Monthly Archives: September 2009

Hi, you can call me Bessie, and this is my husband, Mr. Ed

It started a little something like this:

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For a day or so, Roo had been pretty fussy. The naps weren’t happening. She wanted to nurse non-stop, but had zero interest in food. The fever came Thursday night, but stayed away after a single dose of Infant Tylenol (I know, but we were out of Motrin. At least it was off-brand, and not subject to the recalls.) Friday she had a bit of a rash on her legs, but we had been at Matt’s grandmother’s house, and it was concentrated on her knees and along her shins, so I assumed it was from crawling on the carpet. Later that night, we noticed a blister on her toe, and I recalled what I had thought might be a bug bite on her foot from the day before. She also had some pretty icky diaper rash, which I also attributed to the sickness. Or perhaps teething? You know how it goes with babies. It’s a guessing game, AT BEST.

The weekend passed without further incident. She got back to feeling like herself with a bit of a runny nose, so I chalked it up to a minor sore throat (to explain the copious nursing with Cheerio-refusal WHAT-WHAT) and left it at that. Monday night I started feeling a little feverish and icky in my throat, so I felt confident that I had properly assessed Roo’s condition and silently applauded my mama smarts and lack of FREAKOUT.

To backtrack a little bit with info that will seem COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT, a couple of weeks ago, I switched toothpastes. I have always had cold-sensitive teeth, and my recent fillings have dialed that up to a 12. My brother told me all the sensitivity toothpastes he had tried gave him canker sores, so I researched and found one that wasn’t supposed to do that (Hint: look for one without sodium lauryl sulfate). A week into using it? Canker sores. CURSES.

This morning as I was stumbling about changing diapers and making bagels and finding time to pee, I noticed my toe had a blister on it. Very similar to the ones Roo had the other day. Weird, I thought. Maybe they ARE some sort of bug bite?

Then I get an IM from Matt at work. Telling me now his throat is sore. Oh, AND. He has some canker sores in his mouth. HE NEVER GETS CANKER SORES.

At this point, the wheels (finally, right? like, did I need a genie to pop out and draw me a picture? the ghost of illness past?) start spinning in my head. I turn, OF COURSE, to Google, and find out canker sores can accompany viral infections, no big deal. But then I’m thinking about our feet, because Matt showed me a sore spot on his toe last night, and —

Yes.

HAND FOOT AND MOUTH DISEASE.

Doesn’t that sound ominous? I feel like I should be quarantined or have signs and BIOHAZARD tape up around my house. I sort of want people to call me asking favors, so I can be all, “Sorry, I can’t, on account of my HAND FOOT AND MOUTH DISEASE.”

So, ominous-sounding, yes. But all in all, it’s not so bad. I never would have realized any of us had it if we hadn’t had these bizarre symptoms in tandem. Honestly, I wouldn’t have even thought to Google “HAND FOOT AND MOUTH DISEASE” other than an old friend of mine mentioned on Facebook that her 18-month-old had recently had it. I remember reading it and thinking, “Do people seriously get that? How do you let your kid get that? I AM SUCH A BETTER PARENT HA HA HA” and then we went to the grocery store and Roo sucked on the shopping cart handle and now we’ve been reduced to a bunch of barnyard animals with festering sores.

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7 Quick Takes – Extra quick! Before the kids wake up!

1. I am a de-cluttering MASTER, you guys. This week, I have torn through every room of the house with one mission: Throw. Crap. Away. I have been wallowing in this house for three years. This house I don’t really love. This house that has never felt like HOME, for some reason. I finally snapped out of it and realized that maybe it could feel like home if I just gave it a chance. That maybe I could enjoy my hours trapped spent in here if things were orderly and less like the after effects of tornadic activity.

2. Part of The Plan, as I am now thinking of it, involves a few home improvements. Married/partnered/roommated homeowners out there may have some idea of where I’m going with this. Home improvements CAN BE THE END OF EVERYTHING. There is just no arguing like the arguing that takes place when putting together a crazy IKEA desk or painting a room. I’m a crazed perfectionist so it is the END OF THE WORLD when the molding on the bookcase trim isn’t perfectly centered or there is a single drip of yellow paint on the white baseboards. And, just … don’t send me into a room with crooked picture frames hung on the walls. We visited my husband’s grandmother last weekend, and I think I need some heavy meds before I can set foot in there again. Dozens of frames, off balance at different angles. Makes my head get all bendy just THINKING ABOUT IT.

3. On the kiddie front, Roo seems to be sick, but I have no idea what it is. She had a fever last night, appears to be in some discomfort today, but nothing seems wrong. No teeth bumps that I can discern. I’m just keeping an eye on her and snuggling her extra, and hoping I get back my giggle baby soon. And maybe a bit more sleep, as the last several nights have left Matt and I in the morning asking each other, “Uh. Do you remember how much we were up last night?” (We get a little confused on minimal sleep. Some day I’ll have to tell you the story of Matt trying to figuring out Vio’s IP address while in a sleepless stupor.)

4. Vio is now in underwear 24/7. I decided last weekend that we’d go diaper free overnight just to see what happened. It’s been a full week with no accidents, though now that I’ve told the internet, I’ll be mopping up pee at 2AM for certain. Though, according to #3, I WILL ALREADY BE AWAKE, SO NO MATTER.

5. Fall TV coming back has me more excited than usual this year. Grey’s last night totally broke my heart (George was my most favorite, from the first episode, through the ridiculous marriage to Callie, the half-assed affair with Izzie, and the full season in which they only let him speak four times.) Glee takes me to my happy place. I seriously haven’t been this excited about a show since Veronica Mars (which is something else that CONTINUES TO BREAK MY HEART.) Also on the docket: Dollhouse, The Office, CSI (THE ORIGINAL ONLY YEEEEOOOOAAAAHHHH), and Private Practice. (I am RIVETED by the cliffhanger on that one. Cooper almost opened the door! Gah!)

6. Hanging up our clothes to dry instead of using the dryer seems to be cutting roughly $20/month off our power bill. This makes me do a tiny dance of joy. (Also, hanging clothes on the drying rack pleases me. There is a symmetry to it that I find soothing.) (Shut it.)

7. Reading this list back over, the thought has just occurred to me that a lot more INTERESTING things happened this week than the six I have spastically highlighted here. This tells me I need to be writing more as things happen, but the day always gets away from me. Ooh, I’ll sit down to write as soon as x, y, and z are taken care of. Except, in the process of x, I discover an a, b, and a c, never get around to y, and z turns into SLEEP. Also, this post just became the weirdest word problem EVER.

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Girl Talk Thursday – My (not quite) romance novel

Back when I was in grad school, I spent just over a year working as a page at the downtown library in Gainesville. We had monthly sectional assignments that dictated in which area we needed to be straightening, shelving, and reading for order. Over the course of my year there, I worked 13 different sections, and I can tell you, WITHOUT even a shred of hyperbole, Romance was the most CRAZY-GO-NUTS of all. It was easily the most popular section of the library for browsing, which meant I would get things straightened only to come back from pulling the book drop or shelving DVDs to find materials strewn about all willy-nilly. During the summer, I’d have to step over the pre-teens who would hide in the stacks, skimming for the dirtiest scenes.

I have to admit, I’ve never really been into romance novels. I think it’s the euphemisms (mound? member? SRSLY?) that completely turn me off and leave me giggling. I know there are tons of sub-genres and all that, so maybe some day I’ll find the time to delve in and find something I could actually enjoy. I prefer when the romance is a sub-plot in a much bigger story. I’d rather read a book about something interesting with a few smoldering sex scenes than read a book of sex scenes in which nothing else interesting happens. That’s what internet erotica is for, no? (NOT THAT I WOULD KNOW. I’VE JUST HEARD SO STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.)

That 200 word intro there is my long-winded way of saying: I have no idea how to answer this question! If I were in a romance novel, my story would involve NO mention of the phrase “pouty nether lips”, no huge-muscled, long-haired Fabio on the cover, and absolutely no “damsel in distress” scenarios. (In fact, I think I’ll be the one doing the rescuing, thank you very much.)

It would take place in some futuristic dystopian society that has figured out how to circumvent sex completely. No longer needed to maintain the population, it would be seen as something animalistic and below us as humans. As a librarian and scholar, I would come across a cache of old books, hidden safely decades ago by a librarian who couldn’t bring himself to destroy them as instructed, and learn all about the ancient practice of sex. I’d be too scared to bring it up to my husband (families are still formed on the basis of raising children, after all, but people are paired up by the government based on a whole lot of forms and evaluations and genetics and BAD EVIL GOVERNMENT reasoning). Instead, I’d run away and seek out other people like me, having some pretty crazy, first time, no clue what the hell we’re doing sex, until I finally find My People and am completely indoctrinated into their SUPER HOT lifestyle, wherein we must hide from the authorities or risk certain death. (I mentioned being sneaky in my turn-ons post, and YEAH. It would appear I meant it.) Eventually we’d decide humanity can’t go on any longer without the sex, so we’d set about seducing government officials and The Man until eventually the whole world exploded from the hotness.

Uh. That got a little weird, no? Sort of turned into “If you were a character in a dystopian novel, what would your story be” post instead. HAHA! A technicality!

So. What would YOUR (deep breath) romance-story-in-a-genre-other-than-romance-because-you’ve-never-read-romance-but-are-a-big-dork-about-other-types-of-stories be?

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AppleCheeks winner!

I know; it’s about time, right?

There were 79 comments on the post …

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So I hopped on over to random.org …

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Cursed the heavens for it giving me a high number, counted up from the bottom to find …

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Congratulations, Pamela! I really loved this answer because OH MY LANDS is it ever true. (If you follow my feed on Twitter, you know why I am nodding my head at this more than EVER today.) Enjoy your diaper, and come back and tell us what you think!

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Girl Talk Thursday – Mah britches!

When I set up this blog a few months ago, I expected I would do some oversharing. That’s the nature of blogging, I think. We reveal a lot of ourselves, intentionally or not, and we are BOUND to overshare from time to time. That being said, I don’t think I ever imagined I’d be showing the internet the inside of my underwear drawer.

My underwear. Ugh. I need new underwear. I have about 10 pairs I really like. The rest is sort of … there. To fill in the gaps and keep me covered when the laundry really needs doing. Almost everything I love comes from the Victoria’s Secret PINK collection. To say I love this collection is a huge understatement. Such pretty colors! Inexpensive! Comfortable! Sexy options! SOLD.

I’ve never been one for thongs. I’ve had a few over the years that are comfortable, but for the most part, they fit me wrong and drive me nuts. Also, they don’t seem to serve the purpose underwear is supposed to serve. (Especially when you wear jeans. AMIRIGHT or AMIRIGHT?) I used to buy all low cut bikini underpants, but over the last few years, my most favorite type of underwear has emerged: boy cut.

You. Guys. I love some boy cut underwear. Low cut, wide on the hips, high in the back. This style of underwear is, I think, the most flattering on my particular figure, and it is ALL I EVER WANT TO WEAR AGAIN. I’m sure my husband is thrilled.

Another thing … I don’t fold my underwear. It gets taken out of the laundry, hung on the line, and thrown in the drawer. I can’t be bothered to fold up these dainty (ha! ha ha!) little pieces of fabric neatly. Who has time for that? WHO? But it’s not that bad, is it?

GTT undies2 CAP

I don’t even want to talk about bras. I’m in nursing bra HELL at the moment. Stores don’t carry my size. Stores … never carry my size. I usually have to buy something with a band size that’s too large in order to get something with the right size cup. It’s depressing. When I wear non-mom bras, they are usually the formed demi-cups style. I like a little padding. Feel positively NAKED without it, in fact.

(I was also planning to discuss, in detail, my hatred of the term “panties”. It is a DISGUSTING word. I feel creepy referring to my underwear with that term, because it sounds like something you’d call a little girl’s underpants, but I feel gross calling Vio’s underwear that, because it seems to be the go-to “sexy” term for a grown woman’s underwear. I’m so glad most of the rest of the GTT participants have my back on this one. DOWN WITH PANTIES!)

(Uh. On second thought, I’ll rethink our battle cry.)

Now, I shall leave you with one of my favorite pairs of underpants: My Christmas undies!

GTT undies3 CAP

And now I dare each of you to take a picture of your underwear drawer. Overshare! All the cool kids are I’m doing it!

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From now on there will be a stocked diaper bag in my car at all times

We are not spontaneous people. We research all of our decisions. We discuss things ahead of time. Even minor things, like weekend plans and shopping trips.

So that’s why, this evening, after our weekly trip to the library, it was VERY out of character for me to say, “Let’s pick up dinner from Publix and have a picnic at the park!”

I’ve been saying lately that we need to go on more adventures. We need to do more FUN things. We have no funny stories to tell. We’ve always been homebodies, which I love, but now that I’m a SAHM — well. Pretty much I never leave the house anymore. Unless we’re going to my mom’s house. Which is the house where I grew up. SO IT’S PRACTICALLY STAYING HOME.

So. We had no diaper bag. I’d left both girls’ water cups at home. Vio was wearing sandals and neither child had a hat. This is enough normally to induce PANIC in me. I am a PLANNER. There are rules to outdoor play that must be followed. (Invisible authority figurrrres!)

But, in the name of adventure, we soldiered on.

We got all set up at a picnic table (out of the sun! Hat problem solved!) and started to eat, when I noticed a squirrel run up to our table. This isn’t at all uncommon, but what WAS uncommon was how close the squirrel was getting. I said as much to Matt, to which he replied, “Not really. I thought I was going to look over to see him sitting on the table or something.”

And then the squirrel says DON’T MIND IF I DO. And hops up on the table.

No big deal, right? We’ll just scare him away! Pretend to throw food! ACTUALLY throw food!

I … never thought I was afraid of squirrels. From far away they frolic and scamper with their feather duster tails trailing behind them. Up close they look very CONNIVING. And hungry for my babies’ noses.

And this is where I turn into a woman from a cartoon who has just seen a mouse. I probably would have jumped up on the table if the squirrel hadn’t already claimed that position. So Matt does the manly thing.

He gets up from the table, and starts CHASING THE SQUIRREL. Around and around the table. In circles. While holding Roo, no less.

In the midst of this debacle, I hear … Mommy? I have to go pee pee.

Sweetheart? Can’t you see daddy is being chased by chasing a squirrel?

I lead Vio to the restroom, all the while thinking how much simpler life would be if I had BOYS instead of GIRLS. It was decked out in the style of most park restrooms, complete with fixtures falling off the walls, broken door locks, and a hand-scribbled “OUT OF ORDER – DO NOT USE” sign on two of the three stalls.

[I’d like to interrupt this story to admit, PROUDLY, that I have no problem with public restrooms. I don’t use a paper towel to open the door or bother with the disposable “seat protecting” liners. I DO flush with my foot, but I have also been known to OPEN DOORS with my feet in my own house if I’m carrying a huge laundry basket or child and have no free hands. If there is pee on a seat, I wipe it off with toilet paper and MOVE ON WITH MY BUSINESS. I think people who hover over toilet seats have major issues. I also think they are the people who PEE ON THE SEATS.]

Surprisingly, we got through the going part without a problem. Then we get to the sinks. No soap. No soap DISPENSER, even. No problem, we’ll just get some wipes from the diaper bag. That I don’t have with me. Plain water it is!

Did I mention the sinks were made for Amazons? I hoist Vio up, push down on the button, and a single needle of water shoots out. I say needle, because I’m pretty sure it pierced directly through my palm and came out the other side. So we move on to the second sink. I turn the handle on the faucet, and I discover the faucet is no longer mounted to the sink. So turning the handle TURNS THE ENTIRE FAUCET. At this point, I’m thinking we were better off before we started touching all these broken sinks with their bacteria-ridden needle-water, but I finally get Vio balanced on my knee, hold the faucet in place with one hand, and turn the handle with my other long enough for her to rinse off thoroughly.

We get back to the table, find that Sir Brazen McBallsy the squirrel is now hanging from the back of the nearby trash can and PEEKING UP AT US from over the side, doing teeny squirrel chin-ups in the process. So, he won, is what I’m saying. We ceded the table and moved on to the playground.

The rest of the evening transpired without incident, except for how we let Vio run around with no shoes on and she was caked in dirt up to her knees with sand in her hair and probably bits of the ground up tires from under the swings in her ears and yes, still no way to clean her. I sent her into the men’s room with Matt, hoping he might have better luck getting her washed up, but it was to no avail. A dirty car and baths for everyone as soon as we got home. But, finally.

Finally.

A story to tell.

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Girl Talk Thursday – Halloween costumes!

Confession time.

I have not dressed up for Halloween since I was 15 years old. My best friend and I decided at the last minute we would make one last ditch effort at trick-or-treating before we’d draw nasty looks from the neighbors. I think I was supposed to be a little kid, and she was a devil. That’s what this horrible photo suggests, anyway:

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I cropped out the evil, nightmare-inducing clown lamp that inexplicably remained in my room until I went off to college. But I left the Little Mermaid poster, which I totally stand by as being the perfect accessory for a teenager’s room.

Last year, Vio was a witch, and she insisted I get a witch’s hat to match hers. I guess that was sort of a costume, as much as you can count an 8 months pregnant woman in all black and a witch’s hat a costume.

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Other than that, the only costumes I have proof of me wearing are from the late 80s/early 90s when I was in elementary school. I apologize for the poor quality of the images, but I had to pull screencaps from home videos that I recently transferred from VHS to the computer. That’s a LOT of transfers, folks. It doesn’t stop me looking any less dumb, however, so do feel free to laugh along.

1987

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Pre-dress primping. I think I was a “bride” that year. I don’t appear to be excited about it. I can remember those hot rollers were digging right into my scalp. Note to self: Do not put Vio and Roo through such tortures at the age of six.

1988

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Dude, I was FIERCE. Your guess is as good as mine on this one. I’m wearing the dress I wore as flower girl in my cousin’s VERY 80s wedding. It goes with my awesome DJ Tanner hair, I suppose.

1989

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Some sort of ferocious cat, I’m assuming. Contrary to what this picture implies, I never became an emo kid.

1990

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This one doesn’t show my costume (OR BANGS, WHICH ARE STILL THERE, I ASSURE YOU) very well, but it does show what a big deal Halloween always was at my house. That’s my mom’s head on a platter there on the left, and my younger brother is dressed up as a surgeon. I can’t say with full certainty, but a good portion of his costume may have been borrowed from the hospital where my mother worked at the time. Once again, I was some sort of princess/bride/freakshow combination of the two.

So that’s all the humiliation I think I can muster up for one post. What are some of your favorite costumes from your past? Most embarrassing? Did you, too, have a horrible 80s hairdo?

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