Happy New Year Everyone!

New Year's Eve, definitely gets the props for being the biggest let down holiday of them all. What I mean by this is, the expectation is always too high. I mean everyone always expects some sort of epiphany that never occurs. So if there is such a thing as a New Year's Eve Scrooge... that's what I am.

For years I worked on New Year's Eve, either bartending or waiting tables at the Speedway. We always tried to meet in the side hall or the back with a stolen bottle of champagne and some plastic champagne glasses. In retrospect, it was probably less of a let down and thus a better night, because at least you knew what to expect. It was always possible that you might end up pouring decaf for "Princess Valium at table #4" right as the New Year rolled in.

Tonight, we are of course hanging out at home. We'd like to blame this on our child, but the truth is, the first New Year's Eve that Jorma and I spent together, I ended up falling asleep on the sofa, Jorma waking me up at midnight for the kiss.

Last New Year's Eve we arrived in Charlotte with our 6 week old child and a cat in a bag, after a week of living in a hotel and a month of packing. My nerves were so shot that it's amazing the champagne I drank didn't cause some chemical reaction in my brain, resulting in permanent psychosis.

So this year we've decided to take in a movie, drink some beer and force ourselves to stay awake until the New Year rolls in. Jorma has a plan. He made a grocery run and came back with some red flavored, Power Surge Ultra Mega Energy Drink. It tasted disgusting to him but I thought it was ok and said that it tasted better than Scotch, which must have given him the idea to add some Scotch to it, which made it ok to him, and disgusting to me. I'm naming his new creation Loss Ness Monster.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Oh the aftermath.

Oh the aftermath. If you've been wondering where I've been, I've been trapped in a den filled with new toys and presents, being held hostage by a over-stimulated 14 month old, who managed to roll the new Little Tykes car, brought by Santa, (with him in it) after only three days. The Little Tykes car is a red plastic thing, that he can move Fred Flintstone like, by just kicking with his feet. It's not motorized. But when you kneel in the seat grab the roof and throw your body weight forward... well, I guess the folks at Little Tykes never did any testing with our child.
It took a good two days to get everything put away, since our house is almost completely full and bringing in anything new requires a Tetris-like procedure. "Let's see. If we move the china cabinet over two feet to the right and take down the Christmas tree, we can move the DVD rack back to where it was and then move the chair from the corner of the bedroom to the DVD rack location and then move our new nifty table that we got for Christmas to the corner where the chair was. Voila~ But it's still a process. Can you imagine how our house would look if I hadn't thrown out two truckloads of stuff before moving to California and then thrown out boxes and boxes of stuff before we moved back?
You see, the truth is... I'm a reformed pack rat. I try to clean out on a regular basis and I think that throwing stuff away is healthy. We haven't really accumulated that much stuff, it's just that all of the stuff that was living in the great room, has been moved to other areas of the house, so that Connor doesn't try to climb the side of it, or shake it until all of the stuff falls off of the top. ok, that and we have accumulated some stuff. A little stuff. You know like a years worth of baby clothes and extra strollers and other necessary baby items. Yeah, I know, most of the stuff isn't crucial, but it makes my life easier... and that's necessity enough for me.

Who needs presents?

Who needs Santa?

This morning, Dad arrived with the swing set that he built for Connor. We expected a little A-frame with a swing attached, but Dad doesn't do anything half-assed, as the picture below shows. Connor loved swinging, crying when we tried to take him out and almost falling asleep once the rocking slowed to a gentle rhythm.
I'm almost glad that Connor won't remember receiving it. I think that unless PawPaw bought him a pony he'd never be able to top it... and ponies don't litter train very well, so we're vetoing that. When you have a GrandDad that makes such great toys, who needs Santa?
Merry Christmas everyone.

Happiness is a new swing set

As long as it works

Today the Everdream Christmas party was held at Sir Edmund Hailey’s. A place almost impossible to find unless you are drunk and being dragged there by your two roommates who insist we can just walk home, 2 blocks away, what’s the shame in another beer. Has that happened to you? Yeah, me either. ahem.

Connor stayed with Robyn so I was child free for an entire three hours.

Sir Edmund’s serves a mean cheeseburger. So that’s what I ordered. But I can’t enjoy a 2 inch thick burger. I just can’t. I take off the lid to my bun and flay my burger horizontally, removing the bottom portion and laying it on my plate because the bottom portion has the least amount of cheese. And then I see it. The exterior cavity once removed allows me to see portions of medium rare meat lacing the edges of my well done burger. This will not do. I try to covertly remove the raw edge pieces with my knife, but this does not work for me.

Ok before you start gasping at my lack of table manners, I would like to say in my own defense that, yes I know better, but damnit it’s been 6 months since I sat down in a restaurant to eat a cheeseburger and I had been fantasizing about this one for an entire week.

I begin tearing it away with my fingers. Pulling them away and wiping them off with my napkin just before Gordon, fellow Everdreamer and Salesperson comes over to say goodbye. My burger is at this point mangled- laying open and vulnerable, awaiting the remainder of its nuclear stress testing.

I could see Gordon eyeing my burger as he was talking. I could see his mind working… it was saying to him, “This lady is scaring me”.

I explain to him the purpose of the burger surgery. He probably thinks this is a bit strange as I am not able to explain that I am desperately trying to create a cheeseburger of fantasy because in another two hours I will be returned to my own world. A world where cold broccoli casserole from the fridge is a well balanced breakfast at 2pm in the afternoon. A world where I have to stand drinking coffee or abandon it in the kitchen to keep it from little hands. A world where restaurant cheeseburgers, sadly, do not live.

He teases me briefly and goes on about his way, leaving me to reassemble my burger and enjoy, while everyone else at the table watches me with humorous, dismay.

That’s right. I’m a problem solver. That cheeseburger was a problem and I was going to fix it. It doesn’t matter what the workaround is… as long as it works.

The end is near

Major League Baseball : News : Major League Baseball News

The end is near. Jonny Damon of the Boston Red Sox and World Series fame has signed a four year contract with the New York Yankees. I am a Red Sox fan, by marriage, but it still irritates me. I hope he gets crabs.

Psychotic Baking Episode

Jorma and I discussing the cookies that he took to work this morning:

"Everyone at work loved the cookies. They were gone by the end of the day. They said you were a SuperBaker"

"Really?! Did you tell them that I threw away about 36 drop cookies?"

"No, but I believe I used the words 'Psychotic Baking Episode' at one point during the day"

I hate baking

Every year around Christmas for some reason, I fancy myself a baker. I'm just not. That doesn't stop the visions of sugar plums and nestle toll house cookies from dancing in my head though. I imagine myself, listening to christmas carols while baking perfect ginger bread cookies in my cozy warm kitchen with snowy window panes. But the fact is, I hate baking.

This morning, armed with more ambition than Martha Stewart I set out to do my Christmas baking. I have a kitchen aid standing mixer, new baking sheets, parchment paper, cooling racks and even stainless steel cookie droppers. I decide to start out with the easiest quickest thing... the pull apart Pillsbury sugar cookies. Simple, right? Not so much. The bottoms of the cookies began spreading immediately, leaving an uncooked lump in the middle. The cookies were almost burned before the lump settled down into a crater, making the cookies look more like large belly buttons.

Then I moved on to the oatmeal drop cookies which are also extremely simple. I didn't cook them long enough, so instead of turning into chewy fudgey oatmeal goodness, they kept their mashed potato consistency. Despite the encouraging, "Just shake it off" from the Hubby, I became more and more irritated. I was mad at the cookies. I was mad at the pot I cooked them in, I was mad at the Irish Oatmeal I used instead of Quaker.

Jorma retreated to the living room, trying to stay under the radar, finally determining that there was no where in the house that was under the radar, swept up our child and went off into the world of maddened Christmas shoppers. Even the maddened Christmas shoppers are better company that a wrathful wife that has just thrown out about 3 dozen lumps of gooey chocolate drop cookies.

I moved on to the banana bread. Three loafs. Trusting the internet for the recipes. Stupid. But came out ok. Three batches of Chocolate Chip cookies later I was consoled that something was turning out ok, only managing to burn one batch of peanut butter cookies in the process.

Baking used to be so much easier when Darlene and I would get liquiored up in the process. At least then I had an excuse for poor turn out. Next year I hope I remember to read this years blog before baking. I'll still bake my little heart out... but at least I'll have been warned.

The Colvin Christmas Spectacular

Last night we went attended the Colvin Christmas Spectacular, a Christmas party thrown by one of Jorma's co-workers and his wife. They have a two year old, so we arrived baby in tow, with high hopes that our coach would not become a pumpkin too early.
Connor was shy around the new people, terrified by the dog and fascinated by the two year old little boy running loose in the house. It took him about an hour to warm up and begin running through the house with the other child, both squealing at a pitch any opera singer would envy.
Once the children were exhausted and sleeping, the fellas, moved from beer to scotch and at some point started demanding that we play Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. I knew I would sorely suck at Star Wars Trivial Pursuit, but I was willing to play, in part because Jorma was all rosey and flushed at the thought of it, (or maybe that was the scotch) but also because the children were sleeping and there were adults to talk to. Honest to goodness ADULTS, with honest to goodness adult conversation. Well, sort of. Did I mention the Scotch thing?
It was boys against girls which in truth was a bit unfair but as luck would have it, they seemed to be getting the easiest questions anyway, vastly tipping the scales in their favor.
Question for the boy team - What color is yoda's skin? Question for the girl team - On what planet is station 23 located? And also - What craft is also known as Ti-46?
wtf?
Now I know how Matt and Bae felt when Jorma and I suckered them into a game of Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit. That's right, we have that one, come on over if you think you can take us. HA!

Shall we begin a pool?

Every Mom wants their childs first word to be mama. Every Dad wants the first word to be Daddy. Jorma got his wish. Dada was Connor's first official word. In all honesty, I was hoping that his second word would be Mama. I guess I thought since I was the one that went through 22 hours of labor and then breast fed our 7.14 oz monkey for 6 months, that it would be fair that Mama was at least the second word.
Nope. Second word. Cheese. Cheese.
The first time I heard him say it after I said to him, let's go get something to eat, he was toddling behind me saying it over and over. I thought it sounded like "cheese" but was like, nah. Then the next day, he was sitting in his high chair, banging, "Slave Woman, bring me food!" on the tray, while saying, cheese-cheese-cheese-cheese until I dumped a hand full of mozzarella in front of him. Then he just smiled, while scooping it up with his chubby little hands, cramming fistfulls into his mouth and banging his feet against the bottom of the chair with glee. Today I asked him if he was hungry and he looked at me and said, cheese. It's official. Second word - cheese.
My guess is the third word is going to be, Oobi. Shall we begin a pool?

I miss being a geek.

My mom sent me this link so I gave it the obligatory look. The ten seconds I wasn't impressed but when I looked at the video length, I HAD to keep watching. And then. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Not because it's amazing video manipulation or because it's really that fascinating, but because I know that someone spend a good 10 hours drinking pepsi, staying up until 4am and totally geeking out to create it. Someone that doesn't have children. Someone that gets to sleep late in the mornings. Someone that can dedicate more than 10 minutes every three hours to a project. Man. I miss being a geek.

Another year wiser.

Happy Birthday to me!

Everyone wants in.

It's Wednesday, after the Lowes experience and Connor are in Wal-Mart. We are in the DVD's browsing for Christmas presents and he starts squirming, trying to chew on the metal back of the cart-seat that he is leaning against. I tell him no and hold my hand against his forehead so he can't bite down on the cart, which he thinks is hysterical.

In the time that it takes me to reach down and grab a DVD, he has bitten the metal bar behind the seat too hard and starts crying. I pick him up out of the cart and calm him down. Once he's over the drama, he starts trying to get out of my arms onto the floor. I put him back into the cart.

The Wal-Mart employee behind me says. "He's just playing you. I saw him trying that a few minutes ago and I knew he was going to start crying to try to get you to let him out of the cart. They do that." I didn't explain to her that, no, in fact that was actually his, "Mommy something just hurt me cry" not his fake cry which is preceded by his fake cough.

That's the thing about having a kid. Everyone wants in on the advice action. Even the Wal-Mart employees.

Today. It happened.

Today. It happened. We are in the hardware store, Lowe's to be specific. I am wearing yesterdays make-up but I have brushed both teeth and hair. I have on a pair of jeans that has only been worn one other day, (practically CLEAN!) and a sweatshirt. I am wearing a bra. I am glad I am this much put together because people are looking at us.

People are looking because Connor is yelling, DADADA at the top of his lungs in between loud grunting protests. You see, I let him out of the cart once. He was allowed to walk behind the cart in the grocery and he's not forgotten it. If you have just had a child, let me give you some advice. Keep them in the cart until they are at least 10. But I digress.

I walk around the store for a while, go to the customer service desk and have to practically beg them to help me find the lamp re-wiring kits. They page someone for aisle 12 who never comes. I finally approach someone for help, but she doesn't know where the kits are. She asks two other people who also do not know where the kits are. She suggests waiting for about 15 minutes until the person that does know comes back from lunch. I tell her, that's ok, I'll just go to another store.

I am walking out of the store, I give the unhelpful customer service lady at the desk one of those smirky smiles. You know the ones that look a little bit like a smile, but actually mean, "Thanks for doing absolutely nothing for me you useless bitch". Connor is now turned around trying to escape from the cart on his own, but still hoping if he yells DADADA long and loud enough, Daddy will appear. People are still looking at us. The crazy, worn out mom and her lunatic monkey-child. I look down. I am wearing my houseshoes.

My FUZZY, RED houseshoes. In PUBLIC.

How in the hell do I leave the house and not put on SHOES? What is happening to me?! In another two years, will I be at the grocery store having forgotten to take out my curlers, wearing my bathrobe?! Of course I won't. Mostly because curlers indicate that you might at some point during the day FIX your hair and as my husband can attest, that hasn't happened since I gave birth. Truth be told, they do feel sort of like regular shoes when you are wearing them, if regular shoes were made of fuzzy wool. It's almost happened before. But today it happened.

And to tell you the truth... I was sort of disappointed that no one mentioned them. I had a great story ready about how they were actually Swiss clogs that were made from a very rare ibex wool in which the internal padding egronomically conforms to your foot, giving such perfect support that my cronic back pain was cured. But I didn't get to.

Tomorrow. I'm curling my hair.

I'm so going there.

CO-SLEEPING: YES, NO, SOMETIMES?

This subject of co-sleeping came up in playgroup today. I've never written about this on the blog, but tonight, I'm so going there.

I’ve discussed co-sleeping with most everyone I know and I’ve found that almost everyone has a strong opinion on the subject. It seems that everyone thinks that the person that doesn’t share their side, needs to be aware of what a “bad situation” they are getting themselves into. No matter which side of the fence they are on. Pro-family bed types, feel that abandoning a child in the crib to “cry it out” causes emotional damage, while the “pro crib” types believe that by sleeping with the parents, the child is somehow going to develop behavioral problems. Although I personally have not been able to make the connection on how the latter occurs.

In the early part of the century, it was believed that babies were so fragile, they should only be held when being fed or changed. The rest of the time, they were not to be held, less one of their fragile bodies become damaged. Today we know that this is not true. In fact, some twins in the NICU of hospitals are put into the same incubator, because although no one is sure why, it helps them grow stronger.

Who really likes sleeping alone? Even our cat, who prides himself on his independence would be incensed if he were not allowed to sleep on the bed. When I had a dog, she slept on the bed, ruining more than one comforter and more often than not waking me at odd hours because she was LOUDLY, practicing the canine version of feminine hygiene. But THAT was never taboo.

Connor started out his life in a little co-sleeping side car that snuggled up next to our bed. It made breastfeeding a breeze and allowed me to sleep. If he would have been in another room, I would have been even more sleep deprived in my constant post partum state of paranoia, as I had to check to make sure he was breathing about every 45 minutes. Eventually, I would nurse him in the bed, and we would both fall back asleep in the bed. Soon, the co-sleeper was used for holding books, tissues and diapers and Connor took the supreme spot, previously occupied by the cat, in between mommy and daddy.

Basically it comes down to REM sleep. Connor sleeps with us because when he wakes up at 3am, it takes 2 minutes to get him back to sleep - if he gets into the bed with us, and 45 minutes – 3 hours to get him back to sleep if we don’t. You can do the math on that one.

I think no matter which way you decide to go, what’s right for your family is right for your family. On nights when Connor sleeps in his room the entire night, (and this DOES miraculously happen) I truly enjoy sleeping on my stomach, instead of the right side, arm extended position that I sleep in when Connor is in the bed with us. At some point, we fully intend to move Connor over to his crib completely. He’s only a baby for a little while though and I don’t mind cuddling him when I get a chance to. In the middle of the night, when he reaches out in his sleep to pat my face and then smile without waking because he knows he’s not alone, I absorb it like a cat laying in a sunbeam. After all, before we know it, he’ll be ashamed to be seen in public with us, will only trade hugs for gas money and will forget our birthdays. But for now, he remembers us… even when he’s sleeping.

As I Lay Dying - by William Faulkner | Rating **

Amazon.com: As I Lay Dying (Vintage International): Books: William Faulkner

This piece is supposed to be one of the great literary works of our time, but it was hard for me to get my head around it. It was a check off the list book for me. It's about the Bundren clan going to bury their mother in the town that she was oringally from. Each chapter is written from someone else's point of view which makes the book interesting but sometimes hard to follow.
I did have to go back and reread certain areas because I wasn't sure if I was clear on the dialog. The book is so filled with Southern Fried Colloquialisms that it's sometimes hard to make sense of. It does leave a striking impression of how hard times were back in "the day", especially if you were god-fearing-poor-country-folk. This book is supposed to be "Faulkner Lite" so I can't imagine how complicated his other works are. I sort of enjoyed reading it, but received more of a feel of frustration at the difficult language, the sheer ignorance and stubborness of certain family members and the slow moving plot. But at least I can check it off of my list.

Concept is what sells

This is a week for fascination with the ideas of others...

I really want to see this documentary. Fantastic idea. I'm not sure that it's going to start a movement, but it's an interesting concept and probably was extremely fufilling to create. Although I haven't seen it yet... it might be crappy. But the concept... the concept is what sells the DVD.

Alas, Brilliance eludes me.

Why in the hell did I not think of this?
This guy has people make handmade postcards then send them in to him anonymously with a secret pasted or written on them. Brilliant. You know why it's brilliant? Because it's probably such a fun, great project and because he now has a book that has just been published and because he's contributing to two publications and because now... the collection is touring the country as an art exhibit.
He doesn't even have to write well! Why didn't I think of this? Why, Why, Why?!?!

So earlier I was trying to convey the distress I feel not having thought of "postsecret" to my husband and he says, "You know. That IS the American dream. To have just one good idea. And never have to work again in your life." Now, chances are the post secret guy is going to have to keep working... but isn't it always nice to have a little extra income. Income that stems from a good idea, a $10.00 domain name and a $20.00 PO box?

So of course, now that I am just completely fascinated by this and I go to Amazon to view the book. But there I find something stunning.

There are more people, making little extra income on one simple idea.

Like this guy - He's started a small vandalism ring and is replacing random words in street signs with a sticker that reads, "Fuck". Now, that sounds crude and discusting... but Jorma and I were laughing until we were crying looking through the book on Amazon.

This guy - Also started a confessional website.

This guy took pictures of lost pet signs around the world.

This guy, gets pictures from people that have found lost things... like grocery lists on buses and lots of other fancy stuff.

Alas, Brilliance eludes me.

Happy Birthday Mikey

Just a shout out from the Dewcom blog to Mikey to both wish him a happy birthday and also to prove that I remembered it was today even though I didn't call because I have Mommy brain and didn't remember until I was curled up on the sofa far far away from the phone and was too cold to move since our heat is on the fritz again and we may have to get a new heating system but did remember and then by the time I got up thought maybe it might be too late because I'm not sure what time Mikey has to be at work and then I remembered that I hadn't blogged today and that I forgot to blog yesterday and thought that I would come in and tell Mikey Happy Birthday on the blog because I have Mommy brain.