A Meme

I never have any time to do meme's but this one was just too easy and Jenell was so nice to tag me.

FOUR JOBS I'VE HAD:
1. Selling pantyhose at Parklane Hosiery
2. Selling Turkish rugs
3. Kept 10 2-year olds from killing themselves before mommy and daddy picked them up after work
4. Customer service rep for a now-defunct two-bit airline started by old (and I mean OLD as well as former) Eastern airline employees

FOUR MOVIES I'D WATCH ON REPEAT:
1. Overboard
2. Dave
3. Sense and Sensibility
4. Pride and Prejudice

FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE:
1. Grey's Anatomy
2. House
3. One Tree Hill
4. Deadwood

FOUR CAREERS THAT APPEAL TO ME:
1. Professional wrestler
2. Barista at Starbucks
3. Chef at a bed and breakfast
4. Owning my own brew pub

FOUR JOBS (FILLED BY PEOPLE I KNOW) AT WHICH I WOULD BE TERRIBLE:
1. Economist (what the hell do these people do anyway?)
2. Meeting planner (who cares if you got your invitation a day late--you were one the backup list anyway)
3. Lawyer
4. Lawyer

FOUR VACATION LOCALES I'D LIKE TO HIT:
1. Tierra del Fuego
2. Antarctica
3. Moorea
4. Beijing

FOUR FOODS I LUST AFTER:
1. Chubby Hubby
2. Penne a la vodka
3. Creme Brulee
4. Flourless Chocolate Torte

FOUR CHANGES I'D MAKE TO THE HOUSE
1. Burn it down.
2. Throw out everything owned by my husband.
3. Extend my kitchen by 750 square feet and add a double oven and a six burner stove
4. Burn it down.

FOUR BEERS I LIKE:
1. Amstel Light
2. Any Hoppy Dog Brew
3. Grolsch
4. Heineken

Oscar isn't the only one using the trash can for entertainment purposes

Remember all that crap I wrote in a prior post about being a good mom. It was BS. Because I resorted to writing about it, I clearly am trying to convince myself that no, I don't need to be carted away for my poor maternal behavior.

Take this morning, for instance. I was in the shower trying to decide if my nasal passages were ever going to feel the air again or if I was forever destined to walk the earth with a head full of snot.

As I contemplated this, the baby was wandering around the bathroom. I figure that as long as I don't hear the toilet seat go up, we're good. But then he started to cough. I peaked around the side of the shower curtain and there he was, standing in the middle of the bathroom, trying to cough out little pieces of toilet paper from the last square left on the the roll that had been thrown in the trash can.

You guys know that last square. The square of toilet paper that is stuck to the roll that you neglect to liberate now because, by God, you have a little more money and you don't need to get that roll out of the trash can and use the last square like you did in college. The efforts you used to take to liberate the last millimeter of toilet paper on the roll back in college because damn it, you didn't have any money to buy toilet paper and you meant to steal some from the john at school but you got distracted by that really hot guy that sits in front of you in English, and now you are going to have to try to use the brown roll because the last square isn't cutting it.

I went back to my shower because if I don't figure out how to breathe soon, we are going to have bigger problems than toilet-paper-breath on the baby. I finished my shower and flung open the shower curtain to find my child standing in the middle of the bathroom with a used Q-Tip dangling from his mouth like a cigarette. Gross? yes. But did I get my shower? yes.

I say there is another side of that Q-Tip when you are finished with that one, buddy. I still have to get dressed.

A monk, a nun and 2 red bras

Every year my in-laws go to the Caribbean for 2 weeks with three other couples. They have been doing this forever. They come home every year and regale us with stories that would make your ears curl up and fall off your head. Tales of costumes, skits, songs. It sounds like kid's summer camp, except instead of bug juice there is a lot (A LOT) of gin and tonics. And wine. And beer. Enough that my FIL always says that one of these years they are going to swing by Betty Ford for a couple of days on the way home to air out.

Apparently crazy things always happen at the beach. Just last week they were discussing the nun habit that my FIL got for my MIL to wear this year. He has a monk outfit. But our favorite story is the year my MIL was showing the vacation pictures to a friend and she had forgotten to take out the picture of my FIL, wearing only an apron. I didn't ask if the view was from the front or the back. I now refuse to look at vacation pictures. You can never be too cautious.

This year the 'rents decided to swing by our town on their way down. I picked them up from the airport yesterday, with the Boo in tow.

MIL: Can we stop by a department store? We need to buy red bras for FIL and Tommy.

That kind of comment will send you careening off the road. Into opposing traffic. Full of semis. What do you say to that? Part of me was freaking out but part of me was fascinated that I could participate in this psychosis. So off we went to Target. I couldn't see buying my FIL a Victoria's Secret bra that he would only wear for 2 weeks. Really. 15 minutes later we were in the Lingerie department.

And there he was. My 6'5" FIL, trauma surgeon extraordinaire, trying on a lovely red lace bra over his green shirt. It fit.

I could go on about Gonzalo, Target's Customer Service Representive/Traumatized Checker, but I have already gone too far. These people sure know how to have a good time.

Lack of information? I think not.

I'm a slacker. I'll admit it. But every once in a while I'll take hero's measures to rise up above mediocrity.

Like childrearing, for instance. I own 37 books on pregnancy, what to expect when you have run out of things to expect, how to make your child a friggin' Einstein. Blah, blah, blah. Did I read every single one of them? Hell, no. I made a good faith effort.

But I am pretty sure that the stuff that continues to surprise me will not be found in any book (other than the one I will be writing when this is all said and done). Last night would be case in point.

I'm sitting on the couch and the boy is playing with his cars on the floor. Happy as a clam. Which is when I should have realized that something was very, very wrong. I got up to get something off the book shelf above him and I thought I caught of wisp of something foul.

"Buddy, did you fill your diaper?"

He kind of looked at me like I had three heads and I sat back down. His father said that he couldn't smell anything. Convenient, wouldn't you say? I figured that I would give the kid a few minutes to work it all out.

But the smell was getting stronger. I went over and picked him up.

There... in the middle of the floor... was a pile of poop. It looked strangely like that gag-gift plastic poop that you would get when you were a kid. The one that you would slip onto someone's chair before they sat down so everyone would laugh when the victim jumped up in surprise.

My 11-month old crapped in the middle of the living room. Right out the side of his diaper and onto Ernie, as a matter of fact. I took a picture of it to put on the post, but I think it would be too offensive for my mother.

I just never realized that having a baby would be so much like having a puppy.

Just wait until the credit card offers come

Ever since he has been about 2 months old, my child has been getting mail. I would like to say that it is from his various college trust funds, informing him that his education investment has been growing at 15% yearly, but who are we kidding? Trust funds?

It started with a letter from Robert Kennedy, imploring E to contact his congressman and strongly urge him to vote against drilling in Alaska. I asked E if he wanted to call his congressman, but he just threw up on me. The only thing more apropos would have been crapping all over me. He apparently is precocious when it comes to politics.

Then it was a slew of mail from all manner of wildlife organizations--Save the Whales, Wildlife Land Trust, The Jane Goddall Society, The National Audubon Society, Friends of the National Zoo. You get the picture. He has gotten stuffed animals, pennies, and return address labels.

This seems extremely odd to me. We aren't animal people here. We have a dog, we love our dog but reality is that we would rather have a night out eating sushi than pay for a stray to get neutered. It's the cold, hard facts.

So, is E crawling into the bedroom, climbing up onto the top of the dresser, stealing a 20 from dad's billfold and sending it off to PETA? I mentioned this situation to my friend when we were talking on the phone this morning and she mentioned that she had begun to get a stack of fitness magazines in the mail recently. Appalled at her husband's insensitivity, she asked him why he was doing this to her. He maintains his innocence and ignorance on the matter. She said that they now think their 7-year old daughter is ordering them online. Probably while she reads the Washington Post in the morning (dear Lord, is this what I have to look forward to?).

My guess is that my mother-in-law, the champion of all four-legged creatures, contributed some amount of money to an animal cause in my son's name. Let's just hope it wasn't ALF or ELF. I can't wait to see the FBI agent's face when he comes to interview Ethan regarding his involvement in ecoterrorist organizations.

I'll take a picture for you.

I'm not going to die. I can just see death from here...

I have now been sick for the better part of 3 weeks. I thought it went away last week before our trip, but it is back in full force. I wasn't shot up about going to the doctor because I know I have a bacterial infection which means antibiotics, but considering I can't raise my head off this keyboard, it's time to succomb to the health care establishment.

(I do wish I could go by my old job and cough on all the doorknobs before I get better. I wonder if I could get my friend to get me though security.)

I tried self-medication yesterday.

What's the one drug that will dry you out so much that you will even consider drinking out of the toilet if you just don't get water RIGHT NOW????? Benadryl.

What's the one drug that will make you so sleepy that your child can bite your face for 10 minutes and you will only wake up enough to seek assistance from your spouse before you are picked up by Family Services for throwing said child through a two-story window? Benadryl.

(I don't think you got the full affect of the biting. I definitely should have gone with the all caps --BITING)

What's the one drug that will send you into a sleep coma so deep that the distant roar of your 11-month old yelling his displeasure at his father for failing to read baby's mind cannot stir you? Benadryl.

That's some bad stuff.

Zithromax, here I come.

It isn't a vacation until someone goes to the hospital

Wow, that American Airlines is a good deal. $189 to go to Portland and they'll throw in a free upper respiratory infection and a middle ear infection for the baby.

On Sunday E woke up with a 102 degree fever. Not Friday, not Saturday, but Sunday. Since we were getting to go on the 'big airplane' twice on Monday at noon, we had to figure out what was wrong with His Royal Highness. Since we know people who know people, we were off to the Pediatric ER.

Where we were treated like royalty. It was the first time I didn't have to spell my child's last name to someone since his birth.

"Oh, it's THE GRANDSON." If you have to go to the ER I would recommend going to the hospital where your FIL has worked for the last 20 years. Someone even carried my coat for me. The last time I was in an ER, I waited 5 hours and everyone was mean. At this hospital, someone brought in toys so the baby wouldn't be bored during his 7 minute wait.

(Sidenote for which I am too tired to find the right segue: as we were boarding the flight yesterday, one gate agent asked another gate agent why she was delivering paperwork to the cockpit. She said that the pilot had forgotten the flight plan. I guess I should be glad he remember it BEFORE we left. And I thought United Airlines had gone to hell in a handbasket.)

So the baby was drugged up and he did fine. His eardrum didn't burst but by golly, his diaper did. Does anyone have any idea the exact number of airplane poop bomb posts I have written because it feels like old hat. This time it was all over his father. I was only covered in residual poo. I hate poo. Really really hate it.

And does anyone know what's up with the booger bubbles the size of golf balls? That is just messed up.

Apparently 27 days of rain WILL make people want to kill themselves

We here in Portland, visiting the 'rents. Shock of all shockers, it's raining. Raining in a "we may have to spend the night in a hotel on Saturday night if the river rises anymore" kind of rain.

They have lots to offer here in Portland. Powells and Dungeness crab will keep a girl busy for a while. That's if a squawking bird and a squawking 11-month old aren't tying up all your time.
But the rain is slightly excessive. Maybe we should start building an ark over here.

(As a side note: you know you travel too much when you are able to pack for a 5 day trip in 42 minutes. Lord knows on a good day it takes me an hour to get out of the house to go to the grocery store).

But let's get back to the excitement of the trip. The parrot. Evil little monster that she is. Her name is Clyde. "Her name is Clyde" you find yourself saying? Her name is Clyde because she says "Hi, Clyde" when you walk in the door. And for some reason, the fam started to call her Clyde. But don't let her male name fool you. She is ALL female.

When we walked into the house, she shrieked her displeasure so loudly that the baby BURST into the most pathetic scream you have ever heard. For the next hour, the two of them went back and forth. Derek threated to drown the bird, shoot the bird, strangle the bird. She didn't give a rat's ass.

"SHRIEEEEEK, SHRIEEEEK, SHRIEEEEK."

I called my sister from the bathroom to ask her advice. Big mistake asking a non-animal lover how to create a peaceful co-existence.

"Isn't there a closet they can put the bird in?"

Well E finally won Clyde over. As much as that is possible. When Grandpa was holding E in one arm and Clyde was on Grandpa's shoulder, E desperately tried to become friends. Clyde was having no part of it. I envisioned Clyde pecking E's eyes out at the first opportunity. Let's be honest. Every shirt Grandpa wears at home has a reinforced collar patch that Nana has sewn on to cover up where Clyde ate the shirt. But Clyde just hid behind Grandpa's ear, doing a quick peek every once in a while to see of the little mongrel taking up HER owner's time was still there. But she stopped shrieking. I should have done a video, Missbhavens style, but I'm not that technically saivy.

Thank you, God, because I was this close to opening up the back door and giving Clyde her freedom.

Tackier than breaking up by a Post-It note

Text-messaging your ex-husband to tell him that you thought he should know that you are engaged.

Because you thought he never noticed anything when he was married to you (which, by the way, was until about 10 days ago-literally), so he probably didn't see your ring when you flashed it around on the day you dropped the kids off last weekend.

Who says internet love can't work out?

May karma bring you all the karma you deserve.

TODAY is your BIRTHDAY

Bah, bah, bah, bah...bah, bah.

To my bestest, best friend in the whole world.

I hope you had a great birthday at the St. Regis today.

Thanks for forgiving me for sending you The List, which you finished last night--just in time to realize that you are going to have to get rid of Mr. January--and apparently on your birthday.

I love you!

I'm not supposed to be posting

Because I am supposed to be studying. But there is something just bugging the crap out of me.

What the hell is up with men and flashlights?

My husband has 8,000 flashlights and apparently my son has the same affinity. If you don't get my husband a flashlight for a present for any holiday, he is slightly disappointed. My mother got him a flashlight for Christmas and apologized repeatedly because she thought he already had a similar one. Little does she know that he plays with it when no one is watching.

Last night I went upstairs to find my husband lying in bed with the boy, reading a book on wine making, with a headlamp flashlight on. He told me that he couldn't turn the overhead light on because it would wake the boy and he couldn't turn the flashlight on until the boy went to sleep because all the boy wanted to do was put the flashlight on his own head. The flashlight attaching to the head with straps that looked disturbingly like a pair of thong underwear. So there they were, lying in bed, warmed by the LED light of the headlamp flashlight. Snug as bugs in rugs.

What a bunch of whack jobs.

New Year's Eve 2005

Menu

Cheese Fondue
Sesame-Crusted Tuna w/ Ponzu Dipping Sauce
Spinach Salad
Beef Wellington w/gorgonzola
Black and White Creme Brulee

Carl followed me into the kitchen on Saturday night when he arrived for dinner.

C: Am I going to read everything I said tonight, tomorrow?
K: Yes.
C: Uhhh.....that "Mommy Needs a Cocktail" picture?
K: Yeah?
C: Was...that....
K: All me.
C: Well I'll be shutting up right now and start by drinking a beer.

It's not that I have so much to say about New Year's. It's just that we met Matt out on Friday night to have drinks (doesn't everyone take a baby to happy hour?) with some chick he had picked up at a bar on Wednesday. I felt like a chaperone. And I am not a very good chaperone.

Matt's Friday date. Not to be confused with his NYE date that has been his on again, off again flava' for the past year. Who he intends to dump just after NY's. Who doesn't eat beef. She got the Chicken Wellington.

It was a relatively uneventful evening with friends. Derek managed to not let it slip that Matt was stepping out on Model Democrat Lawyer Girlfriend.

Matt: She's NOT my girlfriend.
K: If you are getting naked with her, she thinks you are her boyfriend.
Matt: Who said I was getting naked with her? (which he barely got out of his mouth without choking)
K: Whatever.

So you are saying you want to trade me in for a new one?

Lately I have been trying to give the baby away. To my mother, my sisters, the neighbor across the street, the letter carrier. All have been willing to take him. But I think he might be starting to take it personally.

This morning as I was lathering up my hair in the shower, someone threw a hair dryer into the tub at my feet.

I'm not pointing any fingers, but I'm going to make a New Year's resolution to be a much better mother.

Is it so difficult to be a weather man?

Or weather woman, depending on your current situation.

I swear (and you cannot make this crap up) the weather report for Thursday into Friday is either rain or 6 inches of snow. Not, say, 2 to 4 inches as opposed to 3 to 5 inches. Either RAIN or a BLIZZARD for December in our town.

WTH??? FTLOGAC, you get paid to give people a head's up on the weather. If this is how it is going to be, then I think I would prefer watching my weatherman wearing a turban on his head and looking into a crystal ball like a carnival psychic. Don't be wasting my time with all your advanced degrees in snowology, Doppler radar and computer-generated storm tracking.

I would just like to know if I am going to be drinking a cocktail drink in Miami in time for happy hour on Friday or if I will be stuck waiting in the "Holy-Shit-Someone-Across-Town-Saw-A-Snowflake-So-We-Are-Going-To-Shut-the-Whole-Airport-Down-Until-Spring-Arrives-Airport."

So very rarely in the wrong, sometimes it's good to see how the other half lives

Time it would take to rake all the leaves at Chateau Cookie: 2 days


Price of gas to drive to Sears: $2.27


Price of leaf blower: $39.99 plus tax


Look on your husband's face when he realizes that a pea shooter would be more effective: one and a half hours of glares at the back of your head.


Tone of your husband's voice when you ask if he is mad because you wouldn't let him get the real leaf blower that can also julienne carrots, after telling him that we weren't in the landscaping business so why the hell would we need a leaf blower that could blow our leaves to South Carolina: angry.



















Look on your husband's face when he realizes that once again you failed to read the instruction manual and when you went to turn the thing off after one and a half hours (at 80% completion) just to get something in the house, the power button wasn't actually just a power button but also a Low/High button and you have had it on low for the entire one and a half hours: PRICELESS.

You know you are a bitch when...

the baby starts yelling "dan, dan, dan" repeatedly to the dog. And when I say repeatedly, I mean with the commitment of an 8-year old waiting in line to see Santa. His attention cannot be diverted even for a second.

I think perhaps I am overusing the word "down" in my communication with the dog?

All is well.

Baby boy did just fine in his surgery and the doctor's say he did great. Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers.

Sending out prayers and well wishes

Tomorrow morning (Thursday), one of the Boo's friends is having brain surgery. He is only 8 months old. The prognosis is good, but, as with all surgery, there are risks. Please keep him in your thoughts or prayers--whatever is your thing.

We love you, buddy.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

When your best friend's mother's lazy-ass-two-timing-no-good-rat-bastard-cheating-manipulating-rotten-verbally-abusive-did-I-forget-to-tell-you-for-the-first-YEAR-that-we-were-dating-that-I-have-a-wife-oops-maybe-I-should-have-brought-that-up-in-one-of-our-conversations boyfriend promises that he really is going to leave his wife but he wants to wait until January first, I would not recommend saying either of the following:

1. Has your mother developed a crank habit of which we have been unaware, and

2. What does he want? To use her one more year to get a break on the taxes?

Even the longsuffering may falter in a moment such as this.

The detox is going to be painful

It has been a long day here at Chateau Cookie. The Boo sprouted yet another tooth AND also realized that his reign of supremacy may be over. Both things have been a difficult transition for him and for his mother.

For four days last week, a variety of relatives practically went to blows with one another to capture the attention and smiles of the Boo. I watched in stunned silence as the Boo held court, granting a small laugh here or a big smile there. Much to the amusement of his grandparents, great aunt and uncle and Derek's cousins, he entertained all and heckled those that dared turn a back to him, if only for a brief second.

I spent four days in a panic, realizing that I was becoming one of those parents that is so happy to have someone else look after her child that she may even be deemed disinterested in him. He fell over--"ah, he's fine." He cried in hunger and lunged at someone's plate--"yeah, you can give him crab. What the hell."

Of course now he thinks he is entitled to be held 24/7. What do I look like? Am I here for your amusement? The kid is driving me crazy (cue Britney). I'm sorry to say, Mister, but you are NOT the center of the universe. At least not anymore.