Thursday, December 31, 2009

NYE

It's New Year's Eve, and I have a babysitter.

Therefore, I am going to spend the rest of 2009 behaving like a teenager.

Cheers!

Monday, December 28, 2009

Wheezing & Whining

I HAVE PNEUMONIA!

FEEL BAD FOR ME!


Despite some pathetic attempts to promote the news that I have PNEUMONIA, it seems like nobody really cares. I'm using exclamation marks! I'm whining! I'm putting it on Facebook! I'm making phone calls! I'm expending energy that I can't afford to lose!


Gene, my fiance, wouldn't even take me to Urgent Care when I woke up with wheezing and coughing and hysteria. I drove myself there, and when I got home, he went snowboarding.

I know that modern medicine has made it almost certain that I won't die from this condition, but I still want to know: What the fuck happened to pneumonia's alarming edge?

If you need me, I'll be in my bed, feeling sorry for myself.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Portraits

My future bro-in-law and friend, Ray Conway, is an excellent photographer. The best thing about having one of those in the family? Access to inexpensive Christmas presents.

Here are a few pictures he took for us this month:



























Hey Laundry, Eat Sh*t.

WHY LAUNDRY IS RUINING MY LIFE: Reason #1389

So I'm in the basement this morning, sorting some laundry, when I hear, "HAVE A POOP! GONNA CLEAN IT UP??"

This, of course, is James, my 2 year old son, calling out to me, his buttwiping minion.

I think, No biggie... the kid can wait a minute while I sort his jammies. (Once I'm in the Laundry Groove, I have to ride it out or it will never get done, as the Groove only strikes a few times a year.)

Well, because I'm blogging about this, you can probably assume that I was hella wrong.

I take my sweet time coming upstairs and see that James has thrown his soiled (aka shitty) diaper on the floor. Also, I see that the diaper is open, and its contents have rolled onto the rug, in dangerous proximity to my ever-curious 10 month old daughter, Cece.

Cece is looking at the diaper. James is looking at Cece. I'm looking at my newly shampooed rug.

I collect the diaper and the small round poop balls from the rug. As I'm flushing the little turds down the toilet, it hits me: Cece probably touched it.

I run (ok, walk) back to the living room and direct my question to James, as if he's the babysitter: "Did Cece touch it? DID SHE?"

Silence.

I try Cece: "DID YOU TOUCH THE POOP?"

Again, nothing.

I uncurl her clenched fist, revealing three tiny turd treasures. Oh, and then I notice that she's chewing something.

I'll bet you know what that something is, don't you?

I stick my (unwashed) finger into her mouth, and to both my relief and horror, I can't find anything. That means one of two things happened: one) she was fake chewing to scare me, or two) she swallowed her brother's poop before I could get it out.

Because I'm negligent enough to need it a great mom, I have the poison control phone number stuck to the back of my cordless phone. I called, and the guy who answered (who sounded exactly like the guy I talked to last time) assured me
told me, in monotone, that she's probably fine. The lack of urgency in this man's voice tells me that he does not have, or know, any kids worth worrying about.

Moral of the story? This is Laundry's fault, so for the welfare of my children, I should never sort, wash, dry, fold, or put away laundry ever again!

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Don't worry...

... I'm still here.

Dearest Readers,

I know all three of you probably miss me right now. Don't worry, I'm coming back to you. Because I love you. And really, it's not you that drove me away, I've just been really busy lately. I've been preoccupied with final projects and exams, but guess what!

MY SEMESTER IS OVER, BABY!

And miraculously, (as always) I came out of another semester ON TOP.

And now I'll be on top of YOU, dear reader, for the rest of my winter break.

As for the laundry piles growing mold in my basement?
Well, I wouldn't say I'm on top of those right now. I'd say it's more like I'm taking it in the ass. And, for the record, that isn't my kind of thing.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

For Moms of Thomas Freaks

Despite the show's unusual language and less-than-climactic plots, my shorties looove Thomas and Friends. Naturally, they also love the wooden toy trains from the show. Cece likes throwing the trains around, and James never puts his down. I mean that literally. He sleeps with a train in his hand almost every night. The only times a train is not in his hand is when he has lost it somewhere, which happens more often than both of us like. I'm not even going to describe the panic I have when we can't find his trains. So for Christmas, James will be getting a bunch of new trains to ease my grief and warm his heart.

For those of us who need Thomas crap PRONTO but can't manage to ever get out of the house, there's a great site that should be bookmarked: www.trainsgalore.com

The selection is huge and their prices are better than Target's. I've done lots of price comparisons online (like I said, I never leave the house) and found that I've saved a few bucks on everything I've bought from them. The shipping is $6 (flat rate) and free for orders over $55.

This wisdom is my Christmas gift to frantic mothers of train-loving toddlers everywhere.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Tree Shit

We bought our first real Christmas tree this weekend! I now feel incredibly wholesome and maternal, especially because it's already decorated. It's literally dripping in red and gold bling.

Because this is the first time I've ever been responsible for a tree, I'm just now realizing that Christmas trees kind of fucking suck. I believe this is why we usually find trees outside and not in our homes.

First of all, it takes up approximately 1/3 of our house's 800 total square feet.

Secondly, my newly crawling daughter keeps eating and choking on tree shit.

Lastly, I am living in constant fear that our bulldog is going to a) piss on it or b) hump it, knock it over, and c)kill someone or d) just make a giant mess. Any of these scenarios would really piss me off.

Happy F*cking Holidays

Friday, December 4, 2009

Why I Think My Son Might Be Latino

Ever since he first uttered the word "Mama," I've been suspecting that my son might be latino. Here's why:

He calls them pantalones!

He sometimes uses a "rolling R".

As an infant, he favored maracas to rattles.

His statements usually sound like questions.

Homeboy can dance.

Common language errors include "I have wet!" and "I don't want it this show!"

He sometimes calls me "Me-kai-AY-la" rather than "Michaela" or just "Mom"

His dad wears a tight ponytail.

He's impassioned.

One eyebrow spans the width of his forehead.

He once smiled when I called him Jamesito.

He likes quesadillas more than sandwiches.




Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Adolescent Angst

Aside from laundry piles and baby poop disasters, the formal essay is the most frequently reoccuring challenge in my life. I obviously like to write. I obviously have things to say. Why do I have so much trouble starting an essay? I have a 6-page paper due on Monday for my Adolescent Lit class. Blegggh. I've procrastinated for an entire week, and I'm now forcing myself to acknowledge the impending deadline.

I've decided to procrastinate further by blogging about my angst. I'm hoping that this will get the creative juices a-flowing.

What is this terrible essay assignment anyway? Well, dear reader, it's not a terrible essay assignment. I am just a terrible essay-starter. I make a really big deal out of getting started on my papers. I work myself up, I talk to people in a whiny, impatient tone (especially if someone actually needs something from me), my skin gets itchy, I pace, I have uncontrollable gas, I go on killing sprees... you get the idea. (I'm kidding about the gas!) Anyhmm, my professor is asking us to discuss the themes of alienation and identity in any four novels we've read this semester.

Tit, right?

So why am I making this so hard?

:-(

I need an opener. Like a quote. Or a WOW thing. I can't get started without one.

I'm really open to any suggestions you've got. Actually, you probably shouldn't even talk to me unless you've got something good. I'm on edge, and I really don't have time for your shit.

See what I mean?