Archive for December, 2010

January! January!

I’m taking the week off. And last week. I have shit to do, family to see, deadlines to meet, etc. and I don’t know WHY I felt compelled to say HEY Y’ALL! Week off! Week off!

Happiest of new years to you.

25 comments December 28th, 2010

Dead or Alive

Late last week, Sam and I were both felled by the same creeping crud that every other family we’re friends with has also been pummeled by, and while I promise I won’t be bitching about the cold itself (well, except to say that a coughing toddler is the saddest thing ever, no, seriously, SO SAD), it unleashed a torrent of insomnia that left me wide awake as late as 2 a.m., staring at Adam’s sleeping form with a genuinely terrifying fury. I wanted to SMASH HIS SKULL for being able to sleep so soundly. I wasn’t just jealous; I was angry, bitter and wanted EVERYONE to stay awake with me until I fell asleep. EVERYONE.

Nevermind that the poor, sweet guy had already stayed awake an extra hour to rub my head, and that the next morning, he got up with Sam and tucked me back in and rubbed my face and let me sleep as long as I wanted, NO. NO THAT WASN’T ENOUGH. I WANTED TO CRACK SOME SKULLS.

I was awesome to be around, I’ll bet. Fortunately for everyone, no one was awake to witness it, and I had some modicum of skull-cracking impulse control.

Sudafed was deemed the culprit, and I see now why people use Nyquil, because it is … not meant to keep you awake, like Sudafed. It’s made for NIGHTTIME. And Sudafed is basically speed, right? Or … something meth-related? You can tell I’m really up on my drug-related knowledge, seeing as I’d never even HEARD of the shit Miley Cyrus was caught smoking, and before my kid gets old enough for such shenanigans, I’d better get it together, otherwise she’ll mention it, and I’ll be all, Yes, salvia! GREAT idea, Sam! All natural and sweetens your coffee like a dream if you can handle the bitter aftertaste!

ANYWAY, this is the longest, most boring way ever of explaining that at 3 a.m., I went on a frantic search for my pregnancy-era stash of Unisom, leftover from when I bought out the entire stock in the state of Vermont, and though I didn’t take it that night, I DID take it last night in a desperate attempt to get a decent night’s sleep, and HELLO, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

What I also accomplished was a glassy-eyed morning wake-up with a bladder so full I could have peed a river from here to Egypt, and then, a whole five and a half hours later, I passed out cold during Sam’s nap in a puddle of drool and sweat, and right now, I swear to God, I could go to bed for another ten or forty hours and you guys, I took that FOUR TIMES A DAY WITH SAM, OH MY GOD, HOW WAS I NOT SLEEPING TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY?


And now, a list of people I am genuinely not sure are dead or alive. Be embarrassed for me if you wish, but I got nothing:

Bob Hope
Vince Lombardi
Ray Charles
Corey Feldman
Telly Savalas
Jerry Lee Lewis, who I just learned is not the same person as Jerry Lewis (FASCINATING STUFF)
Wilfred Brimley
Valerie Harper
and of course, the perennially dead Abe Vigoda.

Yep. I do not know if they are dead or alive. Or, apparently who some of the Jerrys are. (I KID. I learned that one thanks to my Facebook friends a few weeks ago, ha HA! TRIUMPH!)

And on a final note, I’d like to ask everyone reading this to just take a couple minutes and … slow down. Be nice to someone. Let people have your parking spot — don’t rush to get into it. Drive slowly in parking lots. Smile to the cashier at Target. Be patient. Take a deep breath and smile, even if someone’s an asshole to you out and about.

I say this because while finishing up some Christmas shopping on Saturday, Adam and I were struck by how MISERABLE everyone seemed. My God, I realize it’s a stressful time of year — I do. I’ve got a family and visitors coming and trips to plan and a kid and a house AND AND AND, so really, I GET IT. But oh, it makes me sad to see so many people so intensely wound up and miserable and taking it out on everyone around them.

Then, to make matters worse, one of my good friends was nearly MOWED DOWN this morning in the Toys R Us parking lot from some pissed-off lady who wasn’t paying attention, who was driving too fast, not focused and just … almost hit Megan and her two-year-old daughter, who were on foot. Screeching tires, slamming brakes, etc. Worse, the woman didn’t apologize and when Megan asked for one (which, HAHA, I love it, because yeah, lady, APOLOGIZE FOR ALMOST KILLING A KID), she was unkind. UNKIND. AFTER NEARLY TAKING THEM OUT IN THE PARKING LOT.

So please, do me a favor: slow down. Smile. Take a breath. It’ll all get done, and if it doesn’t, it’s Christmas. People won’t even notice, and if they do, they’ll forgive you.

Merry (almost) Christmas! Happy holidays!


24 comments December 20th, 2010

Winter Winds

So yesterday, I found myself Googling “baby Lunchables” after Cherie mentioned there was such a thing on Twitter, and I thought, really? Lunchables for infants? Now, I’m not really an anti-Lunchables person the way some are (hashtag alert!), I just don’t find them particularly appealing. I also find their convenience dubious at best, because how hard can it be to throw a few crackers in a baggie along with some sliced ham and cheese from the deli, anyway? It’s not even like it comes in a cute package! It’s just gross, gelatinous “meat and cheese,” scare quotes intended, with crackers in a cheap plastic tin.

So anyway, I’m Googling, and I find myself on a (oh my God) teen pregnancy message board, which is the last place I anticipated arriving when Googling “Lunchables for babies,” but there I am, all sucked into the lives of these pregnant teens (Like Teen Mom, but … without all the fanfare), and before you know it, I realize that these women girls are consuming Lunchables by the truckload and stressing about the deli meat’s impact on their unborn baby. Oh, why, do you ask? Not because they’re just paranoid, but because they’ve had MULTIPLE MISCARRIAGES, because they have been TRYING TO HAVE A BABY FOR A LONG TIME.


Oh, Google. What seedy underbelly of sadness hath you unearthed? HONESTLY.

Look, I have friends — good friends — who were teen moms, and are excellent, accomplished people today. And God knows if Sam should find herself in a teenage pickle, I will support her, stand by her and help her no matter what she chooses to do. But I think we can all agree that going down the TTC route while in one’s teenage years is not exactly the goal of most people, right? And not something you … want for your children or yourself? HOLY MERDE.

On a more practical note, they’re craving … Lunchables? While pregnant? I don’t know about you guys, but when I was pregnant with Sam, I couldn’t even DEAL with meat that was in any way FOUL or JELLYLIKE or ENCASED IN PLASTIC. GAH, JELLIED MEAT, GAH.

It all reminds me of some of the old cookbooks I collect, wherein it was chic to encase meat products in aspic (which is, I think, a meat product in itself), and God, I’m not sure how anyone attended a single dinner party in the 1960s, because man, if the cookbooks are any indication, the menu choices must have been interminably foul.

In other news, Nick Jr. is out to terrify the shit out of me with their constant reminders to use flameless candles, water my tree and avoid anything that could IGNITE INTO FLAMES! FLAMES! FLAAAAAMES! Christmas is the season of HOUSE FIRES!

Adam asked me the other day if I was watering the tree, and I’m like, DUDE, YOU ARE MARRIED TO MRS. SAFETY. I water that thing DAILY. SOMETIMES TWICE DAILY.

I also bought a second fire extinguisher today. Just in case.



30 comments December 15th, 2010

O Tannenbaum

Just after Thanksgiving, I was having a boatload of trouble sleeping — it started with the Black Friday hangover, actually, although that was mostly coincidence. I would lie awake at night, consumed with the most ridiculous, irrational anxiety over, well, ridiculous, irrational things, turning absurd outcomes of improbable events over and over and over in my head until it was 1 or 2 a.m. and I would collapse from sheer exhaustion.

But wait! There was more! Around 4, I would wake up to pee, natch, because I haven’t slept through the night since I was pregnant with Sam, and nope, not kidding, I GET UP TO PEE EVERY NIGHT, IT IS CRAZY MAKING, and then, having been sufficiently roused by fumbling around for toilet paper, I’d be AWAKE! AGAIN! thinking about all of the absurd, irrational things to come, and I’d fall asleep around 6, and and wake up again at 7:30 to the toddler and hey, are you tired yet? Because I am yawning just typing this out.

The culprit turned out to be a variety of medication issues, one of which needed to be increased/changed, and — SURPRISE! — I’d botched my thyroid meds and made myself hyperthyroid, which explains why, in addition to the anxiety, I was PULSATING WITH HEAT and also, twitching.

I went to the doctor last Tuesday, and holy jebus, I’ve been sleeping. Sleeping! LOOK AT ME, WITH THE SLEEPING.

Wait, where are you going? We got our Christmas tree this weekend, though there was some disagreement on the lighting of said tree (I lost, and I’m really quite happy about it, surprisingly), it was so much fun. Adam and I have never been able to have a tree before, really, as we’ve never done Christmas at home — for the last six years or so, we’ve been living away from home, and it seemed pointless and dangerous to put up a tree. Now that we’re home, with family and friends close by, we got to do all the things normal people do, which includes discovering that live trees smell like Christmas tree candles. Seriously, I did not KNOW THIS, having never had a live tree in my own home! How delightful! It seems that there is a REASON that the candles smell like they do. IT EXISTS IN NATURE.

It was soothing for a day or two — seriously, it permeates our whole house, and is awesome — until this morning’s liquid smoke-doused Crock Pot pork mingled with the pine, leaving a nauseating combination of a crisp winter’s day and a Texas barbecue in its wake. Adam gleefully fled the house, his sleeve over his nose for protection, leaving Sam and I stranded in a terrible gas chamber of incongruity. After a few hours I became numb to it all and managed to make it through the day without vomiting and/or throwing the Crock Pot out the window.

Onward! Some Christmas tree photo events as they happened (click to embiggen):

Help! I can help!

{Five-dollar garage sale kitchen in background. Perhaps now you will see why I want a new one for her for her birthday. Also, we know the rug looks like a giant vagina. It came with the house and we haven’t gotten around to replacing it. WHO MAKES A RUG WITH AN ORCHID ON IT?}

I was told I would be helping.

No, seriously, YOU SAID I COULD HELP.

Aaaaand, scene.

I love the spit out of my little family.

19 comments December 13th, 2010

Downhill from Here

I was reading TJ’s post and then some of the comments, and I was getting retroactively frustrated for my pregnant self back before I had Sam and super-frustrated for my pregnant friends. WHY do people want to terrify you while you’re pregnant? Why is there so much smug satisfaction in warning you of how HORRIBLE it’s going to be when you have your baby, and how you’re NEVER GOING TO SLEEP AGAIN and your life is basically OVER and GOOD LUCK, BIZNATCH! You done ruined your life, sister!

Why? Like, it’s too late. It does no good to be prepared for parenthood, because it’s one of those things you have to experience for yourself, and no amount of warning or discussion will help. It won’t help. All it will do is make you feel crappy about yourself for looking forward to the experience, when there are legions of people telling you all the reasons you shouldn’t. And the truth is, it will suck sometimes, but it is also completely awesome, otherwise NO ONE WOULD DO IT AGAIN. OR EVER. I want another baby. If it was so terrible, would I want to do it AGAIN?

(Don’t get me wrong, I think after two, we’re done. I do. I want more in theory, but on the other hand, I imagine the exhilaration in knowing that once my second kid starts sleeping through the night, that’s IT for the most part. THAT WILL BE IT, save for a few isolated nights here and there. I think about it and I actually get excited. And we are not even remotely at the beginning of baby #2, but seriously, I GET EXCITED ABOUT THAT.)

In other news, it’s freezing here, and if you think weather-related blogging is boring, I’ve got nothing for you, because it is CONSUMING ME, and I have a child who will not wear mittens, whines when her hood is up or her hat is on unless she’s in the damn HOUSE where it is WARM and you know what, lady at Sudbury Farms who suggested my kid should be wearing mittens? I KNOW. Perhaps you can walk with me and hold them on for us while we walk to the store? Or no, is that not a good idea?

But seriously, I’m a wimp right now, and I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. I moved back here from VERMONT, for God’s sake, where it is VERY COLD, being so close to Canada and all. (Oh, Canadians, I am just kidding! I know you have a diverse climate profile, but it is kind of fun to get you riled up and tell me how no one realizes you don’t all live in igloos!) And yet I’m out there bundled up like I’m on my way to meet Santa’s elves, bitching how the wind is like ice and how do people live like this? What are we doing here? Maybe we should move somewhere warm, like Florida?



Ahem. Anyway, look, this is boring as shit, but I’m trying to get back into the habit of writing more often than, say, once a week, and it’s cold here, what do you want? I AM COLD. THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO. Also, I failed to mention that in addition to our horrid, no-good flight from Virginia to Boston, we returned home to a dog who’d had a bloody colitis attack all over my sister’s house while we were gone. My sister, who I’d gotten into a pointless argument about, among other things, dog-sitting (!) before we left (long story, not a big deal, hormones were involved, the end) and then HO HO, HERE. Let my dog excrete bloody shit all over your first floor! That should really, um, clear the air.

(It did, ironically, but AUGH SUNNY WHAT THE FUCK?)

Do you know what we’re doing this weekend? LOOKING AT MINIVANS, THAT’S WHAT. A recent road trip with the dog, the baby and an assload of shit in the CR-V (our other car’s an Accord) made us want more space. A tour of a friend’s Odyssey has me daydreaming of THREE! ROWS! OF! SEATS!


Happy Thursday!

34 comments December 8th, 2010


Oh man, you guys, we were that family on our flight home. You know the family. YOU KNOW THE FAMILY. The ones with the inconsolable screaming kid? Yes! That was us!

My apologies to the entire Boston University girls’ figure skating team, who was on our flight, most of whom were glaring disapprovingly in our general direction, and while I wanted to feel sorry for them, I also wanted to yell, YOU HAVE AN IPOD. CRANK IT UP AND READ YOUR KATE MIDDLETON FLUFF. I WILL BE HERE SEETHING WITH JEALOUSY. Also, here are some condoms. And birth control pills. And also, for good measure, take a few packages of the Today Sponge, although after that experience, it’s highly unlikely that any of them will forget to take their birth control for many years, perhaps decades.

Look, we did our best. We tried everything. Snacks! Drinks! Videos! Games! Crayons! Not even Muno could coax her out of her misery, for she screamed for at least forty minutes straight. Ears? Exhaustion? Fed up with the world? We’ll never know. And then, miraculously, she suddenly passed out cold, just in time for the plane to begin descending into Logan, when the steep descent powered her head forward at such a sharp angle that Adam had to keep his fingers pressed to her forehead to keep her from bobbing into the seat in front of her.

I never thought I’d say this, but flying without children sounds akin to a hot stone massage at this point. An entire hour — or more! — to sit and stare into space, maybe read a magazine? YES, SIGN ME UP. I don’t care if it means my knees are contorted into my kidneys, I will go ANYWHERE YOU WANT, so long as I don’t have to bring a car seat on board, strap a small person into it and try in vain to entertain said small person while she wails in indescribable agony (hers AND mine).

It was only marginally preferable to driving twelve hours, I think. I’m not sure. What I am certain of is that I am planning to be pregnant, pretending to be pregnant and/or nursing a newborn or Bitty Baby for the next four hundred Hanukkahs, so that Adam’s family is forced to come to us and we never have to do that again. I don’t care if it means I have to have a hundred children or pretend that I have a serious delusional disorder that makes me think that my dolls are real. I will do it, so long as I don’t have to take a toddler on an airplane. Or a car.

Basically, I am never leaving the house again, even it means I’m homeschooling my kids, despite being wholly incapable of doing so.

You know what kids ARE good for, though, speaking of airplanes? Forgetting you’re afraid to fly. Honestly, that plane could have been plummeting to the ground with flames dripping off the wings, and I’d have been all, “LOOK, IT’S FOOFA!” without even realizing my death was imminent.

The trip itself was drama-free and rather uneventful, and we saw family, we lit candles, we ate brisket and latkes and kugel and it was lovely. Sam ate the entire state of Virginia, as she’s on some kind of insane effing growth spurt, and when I PRACTICALLY RAN OUT OF FOOD TO GIVE HER at a freakin’ CHINESE BUFFET, I thought, well, she’s either growing or I’m raising a child with the appetite of a horse, and she’ll be obese by age three. Scurvy, I assure you she does not have, for she ate four (4) cups of mandarin oranges over the course of 24 hours, and I do believe we’ve determined that she did not have citrus-induced diarrhea that time way back when, but in fact, had a horrible stomach virus. This makes me marginally happy, because I feel like most of us have a limited number of stomach viruses we are forced to endure as parents, and with one down, well, my quota is rapidly reaching capacity.

Do not, whatever you do, disavow me of this notion.

And it’s bedtime, suckers. Happy Tuesday!

*Widespread Panic

25 comments December 6th, 2010


I don’t normally do photo posts, but honestly, if you were ever wondering what life with a toddler is like, I think this sums it up nicely. Well, minus the face-melting tantrums.

She poses for the camera now. I mean, WTF is this face?


And finally …


Cleaning toilets and talking about the Red Sox. It’s what we do. Pants optional.

Happy Hanukkah! Happy (early) weekend!

*So many!

11 comments December 1st, 2010


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