Settlement

After a tumultuous few days of my histrionics and melodrama, I'm feeling quite like crap. Hopefully it was just brought about by a combo of lack of sleep, hormone shifts pre-ovulation, and needing a change in meds. Anyway, without the gory details and back story, it came to a head last night and I felt better for a bit. And then came Facebook. I'm pretty sure it's just me, maybe I'm actually overly romantic and never realized it, or over thinking and over reading and over obsessive, but I think my hubby may have "settled." His post: My wife doesn't complete me, she does make me better in every way. Without her I am a consuming/producing automaton, with her I am a man. She elevates me and is my constant inspiration and joy. I'm stuck at the first phrase.

 

When I think of being in love, of being with the person I love, I think of being complete. He may not make me perfect, or even close, but he makes me feel whole, like the part that was missing is finally there. He completes me. So if I don't complete him, he must have just settled. For the gal who was there, whom he can talk to, who's a good friend. Maybe this is why I never felt he had passion towards me; he doesn't, we're just friends who live together, have sex from time to time, talk together, and made a couple kids. I hope not, I love him too much to think he's missed out on who he was meant for.

 

I hurt. I'm going to go now, resume my duties and make lunch, finish laundry. When you read this Hon, please don't respond online – I can't bear it. Anyone else, feel free to tell me I'm being an ass, or a drama queen, hormonal maybe. Just don't tell me I'm right.

 

Fresh as a puppy's bottom

I put a load of laundry in the washer before bed last night. When I went to put it in the dryer this morning, I noticed it had an odd smell, but being in a rush I threw it in the dryer and went on my way.

An hour or so later, I remove the dry clothing from the dryer. And what an awful stink! It literally smelled like a dog butt. A really dirty, 'just expressed my anal glands all over myself' dog butt. Did the dogs somehow open the washer door and throw in a pile of poop during the spin cycle? Or maybe into the dryer, since it was a nasty smell while damp. I guess the heated air from the dryer really brought it out.

I'm guessing other people have had this problem in the past, and that's why washers now have a "self clean' mode. I may have to use it.

You'll find it next to the soup

So for the past few weeks, I've been looking for pipe cleaners. Not really looking looking, just whenever I remember I would poke around a likely store, ask at customer service, etc. Before you ask, no, I don't smoke a pipe, nor do I need to clean one. But I have a toddler, who has a penchant for straw sippy cups, and leaving the cups in pockets of alternate dimensions so we don't find them until the straws are green or black and full of some other-universe science experiment. And I can't seem to find replacement straws anywhere. Valves, sometimes; straws, hell no. Which brings me back to the pipe cleaners - so I can try to salvage the straws.

Mostly when I've asked about the pipe cleaners, I'm sent to customer service and/or the tobacco section. Makes sense. But our none of the local grocery stores or Target had them. But yesterday I had to run to Walmart, and I thought, "Hey, Walmart has even more crap than Target. They've got to have them." And after picking up my other items, the following scene-from-a-sitcom occurred:


Me: Do you know if your store sells pipe cleaners?

Thick-accented female employee: Pie is with desserts.

Me: No, not pie, pipe. Pipe cleaners.

Thick-accented female employee: No, pie is dessert.

Me (with confused look): Um, I'm not looking for pie. Do you sell pipes?

Thick-accented female employee: I check for you. (walks to male employee with me trailing behind) She is looking for pike learners.

Non-accented male employee: Bikes would be over with toys and games.

Me: I'm not looking for a bike, I wanted to see if you sell pipe cleaners.

Non-accented male employee: Really? You know those aren't good for you and, um, (he points to the infant on my back) the kid.

Me: Yes, thank you. Do you know if this store sells pipe cleaners?

Non-accented male employee: Not sure, but if we do, they'd be with tobacco. That's the the express lanes, just ask there.

Me: (to both) Thanks. -I then walk to the front, queue up at express and at my turn, begin anew -

Me: Do you have pipe cleaners?

Accented male-employee: You want pie?

Me: No, pipe.

Accented male-employee: Try lawn and garden.

Me: Um, lawn and garden?

Employee: Yes, pipes are in lawn and garden.

Me: I'm looking for a different type of pipe, The kind you smoke, like, with tobacco.

Employee: You can't smoke a pipe. Go to lawn and garden.

Me: Okay, I'm looking for a pipe cleaner for a tobacco pipe.

Employee: Oh, my mistake. You need household chemicals.

Me: No, it's not a chemical cleaner. It's like a chenille stem, which are for crafts, but this is to clean pipes [note: why was I trying to explain this?!?]

Employee: You want to clean it without chemical?

Me: Um, the tobacco section behind you. Can you check for pipe cleaners please?

Employee: You need chemicals.

Me: I tried to look while in line, but I can't see the whole section. Just turn around and check please?

Employee: I call manager. (turns on flashing light....groans from shoppers behind me...and one snicker)

Manager (also accented, but he seems able to understand me): How can I assist you?

Me: I'm looking for pipe cleaners.

Manager: For a tobacco pipe?

Me: Yes.

Manager: Normally they'd be right here, but we discontinued pipes and pipe cleaners. Have you checked at Target?


PS...
In the end, I went down the street to the mall and popped into The Tobacconist. Willingly walking into a 15'x15' room full of smoke with an infant is such fun...but $2.87 later I had my pipe cleaners and am planning to clean those sippy straws. Soon.

What kind of day is today?

That 'some days are good, some days are bad' thing is so true. This week has been a bit rough. Check it out:

Monday – I can't remember most of Monday anymore. I really only remember one big thing: I lost my 20 month old in our townhouse. I think the day had been going pretty well, or else was good by comparison, because there are really only about 20 minutes that stand out. The big boy had slept in that morning, about 2 hours later than normal, so he skipped morning nap. Gave him a slightly early lunch, rthen an earlier nap/quiet time. We weren't sure when Dad would be home, as it was his first day working in a new location, and they made him start later than norm, so we were going to do dinner ourselves. Boy got up from nap around 4:30pm, and we were playing for a bit, until I realized it was almost 5:30 and I hadn't even started to prep anything to eat (and we normally eat at 5pm – ack!) I popped into the kitchen and cut up some leftovers, nuke them, and go to get the toddling. Don't see him. Call out, no answer. Go into the living room, still calling, and looking into all the hidey holes. No boy. Panic starts to creep in – where the hell can he be? Check bookcases, as he's started climb, but no luck. Then hear a distant giggle – seems to be coming from below me. But that can' be, because the baby gate is still locked and he pushed a cart in front of it, and he still doesn't go down stairs without falling, so there's no way… um, right. Run down the stairs to find a grinning, laughing toddler trying to open the front door. I almost lost it, but it gets even more special. While searching for the boy, the dogs breach the kitchen, eat the food off the high chair and counter, & break a plate in the process. Mom point for me – no breakdown, just reheat more leftovers and get on with the consumption of fuel. So an overall good day with a huge scare and some super-stellar parenting on my part (um, sarcasm there, in case ya couldn't tell). Ugh.

Tuesday – Shrink appointment day. Mom came to help with the boys, since it's frowned on to take them in with you. Not to mention the office is super tiny and a single stroller won't fit, so the double is a no go. Then went to lunch, which was overall great. Only a few minor cranky bits, plus really yummy food, and leftovers for the next day. Oncew we got home it was nap until Daddy got home, hooray! So a good day.

Wednesday – I decided to stay home for the day, uh huh, good call there. The specifics are already fading in a blur, and I just don't want to remember. There was climbing, destroying, screaming, computer being turned off repeatedly, printer being broken, breaking into bookshelves, climbing other bookshelves, climbing on dog crates, screaming from getting feet caught in dog crates, climbing on little brother until he screamed, and several more things I've already made the unconscious decision to forget. It was bad enough that when the hubby called to say he was on his way home, I asked for mcfood. The last nerve was hit, patience was gone, hair pulled out. Not such a good day.

Today has overall been good. I woke up not tired for a change; not awake and refreshed, but not feeling like I needed another 50 hours in bed either. I was able to get some laundry done, remembered to turn on the dishwasher, and cleaned up a bit before the boys woke. Cheated a bit with the easy breakfast route, cheerios with cheese sticks and hot dog, and a side of pear. Took the boys to Target to make a few returns, and grabbed a bunch of super sale clothes for them while there (shorts under $2, shirts under $3 – even better than the mart of Wal can do) and came home to put the little guys down for a nap. Two and a half hours later (nice job, Fuss!) we have lunch of meatloaf and eggplant parmesan, with pear for dessert. Most of the meatloaf was fed to the dachshunds – using a fork – but the eggplant was a big hit. And then all hell broke loose. So two hours of climbing, cursing, throwing, hitting, and breaking things later, big guy is down for another nap/quiet time (he's singing and babbling in the crib), little guy is tied to my front and napping, and I get 3 seconds to wee. Hip hip! So about 2/3 of today has been good. Day's not over yet though! I need to decide if I should walk or drive the boys to Home Depot to get another safety strap, or just bag it 'til the weekend. Sigh.

Tomorrow could go either way. We have relatives coming into town for the weekend (an aunt and second cousin( so I'm taking the boys to my folk's place to visit. I don't think my aunt has ever met the Boogie, but he's only 5 months old (today! Happy pseudo-birthday Boog!) I'll try to go over right after breakfast, hoping the big guy will be able to take his morning nap over there, then we'll have lunch and play, etc. Fingers crossed it's not a 'fussie' day!

Time for shopping

As counterintuitive as it may seem, I think I need to go shopping more often. Especially places like Target, where spending can quickly get out of control on bunches of little things. See, the less I go, the more I spend. I tend to go to the grocery store 3-4 times each week, whether it's for milk, fresh fruit, ice (stupid broken ice maker) or meal items. The hubby and I tend to go once or twice a month for staples (as in things you use often, not paper fasteners, you goofball). And I've become quite the bargain shopper at the grocery store. Between sales, coupons, bonus card savings and generics, I usually get out of there for $20 or less, but more commonly under $10.

At the mall, I tend not to spend much. First, I usually have a double stroller and two kids with me, and the stroller has almost zero cargo room. Granted, the younger, lighter child tends to sleep on my back, and his seat is used to hold things, but still not a lot of room. And sometimes I need to put him down, so I can't shove too much in there. Also, despite being one of the narrowest of side-by-side doubles (it's slimmer that a standard wheelchair!), it tends not to fit in most mall-store aisles or between racks.

And don't get me started on attempting to try on clothes – that's just laughable. The only way it's even remotely possible at this stage is to strap them both into the stroller, which never fits into a dressing room. So the options become 1) leaving them out in the store unattended, but securely strapped into the stroller or 2) leaving the stroller in the main area, placing one child on the floor and try not to step on him, and let the runner go free range. This would have me leaving one in the dressing room on the floor unattended and chasing down the toddling while half-dressed and hopefully not flashing the rest of the mall too much. It's never happened, but I've had nightmares. Either way, stellar parenting. So in a long-winded nutshell, I tend not to spend much at the mall.

So back to Target, my nemesis. When I go often, I know I'll be back, so that extra $7 tee shirt or $14 toy can wait until next time; I follow my list of formula, bottle liners, acetaminophen, and feminine hygiene products (all generic, mind you) and put off the splurges until when hubby is along. That way, if he agrees on a splurge, I don't feel like I'm being sneaky or self-centered (even if it's something for him or the boys – weird, huh?) and there's the bonus of he'll pay for it. Double win!

But days like today, when I haven't been there on a solo trip in 3-4 weeks (okay, there were 3 of us, but one was asleep and the other gets no real say in anything) I tend to go a bit bat shit and buy everything I can fit in the cart. For example, water shoes for a toddler who has never been to a pool. A single-toddler sized blow up pool (Thanks M! – I need a place to use those shoes!). Tee shirts for the hubby a size smaller than he has in his wardrobe, because his weight loss has been terrific and I noticed the past couple weeks that most of his t's are swimming on him. [note a pool theme….hmmm] More child-proofing items, two of which I already know need to be returned because I tried them as soon as we got home and they don't fit the doors they were supposed to go on. And those are just the things I remember! Gah, just when I think my shopaholic tendencies are under control, I have to skip my weekly shopping trip and screw it all up.

I may have to try to prove my theorem. Or just decide I'm right and go shopping more often.

Note to hubby: Don't worry sweetums, I have the receipt. Monday the boys and I can get out of the house by returning things to Target!

We soooo know who the father is

 

When I was pregnant with our Fuss, I had a celebrity crush. I hesitate to type his name, for fear we may eventually meet and he'll be able to point and say, "Oh, you're the crazy pregnant online stalker lady" or something like that. This way, if we ever meet and for some weird twist of parallel universe fate we're both single and he falls madly in love with me, he'll never need know, right? But I was very stalkery. My hubby and I had discovered his show, then in its 5^th season, during the writer's strike, and he bought me the box set of seasons 1-4. We pretty much watched them back-to-back. Several times. And then I started to Netflix some of his older work, and asked for more DVDs for Christmas, which my hubby bought for me despite having to order them from BBCA. I blame him (my hubster) for facilitating this obsession, seeing as how he watched the shows with me, bought me more fodder, and jokingly coined the term 'Papa Greg' for the character's relationship to our soon-to-be first born.

So one day when visiting his Dad and his Dad's wife, someone brought up my little infatuation. [Read this as not me….I was terribly embarrassed by it at the time.] No big deal, though I got a couple strange looks. Then, after dinner when I was alone with the FIL, I mentioned how excited we both were about our expected son, and how he was going to be Hubby Jr. His Dad looked at me a second and said, "Well, we always know who the mother is…" With ellipses. Because there was a trailing off, an implication. I think I looked stunned for a moment before giving a little chuckle, hoping he was making a joke. But it hurt, and it's stuck with me.

Fast forward to Fuss' birth. He has blue eyes, as all (or most) newborns do, but very bright, clear-sky blue. Just like that actor…. They still are the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, and we get comments on them all the time. I have light eyes too, but not in his league. Daddy's eyes, of course, are brown.

A bit more background, if you'll indulge me. I'm a girl (duh!). In fact, I'm a pretty girly girl. I like singing and dancing, makeup and hair-dos and dressing up, reading and playing and horses and…you get it. And I'm an only child, so I never had a brother or any real experience with little boys. (Unless you count the 6 weeks one summer my parents made me volunteer at a day care center and I was placed with the 2 year olds, and had to quit because I was so embarrassed over how the little boys constantly had their hands down their pants.) So anyway, we have two boys, and I have zilch life experience with toddler boys. I knew they'd be a lot more physical than I was, but I wasn't quite prepared…

Speed up again, to today, 20 months and 1 day after the birth of our Fuss. We've been baby-proofing, toddler-proofing, re-toddler-proofing, moving things around, de-crapifying, and generally trying to make the house safe for the big boy. Today I had to pee. It is 100 degrees outside, I'm trying to keep up with liquids and not have to resort to stashing one of their diapers in my undies. I'm thinking I may have to though, because when I came back to the living room, Fuss was on the floor playing with flea and tick repellant. Yep, the kind for dogs. Luckily he hadn't opened it yet. (Funny thing, it was in a drawer about 3.5' off the ground. A drawer that sticks so hard I have to brace myself and give a hearty pull to get it open to get the repellant.) Anyway, I ran into the kitchen to grab a bag to put the rest of the hazardous material in, after first ripping the one vial from his hands (screeching from the boy), ran back into the living room and threw the stuff in the bag. I turned around and the boy was gone. Back into kitchen; don't see him. Heart beings to speed up, and then I notice the door to the deck was open. The little booger had snuck into the kitchen, out onto the deck, and was trying to climb the gas grill. Yikes. [Note to self and hubby: start locking deck door.]

I've checked with my husband about this before, and his mom. Apparently my big guy and his two brothers were a bit of a handful: climbing everything, destroying everything, trying to lock each other in dryers, hitting each other with snow-covered rocks. All sorts of emergency-room-involving activites. And aren't I the lucky one, my little boy is just like his daddy.

Oh, and I figured out how he reached the drawer – he climbed onto a dog crate. As to getting the drawer open, he's actually that much stronger, or more determined, than me.

Just when things are looking up

 

Today was supposed to be a great day. The hubby starts his new, full-time job, in an office and everything. We have (had by the time this gets published) a baby-wearing meeting to socialize, try another style carrier, and just get out of the house. Planned to get lunch out, then run to store for a few things and back home in time for afternoon nap. But things never happen as planned, right?

There are a bunch of old sayings, like "bad things always come in threes" or "the grass is always greener on the other side" or "if it looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck…" (oh, wait, that's something completely different ). So today's saying for my morning is that just when things are looking up, they're about to go into the crapper. Literally. Here's the day so far:

2am – woke up

4am – gave up trying to fall back to sleep and started to plan out the day

5am – went downstairs for midol (yep, a nice little added bonus) then back up to take a shower. Accidentally woke the hubby. Luckily it was about 3 minutes before the alarm was set to go off.

5:50am – back downstairs to mind the bambino, who was starting to smile and coo in his bassinet. Changed his clothes and put on cloth diaper.

6:15am – heard the stirrings of the toddling over the monitor (really? You usually don't wake until 7:30 or so); begin force-feeding morning bottle to Milk Shark, so I'll have a few minutes to attend to his older bro in a bit

6:45am – let dogs out back (one refuses), prep morning bottles and breakfast

7am – retrieve a Fuss from his crib. Note that this is easier than normal, as he's still dressed, hasn't eaten any diaper bits, and the diaper is still on under the pajamas. Say quick thank you for small favors. Change him into cloth diaper and shorts.

7:15am – breakfast for Fuss, put Milk Shark in bassinet, and he falls asleep (again, easier than normal – double bonus!) (and yes, this is where I should have begun to get worried)

7:30am – realize Fuss has thrown most of breakfast to the hounds (aka dachshunds) and wants fruit. Only have canned beans and tomatoes on shelf, and one last cup of diced peaches. Give him peaches and cheerios.

7:40am – Shark awakens with brain-piercing shrieks – wet dipe and spit up all over himself. Quickly clean up infant.

7:45am – Realize I'm hungry and nuke 2 taquitos, gulp them done while too hot, then take both offspring to living room for morning tv (luckily able to change channel before "the drama that is Charmed starts now".) Position baby on lap to accommodate feeding/burping/sleeping ritual.

8:10am – Hear/feel seismic quake on lap & laugh at baby as he's grinning smugly up at me. Decide to wait a couple minutes to ensure bowel is completely evacuated (don't want another "play dough factory" incident.)

8:12am – Fuss comes over & hugs little brother (adorable!) but squeezes a bit too hard eliciting a large amount of spit up (not so adorable!) Grab burp cloth and wipe spit up off leg, sneeze, wipe nose with….. wait for it….. poopy burp cloth. Try not to puke in mouth as the realization hits that it was only a tiny bit of spit up, and the great spreading warmth all over my legs and stomach was the first ever Milk Shark diaper blow out.

8:13am – Place baby on changing table, remove shirt and pants and roll into a ball and throw on kitchen floor to rinse out later (but hopefully soonish), and proceed to clean up baby. So glad I bothered with that shower since I now smell like baby poop, at least my hair is still..um, yep, still clean.

8:20am – morning time resumes; call folks to see if they have withdrawal and want to see their grandkids (yes, but visitors
company uninvited-by-them guests should be there any minute, can you come over tomorrow?)

9:10am – retrieve Fuss from top of dog crate he just learned to climb

9:11am – ask Fuss to get off dog crate or have a time out

9:12am – repeat 9:11am

9:12:25am – again

9:13am – ask Fuss to not stand on the drawer he just opened (I can't even open it it's so tight, how the hell…?)

9:14am – get Fuss a bottle of milk and snack cup

9:30am – change Fuss' diaper and take him up for nap/quiet-play time at his request; feed more ammo to Milk Shark

9:50am – Put sleeping baby in bassinet again, take crap-filled laundry to machine, let dogs out again (same one refuses)

10:15am – Pick up crying baby, insert bottle to block sound, start hunt-and-peck single-digit typing

10:35am – Currently listening to toddler talk on the monitor, with sleeping baby on lap, twisted to side to use both hands to type, and trying to decide if leaving the house this afternoon is a great idea and diversion, a necessary evil, or just plain necessary.

 

10:42am – trying to decide to laugh, cry, or sleep.

 

How's your day?

 

P.S. 10:51am finish re-reading post, noticed several grammatical/spelling/tense errors, but just don't care to correct them right now. Will publish post and let friends point them out and feel like an idiot about it later.

 

Busted

Hey you! Lady in the dark blue Pilot in the Mickie D's drive through. Yeah, you with the toddler jumping all over your car. Ever hear of these cool safety devices called seat belts? Probably not, since you aren't wearing one. And neither is the previously mentioned mini now hanging out the window. There are also these special items called "car seats" for little ones, but, um, you don't have one. They're for the kiddle to sit in, in case you have an accident. Oh, and it's like, state law or something. And while I'll admit the line isn't all that dangerous, the fact that I followed you from the line onto route 50 with the child still wandering the car makes me sad and frightened for the little tyke. I wonder if you even care for his safety. And I wish there hadn't been such a glare in the window so the pic I took with my camera phone could be sent to the authorities.

(witnessed Friday, May 28, 2010)

Happy May Everything!

I'm not fond of the month of May. Yes, the weather is really shaping up, and there's a 3-day weekend towards the end, but take a look at the rest of the month:

Parent's anniversary (mine)

Mother's day (my mom, MIL, step MIL, and now, me)

Niece's birthday (other side of country)

Father's birthday

Brother-in-law's birthday (also other side of country – niece's dad)

Husband's birthday

Mother-in-law's birthday

Step-sister-in-law's birthday

Memorial Day

Oh, yeah, and my birthday is somewhere in that lot too.

 

It makes it a bit of a mess. We have to coordinate birthday dinners with 3 sets of parents, Mother's Day dinners with 2 sets, get a dozen gifts (more on this later), try to be "on" for all of previously mentioned get-togethers, be appreciative of gifts received (again, see later), send thank you notes (which I haven't actually done in at least a decade because I have horrific manners & no, my mother didn't raise me this way) and now we have to do it all with a very schedule-regimented toddler and an infant. Oh, and get some sleep in there somewhere. Plus all the normal things we do day-to-day each month, but with a week less to do them in because of all the damned get-togethers. Just thinking about it exhausts me.

 

So to make life easier, one year I created May Everything Day. Yes, I know, I made another whole day to celebrate, but it actually cuts down on several of the get-togethers. How? Re-read the name of the day. May Everything. So instead of getting together 5 times with my parents, we just do one day, and celebrate mother's day for two, anniversary for them, and 3 birthdays. It's a coup, I tell you. We kind of do this unofficially with the Hubster's mom and her hubby (love him to death! – oh, her too, sorry) because they live almost an hour and a half away – not a big deal until you add little kids that don't like car seats. And we don't celebrate Mom's day for the dad-in-law's wife – her own kids can do that – and they've finally consolidated to 1 dinner for 3 birthdays (though it's always her son's wife's favorite flavors for cake and ice cream), so we're now down to 3 days for the month.

 

As long as it's not the 3 days of Memorial Day weekend, we're good.

LuLu the Grouch

Yup, that's me. Not always, only when I don't get enough sleep. Which has been the past 4 months or so. How do I know almost exactly when it began? Two ways. First, I had a baby 11 weeks ago, and the too-pregnant-to-stay-asleep-because-I'm-in-pain phase started about a month before. Second, that was when the contractions induced by stress induced by blizzards began. Oh, wait, that would be "see the first way," & I can't think of a new second because I'm too damned tired. But it's not all bad. There are intermittent moments of sleepfulness when I'm not a total Grouch. They usually involve Ambien (ahhhh), snakebites (ouch and yum), or nooners (yippee!) It's safe to say the Hubster and I will never try to combine all three at once - it would cause a cataclysm in our little universe.

So you may think it's perfectly normal for the mother of an 11 week old to be living(?) on little sleep. Which tells me you aren't a good reader because you missed the bit about the Ambien. Or don't know what it is, in which case get out of your cave and search wikipedia. In case the blog name and address didn't clue you in, I'm manic. Technically manic-depressive, or bi-polar to the hipsters. And yes, I was diagnosed after it came into "fashion," though supposedly by the guy who "discovered" it.

Being manic for me tends to include that I don't sleep, among other things. I could go into detail here about my mania-induced nuttiness, but more fun to throw these things in a few at a time. Don't want to scare off all the norms. Actually, when I'm in depressive mode, I tend not to sleep either, but that's because I become afraid of not existing, and that too is a subject for another time. Before the diagnosis - and bliss in pill form - I had developed a huge (like divorce-worthy) online-gaming obsession, and would play for hours and hours, just eating, drinking, mousing, text chatting and yelling at the scream with the tv blaring in the background. And once most games enabled voice chat, add in inappropriate innuendos, arguments, & screaming at people I'd never met, never would, and didn't give a damn about. Hey, it was something to fill the time - I hadn't discovered blogging then.

Okay, so I do sleep, just not well, or for very long. Hence the Ambien. And even that doesn't keep me asleep at times. Lord help me if I drink too much water in the evening, because one walk to the toilet (a whole 8 steps) and I'm too awake to get back to sleep. Luckily, I don't have to get up to breastfeed the boogie, or I'd be way worse. And before the hating starts on that, let me remind you: manic-depressive = big, bad drugs = no BF allowed, and no milk made anyway. And no, I won't stop taking the meds, as a nice & well-meaning breastfeeding mommy suggested, because then I might hurt my little joys, or my lobster, or myself. Or her, if she ever makes another unsolicited, uninformed and unrealistic suggestion to me. She'd know who she is, if she ever read this.

But I digress. I do that a lot. Unorganized mind and all.

About last night, I went to bed a little early, 7:30-ish. We're changing our sleeping schedules to let the big man grab a bit more, as he's supposed to start working from an office again as of next week. Ugh. Gotta do what the boss says, though. Took my happy pill, read half a chapter of Potter, and hit the light. Next thing I know I'm getting a lovely exfoliation treatment. From a cat. With his scratchier-than-sandpaper tongue. Big ouch. And then I had to winkie-tinkie*, so off to the toilet. Back to bed in hope of reclaiming my bliss, but in vain. (Not vane or vein! *cheeky grin*) Even daydreaming about Papa Greg** didn't help. I considered a quick date with myself, but I was tired, and the batteries were dead.

I hung in there for an hour, trying to fall back to sleep, but after while the back cramps, the head pounds, thirst, another urge to pee, etc. So out of bed around 2 am. And this way the big man could get to bed a little earlier. Of course, he was already asleep on the couch, 11 week old cradled in his arms (um, okay, wedged between him and side of sofa, but that's not as romantic), and both were snoring. Not fair. Really not.

I'm going to try very hard not to be a Grouch. The big man is very good to me, especially while home, and I should be able to sneak in a nap (another reason he's aka Saint Daddy) so as long as I can manage 'til big boy's nap time - only 4 hours to go! - I should be okay. Oscar may have to find another girlfriend today.


*winkie tinkie - urinate, pee, potty, etc., as coined by our driver's ed teacher in high school, back in '86 or '87. To get a hall pass we had to raise our hand and let him know we had to "winkie tinkie." I never was sure if that was for the fun factor or the embarrassment, but it stuck. I wish I could remember his name - he was damn funny - but you do that math, that was a long time ago, and my membrane doesn't work so well anymore. Particularly in sleep deprivation mode.

**Papa Greg - aka Dr. Gregory House, lead character on Fox's House M.D. Not sure when the name made it's first appearance, but probably had something to do with my little infatuation with the character (and then the actor - I am sooooo a fanatic!) during my first pregnancy. It doesn't help that the kids eyes are the same shade of blue, or that one of Saint Daddy's Daddy's favorite phrases is "we know who the mother is..." (leave it hanging, cue the implications) but I swear I have never been to Princeton, NJ. Or L.A. Or London, for that matter.

Do you really want my advice? Then take it.

Or at least acknowledge it.

This is a pet peeve of mine. Okay, one of many. But it irks me. Someone asks for your advice, then dismisses you out-of-hand to your face. Or your post/text/voicemail - whatev. Basically, tells you your opinion is wrong.


If you ask for someone's advice, shouldn't you at least listen to what they have to say? And should you accept that they have a legitimate take on the issue, rather than telling them they are wrong? It's advice, many times an opinion or personal experience, so that may be what would work best for them. That doesn't mean it will work for you, but it could help with your decision making. And are you asking an open-ended question, or a "what did you do when xyz happened to you?" Because if it's the latter, and you tell them they're wrong, well then, you're telling them they were, well, wrong. How nice of you! That should certainly move you to the head of the BFF status list.

So really, when asking for advice, or opinions, from our friends and acquaintances and online lurkers, is that truly what we want? Or are we looking for validation? I'm sure there have been studies galore, through sociology, psychology, other -ologies, trying to answer this question. But I'm betting that most people asking for "help", unless they are truly stumped and don't know what to do or where to go, really just want to know that someone out there thinks they are right.

I've found this to be especially true on online forums. Someone will post a message (I'm thinking of buying a dirigible and trying to fly to the moon. Should I bring my puppy? What would you do, or have done?) and then the floodgates are open. There can be a plethora of answers ("ur gonna what?" - "what's a dirigi-thingie?" - "I'd take a kangaroo instead of a dog" - "you're stupid/that's a dumb idea/WTH?") but are any of them helpful? If someone told you to use a hovercraft instead of a dirigible, would you consider it? And do you respond to any of the suggestions, other than a "thanks for your suggestions"-type message? And do any of these online peeps really care what you do, if they don't know you IRL (that's "in real life", for you non-acronym savvy) (yeah, okay, that's the extent of my vast online-acronym knowledge - I was trying to look smart)

So assuming the answerers don't really care & the asker isn't planning to "hear" the answers anyway, why bother? Are we that bored? Or lonely? Maybe just craving human contact even in such a remote form?

***

I know I've been terrible at this for most of my life. Ask the hubby, or my good friends. Generally, I've just wanted someone to tell me I was right, that what I'm thinking is okay, that I'm not a total whack job, etc., et al. I'm trying to get better, because I'm sure it annoys them as much as it annoys me. Unless I'm totally at a loss, I try not to ask an open-ended opinion request. More of a "in xyz sitch, would you A or B?" Some of my friends will answer that as is, some will say A or B, but that C works better for them. One gal coaches her answer in a "from my experience with you, I think you'd be happiest with..." But shouldn't the real question be more in line with " in xyz sitch, do you think I'm doing what's right for me by doing A?" Or even "Tell me it's okay to A" and just get right to the point - I want you to say it's okay. And if you don't I won't like you anymore. But I will still keep asking for your opinion on things.

Food, for a thought

I love food. I'm not ashamed of it (anymore). I'm not in the "live to eat" category, but I do love a bit of overindulgence in the kitchen. At one long point of my life I was beyond morbidly obese. But that's been fixed: I took the Carnie Wilson route, & in theory should cut certain foods out of my diet forever, but hey, who are we kidding? But that's several days worth of blog posts right there, and meanwhile I am making forward baby steps once again.

What are we doing now? Planting more veggies! And a couple fruits too. I majored in Horticulture, but am a terrible home gardener. Why? Quite simply, watering is my nemesis. The hubby and I have a little joke about what I'm wasting time/money/etc. on each year by planting it and condemning it to a slow and tortured death. And what's sad is I love plants, watching them grow and flower and fruit, and eating said fruit. But I don't seem to love them enough to remember to water them. I think it's because both in school and places I worked, watering was done automatically, with timed systems of hoses and pipes and solenoids. But that's just the excuse I spout. The hubby knows the truth: I'm just plain lazy.

So for the record, I'm going to list all the little buddies headed to death row this summer. They're supposed to be put in their cells tomorrow. We have a roma tomato, cantaloupe, lemon cucumber, strawberry, bib lettuce, and spinach. The hubby said he would water them this year if I did the planting, since he has quite a few herbs, tomatoes and peppers growing this year. We tried this last year - or was it the year before? I had green beans and soybeans, peppers, and tomatoes, all doing great. Then he had to go across the country for work for a week. By the time he got home, most were lost. It was rather pathetic. All that work (okay, a couple hours worth) all to be wasted by forgetting to water for a couple days. But we'll try again, hopefully to make more progress in getting me to work a bit, and have some interesting and tasty things to show for it in 90-128 days.

Manic brain is killin' me

Or maybe it's "mommy brain" but really, I've been this way for at least a decade, since about the time I stopped working full time. Maybe I need to keep my brain working to keep my brain working! Where's Homer when you need a "D'oh!"?

Anyway, I need a system. I keep coming up with what I think are great ideas to write about. I even go through several paragraphs in my mind, edit a bit, go through them again. Then when I sit for a few secs and try to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard (depending on the sitch) it's gone. I can't even think of the initial idea, let alone any of the clever bits. Maybe I need to strap a Dictaphone to my bra (yes, honey, it's pronounced dick-ta-fone). Then I can just record everything that comes to mind. And my mom used to be a PA - maybe she could transcribe for me... erm, or not.

The really annoying part is I used to be able to keep up. Way back when, in the stoner age - okay, not really, I have enough issues with my mind; it was actually a slightly disparaging remark about my age, get it? - I knew my schedule for a month, kept track of homework, activities, menses, gossip, dates, and all the writing ideas I had, and was always able to recall anything and everything at will. But whether it's age, disuse, the mania, the meds for the mania, or some combination thereof, I'm just not the gal I used to be. Tonight I got all happy I could figure out the answer on Wheel of Fortune before the lady on TV, and it was entirely filled in. And the kids on mini-Jeopardy have better brain function than I seem to. If I thought it would help, I'd brave the vomit-scented fragrance of the female ginkgo tree. Or just buy the pills, but I wouldn't remember they exist and end up surrounded by nausea-inducing trees. Gah, I hate ginkgo. At least I think I do.

The more I think about it, the Dictaphone (or modern-day equivalent) isn't such a bad idea. Then no matter where I am I can have a conversation with myself out loud. And if anyone gives me the evil eye, I can pull out my modern-day-Dictaphone and brandish it like I'm someone important. So important I need to make sure every little thing that pops into my head must be recorded. Kind of like a tween with a texting phone, but all grown up.

Hmmm. I wonder if they make transcription software for the Dictaphone?

So I accidentally left the wrong window open and the hubby saw the blog. Oops! Just kidding. We had been talking about trying out blogging for a bit now, and I had "secretly" started this little project to see if I could/would or even should (don't you just love rhyme thyme, er, time?). I'm still not writing as much as I want if this is truly to be a diary of sorts, but I'm trying to work up to every other day while starting out. A difficult task, to be sure, especially since my only time to type is when both boys are sleeping.

And hooray me, I have 4 followers! Okay, one if them is the husband, but we have to communicate somehow.

***massive pause***

Okay, I have now typed 4 or 5 different things and deleted them. Gah, I'm self-editing like a madman. Why? Because now that I know someone is reading this, I'm feeling a little bitty bit self-conscious. I'll try to work through it.

First, I wanted to snark on Earth Day. I had some almost witty things out there, and some big guffaws still in my head, but meh. Not feeling it. It's an arbitrary day started 40 years ago, that seems to be "celebrated" off & on depending on who's in charge and what agenda is being touted that year. I don't remember even hearing the phrase until high school, and even in the past decade enthusiasm has waxed and waned. I know that's true of every cause, but this one has it's own day. And it's a planet - you know, where we all live. (Unless you're an alien reading this from a galaxy far, far away...but I think that's been trademarked so--- moving on.) So like our ancestors a few millennium ago, shouldn't we "celebrate" or do good -or at least not harm- the planet, like, you know, every day? Or would that be part of the Green Movement? (No, I'm not talking about my bowels here, the spinach was last week. But I do still hold that topic in threat.) I'm all into the current buzzwords just like any good citizen: re-use, repurpose, recycle, upcycle, freecycle, declutter, donate - there are a plethora of them, I can look up more for you. Or make up more, 'cause you know someone somewhere did. But I'm not going to snark about it now. I only mentioned it because the hubster wanted me to talk about all the work I'm doing trying to de-clutter the house, and donating things we no longer need or use, but frankly, I'm too damned tired from doing it!

Second, I wanted to [also] snark about a little blurb I noticed on yahoo's news feed. Apparently, I can now relive the love I feel for Edward Cullen everyday, by wearing Bella's engagement ring! Yes, I'll admit it, while I have not read the books, I did watch the first movie. It was playing during a free weekend on Starz channels, so I tivo'd it...then watched it... 3 nights in a row. (Sicko!) What I hadn't realized was that I had fallen in love with Edward. And that I'm such a bitch I must have stolen this poor girl's engagement ring so I can daydream her fiance wants me instead. Seriously? I know I go all fanatic with some things, too (Harry Potter, House, Buffy) but seriously? Unfortunately, I really am too tired, so I may have to revisit this later.

And lastly, I want to tell the world about my wondrous boys. My toddling has actually started to communicate beyond the point and scream, or just the constant babble of babyhood. He has learned some signs (thankfully, since he constantly wants to watch his Signing Time - truly I love it, but 30-40 times in a row is a bit more than I can take!) He's started using his signs properly, and today, he looked at one of our cats, made his cat sign, and said cat, all at the same time. Two very proud parents over here! And after he and Daddy went to bed, I got to spend some time with the baby [devil]. He's becoming such a flirt - winking and raising his brows, smiling, cooing, laughing. I just beam at him, making happy faces and trying to coerce more grins and gurgles.

So now I sign off, hopefully to get a bit of sleep myself. And I'll try to be back real soon.

A DIY Upside-Down Planter

A baby-wearing friend of mine posted a question on the TBW forums (http://www.thebabywearer.com) asking if anyone had ever tried the Topsy Turvy planters. I haven't, but being an active DIYer and Horticulture major, the hubby and I have made our own version in the past. We used 2L soda bottles, but really any plastic jug can be used (milk jug, juice, soda, plastic paint jug - you get the idea.) So following are my directions for making and using your own upside down vertical planter.

1. Buy something in a plastic jug and use it. Alternatively, you could get one or several off your local Freecycle (http://www.freecycle.org) or other recycling club as well. A note about containers - size matters! If you want to plant something that has a larger root system (like tomatoes!) use a larger jug. A smaller container, such as a 2L, would be great for a shallower rooter - we've had great results with peppers and trailing herbs, and pretty good with tomatoes in this size.

2. Wash said container, and remove labels if you'd like. Soap and water is fine, if you want to go crazy sterile you can also rinse it with a weak bleach or peroxide solution.

3. Open up the bottom. To just cut off the bottom on as lighter weight plastic, you can just use scissors, but I recommend you reinforce it by wrapping a couple layers of duct/duck tape around the bottom first. For a larger jug, such as a one gallon milk or large juice jug, you can also just cut a hole in the bottom (large enough to easily get your hand in and out) and leave the sides intact. For a harder plastic, such as a paint jug, you may need to drill a starter hole or two, or use a saw. Ii don't recommend saws or power tools on lighter plastic as they may collapse or be more likely to split.

4. Figure out how & you're going to hang this thing. We had ours hanging off hooks on our deck, so we needed to add a hanging loop. If you know macrame or knotting, you can probably whip up something. You could also use a mesh reusable bag. we used bungie cords. For our method, we poked 4 holes approx. equidistant around the large hole (the bottom) of the jug and inserted the hooks from the bungies into the holes. You'll want to reinforce the holes (another use for duct tape!) Anything that will suspend and keep it evenly upright will work!

5. Get the seedling in there! Take you seedling out of the container it came in and break up the root ball - you can save the soil and mix it in with your potting mix. You then can decide which method to use to get it in the hole.
A--> Carefully push the roots through "top" (smaller hole). This is the best method if the seedling already has a lot of branches.
B--> Carefully feed the top of the plant through the larger hole (the "bottom") and then through the smaller hole. this is great for a smaller, narrower seedling, or a larger root ball. If your plant came in one of the self-composting (paper/cardboard) containers you can also use this method so you don't have to remove the container.

6. *optional* Plug the hole. You may need or want to plug the small hole the plant is sticking out of, to ensure it doesn't fall out. A bit of sponge works well for this. You'll want to sterilize the sponge by soaking it in a weak bleach solution and rinsing it out, the wrap it around the stem at it's base, pushing it into the mouth of the small hole. If your plant has a large root ball or self-composting pot, this step probably isn't necessary.

7. Fill the pot with potting soil. Just dump in your soil mix though the big hole. Add in your in your preferred soil enhancers and fertilizer, and throw a bit of mulch on top.

8. Hang it up!

If you have questions or something doesn't make sense, let me know about it.

Ah, Ikea, my love...

We go every 6 month or so. It's a love/hate relationship to be sure. There are a lot of cool things, new ideas or ways to use space and furniture, and many things are very affordable and even cheap. But even with a list, we end up over-spending, over-loading, and generally over tired. Today was no exception.

It was our first major trip since January; we made a quick trip to get the new crib and a "few" other things before the new baby was born. We managed to not over pack too much today. The baby was wrapped in a FCC (front cross carry) in my Natibaby Ocean wrap from the car, and for most of the trip. But because of this, he was happily asleep most of the time - we had to wake him to get him to eat, so he wouldn't wake and scream on the trip home! So other than more formula than we thought we'd need, we did well on our packing.

We did a brief run - skipped most of the display area for just the kids section, then went through the marketplace. We bought a lot of little items - more kid plates & bowls, a second high chair, burp cloths, light bulbs. Bill had us get a couple potty seats for the boys- okay, won't actually be needing them any time soon, but we can store them in our already crap-packed home and lose them in the next year or so until they're needed and we have to go back for more. And he let me get a few yards of a cute fabric to make a DIY wrap with, but he was having fun looking at the fabric too. If the kids' Barnslig fabric was thicker, I would have gotten that - adorable! We also got some paper for Liam, and a paper roll holder, as we wanted to get an easel, but of course those were out of stock.

Oh, and chocolate. Dark chocolate. A lot. It was either 48 or 52 bars - I wasn't involved in the total! - but they're $1 each or 3/$2.50, so Bill went back to get one more for the deal (um, we could have just had the cashier drop 2, but I was told that, like in the Marines, "No chocolate left behind" is the motto)! It is one of my favorites of darks, and the cheapest around, so it's a win-win as far as that goes.

So we check out, take things to the car, and go back in for lunch. Liam didn't want to eat. First time ever. My folks claim sometimes when he visits them he doesn't eat much, but I'd never seen it happen. not a big deal, he's not starving or anything, just a bit bit cranky from being hungry, tired, etc. After lunch I thought a little running around would be good for the boy, and suggested letting him run around a bit. It's a pretty enclosed area, hard to get too far away. Daddy thought the play area was a better idea, but I wasn't sure of age requirements. What I hadn't realized was by play area, Bill meant the kids area display, and I meant the kiddie ball pit. Or was it the other way around? I can't remember for certain anymore!

Anyway, we got our wires crossed and Bill let him run around like I first suggested. Liam of course took of shoes and socks and ran willy-nilly all over the place. Most folks seemed to think he was cute and funny and charming, as usual. A couple seemed annoyed. And Ii did hear one loud comment about how he was barefoot - hey, if she could get him to keep socks and shoes on, I'd like to see it! So he ran around, got tired, had a little melt-down when I wouldn't let him follow a little girl down the big stairs, and we went home. Less than 5 minutes in the car, both boys asleep!

So we're done for a while, hopefully at least a year. Though if I know anyone running down, I may have to have them restock my chocolate!

Who's smarter than an 18 month old?

That would not be us. Maybe I just wasn't around enough toddlers, but it seems like the boy is learning a lot more than he should, a lot faster than he should. Maybe it's the proud mum syndrome - thinking my boy must be smarter than everyone else's little wonder. Or maybe I should check with some reference materials on what to expect from his development. Case in point: he just turned off the tv. After changing the grouping and sorting options on the tivo. After I couldn't figure out how to change them back last week when he did this. Only this time, he changed them, I looked at the tv & him and asked him to change it back, and he did.Does he really know how to work the remote, or is it a bizarre coincidence? He also is hitting the number buttons to go back and forth between bbc and food network , currently showing Gordon Ramsey(Uncle Gordon) and Paula Dean (do you like butter-fried butter?), respectively. Yes, two of his faves. He also asks for his signing videos, and knows if I grab the wrong remote (the neuros instead of the dvd - the look alike to me!)

Other wonders of the boy - he can destroy anything, either by hand or teeth. Especially anything listed as a teether. We're starting to wonder what's in some of those rubber chew toys for dogs, and would they be safe for a toddler. I remember when he got his first two lower teeth in when he was 6 months old. We let him play with the tivo remote, and within a minute was almost choking on the actual tivo button. That was when the whole "not out of your sight for a second" phrase really sank in.

He's also turned into a very determined climber. Bookcase, sofa, cat scratcher, changing table, playpen, toy box, toys, oh, and stairs. Lead him to it and he will climb. I was always pretty good at climbing too, even though I'm a girl - I just could never get back down! And now Ii have to go, as he's destroying the checkbook he just yanked off a "higher" shelf on the bookcase!

Laundry Liberation

After almost 11 years of marriage, I'm finally doing my husband's laundry. I started last night. Why do I want to take on more chores, when I can't keep up with the kids and house work as it is? For many reasons: First, it needs to be done, and I'm already doing a couple loads each day, so throwing in one more, or adding to what's already going in, isn't that big a deal. Second, it's one of the easiest chores in the house. We don't sort much, so you just throw it in the machine and let it go. Then put it in the next machine. Then fold or hang and put it away. Simple. Third, it can get me a little "me" time. I find the folding especially rewarding, almost meditative - I can sit and relax, fold things up, daydream a bit. Also, our laundry area is next to the kids' play area, so Ii can sort/fold/whatever while they're playing. Okay, the older one plays, the newborn sits in his swing and coos. But someday he'll play there too. And lastly, to take some stress of the hubby. I'm sure I complain a lot, but he really does a lot, and this is one thing I can do for him, and that I enjoy and am good at, to make his part of family life easier, and hopefully, better. He goes to work, takes time with the boys, does the cooking, cleans the baby bottles, takes out trash, and changes the bed linens (odd, but I'm really short and have trouble at this one). So Ii am liberating him from laundry, and I'm happy with that.

Contentment

I'm content, for the immediate moment. I suppose that's all one can hope for: contentment, happiness, whatever you feel like calling it. I actually prefer contentment to happiness - I think happiness can be lost easier, and it's a much bigger let down. That doesn't mean I'm not truly happy as well, I'm just not bouncing-off-the-ceiling happy, the almost manic type of happy. Not too fond of that; it tends to mean I need an adjustment to my meds.

Why am I content? The hubster is on his way home, the toddler is sleeping in his crib, the dogs are quiet, and I have a newborn sleeping on my chest. I am watching what I choose on the tube, have a huge glass of water next to me, lunch is on it's way, some laundry has already been completed, and unless my bladder or a child decides to change that for me, I'm not moving until the hubby gets home.

Erm, nix that. The baby just peed - I can feel the heat of it even through the thick cloth nappie. Now to decide if I should let the sleeping baby lie, or risk waking him with a diaper change.

Stayed tuned for the next exciting installment... yeah, right.

The beginning of, well, the beginning.

So... Where to begin? I'm not much of a blog reader. Really, I couldn't care less what people across the globe, that I've never met and never will meet, think or say about their lives. And in theory I don't care what any of them - of you - would think or say about my ramblings. But I've been having trouble collecting my thoughts lately, or resting my mind because it's always too full and racing around, so I thought I'd try some journaling like I did back in the good 'ole days of my youth. And while I'm not a very good typist, I'm even more out of practice at actual pen-and-paper writing. Plus this thing has spell-check! (In case you can't tell, and I know it doesn't always translate well in print, that was me being facetious. Get used to it, it happens a lot in here.)

Since I'm doing this for myself, and am telling myself I don't give a crap what anyone else thinks or says, I'm going to be totally open and honest with my thoughts, feelings, or whatever strikes my fancy at the time I type. This could be anything from a list of what I did that day, to philosophy, music, sex, or even the consistency of my boys' poop. If you'd like to leave a comment - good for you. Feel free. I may leave it, or (I have yet to look through all the capabilities and commands here, but I spy a link for "Comment Moderation") I might delete it. Especially of it's mean. Especially if it's especially mean. Especially if it's especially mean and I don't like what you have to say. I mean it.

Okay. Right. So that's the end of the beginning. I think I'll go begin something else.