What the hell, is it really December?
Oh, I have one more day that is not December, great, thanks.
I am not going to bitch about the holidays being stressful like everyone else. I don't think they are that stressful. I like shopping. While the crowds are annoying, it is sickly fun to be kind to frustrated cranky holiday help and shoppers. I like cramming my already stuffed house with all things red, green, and festive. I like the fight Tim and I have every year about how many lights to put on the tree. I like Christmas music. I like it all.
What I don't like are people who decide to have graduation parties the weekend before Christmas. What I don't like are people who think that we need to hold audience with them on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day when they are indifferent to us the other 363 days of the year. What I don't like are the Salvation Army Bell Ringers who wish me a 'Happy Holidays' in hopes that I will donate money to their gay bashing fund.
Deep Breath.
I am fairly (and to some, annoyingly) adamantly against taking my kids out of the house on Christmas Day. Part of that is from my own childhood, when I would get all this great stuff and then have to pick one thing to go with me to a relative's house where I would sit and dream of all the cool things that I had back at home but I couldn't play with because I was singing Christmas carols with family that I saw once a year. I am not scarred by this, and my Christmas pasts were not awful, I just look back on pictures of the year that I got a new ice skating costume that I insisted on wearing because I loved it so much I couldn't bear to part with it and get embarrassed that I actually donned it in public. No wonder the weird cousins didn't want to talk to me.
I realize that by 4 pm Christmas day the yuletide wad has been blown and an escape hatch would be nice, but I refuse to use it because I have made such a stink about not going anywhere. This year this is trying to bite me in the ass, but I am meaner. Since August we have planned to spend Christmas eve with Tim's mom and her family. After the last 2 years that Abby has been kept up so far past her bedtime that Christmas day borders on unbearable, I have put my foot down. How we have done it in the past is that we go to Tim's mom's family's party until about 8:30 (past Abby's bedtime) then to Tim's dad's family's party until 11 (really really past Abby's bedtime) then on to celebrate with his parents privately which usually ends at a time when Abby is so deliriously tired that she can't even function enough to be crabby. In the wake of Tim's parent's "parting" I decided to take this opportunity to cut his dad's family out of Christmas and begin alternating between his mom's family and his dad's on Christmas eve, thus leaving Christmas day to spend with our immediate family and oh, yeah, my family too. Since it is unclear whether or not we will be seeing Tim's dad on Christmas eve I told him that if we in fact don't, he can come over Christmas day, but could he please refrain from bringing his estranged wife. I would have told his mother the same thing if it was his dad's family's year for Christmas eve. If we do celebrate with Tim's dad on Christmas eve then the invitation is rescinded, and we will continue to do our thing. Apparently this is entirely unacceptable.
If my family is coming over on Christmas Day, then obviously Tim's parents should both be invited so they can have Christmas with their grandchildren.(as decreed by his mother). Fine, so then they can come over Christmas day, but we will not be getting together Christmas eve. Unacceptable, Tim's mom's family is expecting to see us, we have to be there (as decreed by my mother in law). So let me get this straight, my family is not invited to spend Christmas eve with my in laws, but we have to include them Christmas day? What the fuck? I have also been told that if my father in law is coming over Christmas day, my mother in law will be there also.
And here is the difference between my husband (the spineless wonder that he is) and I...I will not allow that. His parents can have whatever fucked up Christmas they want, but I will not play host to it. If we have to spend an entire fucking Sunday with that woman and, we will not be spending the Monday with her also. Done. There is no discussion. If she wants to include her estranged husband in Christmas eve, bonus, one less person in my house Christmas day.
Am I being unreasonable?
Think carefully before you answer that because I am right here and you can't tell me different until you have met these assholes.
Anyway...
We have to go to this graduation party the weekend before Christmas. It is for someone my age who has just gotten her masters. Now the last time I saw her was at a 25th wedding anniversary party for an "aunt" and "uncle". At said party she asked me what we "gave" them. "A card" was my reply and she proceeded to tell me that she was concerned the check she wrote was not enough. Do you really give checks to adults? I can't imagine writing these people a check as a gift. So now we are faced with her graduation party. What do I give her? I realize that it is a cultural thing that they all exchange money at things like this, but I am just not that type. Any suggestions? Do I just have to suck it up and write her a check?
O.k., I am done now. We can talk about the Salvation Army later.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Feeding Time at the Zoo
It makes my mom crazy that I do not clean out Nora's high chair after every meal. Unless there is a huge rotting stick mess, the thing gets cleaned out after dinner. You may think its gross, but that is how we roll here.
Anyway...I have noticed lately that sometimes at weird times of the day she goes over to the high chair, pulls herself up, and will start eating out of the foot rest, the seat, or off the floor. We call it the snack bar, and it is kind of funny. A problem has arisen, however, and I now try to clean it up everytime she eats. The problem is not ants, or bugs, or mold, it is Abby. I have found that when she doesn't want to eat something she just chucks it into Nora's high chair and hopes I won't notice. The half eaten turkey sandwich yesterday was a dead giveaway. When I confronted her about it, she was sweet and told me that she was just giving Nora more choices at the snack bar.
So now we clean the high chair after every meal which has led to a new problem. When there is not food at the "snack bar" Nora goes directly to the cat food dish. Am I worried that she seems to have eaten her weight in cat food?
Anyway...I have noticed lately that sometimes at weird times of the day she goes over to the high chair, pulls herself up, and will start eating out of the foot rest, the seat, or off the floor. We call it the snack bar, and it is kind of funny. A problem has arisen, however, and I now try to clean it up everytime she eats. The problem is not ants, or bugs, or mold, it is Abby. I have found that when she doesn't want to eat something she just chucks it into Nora's high chair and hopes I won't notice. The half eaten turkey sandwich yesterday was a dead giveaway. When I confronted her about it, she was sweet and told me that she was just giving Nora more choices at the snack bar.
So now we clean the high chair after every meal which has led to a new problem. When there is not food at the "snack bar" Nora goes directly to the cat food dish. Am I worried that she seems to have eaten her weight in cat food?
Thursday, November 23, 2006
4
My best fried turns 4 today.
Her 4th trip around the sun has been full of changes. She has started school, became a big sister, and has become a walking, talking, understandable person. Not that she wasn't before, but she has gone from being this adorable little lump of a baby to a walking uber destructor toddler to an amazing preschooler. She is bright, funny, beautiful, and anal retentive. She has more nuances than most dead languages, but her joy and love make it bearable.
This little girl has changed the world in these 4 years. She has taught me to be a better person, and to strive to keep it up. She taught her father that there is more to life than what he thought. She has taught her Auntie and Uncle that kids are pretty resilient. She has taught her Grammy and Tony that kids really are fun. She has taught her Grandma how to shop, and her Grandpa how to read. She has taught her Grampy and Grandmary a patience that they didn't know they needed. She has taught Nora that standing up is the safest way to be when they are playing together. She has done all this not on purpose, but with purpose, and I hope the lessons she has for us never end.
This morning when she woke up the first thing she said to me was, "Am I 4?"
unbelievably, she is.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
A Party
Kid's birthdays are fun. The first birthday is always an extravaganza which includes parents and their friends coming together to fete a child's first voyage around the sun. There is cake and beer and pictures. The second birthday passes with less fanfare, but still enough to overstimulate the little darling and send them into a 3 day schedule tailspin. The third birthday is when friends get introduced, and it starts to be less about the parent's friends and more about the kid's. Now we are at the 4th. The first "kids only" party, which flirts with dangerous territory of asking yourself if you just drop your kid off, or do you stay and socialize while making sure that your little darling uses his/her manners and doesn't shit themself.
So Abby's party was at our local park district's indoor playground. It is this kind of gross ballpit that has a big slide and kids can just go bonkers. There were about 15 kids there between the ages of 18 months and 3rd grade (how old are you in 3rd grade?), and it started out really fun. They played in the ball put for about an hour, and Mrs. Materialism's little dividends (Thug, the elder one, and Duh, the little one) terrorized all the other children there. They just ran wild and had a ball jumping and chasing eachother. I was thinking about how well behaved they all were when all of a sudden Abby burst into tears because Thug had pushed her. When I asked him if he did he said "She was in my way". I made him go apologize, and all was well until Kate burst into tears because yet again Thug was pushing. I told him if he did it again he was not allowed in the ball pit and Mrs. Materialism told me that she would take it from there. She proceeded to do nothing.
Normal turbulence continued and we did cake and a pinata. Ever since Abby saw a pinata at another kid's party she has been begging me for one, and I thought it might be a fun activity for them.
Here is a tip, it may not be a good idea to stand on a chair dangling a pinata over 4 year olds while they swing with a broom stick. Also, make sure that the swinging space is far away from other children.
Cake was eaten, pinata was burst, candy was everywhere and there was still 20 more minutes of party left. Fuck.
Everyone went back to the ball pit. During these last 20 minutes Abby's friend Rachel arrived with her Alpha Mom, and sisters in tow. Rachel was late because she didn't want to come due to her overwhelming social anxiety. She just wanted to play with Abby alone. Alpha Mom didn't care, she wasn't going to pass up a free activity for all her kids just because Rachel's social anxiety was flaring up. So as this circus is going on, and Rachel wouldn't stop crying until Abby came and sat with her, I go to see what is happening in the ball pit. I walk in and I say to Tim's cousin, "Wow, one of the babies sure needs a diaper change!" and that is when I see him. Abby's friend Robert standing next to the ball pit looking sad an a little bit guilty. I approach him, and it was like my bat sense kicked in and I knew exactly what was up.
Robert shit in his pants.
So I take this darling to the ladies room and expect to find some dumpable little kid turds in his shorts, but alas, I was being punished. Robert had diarrhea. And it was everywhere. I lef tthe poor kid in the stall while I went to get wipes and see if I couldn't find something to change him into. I come back and get him stripped down and make him start wiping himself off.
Here is something you should know, when you have to clean up shit that didn't come from you, your spawn, or someone you love, it is gross. Really gross. Really really gross.
I get his pants rinsed out, and him cleaned up for the most part. His pants were wet, and I think he is scarred for life, but I gave him a goodie bag and some candy and sat him down until his mom came to pick him up. When she got there and I told her what happened she started yelling at him in this bizarre passive aggressive way that made me really uncomfortable. She apologized profusely, which was nice, but just not enough after the intimate knowledge I now have with what that kid had for lunch.
I was so busy dealing with this that I missed the latter half of the party, but everyone seemed to have fun.
Here are the highlights:
Thug made 4 different kids cry (not including his brother)
Abby got 6 different gifts with chocking warnings on them which means that Nora is now forbidden from crawling or teething. That is going to go over well.
Mrs. Materialism is one of the top 3 most delusional parents in town
4 year olds cannot break open a pinata unless there is an adult present to tear a hole in it
It takes 3 handwashings, a change of clothes, and a 6 pack of beer to get the smell of Robert's poo out of your nostrils
My mother in law can smoke a half a pack of cigarettes in 2 hours
My mom is sometimes a saint
Rachel's social anxiety is annoying
My daughters are amazing
So we survived, and it was fun for my kid, so I am happy.
I can't believe she is going to be 4 tomorrow.
So Abby's party was at our local park district's indoor playground. It is this kind of gross ballpit that has a big slide and kids can just go bonkers. There were about 15 kids there between the ages of 18 months and 3rd grade (how old are you in 3rd grade?), and it started out really fun. They played in the ball put for about an hour, and Mrs. Materialism's little dividends (Thug, the elder one, and Duh, the little one) terrorized all the other children there. They just ran wild and had a ball jumping and chasing eachother. I was thinking about how well behaved they all were when all of a sudden Abby burst into tears because Thug had pushed her. When I asked him if he did he said "She was in my way". I made him go apologize, and all was well until Kate burst into tears because yet again Thug was pushing. I told him if he did it again he was not allowed in the ball pit and Mrs. Materialism told me that she would take it from there. She proceeded to do nothing.
Normal turbulence continued and we did cake and a pinata. Ever since Abby saw a pinata at another kid's party she has been begging me for one, and I thought it might be a fun activity for them.
Here is a tip, it may not be a good idea to stand on a chair dangling a pinata over 4 year olds while they swing with a broom stick. Also, make sure that the swinging space is far away from other children.
Cake was eaten, pinata was burst, candy was everywhere and there was still 20 more minutes of party left. Fuck.
Everyone went back to the ball pit. During these last 20 minutes Abby's friend Rachel arrived with her Alpha Mom, and sisters in tow. Rachel was late because she didn't want to come due to her overwhelming social anxiety. She just wanted to play with Abby alone. Alpha Mom didn't care, she wasn't going to pass up a free activity for all her kids just because Rachel's social anxiety was flaring up. So as this circus is going on, and Rachel wouldn't stop crying until Abby came and sat with her, I go to see what is happening in the ball pit. I walk in and I say to Tim's cousin, "Wow, one of the babies sure needs a diaper change!" and that is when I see him. Abby's friend Robert standing next to the ball pit looking sad an a little bit guilty. I approach him, and it was like my bat sense kicked in and I knew exactly what was up.
Robert shit in his pants.
So I take this darling to the ladies room and expect to find some dumpable little kid turds in his shorts, but alas, I was being punished. Robert had diarrhea. And it was everywhere. I lef tthe poor kid in the stall while I went to get wipes and see if I couldn't find something to change him into. I come back and get him stripped down and make him start wiping himself off.
Here is something you should know, when you have to clean up shit that didn't come from you, your spawn, or someone you love, it is gross. Really gross. Really really gross.
I get his pants rinsed out, and him cleaned up for the most part. His pants were wet, and I think he is scarred for life, but I gave him a goodie bag and some candy and sat him down until his mom came to pick him up. When she got there and I told her what happened she started yelling at him in this bizarre passive aggressive way that made me really uncomfortable. She apologized profusely, which was nice, but just not enough after the intimate knowledge I now have with what that kid had for lunch.
I was so busy dealing with this that I missed the latter half of the party, but everyone seemed to have fun.
Here are the highlights:
Thug made 4 different kids cry (not including his brother)
Abby got 6 different gifts with chocking warnings on them which means that Nora is now forbidden from crawling or teething. That is going to go over well.
Mrs. Materialism is one of the top 3 most delusional parents in town
4 year olds cannot break open a pinata unless there is an adult present to tear a hole in it
It takes 3 handwashings, a change of clothes, and a 6 pack of beer to get the smell of Robert's poo out of your nostrils
My mother in law can smoke a half a pack of cigarettes in 2 hours
My mom is sometimes a saint
Rachel's social anxiety is annoying
My daughters are amazing
So we survived, and it was fun for my kid, so I am happy.
I can't believe she is going to be 4 tomorrow.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Out of Office Reply
Tomorrow we embark upon a family trip to the north to see my sister and her fam. The original purpose of the visit was to go to a tile sale, but it exploded into more than that. I went alone last year, and I have to say it was kind of fabulous to leave at my leisure, and not have to transport Tim. (I love him but he does not travel well- like linen or silk, he gets unruly and does not do what he is supposed to).
This year, since I am slightly tethered to my babe, we are making it a family affair. A while ago I made Tim take tomorrow off so that we could drive during not rush hour and get there at a reasonable time so it didn't seem like we were driving there just to drive right back. The weekend has also been expanded from shopping to a photo shoot to nab that perfect family photo to slap on the Christmas cards that I will be obsessing about in about 2 weeks (it will take the place of the obsessing about the wardrobing for the photo shoot).
Anyway...Tim has tomorrow off and Abby is thrilled that he will be the one to take her to school. I asked if Nora and I could come too, to help Tim who has never seen her school, let alone the drop off routine (homework out, lunchbox in cubby, apple on the attendance tree, not to mention that Abby is in charge of bringing birthday snack tomorrow), but Abby said no, just Daddy. I thought this would be good for him, a chance to see what we do during the day, but I think he has other plans. He mentioned something about sleeping in and getting my oil changed. Ha ha sucka, I am in charge, and he will be hanging with Nora while I run around and get a few errands done before we leave. Not only is tomorrow a day off for him, but it is one for me too. I will be able to actually leave the house without kids during morning nap time, and it will have no repercussions on anyone's schedule. I will be able to "run in" to places and not have to unload the ladies or fear a police sting operation catching me leaving them in the car. I will be able to shower uninterrupted. Ok, that is probably pushing it.
So we are off tomorrow, and rather than being home to pack and get ready Tim is still at work (it is 10:44 pm as I type this). Apparently he needs to tie up every loose end he has ever had there before he takes this one day off. He didn't prepare this much for the week he took off when I had Nora. I don't know if he is trying to prove something to someone, or what his deal is, but his over developed sense of importance is kind of annoying here. It is not like we are leaving the Cingular coverage area at any point and they can't get a hold of him. And no matter how many loose ends he ties up he will still get 2-4 phone calls from there that will cause him to inhale sharply and dramatically dig his phone from his pocket, sighing at the number on caller id, announcing "It's the shop" in the voice that he uses when he is trying to sound important (come on, Amanda, Tony, you know what I am talking about here). And that doesn't count the phone calls from his dad asking him inane questions (this is a whole other blog entirely about how Tim refuses to tell his dad that he will call him back he just tells him what he is doing, then he lets his dad hold him hostage on the phone even at the most inappropriate times, getting mad at me if I tell him to hang the fuck up).
I can't imagine having a job like that- always being on call, and having to stay (up)late if the (dishes, laundry, etc) project isn't complete, a demanding group of (kids) employees constantly demanding your attention and wisdom.
I don't know what that is like at all.
This year, since I am slightly tethered to my babe, we are making it a family affair. A while ago I made Tim take tomorrow off so that we could drive during not rush hour and get there at a reasonable time so it didn't seem like we were driving there just to drive right back. The weekend has also been expanded from shopping to a photo shoot to nab that perfect family photo to slap on the Christmas cards that I will be obsessing about in about 2 weeks (it will take the place of the obsessing about the wardrobing for the photo shoot).
Anyway...Tim has tomorrow off and Abby is thrilled that he will be the one to take her to school. I asked if Nora and I could come too, to help Tim who has never seen her school, let alone the drop off routine (homework out, lunchbox in cubby, apple on the attendance tree, not to mention that Abby is in charge of bringing birthday snack tomorrow), but Abby said no, just Daddy. I thought this would be good for him, a chance to see what we do during the day, but I think he has other plans. He mentioned something about sleeping in and getting my oil changed. Ha ha sucka, I am in charge, and he will be hanging with Nora while I run around and get a few errands done before we leave. Not only is tomorrow a day off for him, but it is one for me too. I will be able to actually leave the house without kids during morning nap time, and it will have no repercussions on anyone's schedule. I will be able to "run in" to places and not have to unload the ladies or fear a police sting operation catching me leaving them in the car. I will be able to shower uninterrupted. Ok, that is probably pushing it.
So we are off tomorrow, and rather than being home to pack and get ready Tim is still at work (it is 10:44 pm as I type this). Apparently he needs to tie up every loose end he has ever had there before he takes this one day off. He didn't prepare this much for the week he took off when I had Nora. I don't know if he is trying to prove something to someone, or what his deal is, but his over developed sense of importance is kind of annoying here. It is not like we are leaving the Cingular coverage area at any point and they can't get a hold of him. And no matter how many loose ends he ties up he will still get 2-4 phone calls from there that will cause him to inhale sharply and dramatically dig his phone from his pocket, sighing at the number on caller id, announcing "It's the shop" in the voice that he uses when he is trying to sound important (come on, Amanda, Tony, you know what I am talking about here). And that doesn't count the phone calls from his dad asking him inane questions (this is a whole other blog entirely about how Tim refuses to tell his dad that he will call him back he just tells him what he is doing, then he lets his dad hold him hostage on the phone even at the most inappropriate times, getting mad at me if I tell him to hang the fuck up).
I can't imagine having a job like that- always being on call, and having to stay (up)late if the (dishes, laundry, etc) project isn't complete, a demanding group of (kids) employees constantly demanding your attention and wisdom.
I don't know what that is like at all.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
The Lab Coat Affair
So yesterday I went to teach my class and when I go there I noticed that my lab coat and paperwork were not in my car. They never leave my car, why would they start now? Then I remembered that Tim had taken my car to move some stuff out of his mom's house on Sunday, and he must have moved my stuff.
Now Tim moving the crap at his mom's was kind of an issue. There is this new regime in which Tim's mom asks him to do something, and Tim, being a control freak asshole like his dad, puts it off until it is his idea (he does this with just about anything that anyone asks him to do, but then he forgets he had to do something in the first place then he gets mad if someone reminds him that he forgot or nags him about getting it done) this tact usually blows up in his face. Lately when he puts his mother off if it goes on for more than a day she calls his dad and tells him that Tim is not helping her or being supportive of her thus resulting in an angry call from Tim's dad which leaves Tim feeling like a scolded little boy for 4 days and building resentment in Tim towards his mother. Oh the joys of divorce, I can't wait for Thanksgiving!
Anyway, I tried to avoid this series of events by suggesting that Tim go and move this stuff when his mom called because it was a good window of time for him to do so. The kids were fine, I was starting dinner, and there was nothing holding him back from just moving this shit and bringing it back. No big, right? Wrong. Of course Tim left in a huff because he just doesn't like being told what to do.
Fastforward to yesterday when I had to go teach and my stuff wasn't in my car. I call Tim because I had honestly could not fathom where this stuff could be since I never take it out of my car. Our conversation went like this:
Me: If you were my lab coat, where would you be?
Him: I would be in the garage where I put it when you made me go get that shit from my fucking mom's house.
Me: Settle down, I'll just teach without my lab coat and home that I don't get burned by chemicals ( I then giggled because I teach fun science to 1st graders who just sit and pick their nose anyway and we rarely use any chemicals of consequence)
Him: FINE! I DON"T HAVE TIME TO FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS BULLSHIT!
*click* he hung up on me
We haven't said more than 3 words since.
Now I know that I am no saint, and that I should have talked to him last night, BUT I think that he owes me an apology for hanging up on me and talking to me like that. When I came home last night form a meeting I went to, I noticed that Nora's high chair was cleaned off, which I think was his way of apologizing. Am I wrong to think that isn't enough? Am I being stupid that I think he needs to say it. I am also a little bent out of shape that he blames me for my stuff not being in my car because I made him go to his mom's house. Am I right that this is not my fault? (This is not a rhetorical question, I really do what to know if I am handling this poorly)
Tim has some anger issues, and he has some big issues with how he handles people, but I am already raising 2 kids, I can't raise an adult too. There is a lot he never learned about dealing with people or his reactions and problems with people. I really think he needs therapy for all the damage his parents have done to him, but he thinks that he is fine and refuses to do it. I loved when he quit smoking using Zyban because it got just that little bit of Wellbutrin in his system that I think he so desperately needs, but then it fell to the wayside when his parents started falling apart and he started smoking again.
The problem is that we had this fight about how he yells at people just last week when he just paraded around the house ranting about anything he could think of. Tony even put him on probation after a phone conversation they had. When that happens I know that it is not just me.
So what do I do about this? It is not just that I need an apology (actually I don't need one for any other reason than that I think Tim needs to take responsibility for what he does and says), I need to not have this same argument again and again and again.
Any suggestions?
Now Tim moving the crap at his mom's was kind of an issue. There is this new regime in which Tim's mom asks him to do something, and Tim, being a control freak asshole like his dad, puts it off until it is his idea (he does this with just about anything that anyone asks him to do, but then he forgets he had to do something in the first place then he gets mad if someone reminds him that he forgot or nags him about getting it done) this tact usually blows up in his face. Lately when he puts his mother off if it goes on for more than a day she calls his dad and tells him that Tim is not helping her or being supportive of her thus resulting in an angry call from Tim's dad which leaves Tim feeling like a scolded little boy for 4 days and building resentment in Tim towards his mother. Oh the joys of divorce, I can't wait for Thanksgiving!
Anyway, I tried to avoid this series of events by suggesting that Tim go and move this stuff when his mom called because it was a good window of time for him to do so. The kids were fine, I was starting dinner, and there was nothing holding him back from just moving this shit and bringing it back. No big, right? Wrong. Of course Tim left in a huff because he just doesn't like being told what to do.
Fastforward to yesterday when I had to go teach and my stuff wasn't in my car. I call Tim because I had honestly could not fathom where this stuff could be since I never take it out of my car. Our conversation went like this:
Me: If you were my lab coat, where would you be?
Him: I would be in the garage where I put it when you made me go get that shit from my fucking mom's house.
Me: Settle down, I'll just teach without my lab coat and home that I don't get burned by chemicals ( I then giggled because I teach fun science to 1st graders who just sit and pick their nose anyway and we rarely use any chemicals of consequence)
Him: FINE! I DON"T HAVE TIME TO FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS BULLSHIT!
*click* he hung up on me
We haven't said more than 3 words since.
Now I know that I am no saint, and that I should have talked to him last night, BUT I think that he owes me an apology for hanging up on me and talking to me like that. When I came home last night form a meeting I went to, I noticed that Nora's high chair was cleaned off, which I think was his way of apologizing. Am I wrong to think that isn't enough? Am I being stupid that I think he needs to say it. I am also a little bent out of shape that he blames me for my stuff not being in my car because I made him go to his mom's house. Am I right that this is not my fault? (This is not a rhetorical question, I really do what to know if I am handling this poorly)
Tim has some anger issues, and he has some big issues with how he handles people, but I am already raising 2 kids, I can't raise an adult too. There is a lot he never learned about dealing with people or his reactions and problems with people. I really think he needs therapy for all the damage his parents have done to him, but he thinks that he is fine and refuses to do it. I loved when he quit smoking using Zyban because it got just that little bit of Wellbutrin in his system that I think he so desperately needs, but then it fell to the wayside when his parents started falling apart and he started smoking again.
The problem is that we had this fight about how he yells at people just last week when he just paraded around the house ranting about anything he could think of. Tony even put him on probation after a phone conversation they had. When that happens I know that it is not just me.
So what do I do about this? It is not just that I need an apology (actually I don't need one for any other reason than that I think Tim needs to take responsibility for what he does and says), I need to not have this same argument again and again and again.
Any suggestions?
Friday, November 10, 2006
The Witching Hour
That time of year is back, and it has gotten worse.
Now that it is dark before I have even cleaned up lunch, and the weather is questionable on a good day, the witching hour has again become the most dreaded time of day. You know those hours between 3 and 6 when there is NOTHING to do and NOWHERE to go. That time between the afternoon activity and the evening rush. When all the toys have been played with, and you fear DCFS is going to come and get you if you let your kid watch one more minute of TV. The time when you look at the clock and it reads 4:15 pm and then 10 minutes you look again and it reads 4:17 pm and you think that it is broken but it really isn't so you cry out and wave your fists at the sky curing time for passing so slowly. I think that working parents don't escape this witching hour either. They are the ones running around trying to get home in rush hour traffic, trying to figure out what is for dinner, trying to get a day's worth of quality time in. It gets worse just after the time change because the dark is such insult to the injury of cold weather. I am convinced that no one is productive or happy during this time of day.
before she had a kid I used to hold my sister hostage on the telephone during these times because it gave me something to do as well as a reason to not be paying attention to Abby (Not that I neglect my kid, its just that sometimes I need a fucking coffee break, is that so much to ask? Really, it is, seriously?! Then nevermind.). She used to tell me that it was times like this that I needed a close by neighbor who I could while away the witching hour with drinking wine and watching our kids frolic. It would be perfect to live in a neighborhood that had that, but the one cool family here on the communist block is busy.
What turned today's witching hour into an excrutiating exercise in parenting was a phone call I got at 4:45pm. Now when the phone rings at this time it can go one of two ways, it can be my mom, or some other distraction who will keep me on the phone, or better yet come over, to distract my and the Ladies until it is time to get dinner on the table; or it can be Tim, calling to tell me that he is working late.
Today the 4:45 phone call was Tim.
He has been having some trouble at work (his boss quit-not his dad, his uncle), which I can be understanding to, but tonight, yeah, I'm sorry but I am going to have to go ahead and be that wife that needs you home. His reason for staying late is that a "customer" needs to come and photograph his car. Huh? That never happens, that is why we all have insurance, so that they will photograph our cars. When I started asking about said customer I discovered that it was Tim's buddy from his hockey team, and that he was coming by at closing so that they could have a beer. Just 1 beer, and he is leaving no later than 6. The last time this happened Tim came home at 10:30 piss drunk without calling. This is going to go down as the longest day of my life on record.
Hopefully he will surprise me and really will leave no later than 6, but I am not holding my breath.
At least blogging is a new way to pass the witching hour.
Now that it is dark before I have even cleaned up lunch, and the weather is questionable on a good day, the witching hour has again become the most dreaded time of day. You know those hours between 3 and 6 when there is NOTHING to do and NOWHERE to go. That time between the afternoon activity and the evening rush. When all the toys have been played with, and you fear DCFS is going to come and get you if you let your kid watch one more minute of TV. The time when you look at the clock and it reads 4:15 pm and then 10 minutes you look again and it reads 4:17 pm and you think that it is broken but it really isn't so you cry out and wave your fists at the sky curing time for passing so slowly. I think that working parents don't escape this witching hour either. They are the ones running around trying to get home in rush hour traffic, trying to figure out what is for dinner, trying to get a day's worth of quality time in. It gets worse just after the time change because the dark is such insult to the injury of cold weather. I am convinced that no one is productive or happy during this time of day.
before she had a kid I used to hold my sister hostage on the telephone during these times because it gave me something to do as well as a reason to not be paying attention to Abby (Not that I neglect my kid, its just that sometimes I need a fucking coffee break, is that so much to ask? Really, it is, seriously?! Then nevermind.). She used to tell me that it was times like this that I needed a close by neighbor who I could while away the witching hour with drinking wine and watching our kids frolic. It would be perfect to live in a neighborhood that had that, but the one cool family here on the communist block is busy.
What turned today's witching hour into an excrutiating exercise in parenting was a phone call I got at 4:45pm. Now when the phone rings at this time it can go one of two ways, it can be my mom, or some other distraction who will keep me on the phone, or better yet come over, to distract my and the Ladies until it is time to get dinner on the table; or it can be Tim, calling to tell me that he is working late.
Today the 4:45 phone call was Tim.
He has been having some trouble at work (his boss quit-not his dad, his uncle), which I can be understanding to, but tonight, yeah, I'm sorry but I am going to have to go ahead and be that wife that needs you home. His reason for staying late is that a "customer" needs to come and photograph his car. Huh? That never happens, that is why we all have insurance, so that they will photograph our cars. When I started asking about said customer I discovered that it was Tim's buddy from his hockey team, and that he was coming by at closing so that they could have a beer. Just 1 beer, and he is leaving no later than 6. The last time this happened Tim came home at 10:30 piss drunk without calling. This is going to go down as the longest day of my life on record.
Hopefully he will surprise me and really will leave no later than 6, but I am not holding my breath.
At least blogging is a new way to pass the witching hour.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Rock the Vote
So I took the girls with me to vote today, and I think that one of the election officials wants to turn me in to DCFS.
The girls were good, they helped me decide, although I don't think I trust Abby's opinion. She wanted me to vote for "the lady that looks like Grandma" which I could not do. Judy Barr Topinka just scares me, probably because she does look so much like my mother in law, but also because she is a republican who wants to open a casino on the Mag Mile.
So we do our civic duty, and I went to get my sticker (you know the 'I Voted!' one that you can wear with pride for the rest of the day). They went to give Abby one, and I said, "But she didn't vote". The lady looked at me like I was nuts and gave her one anyway.
How I am I supposed to feel self-righteous if they are handing these stickers out to just anyone?
The girls were good, they helped me decide, although I don't think I trust Abby's opinion. She wanted me to vote for "the lady that looks like Grandma" which I could not do. Judy Barr Topinka just scares me, probably because she does look so much like my mother in law, but also because she is a republican who wants to open a casino on the Mag Mile.
So we do our civic duty, and I went to get my sticker (you know the 'I Voted!' one that you can wear with pride for the rest of the day). They went to give Abby one, and I said, "But she didn't vote". The lady looked at me like I was nuts and gave her one anyway.
How I am I supposed to feel self-righteous if they are handing these stickers out to just anyone?
The New Kid on the Block
Have you been watching? Did you see it today? We got to meet Marco! Let's all shout congratulations to Gina the veterinarian for adopting such a sweetie from Guatemala!
What, you don't know what I am talking about? Haven't you been watching Sesame Street? How could you miss it?
Gordon and Maria's kids are all grown up and they needed a fresh new face! Gina, not to be outdone by the Jolie-Pitt clan, went and got herself a third world baby to liven up the place. Yesterday she told Elmo and the gang that she was going to Guatemala to pick up her little darling, Marco. She explained that Marco needed a home and that she was going to give him one on Sesame Street, why was this easier for the muppetts and Abby to grasp than my mother? (She is disturbed that Gina is not married) Off Gina went yesterday with Maria as a translator to go and get the kid. They were back by today (fastest adoption in the west) so that everyone could meet him. Poor Gina was overwhelmed, and Big Bird wouldn't leave until little Marco knew the ABCs. It was good TV, my friends.
What is kind of sad about this was that I went to see a movie tonight with a mom friend of mine and we talked about this at length. We had both happened onto Sesame Street yesterday and had to tune in today to get the rest of the story. Is it sad that I have TiVo set to get tomorrow's episode to see how they are adjusting?
What, you don't know what I am talking about? Haven't you been watching Sesame Street? How could you miss it?
Gordon and Maria's kids are all grown up and they needed a fresh new face! Gina, not to be outdone by the Jolie-Pitt clan, went and got herself a third world baby to liven up the place. Yesterday she told Elmo and the gang that she was going to Guatemala to pick up her little darling, Marco. She explained that Marco needed a home and that she was going to give him one on Sesame Street, why was this easier for the muppetts and Abby to grasp than my mother? (She is disturbed that Gina is not married) Off Gina went yesterday with Maria as a translator to go and get the kid. They were back by today (fastest adoption in the west) so that everyone could meet him. Poor Gina was overwhelmed, and Big Bird wouldn't leave until little Marco knew the ABCs. It was good TV, my friends.
What is kind of sad about this was that I went to see a movie tonight with a mom friend of mine and we talked about this at length. We had both happened onto Sesame Street yesterday and had to tune in today to get the rest of the story. Is it sad that I have TiVo set to get tomorrow's episode to see how they are adjusting?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
A Trip Round the Sun
Since anyone who reads this blog reads my sister's blog as well, I am assuming that you know that I celebrated my 29th birthday yesterday. (I have taken to referring to birthdays as 'birfdays' as a nod to the comedy that is 50 cent, but people don't think that is funny, they just think I am stupid and can't spell, but I digress) My 20s have passed with little fanfare and with the arrival of children there is even less. I remember my 20th birthday, celebrated with my friend Josh in the Monmouth College belltower. My 21st on a rainy Sunday at a riverboat casino. 22 through 24 and 27 were unremarkable. 25 I was massively pregnant. 26 I just remember wearing a lot of makeup. 28 I cried because Tim would not stop snoring and told me to go sleep on the couch if it bothered me so much. I had low expectations for this birthday, but not in a poor me bad way, but in a I am a mom now so these things are not what my focus should be.
By the end of yesterday I was pleasantly surprised by the celebration of my 29th year. Things did not start well....
When Tim came home from work on Friday he busted in the door with 2 huge brief cases of work that "had to be done", a bag of vile moldy tupperware from the leftovers he takes for lunch, and a gift bag. I asked about the gift bag because sometimes people send him home with stuff for the girls, and he got a bit giddy and tried to be all "oops, I forgot to leave that in the car!" Whatever, he knew what he was doing. So then he tried to give me this gift which I wouldn't take because it was days before my birthday. He and Abby hid it and it was not shoved at me again until after trick or treating on Tuesday. I was pleasantly surprised by a cute iPod Nano in a lovely shade of red. Tim knows I like red and figured that outweighed my hatred for Bono which I guess it has to since he got the Nano engraved.
After I took Abby to school and got Nora settled down for a nap I was looking forward to doing what I wanted to do with my morning which meant I was going to lay on my bed and watch Regis and Kelly (stop laughing, they are funny) until I was motivated to clean my house. I got as far as my bed when a knock came at the door.
Who else drops in unannounced at 9:30 in the morning? It was my mother. Sometimes I am happy to see her, others I want to hide and pretend that no one was home. This time I was somewhere in the middle.
She brought me some lovely and thoughtful gifts...a new winter coat, and some spatula things I wanted form Williams-Sonoma. She also brought the ugliest shoes ever. I am just not acknowledging them yet. I can't keep them, they are truly awful, but she tried and for that she is sweet. The problem with her visit came after we dodged the ugly shoe issue. She wouldn't leave. My time with Regis and Kelly was gone, but Bob Barker was still on and had she left when I wanted her to I could have gotten a little rest and time to decompress, but she just lurked around my house making inane small talk. I tried to give her hints to GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE! but she wasn't having it, so I dealt. Then the phone rang. It was my dear friend Brook who I don't talk to often because she can only talk during her commute which is never at a good time for me. She was calling to wish me a happy day and fill me in on a new place she is buying (anyone want to sublet her 2 bedroom in Lincoln Park?) and her goiter (yes, she has a goiter). My mom was not having it. She started acting all huffy, and touching things that she shouldn't. She is like a little kid, once your attention is diverted she starts acting up. I sadly cut Brook off and went back to the neverending visit. Then my mom's cell phone rang and she realized she had to be someplace. So she left, and literally as I closed the door behind her Nora awoke and my down time was off with my mom. Bummer, but I cherish my alone time with the baby. I like to watch her explore when there isn't anyone around her to terrorize her.
We frolicked and ran some errands. I rejoined the gym in attempts to get in shape again (actually, if you want the truth, I do it to get away from my house and my kids. When they are at Miss Betty's and I am on the treadmill all by myself, not looking at the piles of stuff I have to find a home for in the shoe that is my house and my cell phone is not audible and Tim is tucked safely at work I feel a calm that doesn't exist the other 23 hours of the day. I used to feel bad about that but then I realized that I am NEVER alone, ever, and this is my only shot), and signed Abby up for swimming lessons.
All in all it was a pretty boring day, it picked up a little after dinner out with my mom and Emil (her "companion" who is blog entry in and of himself). The girls were rockstars and we made it out past bedtime with no meltdowns. My mom had invited my aunt and Emil back to my house for cake after dinner (nothing is better than when your mom plans an impromptu gathering at your house, really, nothing) so I took it one further and called Tony to join the festivities. Emil bailed, but my Aunt and Tony came by for some lively political conversation in my kitchen around the worst Jewel cupcakes ever (my mom wouldn't spring for a real cake because "no one wants to eat all that frosting" Fuck you! I want to eat all that frosting- all I want is a cake from the bakery). As usual Tony gave me one of the most thoughtful gifts ever. After reading on here that I am more brilliant in my car and that I want to be able to blog and drive, he got me a little voice recorder that I just love (even if he did almost blow my cover since my mom doesn't know I have a blog and I like it that way- I am a secretive Scorpio, deal with it). Amanda is a bit concerned that Tony (you all get who he is, right? Tim's best friend who loiters around here and builds stuff for us. I would call him "my friend" by he introduces me and refers to me as "My buddy's wife" so I guess that is all we are, right, Tony?) give me more thoughtful gifts than my husband, but that is just how we roll.
When I retired to my computer after everyone left I found a lovely blog entry by my sister about my birthday. She, as always, knows exactly what to say to make me smile even if it always ends with "Shit, I have to go, I'll call you back".
All in all this past trip around the sun was a good one. I have a new daughter to keep me company for this next one, I have good family and friends and some ugly new shoes (I didn't even tell you about the purse from my dad). I am older and wiser. I dropped some baggage off and pick some up. I have still not cleaned my house.
And I probably won't this year either.
By the end of yesterday I was pleasantly surprised by the celebration of my 29th year. Things did not start well....
When Tim came home from work on Friday he busted in the door with 2 huge brief cases of work that "had to be done", a bag of vile moldy tupperware from the leftovers he takes for lunch, and a gift bag. I asked about the gift bag because sometimes people send him home with stuff for the girls, and he got a bit giddy and tried to be all "oops, I forgot to leave that in the car!" Whatever, he knew what he was doing. So then he tried to give me this gift which I wouldn't take because it was days before my birthday. He and Abby hid it and it was not shoved at me again until after trick or treating on Tuesday. I was pleasantly surprised by a cute iPod Nano in a lovely shade of red. Tim knows I like red and figured that outweighed my hatred for Bono which I guess it has to since he got the Nano engraved.
After I took Abby to school and got Nora settled down for a nap I was looking forward to doing what I wanted to do with my morning which meant I was going to lay on my bed and watch Regis and Kelly (stop laughing, they are funny) until I was motivated to clean my house. I got as far as my bed when a knock came at the door.
Who else drops in unannounced at 9:30 in the morning? It was my mother. Sometimes I am happy to see her, others I want to hide and pretend that no one was home. This time I was somewhere in the middle.
She brought me some lovely and thoughtful gifts...a new winter coat, and some spatula things I wanted form Williams-Sonoma. She also brought the ugliest shoes ever. I am just not acknowledging them yet. I can't keep them, they are truly awful, but she tried and for that she is sweet. The problem with her visit came after we dodged the ugly shoe issue. She wouldn't leave. My time with Regis and Kelly was gone, but Bob Barker was still on and had she left when I wanted her to I could have gotten a little rest and time to decompress, but she just lurked around my house making inane small talk. I tried to give her hints to GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE! but she wasn't having it, so I dealt. Then the phone rang. It was my dear friend Brook who I don't talk to often because she can only talk during her commute which is never at a good time for me. She was calling to wish me a happy day and fill me in on a new place she is buying (anyone want to sublet her 2 bedroom in Lincoln Park?) and her goiter (yes, she has a goiter). My mom was not having it. She started acting all huffy, and touching things that she shouldn't. She is like a little kid, once your attention is diverted she starts acting up. I sadly cut Brook off and went back to the neverending visit. Then my mom's cell phone rang and she realized she had to be someplace. So she left, and literally as I closed the door behind her Nora awoke and my down time was off with my mom. Bummer, but I cherish my alone time with the baby. I like to watch her explore when there isn't anyone around her to terrorize her.
We frolicked and ran some errands. I rejoined the gym in attempts to get in shape again (actually, if you want the truth, I do it to get away from my house and my kids. When they are at Miss Betty's and I am on the treadmill all by myself, not looking at the piles of stuff I have to find a home for in the shoe that is my house and my cell phone is not audible and Tim is tucked safely at work I feel a calm that doesn't exist the other 23 hours of the day. I used to feel bad about that but then I realized that I am NEVER alone, ever, and this is my only shot), and signed Abby up for swimming lessons.
All in all it was a pretty boring day, it picked up a little after dinner out with my mom and Emil (her "companion" who is blog entry in and of himself). The girls were rockstars and we made it out past bedtime with no meltdowns. My mom had invited my aunt and Emil back to my house for cake after dinner (nothing is better than when your mom plans an impromptu gathering at your house, really, nothing) so I took it one further and called Tony to join the festivities. Emil bailed, but my Aunt and Tony came by for some lively political conversation in my kitchen around the worst Jewel cupcakes ever (my mom wouldn't spring for a real cake because "no one wants to eat all that frosting" Fuck you! I want to eat all that frosting- all I want is a cake from the bakery). As usual Tony gave me one of the most thoughtful gifts ever. After reading on here that I am more brilliant in my car and that I want to be able to blog and drive, he got me a little voice recorder that I just love (even if he did almost blow my cover since my mom doesn't know I have a blog and I like it that way- I am a secretive Scorpio, deal with it). Amanda is a bit concerned that Tony (you all get who he is, right? Tim's best friend who loiters around here and builds stuff for us. I would call him "my friend" by he introduces me and refers to me as "My buddy's wife" so I guess that is all we are, right, Tony?) give me more thoughtful gifts than my husband, but that is just how we roll.
When I retired to my computer after everyone left I found a lovely blog entry by my sister about my birthday. She, as always, knows exactly what to say to make me smile even if it always ends with "Shit, I have to go, I'll call you back".
All in all this past trip around the sun was a good one. I have a new daughter to keep me company for this next one, I have good family and friends and some ugly new shoes (I didn't even tell you about the purse from my dad). I am older and wiser. I dropped some baggage off and pick some up. I have still not cleaned my house.
And I probably won't this year either.
A Second Opinion
So I have this friend who I may not always lovingly refer to on this site which makes me feel like a bad person, but I think that I would not be her friend if I did not have a place to vent my frustrations with her. She really does have a special place in my world even if she is one of the most irritating people in the universe. Anyway, if you know who I am talking about and go to her and tell her that I have been slandering her all over the Interweb I will find you and rough you up a bit. Actually more than a bit, a lot. And it will hurt. I am a Mafia Princess you know.....
Now you may remember this friend. Her husband asked me if I thought he was pompous (which he is). Her kid is a pain in the ass, and she likes to say things to me like, "You guys really need a new house, or a maid" (really, I hadn't noticed), and "You can do that when Abby is a little better behaved" (really, because my kid is not the one dismantling the carnival ride). She says a lot of things without thinking, and she is just kind of an asshole.
Anyway, this friend is expecting baby #3 in March. She has 2 boys and I am still not sure why she is continuing to procreate. Her soon-to-be doctor husband is never around, and is useless when he is around. Her boys are a handful- as 2 kids can be, but now she is adding a 3rd into the fray. So a few weeks ago she went to her husband's hospital and had him do an ultrasound for her. Hooray, she is having a girl! She fired up that credit card faster than the speed of light to start buying anything pink she could get her hands on. She started planning a new nursery, picking out names, telling everyone she is having a girl, the whole bit.
So she goes on Monday for her official ultrasound and oops, Baby Girl was misdiagnosed or she grew a penis.
The depression that has taken over this woman is mild, yet astounding. She always said she wanted boys. That had to be a defense mechanism or something with the way she tears up when Nora is wearing a dress or she looks at the pink baby bedding in Target. Part of me feels bad for her, but I really feel bad for the fetus. HE has to suffer being the girl who never was. Poor thing.
I think the funniest part of this whole mess is that her pompous ass of a husband was wrong in his diagnosis, and it is his specialty. Or maybe the funniest part is the excuses she makes for her husband being wrong. Or maybe it really isn't funny and I am just being mean. Nah, it couldn't be that.
Now you may remember this friend. Her husband asked me if I thought he was pompous (which he is). Her kid is a pain in the ass, and she likes to say things to me like, "You guys really need a new house, or a maid" (really, I hadn't noticed), and "You can do that when Abby is a little better behaved" (really, because my kid is not the one dismantling the carnival ride). She says a lot of things without thinking, and she is just kind of an asshole.
Anyway, this friend is expecting baby #3 in March. She has 2 boys and I am still not sure why she is continuing to procreate. Her soon-to-be doctor husband is never around, and is useless when he is around. Her boys are a handful- as 2 kids can be, but now she is adding a 3rd into the fray. So a few weeks ago she went to her husband's hospital and had him do an ultrasound for her. Hooray, she is having a girl! She fired up that credit card faster than the speed of light to start buying anything pink she could get her hands on. She started planning a new nursery, picking out names, telling everyone she is having a girl, the whole bit.
So she goes on Monday for her official ultrasound and oops, Baby Girl was misdiagnosed or she grew a penis.
The depression that has taken over this woman is mild, yet astounding. She always said she wanted boys. That had to be a defense mechanism or something with the way she tears up when Nora is wearing a dress or she looks at the pink baby bedding in Target. Part of me feels bad for her, but I really feel bad for the fetus. HE has to suffer being the girl who never was. Poor thing.
I think the funniest part of this whole mess is that her pompous ass of a husband was wrong in his diagnosis, and it is his specialty. Or maybe the funniest part is the excuses she makes for her husband being wrong. Or maybe it really isn't funny and I am just being mean. Nah, it couldn't be that.
Dear Blogger,
Dear Blogger,
Can you explain a few things to me? I am curious why my darling daughters, named for amazing, revolutionary women in history, are constantly abused by your spell check yet "Ritchie" like Lionel, Nicole, and Guy Ritchie is part of your spell check. Why is it that everytime I say "Really Blogger, it is ok, that is how you spell it" you ask me if I am sure. I doubt everything I do almost all day. Do you have to too?
I also would like to know why the word "blog" or "blogger" is not in your spell check. Is that not like not being able to spell your own name?
Can you also tell me why you crash when I have written something brilliant which deletes it entirely and leaves me tired and sad because I can only be brilliant about once a month (if that) and what I end up re-typing is not is not as good?
What have I done to you, friend, that makes you act this way? I feel like we are in an abusive relationship and we should seek some help. Can we work on this?
Your Friend,
The Blogger You Abuse
(oh, wait, not specific enough? The fix your shit buddy. If I'm not the only one complaining then maybe you should do something about it. I'm just sayin'....)
Can you explain a few things to me? I am curious why my darling daughters, named for amazing, revolutionary women in history, are constantly abused by your spell check yet "Ritchie" like Lionel, Nicole, and Guy Ritchie is part of your spell check. Why is it that everytime I say "Really Blogger, it is ok, that is how you spell it" you ask me if I am sure. I doubt everything I do almost all day. Do you have to too?
I also would like to know why the word "blog" or "blogger" is not in your spell check. Is that not like not being able to spell your own name?
Can you also tell me why you crash when I have written something brilliant which deletes it entirely and leaves me tired and sad because I can only be brilliant about once a month (if that) and what I end up re-typing is not is not as good?
What have I done to you, friend, that makes you act this way? I feel like we are in an abusive relationship and we should seek some help. Can we work on this?
Your Friend,
The Blogger You Abuse
(oh, wait, not specific enough? The fix your shit buddy. If I'm not the only one complaining then maybe you should do something about it. I'm just sayin'....)
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
A Day Late and A Mini Snickers Short
I know that posting about Halloween a mere hour and a half before November2nd is like asking how your break was on a Wednesday, but that is like here with the first ladies.....
So I love Halloween. I love the candy, the costumes, everything. I think it stems from my childhood. Halloween always signified the much anticipate arrival of my birthday so on top of all the fun costume parties there was the promise of the continued sugar high. This was the first year that Abby was really into Halloween. We debated her costume for weeks. I wanted to make one, but Tim and my mom were all about the store bought, and to be honest I don't think I could have pulled off a cute homemade costume. Not this year.
At first she was going to be a ghost, then a witch, then Cinderella, then a candle, then the scarecrow from Bob The Builder (not that we EVER watch that, but whatever), then the Target "Pumpkin Witch", and finally an angel. Nora on the other hand can't talk so she got dressed up in whatever we wanted, hence the Princess Leia costume.
We have always had a tradition to go "trick or treat" at our friend Judy's house followed by a visit to Tim at work then home to hand out candy. This year we were on a time crunch to get home so we could do our own trick or treating so our visits were cut short.
I really thought Tim was going to wet his pants when he saw Nora. That odd Star Wars obsession runs deep in him and I think seeing his little girl dressed up as a woman he loves may have brought a tear to his eye. I haven't been to see Tim at work in months. His secretary is pregnant (she is the first woman ever to be pregnant, by the way) and I was amazed to see how pregnant she is. Now I would never call a knocked up woman fat, but this woman has added 50 lbs to her 5'2 frame and it was all I could do not to gasp when I saw her. I had to sit through the litany of first time mom-isms. I smiled and nodded as she told me things like "the weight I have gained is all baby" (really, it has nothing to do with the fact that I haven't see your hand out of the bag of Halloween candy or dorritos since I walked in the door); "I am not going to make it to my due date- I am measuring 2 weeks ahead" (really, did your doctor tell you that? No? Then hold on sister that kid will come out when it is ready, and I can guarantee it will not be by Thanksgiving if your due date is December 15th); and my personal favorite- "I have had the best pregnancy ever- just ask anyone!" (ummm, I think my husband has come home swearing about how miserable you are more than once, and of course I am not going to ask anyone- they are all afraid of you- I have heard you yell at 3 people since I walked in the door 5 minutes ago).
We scooted on home to meet our friends from the north for a quick round of trick or treating before dinner. Our friends Thomas the Train and a cute little puppy arrived with their mom who walked the neighborhood complaining about he weather, the fact that no one was home, and the amount of stairs at each house. Her kids ran into the street, which of course was my fault for living on a street with cars! In her neighborhood they trick or treat the Sunday before Halloween, when everyone is home, sitting and waiting to greet you so you don't have to go up and down the stairs and the cars "just know" that kids are going to be out so no one drives on her street. (I know, she sounds awful, but I have a post waiting for you about the misfortune that has befallen her recently so don't worry, karma wins again) We went around part of our block, and just as Abby was getting into it they had to leave (bummer, I know) and once we dropped that baggage off we set out again for round 2 around the other angel of our block.
Now we were supposed to meet up with some neighbors, but her anal retentive adherence to her infant's nap schedule put them behind us so we planned to see them later. Abby tore the neighborhood up. Saying thank you and falling down people's stairs (the costume was a little long). Soon her bucket was full and it was getting late. We stopped by home so I could throw a freezing Princess Leia in the mei tei and headed our for round 3 with our friend Gavin (dressed as a delicious little pirate- Old Navy wins for having the cutest costumes for boys). Abby tore the rest of the street up then all of a sudden a switch was flipped and she became this exhausted, bleary eyed little dumpling who needed dinner and bedtime ASAP.
We got home and were forced to hang out with my mother in law who regaled me with tales of her sex life and her on again off again divorce (this is killing me, friends, KILLING ME!).
All in all it was a good Halloween. Abby is already asking why the neighbors don't always give her candy, and wondering what Nora will be for Halloween next year.
I have eaten every mini snickers bite in my house and I am not ashamed to admit that I literally dumped her pumpkin out to find just one more. I will be checking into rehab for this addiction next week if it continues.
Check out the Halloween pics here
So I love Halloween. I love the candy, the costumes, everything. I think it stems from my childhood. Halloween always signified the much anticipate arrival of my birthday so on top of all the fun costume parties there was the promise of the continued sugar high. This was the first year that Abby was really into Halloween. We debated her costume for weeks. I wanted to make one, but Tim and my mom were all about the store bought, and to be honest I don't think I could have pulled off a cute homemade costume. Not this year.
At first she was going to be a ghost, then a witch, then Cinderella, then a candle, then the scarecrow from Bob The Builder (not that we EVER watch that, but whatever), then the Target "Pumpkin Witch", and finally an angel. Nora on the other hand can't talk so she got dressed up in whatever we wanted, hence the Princess Leia costume.
We have always had a tradition to go "trick or treat" at our friend Judy's house followed by a visit to Tim at work then home to hand out candy. This year we were on a time crunch to get home so we could do our own trick or treating so our visits were cut short.
I really thought Tim was going to wet his pants when he saw Nora. That odd Star Wars obsession runs deep in him and I think seeing his little girl dressed up as a woman he loves may have brought a tear to his eye. I haven't been to see Tim at work in months. His secretary is pregnant (she is the first woman ever to be pregnant, by the way) and I was amazed to see how pregnant she is. Now I would never call a knocked up woman fat, but this woman has added 50 lbs to her 5'2 frame and it was all I could do not to gasp when I saw her. I had to sit through the litany of first time mom-isms. I smiled and nodded as she told me things like "the weight I have gained is all baby" (really, it has nothing to do with the fact that I haven't see your hand out of the bag of Halloween candy or dorritos since I walked in the door); "I am not going to make it to my due date- I am measuring 2 weeks ahead" (really, did your doctor tell you that? No? Then hold on sister that kid will come out when it is ready, and I can guarantee it will not be by Thanksgiving if your due date is December 15th); and my personal favorite- "I have had the best pregnancy ever- just ask anyone!" (ummm, I think my husband has come home swearing about how miserable you are more than once, and of course I am not going to ask anyone- they are all afraid of you- I have heard you yell at 3 people since I walked in the door 5 minutes ago).
We scooted on home to meet our friends from the north for a quick round of trick or treating before dinner. Our friends Thomas the Train and a cute little puppy arrived with their mom who walked the neighborhood complaining about he weather, the fact that no one was home, and the amount of stairs at each house. Her kids ran into the street, which of course was my fault for living on a street with cars! In her neighborhood they trick or treat the Sunday before Halloween, when everyone is home, sitting and waiting to greet you so you don't have to go up and down the stairs and the cars "just know" that kids are going to be out so no one drives on her street. (I know, she sounds awful, but I have a post waiting for you about the misfortune that has befallen her recently so don't worry, karma wins again) We went around part of our block, and just as Abby was getting into it they had to leave (bummer, I know) and once we dropped that baggage off we set out again for round 2 around the other angel of our block.
Now we were supposed to meet up with some neighbors, but her anal retentive adherence to her infant's nap schedule put them behind us so we planned to see them later. Abby tore the neighborhood up. Saying thank you and falling down people's stairs (the costume was a little long). Soon her bucket was full and it was getting late. We stopped by home so I could throw a freezing Princess Leia in the mei tei and headed our for round 3 with our friend Gavin (dressed as a delicious little pirate- Old Navy wins for having the cutest costumes for boys). Abby tore the rest of the street up then all of a sudden a switch was flipped and she became this exhausted, bleary eyed little dumpling who needed dinner and bedtime ASAP.
We got home and were forced to hang out with my mother in law who regaled me with tales of her sex life and her on again off again divorce (this is killing me, friends, KILLING ME!).
All in all it was a good Halloween. Abby is already asking why the neighbors don't always give her candy, and wondering what Nora will be for Halloween next year.
I have eaten every mini snickers bite in my house and I am not ashamed to admit that I literally dumped her pumpkin out to find just one more. I will be checking into rehab for this addiction next week if it continues.
Check out the Halloween pics here
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