ridiculous amount of pain. So I called yesterday and left a message on the nurse line. The callback today said I should come in and see the doc, and she said, "Congratulations! You now have mastitis in BOTH tits AND still have thrush!" Okay, well, those weren't her exact words...but you get my meaning. She also made sure to tell me that I am doing nothing wrong, and that this can just be a vicious cycle of mastitis/thrush/mastitis/more thrush. GREAT! I wanted to tell her that I have OBVIOUSLY done SOMETHING wrong in this life or a prior one to deserve this kind of Karma.
At any rate, she prescribed me more antibiotics (different ones--the kind I can EAT while taking) and more meds for the thrush and more pain meds to get me through this crap. In addition to that, I'm also still taking prenatal vitamins and probiotics to combat the antibiotics. I am a walking pharmacy, people.
Whatever the case, I have learned to stop saying things like, "I can't wait to see what's next," or "bring it on," or whatever other stupid sayings I've used to continue my bad fortune on the boob front. So now I will say, PLEASE LET THIS MADNESS STOP!!! I can't take it much longer...I Just want to feed my kid without being in an enormous amount of pain. That would be such a gift, wouldn't it?
Til next time...
My vindictive little shit of a doctor prescribed me the WORST antibiotic known to man, which I took because I had to take it. I'm pretty sure she got off the phone with me and did that evil laugh,you know the one: "muaaahhaahaahaa!" I'm fairly certain it was her aim to torture me in any way that she could possibly think of...Back to my story: I had to take this crap FOUR TIMES a day, in between meals. Literally people, I had to take this stuff 2-3 hours AFTER eating and 1 hour BEFORE eating again. Parents out there, you KNOW that this is virtually impossible to do as a mother because you never know if/when you will get to eat in the first place. I skipped more meals in that 10 day period than I have...well...EVER. I could never be anorexic. ANYWAY....
6 days after being diagnosed with the mastitis, I came down with thrush. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. After nursing my little one that fateful morning, out of nowhere, I suddenly felt like someone was stabbing me with 10,000 needles in my nipple. The pain was enough to take my breath away and have me grabbing at my chest. Tears came streaming down my face, and I just thought, ARE YOU SERIOUS?! WHAT THE EFF IS THIS?!
So, I called the on-call number AGAIN, and AGAIN it was my favorite OB. Fan-effing-tastic. So the woman calls in two "magic" pills that are supposed to get rid of this infection. HA. Yeah, right.
Thankfully I had a meet-n-greet with a potential new doctor the following Monday (2 days later), which I was just PRAYING would go well enough that she'd realize my previous doc is a moron and help me out in a pinch. Well, someone is watching over me because she was awesome. She knew that those two "magic" pills weren't going to get rid of the thrush, so she called in more meds for that. She was happy with where the mastitis was and said it seemed to be almost gone so I should just finish taking the nightmare antibiotics...
Fast forward another week, and this Domestic Goddess is still in a ridiculous amount of pain. So I called yesterday and left a message on the nurse line. The callback today said I should come in and see the doc, and she said, "Congratulations! You now have mastitis in BOTH tits AND still have thrush!" Okay, well, those weren't her exact words...but you get my meaning. She also made sure to tell me that I am doing nothing wrong, and that this can just be a vicious cycle of mastitis/thrush/mastitis/more thrush. GREAT! I wanted to tell her that I have OBVIOUSLY done SOMETHING wrong in this life or a prior one to deserve this kind of Karma.
At any rate, she prescribed me more antibiotics (different ones--the kind I can EAT while taking) and more meds for the thrush and more pain meds to get me through this crap. In addition to that, I'm also still taking prenatal vitamins and probiotics to combat the antibiotics. I am a walking pharmacy, people.
Whatever the case, I have learned to stop saying things like, "I can't wait to see what's next," or "bring it on," or whatever other stupid sayings I've used to continue my bad fortune on the boob front. So now I will say, PLEASE LET THIS MADNESS STOP!!! I can't take it much longer...I Just want to feed my kid without being in an enormous amount of pain. That would be such a gift, wouldn't it?
Til next time...
Sunday, January 16, 2011
[Nips] Just In!
Well, everyone, she's done it again! Victoria's Secret sets the trends for what's hot in underthings. In case you're missing out, you should know that nips are in! Well, they're actually out, which is in. The bra is called the 'Naturally Miraculous,' because it has the super power of giving any woman who dons it an extra TWO cup sizes and the 'natural' look of hard nipples. I mean, what more could we possibly ask for, ladies?!
Who SHOPS there?! I've got a couple things going through my mind when I see this bra:
a. If I wanted my nipples to show, I'd NOT be wearing a bra and
b. I'm certain that I will not allow my daughters to shop there until they've moved out of my house.
I remember a time when it was Fredrick's of Hollywood that was famous for trashy lingerie, meanwhile Vicki was known for her sexy, yet still classy underthings. It's panties like these, with not-so-clever sayings across the behind, the perfectly impractical 'assless panties,' and the 'naturally miraculous' nipple bra that have them running neck-and-neck with Fredrick to be renamed "Sluts R Us."
I think I'll stick with Calvin Klein...and Target for my unmentionables.For more on how I feel about Victoria's Secret, Click Here!
Who SHOPS there?! I've got a couple things going through my mind when I see this bra:
a. If I wanted my nipples to show, I'd NOT be wearing a bra and
b. I'm certain that I will not allow my daughters to shop there until they've moved out of my house.
I think I'll stick with Calvin Klein...and Target for my unmentionables.For more on how I feel about Victoria's Secret, Click Here!
Friday, January 14, 2011
Minivan[ity]
Soooo, I was reading yesterday while my newborn was on the boob. I love to read the moms boards, good stuff. Well, the topic of the day seemed to be minivans...I know I know. This sounds ridiculously boring, and so I completely ignored the thread. HOWEVER, someone tipped me off that it actually got quite colorful, and so I decided to sneak a peek.
FOURTEEN PAGES later, I think I almost peed myself laughing so hard. The initial question was whether or not minivans have "cooties." Yes, people, that's what it said: "cooties." Well, one of the first few women to comment basically explained how I feel about them: there is a stigma about driving around in a minivan that screams "Hey I'm a mom! Is it my turn to bring snacks for the soccer game? Want to carpool?" And lastly..."I have graduated from Uncool University and should now also be wearing 'mom jeans' and those loafers with the tassles." (These are MY words, by the way, not hers exactly)
This woman wasn't judging anyone for driving a minivan anymore than the original poster was who in not so many words accused those of us who drive SUVs of being materialistic or careless about the environment. At any rate, this debate went on for seriously FOURTEEN PAGES of cool vs. uncool, you're judging me, no you're judging Me, and 'I was the uncool person in high school.'
I'm really not sure if anyone ever got to the bottom of the issue at hand, which is whether or not minivans do, in fact, have cooties. So, with that said, I will divulge MY opinion on them.
I am one of the people who has stated that she will NEVER own a minivan. And truthfully, I don't give a shit if people consider me vain, immature, materialistic, careless about the environment, stupid, irresponsible, or the like. For me, if I'm going to spend a boatload of money on a vehicle, it damn well better be something that I WANT to drive around for the next 6 years or so. And that's what it all comes down to, right? Personal preference. It's the same logic that applies to auto makers reasoning for making so many different models of vehicles, each having their own benefits and unique looks.
If I had 3 or more kids, I STILL wouldn't buy a minivan. I'd probably be looking at a suburban or a stretch Hummer limo or something (Lord, strike me down because I said 'hummer' instead of Jeep---sorry, honey!). It's just not my style. Are they convenient? Sure. Comfy? Yep. Stylish? Well, that's debatable, but they're not terrible...And yet, none of those things matter because they don't APPEAL to me.
Now, does that mean I can't be friends with someone who drives a minivan? WTF do I care? If that's what my friends want to spend their money on, great! I think saying that someone is being judgmental when they describe THEIR feelings toward a particular vehicle vs. another though, is just plain stupid. Just because I'd feel like I've graduated from Uncool U if I owned a minivan does NOT mean I feel that any of my friends who drive minivans are graduates of UU. It probably means they're more practical than I am...
And if my never wanting to buy a minivan makes me a careless, materialistic, immature, impractical moron, I guess that's what I am. 'Cuz ya know what I want to buy whenever we've got the cash?
A FULL SIZE QUAD CAB 4x4 PICK-UP TRUCK!
FOURTEEN PAGES later, I think I almost peed myself laughing so hard. The initial question was whether or not minivans have "cooties." Yes, people, that's what it said: "cooties." Well, one of the first few women to comment basically explained how I feel about them: there is a stigma about driving around in a minivan that screams "Hey I'm a mom! Is it my turn to bring snacks for the soccer game? Want to carpool?" And lastly..."I have graduated from Uncool University and should now also be wearing 'mom jeans' and those loafers with the tassles." (These are MY words, by the way, not hers exactly)
This woman wasn't judging anyone for driving a minivan anymore than the original poster was who in not so many words accused those of us who drive SUVs of being materialistic or careless about the environment. At any rate, this debate went on for seriously FOURTEEN PAGES of cool vs. uncool, you're judging me, no you're judging Me, and 'I was the uncool person in high school.'
I'm really not sure if anyone ever got to the bottom of the issue at hand, which is whether or not minivans do, in fact, have cooties. So, with that said, I will divulge MY opinion on them.
I am one of the people who has stated that she will NEVER own a minivan. And truthfully, I don't give a shit if people consider me vain, immature, materialistic, careless about the environment, stupid, irresponsible, or the like. For me, if I'm going to spend a boatload of money on a vehicle, it damn well better be something that I WANT to drive around for the next 6 years or so. And that's what it all comes down to, right? Personal preference. It's the same logic that applies to auto makers reasoning for making so many different models of vehicles, each having their own benefits and unique looks.
If I had 3 or more kids, I STILL wouldn't buy a minivan. I'd probably be looking at a suburban or a stretch Hummer limo or something (Lord, strike me down because I said 'hummer' instead of Jeep---sorry, honey!). It's just not my style. Are they convenient? Sure. Comfy? Yep. Stylish? Well, that's debatable, but they're not terrible...And yet, none of those things matter because they don't APPEAL to me.
Now, does that mean I can't be friends with someone who drives a minivan? WTF do I care? If that's what my friends want to spend their money on, great! I think saying that someone is being judgmental when they describe THEIR feelings toward a particular vehicle vs. another though, is just plain stupid. Just because I'd feel like I've graduated from Uncool U if I owned a minivan does NOT mean I feel that any of my friends who drive minivans are graduates of UU. It probably means they're more practical than I am...
And if my never wanting to buy a minivan makes me a careless, materialistic, immature, impractical moron, I guess that's what I am. 'Cuz ya know what I want to buy whenever we've got the cash?
A FULL SIZE QUAD CAB 4x4 PICK-UP TRUCK!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Today's Random Thought...Pancakes VS Waffles
I often wonder, and so I thought I'd put this on the internet for my dear friends and followers to ponder as well, why it is that one can make both pancakes and waffles from the SAME mix and somehow, two things happen.
1. They taste different and
2. Waffles are SO much better!
Maybe someone out in cyberspace can answer these very important questions for me.
1. They taste different and
2. Waffles are SO much better!
Maybe someone out in cyberspace can answer these very important questions for me.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Belly Button Bologna
So it all began on Tuesday, when we took Genevieve for her 2 week check-up at the ped. Her belly button hadn't completely healed since the umbilical stump fell off @ 6 days old. The doc said casually that she'd like to put a little silver nitrate on it to help it heal up a bit quicker...Right here is about when I should have busted out my trusty Blackberry and hopped on the internet...but I didn't. Damn me for placing my trust in yet another human being who has the initials "MD" at the end of her name. I asked her if it hurts when she started to apply it, and Genevieve started squirming and then crying. She said, "Oh no, not at all. She's probably just uncomfortable because I'm digging around down there." This seemed plausible to me at the time, so I just shrugged it off...Later, after speaking with one of my RN friends, I found out that it stings/burns, so of COURSE it hurts! Why lie to me? Honestly, I just don't get it. I point-blank asked the woman if she was hurting my baby, and she said NO. She was hurting her...So we go home, and Wednesday morning I notice that the top part of her belly button (interior, not the area AROUND it) is raw and wet-looking. I thought that was odd, being that it was perfectly fine the day before, but I just dismissed it momentarily. I dug a little deeper into the world of silver nitrate only to find that it basically BURNED her perfectly healthy skin. Who knew that silver nitrate burns the shit out of healthy skin?! Well, I would have been aware of this side effect had I been fully informed before consenting to the procedure...Ahh, and there we are again with the informed consent thing. At any rate, Thursday, her belly button started oozing this yellow discharge, in addition to being red, raw, and slightly bloody in some areas that were raw. Now I'm starting to get really pissed, right? So I asked my girls on IMLM what to do, and it was suggested that I use hydrogen peroxide to help clear up the nasty. Well, this morning when it was still looking gross, I decided it would be best to put a call into the ped. They, of course, wanted to see Gen, and so I brought her in this afternoon. Doc says it's not infected (though that's probably because I treated it with the peroxide solution 50 times) and that it is impossible for them to get the silver nitrate ONLY on the affected area and so it burns some healthy tissue as well...Are you KIDDING ME?! Lesson here parents: ask to see the indications and the package insert before consenting to ANY medication or treatment for your kids (well, and yourself too). So now I'm supposed to put Desitin on this thing until it heals...Lovely, folks. Just lovely. MAN do I feel like a terrible mom. I never would have consented to torturing my baby unnecessarily...BOOOOOO for MDs yet again.
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