You know all those other posts where people are deep thinkers? Not so much here.
The Farmer in the dell has been bugging me now for 72 hours. After catching myself humming Led Zeppelin to quiet the baby down, I thought perhaps I should use "age appropriate" music. You know, get into the groove of this whole baby crap.
I'm not sure where it came from (the depths of hell in retrospect) but I began singing the Farmer in the Dell to Ethan the other day. I didn't quite get through the first line before I became disturbed.
"The farmer takes A wife."
Where is he taking her? Matuba for her favorite Millenium Rolls or Spicy Toro Rolls?
Citronelle for the Chocolate Three Ways? Paris, because she has been so nice and gave him such the sweet baby that he always, always wanted?
And is the taking necessarily of HIS wife? It just says "a wife." Does he get to shop around all the area wives, looking for the one that won't talk back or take the credit cards out of his wallet and cut them up? (ten bucks says at least one reader is, right now, frantically reaching for his wallet in his front pocket and scanning its contents)
How about the child picking the nurse? Who would trust their kid to pick his childcare provider? "You, you with the bottle. You look good enough."
And last, but certainly not least...
"The cheese stands alone." What does THAT mean? Other than that you were the last asshole to be picked in this stupid game where the popular kids get to be people, the less popular kids get to be animals and the unpopular kids are food products. This is what I think of when I hear "the cheese stands alone."
I wish I had a click-the-button system like they have on Outlook so everyone could weigh in on which line is the worst? Having to choose would be tough though.
Derek and I had a long discussion (longer than 2 minutes, which is a long conversation for me these days).
But here it is. The comment of the hour....drum roll please....
DT--Why can't the farmer take a wife AND the nurse? Then he can have that menage a trois he has always wanted.
Way to take a really disturbing song and throw it right off the cliff there, big guy.
Friday, April 22, 2005
My work here is done
I woke up in the middle of the night to Derek putting the comforter back on the bed because he was cold.
As I opened my eyes, I could see him staring intently at the comforter before putting it on, trying to make sure that the bamboo stems were facing the bottom of the bed and the leaves were facing the top of the bed.
As I opened my eyes, I could see him staring intently at the comforter before putting it on, trying to make sure that the bamboo stems were facing the bottom of the bed and the leaves were facing the top of the bed.
Gotta have faith
Keep your heads up, progessive Catholics. Benedict XVI could be to the Catholic church as this man was to the Supreme Court. Some people will say anything to get a job.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Benedict XVI
The world has a new pope.
B and I had a running joke that Pope John Paul II (or JP2, as the college students in St. Peter's Square apparently like to call him) actually died about 8 years ago and that he was "Weekend at Bernies." If you looked really close you might even see the strings helping to move his arms. I personally blame this on the Vatican, because they forced him to speak at the window all those years and his lips never moved once.
My theory was dashed however when an old friend, personal photographer to this man, told me that he actually shook the pope's hand last year at a state visit. And got a Pope Medal, whatever that is. I told him it was lost on a boy raised by two jewish parents.
I called B a few weeks ago to discuss the obvious consequences of the pope's illness (i.e. he was gonna die, assuming he hasn't been dead since the mid-90's) and asked her how she was feeling about the end of the world approaching, what with the pope knowing the whole Miracle of Fatima prophecy and all (http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa070300b.htm) and B's insistence for our entire friendship that the world would end when JP2 died. B explained then that if the pope actually TOLD someone else, whatever that means, that the world wouldn't end.
So I got to thinking about this. What if the pope gave a little insider trading information to his confidant Joseph Ratzinger. Think about it. You in the conclave, sitting on the stone stairs, staring up at the Last Supper, thinking maybe your last supper might be soon, what with the world ending and all.
In walks Cardinal Ratzinger. "Guess what I know that you don't know?"
I don't think there is any mystery as to the speed with which the cardinals sent the white smoke up the chimney ("Is it white? No, I think it's gray. No, it's WHITE). Consider it a gift to mankind.
B and I had a running joke that Pope John Paul II (or JP2, as the college students in St. Peter's Square apparently like to call him) actually died about 8 years ago and that he was "Weekend at Bernies." If you looked really close you might even see the strings helping to move his arms. I personally blame this on the Vatican, because they forced him to speak at the window all those years and his lips never moved once.
My theory was dashed however when an old friend, personal photographer to this man, told me that he actually shook the pope's hand last year at a state visit. And got a Pope Medal, whatever that is. I told him it was lost on a boy raised by two jewish parents.
I called B a few weeks ago to discuss the obvious consequences of the pope's illness (i.e. he was gonna die, assuming he hasn't been dead since the mid-90's) and asked her how she was feeling about the end of the world approaching, what with the pope knowing the whole Miracle of Fatima prophecy and all (http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa070300b.htm) and B's insistence for our entire friendship that the world would end when JP2 died. B explained then that if the pope actually TOLD someone else, whatever that means, that the world wouldn't end.
So I got to thinking about this. What if the pope gave a little insider trading information to his confidant Joseph Ratzinger. Think about it. You in the conclave, sitting on the stone stairs, staring up at the Last Supper, thinking maybe your last supper might be soon, what with the world ending and all.
In walks Cardinal Ratzinger. "Guess what I know that you don't know?"
I don't think there is any mystery as to the speed with which the cardinals sent the white smoke up the chimney ("Is it white? No, I think it's gray. No, it's WHITE). Consider it a gift to mankind.
Phone conversation with Ginny about the pope and why you should NEVER bear big news on a cell phone.
My mom can't get news at her office. Unauthorized access of the internet or receipt of non-work emails is punishable by death. So I called to tell her about Benedict XVI.
GH--So, were you surprised that this one was picked?
KH--Well, he was the pope's bitch.
GH--The pope's snitch?
KH--The pope's BITCH.
GH--Pope's snitch?
KH--B-I-T-C-H.
GH--Oh, Kristen. You are so bad.
Come to think of it, the pope's snitch is probably fitting as well.
GH--So, were you surprised that this one was picked?
KH--Well, he was the pope's bitch.
GH--The pope's snitch?
KH--The pope's BITCH.
GH--Pope's snitch?
KH--B-I-T-C-H.
GH--Oh, Kristen. You are so bad.
Come to think of it, the pope's snitch is probably fitting as well.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Oh, it's a plot against me
You know what they say, it's not a conspiracy theory if it is actually happening.
Derek called from his conference today, asking about our lunch plans. Baby E was down for the count, so I dropped his ass into his car seat, grabbed a bottle for the inevitable scream of hunger, and we were out the door. The cry started quicker than I thought, so there I was on 395, with my arm stretched across the seat trying to keep a bottle in the screaming baby's mouth.
We ended up meeting at the lovely Restaurant Murali (http://www.muraliva.com/) for a little Eye-talian cuisine. I have come to the stark realization that I too, along with my husband, think that money is growing on a tree in our backyard. Bygones.
So Derek gave Ethan the rest of the bottle and carefully bounced him on his leg, taking care that should Ethan spit up, it would not happen on his best law firm suit. Then it's my turn. Not two minutes pass and I have an ounce of milk, running down my arm, over my shorts and onto the floor.
DT--I don't know how this always happens to you.
Bitter, I handed him back. Once again, bouncy, bouncy, polite burps and generally obnoxious cooing at one another.
My turn again, 15 minutes later. He didn't even give me 60 seconds before he had taken out the other side of my black shirt.
Waiter--Madam, madam, do you need some soda for your shirt? Did you get sauce on it?
Soda for my shirt--SOB, I was wearing a cheesy t-shirt, not silk. Don't remind me that I am currently in the running for the Sloth/Slob of the year contest.
KH--That's fine. I have BABY all over me, not my lunch.
I hate the little bastard.
Derek called from his conference today, asking about our lunch plans. Baby E was down for the count, so I dropped his ass into his car seat, grabbed a bottle for the inevitable scream of hunger, and we were out the door. The cry started quicker than I thought, so there I was on 395, with my arm stretched across the seat trying to keep a bottle in the screaming baby's mouth.
We ended up meeting at the lovely Restaurant Murali (http://www.muraliva.com/) for a little Eye-talian cuisine. I have come to the stark realization that I too, along with my husband, think that money is growing on a tree in our backyard. Bygones.
So Derek gave Ethan the rest of the bottle and carefully bounced him on his leg, taking care that should Ethan spit up, it would not happen on his best law firm suit. Then it's my turn. Not two minutes pass and I have an ounce of milk, running down my arm, over my shorts and onto the floor.
DT--I don't know how this always happens to you.
Bitter, I handed him back. Once again, bouncy, bouncy, polite burps and generally obnoxious cooing at one another.
My turn again, 15 minutes later. He didn't even give me 60 seconds before he had taken out the other side of my black shirt.
Waiter--Madam, madam, do you need some soda for your shirt? Did you get sauce on it?
Soda for my shirt--SOB, I was wearing a cheesy t-shirt, not silk. Don't remind me that I am currently in the running for the Sloth/Slob of the year contest.
KH--That's fine. I have BABY all over me, not my lunch.
I hate the little bastard.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Babies and bars
First it was happy hour on Thursday. A dear friend was leaving the madness of the Fed and was leaving for a real job at another agency. We decided to celebrate at an outdoor restaurant/bar in DC, a couple of blocks from the office. I told Derek that I would drive into the District, pick him up from work and he could take Baby E to Caribou Coffee while I got loaded up at HH.
Well, Derek decided to "swing by" HH to wish Dave well in his new job. The guys all asked him to sit down for a drink. Two hours and God only knows how many pitchers later, we are all sitting in a big circle outside, baby in tow. It was about that time that I glanced around and noticed two women in their 50's, giving me the nastiest looks.
I brought out my favorite southern drawl for the occassion, "oh, my God, who takes a baby to a bar???"
I prefer "outside cafe, with alcohol libations"
Then there was the brew pub in Alexandria. http://www.shenandoahbrewing.com/
When we walked in the door at 7:15 on Saturday night, a guy belly up to the bar said, "Well that'll drive the average consumer age down in here." Good beer.
Finally was baby's first trip (outside the womb) to a Virginia vineyard. OK, so it isn't Napa, but we are doing the best we can here. With a great lunch packed, we threw the baby into the car and were off to visit Pearmund Cellars. http://www.pearmundcellars.com/
We stumbled onto their barrel tasting event and the rest is history.
I see a pattern here that may be cause for concern.
Well, Derek decided to "swing by" HH to wish Dave well in his new job. The guys all asked him to sit down for a drink. Two hours and God only knows how many pitchers later, we are all sitting in a big circle outside, baby in tow. It was about that time that I glanced around and noticed two women in their 50's, giving me the nastiest looks.
I brought out my favorite southern drawl for the occassion, "oh, my God, who takes a baby to a bar???"
I prefer "outside cafe, with alcohol libations"
Then there was the brew pub in Alexandria. http://www.shenandoahbrewing.com/
When we walked in the door at 7:15 on Saturday night, a guy belly up to the bar said, "Well that'll drive the average consumer age down in here." Good beer.
Finally was baby's first trip (outside the womb) to a Virginia vineyard. OK, so it isn't Napa, but we are doing the best we can here. With a great lunch packed, we threw the baby into the car and were off to visit Pearmund Cellars. http://www.pearmundcellars.com/
We stumbled onto their barrel tasting event and the rest is history.
I see a pattern here that may be cause for concern.
Presbyterianism and Beer
I woke up early yesterday. I never understood before why Pache got up early when her kids would sleep til 8:30 or 9. Now I know. The house is so peaceful at 6 a.m. I found myself actually ironing Derek's shirts. Bizarre, I know.
Derek cruised into the room around 9.
"I'm ready for church." And there he stood in all his 6'3" glory. Wearing his beat-up shorts and his Christmas present from my wicked sister this year--"Beer is my new religion. Would you care to join me in a prayer?"
It was his idea to be Presbyterians this week. The church has been around for a million years, is 4 blocks away, and according to Derek, "has a highly regarded preschool." Premature thinking for an 8 week old baby, but whatever.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH, no. We don't even know if this is a USA or a PCA church."
Not knowing (or caring for that matter) about the distinction, he waxes on about how God really doesn't care about what you wear to church. All I can think about is that "causing others to stumble" concept that was drilled into me as a child. Even if God didn't care, what if we cause all the old ladies to be so horribly mortified that they would miss the homily? Not that they hadn't heard 500,000 homilies in their time and could probably tell you when Pastor Mike had a busy week watching NCAA finals and was recycling one because he had slacked off.
Bitter, he changed his clothes and off we were to be Presbyterians. Well lucky for us he changed, because the church turned out to be a USA church. Thank God I had put my Miami cleavage shirts away, because it was bad enough that I was the only woman there in pants. 90% of the church population was over 80 and there were easily 150 people there.
It all worked out anyway, because right during the most solemn and deep part of the homily, Ethan filled his pants. Big time. I'm not sure what was worse, the loud fart or the giggles around us. I don't think we are getting invited back.
Derek cruised into the room around 9.
"I'm ready for church." And there he stood in all his 6'3" glory. Wearing his beat-up shorts and his Christmas present from my wicked sister this year--"Beer is my new religion. Would you care to join me in a prayer?"
It was his idea to be Presbyterians this week. The church has been around for a million years, is 4 blocks away, and according to Derek, "has a highly regarded preschool." Premature thinking for an 8 week old baby, but whatever.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH, no. We don't even know if this is a USA or a PCA church."
Not knowing (or caring for that matter) about the distinction, he waxes on about how God really doesn't care about what you wear to church. All I can think about is that "causing others to stumble" concept that was drilled into me as a child. Even if God didn't care, what if we cause all the old ladies to be so horribly mortified that they would miss the homily? Not that they hadn't heard 500,000 homilies in their time and could probably tell you when Pastor Mike had a busy week watching NCAA finals and was recycling one because he had slacked off.
Bitter, he changed his clothes and off we were to be Presbyterians. Well lucky for us he changed, because the church turned out to be a USA church. Thank God I had put my Miami cleavage shirts away, because it was bad enough that I was the only woman there in pants. 90% of the church population was over 80 and there were easily 150 people there.
It all worked out anyway, because right during the most solemn and deep part of the homily, Ethan filled his pants. Big time. I'm not sure what was worse, the loud fart or the giggles around us. I don't think we are getting invited back.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Everyone's got an opinion
You know, before I had a baby, I used to remember my sisters complaining about how strangers would stop them in the street or at the store to give them a word of mothering advice.
I had a bit of this myself when I was pregnant. When busted drinking a VERY SMALL glass of homebrew that Derek had carefully portioned out according to allowances by the New England Journal of Medicine's study on alcohol consumption during pregnancy, I had a friend ask if this was OK for the baby.
"I find a little bit of beer takes the edge off the cocaine."
Some people don't have a sense of humor....
But back to the story. I'm in Wegman's yesterday, buying haddick for the lastest cooking craze at Chez Tronquet--Fish and Chips. E was in his carrier with a blanket draped over him to keep out all the light and hopefully to keep him asleep for the duration of the shopping adventure. Out of the blue comes a blue hair with an opinion.
BH--Your baby's feet are sticking out.
KH--I know. Aren't they cute?
BH--He might get cold.
KH--Actually, he was cranky earlier because I dressed him for 40 degree weather instead of 65 degree weather. Do you want to see him? (with that I lifted the edge of the blanket)
KH--Isn't he cute?
BH--But his feet might get cold.
KH--(realizing that I might be stuck here in front of the shallots for a very long time...) Would YOU feel better if I covered his feet?
BH--(with a dramatic sigh) I WOULD.
With that I covered his feet. Sometimes life is too short to argue over cold feet in the produce section.
I had a bit of this myself when I was pregnant. When busted drinking a VERY SMALL glass of homebrew that Derek had carefully portioned out according to allowances by the New England Journal of Medicine's study on alcohol consumption during pregnancy, I had a friend ask if this was OK for the baby.
"I find a little bit of beer takes the edge off the cocaine."
Some people don't have a sense of humor....
But back to the story. I'm in Wegman's yesterday, buying haddick for the lastest cooking craze at Chez Tronquet--Fish and Chips. E was in his carrier with a blanket draped over him to keep out all the light and hopefully to keep him asleep for the duration of the shopping adventure. Out of the blue comes a blue hair with an opinion.
BH--Your baby's feet are sticking out.
KH--I know. Aren't they cute?
BH--He might get cold.
KH--Actually, he was cranky earlier because I dressed him for 40 degree weather instead of 65 degree weather. Do you want to see him? (with that I lifted the edge of the blanket)
KH--Isn't he cute?
BH--But his feet might get cold.
KH--(realizing that I might be stuck here in front of the shallots for a very long time...) Would YOU feel better if I covered his feet?
BH--(with a dramatic sigh) I WOULD.
With that I covered his feet. Sometimes life is too short to argue over cold feet in the produce section.
Friday, April 15, 2005
the grilled cheese sandwich and the burning house
It started out innocent enough. We were all lying in bed, Ethan hooked up and Derek mesmerized by his latest beer-making book (something about radical brew-making). I was on the phone with B, discussing a whole lot of nothing. Suddenly I start to smell something burning. And unless Zinni had developed an opposing thumb and was whipping up a late night snack in the frying pan, something was REALLY not right.
I started to remark about it to B, hoping that Derek would take the hint. I guess I forgot the entire semester of blatant and shameless flirtation on my part that he never quite got. To be honest, if my skirts had gotten any shorter, you could have seen my belly ring. Anyway, I am going on and on and on about something that is now smelling like a grilled cheese sandwich. B and I spent 5 minutes discussing what it might be. Derek does not blink an eye.
"I guess I'll get off the phone and see what's burning, B." I gave my best and loudest sigh, but to no avail. As I hung up the phone, Ethan filled his pants. OK, now I'm stuck with two awful jobs. My mind was racing on ways to get Derek to do BOTH (realizing that there is no way in HELL will he fold).
"OK, you have a choice. You can either change the baby or find out why it smells like the house might burn down." At least I could get out of one.
He grabbed the baby and said, "I can't smell any GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH so I guess you should figure this one out." Busted. He totally heard me.
As he walked to the door, he turned and said, "and you might want to start with your lamp."
There it was. A "previously utilized" nursing pad, smoking as it rested on the top of the lampshade. Smelling disturbingly like a grilled cheese sandwich...
I started to remark about it to B, hoping that Derek would take the hint. I guess I forgot the entire semester of blatant and shameless flirtation on my part that he never quite got. To be honest, if my skirts had gotten any shorter, you could have seen my belly ring. Anyway, I am going on and on and on about something that is now smelling like a grilled cheese sandwich. B and I spent 5 minutes discussing what it might be. Derek does not blink an eye.
"I guess I'll get off the phone and see what's burning, B." I gave my best and loudest sigh, but to no avail. As I hung up the phone, Ethan filled his pants. OK, now I'm stuck with two awful jobs. My mind was racing on ways to get Derek to do BOTH (realizing that there is no way in HELL will he fold).
"OK, you have a choice. You can either change the baby or find out why it smells like the house might burn down." At least I could get out of one.
He grabbed the baby and said, "I can't smell any GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH so I guess you should figure this one out." Busted. He totally heard me.
As he walked to the door, he turned and said, "and you might want to start with your lamp."
There it was. A "previously utilized" nursing pad, smoking as it rested on the top of the lampshade. Smelling disturbingly like a grilled cheese sandwich...
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Baby Care 101
OK, talk about a funny day. Notwithstanding the night of NO sleep because Derek was snuggled up to me like a damn sherpa, causing my body temperature to hit about a million degrees, the highlight of my day, by far, was the Lamaze baby care class that we found ourselves in this morning.
I'm no expert, but I have changed a few diapers in my day. Mom said that this class would be good for Ethan's father. To get Mr. Overeducated/Overachiever there, I did have to tell him that this was the first class in a postgraduate degree program and there would be tests.
We showed up 5 minutes late, because I am really trying to drive Derek crazy. Little payback for the 2 1/2 hours of insomnia last night. And let me tell you, there was just about one of every kind there today. The guy, easily 10 years older than his wife, holding the baby doll upside down by the leg as he was trying to swaddle. The lesbian partners, keeping the instructor on her "partner" toes rather than her "dad" toes. And, my personal favorite, the Mr. and Mrs. Attorney, complete with matching yellow legal pads.
"So, exactly when should my baby be crawling?" I watched them take 12 pages of notes between them. Right down to the five things to look for when your baby is crying.
"I missed the third one, could you repeat it?"
"Check to see if the baby is wet."
OK, I'm not saying this is all intuitive, but give me a break. I'm smelling dual Yale grads and I'm thinking this kid will be in therapy by age three and it won't be a particularly productive therapy. Every time she asked a question about where her child should be in relation to other children, I kicked Derek under the conference table. You can only hope that the two of them will pop out a child that is an artist or musician. Something that will drive the Type A's to drink.
Genetically speaking, I think Ethan has a good chance at being at the higher end of the bell curve, but I have no intention of choosing his prep school today. He'll crawl when he wants to crawl (most likely when he decides that he has to get away from Zinni). And we'll figure it out. That's what it is all about, right?
I'm no expert, but I have changed a few diapers in my day. Mom said that this class would be good for Ethan's father. To get Mr. Overeducated/Overachiever there, I did have to tell him that this was the first class in a postgraduate degree program and there would be tests.
We showed up 5 minutes late, because I am really trying to drive Derek crazy. Little payback for the 2 1/2 hours of insomnia last night. And let me tell you, there was just about one of every kind there today. The guy, easily 10 years older than his wife, holding the baby doll upside down by the leg as he was trying to swaddle. The lesbian partners, keeping the instructor on her "partner" toes rather than her "dad" toes. And, my personal favorite, the Mr. and Mrs. Attorney, complete with matching yellow legal pads.
"So, exactly when should my baby be crawling?" I watched them take 12 pages of notes between them. Right down to the five things to look for when your baby is crying.
"I missed the third one, could you repeat it?"
"Check to see if the baby is wet."
OK, I'm not saying this is all intuitive, but give me a break. I'm smelling dual Yale grads and I'm thinking this kid will be in therapy by age three and it won't be a particularly productive therapy. Every time she asked a question about where her child should be in relation to other children, I kicked Derek under the conference table. You can only hope that the two of them will pop out a child that is an artist or musician. Something that will drive the Type A's to drink.
Genetically speaking, I think Ethan has a good chance at being at the higher end of the bell curve, but I have no intention of choosing his prep school today. He'll crawl when he wants to crawl (most likely when he decides that he has to get away from Zinni). And we'll figure it out. That's what it is all about, right?
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Brewing Beer
Years of education and for some reason I have it in my head now that I should brew beer in the basement and sell it to the overpaid and overprivileged in NoVA and NW DC. I spent the day at my government job surfing the net for brewing supplies. My husband, always having to show me up, sent me an email with 10 links to places that sell the heavy duty equipment. I was sending him links to an aluminum pot that brews 20 gallons and he was forwarding the 465 gallon sets.
Do I think too small? Or perhaps it was the $205 price tag versus the $41,000 price tag?
I shared the good news of my new career path with my mother, my favorite teetotaler. Her pause was pronounced. I realized then that perhaps this was not in her dreams for her little girl. But this scheme is foolproof. It's not like I'm looking to just turn a buck. This is an untapped market. A veritable goldmine.
I think I have lost what is left of my mind.
Do I think too small? Or perhaps it was the $205 price tag versus the $41,000 price tag?
I shared the good news of my new career path with my mother, my favorite teetotaler. Her pause was pronounced. I realized then that perhaps this was not in her dreams for her little girl. But this scheme is foolproof. It's not like I'm looking to just turn a buck. This is an untapped market. A veritable goldmine.
I think I have lost what is left of my mind.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Finding Jesus in Hallmark, the New Year and the void of Fantasy Football
First and foremost...what the hell is up with Christmas? Or should I say X-Mas, if I choose to be more accurate. Several weeks ago I dragged Derek to Target (beyond his "there-is-no-way-in-hell-you-are-getting-me-into-a-retail-establishment" cutoff date for Christmas.
"Come on. I'm just going to run in and look for Christmas cards. We'll be in and out of there in no time."
No verbal response, but his look suggests that my bold-faced lies will be greatly punished.
We head straight to the back of the store, but he is too frightened to go down the aisle. Filled with women perusing the 7 shelves, each packed with 30 feet of card boxes.
"What the fuck? Would it kill Target to sell cards with the baby Jesus on them?"
Derek is extremely disturbed at the end of the aisle. Probably more to do with the fact that there are now 20 women in the aisle rather than the flagrant faux pax of using the F-word and baby Jesus in the same sentence. Either way, I find two boxes of extremely cheesy cards in the middle of the bottom shelf that will JUST NOT DO.
"That's it, we're leaving." With his relief actually palpable in the air around me, I waddled out of Target in dispair. What do you expect from a place that denied the Salvation Army bell ringers to do their good deeds out front?
Four stores later, I found myself in Hallmark. There he was, on the bottom row, in all his splendor. I had six baby Jesus cards to choose from. What is the world coming to?
New Year's Eve 2004
Participants
Kristen--too pregnant to cook, but cooking anyway
Derek--doing ALL the heavy lifting, never a complaint to be heard (what have I ever done to deserve him???)
Jennifer/Greg--soon to be newest Feebie and her soon to be husband
Cath --attorney extraordinare
Carl--my entertainment/steadfast friend
Matt--soon to be divorcee that spent the evening flirting with the attorney
Zinni--busted for eating below-mentioned asparagus from the trash can
Menu
Spinach Artichoke Dip
Baby Greens Salad with goat cheese
Escargot a la Bourguignonne
Homemade Fettuccini with Butternut Squash, sage and prosciutto
Steak au poivre, Pomme frites and Asparagus with Orange Hollandaise Sauce
Black and White Creme Brulee
Whatever will we do with our weekends without Fantasy Football?
Here's the problem. It's over. All the stat-tracking, endless researching and smack-talking with the attorneys in the pool has come to a grinding halt. Derek got 3rd place. Not bad for a boy that cannot be bothered with football anyway. But we lived for it. Jamal Lewis's injury status? Will Portis finally play? What if Bulger has a better game than Brees, but he is on the bench? All our endless nights of hitting refresh on the laptop, staying up way past bedtime to see if Monday night football would send us over the edge into the winner's circle. Of course my contribution was nay-saying and bets that playing one felon over another would be a better choice. My husband both tolerated and humored me. Occasionally he would let me send off smart ass emails. I'm sure received on the other end by recipients that were shocked to hear such confrontation from mild-mannered Derek.
Now what will we do? Maybe we should clean the house or just stop pretending that it is 7 years and not 7 weeks until Baby E joins our happy little family.
"Come on. I'm just going to run in and look for Christmas cards. We'll be in and out of there in no time."
No verbal response, but his look suggests that my bold-faced lies will be greatly punished.
We head straight to the back of the store, but he is too frightened to go down the aisle. Filled with women perusing the 7 shelves, each packed with 30 feet of card boxes.
"What the fuck? Would it kill Target to sell cards with the baby Jesus on them?"
Derek is extremely disturbed at the end of the aisle. Probably more to do with the fact that there are now 20 women in the aisle rather than the flagrant faux pax of using the F-word and baby Jesus in the same sentence. Either way, I find two boxes of extremely cheesy cards in the middle of the bottom shelf that will JUST NOT DO.
"That's it, we're leaving." With his relief actually palpable in the air around me, I waddled out of Target in dispair. What do you expect from a place that denied the Salvation Army bell ringers to do their good deeds out front?
Four stores later, I found myself in Hallmark. There he was, on the bottom row, in all his splendor. I had six baby Jesus cards to choose from. What is the world coming to?
New Year's Eve 2004
Participants
Kristen--too pregnant to cook, but cooking anyway
Derek--doing ALL the heavy lifting, never a complaint to be heard (what have I ever done to deserve him???)
Jennifer/Greg--soon to be newest Feebie and her soon to be husband
Cath --attorney extraordinare
Carl--my entertainment/steadfast friend
Matt--soon to be divorcee that spent the evening flirting with the attorney
Zinni--busted for eating below-mentioned asparagus from the trash can
Menu
Spinach Artichoke Dip
Baby Greens Salad with goat cheese
Escargot a la Bourguignonne
Homemade Fettuccini with Butternut Squash, sage and prosciutto
Steak au poivre, Pomme frites and Asparagus with Orange Hollandaise Sauce
Black and White Creme Brulee
Whatever will we do with our weekends without Fantasy Football?
Here's the problem. It's over. All the stat-tracking, endless researching and smack-talking with the attorneys in the pool has come to a grinding halt. Derek got 3rd place. Not bad for a boy that cannot be bothered with football anyway. But we lived for it. Jamal Lewis's injury status? Will Portis finally play? What if Bulger has a better game than Brees, but he is on the bench? All our endless nights of hitting refresh on the laptop, staying up way past bedtime to see if Monday night football would send us over the edge into the winner's circle. Of course my contribution was nay-saying and bets that playing one felon over another would be a better choice. My husband both tolerated and humored me. Occasionally he would let me send off smart ass emails. I'm sure received on the other end by recipients that were shocked to hear such confrontation from mild-mannered Derek.
Now what will we do? Maybe we should clean the house or just stop pretending that it is 7 years and not 7 weeks until Baby E joins our happy little family.
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