My Monkey

I fell asleep last night watching the Cowboys play the Packers (Go Cowboys!). It's no surprise that I fell asleep on the couch.

With no recollection of the preceding events, I woke up sometime in the wee hours of the morning in my king sized bed wondering how in the heck I'd gotten there. I really don't remember. I mean, I assume I went back there willingly -- and not that I was complaining. My pillow top mattress outranks our hand-me-down couch any day of the week. I was just confused. So confused, in fact, that I woke up Andi and asked him how I'd gotten back there. In his sleep, he mumbled something to the effect of you walked. Thanks, smart ass.

What's even more puzzling is what I realized next. I felt something fluffy and soft in my arms. I pulled my hands from underneath my quilt only to realize that I was clutching Adrien's stuffed monkey. Oh my gosh. I'd been cuddling with my son's stuffed animal lovey thing. I feel very grown up right now. Very grown up and confused. I had been having a bad dream, so I guess that explains the cuddling -- but why the heck did I bring it to bed in the first place? And was I cuddling it on the couch too? These answers we'll never know. But it gives me something to chuckle over.

I went to the OB yesterday and got to see the baby's heart beat. That's wonderful -- it's something I never got to do last time. I got to hear it also...It was great. The doctor said everything looks good. But then again, it did last time too. So I'll just keep praying.

In addition to the teensy tiny baby, the doctor also found something else on the ultrasound. He said he saw a fibroid. He didn't explain anything about it other than that most people have them and when I asked if it would be a problem with the baby, he said no. Of course (big fat hypochondriac that I am), I rushed straight home and searched it on WebMd. Everything that I saw was either very alarming, or very mild. Some information said that most people never know they have them -- other parts of the article stated the only way to ensure a bothersome fibroid doesn't return is to have a hysterectomy. There is another procedure that could be done to remove it, but for some reason, you can only have that done if you don't plan on having any more children. So it looks like removing it equals no more children. Hm. Lovely. Obviously it's nothing too serious or my doctor would have had a talk with me about it. Instead the whole exchange consisted of "You've got a fibroid..." and then he was looking at other things like the baby's measurements, etc.

All of the information I read said that they're not cancerous...but of course (hypochondriac) I'm wondering what would happen if it really is a tumor and not a fibroid. I mean, he's never said anything about it being there before, and I had enough ultrasounds done about five and a half months ago that they should have found it if it was there before. The information also said that most fibroids are slow growing. But it looked kind of big to me. I mean, a good few inches in diameter possibly (I'm guessing here). So, if it wasn't there six months ago and it's already that size, how the heck do they figure it's "slow growing"? Hm. I'm not a doctor though, so who knows.

We're leaving later today to drive about five or six hours away for a business trip. Andi is going to be working tomorrow, and his company just so happens to be footing the bill for the hotel for us to stay in. So we'll be in a super nice hotel (five hours away) tonight and tomorrow night. Please, Lord, let Adrien be in good spirits for the car trip. Please. I'm still bummed that they don't have an indoor pool though. Oh well, at least I'll have Monkey.

Disproportionately Pregnant

We went to the mall today. It was time for the play group's monthly birthday party. Yay.

So we had play time for a while, and then I believe I was the first to head up to the food court to eat. Why? Because my 19 month old was having a melt down because he wanted to run out of the play area and into the photo booth to play with all the buttons. I generally oblige him, but today he was particularly interested in wrapping himself up in the curtain that covers the doorway. Funny at first. Then gross. My mind was swirling with all of the bodily fluids that could be lurking about. I mean, come on. It doesn't take a fiction writer to imagine what could possibly go on in one of those little boxes, let alone the filth that can (and does) accumulate on the fabric of that curtain. I'm sure it's never been washed. So, ick. Ugh. Gross. Barf. Gag. Pull the toddler out ASAP while kicking, screaming, and limp body-going occurs. I carted him back to the play area, where he commenced to a full blown tantrum (complete with real tears and red face) face down on the floor. Somehow I managed to calm him down enough to get him strapped into the stroller so we could go eat. Maybe it was the french fry bribe. Not sure. But at that moment, I'd use any bribe to distract him from his crying frenzy. Mean, mean, Mommy.

After eating some Chik-fil-a and a chocolate cupcake with a boat load of yellow icing (which covered Adrien completely), a friend and I walked around the mall for a little while. We both went in to the maternity store, where she went about trying on eight billion shirts, only to discover that they are all entirely too long. For some reason, all of the shirts seem to completely cover your butt. When the associate asked if she could help my friend, my friend shared her dilemma, only to have the associate respond with "Well, they're made to cover your belly." Well, yes, yes, they are. How observant Miss Associate. But explain to me why you need an extra foot of fabric in the back to cover something in the front. I went to school for fashion design and I still don't get the tailoring of it. But seriously, every single shirt in the place was like that. Why?

A dilemma I have with maternity clothes is pants length. I'm a fairly tall person -- but not overly so. I'm only about 5'9'' or so. I have a problem with pants length even when I'm not pregnant, but I think for some reason, designers and companies must think you shrink a few inches when you conceive. I start out wearing a size "small" pants at the beginning of pregnancy. Since most maternity stores do not offer pants in numbered sizes, I get lumped in with the smalls -- even though I could generally use a medium, they all bag and sort of fall off. Somewhere along the lines, in getting lumped in as a small, I guess someone decided that since you're small in width, you're also small in length. So I get stuck with pants that fit my booty like no tomorrow -- but I'm floodin' up a storm down below. I'm not talking a little short. I'm talking a good five inches or so in some cases. It just really bothers me. I mean, just because I'm relatively thin, doesn't mean I'm short. And who decided that all thin people are short and that all tall people are heavier? It just makes zero sense.

So I guess all pregnant women are stuck with pants that are too short and shirts that are too long. I mean, we're pregnant -- not deformed.

A Lead covered Christmas

It's been more than a little while since I last posted. But last week was hectic. Thanksgiving and all.

The holiday was good for us. We went to Andi's parent's house and spent it with their family. His mom didn't make any gravy, so I didn't eat any turkey or dressing (have to have gravy!), but everything else was great. There were more desserts than I could shake a stick at, and I'm happy to report that my two pies were the prettiest there. Everyone loved them...and everyone loved the duck I brought. Yes, a duck. We do one every year -- they're more moist than turkey and they're smaller. I feel kinda bad cooking one, because I like ducks so much, but it tastes pretty dern good. Especially with the orange glaze I use.

I haven't really been up to much other than cooking. It seems like last week was one big blur of making pie crusts and baking. Now that that's all over, I guess the Christmas bug has bitten a little. I didn't go out on Black Friday (I mean, why?) -- but I never do. We did get a little shopping done last night. It's so great that Adrien's still young enough to be drug along for shopping excursions. We got him a few things from the Disney Store -- all Cars related, of course. Today I went to Target. I needed diapers and wipes, and I thought Target would be as good a place as any because hey - I can get a drink and a snack while shopping. Plus they have a great toy section, and I thought I could do some browsing while there. So I did. I ended up doing some buying too.

As I perused the aisles of the toy department, I noticed little fliers hanging everywhere that read things like "Such and Such Toy Recalled for Lead Hazard; Effective June 2007" and whatnot. It wasn't just one. There were many. Plastered all over the section where I was looking at goodies for Adrien. Before I'd noticed the first one, I was looking at some sort of Playskool toy train with animals and was thinking something like "That would be a great present..." when I happened to glance down and see one of the fliers. I mean, it wasn't saying the train had been recalled -- but it may as well have. I thought better of the train -- and every other plastic toy in the place -- after seeing it. They were everywhere. And what's more disturbing is that they're plastered all over the toddler toy section.

To make myself feel better, I ended up getting a few of these guys for Adrien while there. He absolutely adores these little toys. I know they say that they're for ages 3 and up, but who cares. I don't really see them choking on one. He seemed to have tons of fun making them walk around on the shopping cart. All of these little animals are made in Germany -- and so I (most likely naively) feel safer with them vs. a Made In China toy. I'm just utterly scared of toys. Grossed out, even.

But I don't want to not get him toys for Christmas. Christmas isn't Christmas without toys! I mean, we shouldn't have to worry about this kind of thing. And the fact that our government can't even do anything about it? Well that just scares the bejeebers out of me. It confuses me a little too. What's our nation coming to when the government can listen in to our private conversations and blame it on National Security, but still doesn't have the power to recall or strictly monitor lead levels in children's toys. I have to wonder what the bigger security problem is here? Our children being poisoned -- or your neighbor Mr. Wilson being viewed as a potential domestic terrorist because he has a knack for the NRA.

So, I guess for now, I'm sticking with my German-made toys. But is that enough? If the recalls are all voluntary by the toy makers, then what's to say there isn't lead in every single paint or plastic coated thing on the market? In my mind, these little fliers have stained this holiday season with a nice coating of lead...and it's hanging awfully heavy on my shoulders. Should I trust and buy that front loading dump truck anyway? Or should I follow my over protective urge and spring for that $78 hand carved non-toxic wooden dump truck on Etsy?

Bah humbug...

My binky.

We had decided it was time for Adrien to give up the binky. I don't mind him having it. I mind the looks people give Adrien. I mind the people who are playing with him and take it out of his mouth and say "You don't need that" to him. I mind all of that. He doesn't need it all of the time. Bedtimes are just easier with it in, and sometimes, he likes to take it while watching telly or playing...but generally that's just when he's crabby. Like now. He's got three canines cutting at once. Crabby. Who wouldn't be?

But nevertheless, Andi and I had about decided it was time. Last week sometime, there were about two days in a row where Adrien didn't even want it when asked if he wanted it. Needless to say, naptimes and bedtimes were rough. He generally goes to sleep relatively peacefully. He falls asleep in the middle of playing, for the most part, or settles in to watch some telly and conks out. But not without the binky. Without the binky, he'd lay down and fall asleep in a furious fit, thrashing about and whining the entire time. I wanted the binky back. He did not, apparently.

I gave him a few days. He wanted it again.

Yesterday, Adrien was hitting and pinching me. I suppose Andi was trying to teach him not to do those things, and seeing as it was around naptime and Adrien had his binky, Andi took it away as a punishment. Adrien didn't understand why Andi was taking his binky. I mean, his attention span is so short. He understands when you scold him and say "we don't hit" (not that it means he won't do it again, he just understands that what he was doing at that moment was wrong). Adrien does not, however, put two and two together when a binky is taken away for doing wrong. He doesn't get it.

So Andi took the binky and Adrien started to cry...hysterically. I had words with Andi over it and he insisted that Adrien doesn't need it any more -- that he's a big boy. He refuted the fact that he'd taken it as punishment. He did take it away as punishment. Andi looked at me like I was crazy when I tried to explain that Adrien didn't understand that the binky was taken as punishment. I mean, what does a binky have to do with hitting or pinching? Nothing. Especially not to a 18 month old. And anyway, who decides to suddenly make Adrien a "big boy" when he was already upset for being scolded about hitting and pinching?

I know at this point I'm getting hard to follow. But try to picture the scene.

Adrien hits and pinches me repeatedly...thinking it's great fun. Andi has enough, as Adrien is not listening to me when I ask him to stop. Andi says something in a rather firm tone to Adrien to the effect of We don't hit and pinch. Adrien gets upset from the firmness (to be expected). Andi then takes his binky mid-cry because in Andi's eyes, Adrien is just crying because he wants to hit.

We all know this is how our husband's mind works.

Andi puts the binky away, out of Adrien's reach. He's crying hysterically, pointing. His feelings were very hurt by it. I had my words with Andi, and as I'm on Adrien's side with this, I get the binky back, give it to Adrien, and cuddle him.

At this point I was near tears and very angry at Andi. Why was I angry at Andi? I told him. I told him it was stupid to take the binky away as punishment...and that he didn't understand why it was taken, blah blah blah. And in the midst, I really did start crying. I was crying because I want Adrien to have it. It's the last little thing that ties him to babyhood. He's growing up so fast. He walked early. He's so independent. I just want the one thing that still makes him a baby. I want him to have his freaking binky...and I don't give a damn what other people think. It's cute for kids to suck their thumbs (not to me), but it's not okay for binkies? I mean, he won't be four and still have it. I will take it eventually. But he still needs it now. I guess I need it now. And it ticks me off when people take it from him. I feel like they're taking something from me: my baby.

So, I have to ask myself, is it his binky -- or mine?

Exclusivity kills.

I know, I haven't posted for the past two days. I'm a bad NaBloPoMo'er. Like so many things, it sounded like a good idea at the time, but turned out not to be so grand after all. Since starting this month, I feel like my writing is slipping. It's forced, not flowing. Instead of blogging when I have a point to make, I'd blog because I had to...and fish for things. Forced.

So anyway, good luck to all of you who are going to finish up the month with a post every day (or more for some people). But I'm choosing quality over quantity.

So I just got on to rant a little bit. About my play group. There's nothing wrong with anyone in particular (although I'm sure I could find something with someone), just the whole thing as a whole. When the group first started it was relatively small and everyone knew each other. Everyone got along for the most part. It was kind of like a little play group family. There was no drama, and we had play dates that everyone attended on a regular basis. We had play dates at most of the same places and rotated through our favorites. Tuesday was for the mall, we had pot lucks once a month, etc. Now our group has grown to be enormous. There are 59 members. Most of whom I've probably never said more than a few words to, let alone know their children's names. I guarantee that I've only actually seen about two-thirds of them in person. What happened to our group being so familiar? Now it's just big, corporate and sterile.

It's become something of a exclusive club, too. And whether some of the members would like to believe it or not, a little cliquish. Of course it's cliquish. It's going to be cliquish. There's no way you can have that many different women together and not have cliques. That would impossible. I just think -- as an organizer -- there should be more done to squash down the festering of the cliques. Don't get me wrong, I do not like everyone, nor do I want to be friends with every single mommy in the group.

The way our group is set up now -- as far as play date scheduling goes -- is that it is broken up into minuscule play dates that cater to every single members need. You've got Sue's Crafty day here, and oh since not everyone came come to that (only five people are allowed to attend), let's schedule a bounce house play date at the same time, and then on top of it let's throw in a baby play date for those with children younger than 18 months. All on the same day. All at the same time.

You get half of the members RSVP'ing yes half of the time. So then there's 25 people split between three different play dates. On. One. Day. Of course, only five can attend's Sue's Crafty play date, so her best friends are the ones who make sure and RSVP first. [Clique #1] That leaves little room for others who may want to get to know Sue, or just to do a craft. It also leaves little room for those with children under the age of 2 who would not be able to craft at all because of the age of their wee one. Okay, well then it would make sense to attend one of the other play dates, right? So you look hopefully toward Plan B...which is the bounce houses. Well that one is discounted automatically: 1) if your child is not old enough to bounce, 2) if your child is old enough, but still not hearty or feisty enough to withstand being bounced on by 20 four year olds, or 3) you're already over budget from the 8 other play dates attended this past month and you really don't want to spring the $6 to allow your kid to bounce around and get a black eye. Okay, so then Plan C would be logical, right? Well, sure...except for the fact that the baby play date is for just that -- babies. If your kid is under 18 months old, or just plain more advanced than the others attending, you're flat out screwed for the day. Plan's A, B, and C were derailed because your kid doesn't fit into any of the age groups...or your RSVP finger is too slow for the 5 person limit.

You've got yourself one boring Thursday. Brace for lots of cartoons and "please don't climb that!" screaming.

Multiply the scenario written above by at least two times per week and you've got yourself a sneak peek into the play group I help organize.

The exclusivity started out harmless enough. Everyone knows that play groups are geared toward older children and toddlers...generally age 2 and above. You get people who join with babies, and feel like they can't participate fully because their kid just lays there, drools, and poops. So, what do you do? As a good group organizer you plan a few play dates per month (which started as just one per month) just for babies. These are generally at someone's home and the space is limited to 6-8 mommies. It really was great while it lasted, but for about 6 months or so, Adrien was the only walker attending these events. He'd run circles around (and over sometimes) the other babies there. Finally, when he turned 18 months, we called these little play dates quits.

I thought it wouldn't be so bad, really. I'd known for a while that Adrien was quite bored at those little get togethers. I'd let it go on so long because I enjoyed getting to see my friends at those events. But alas it was time to say good bye. But since we've stopped going to those play dates, there's been little we can participate in and fully enjoy. We aren't old enough to participate in the home preschool our group does. We can't go to the bounce houses. The mall is getting tiring because Adrien now runs out of the exit to the play area constantly and we spend the whole time with me chasing him around the mall instead of watching him play. When we do have pot lucks, I'm able to attend -- but only assuming I've RSVP'd in time to make the number attending cut off (which lately doesn't happen).

I have nothing. I have not been to one single play date this week. Not one. I was planning to go to one this past Tuesday, but Andi took that morning off and since it was his birthday, I stayed home. It was a clothing swap anyway, and the only other ones attending all have girls, boys that are younger than Adrien, or they themselves wear clothing not compatible with the size I wear. There was no point in going anyway. I had nothing to swap and no one to trade with. There was a play date today, but it was a Tea Party for girls only. Sure they said they'd let boys in (who can really discriminate), but it really is for girls. On top of it, there was a 10 person maximum that was filled long ago. Originally there was also supposed to be a baby play date today. At a person's home who happens to be a good friend of mine. But could I attend? No. We're too old. It was rescheduled anyway.

The solution was to fill the age void with toddler play dates -- like the baby play dates. We put one on the calendar and thus far, I'm the only one to RSVP "yes" other than the hostess (who will, of course, be there). On top of it, the hostess of that play date is the girl who stole all of my cheese. Maybe I'll just go to steal hers. I knew that would happen though. I'd thought of the toddler play dates long ago, but figured there wouldn't be any response. And there wasn't. There are no kids left in the group that are Adrien's age...so we have nowhere to go. Nothing to do.

It's sad, really. I feel very left out. No one else understands, really. The other organizers all have their little niche to fit into. I guess They'll understand soon enough when their kids grow into another age group. But by then the other kids in that bracket will have grown too. I guess Adrien and are just left to ourselves. There are no other 18 month olds, or compatible levels, for us to socialize with.

What sucks even more ass is that all of my friends that I used to see are all too busy with play dates in their own kid's age groups. These are all things I can not attend because of stupid limitations and restrictions. I mean, whatever happened to the days where we all did the same thing all the time. There was one play date scheduled on a particular day and if you couldn't go, you just couldn't go. There was a time when we didn't split it up by age...or by how many people would fit at someone's home.

It's just exclusive now. And I'm excluded.

No time for nappin'

It's 11:30 and I just put Adrien down for a nap. You know, some days he just wakes up needing one. He'll be so cranky sometimes, that I just want to close my eyes and hide until he falls over in the sleeping position. Today is one of those days. Yesterday was too.

I'm so stinking sleepy today. So. Tired. Can't. Go. On.

Alas, I have to.

Today is Andi's birthday and I've got to bake him a three layer red velvet cake (Paula Deen, y'all), and prepare dinner: a menu of roasted pork tenderloin, garlic sauteed asparagus and salt-crusted baked potatoes. Yum. I can not wait to eat. I seriously love food. Love it. Know what else I love? Food Network on my 42" TV. Love it. Paula Deen is life size and Bobby Flay's quesadillas are bigger than Adrien. Holy foodie nirvana, Batman...I think I'm in love.

So anyway, I really just wanna go plop down on the couch and finish watching Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations (Indonesia), but I can't. I've gotta pick myself up off of this stinkin' computer and go bake a cake. The cake better be good, too. I think I might cry if it sucks. Baking is not necessarily my forte -- it's not say I suck at it, I don't. I just don't do as much of it as I do actual cooking. Oh well, at least I know there'll be a good dinner at the end of the rainbow. Mmmmmm, asparagus.

I think I'm about to drool.

Birthday cakes and Boutique Clothing

First of all, I'd like to thank the lot of you who sent congrats and positive encouragement my way. I'm very excited! I'm not even late for my period yet though, and somewhere in my mind I keep thinking the test was botched somehow. Or, there weren't really two lines there, we were all imagining it. Part of the reason I posted the picture was for reassurance that it was, in fact, present. Not just a little wishful thinking.

Already I'm trying to calm myself and look for the sensible outlook on the whole thing: Don't be too excited yet...no reason for celebration until you're a good 15 weeks. But that's no good. I've heard of lost babies and shattered dreams at all points in pregnancy, and damn it, if I've got joy, I'm going to feel it. I don't want to repress all of the happy things I feel. That would do not good. No, alas, I am excited and I am going to act that way. I refuse to let past events nullify feelings I would otherwise be obliged to indulge. So for now my mind is spinning with possibilities -- already dreaming of the name, gender, and all the comfortable maternity pants. But wait, I haven't taken any other test yet. So, for now, I'm still waiting to feel superbly excited. I'd be lying, though, if I said I wasn't just a tad bit overwhelmed with joy.

My email inbox is currently holding two e-vite invitations to some sort of children's boutique party/trunk show thing. I got the first invite. I really did. I just chose not to respond. Trite little jumpers and smocking with quaint embroideries is just not now I choose to spend my Saturday. Nor is it the way in which I want to dress my children. I mean, goodness...what century is it now? And how would one of those balloon-bottomed onesie type coverall outfits fit in with Adrien's little checked Vans? Not at all. So, I did get the first email. I forgot about it, really. It was of no interest. Then, today, I got a reminder from the hostess. She says E-vite is telling her I never got the invitation. Oh how unlucky of me. So she sent me a text version instead. I still don't want to go. Not too much luck having a turn out. Hope you can attend, her email reads. Damn that. She just had to do that. So I guess I will go nosh with her for a bit at her little trunk show. I can never say no, and she pulled the guilt trip card and all of that jazz. Plus, she ordered $80 worth of Pampered Chef in order to give me hostess credit. Hmph. I refuse to buy anything smocked though. Refuse.

Yesterday we had some friends come over in an early celebration of Andi's birthday. I made buffalo wings, jalapeno poppers (that will burn your mouth off), and some stuffed mushrooms. The food was so incredible. I ate all day long. Of course, I also cooked all day long. But it was so worth it! I really enjoy cooking for others. We all watched yesterday's Nascar race on Andi's brand new 42" flat panel, wide screened, high definition TV. Yes, that's right: he text messaged me Friday and announced that We should buy a TV. So we did. He insists that covers his birthday for five years. Ya right. Tomorrow is the actual day itself and I'm planning to make him a yummy dinner and bake him a great cake.

Yummmm....cake. I hope it turns out as good as his mom's.

One light one dark. Still there.

There are two lines.

Sweetness

Bleary-eyed and bed-headed, he wakes from his nap. Refusing to stand, he holds his arms out, and with one noise, insists I pick him up and pull him from his crib. Clinging to me like a baby orangutan to it's mommy, he insists we bring his Larry and Bob pillow. As I swipe the pillow, he holds his head away from my body in anticipation of a daily occurrence; I position the pillow between his head and my chest. He plops his head back down on the pillow, a faint sucking noise emerging from the sweetest two lips that ever graced a child's face. Binky slipping in and out furiously, his blinking is slow and unsteady...sleep is still looming heavily over his head.

We make our way out of his bedroom and down the hallway. Before the sharp left turn we must make to veer into the living room, we come upon the baby gate where, precariously on the floor, there stands a stack of five books. Just before we make our turn, something beckons him to lift his head. He glances in the direction of the books.

Bleary eyes are now as clear as the blue waters of the Gulf; as bright as the beams of light streaming from the now mid day sun. The suckling stops, lips form a smile before jumping into the shape of an O; his whole face lighting up like some sort of animated jack-o-lantern. The binky drops to the floor. He looks at the books; he looks at me. Finger pointing excitedly, he insists that he wants down.

Books, Momma!

I lower him down, and he sits surrounded by his five books...so joyous over these little compilations of simple wordings and pictures.

His favorite is the animal book. He opens it and stares at it for what seems like hours. He points to every animal, insisting I name them all...making noises along the way for the lion or the cat.

Tactuh!, he exclaims as we move on to the Bob the Builder book.

Every page is a surprise, and I just can't get enough of these times.

National Throw a French Fry Day

Today is good so far. A bit hurried...but good. Adrien and I woke up at around 8:20, which left little time to get to our 9:00 walking play date. Dang it. No time to stop at Starbucks or McDonald's or Sonic or anywhere for coffee along the way. Oh well. We made it, and we weren't even the last people to arrive. We walked the trail with the mommies and then played on the play ground for a while and then we all went to Olive Garden for the soup and salad lunch where we had to wait outside for 15 minutes with our screaming babies and toddlers for them to open at 11am. It was fun though. I feel bad for the new mommy in our group though. She sat right next to Adrien, and he kept throwing french fries, salad, pieces of chicken strip, and whatever else her way. I think she must have had at least 10 french fries under her chair. Then I learned she's only been in this country for like 3 weeks. She just moved here from Mexico City. Wow, what a welcome: My son throwing food at her. Sorry! She was really nice about it though. I just apologized over and over again. (Not as bad as about two weeks ago when he chunked his whole cup of water at a lady in McDonald's...it fell to the floor and busted open, throwing water EVERYWHERE!)

There's a get together at a friend's house tonight. I guess I won't be attending. I forgot to tell Andi about it (oops) and I don't want to leave Adrien with him another night just so I can go have a few hours to myself. I'm sick of time to myself, HAHA! Never thought you'd hear me say it? I'm sure you're getting ready to throw your french fry at me at this very moment...or sitting there reading this with a puzzled looked on your face. But it's true. He was with Andi's parents Saturday night through Monday afternoon. The week before last, Andi watched him three nights in a row while I did stuff for the mommy group or went to a mom's night out. Last week he watched him for a few hours while I met the other playgroup organizers at Starbucks for a late night chat about group affairs. So I'm just personal-timed out.

Tuesday is Andi's birthday. He insists he doesn't want to celebrate this year. I know that's a crock. I feel like I should have some big huge thing planned for him. Some superb surprise. But I don't. I feel like I should have something planned. period. But I don't. I feel like the worst wife ever, because if it was my birthday and he had nothing planned, I'd be a bit peeved. I do plan to bake him a cake from scratch and cook him whatever meal he wants. Suffice it to say that if the role were reversed right now, I'd be throwing a gigantic temper tantrum. I like birthdays. Specifically, I don't like to feel like mine is being forgotten or over looked. I guess that comes from growing up as an only child -- everything was about me. I'm high maintenance sometimes, but I know he likes it.

I don't really know what else to blog about. This was a let down of a read, I'm sure. But now I'm off to drink the rest of my green tea, watch some telly, and possibly doze off for a little bit before Adrien wakes up.

I live my life nap time to nap time. Bah.

Running amuck

Something that's really been on my mind lately is time. I've realized just how little I have of the stuff lately. I've never been one of those busy moms. I just don't like busy.

I recently joined that gym, and darn it if I don't think I need to go every week day -- or at least 3-4 times per week -- to get my money's worth. I'm so grateful to my husband for allowing me the thirty extra bucks a month (not that he'd really say no, but) that I feel I better be putting that money to good use. I mean, thirty bucks could go a long way in the produce aisle. So that takes an hour per day...at least...not counting drive time to and from. [I'm also assuming I'm going every day, and this week I haven't been once.]

Play dates. There are at least three per week, of which I used to make at least two...generally more. I had nothing else to do. I was desperate. And honestly, at first, play dates were a way to keep my mom off of being a stay at home mom...a notion I needed to get comfortable with. I didn't mind the mom part as much as the stay at home. Either way, it was a transition period for me. One that apparently took a while for me to realize that it was, actually, alright to do just that: stay at home. I'm an assistant organizer though, I can't quit going completely: regardless of just how comfortable I am to hermit-ize myself.

Plus there are always get togethers with friends outside of the play group a few times per month.

And now, damn it, I knit. I have to find some time each day for that little hobby...thus far I haven't been so successful at that. Although I'd like to find an hour every day to do this, I just can't. First of all, knitting has to be done in Adrien's sleeping hours, and on nap time I'm either blogging myself silly or doing some sort of cleaning.

Ah yes, blogging. This takes at least thirty minutes a day now. Often times it takes much more. I mean, I don't think of blogging as a chore at all. But I have to do it. Have. To. You all know, you're all addicted too.

I have my Wednesday night church obligations. This is really more of a family activity, but I'm still counting it. It does take time. Two hours per week. I'm the assistant director for WNC activities though...so ya know -- obligated. I'm also teaching Sunday School for my Sunday School class for a few months. I signed up. I take responsibility. But there's another hour per week preparing a lesson.

I have a list of chores a miles long I would like to do. Once again, only during Adrien's napping hours. I haven't figured out how to clean while he's awake. It's near impossible at this point...he's eighteen months old. Into everything.

Painting is something I'd like to find some time for. I really do enjoy it. Oh and I have an antique dress form I'd like to recover...all of which need to be done during nap times.

And I could go on...and on...and on...and on. On.

Really.

Don't get me wrong, I like my mommy group. I liked it more a while back, but that's another topic all together. I really do like going to the gym -- for my sake. I sincerely enjoy getting together with friends more than play dates any time. I love all the creative things I'd like to get back into, and Christmas is approaching very fast. Too bad I've only gotten a few more rows done on my green scarf. How in the world will I ever be able to knit multiple scarves for people in 47 days or whatever. How? I love my church activities. Those are non-negotiable.

So how in the world do I fit in all in. You can't have it all, can you? I know, prioritize -- time management. But really, how can I?

How can I? I'm overwhelmed...and honestly, I'm running out of time for just one on one time with my son. It makes me very sad.

My tongue was bleeding. I had to.

There are times in which you should bite your tongue. You should hold back whatever words are fighting to leave your lips, and have a little self control.

For instance, when an ungrateful bitch was going on and on about how she hadn't gained any weight thus far in her 17 weeks of pregnancy, I held my tongue. When she acted like she didn't know why and went as far as to blame it on stomach flu, I bit my tongue. She has no idea that I know full well she's on a diet: she told this to my friend other day, referring to her yet to be born spawn as a horrid child that would not force her to lose her figure. But I was strong, and played along...even when she said something about having a beer the other day.

I asserted the utmost self control when I overheard someone referring to non church-goers as living in sin. I held strong then.

I even managed to bite my tongue when I overheard a woman say of her two year old brat that she could go all day eating two crackers. I held back the words well if you'd offer her more than Goldfish and Vanilla Wafers.....I fought the urge.

I even showed a great deal of restraint when a little boy twice Adrien's age tumped over the Cozy Coupe he was playing in all because he wanted to drive it. I refrained from scolding the child too hard, even though my child had fell face first into the ground, cozy coupe on top of him, complete with with mouth full of grass. I simply dusted Adrien off, comforted him, and insisted that this hellish child apologize to Adrien -- which he did.

But I could not hold my tongue any longer when the same little boy who dumped Adrien out of the Cozy Coupe ran up to Adrien and threw him off of the trike he was riding and then promptly jumped on it himself. When I asked the hellish turd to let Adrien finish his turn, he told me flat out No! and rode away.

You're such a little brat! I yelled under my breath.

A friend of hell-boy's mother was near (who, by the way, saw the whole situation unfolding and said nothing to hell-boy) and I'm sure heard me say it.

Oh my God, I'm sure she'll report to her friend...Do you know what she called your child?

A Brat! GASP!

Oh, the calamity of it all.

Shit.

Why I feel the need to often state the obvious, I'll never know. I do know that hell-boy didn't hear, but I am glad to note repercussions felt by his mother finding out. Some things need to be heard.

Silver bells....silver bells....soon it will be Christmas Eve....

Nothing like the Christmas Section at Wal-Mart to get you in the spirit.

We had to make a quick run to the evil store for a few things (like a curtain rod to keep out the evil morning light in the bedroom), and the first place we went was the seasonal section. Christmas hadn't really been on my mind lately until the lady who does our children's sermon at church brought it up in the little story she told on Sunday. When she said there was a short 7 or 8 weeks left until the big day, Andi and I (the whole congregation, really) looked at each other with jaws gaping and visions of last minute shopping running through our heads. I know, I know, having shopping come to mind first thing when Christmas is mentioned isn't the greatest, especially while sitting in service, but it's the truth. What are we going to get for Adrien, we asked each other.

Anyway, I'm really excited about the whole thing now. Adrien's slightly older than he was last year, and oh man am I not looking forward to keeping him out of the tree. On top of it, I won't have the added stress of having a four year old foster child living with me (who happens to be my half brother) this year. Man, talk about tight budget: shopping for two kids -- one picky four year old and your own child who is having their first Christmas -- on less than $200. We did it, though, and man were they happy. Adrien got a huge stuffed Mickey Mouse from Santa. He loves that thing still. Just today he made the enormous Mouse give me a high five.

Andi's insisting we not buy anything with Season's Greetings on it. I agree. But I'll steer away from semantics.

So, here I am, anticipating the holiday, waiting anxiously to decorate...and still waiting for that cold weather to kick in. Nothing says Christmas like 80 degree weather and tank tops.

Only in Texas.

One other thing that's been on my mind is the recent time change. It's not so much the numerical time, as it is the day light that goes along with it. Never in my life do I remember the sunrise and sunset patterns to be so out of whack. For some reason, the sun seems to be rising before 6:30am and setting at a modest 6pm. I hate that I am awakened in the morning by the horribly rays of sunlight way before it should be bright out. (Hence the curtain rod we bought at Wal-Mart) And the fact that it's dark at 6:00 is preposterous. I mean, really. The whole thing has made me so incredibly sleepy all the time. On the up side, Adrien's started going to sleep much earlier...which is a huge bonus. But really, I could do without the wee hour sunrise.

Anyone else having that problem?

Hopefully I'll have something more exciting to blog about tomorrow. There's a get together with the mommy group...should be tons of fodder there. This blogging every day is really tiring.

I'm so sweet! (Nah...)

Thanks to Mimi, who awarded me this sweet treat blogger award.

She's really way sweeter than I could ever be, but her blog is so great! And she leaves the best comments ever!

I'd like to pass this award on to Candace because she's still NaBloPoMo'in it up even though she's traveling -- with two children. And also, just because I couldn't get through the day without her wonderful posts and support.

Also, I'd like to hand this little sweet treat over to Missy because 1) Her blog makes me laugh endlessly, 2) She is the best dern Paintbrush artist I know, and 3) Because she stumbled over my blog a long time ago and she's stuck with me as a reader. Let's hear it for loyal readers! Thanks so much, Missy!

Anyway, I'm so happy I got this award. It made my day. We picked up Adrien from Andi's parent's house earlier and he was hoarse and wheezy. Not sure if he's hoarse from crying and screaming a ton or from being sick. He'd been a bit congested, not much, but all the same had just started with a dry cough Friday or so. Lo and behold, we pick him up and it's an icky congested cough. We both have the same thing right now, all allergy induced. I really wanna take Adrien to the doctor and demand they do something. He would rarely be sick if it weren't for his stinking allergies that always turn into a more severe problem! I HATE it. So now the poor guy's all wheezy and whatnot. Let's just hope it clears up :/

But thanks for the award, Mimi! It was a pick up I needed. Our ice skating was thwarted today, as they were setting up the huge Christmas tree in the middle of the rink. That bummed me out. I only stayed a short while in the American Girl Boutique because I felt so incredibly dumb and embarrassed that I was just as excited as the 8 year olds shopping beside me. I could spend hours there, so let's just hope that I eventually have a girl. Then I can camouflage my doll-wielding desires. I did get to go see an exhibit of the 40 best covers and photographs from Vogue magazine though. It was great...some of them were from the early 1900s. Exquisite.

I hope this counts

Just got back from the Angelika. We went and saw The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Very good movie. Superb.

I hope this does not "not" count for my post today. I started to post earlier...but hesitated. I didn't realize the movie would start so late or be so long.

All in all it was a great anniversary. Went through the whole day feeling as though I was missing something. (Pooter)

Went and had the best barbecue for lunch. Shady Oak. Walked around a mall with an ice rink. Decided we'd be better off at an ice rink at another mall tomorrow (today, technically), when it would be a Monday and the hoards would be at work or school mostly.

Very excited. The mall where we're going ice skating at tomorrow just opened the fourth American Girl Boutique. [I have Kirsten] Very Very Excited. Feeling like a little girl again...a tired little girl...that's still missing something.

We'll get Adrien back tomorrow (today), though. I swear I used to be relish my alone time, and now I can never count the hours down soon enough until I am no longer a liberated adult.

Five dollars for what seemed like a gallon of Dr. Pepper at the theater. I'm strange, I think I went to the same stall in the bathroom each of the million times I had to pee. Andi got Twizzlers that he didn't even eat.

We ate dinner at our favorite little fall back Thai restaurant (once taken for granted) -- Royal Thai. Tom Yum Gai soup with sticky rice...something with beef and peppers for Andi.

There was some sort of screening and Q&A session in the theater with an actor from The Kite Runner before our movie started. It seemed like a clown car -- all the people that kept filing out from that place haphazardly. We showed up to our film a good hour early (maybe more). We just watched all the artsy types and strange ones that came out of the woodwork.

We both felt out of place in that urban, hipster setting. Some place I used to feel at home in.

Now I just feel older, out of touch, and not so "cool".

Why can't I twitch my nose?

Woohoo, I've just noticed I've rounded the 90 post mark. This is #91.

Well I'm just on to post something quick. My one post for today.

I have people coming over again today. In a little more than three hours, a Pampered Chef consultant will be showing up at my door to cook at my house for other people. Don't get me wrong, I signed up for this little shindig. I'm just worried about all the crust underneath my stove burners. I mean, seriously...it's gross.

So I've got three hours to clean my house top to bottom, make it smell nice, defrost some chicken (for her Caribbean Jerk Nachos), and have some time to make it look like I was relaxing all day. Why relaxed all day? Because in the world of the the happy housewife, a perfect house should come naturally -- dontcha know.

Andi currently has Adrien with him for a cross town trek to his friend's house to do manly things. Things like going to the auto parts store and changing his oil. It's a good thing too, because I'd never get anything done if he were here. If there is a vacuum in the same vicinity as Adrien (I'm talking a good 5 miles radius), he will run over and insist that he do it. He's obsessed with cleaning...the tools of the trade specifically. That's also a good thing, as I am not. So I guess it's good that he's off to do manly things, or he'd be at home with me doing purportedly girly things. He'll make a nice housewife someday. Just the other day he dug out a new sponge and was pretending to scrub the sides of the kitchen island. And if he sees the Swiffer? Well, it's over then.

After my party, my mother in law will take the Pooter Dumplin' to her house where he'll stay tonight and Sunday night. Sunday is me and Andi's anniversary. Yes, two whole years going strong, HA HA! Two years.

Well anyway, it's now less than three hours left until the consultant gets here. Better get my mojo going. I got my coffee in one hand, broom in the other. Why can't I just be like Samantha from BeWitched? Go ahead, click on the link.

Picking apart a Guru

Yes, NaBloPoMo, I am yielding. Nothing too exciting from today to post about...but I'll dig way down deep -- a few days ago deep -- for this one. [Oh, and in case you're wondering, I finally made my soup today. SUPER!]

On Wednesday, a friend and I ventured over to Wholesome Living Guru's house for a little mini-play date. I always like going to this woman's house because I know she's always chomping at the bit to throw in her wholesome advice on living, cooking, and doctoring.

Normal Friend mentioned to Wholesome Living Guru lady something about breakfast, and anyway, the subject was turned onto kids' cereal bars: which brand is best. Obviously Normal Friend and I are amateurs at feeding our children properly, so we need the fill-in advice of Wholesome Living Guru (or so she thinks). Normal Friend mentioned something about how she tried the Gerber ones, but then realized that they had zero nutrition. This sent Wholesome Living Guru into a frenzy of explaining the hazards of dyes, food colorings, and yes, the dreaded corn syrup. A five minute lecture on this matter. Five minutes. Normal Friend and I sat there nodding our heads, not able to get a word in edgewise. Later on she offered us some free Gerber Graduates Meals (gag). Now those are some wholesome meals.

I remember another occasion at Wholesome Living Guru's House with Normal Friend. There we sat discussing fevers and medications, etc, when Wholesome Living Guru got into a sort of argument with Normal Friend [who comes complete with medical degree] about how fevers have a purpose...and how she doesn't give medicine unless her child's fever is over 102. Normal Friend has a medical degree. Yet, when Normal Friend explained the pros of fever reducing medications, Wholesome Living Guru stood strong. I mean obviously, her three years of parenthood outweigh a medical degree. What was Normal Friend thinking. I mean, I didn't even try to argue with Wholesome Living Guru on this one. It's a moot point. If she argues with a medical degree backed person, what would she think of my fashion design wielding self?

So then, in irony of all ironies, as I walked into Wholesome Living Guru's kitchen to pour myself another cup of (organic) coffee, I noticed something. Something insignificant. Something so small and ridiculous...nevertheless it made my heart glow. Upon inspection, her dishwasher was set on High Heat Dry, High Heat Wash and Energy Saver was switched off.

Yes, yes, I know. Immature, maybe; nit picky -- sure! But this little switch that wasn't flipped made my heart sing.

I had her beat on one wholesome front: My energy saver is on, buddy! On like Donkey Kong.

Take that!

Observations

I've had this big fat recipe staring me down for a while now. I'm finally going to be making it. Since the weather's finally cooled off a little bit, I've been in a huge soup mood. Andi, however, does not like soup. But what the hell, I'm making a big pot and I can eat it for lunch. My house smells divine...I'm making the vegetable stock for it as we speak. I can't wait! It's vegan to boot.

So I got up today and went to the gym. I had all intentions of participating in a yoga class...but since no clocks are ever exactly correct (or synchronized), I was five minutes late by one clock at the gym and nearly ten minutes late by yet another clock there. The clock in my car said I was three minutes early. I didn't want to be the new chick who held up the class because I walked in late and oh, by the way, doesn't know any actual yoga poses...except for downward dog. Does that pose even count? So anyway, I opted for the treadmill -- again. This time I did an hour.

I like to people watch while at the gym. Generally I go to the very back line of treadmills, but today there were two men on that row, so I opted for the second to last row. I like to watch how all the guys over at the weight station act. I swear that nearly every guy over there glances around at least every three minutes. I think this is to see who is watching them; if anyone is aware of how strong they are. It goes back to that whole primal dominant male thing.

Then you have the women who I see there regularly. There are two women who are always on the treadmills together. I think they got a little peeved today because I was in the prime television viewing spot. It took them a few minutes and a couple of treadmills to find a spot where they could both be together and in front of the television that they wanted to watch. The Price is Right was what they were forced to watch: apparently I was in the middle of their news viewing station. Drew Carrey isn't that bad, ladies.

There are also all sorts of ladies who I think must have eating disorders. I have radar for them. The other day, a rail thin girl I'd been eying all morning ran and ran on the treadmill. She looked like she was running a marathon; arms flailing wildly as her long, blond ponytail swished from side to side. As I was dying on the elliptical machine, she looked like she could run forever...very Forrest Gump cross country-ish. And then, out of breath, she ran over to the trash bin where she vomited for a good three or four minutes. I felt a little bad for the woman on the elliptical beside her who tried to look away as much as possible. I feel like I should have helped her, but at the same time I felt like she didn't want to be helped...like she'd be more embarrassed than she already was. She knew full well what she was doing to herself. But before my conscience could fight too much, another woman went over and offered a helping hand. As the girl stood there vomiting, I noted in my mind her enormous over sized sweatshirt and sweatpants that bagged and sagged where they should have been tight. I remember all too well those days: you wear clothing that's too big to hide the fragile frame beneath...and when you've gotten to your rock bottom, the clothing that used to fit nicely now falls off in places where curves used to hold everything in place. After she was done vomiting, she slunk away and poured herself down the stairs, where I assume she promptly left the building. I felt deeply for her.

Today I spotted another one of these women who, I imagine, tortures herself for perfection. A young girl walked over to one of the stair stepper machines, got on, and began to climb the endless stairwell. As she went, she stared into different directions aimlessly -- painfully. She really looked as though she was calling out for someone to make her stop. After a while on the stair stepper, she pried herself off and left, legs shaking.

I just really don't understand why, as women, we feel the need to torture ourselves to be the ideal. And as much as we want to blame this tendency on others, we really should look inward. I could blame the media for my previous eating disorder. I could. Or I could just confess that it was my own messed up perfectionism that drove it. Why do we keep striving to be something that is impossible? I wonder. We set our minds on a goal that is most likely unattainable (or nearly so), and of we do reach it -- however miraculously -- there is always another impossibility to strive for.

As mothers, we do it as well. We always want what's best for our children. That's what we say, right? And who in their right mind wouldn't want what's best? But we all know we take it a step further. We're guilty of mothering as a competitive sport. It's only natural that we want to be the best at what we do. But we really should learn to take it in stride. As women and mothers, our lives would be a lot more fulfilled if we just took everything with a grain of salt.

Stop taking everything so seriously and just live.