I Am Housewife

Small, World, Small People, Big Aspirations

2010-02-22T07:59:00.001-08:00

It's been a long while since my last post where I reported on Little Husband falling off the couch. While we've had many, MANY bumps and bruises since then, none have been quite as scary. It was all in the way that he was crying that day...it was just...eerie.

Moving on, he is walking about 95% of the time and currently sports at least nine bruises (total) on his shins, a permanent knot in the middle of his forehead and traces of a black eye. Needless to say, I am afraid to take him out in public for fear that someone will report me to Child Protective Services.

It's not my fault. No matter what I do, where I stand, or how many precautions I take, the kid finds a way to get hurt. The other day I was standing in the kitchen cooking and he was tumbling around at my feet, playing in the kitchen cabinets and drawers. (Side note: We have 31 kitchen drawers, so needless to say we do not put locks on all of them. We only lock those that contain something dangerous.) Anyway, I glance down at LH just in time to see him open a drawer, slip and bump his head on the corner of it, then ping-pong into another open drawer and bump his head on the corner of that one. Of course there was much wailing and shed tears for the next few minutes. Oh, and two more bruises on his face.

I was taking a video of him that same day and accidentally captured this (the latest bruise occurs at the end of the video):

I'm glad I have it because if anyone calls the authorities on me, I now have proof that we do *not* beat him.

A few days ago Husband had the ladder out because he was trying to get LH's Valentine's Day balloon down from the ceiling in our living room. Literally two seconds after Husband retrieved the balloon and climbed down from the ladder we turned to see this:

I know, I know--why am I stopping to take a picture of my 15-month-old son on a ladder rather than running over to rescue him? The truth is, as soon as we saw what Little Husband was up to Husband raced over to grab him. I edited him out of the picture, but he is right behind LH.

In other news, I was at Gymboree with LH the other day and started chatting with a mother I'd never seen there before. As always, we traded info on our babies ages and discovered that our kids were born on the same day and in the same hospital. Further conversation revealed that she was in the delivery room right next to mine. I remember her clearly because we had the same nurse. I remember not seeing my nurse for four hours because, as it turned out, she was attending to this woman's emergency c-section. I've always worried about her in the back of my mind and am so glad to know that she and her baby did just fine.

Finally, yesterday Husband and I decided to go check out open houses. We both love real estate and enjoy seeing remodels, infills and new homes. When we attend open houses we try not to engage the attending realtor as we do not want to get their hopes up or waste their time. We visited one such home yesterday with a realtor whose eyes lit up when she saw us walk in. I guess we met the profile of a potential buyer for that home. She chatted us up while and we did nothing to squelch her perception that we were in the market for a new home. She watched as we looked around the main level and apparently watched us out the window while we looked around the yard. I know this because she said, "did you figure out a way to fence in the grass?" which is exactly what we were doing when we were out there.

The reason we went to see this particular house was because we looked at it one year ago when we were serious buyers and were surprised to see that it is still on the market--it was a very cute house! We went there to analyze it and figure out why. Yes, we have no life.

Anyway, as we were leaving the realtor asked us to sign her guest book. Damn--I hate giving information about myself when I'm fake-shopping for a house. I looked at Husband but he was holding Little Husband so he got a pass. It was up to me to sign the blasted guest book. I walked over and---just as I wrote in a fake name--the realtor declared to Husband, "I know where I know you! You're (insert husband's full name here) and served on the board of such-and-such charity!" "That's right!" smiled Husband, his halo glowing. Damn again. What to do? It wasn't like I could exactly scratch out my fake name and write in my real one, so I decided to run with it and write in a fake address as well. Just as I commenced doing so, I heard Husband tell the realtor the name of the street that we live on. Great. Now she's going to thing that my saint of a husband is married to a fake and a liar. Wanting nothing more than to just get out of there, I decided to go for broke and--once I finished with the guest book--interrupted the conversation with an abrupt, "Okay, let's go." Startled, Husband said his goodbyes and followed me out the door.

I truly didn't mean to be rude, I just wanted to get out of there before she uncovered any more of my wicked lies.

2009-11-03T12:41:00.001-08:00

Today the inevitable happened: Little Husband rolled off the couch and fell on his head (don't worry, he's okay).

It was only a matter of time. That kid was a whirling dervish from 20 weeks gestation. He *never* sits still. The only time he lets me hold him close to me is if he is in my lap and we're reading a book. He won't take naps with me, he won't cuddle and prolonged hugs are out of the question. Yesterday he was trying to dive off the side of the couch and the only thing preventing him from doing so was the vise-like grip I had on his ankle.

He needs to be more like his father. His father cuddles with and hugs me all the time. Sometimes while mid-embrace I'll look over to see Little Husband watching us, as if he's greatly comforted by our display of affection. The other day while Husband was hugging me I felt a tug on my pants leg. I looked down to see Little Husband looking up at us with his arms out, asking to be held. I picked him up and put him in between me and Husband and we hugged him with everything we had, but he quickly wanted no part of the group loving. That's just how he rolls.

Which brings me to him rolling off the couch. He was drinking a bottle and I, as usual, was sitting next to him with one hand wrapped around his ankle for safety. For one split second I let go to stretch, turning toward him as I did so (if I couldn't keep a hand on him, I would keep an eye on him). To my horror, he was no longer on the couch. I literally saw him dropping down and then heard the sickening thud as the back of his head connected with the wood floor. It was all in slow motion which is such a weird phenomenon. I mean, how on earth is the brain capable of slowing down events in that manner?

I swooped down and picked him up. He was silent for a moment as he digested what had just happened. I waited for the blood curdling scream that I knew was coming but what I got instead was much worse. He let out a high-pitched muted wail, a keening, and kept it up for several minutes as I held him to me, helpless. Husband grabbed a flashlight and we shone it in his eyes to make sure the pupils were dilating (they were). Then Little Husband did something that he's never done his entire life: he laid his head down on my breast and let me hold him to me. We stayed that way for thirty minutes as Husband continued to check his pupils and responses to various stimuli. When he smiled, we knew he was feeling better. When our handyman walked in the door and Little Husband emitted a banshee cry as a way of greeting him, we knew he was going to be okay.

I would never forgive myself if something happened to my little Wild Indian, especially on my watch. After all, it's my job to protect him and he trusts me 100% to do so. Consequently, I've had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach all day. This is the exact same feeling I had when we first found out about his heart condition. Fragile. Breakable. That's how I feel. I guess the feeling is the same because today--like back then--I was reminded just how quickly I could lose my little man.

And that's not an option.

Cranradish-Salsa Jelly

2009-10-27T10:30:00.000-07:00

In keeping with my Mother of the Year status, today, while making Little Husband a jelly sandwich, I first grabbed this:

Then, shaking my head at my absentmindedness, I grabbed this:

I meant to grab this:

Why is "clear jar with a white label and metallic green lid" so popular right now? Seriously, if I'd accidentally fed him either of the first two I'd have one helluva diaper to change later!

Is that rocket fuel you're rubbing into my feet?

2009-10-26T08:00:00.001-07:00

For those of you not familiar with Groupon, it's a site that offers a daily discounted deals from local businesses. For instance, a local restaurant may offer the chance to purchase a $50 gift certificate for only $25. The buyer has a certain amount of time (usually a few months) to use the certificate. The idea is brilliant and the savings are awesome. Businesses are attracted to Groupon because of the instant, high-volume sales it generates. That and the fact that it's excellent marketing for the business.

I get a daily email from Groupon that details the deal offered that day. Here was today's deal:

"The hands are the astronauts of the body-the first explorers to make contact with any matter in your orbit-and the feet are the blazing rockets that propel you into space. Take care of your trustworthy space objects with today's Groupon to Polish Nail Spa: $40 for an essential mani and ultimate pedi (a $73 value)."

Are they kidding?!? Isn’t a spa supposed to be relaxing? There’s something about being rocket-propelled around space (by my feet, no less) that sounds pretty stressful. No thanks, Groupon!

Still Got It

2009-10-19T13:54:00.000-07:00

Last night while Husband was hard at work in our office, I wrapped a white dinner napkin over my head, snuck out to the pool area through the master bedroom French doors, worked my way over to the office and--while hunched over and screaming--rapped on one of the office French doors. I like to think that my appearance and expression resembled a mix between the witch in Snow White and that guy in The Scream painting. Husband casually looked in the direction of my knocking, then, upon seeing me, his eyes widened and he joined me in screaming.

Oh yes, I'm back.

Finish this blog post

2009-09-22T14:10:00.000-07:00

"Last night our new bed shook like the world was coming to an end. It wasn't."

I was looking through old blog post drafts and stumbled upon the one in quotes above. It was written just two months into my pregnancy. There is no title and is comprised of just those two sentences. I have no idea what the rest of the story was, but my imagination is running into overdrive. Knowing my rules for blogging, I am pretty sure that this story did not have a lascivious nature, but I dunno...

Losing It

2009-09-17T13:17:00.001-07:00

I accidentally wore these to the dog park today:

Seriously, I'm losing it. I'm just glad I remembered to wear pants. I was walking along when I realized that my feet were getting hot. "That doesn't make any sense," I told myself, "Why are my feet hot?" Then I looked down.

They're hot because they're encased in big, white fuzzy slippers!

More Like a "Last" than a "First" (also known as the "Goodbye Cheeseburgers" post)

2009-09-09T06:41:00.000-07:00

It was inevitable. It had to happen. Much to my despair, nursing Little Husband is nearing an end.

I remember in the beginning how I had *such* a hard time getting The Mighty Stubborn One to accept this medium of food intake, i.e., he didn't want to latch on. "Don't give up for seven weeks," a wise mother-friend told me, "it will get better." I didn't and it did. That was some of the best advice I received to date.

It's hard to describe the feeling that washes over you when nursing your baby. Words like "tender" and "magical" come to mind. There's a closeness there that is indescribable and a certain feeling of pride as you watch your baby grow and know that it's a direct result of the nourishment that your body is producing. It doesn't hurt that nursing allows you to spend thirty unfettered minutes snuggling with your baby and inhaling his sweet baby scent. It's such a precious, private moment.

I'll miss cradling him in my arms as I absorb his warmth and plant kisses on the top of his sweet, downy-soft head. I'll miss his plaintive cries as he calls out to let me know that he's hungry and then latches on, sobbing, as if he hasn't been fed in days (Husband and I were always charmed by this bit of drama). I'll miss laughing during the later months as he would break his latch at the slightest sound, as if even the noise of a passing car warranted his attention. Most of all, I'll miss those groggy early mornings when I would tuck Little Husband into bed with with me and nurse him until we both snuggled into a comfortable sleep. These days, I can't get The Whirling Dervish to take a nap with me for anything.

Alas, though, nursing isn't supposed to last forever. Little Husband's regular food intake has increased and my milk supply has decreased and the only way I can get him to nurse is if he's starving. This limits us to early morning nursing sessions.

While I'm glad that I was able to stretch it out this long, I do wish that I could nurse LH through cold & flu season since the anti-bodies that I pass to him seem to do wonders in staving off illness. Although he's "fully repaired", I somehow still have the mindset that I am protecting a frail infant with a heart condition and I want to do everything in my power to make sure that I send him out into the world with as much protection as possible. I guess this is the first step in cutting the apron strings, right?

Try as I might, I don't see much benefit to losing my status as a milk maid except that all my old shirts finally fit again. My ravenous appetite can no longer be satisfied with plates of cheeseburgers and greasy fries. Junk food, such as pizza, will once again have to be eaten in rations, and instead of watching the numbers on the scale creep down, I suspect that I will now stand there in disbelief as they creep back up.

Kind of like how I felt throughout my pregnancy.

Still, I plan to limp along, nursing LH with whatever ounce or two I've got to spare, until one day there's simply nothing left to give to him. Hopefully by then I'll be ready, but I doubt it.

Growing Up

2009-09-08T09:03:00.001-07:00

This morning was a series of "firsts" for Little Husband. This was a bright spot on an otherwise groggy morning as I was kept awake until 2 am by a certain snoring/kicking someone who will remain nameless.

The first "first" was that Little Husband pushed himself up into a sitting position all by himself. He's probably a little behind on this baby benchmark but hey, it's hard to do push-ups when you're recovering from open-heart surgery.

The second "first" was this (you might want to lower your volume as my high-pitched squeals are annoying even to me):

The third "first" are his two lower teeth that are starting to come in (for sure this time). My gummy-smile baby is growing up, sob! I need to get some professional baby photos ASAP!

The last--and saddest--"first" I will blog about in another post.

Hmmm...perhaps it's time to rethink that second baby I've been so against.

I Didn't Notice the Microphone When I Bought It

2009-09-06T07:35:00.001-07:00

Despite all the fun that Husband and I have been having with this new toy--imitating a McDonald's drive-through worker, pretending like we're rap stars--something tells me that I am going to regret this purchase...

A Tragic Day

2009-09-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

Although Little Husband repeatedly proves otherwise, I repeatedly refuse to believe that he has outgrown his exersaucer. Here, however, is the irrefutable evidence:

Today I found him in this state three times before I gave up and set him elsewhere. Whatever will I do when I need to get things done?

Happenings

2009-08-27T07:10:00.001-07:00

I can't remember the last time I sat down to post anything to my blog, so much has been going on. For instance, we moved. We now have a guest room and an office. We also have this:

The pool truly would be heaven if I ever actually got to use it, however, I never get to use the pool because there seems always to be some sort of contractor lurking about the premise. Just yesterday the fence guys finished installing the fence but I still can't use the pool because Creepy Pool Guy is coming at some point today to clean the pool and add chemicals. You might have figured this out, but I'm not a big fan of Creepy Pool Guy. When he comes to our house to clean the pool he looks in the back windows to see if I'm home. He only does this when he needs to talk to me, which happens to be every week. In my opinion, he should be walking his butt around the house to the front door and knocking like the rest of the civilized population. He's doesn't know it yet, but he's about to be fired and not for his Peeping Tom tendencies. He's about to be fired because he's a belligerent SOB with an attitude problem. Besides, I found another company whose pool guy isn't quite so creepy.

In the picture above you can see that our new home has a great many windows. The side of the house with three levels of windows is actually our living room (tall ceilings). Once per week I hear a loud, startling thud which means that another bird has flown into an upper window. Up until two days ago, there had been no fatalities nor even any casualties, however, that changed for one poor birdie on Tuesday. At that time I sent Husband a text message that went something like this:

"I am so glad that I am not the man of the house."

The poor bird flew into the window, then hopped around our pool deck in a state of shock. Not knowing what to do and unwilling to touch a filthy bird, I watched helplessly from my bedroom window (it seemed asinine to call animal control over something like this. I need to reserve those calls for the snake that lives under our front deck). After a while, the bird curled up under a window as if it were taking a nap. "Oh good," I thought, "It's going to live!" Right then the bird shuddered and died. Something started leaking out of it's mouth. I shut the blinds and sent Husband the text alerting him to his after work clean-up duty. "That's men's work!" I declared in my text. Husband did not disagree.

Ten days after our move we went to see my family in VA. Little Husband did very well on the three-hour plane ride. He kept his fussing to a minimum and enjoyed playing peek-a-boo with our fellow passengers. I tried the old "nursing upon takeoff and landing" trick to keep his ears from popping, but every time I pulled the nursing cover over his head, Little Husband would flail and punch mightily at it with his fists until the cover was rendered useless. What was most humorous was watching Husband flailing about, trying to keep me and The Whirling Dervish covered up. I guess men are protective like that.

Little Husband loved his time with my parents and his aunts and uncles. He truly loves them and it was such a pleasure to witness. He treated my mother as an extension of me, and he loved, loved, LOVED being teased by his "Grandaddy". So cute. He also got to spend a great deal of time with one of his aunts and there was much loving and teasing there as well. That baby sure does love to be teased!

In other news, Little Husband's paternal grandmother just bough him this:

I know it's ugly, but in a cool sort of way AND it's going to have a stylin' red cushion. I love me some red!

That's it for my news. Not much to report except every time I visit my old 'hood I see Santa sitting aimlessly at one of the bus stops that line my old street. He never fails to holler "Hey Mama!" at me and wish me well. I miss my quirky old neighbors. The people in our new neighborhood are friendly, but I don't have my normal gaggle of eccentric personalities to monitor. That needs to change, and I am going to make it my current mission to figure out how!

Distracted

2009-07-20T06:58:00.000-07:00

With so much to do between closing on our new house and selling our current one, I find myself quite distracted with mental lists of everything I need to accomplish. This was illustrated perfectly this morning as I stepped out of the shower and grabbed my face toner. I poured it onto a cotton pad and began to vigorously wipe it all over my face. A split-second later the smell hit me: instead of grabbing my toner, I'd grabbed my nail polish remover. Naturally it was the super industrial strength salon-grade one that lists acetone as its first ingredient. Now that the burning has subsided I can objectively say that my skin looks great! My oil glands don't know what hit them!

Homemaker of the Year

2009-07-15T09:32:00.000-07:00

Let me start with this: Husband loves, just LOVES to read the newspaper from cover-to-cover in the morning, especially on Sundays, especially the Sports section. On Sundays he'll tuck away into our sun porch where he sips coffee and reads the entire local Austin paper and the Wall Street Journal. I know better than to mess with Husband's paper before he reads it. Even the dogs tiptoe reverently around Husband's paper. Nobody messes with Husband's paper.

Last Sunday I was in a frenzy trying to get our home ready to go on the market. We are going to close on a new house in a few weeks and will need to sell this one quickly which means that it must be immaculate. Feeling a burst of energy in 100+ degree weather, I grabbed the ladder and a squeegee and started vigorously washing the exterior windows. One window had a stubborn film that would not wash away no matter how many times I wiped it down with a sponge, so I got creative and went inside to grab some newspaper figuring that the newspaper ink might do the trick. The first paper I saw was the Sunday paper and I paused as I considered grabbing one of the sections but, since it was late afternoon, I figured that Husband had already read it. With this logic in place, I randomly grabbed the front page of a section and polluted it with window film and cleaning solution until it was in tatters.

Sidebar: late afternoon is *the* hottest time of day in Texas. What was I thinking washing the windows at this time? This is the time when all Texans become as soft as tea cakes and lounge around until dusk sets in and the air begins to cool off. No Texan in their right mind performs hard labor at this time of day.

That evening after a long, hard day of hauling our extraneous "stuff" to a storage unit, Husband collapsed on the couch as I began preparing dinner. I heard the newspaper rattling and didn't think much of it until Husband asked, "Honey--what happened to the front page of the Sports section?" I glanced up to see that indeed the front page was missing from the precious sports section. My mind flashed to the tattered paper in the trash can. "D-didn't you read it this morning?" I asked, buying time as my mind raced. "No," Husband replied. "The paper came late and I had to get all this work done around the house while the store were open so I didn't have time to read it." "Oh, well I um...(mumble mumble) washed the windows (mumble mumble) kind of ruined..."

Husband just gave me "that look" as he tried his best not to be mad at me. He succeeded. He's a sweet man, just don't ever tell him so.

----------------

Later that same night as I continued to straighten the house...

"Husband, did you clean the Exersaucer?" I asked in delight. First of all, I never in my life thought I'd utter a sentence like that with such emotion, but there I was doing just that. Like probably all mothers, I have a love/hate relationship with the Exersaucer. I love how much Little Husband loves it. I love how cute and happy he is when he plays in it. I love how he hollers at and beats up and tries to eat the toys. That's where the loving stops.

I hate how big and garish it is. I hate how it takes effort to get Little Husband seated comfortably in it. I hate how that it has one million nooks and crevices that render it impossible to clean. This is significant because whenever LH is in The Big E, as I have now dubbed it, he spits up multiple times. My theory is that as he stands up and whirls around in the spinny-seat, he keeps bumping his tummy against the frame thus purging his most recent food intake. It's gross, my friends, I know, but that's motherhood.

Anyway, Husband looks up from the paper and admits, "I didn't clean the Exersaucer."

"You didn't?" I asked, confused, "That's so strange. It was practically coated in spit-up and now it looks like it's been through a car wash."

Husband thought for a minute. "You know, I did see Le Pooch Grande lurking around it earlier today..."

Dumbstruck, we looked at each other as the realization set in.

---------------

In other news, Little Husband and I were snuggling in bed this morning--as we do most mornings--while he nursed. I guess I dozed off because all I know is that I was in the middle of a dream where I was hugging Husband tight and the next thing I know, I woke up to Little Husband pushing me off of him as if to say, “Mom—get offa me! Stop hugging me so tight!”

(Sigh!) I felt an apron string cut already...

Mother of the Year

2009-07-10T13:01:00.000-07:00

This afternoon while I fixed a turkey sandwich, I plunked Little Husband down in his exersaucer where he merrily played, spinning and bouncing all around for 20 minutes. Then I noticed this:

From a different angle:

How it should look:

It looks terribly uncomfortable to me (can you imagine bouncing around with your foot all twisty underneath you like that?!?) but Little Husband just laughed and giggled away as I snapped pictures of it. I guess he wasn't too bothered by it. I wish I could bend like that!

Blog-Roll

2009-07-09T12:04:00.000-07:00

Sorry everyone I blog-rolled, but a friend's blog was compromised so I decided to play it safe and remove all links on this blog. It doesn't mean that I don't love reading your blog, it just means that I'm not going to link to anybody anymore.

Celebration, Pain, and a Ride on a Private Plane

2009-06-30T13:07:00.000-07:00

This past weekend Little Husband took his first flight ever to visit a great aunt who was terminally ill. What's significant about this is that a family member had the means and felt it worthwhile to charter a private plane, so Little Husband's first plane ride ever was in serious style. Crazy. My first plane ride ever was when I was 18 and it definitely wasn't a chartered plane.

This morning we awoke to some fabulous news--my little niece was born! I am so excited to meet her in August. Then we were met with some not-so-fabulous news...Little Husband's great aunt passed away. What's interesting is that the time of death and the time of birth appear to have been at exact the same time, give or take a minute. No kidding, no exaggeration. The two are from completely separate families so it's not as if someone can claim 'reincarnation' or anything, but still it's interesting.

Oh, and it's Little Husband's grandmother's birthday as well. Happy birthday, Nana!

A Baby Called "Head"

2009-06-26T11:01:00.000-07:00

When Husband was in high school he was one of those guys that stood 5'11" and weighed 135 lbs---a true bean pole. Unfortunately, his head didn't get the message about staying in proportion with his body so it grew and grew and grew. This was the 70's so his big 'fro of curly hair didn't exactly help matters. From what Husband tells me, he looked like a lollipop. As we all know, kids can be cruel and the kids at his school--where Husband was a minority--were no exception. In order to keep from getting his a$$ kicked on a daily basis, Husband took up basketball and became friends with all the guys on the team. A wise move. Still, that didn't prevent his new found "friends" from teasing him and one day, as he was walking down the hall, he heard one of his teammates call out, "Hey--that's the dude they call 'Head'".

The guy was talking about Husband.

Fast forward to June 26th, 2009 where I am sitting at my laptop furiously inputting Little Husband's measurements (taken today) into a Baby Growth Percentile Calculator. Here's what it came back with:

Height - 25th percentile
Weight - less than 5th percentile
Head - greater than 95th percentile

Look familiar?

We're installing a basketball hoop pronto!

Happenings...

2009-06-26T10:48:00.001-07:00

Here is what our little Brookstone weather monitor is telling us about the weather outside:

Seriously, it's 89 degrees but "feels like 108"??? What on earth did Texans do before air conditioning came along?

Yesterday, on my way to meet the girls for dinner I saw this:

Even though it was 107 yesterday, the dog seemed fine, happy even. It was kind of cute.

Zero interpersonal skills? Come sit next to me!

2009-06-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

Ever had one of those weeks where you're a freak magnet? I seem to be having one right now. Here are my freak stories in order of appearance (all of these stories are going to start out with, "I was minding my own business..."):

Two days ago I was minding my own business while putting gas in my car. Suddenly a *very* friendly guy materialized out of nowhere and walked up to me with a big smile on his face as he called out, "Hey there!" So friendly was he that I thought for a moment that I knew him. It wasn't until he busted out his cleaning solution spray bottle--the kind they use at NASCAR, apparently--that I realized I did not know him at all. He proceeds to start spraying my car (without asking) and cleaning certain areas to demonstrate the superior cleaning power of his NASCAR product. Mind you, there could have just been water in that bottle, for all I knew, but why split hairs?

I considered making a joke about feeling like I'd been transported to a stop light in the seedier part of Baltimore but thought better of it.

Anyway, he continues talking and cleaning and I notice he has a trainee watching his every move. Apparently his parent company thought that he had some mad sales skills. Every time he sprayed another area, he'd hand me the bottle to hold, as if I was going to examine it in all its greatness. At one point I burst out laughing (at him, I admit) but he didn't seem to get the joke. Finally he revealed the price: $25 for a bottle and with that bottle you get five, count them, FIVE full washes that you get to do yourself! I didn't want to burst his bubble by pointing out the car wash not ten feet away that will do the exact same thing without my having to lift a finger. I just looked at the bottle, then the car wash, then politely declined.

Super Sales Guy immediately looked past me as if I were of no further interest to him (because I wasn't!) and walked off towards his next sucker.

I headed toward the car wash.

-------------------------

Yesterday I was minding my own business, walking from the bathroom to the living room when some guy opened up my front door and poked his head in. "Hello?" he called out. "Oh hi," he said when he saw me. I stopped dead in my tracks and blocked him from coming in. All 5'2" of me.

So stunned was I that I just stared at him. Encouraged, he started babbling.

"I noticed that you are getting new carpet installed and I know the builder of this house and I was going to ask the carpet guys for the remnants. You see, I use them for my dogs to lay on so that they don't have to lay on the hard floor (insert syrupy, animal loving smile here). I know the builder and he doesn't mind when I ask for remnants--I do it all the time. I was just driving by when I saw the workers' trucks. Actually, I saw them this morning but I couldn't stop then so I came back. Anyway, if they have remnants I sure will take them because I know the builder."

"The builder?" I asked, none-too-friendly. "Do you think this house is under construction?"

"Well I assume they are just finishing up..." Seeing the look on my face, his voice trailed off.

"This house is NOT new, in fact, we have been living here for ten years! This is our private home and you are scaring me. There is a baby here (why did I say that?!?) and you shouldn't be walking into our house!"

"Oh, well, I didn't mean to scare you. I just saw the workers' tools here so I was going to knock but then figured it would be okay to poke my head in and call out to them. You see? I didn't even come inside. I mean, the builder is my friend and all..."

"Okay, look, we want to keep our remnants, thank you, and this house is not under construction, okay?" I put my hand on the door knob to indicate that the door was about to be closed in his face.

"No problem...maybe you ought to lock the door..."

(sound of door shutting in his face)

What chafes me is that I get a lot of flack for locking my house up like Fort Knox (hey, I'm a DC girl at heart) and the ONE TIME the door is unlocked some creep tries to walk in. The door was unlocked because the workers kept having to go out to their truck and tools and it made no sense to keep locking the door on them. Plus, we have a front gate that usually deters people from coming into our front yard. What scares me is that had it been 30 seconds earlier, I would have been in the bathroom and this creep probably would have walked into my house. What scares me more is that Little Husband was asleep in the corner of the living room.

----------------------------

Today I was at the grocery store, picking out some food and minding my own business when some older man starts following me back to my cart. "You know," he said eyeing the prepackaged mashed potatoes in my hand, "my wife makes mashed potatoes from scratch and they are the best on the planet. You really should try making them fresh instead of buying the premade ones."

Seriously? Did some dude really just give me, a harried mother with a seven-month-old in tow, flack about buying ready-made food?

"Actually, they're free." I told him.

"They--they are?" Bewildered, his head whips around to the mashed potato display and he begins madly reading the sign above them.

"Yes. If you buy 2 lbs of chicken breast, the mashed potatoes are free. I bought 2 lbs of chicken so I'm getting my free mashed potatoes."

Recovering, he stands a little taller and starts in on his sermon again. "Well my wife makes them from scratch..."

"So do I," I interrupted, "But these are free so it made sense to take them."

Undeterred, he kept talking. "And you can buy whatever potato you want because it won't matter, my wife's mashed potatoes are still better than yours."

"Okay, well I'm sure you're right." I said patronizingly as I backed away.

What gives? I mean really--what gives? Am I wearing some sort of sign?

Dear Dad

2009-06-21T10:08:00.000-07:00

I just found your Father's Day card, the one I bought several weeks ago, hiding in a drawer along with Husband's Father's Day Helicopter gift. Whoops--sorry about that! I'll still mail it, but obviously it will be several days late. In order to make up for my oversight, I will post a special Father's Day video taken only a few short hours ago of your seven-month-old grandson squealing. I hope you like it and Happy Father's Day to the best father a girl could ever have. I love you, Dad!

For Husband

2009-06-02T11:47:00.000-07:00

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. Okay, so I stole that line from a movie, but it's so apropos to what happened the day I met Husband that I give myself permission to use it as if it is my own. Here's what happened...

I was walking up the stairs of a restaurant with an upper section that overlooks the lake near my house. It was July 26th of 2002 and the air was muggy and humid so I was pulling my hair up off my neck as I reached the landing. Right then I looked up and locked eyes with the most handsome man I had ever seen. Tall, with thick, dark, wavy hair and hazel eyes, he was dashing--my ideal. His eyes widened when he saw me, and I took this as a good sign. I knew I had to meet him but I didn't know how to approach him. I've never been comfortable chasing men.

I was new to Austin and was at a UT MBA alumni happy hour as a guest of my cousin. I didn't know a soul, but that's never deterred me before. As I made my way over to the group, I realized that he was attending the happy hour as well. This was good news as I figured that I could make my way around the crowd and eventually catch his attention. I managed to accomplish this in, oh, 10 minutes or so.

We stood next to each other and I was immediately at ease as I drew him into a conversation. He had a perpetual smile while talking, and his relaxed manner only encouraged me. We quickly found out that we were both from DC and both never wanted to move back. I have no idea how much time passed as we stood there locked in conversation, but as the sun was going down his friends invited me to join them for a beer at another restaurant. I was dead tired and really didn't want to go, but I sensed that I might never see him again if I gave up this opportunity, so I accepted. I then turned to Prospective Husband and asked, "are you going to the restaurant too?"

"Yes," he responded, "Me and my girlfriend will be there."

It was as if I had been punched in the gut.

I try always to stick to my promises and commitments so despite this terrible letdown, I joined the group at the next restaurant. Prospective Husband was there as was his very pretty girlfriend. At that moment I gave up on him and decided to just enjoy my new friends and think nothing more of this guy who was so perfect for me. At some point Prospective Husband left with his girlfriend only to return 20 minutes later; he was in a rage.

Okay, maybe not quite a *rage*, but he was pretty mad as he stalked into the restaurant, slammed his fist down on the bar and declared, "I need a drink!"

For those of you who have met Husband, you know that this is completely out of character for him as he is normally very level-headed and mild mannered.

"Uh oh, looks like they had another fight," one of his friends muttered to me. "Those two are always fighting. I don't know why they're still dating."

Prior to Prospective Husband's return I was about to go home, however, as my favorite saying goes: Daddy didn't raise a dummy. I stayed.

It didn't take long to cajole Prospective Husband out of his foul mood and get him smiling again. It never does. We moved our party to a popular rooftop bar where Prospective Husband and I talked while his friends scoped out girls. We talked until 2 am as he opened up to me about the troubles in his four-month-old relationship. "It shouldn't be that hard," I told him.

He should have listened to me.

A few weeks later found us meeting for coffee at a favorite lake front coffee shop. It was a Friday afternoon and I thought it was a date so I took great pains to wear something cute lest he invite me to dinner afterward. Apparently he thought it was a friendly networking session as he gave me advice about who I might contact in my search for a job. After 30 minutes he looked at his watch, stretched, thanked me for the nice time and announced that he had to go meet his parents and girlfriend for dinner. I was dumbstruck but somehow managed to wish him a good time. In fact, I was in such shock that, as I was backing out of my parking space, I crashed my car into a fire hydrant. Mortified, I looked around wildly to see if he'd witnessed my stupidity. Funny that in a time like that, I cared more about his reaction than the huge, expensive dent in my car.

Years went by and we ran into each other from time-to-time, but he was still dating that same girl. Funny, though, I never saw her with him. Even funnier is that whenever we did see each other (usually at a party) we would hang out for hours talking and laughing. I was so at ease with him and so in love with him but I knew it was hopeless. He had a girlfriend and he saw me as just a friend and I had to respect that. Not once did he ever flirt with me or lead me on which caused me to respect and love him even more.

Almost four years after we met, in a moment of sick-of-dating-losers-weakness, signed up for eHarmony. Actually it was Melek who encouraged me to do so. She'd met her fabulous boyfriend on that site so I decided that the same might happen to me. I duly paid my $110, answered the 436 questions and pressed "send". Three days later I checked my email and nearly fell out of my desk chair: Prospective Husband was one of my matches. It turns out that he and his girlfriend had broken up the year before.

The very next year Prospective Husband became my husband.

And the year after that? Little Husband was born.

Happy second wedding anniversary, Darling. I will never forget the day I laid eyes on you.

Dad, your day has finally come

2009-05-27T19:47:00.001-07:00

There's that old saying that the sins of the father will be revisited by his son, or something along those lines. I don't remember it exactly. In short, I believe it's predicting that your children will do to you what you did to your parents. I've always been a little afraid of this prediction because I wasn't exactly a model child. In fact, not long ago my father and I had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: "Dad, what was I like as a small child?"

Dad: (without hesitation) "You were a hellion. An absolute hellion. Don't get me wrong, I mean, we *liked* you and all, but..."

Me: (stunned silence)

So there you have it. I'm sure that *my* father has been greedily rubbing his hands together, waiting for me to be blessed with my own little hellion. Well, Dad, your day has finally arrived.

Little Husband, for sport, enjoys nothing better than screaming at the top of his little lungs. I don't mean cry-screaming. I mean one long drawn out blood curdling scream. He does this when he's being tickled. He does this when he's bored. He does this when he's frustrated/angry/tired/you-name-it. He does this in stores. He does this in restaurants. He especially likes to do this at his paternal grandparents' house. Yesterday he did it all. Day. Long. At one point late in the day and at the height of his screaming fits, he would narrow his eyes and throw a death glare my way. I swear he was trying to turn me to stone.

On the bright side, while his mouth is wide open I use the opportunity to examine his gums for budding teeth since he won't let me do so otherwise.

I thought this behavior was pretty normal--a phase of sorts--but this weekend we were among friends and every time he let one rip, everyone would turn toward me and Husband with a bemused, "Whoa! He's pissed." That reaction tells me that this behavior is not normal. Me thinks my son has learned how to throw one hell of a temper tantrum.

Of course, when *I* was younger--MUCH younger--this was in fact very normal behavior for me. I remember screaming so loud that my throat would be raw for days. I remember grabbing onto banisters and door jams while my mother and older brother struggled to carry me to my room. I remember being locked in my bedroom and attempting to bash a hole in the plaster walls with my metal roller skates (my father damn near killed me when he got home from work and found out what I was doing). Oh yes, I remember throwing tantrums galore and consequently I'm afraid. Very, very afraid.

We're going to visit my family in August and we'll be staying with my parents. I can already imagine my dad standing in a doorway, arms folded and chuckling to himself while he surveys Little Husband revisiting my sins upon me.

I am so screwed.

This is why we can't get a sitter...

2009-05-04T12:07:00.001-07:00

This is Little Husband's preferred method of sleep. Needless to say, the "smother position", as I term it, freaks the babysitters out. I can't imagine why...

Happy Baby

2009-05-04T10:54:00.001-07:00

Little Husband and I took a walk down to the lake this morning to grab a cup of coffee (me) and enjoy the beautiful morning. I think he liked it.

Yes, Mom, I had the stroller brake on and the tether strap secured to my wrist.