We woke on Easter morning to discover the Mississippi River flowing through our basement. I joke. It wasn’t really the Mississippi. It was more like a murky, disease-infested creek. What a mess! It was Easter! Hath God no sympathy? No! No! He doesn’t! I believe he is punishing me for my lifetime of wrong-doing. I so should have been a nicer person. Karma: It’s a total bitch.
While I don’t fully believe God is punishing me, I am starting to question some things. First, this was totally my fault. I jinxed us. Things are going well (were), financially and life is good. I SHOULD NOT HAVE OPENED MY MOUTH. I should know better. If you speak of it, the shit will hit the fan. Literally.
Second, I realize and fully recognize there are way worse things than a flood in one’s basement. I am glad it was not worse. People are dying. There is disease, poverty, war and a million other horrible things happening in our world. I am thankful for all that I have. So, before you bethink me an awful person, let me just clarify that.
But, nobody wants to wake up to a flood, especially, on a holiday. We have a child! She had a basket to find! We made cinnamon buns from scratch the night before! We just had to bake them for 30 minutes and have a wonderful, sugar-filled morning breakfast which would pair fabulously with super-strong coffee. You want to know what those cinnamon buns tasted like post flood discovery? They tasted like bitter resentment. Screw you, house! Why do you have to do this to us now and ruin our holiday? Christ rose! You didn’t have to do this! At least not today!
I thought maybe the buns would make us feel better. False. We sat around, eating them, pondering what the hell we should do with the mess in our basement. We wanted to know what it was. We wondered what could have caused it. Bread said he suspected our water heater had given out. He mentioned, about a month ago, we needed a new one. This would have been awesome scenario as it would have been clean water. As I mentioned before, in our home, you can’t speak of something without making it fall apart. Last month, Bread said, “Oh! Our Lazy Susan is cracked. Be careful! I will have to fix it.” I shit you not, that night, as I was reading in bed at one in the morning there was a great crash from downstairs. I feared we were being burgled! No! It turns out Suze fell apart and our herbs, spices, oils and various other pounds of cooking miscellanea decided that was the time to fall. It scared the hell out of both of us. Bread was prancing about our home in just his underwear; it was something straight out of a sitcom.
Once he headed to the basement to handle the flood, it took Bread all of maybe five minutes to deduce it was not our water heater causing the flood. It was, in fact, a drain backup. Now, while there were no turds visible, there was really no way to deduce whether the stuff in our basement was clean or dirty water. My germophobia was on high-alert. Remove all shoes! Do not touch anything! Wash! Wash! Wash!
Eventually, the plumber showed up and declared it was, indeed, clean water. God bless Jesus! I could not handle actual human waste in my home anywhere outside of say, the toilet or perhaps my child’s pants. And, maybe sometimes Bread’s pants! But, I’m not in charge of that when it happens! Ha!
Okay, so the plumber told us it was clean water. Ground water is actually what he called it. We were able to carry on with our day. My mom came to pick up Bird earlier in the day so as she could still have a nice holiday. I went to pick her up while Bread began the clean up. The poor guy spent his entire Easter Sunday trying to clean up the disaster. He has been working 70 hour work weeks. This was his first full weekend off in probably a month. I felt bad. Did I mention how much my husband rocks?
After Bird was tucked in and coming off her chocolate- bunny- induced- sugar- high, I went to help Bread. I wasn’t too grossed out since the plumber informed us of the water being clean and all. And, why should my husband have to deal with that all on his own. Eventually, we called it a day, showered and went to bed hoping for a better day tomorrow. Meaning: the insurance people will be in and they can give us the okay to call folks to fix this.
We were deluded for believing the insurance people would help in any way, shape or form. After several phone calls, a meeting with an adjuster and lots of nasty words, we now know if they are not covering anything. I suppose this was just one of life’s lessons. We now have a new insurance provider, in case you were wondering about that.
We had to take matters into our own hands. We called a restoration company. They, in turn, informed us the water was not actually clean. It’s what they call “grey water.” This means, while it was not actually raw sewage, it was, by no means, clean because it has been in contact with actual raw sewage. Vomit. Barf. Oh, my God, why didn’t I wear a hazmat suit?
Upon reflecting on this, I gather when one’s occupation is a plumber, you probably see some nasty shit (pun intended). So, when you walk into someone’s home, it doesn’t smell and there are no actual floating logs, you probably do consider it clean. We, on the other hand, have a different standard. I am not, and never plan to be, used to this. I need to give kudos to all the plumbers out there. You rock and are, most certainly, underpaid. For the record, our plumber rocked. He was great and only charged us $250! It was Easter!
So, the restoration company recommended we replace the carpeting and pad in our basement. It did not take much arm twisting for this germ- obsessed person to agree to that. They said we could clean the carpet if we really wanted to. I do not. I have no sentimental attachment to this. Burn it. We ordered new carpet. Everything has been cleaned and sanitized. We will live. We decided that. We will try to make cinnamon buns again. Everything will be okay.
Bread declared over dinner last night that we’ve had our fair share of acts of God this year. He reminded me of the recent shit storms provided especially for me by my child. He said the Great Basement Flood of 2011 would obviously count as such. He seems to think that next it will be a locust invasion or, perhaps, bed bugs. Bed bugs! Are you crazy! You don’t talk about bed bugs! If we get bed bugs I’m moving out! Curse you! Did he not get the memo regarding our luck? We’re screwed.
Showing posts with label Domestic Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Domestic Life. Show all posts
Monday, May 16, 2011
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Tuesday Confessional
I had a list of things in my head as options for this blog post. Then I decided I could just write about them all. A little bit of a confessional, if you will. I did talk about Jesus last week so to carry on with my, um, religious theme is just about right. So, here goes:
1) My friend, Jackie is my television soul mate. She knows what it’s like to love a good show. That said she is the only person who understands the utter excitement of tonight’s Teen Mom season premiere. I can hardly contain myself! She’s at work right now so there isn’t even a chance for us to discuss it. If you’ve never seen this show, you should watch it. I am truly fascinated. We are also eagerly awaiting the season premiere of Mad Men on Sunday. God Bless Jesus for some good summertime TV!
2) I hate summer. You think, no you can’t. Yes! Yes, I can! I hate that twenty minutes after I’ve left my house in the morning I’m feeling the little trickle of sweat run down my back. I hate that my hair is frizzy all the time. I hate that it’s too hot/sticky to bother with makeup. I hate that at some point in summer, I am forced to wear a bathing suit which doesn’t fit right because I have giant boobs among other body flaws that I’ll fail to mention. I hate that I have to either exercise first thing in the morning (not ideal because Bird likes her Sesame and this is the only time when it’s cool enough for her to play outdoors) or at night when there are a million swarms of mating gnats (yes, that’s what they’re doing Bread Googled that Shit). I think, right about now, 20 degrees outside, toasty cozy inside, a Snuggie and a mug of hot chocolate sound delightful. Shit!
3) I like my current size. This is a lie. If you know me, you know this is as far from the truth as anything. But, in the hopes of one day believing this falsehood, I’m going to keep saying it. This will be my mantra. “I like my size! I like my size!” I will believe! Bread thinks I am lovely. I have curves! I am representing the “average” woman! I don’t have any rolls when I stand up! Perhaps a bit of a muffin top but no actual rolls! I am blessed! I can run! I can do aerobic activity! I lift weights! I am healthy! I can eat whatever I want and maintain my size! Plenty of women would love to be my size. “I like my size!” Lies. All lies. Maybe I should look at it another way. I do not have any of the following: a third eye, too hairy of an upper lip or a peg leg. Yes! Yes! I am lovely!
4) My inner Domestic Diva really wants to take advantage of our seasonal produce and can some shit. I’ve never canned anything in my life. I’m scared. WTF is wrong with me? Who worries about this? I want to make pickles, jam and salsa. Please help. What do I do?
5) I am scared to go to the gym because I gained some weight. Fucking ridiculous. I know this.
6) I am obsessed with baseball. I watch every game and DVR it if I’m not home. I don’t like to miss a game. Have you ever seen Johnny Damon? Beautiful specimen of the male species. I swear. Bread knows. He doesn’t mind because it means he also gets to watch baseball. I’m happy! He’s happy! Everybody is happy! It’s a win win situation!
7) Don’t these little bastards sound good?
8) I’m going to write a book. I’ve got the feeling. I am getting closer.
9) I am glad I no longer have a “real” job.
10) I’ve taught my two-year old the Star Spangled Banner and I’m quite proud of this. She’s a really good singer! And smart too! And cute!
1) My friend, Jackie is my television soul mate. She knows what it’s like to love a good show. That said she is the only person who understands the utter excitement of tonight’s Teen Mom season premiere. I can hardly contain myself! She’s at work right now so there isn’t even a chance for us to discuss it. If you’ve never seen this show, you should watch it. I am truly fascinated. We are also eagerly awaiting the season premiere of Mad Men on Sunday. God Bless Jesus for some good summertime TV!
2) I hate summer. You think, no you can’t. Yes! Yes, I can! I hate that twenty minutes after I’ve left my house in the morning I’m feeling the little trickle of sweat run down my back. I hate that my hair is frizzy all the time. I hate that it’s too hot/sticky to bother with makeup. I hate that at some point in summer, I am forced to wear a bathing suit which doesn’t fit right because I have giant boobs among other body flaws that I’ll fail to mention. I hate that I have to either exercise first thing in the morning (not ideal because Bird likes her Sesame and this is the only time when it’s cool enough for her to play outdoors) or at night when there are a million swarms of mating gnats (yes, that’s what they’re doing Bread Googled that Shit). I think, right about now, 20 degrees outside, toasty cozy inside, a Snuggie and a mug of hot chocolate sound delightful. Shit!
3) I like my current size. This is a lie. If you know me, you know this is as far from the truth as anything. But, in the hopes of one day believing this falsehood, I’m going to keep saying it. This will be my mantra. “I like my size! I like my size!” I will believe! Bread thinks I am lovely. I have curves! I am representing the “average” woman! I don’t have any rolls when I stand up! Perhaps a bit of a muffin top but no actual rolls! I am blessed! I can run! I can do aerobic activity! I lift weights! I am healthy! I can eat whatever I want and maintain my size! Plenty of women would love to be my size. “I like my size!” Lies. All lies. Maybe I should look at it another way. I do not have any of the following: a third eye, too hairy of an upper lip or a peg leg. Yes! Yes! I am lovely!
4) My inner Domestic Diva really wants to take advantage of our seasonal produce and can some shit. I’ve never canned anything in my life. I’m scared. WTF is wrong with me? Who worries about this? I want to make pickles, jam and salsa. Please help. What do I do?
5) I am scared to go to the gym because I gained some weight. Fucking ridiculous. I know this.
6) I am obsessed with baseball. I watch every game and DVR it if I’m not home. I don’t like to miss a game. Have you ever seen Johnny Damon? Beautiful specimen of the male species. I swear. Bread knows. He doesn’t mind because it means he also gets to watch baseball. I’m happy! He’s happy! Everybody is happy! It’s a win win situation!
7) Don’t these little bastards sound good?
8) I’m going to write a book. I’ve got the feeling. I am getting closer.
9) I am glad I no longer have a “real” job.
10) I’ve taught my two-year old the Star Spangled Banner and I’m quite proud of this. She’s a really good singer! And smart too! And cute!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
If We Had a Gazillion Dollars
I was having a nice conversation with my friend, Jackie, this evening. Basically, her job gets in the way of her leisure time and my “job” forces me to do things in the evening when Bread is home. These things include: exercise, showering and meal plans. We began discussing what we’ll do WHEN we win the lottery.
I believe I’ve mentioned this before, but, my friends and I actually have a lottery pool. I’ve always maintained that I don’t need millions of dollars. I just want say, $100,000. Or, $40,000??? Hell, I will take $50 and this point…
Anyway, it’s fun to dream. With the help of Bread, Jackie and the Lottery Pool Friends, I’ve created a little mental list of things we would do/buy/need if we hit it for gazillions. Here is the current list in no particular order:
1. Book a trip somewhere tropical, with a swim up bar, friends and no kid (we’ll have plenty of time to spoil the shit out of her after we are, ahem, “rested”).
2. Boob job! Not bigger just perkier. Perhaps smaller.
3. Buy a ranch, with real live horses, cows and lots of acreage somewhere in Montana.
4. Pay someone to show us how to work a real, live ranch.
5. Realize that ranch work is extremely difficult and pay folks to work for us.
6. Ride horses and relax on ranch.
7. Take our tot to Disney so her dreams of meeting every fucking Disney Princess can be fulfilled.
8. Hire Jillian Michaels to get my ass in better shape.
9. Fire Jillian Michaels when I realize that she really means business.
10. Rehire Jillian Michaels when I realize she knows exactly what I need.
11. Give some money to charity. Probably an animal charity. I need to do penance for this.
12. Buy a huge ass house, here in the Mid-west, complete with an amazing kitchen, a huge master suite, a library, a theatre room, in-ground pool, tennis court and a bowling alley in the basement (not because I’m an avid bowler, but because it would be awesome to be able to say we have a bowling alley in the basement).
13. Purchase a larger family vehicle. I love Ranger Rovers!
14. Get my hair done as often as I actually need to in order to cover the grays. No more stretching!
15. Stop making meal plans based on what is on sale. We will eat whatever we feel like having! Steak? Chicken? Who cares? We’re loaded! Who cares if you want to buy the five-pack of avocados from Costco because they taste better and we’re not going to eat them all? We’re loaded!
16. Give money to an organization that feeds the hungry.
17. I think I’d like an RV. That would be fun. So long as I don’t have to drive it. Also, so long as I don’t have to empty the shitter when it’s full.
18. Detroit Tigers. Season Tickets. I’m a fan! I heart Johnny Damon!
19. Give money to family. Well, some family. You better be nice to me. You know who you are. Guilty conscience?
20. Get bored and start a blog about what it’s like being filthy rich.
I believe I’ve mentioned this before, but, my friends and I actually have a lottery pool. I’ve always maintained that I don’t need millions of dollars. I just want say, $100,000. Or, $40,000??? Hell, I will take $50 and this point…
Anyway, it’s fun to dream. With the help of Bread, Jackie and the Lottery Pool Friends, I’ve created a little mental list of things we would do/buy/need if we hit it for gazillions. Here is the current list in no particular order:
1. Book a trip somewhere tropical, with a swim up bar, friends and no kid (we’ll have plenty of time to spoil the shit out of her after we are, ahem, “rested”).
2. Boob job! Not bigger just perkier. Perhaps smaller.
3. Buy a ranch, with real live horses, cows and lots of acreage somewhere in Montana.
4. Pay someone to show us how to work a real, live ranch.
5. Realize that ranch work is extremely difficult and pay folks to work for us.
6. Ride horses and relax on ranch.
7. Take our tot to Disney so her dreams of meeting every fucking Disney Princess can be fulfilled.
8. Hire Jillian Michaels to get my ass in better shape.
9. Fire Jillian Michaels when I realize that she really means business.
10. Rehire Jillian Michaels when I realize she knows exactly what I need.
11. Give some money to charity. Probably an animal charity. I need to do penance for this.
12. Buy a huge ass house, here in the Mid-west, complete with an amazing kitchen, a huge master suite, a library, a theatre room, in-ground pool, tennis court and a bowling alley in the basement (not because I’m an avid bowler, but because it would be awesome to be able to say we have a bowling alley in the basement).
13. Purchase a larger family vehicle. I love Ranger Rovers!
14. Get my hair done as often as I actually need to in order to cover the grays. No more stretching!
15. Stop making meal plans based on what is on sale. We will eat whatever we feel like having! Steak? Chicken? Who cares? We’re loaded! Who cares if you want to buy the five-pack of avocados from Costco because they taste better and we’re not going to eat them all? We’re loaded!
16. Give money to an organization that feeds the hungry.
17. I think I’d like an RV. That would be fun. So long as I don’t have to drive it. Also, so long as I don’t have to empty the shitter when it’s full.
18. Detroit Tigers. Season Tickets. I’m a fan! I heart Johnny Damon!
19. Give money to family. Well, some family. You better be nice to me. You know who you are. Guilty conscience?
20. Get bored and start a blog about what it’s like being filthy rich.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
I SHOULD NOT BE LEFT TO CARE FOR A CHILD
I’ve been in a breakfast rut lately. I am not a mom who can skip breakfast. Actually, I can’t skip any meal, for that matter. I also don’t like to miss snack time. Huh. Anyway, I used to eat oatmeal (the old fashioned kind) every day. I got sick of it, and since then, I don’t actually like it anymore. Every now and again I make it just to try; Bread eats it daily so he’s constantly telling me to try it with apples or blueberries. Whatever the combination is, I haven’t loved it in a couple years.
This morning, while Bird was quietly enjoying her usual, I decided I would try oatmeal again. I have to make it on the stove. I hate the microwave. I almost never cook or reheat anything in it. So, I put my milk in the pan and turned on the stove. I stood there stirring and stirring because I hate when the milk burns and sticks to the pan. Being the multi-tasker that I am, I began texting Bread at work.
8:41 am
Me to Bread: Top o’ the morning!
8:48 am
Me: You ever heard of Grace Potter and the Nocturnals?
8:55 am
Me: Decided to try oatmeal today. Been standing her stirring for about 15 minutes. Think I may shit my pants.
9:05 am
Bread to Me: Put fresh blueberries in there w/some brown sugar…yum.
9:08 am
Me: I’m still fucking waiting. I feel like the milk is playing a prank on me!
9:10 am
Me: This is worse than making pudding and pudding tastes good, at least.
9:15 am
Me: OMG. I had the wrong fucking burner on. What a fucking jackass. I kept checking for that to be the case. Looked several times.
9:21 am
Bread to Me: I’m totally NOT laughing right now.
9:23 am
Me: I bet. Liar.
I swear that I repeatedly checked to see if I had the correct burner on. I could feel the heat and my milk was bubbly. Obviously, I was deluded. It took me 35 minutes to figure out I had the wrong burner on. That’s how my Tuesday began. No worries. I’m completely okay with being a complete moron. It does slightly frighten me that while typing this up I was laughing hysterically. But, I always say, if you can’t laugh at yourself you shouldn’t laugh at others. My friends, I’ve got all the right in the world to laugh at you. You better believe that was the best fetching oatmeal I've had in years!
This morning, while Bird was quietly enjoying her usual, I decided I would try oatmeal again. I have to make it on the stove. I hate the microwave. I almost never cook or reheat anything in it. So, I put my milk in the pan and turned on the stove. I stood there stirring and stirring because I hate when the milk burns and sticks to the pan. Being the multi-tasker that I am, I began texting Bread at work.
8:41 am
Me to Bread: Top o’ the morning!
8:48 am
Me: You ever heard of Grace Potter and the Nocturnals?
8:55 am
Me: Decided to try oatmeal today. Been standing her stirring for about 15 minutes. Think I may shit my pants.
9:05 am
Bread to Me: Put fresh blueberries in there w/some brown sugar…yum.
9:08 am
Me: I’m still fucking waiting. I feel like the milk is playing a prank on me!
9:10 am
Me: This is worse than making pudding and pudding tastes good, at least.
9:15 am
Me: OMG. I had the wrong fucking burner on. What a fucking jackass. I kept checking for that to be the case. Looked several times.
9:21 am
Bread to Me: I’m totally NOT laughing right now.
9:23 am
Me: I bet. Liar.
I swear that I repeatedly checked to see if I had the correct burner on. I could feel the heat and my milk was bubbly. Obviously, I was deluded. It took me 35 minutes to figure out I had the wrong burner on. That’s how my Tuesday began. No worries. I’m completely okay with being a complete moron. It does slightly frighten me that while typing this up I was laughing hysterically. But, I always say, if you can’t laugh at yourself you shouldn’t laugh at others. My friends, I’ve got all the right in the world to laugh at you. You better believe that was the best fetching oatmeal I've had in years!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Lions, Tigers and Bears!
Something about the days following a long-weekend renders me completely useless. I have no ambition and no energy to do anything. This past Memorial Day weekend, is no exception to this. I am done. Bird took a four hour nap today and I did nothing but read and nap for three of those hours. I did the bare minimum of cleaning and laundry for one hour but that was it. It’s a good thing one of us GOT UP AND WENT TO WORK!
Holiday weekends, or pretty much any event, are completely different with a kid. For example, a simple trip to the zoo equals three hours of preparation. You have to pack a cooler. You need sunglasses, hats, sunscreen, extra clothes in case the child shits her pants (we were pretty safe on this front since she did, indeed, shit her pants prior to our departure but you can never be sure). You need beverages. You’ll want your camera. You may need Neosporin. You definitely want to bring the anti-bacterial lotion. Don’t forget wipes. A good variety of snacks is a necessity. You never know what your over-tired, over-sunned Little-Shit will want to eat. This could be crucial to the level of fun you’ll have at said excursion. Don’t forget the EpiPen and remember what bag it’s in because God forbid she be exposed to a fucking peanut and ruin the whole day by having her body swell. Oh, and we can’t leave the EpiPen in the sun. It can’t get warmer than 86 degrees or it will no longer work. That would be really, really bad. What about the stroller? Or, should we bring the wagon? Do we need a picnic blanket? Should we bring paper plates and cutlery? Is there a need for band-aids? Do we have books for the car ride there? Is it supposed to rain? Do we have a poncho? Who owns a fucking poncho?
The list is endless. It goes on and on and on. Then, once you arrive at said destination, it’s imperative that you find the restroom. Once that is done and the child (or children--how do you people do this?) has to get strapped back into their stroller, which they won’t want to ride in, but damn it, we came to see some animals and if you don’t get into the stroller we are never going to have time to see any animals so get in the stroller before I hit you with it! Ahem.
And, let’s not forget the part where we brought along my brother and his girlfriend, both of whom are legends to Bird. These two have no kids but love to hang out with our tot. We like them, so, of course, we’re glad they want to come along. Anyhow, they have no kids and probably are not prepared for all that having kids entails: the whining, the fits, the need to be forced to use the restroom every time we pass one, the scheduled meal times and the need for independence. They showed up with water and chips. We showed up with enough to feed an army and then some. A round of juice boxes for everyone!
Did I mention we went to the zoo? Ah, yes, the zoo. We went to the zoo. It was only supposed to be 82 degrees. Yes, but here in the Mid-west, we have this thing called humidity. That makes it feel really hot. So a pleasant 82 degree day becomes hotter than two mice humping in a wool sock. That’s the kind of day we had. A round of swamp crotch for everyone!
We paid $5 to feed the giraffes. This entailed getting to the giraffe exhibit at precisely 1 PM, waiting in line with a bunch of people who also shelled out for this “experience,” receiving a lecture by someone official, who was overly excited about the giraffes about not actually touching the giraffes or making any noise and spending exactly 27 seconds feeding said giraffe. You are welcome for that. I don’t think $5 is a lot of money. I just thought it would be different. I’m not sure what I was envisioning, me, Bird and the giraffes frolicking in the meadow with happy music playing in the background?
Overall, Bird had an exceptional time which is why we spent 14 hours packing and preparing for this adventure. If you ask her, she will tell you all of the animals we saw and she can also list random facts about them. For example, she is now proudly informed that giraffe can’t bite you because their teeth are really far in the back. She’s so smart. A round of tears for everyone!
Holiday weekends, or pretty much any event, are completely different with a kid. For example, a simple trip to the zoo equals three hours of preparation. You have to pack a cooler. You need sunglasses, hats, sunscreen, extra clothes in case the child shits her pants (we were pretty safe on this front since she did, indeed, shit her pants prior to our departure but you can never be sure). You need beverages. You’ll want your camera. You may need Neosporin. You definitely want to bring the anti-bacterial lotion. Don’t forget wipes. A good variety of snacks is a necessity. You never know what your over-tired, over-sunned Little-Shit will want to eat. This could be crucial to the level of fun you’ll have at said excursion. Don’t forget the EpiPen and remember what bag it’s in because God forbid she be exposed to a fucking peanut and ruin the whole day by having her body swell. Oh, and we can’t leave the EpiPen in the sun. It can’t get warmer than 86 degrees or it will no longer work. That would be really, really bad. What about the stroller? Or, should we bring the wagon? Do we need a picnic blanket? Should we bring paper plates and cutlery? Is there a need for band-aids? Do we have books for the car ride there? Is it supposed to rain? Do we have a poncho? Who owns a fucking poncho?
The list is endless. It goes on and on and on. Then, once you arrive at said destination, it’s imperative that you find the restroom. Once that is done and the child (or children--how do you people do this?) has to get strapped back into their stroller, which they won’t want to ride in, but damn it, we came to see some animals and if you don’t get into the stroller we are never going to have time to see any animals so get in the stroller before I hit you with it! Ahem.
And, let’s not forget the part where we brought along my brother and his girlfriend, both of whom are legends to Bird. These two have no kids but love to hang out with our tot. We like them, so, of course, we’re glad they want to come along. Anyhow, they have no kids and probably are not prepared for all that having kids entails: the whining, the fits, the need to be forced to use the restroom every time we pass one, the scheduled meal times and the need for independence. They showed up with water and chips. We showed up with enough to feed an army and then some. A round of juice boxes for everyone!
Did I mention we went to the zoo? Ah, yes, the zoo. We went to the zoo. It was only supposed to be 82 degrees. Yes, but here in the Mid-west, we have this thing called humidity. That makes it feel really hot. So a pleasant 82 degree day becomes hotter than two mice humping in a wool sock. That’s the kind of day we had. A round of swamp crotch for everyone!
We paid $5 to feed the giraffes. This entailed getting to the giraffe exhibit at precisely 1 PM, waiting in line with a bunch of people who also shelled out for this “experience,” receiving a lecture by someone official, who was overly excited about the giraffes about not actually touching the giraffes or making any noise and spending exactly 27 seconds feeding said giraffe. You are welcome for that. I don’t think $5 is a lot of money. I just thought it would be different. I’m not sure what I was envisioning, me, Bird and the giraffes frolicking in the meadow with happy music playing in the background?
Overall, Bird had an exceptional time which is why we spent 14 hours packing and preparing for this adventure. If you ask her, she will tell you all of the animals we saw and she can also list random facts about them. For example, she is now proudly informed that giraffe can’t bite you because their teeth are really far in the back. She’s so smart. A round of tears for everyone!
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Events of Friday, May 14th, As They Unraveled
Fridays are quickly becoming my favorite day of the week. Why is this you ask? Because, my friends, I have discovered the bounty that is garage sales! I’m a snob but I’ll buy somebody else’s shit for the right price. I’m so not above that. Here is why- thus far, in my brief stint as a parent, I’ve discovered that everything we buy for Bird, that we are absolutely certain she will love, she does not. We spent a day and $80 on the damn sandbox and she hardly plays with it. She loves the $3 set of Disney Princess keys from Target, though. So, I’ve determined, based on the length of time the child will actually play with something, and the fact that you can find anything you want at a garage sale, I’m not buying anything new that can be Lysol wiped clean. Plus, she’s two yearsold, she has no idea and does not care if something is new. We’ll buy her new stuff when she’s older.
I became a garage saler by accident. I used to always run errands on Fridays. I happened by a few sales while I was out and about. I made some good scores: a tricycle, an outdoor playhouse and slide, a picnic table and some of those handy-dandy clamp-on roller skates. It’s easy to find new or like-new items for a miniscule portion of the regular in-store price. Also, since kid’s items are brightly colored, it’s easy to just do a drive-by and see if there’s anything that sparks your interest. It’s a pain in the ass to lug your tot in and out of the car just to go look at some old lady’s crusty supply of knick knacks (no offense if you’re an old lady with a crusty supply of knick knacks). I’ve also discovered that everybody wants the kid stuff so you have to come early. Waiting until Saturday is a bad idea if you want to really score. If you would have told me five years ago that I’d be writing on the internet about how to score fantastic garage sale items, I would have called you a liar…
So, now that we’ve got the background story all lined up, we can move on. Today, we headed out early. I don’t do this all day, people. I just take an hour or two and cruise around the neighborhood. We found a block sale today. Those are the best. We scored. I’ve been looking for a dollhouse for Bird. I didn’t really want to go the Little People route because I think she’ll grow out of it quickly. Anyway, low and behold, gleaming from one lady’s front lawn, was the mother of all garage sale finds-a Barbie Dreamhouse! Bird did not even know she wanted one; I knew she wanted one, though. You see, I wanted one for about ten years. I was obsessed with Barbie! I honestly think it’s the only toy I ever played with. I had millions of them. I still do because I saved them for my daughter! Anyway, for about ten years, the number one thing on my list was a Barbie Dreamhouse. Santa’s fat ass never delivered and I have a running joke with my mom that I’m scarred for life because of this. Coincidentally, today is my mom’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Mother! I’ll be making all of your grandchild’s dreams come true now…
The Dreamhouse met all the appropriate garage sale criteria-plastic so as it can be wiped (I am a germaphobe), in good shape, and cheap ($15). We took her home with us! I was so excited! I called my mom twice! I am crazy! It also came with a bunch of plastic furniture. We got everything all wiped up. Bird was truly ecstatic because she has a couple Barbie Dolls and some Disney Princess Dolls who were in desperate need of a home.
It’s a beautiful day today and we should have been outside but she was just so thrilled. I planned on having her skip her nap. The plan was that we would play for a bit indoors, take the dogs for a walk for rest period and then get groceries.
She was happily playing with her house while I was firing off pictures of her new toy to my mom, her Auntie and Bread at work. I am so that mom who is living through her child. That took all of maybe four minutes. She says to me, “I pooped my pants.” I thought there’s no way. When Bird poops, it’s a production. She’s been going on the toilet for months now, even before she was officially potty trained because she runs back and forth and becomes frantic when she has to go. It’s easy enough to figure out so I always can get her to the toilet. Well, not today. I swear to you, she did not move from in front of that dollhouse. She was so excited about her new toy that she shit herself! It wasn’t just a little skid either, we’re talking massive poop here (sorry if you’re eating or something while reading this). It’s my own fault. I should have known she had to go because I kind of felt like I did and we’re on the same schedule. I’ve heard of women who live together having the same monthly cycle but this other thing is complete nonsense. WTF?
I quickly assess the situation. Is there leakage? She had Capri pants on so this had potential to be messy. Thankfully, when I selected her panties this morning, I chose a pair of the training pants and not the light-weight fancy princess ones. The training pants have a lot more staying power. I remained calm. If you’re not a parent yet, you can’t appreciate the need to REMAIN CALM in a situation like this. Freaking out will only leave you with poop smeared all over your home.
We made it to the bathroom where I had to determine the best method for removing the shit-saturated pants. There was no button on her pants so I was forced to slide them off. I thought about putting her directly into the bathtub but feared she wasn’t done yet so instead opted for the toilet. There was crap all over. She kept saying,”Oh, no, there’s poop all over. Why’d you do that?” Those were my sentiments exactly. I have a plan for everything. An agenda, if you will, for each and every day. So much so that Bird now wants an itinerary. I’ll tell her we are going to go to the store. She will always ask what next and what next until we get to the part where she goes to bed. Needless to say, cleaning poop off my toddler, the toilet and then the bathtub was so not on today’s schedule.
I managed to remain calm through the entire incident. We got everything cleaned up and Bird got a bath. The last item to deal with was the shitty panties. You know what I did? I threw those bastards away! I figure I saved us about $150 on Barbie supplies that we didn’t know we needed! I was entitled to throw those away! I’ll buy a new pair for $3! I earned it. I also earned my internet time. Girlfriend needed a nap. I mean, I can understand, taking a shit like that is likely to tire you out. And, if you’d have told me, five years ago that I would be writing on the internet about my toddler, her shit and even mine, I would have told YOU that YOU were full of shit. But, here we are…Happy Friday, Bitches!
I became a garage saler by accident. I used to always run errands on Fridays. I happened by a few sales while I was out and about. I made some good scores: a tricycle, an outdoor playhouse and slide, a picnic table and some of those handy-dandy clamp-on roller skates. It’s easy to find new or like-new items for a miniscule portion of the regular in-store price. Also, since kid’s items are brightly colored, it’s easy to just do a drive-by and see if there’s anything that sparks your interest. It’s a pain in the ass to lug your tot in and out of the car just to go look at some old lady’s crusty supply of knick knacks (no offense if you’re an old lady with a crusty supply of knick knacks). I’ve also discovered that everybody wants the kid stuff so you have to come early. Waiting until Saturday is a bad idea if you want to really score. If you would have told me five years ago that I’d be writing on the internet about how to score fantastic garage sale items, I would have called you a liar…
So, now that we’ve got the background story all lined up, we can move on. Today, we headed out early. I don’t do this all day, people. I just take an hour or two and cruise around the neighborhood. We found a block sale today. Those are the best. We scored. I’ve been looking for a dollhouse for Bird. I didn’t really want to go the Little People route because I think she’ll grow out of it quickly. Anyway, low and behold, gleaming from one lady’s front lawn, was the mother of all garage sale finds-a Barbie Dreamhouse! Bird did not even know she wanted one; I knew she wanted one, though. You see, I wanted one for about ten years. I was obsessed with Barbie! I honestly think it’s the only toy I ever played with. I had millions of them. I still do because I saved them for my daughter! Anyway, for about ten years, the number one thing on my list was a Barbie Dreamhouse. Santa’s fat ass never delivered and I have a running joke with my mom that I’m scarred for life because of this. Coincidentally, today is my mom’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Mother! I’ll be making all of your grandchild’s dreams come true now…
The Dreamhouse met all the appropriate garage sale criteria-plastic so as it can be wiped (I am a germaphobe), in good shape, and cheap ($15). We took her home with us! I was so excited! I called my mom twice! I am crazy! It also came with a bunch of plastic furniture. We got everything all wiped up. Bird was truly ecstatic because she has a couple Barbie Dolls and some Disney Princess Dolls who were in desperate need of a home.
It’s a beautiful day today and we should have been outside but she was just so thrilled. I planned on having her skip her nap. The plan was that we would play for a bit indoors, take the dogs for a walk for rest period and then get groceries.
She was happily playing with her house while I was firing off pictures of her new toy to my mom, her Auntie and Bread at work. I am so that mom who is living through her child. That took all of maybe four minutes. She says to me, “I pooped my pants.” I thought there’s no way. When Bird poops, it’s a production. She’s been going on the toilet for months now, even before she was officially potty trained because she runs back and forth and becomes frantic when she has to go. It’s easy enough to figure out so I always can get her to the toilet. Well, not today. I swear to you, she did not move from in front of that dollhouse. She was so excited about her new toy that she shit herself! It wasn’t just a little skid either, we’re talking massive poop here (sorry if you’re eating or something while reading this). It’s my own fault. I should have known she had to go because I kind of felt like I did and we’re on the same schedule. I’ve heard of women who live together having the same monthly cycle but this other thing is complete nonsense. WTF?
I quickly assess the situation. Is there leakage? She had Capri pants on so this had potential to be messy. Thankfully, when I selected her panties this morning, I chose a pair of the training pants and not the light-weight fancy princess ones. The training pants have a lot more staying power. I remained calm. If you’re not a parent yet, you can’t appreciate the need to REMAIN CALM in a situation like this. Freaking out will only leave you with poop smeared all over your home.
We made it to the bathroom where I had to determine the best method for removing the shit-saturated pants. There was no button on her pants so I was forced to slide them off. I thought about putting her directly into the bathtub but feared she wasn’t done yet so instead opted for the toilet. There was crap all over. She kept saying,”Oh, no, there’s poop all over. Why’d you do that?” Those were my sentiments exactly. I have a plan for everything. An agenda, if you will, for each and every day. So much so that Bird now wants an itinerary. I’ll tell her we are going to go to the store. She will always ask what next and what next until we get to the part where she goes to bed. Needless to say, cleaning poop off my toddler, the toilet and then the bathtub was so not on today’s schedule.
I managed to remain calm through the entire incident. We got everything cleaned up and Bird got a bath. The last item to deal with was the shitty panties. You know what I did? I threw those bastards away! I figure I saved us about $150 on Barbie supplies that we didn’t know we needed! I was entitled to throw those away! I’ll buy a new pair for $3! I earned it. I also earned my internet time. Girlfriend needed a nap. I mean, I can understand, taking a shit like that is likely to tire you out. And, if you’d have told me, five years ago that I would be writing on the internet about my toddler, her shit and even mine, I would have told YOU that YOU were full of shit. But, here we are…Happy Friday, Bitches!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Bring On the Polyester Slacks
I feel old. I’m stuttering and stammering in social situations because I have nothing to talk about besides my tot. Most people, surprisingly, do not really want to hear about this all day. I always swore I would never be that person who could only talk about her kids. I read magazines and try to keep myself otherwise engaged to purposely avoid becoming like this. I fear I am one lame-ass person these days.
I need to liven up a bit. I’ve been a bit down because I feel like a stuffed pig. I feel ugly and unattractive and for some reason, for me, this equates to feeling old. I am only thirty-one years old! I’m hardly on my death bed!
Let’s talk about the reasons I am feeling elderly (I’ll do this in a list because we all know how much I love lists):
1. My bum knee. I haven’t even wanted to speak of this because it angers me so. I am trying to exercise like a mad-woman. For two weeks my knee has been bothering me! If I do nothing for a day or so, ice it and take ibuprofen, it starts to feel better. As soon as I resume my workout, the pain starts again. I’m frustrated and impatient! I need to get physical.
2. My gray hair. I hope I don’t need to elaborate on this one.
3. I’m suffering from the inability to keep my eyes open while reading. WTF? I love to read. I can’t actually read anything because my effing eyes are always closing! I am in a very strict book club. If I don’t actually start reading the books, I could be kicked out! This is one of my few monthly social obligations! I need this. Help!
4. One of my only social obligations is my book club.
5. I prefer staying home and making dinner to going out. It costs too much, the food is never great and I could probably make it better at home.
6. Someone called me ma’am the other day. Little fucker.
7. I have to wear my reading glasses to see the computer well.
8. I drink coffee at night to stay awake and it does not work! Shit, I am old. This is serious.
9. Crow’s feet. Also, little fuckers.
10. Recipes. I’ve begun sharing them with the World Wide Web. I’ve also started asking my friends to share their recipes with me.
11. I have no desire to go “clubbing.” I actually never really did. But, my extreme lack of interest in that is alarming me. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of identity crisis and have a strong desire to wear skin tight black pants, tall shoes and a skimpy tank top? I don’t. Also, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for blinding anyone.
12. I need a lot of sleep. I function best when I get seven or eight hours per night. I also go to bed at almost the same time each night and rise at about the same time every morning. Lame.
I think that completes my list of elderlyisms. Thus far, in my life, I’ve been totally okay with aging. I did not freak out when I turned 30. I think, actually 31 was way worse. But, I’ve always said I would age gracefully and someday get a boob job…
I fully understand the alternative to aging. I do not want that! I just feel a little blah these days. I say this as I’m icing my bum knee and drinking coffee! I can’t imagine why I would feel old. Excuse me, I hear some whippersnappers making noise and my child is napping! I have to go yell at them! Bastards!
I need to liven up a bit. I’ve been a bit down because I feel like a stuffed pig. I feel ugly and unattractive and for some reason, for me, this equates to feeling old. I am only thirty-one years old! I’m hardly on my death bed!
Let’s talk about the reasons I am feeling elderly (I’ll do this in a list because we all know how much I love lists):
1. My bum knee. I haven’t even wanted to speak of this because it angers me so. I am trying to exercise like a mad-woman. For two weeks my knee has been bothering me! If I do nothing for a day or so, ice it and take ibuprofen, it starts to feel better. As soon as I resume my workout, the pain starts again. I’m frustrated and impatient! I need to get physical.
2. My gray hair. I hope I don’t need to elaborate on this one.
3. I’m suffering from the inability to keep my eyes open while reading. WTF? I love to read. I can’t actually read anything because my effing eyes are always closing! I am in a very strict book club. If I don’t actually start reading the books, I could be kicked out! This is one of my few monthly social obligations! I need this. Help!
4. One of my only social obligations is my book club.
5. I prefer staying home and making dinner to going out. It costs too much, the food is never great and I could probably make it better at home.
6. Someone called me ma’am the other day. Little fucker.
7. I have to wear my reading glasses to see the computer well.
8. I drink coffee at night to stay awake and it does not work! Shit, I am old. This is serious.
9. Crow’s feet. Also, little fuckers.
10. Recipes. I’ve begun sharing them with the World Wide Web. I’ve also started asking my friends to share their recipes with me.
11. I have no desire to go “clubbing.” I actually never really did. But, my extreme lack of interest in that is alarming me. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of identity crisis and have a strong desire to wear skin tight black pants, tall shoes and a skimpy tank top? I don’t. Also, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for blinding anyone.
12. I need a lot of sleep. I function best when I get seven or eight hours per night. I also go to bed at almost the same time each night and rise at about the same time every morning. Lame.
I think that completes my list of elderlyisms. Thus far, in my life, I’ve been totally okay with aging. I did not freak out when I turned 30. I think, actually 31 was way worse. But, I’ve always said I would age gracefully and someday get a boob job…
I fully understand the alternative to aging. I do not want that! I just feel a little blah these days. I say this as I’m icing my bum knee and drinking coffee! I can’t imagine why I would feel old. Excuse me, I hear some whippersnappers making noise and my child is napping! I have to go yell at them! Bastards!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I Work Hard For No Money
There are many things in life that I’m just not that good at. I’m okay with most of those things. Although, I do wish I had learned to break dance and that I’d mastered the art of roasting Cornish game hens (Martha Stewart would so not be proud; this is not a “good thing”). Alas, we cannot all be perfect. I am trying my best.
What am I good at you ask? Funny, that’s just where this post was going. I am a stellar multi-tasker. This I have down. I have always been like this but motherhood has definitely amplified it. The real reason I excel in this field- I love leisure time! I love to be lazy! I love my shows! I love books and magazines! I love getting at least seven hours of sleep per night! The more I get done throughout the day, the less I have to do in the evening because come about 8 or 9 PM, I’m so hitting the couch.
I think of everything in terms of what else could I be doing right now? For instance, our washer and dryer are in the basement. I feed our dogs twice a day. Therefore, I take laundry with me. I may sort this laundry while Bird, is say, pooping (this is ALWAYS an ordeal). I never go down those stairs empty handed. The bonus to this is two-fold: I keep up on my laundry and I’m getting shit done. Also in the basement is our overstock. I make a mental list of things I need and bring them up when I return. My child eats forever. She does not eat a lot. She just has the attention span of a, well, two-year old so I use this time to my advantage. I empty the dishwasher, sort more laundry, clean up breakfast and/or check my email. I do pretty much anything I can where I can still see and hear her. My dogs need exercise. I need exercise. Bird needs a snack. Winning comb; I throw the kid in the jogger, get myself suited for a workout, throw a tasty snack in a container and off we go.
I have been up since 7:30, the perfect hour to rise I say. I have done three loads of laundry, put away said laundry, assembled the cushions on the chair that I just washed, fed Bird both breakfast and lunch (also ate too), wrote a blog post, cleaned the kitchen twice, played outside, took Bird for a walk around the block to discuss the seasonal blooms, played Princess, read four stories, walked our dogs for an hour (yes, workout) and tried to fix the spaghetti sauce I over-salted yesterday (awful mistake). I’m about to tuck Bird in for her afternoon snooze, do some weight lifting and shower. I may even apply some makeup! What a day this is turning out to be! My child was playing nicely by herself so I seized the opportunity. I feel a bit guilty. But, I only feel a bit guilty.
Have I really mastered this art or am I just a regular person with no skills boasting a useless ability? I say the former! I am proud of my domestic mastermind! There is nothing like Swiffering while making a dreaded phone call to get your pheromones running! Do you really want your pheromones to run in this matter? I’ve no clue but it sounded cool so I went with it…
So, moms out there in America and Canada and where ever you are that you happened to stumble upon my blog, get to multi-tasking! Maximize your leisure time! Make yourself happy so everyone around you will be happy! That’s the biggest complaint I hear from all my mom friends, that they don’t have enough time. What can YOU do to make more time? Think about it. Because we all are familiar with the phrase, “love makes the world go ‘round.” I beg to differ, moms do. We rock!
ATTENTION BREAD: This does not mean I have a ton of extra time. I am not, repeat, NOT lounging all day while you are at work! Please don’t fire me! Or take away my TV…Definitely do not take away the TV. That reminds me WTF, did people do before cable and internet?
What am I good at you ask? Funny, that’s just where this post was going. I am a stellar multi-tasker. This I have down. I have always been like this but motherhood has definitely amplified it. The real reason I excel in this field- I love leisure time! I love to be lazy! I love my shows! I love books and magazines! I love getting at least seven hours of sleep per night! The more I get done throughout the day, the less I have to do in the evening because come about 8 or 9 PM, I’m so hitting the couch.
I think of everything in terms of what else could I be doing right now? For instance, our washer and dryer are in the basement. I feed our dogs twice a day. Therefore, I take laundry with me. I may sort this laundry while Bird, is say, pooping (this is ALWAYS an ordeal). I never go down those stairs empty handed. The bonus to this is two-fold: I keep up on my laundry and I’m getting shit done. Also in the basement is our overstock. I make a mental list of things I need and bring them up when I return. My child eats forever. She does not eat a lot. She just has the attention span of a, well, two-year old so I use this time to my advantage. I empty the dishwasher, sort more laundry, clean up breakfast and/or check my email. I do pretty much anything I can where I can still see and hear her. My dogs need exercise. I need exercise. Bird needs a snack. Winning comb; I throw the kid in the jogger, get myself suited for a workout, throw a tasty snack in a container and off we go.
I have been up since 7:30, the perfect hour to rise I say. I have done three loads of laundry, put away said laundry, assembled the cushions on the chair that I just washed, fed Bird both breakfast and lunch (also ate too), wrote a blog post, cleaned the kitchen twice, played outside, took Bird for a walk around the block to discuss the seasonal blooms, played Princess, read four stories, walked our dogs for an hour (yes, workout) and tried to fix the spaghetti sauce I over-salted yesterday (awful mistake). I’m about to tuck Bird in for her afternoon snooze, do some weight lifting and shower. I may even apply some makeup! What a day this is turning out to be! My child was playing nicely by herself so I seized the opportunity. I feel a bit guilty. But, I only feel a bit guilty.
Have I really mastered this art or am I just a regular person with no skills boasting a useless ability? I say the former! I am proud of my domestic mastermind! There is nothing like Swiffering while making a dreaded phone call to get your pheromones running! Do you really want your pheromones to run in this matter? I’ve no clue but it sounded cool so I went with it…
So, moms out there in America and Canada and where ever you are that you happened to stumble upon my blog, get to multi-tasking! Maximize your leisure time! Make yourself happy so everyone around you will be happy! That’s the biggest complaint I hear from all my mom friends, that they don’t have enough time. What can YOU do to make more time? Think about it. Because we all are familiar with the phrase, “love makes the world go ‘round.” I beg to differ, moms do. We rock!
ATTENTION BREAD: This does not mean I have a ton of extra time. I am not, repeat, NOT lounging all day while you are at work! Please don’t fire me! Or take away my TV…Definitely do not take away the TV. That reminds me WTF, did people do before cable and internet?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Rock Bottom
You know you've hit rock bottom when you look up to see that it is four o'clock and are delighted because Oprah is on. Bring on the Bon Bons and I think I'll have a tub of Ben and Jerry's to go with them. Oh wait, I mean carrot sticks and celery.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Does She Keep a Clean House?
Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my maternal grandmother. She is, put simply, and rather understated, a real character. She has opinions on most everything and she's definitely not afraid to let anyone know what they are. I think this trait in her has heightened in her old age. Needless to say her opinions are her opinions and if you spend more than about 20 minutes in her presence you're bound to get your share of them.
Coming from a small town, gossip was a way of life. Everyone knew your business or your mom so nothing went untold. From an early age, I can remember Grandma and her friends, sitting around having a couple drinks (yes, booze) and discussing the locals. At the time, this didn't really mean anything to me but one of Grandma's favorite questions was, "Does she keep a clean house?" This very question she would ask me when I was older in regards to my friend's moms.
Obviously, given her age, Grandma grew up when there were men's and women's roles. Men worked. Women cleaned. Having a dirty home was most definitely a reflection on the woman despite the fact that she may or may not also have a job outside of the home.
Somehow this question has ingrained itself into my brain. I often think of it. Not because I feel like I have to keep a clean house but because how could that be the sole measure of a person's being? What about her children? Did she have a career? What about a college education? Maybe she has a hobby or two? I can't recall her ever asking any of these questions. I know this was a different era but how harsh.
There are days when our house is a total and utter pigsty. I have a child, a husband who works about 55 hours a week and two dogs who shed as if they are about to go bald. I am only one person. I do about 95 percent of the cleaning in our house. Not because I'm the woman but because I'm the one who does not get up and go to work.
Grandma, I don't mean to disappoint but there's a lot of dust up in here. I mean, sometimes I let you down. I spend time with my daughter. And when she's asleep, or otherwise occupied, I like to read, watch TV and cook. I don't like to clean. I'm sorry you spent a lot of years worried about "keeping a clean house." I happen to enjoy life. I just often feel like she's breathing down my neck warning me about cleaning the house. She does still do that. She's been known to tell people how dirty their homes are; she once pointed out the dust on my mother's microwave. Who cares about the outside? The inside is where your food goes. As long as that's clean does it really matter? I suppose she would be quite distressed if I let her look underneath my bed...Oh well, I should know better than to take advice from the woman who used to tell my friends and I not to drink or we'd end up pregnant. Hey, Granny, it doesn't work like that. There are a few steps in between. JSYK.
Today, St. Patty's Day, is actually Grandma's birthday. I think we should pay tribute to her. We should all sit back, enjoy a couple green beers and bask in the glow of dust, dirt and grime.
Coming from a small town, gossip was a way of life. Everyone knew your business or your mom so nothing went untold. From an early age, I can remember Grandma and her friends, sitting around having a couple drinks (yes, booze) and discussing the locals. At the time, this didn't really mean anything to me but one of Grandma's favorite questions was, "Does she keep a clean house?" This very question she would ask me when I was older in regards to my friend's moms.
Obviously, given her age, Grandma grew up when there were men's and women's roles. Men worked. Women cleaned. Having a dirty home was most definitely a reflection on the woman despite the fact that she may or may not also have a job outside of the home.
Somehow this question has ingrained itself into my brain. I often think of it. Not because I feel like I have to keep a clean house but because how could that be the sole measure of a person's being? What about her children? Did she have a career? What about a college education? Maybe she has a hobby or two? I can't recall her ever asking any of these questions. I know this was a different era but how harsh.
There are days when our house is a total and utter pigsty. I have a child, a husband who works about 55 hours a week and two dogs who shed as if they are about to go bald. I am only one person. I do about 95 percent of the cleaning in our house. Not because I'm the woman but because I'm the one who does not get up and go to work.
Grandma, I don't mean to disappoint but there's a lot of dust up in here. I mean, sometimes I let you down. I spend time with my daughter. And when she's asleep, or otherwise occupied, I like to read, watch TV and cook. I don't like to clean. I'm sorry you spent a lot of years worried about "keeping a clean house." I happen to enjoy life. I just often feel like she's breathing down my neck warning me about cleaning the house. She does still do that. She's been known to tell people how dirty their homes are; she once pointed out the dust on my mother's microwave. Who cares about the outside? The inside is where your food goes. As long as that's clean does it really matter? I suppose she would be quite distressed if I let her look underneath my bed...Oh well, I should know better than to take advice from the woman who used to tell my friends and I not to drink or we'd end up pregnant. Hey, Granny, it doesn't work like that. There are a few steps in between. JSYK.
Today, St. Patty's Day, is actually Grandma's birthday. I think we should pay tribute to her. We should all sit back, enjoy a couple green beers and bask in the glow of dust, dirt and grime.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Manic Monday
In the old days, when I dreamt of a fantastic life as a domestic goddess, I envisioned having ample leisure time. I would care for my husband, our daughter and our two dogs while still having plenty of time to write a novel, have a blog and organize everything in our house. And then reality set in. While that’s certainly not what actually goes on here, at least I put forth a gallant effort (in my eyes, in comparison to nobody, but whatever).
The truth is: I’m not as fit as I’d like to be, I do not clean as much as I should and I don’t spend nearly enough time working on my novel (or any time but that’s irrelevant). Sometimes I find it difficult to get motivated. I think I am not very good at managing my time. Lately, the tantrums have been wiping me of all my energy; it takes a lot of mental strength to handle that without losing your cool.
One of my biggest disillusions about stay-at-home motherhood is that Mondays would no longer be Mondays. I mean, it would just be another day. I would always feel like every day was a weekend and I would no longer have that dreaded lump in my gut that started somewhere in the middle of Sunday afternoon couch time. While the lump has long gone away, Monday is still Monday. I still have responsibilities. I have to grocery shop. I need to make a meal plan. The laundry pile is growing. I still have to walk the dogs, deal with the clutter and empty the dishwasher. Maybe it doesn’t matter to the people next store if I do all these things but it does matter to us. It’s our house. It’s our lives' and things need to go a certain way in order for everybody here to be happy.
Sometimes, especially in what feels like it should be the end of winter even though I know we probably still have at least another month, the day-to-day starts to feel a bit mundane. I’m sick of being stuck indoors. Last week we had a taste of warm weather, just enough to get the bug, and now it somehow feels ickier than when it was 20 degrees outside. There is mud everywhere. Everything is brown. I’m tired. I just want to hide under the covers with a book. I wish I could call in sick.
While I can’t have a sick day, I do have the luxury of deciding what I want to do today. I have the sweetest little girl, who wants me to “play kitchen.” She also just told me, despite my unwashed hair and lack of makeup, that I “look beautiful today.” I wouldn’t trade that for a million sick days.
The truth is: I’m not as fit as I’d like to be, I do not clean as much as I should and I don’t spend nearly enough time working on my novel (or any time but that’s irrelevant). Sometimes I find it difficult to get motivated. I think I am not very good at managing my time. Lately, the tantrums have been wiping me of all my energy; it takes a lot of mental strength to handle that without losing your cool.
One of my biggest disillusions about stay-at-home motherhood is that Mondays would no longer be Mondays. I mean, it would just be another day. I would always feel like every day was a weekend and I would no longer have that dreaded lump in my gut that started somewhere in the middle of Sunday afternoon couch time. While the lump has long gone away, Monday is still Monday. I still have responsibilities. I have to grocery shop. I need to make a meal plan. The laundry pile is growing. I still have to walk the dogs, deal with the clutter and empty the dishwasher. Maybe it doesn’t matter to the people next store if I do all these things but it does matter to us. It’s our house. It’s our lives' and things need to go a certain way in order for everybody here to be happy.
Sometimes, especially in what feels like it should be the end of winter even though I know we probably still have at least another month, the day-to-day starts to feel a bit mundane. I’m sick of being stuck indoors. Last week we had a taste of warm weather, just enough to get the bug, and now it somehow feels ickier than when it was 20 degrees outside. There is mud everywhere. Everything is brown. I’m tired. I just want to hide under the covers with a book. I wish I could call in sick.
While I can’t have a sick day, I do have the luxury of deciding what I want to do today. I have the sweetest little girl, who wants me to “play kitchen.” She also just told me, despite my unwashed hair and lack of makeup, that I “look beautiful today.” I wouldn’t trade that for a million sick days.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Ch-Ch-Ch Changes
Happy Friday to all! If you're a fellow stay-at-homer, this may or may not mean anything to you. It doesn't really mean much to me since Bread typically works at least a half day on Saturdays. This has always been the way of his career so I'm used to it. Sundays are my happy day.
Fridays are a fun cooking day around here. Since we are living on a single income and have a child with a peanut allergy that restaurants don't take very seriously, we don't go out to dinner as often as we used to. Back when I had a job, Fridays were usually a day to go out. Who am I kidding? So were Saturdays, Sundays and pretty much ever other day of the week. Anyway, on Friday's I try to make something restaurant-ish. Meaning: something that's maybe not so good for us. Usually, it's pizza, enchiladas or some sort of grilled sandwich.
Tonight we are having lasagna. It's one of Bread's favorites. I received the ultimate compliment from him in regards to my lasagna which is actually my mom's. He said he liked it better than his mom's. If you have a husband, wife or significant other who enjoys food, their mother's food in particular, you know this is indeed fantastic.
But, I recently feel in love with The Pioneer Woman and her blog. She has an amazing sounding lasagna recipe. I really want to try it. Should I rock the boat? This is a big decision. Bread likes his food. I could really throw him off with this.
I am still undecided. It's not like he won't eat it; he pretty much eats everything. Bread is a hard-working man and I like to have him well fed.
You know it's a good day when the biggest decision you have to make is what lasagna recipe to use and you don't need to go to the grocery store either way. Life is good! Enjoy your weekend!
Fridays are a fun cooking day around here. Since we are living on a single income and have a child with a peanut allergy that restaurants don't take very seriously, we don't go out to dinner as often as we used to. Back when I had a job, Fridays were usually a day to go out. Who am I kidding? So were Saturdays, Sundays and pretty much ever other day of the week. Anyway, on Friday's I try to make something restaurant-ish. Meaning: something that's maybe not so good for us. Usually, it's pizza, enchiladas or some sort of grilled sandwich.
Tonight we are having lasagna. It's one of Bread's favorites. I received the ultimate compliment from him in regards to my lasagna which is actually my mom's. He said he liked it better than his mom's. If you have a husband, wife or significant other who enjoys food, their mother's food in particular, you know this is indeed fantastic.
But, I recently feel in love with The Pioneer Woman and her blog. She has an amazing sounding lasagna recipe. I really want to try it. Should I rock the boat? This is a big decision. Bread likes his food. I could really throw him off with this.
I am still undecided. It's not like he won't eat it; he pretty much eats everything. Bread is a hard-working man and I like to have him well fed.
You know it's a good day when the biggest decision you have to make is what lasagna recipe to use and you don't need to go to the grocery store either way. Life is good! Enjoy your weekend!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
This is the Part where Reality Sets In
Despite it being well over a year since I began my new life as Domestic Diva, I still have a hard time accepting this. It's not glamorous. I no longer need high-heeled shoes. Pencil skirts are a thing of the past. I suppose I could still wear these things but I'd look like a nutter chasing my two year-old in that getup. I don't need any extra help in the crazy department.
The reality of my life just hit me. I just made pot roast in the crock pot. That's not so bad, right? I was wearing a giant bathrobe and a blue face mask. Multi-tasking? At least it's a dill pot roast...
The reality of my life just hit me. I just made pot roast in the crock pot. That's not so bad, right? I was wearing a giant bathrobe and a blue face mask. Multi-tasking? At least it's a dill pot roast...
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