Oh, Oreos...

This is a conversation I had with my husband earlier.

Me: So I totally passed up buying Oreos at the store today.

Andi: Were they not on sale?

Me: No. They weren't.

Andi: Is that why you didn't buy them?

Me: Only. Reason.



Gah! I want some stinkin' Oreos.

First Hair Cut

So we got Adrien's hair cut today. His first one.

Oh my goodness, could anything be cuter? I think not.



And on a rather joyous side note: Andi's Mom happened to be in town for some work today. She stopped by to see Adrien and ended up taking him home for the night. We just watched Dan in Real Life with the volume up. I kept thinking I needed to turn it down because it was going to wake him up.

This is my kid. And he's cute.

This is my kid. And he's cute.


He has peanut butter all over his face and crammed into his mouth. He eats it by the spoonful(s).

These are some sprouts from seeds I've been waiting to shoot up for a few days now. Adrien got this dandy little bucket with some seeds at our church's Easter Egg hunt. I planted them a few days ago and have been eagerly awaiting their surface breaking! I can't wait to see what kind of flowers they are!



I took Adrien to the mall for some play time earlier. Although the weather's been extremely nice and warm lately, today it made a turn for the cold and nasty. It's in the 50s and misty out. I got some Chik-fil-a out of the deal and Adrien got some play time. I also bought some sort of stretch mark cream. Let's hope it works. Psssht.

Tonight I'm going to a game night with some friends from church. Last month's was a ton of fun, and this month's theme is pajama party. So I get to wear my PJs (i.e. ratty old shirt and only pair of pj pants that still fit) and go play games. Breakfast food will be served. Mmmmm. I'm hosting next months -- what theme shall I choose? Hm. Got ideas? Let me know.

I've really been struggling with whether or not to try to potty train Adrien lately. You may remember this post from forever ago where I posted that he had expressed an interested in toilet training. I should have just bit the bullet and went full fledged then. He'd be done by now. But by my own laziness, I ended up directing him to go in his diaper because I got tired of having to go every 30 minutes.

So now, we still go potty when I feel like taking him, or by the occasion that he insists he go "wee wee". I just wonder if I could get him trained. I'd love to have it done by the time the baby arrives (end of July/first part of August), but I just wonder if he's really ready. I know he's fully aware of when he needs to go, etc, but it will be quite a while still before his body is ready to go all night -- or even through an extended nap time without needing a diaper. I just figure, if I still have to diaper him then, why potty train at all? He's already half way there, I just doubt that he'll want to poop in the potty. He seems quite fond of poopin' in his diaper, thank you.

I don't know. To train, or not to train...that's the question. Now that I'm not involved with the play group, it'd be a little easier. I'd be able to stay home for the week or two it may take. But then what am I supposed to do with him in public? He's not big enough (body wise) to use an adult toilet, and the only public place I'm aware of that has munchkin size pissers is the mall.

Blah. I don't know.

But, pancakes, here I come! I can't wait for game night! :)

Not to get all political on you...

...or anything. But I saw this story and really liked it. It made me think.

Here you go: Boycott Beijing

What do you guys think?

I think Tibet needs our prayers.

This little fine of mine...

So yesterday, I got a ticket.

A big fat, whopping, shiner of a ticket.

And when I say fat, I'm of course referring to the wad of cash it will take to pay my not so tiny fine off.

Trucking along like nobody's business through my local construction zone yesterday, I passed a brand new shiny cop car that, oh yes, just so happened to turn his lights on at the site of me. Never mind the other three cars in front of me. I was last in line.

Shit.

I was talking to my friend on the phone. Shit. I hung up with her and pulled into the closest parking lot -- a local stop and rob. You know, one of those high class Beer and Wine shacks.

I rolled my window down and handed Mr. Officer my license and insurance. This is how the conversation took place:

Adrien in the back seat: Uh oh! Uh oh!

Me: Was I speeding?

Mr. Officer: Yes, is there some emergency reason why you were going 39 in a 20 MPH construction zone? [Um, oopsie]

Adrien: Uh oh! Uh oh! [It amazes me how even the young fear the fuzz]

Me: Um, I was on my cell phone. I wasn't paying attention. Sorry. [I mean, did he want the truth, or did he want the truth?]

Adrien: Uh oh! Uh oh! Uh oh!

Me: Yes, Adrien mommy did an Uh Oh.

Mr. Officer: Sign here.

So I signed there, and he printed my ticket.

Adrien: Uh oh! Uh oh!

He hands me my ticket and I glance down to assess the damage. $247!

Shit.

Adrien: Uh oh!

Me: Yes, Mommy uh-oh'd.

Wordless Wednesday: Old folks I saw on Vacation last year

I'll need my own Galaxy

Why someday I may resemble Jabba the Hut:

1. I had a Totino's Pizza for lunch.

2. I had numerous Girl Scout cookies afterward. (Explain who thought 80 calories per cookie was a good idea?)

3. I just canceled my gym membership.

4. Earlier, while explaining to a friend a technique involved in cooking dinner last night, I used the phrase "it sort of fries in its own fat."

Life sans Gurdle. Liberation at last!

Before you read any further, I'm going to go ahead and insert the sound of screeching tires, well, [here]. Now it's done, and you're prepared.

I quit my play group.

I did what?

Yes, I quit my play group.

Suffice it to say that it has apparently taken me a good year and a half to figure out that play groups are not a good place for fostering healthy adult relationships, and therefore should be no place for my children to foster any sort of relationships. Granted, I think I'm leaving with a few friendships still intact, but all in all I see it as a socially retarted (and emotionally) exhausting catastrophe. I mean, really. Why behave worse than the children you're trying to raise properly? Why? I mean, they're the toddlers -- we're the adults. But for Pete's sake (whoever Pete is), play groups just do not follow the rules of logical social engagement.

And here it is that I will insert a huge, emphatic sigh of relief. [Consider it inserted]

Not having structured activities to attend or egos to humor is a bit strange...but all in all liberating. What will I do with my time? I'm not sure...but no longer will it entail doing anything for the sake of appearances. I think what I'm feeling must be similar to the way women felt when they realized they could go bra-less. Floppin' free every day and lovin' every saggy minute of it.

In other news, my husband finally hung up the pot rack he bought me for Christmas. (Yes, it did take him long enough. But in his defense it was quite a feat!) I feel very professional and fancy with it hanging up above my island.

I also overheard my husband telling Adrien that we'd venture to IKEA this weekend. Oh my goodness. Nothing excites me more than the thought of Swiss goods and cinnamon rolls. Oh, those wonderful cinnamon rolls.

King Sleeps a lot

I've been up with a monstrously cranky toddler since 6:45 a.m., that despite the use of a disposable diaper overnight, woke up soaked for the second night in a row. Meanwhile, my husband King Gets-to-sleep-in-a-lot is in the bedroom with his face buried under a pillow. It's now nearing 9am.

Justice? Our neighbor's lawn care service just showed up.

The Keds of a Housewife

I went to my playgroup's Easter egg hunt today. Tons of fun, that was.

Out of the 10 eggs Adrien was allotted to pick up, three of them had prizes inside. What? I'm an organizer of this group and I still don't get it. He got lumped in with the smaller kids' hunt, and so I suppose the egg-stuffer decided that the little kids didn't need prizes in their eggs. Not that I want him scarfing down a ton of candy, but there are alternatives to candy that can be stuffed inside. Oh well, I wasn't asked to help with the event, so my two cents weren't collected.

Anyway, I feel supremely gypped for him.

Then I came home and made lasagna. I hope it turns out okay.

And all I can think of today is that I'd rather be here...:



...than here:



I mean, don't get me wrong. I love being at home with Adrien. But I just get all antsy and caged-up feeling. I got too many boundaries, yo.

Meanwhile, some bumpkin at the park today asked me where I got my "Keds." I replied "They're VANS, and I got them at the VANS store."

She looked really confused.

Come on in. Stay a while.

So I saw a blog posting over at Sarcastic Mom today, and it sort of inspired me. I realize that as a reader of my blog, you may have your own little vision of what my life entails. Heck, most of my real life friends probably have that little vision. And that's what this post is all about...dashing those high hopes. [They were high, right?]

Chances are, if you've ever been to my house, you've never seen it like you're about to. I mean, you've read my many, many posts about cleaning before company comes. Now you get to see why it's such a chore.

This is the House of B on any given day. Today, in fact.

Never mind the fact that I didn't even venture into the nasty little nooks and crannies. I took many more pictures, in fact...but I posted the best (i.e. worst).

So hold your nose and dive in. Barf bags, optional.







No cleaning advice, please.

Momma's Dirt File...online

So I guess it's the cool new thing to have those vodka laced play dates. You know, the ones you only hear about on the news...the ones where the moms sip martinis while the kids play with their blocks. No longer is it cool to be a conservative mom -- it's hip to let loose.

Do you remember me talking about those members that left our play group not too long ago? We had kicked one member out, many followed, blah blah blah. Remember that mess? Well anyway, I've stayed in touch with one of them (who recently attended my Pampered Chef Party). She's still on my MySpace friends list. Woohoo. How teenager of me. Anyway, MySpace has that new feature that tells you which friends have updated which aspects of their respective profiles every time you log in. Every single time I log in, it says this woman has updated something in her photo album. I generally don't look: except for in cases involving pictures of the other play group. Specifically, pictures of the other play group's mom's night out. Sick curiosity, I guess?

It's nothing new to me that the other group likes to party hardy. A few of their members actually complained while in our play group -- saying that our mom's night outs were too boring...even though more than a few of them involved going to some club and drinking and dancing the night away. But I digress. Anyway, so today I log into MySpace and see that she has new mom's night out pictures. I must click! I must see! I clicked. I saw...too much. Here were scores of pictures of grown women (Mom's nonetheless) drinking it up -- even taking shots from between the other's boobs! Oh my goodness! Surely I was looking at some young college co-ed's profile. But no, I wasn't. I was looking at the MySpace photo album of a 30-something mother of a preschooler. And there she was, in all of her motherly glory, gettin' her drink on and posting it all over the internet. She's proud of her indiscretions. I suppose she has a right.

But where does a night of fun end and utter lack of responsibility begin? I totally get needing a break from the kids and all. I mean, far be it from me to look down on any woman for that. Have a few drinks, even. But why post pictures of your immature escapades online?

Did I miss something in the cool-mom manual?

Poop and Tree hugging

Wow. It's been a whole week since I posted.

Craziness!

A lot was going on last week, and with that said, I've got even more going on this week. But let's review last week first.

On Tuesday we had a mall play date. Nothing too spectacular, but fun nonetheless. There's a new mom in the group that has a little girl that's around the same age as Adrien. She's really nice, I hope I get to know her. Wednesday was supposed to be a trip to the Farmer's Market. It would have been wonderful weather for it, but the public transit train station nearest to the market was closed down, meaning it would have been a half mile hike -- downtown, stroller in-tow -- just to get to the place. I wasn't up for that, so I opted instead to go over to a small in-home playdate. We stayed until well after 2pm. Adrien didn't nap, and we still had to go to the church that night. We had Thursday off, I think...and then Friday we went to the park to play.

But wait, I'm skipping the most exciting part of all! Friday morning, Adrien had decided that he was going to do his business in the potty. Well into this third wee-wee trip of the morn, he then decided I wasn't going to put a diaper back on him. I knew he needed to poop. He knew he needed to poop -- he told me. But he still doesn't like pooping in the potty. I was in the living room getting his diaper situated, and not thirty seconds later I hear him whining as he tip-toes down the hallway. When he walked into view I noticed the poop streaks down his legs. Why had he been tip-toeing? Well he'd stepped in his poop, and apparently didn't like the squishiness between his toes. He was thoroughly grossed out -- as was I. I picked him straight up and held him away from me at arms length. We went straight to the bathtub and he got hosed off. After that it was into the bath.

Now I know I'm not going to get any super-mom awards for this, but while he was in the bath, I had to try to clean up the poo pile and subsequent footprints leading out of his playroom and down the hallway. Wouldn't you know that I ran out of carpet spot remover half way down the hallway? Mind you, I had full view of him in the bathtub the entire time I was cleaning the carpet. We still managed to make it to the park only 15 minutes or so late.

Saturday we had an easter egg hunt at the church. That was fun, although Adrien got stuck with a bunch of plastic eggs full of candy that he can't eat and I refuse to eat. They were all these rainbow Twizzler things. Slightly flavored plastic, basically -- full of heaps of sugar. And then Sunday we had church, of course.

I had been asked a week or so earlier to bake three dozen cookies for a reception being held after church services. I'd gone to Kroger where I picked up three packages of those break-n-bake cookies. They were on sale, lucky me. Saturday night I set out to bake them. The first ones I was going to bake sounded so delicious! They were these great big peanut butter cookies with peanut butter filling and peanut butter chips. I had fit them on two cookie sheets, but an extra break-n-bake square remained. Oh well, I thought I'd just eat it. I popped the cookies in the microwave and went about eating my raw cookie dough (I know, huge no-no because it has raw egg, etc. in it). I then decided to read the package. It was then that I noticed the expiration date. It read: Best By 20JAN2008. Um, excuse me? JANUARY!?! Thank God I didn't get sick. I threw the cookies away and returned the package to the store for a refund. Why had there been anything on the shelf that was that far past date? I don't get it. It's not the first time I've had to return bad product to that very store. I think I'm going to stop shopping there. I generally check my dates when I shop at that place, and I'm always frustrated by the lack of fresh goods. I really should be more thorough with checking dates and all, but should you really have to? I mean, you should be able to trust your store, right? Or is that too much to ask?

Moving on, last week I wrote about how I define myself. Since I am, and always will be, someone who needs to feel defined by something, I'm moving forward trying my hardest to make my own definitions with things that I strive to be. Such as, being more green. I'm trying to recycle more than ever. I really don't want to let those few plastic wrapper slide anymore. In the not so far future, I'm planning on planting a little garden with some strawberries and cherry tomatoes...probably a few other goodies too. I'm going to have some fresh herbs. I'm also going to try to have a small compost bin in the back. I am, of course, moving toward cloth diapering. And at the same time, I'm trying not to buy too many things that come in huge packages. I wish all companies could package things more eco-friendly. Moreover, I just wish more people recycled. I'm almost sure that only one other family on our street ever puts out their recycling bin for collection...but their regular trash bins are overflowing for each of the bi-weekly pick ups. I just want to feel better about the impact I'm having on my the environment, and to me that is such an important part of who I am...and who I've always been. We lived in a secluded area when I was in high school. It was surrounded by trees, but of course we didn't own all the land. Right before Christmas one year, the person who did own the land around us decided to sell the trees off for lumber. I remember writting the loggers emotional letters begging them to stop. It was Christmas time and they were tearing the world apart. I've always had a tree hugger in me, I just need to let it shine a little more.

Under "me" in the dictionary, you'd find...

Most of the time I look at myself in the mirror, not recognizing the girl I've become. I'm young. A lot has changed in my short life in the last couple of years. I've let go of a lot in the last couple of years.

The problem is, that I'm not sure I ever knew who I was. I existed, and I was...but I wasn't in touch with that. There were points in time when I believed I was whole heartedly connected to me. Those points were linked together by periods of chaos and tumult. And for the most part, the things that made up who I was were all set in motion by myself and the thought that the person I was should take that action. After all, certain types of people take certain roads. Or so I thought.

I'm most likely being a little confusing. Let me explain.

In high school I was torn apart by two juxtaposing sides. I was a cheerleader on one hand. I'd tried out all through middle school and never made the squad. I persevered though, and when I auditioned for the high school varsity's squad at the end of eighth grade, I made it. Suddenly all the girls that either hadn't noticed me, or that had noticed me but didn't like me anyway, became my friends. I was popular. Later on in high school I had friends admit to me that they thought I'd actually moved to town in ninth grade. They didn't realize I'd lived in that town for three previous years. Apparently I meant nothing until I was a cheerleader...so for a while, that was who I was. But not really. I was still generally the odd one out when it came to the social arena. I was a hanger-on...only included by association.

When I decided to show a bit more of another person I thought I was, I quit the cheerleading squad. After all, a punker can't be a cheerleader. It doesn't fit, right? I told everyone I was quitting cheerleading after two years because I'd earned my letterman jacket already. The truth was that I was trying to make myself fit into a specific mold. High school continued on. I varnished my perfect cheerleader persona. I suppose I was still popular, in a way. I was still on the outer rim of the it-clique. I think I was held there mostly by sick curiosity. All the kiddies wanted to see what strange thing I'd wear or crazy thing would come out of my mouth next. Some of my teachers hated who I was...and some loved me for it. I loved me for it. But behind the curtains and black eyeliner was a very chaotic family life. My childhood had not been picturesque, and my teen years weren't shaping up as Rockwellian either. Most people didn't see that though. They saw the self portrait I'd painted for the rest of the world. They didn't get to see me go home and cry every night. They didn't know that my best friend and I had some sort of strange anorexic pact going. They don't know the true story of what happened when I was raped at 16. They saw black clothing, a need to be different and a girl who either intrigued or repulsed them.

During that time, I thought of myself as an artist. I'd continue to do that for the longest time. I was president of the art club in high school, and had two art classes per day my senior year. It shouldn't be surprising that I chose to go to art school...that was who I was. Right? In art school I eventually met my husband...and my life started to change again. I was in a very dark period when my husband met me. He pulled me straight out. He wasn't a boy I'd thought to be my "type," and for the first time, I let myself go against what type I thought I was.

So here I am, only a few years down the road from all of that. High school wasn't that long ago. That person I was then isn't that far away. And somewhere along the road, I've managed to dump every single scrap of self I accumulated along the way. I'm a stay at home mom now. I'm a Democratic delegate. I'm the assistant organizer of a play group. I'm active in a church. I no longer paint. I no longer wear the coats of black eyeliner that I thought were such a badge of courage. But those things and so many others were a part of me for so long, that now that they're not I'm having a hard time defining me. Maybe it's part of growing up. Who knows. I still wonder what I'll be when I grow up.

I just wonder why I have such an urge to define myself as anything. Why do I feel like living without boundaries or definitions is so hard? For some reason, I just don't feel secure without lines to color in. I don't know why. Do you? Or are you one of those people who baulk definitions?

Wallowing Domestic

This is what we woke up to this morning.



It didn't last until much after 10 a.m. or so. I knew it wouldn't. The ground was wet to begin with and the sun came out, warming it up to 50 or so. I wanted to take Adrien out to play in it because he seemed so fascinated by it...but that would have just ended in both of us being soaking wet. It would have been like rolling around in a slushee.

I'm hosting a Pampered Chef party tonight. I think it will be lots of fun, they always are. I always like the bonus of free stuff, although I'm not sure how much hostess credit I'll get this time because my friends and I are all collectively broke. Oh well, you can't go wrong when someone comes to your house to cook and showcase cool kitchen gadgets. If nothing else, it will be fun. And maybe I'll earn enough hostess credit to get a free cutting board -- I really need a good one. The new catalog just came out and they have some really cute picnic type items (plastic plates, tumblers, flatware) that I think would be adorable for using when grilling out. Too bad we don't grill very much...or entertain often, for that matter. Oh well, one can dream.

I remember when Andi and I did our wedding registry. We went through the store (Crate & Barrel) with such wide eyes and big imaginations. We just knew we'd need that fondue pot for all the friends we were sure to have over. Too bad our dreams were mostly dashed when our family chose to purchase most of our gifts off of our Target registry. For some reason Target hadn't inspired such grande ideals of entertaining.

Do you suppose that whole perception is left over from the 1950s? I mean, the perception that once you're married you'll have tons of other couple friends and you'll all have great get-togethers and wallow in your couple-ness? I remember watching the movie Mona Lisa Smile, and observing how excited one of the characters was to get married and own a washing machine. Do you think all of our great housewife like thoughts come from that time? I do. Although my husband has recently admitted to me that if I were his payed housekeeper, I'd be fired, I still try to hold myself up to those June Cleaver-like standards. I mean, sure, my house isn't immaculate and dinner isn't on the table at 5 sharp every night...but in my head I'd like it to be that way. I guess, anyway. I mean, aren't I supposed to want it to be that way?

Who knows. I could really go on about that all day. I could hold myself under a microscope and be bashed by other women for keeping those standards as ideal. I know that many feminists have fought hard to change the perception that Woman = Such and Such. But in my mind, there is nothing wrong with holding ideals, as long as you let yourself slip from them and land right back in reality.

I'm perfectly fine with trying to fit into June's apron every now and again. And today, I'm very excited about wallowing domestic.

Wordless Wednesday: Asleep in the Car

Presidential butt treatment

I went down to my precinct's designated voting center today, and voted. It feels great! I have to go back tonight and caucus. That feels great too! I didn't get to vote in the last election because I went out of country sort of last minute to study abroad and was in England at the time...I didn't have the time to file an absentee ballot. I remember watching with dread on BBC4 the real-time voting results, praying we'd get another president in office. I knew it wouldn't happen, and it didn't. Four years later, we are guaranteed a new president and it's all very, very exciting! I'm not voting for the candidate I originally thought I would, but I have absolutely fallen in love with the ideals of the one I've settled on. I want this country to change, and I'm so happy to be part of it.

This past weekend I went to a local cloth diaper retail store. I've always been interested in cloth diapering, I just didn't start right away with Adrien because I was going back to work and thought I'd never be staying at home. Even after I was laid off a few months after I returned to work, I continued to use disposables because, well, it was easier. Also, I didn't have the money to invest all at once in cloth diapers. They're cheaper in the long run (and greener!), but spending a little at a time on disposables was just easier than shelling out what seemed like one big chunk to get started.

Now that we're expecting baby number two, I'm all about cutting that expense out. Adrien is still in diapers as well, and although he's a great potty training candidate, I just don't want to do it fully until I know he's completely ready. I don't want any regressing or anything. So, anyway, I journeyed over to the little cloth diaper store and I was happy to see it busy. You just don't think of that kind of thing as being popular, but the store was bustling! Maybe it's because the owner only opens publicly on Saturdays (weekdays require appointments), or maybe it's because this whole cloth diaper thing is really catching on. I read somewhere that it can take up to 500 years for a disposable diaper to biodegrade. That's just insane to me! I just bought that new Jeep, which Lord knows is not the most eco friendly, and maybe I'm trying to make up for that in some way. Who knows, but the owner of the store was really nice and VERY friendly.

I picked up a few diapers to try out for Adrien. I didn't go full force and buy a ton because I wasn't sure what I was going to like. Already I'm in love with these diapers though. I think they keep his butt dryer than the disposables! They're AMAZING!

I simply have to invest in a diaper sprayer though. The other alternative is to wash the diapers out in the toilet, and THAT is just something I do not want to have to do. I also need to get a diaper pale.

I'm very excited about this whole thing though.

A new president and new covers for my babies' bottoms. Yay. I wonder what type of diapers the candidate's parents used. Hmmmm.

On a side note, I think my blog needs a major make over. What do you think? It's just so...blah.