It was beeeautiful this weekend. Friday it was about 75, Saturday 92, and Sunday 96. Ahhh…the heat. I love it.
I planted thyme, basil, spearmint, and cilantro in our herb garden and then transplanted marigolds, geraniums, and a few other flowers to pots in the backyard. We also transplanted the grapevines to the fence, and I admired my 13 cantaloupe sprouts. The hubs constructed a hanging tomato plant container, I laid out in the sun (with sunscreen on, of course), while the munchkin swam in her pool in the shade.
What a weekend.
It would only be better if we were doing all this in Texas.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
My little seal
The munchkin has croup. The cough started on Monday, but she had no fever and didn’t have to go to daycare that day. She had a few coughing fits over the next couple of nights and when she would wake up from a nap, but I honestly didn’t think it was anything serious because she’s had allergy problems over the last week and a half, and I thought that this was a result of post-nasal drip. She was at daycare yesterday, and sure enough she had a low-grade fever. The hubs took her to the dr, and they prescribed ten days of Amoxicillin and three days of Prednisolone. I HATE that she’s on a steroid. It makes me terribly nervous, but after the first dose last night, the coughing fits were less seal bark-like. She still had two fits last night, but it honestly just sounded like a normal cold-like cough.
But giving her that first dose was like a night with Linda Blair part deux. That medicine tasted so bad – the pharmacist warned me about it, and I even tasted it myself. It was horribly bitter and lingered in your mouth. I gave her about ¼ teaspoon (the dosage is ¾ tsp) and tried to follow it with juice, but she immediately started coughing from the awful taste. It wasn’t ten seconds later that we had projectile vomit. She had just eaten (food is required with this medicine), so she was still in her booster seat. I took the tray to the sink, but unfortunately, she was not done. She puked two more times. It was everywhere…her shirt, pants, hands, and feet, the booster seat, chair, floor, and rug. Needless to say, she had a bath in the deep sink in the garage. The next attempt was while she was having a bottle, and we were much more successful.
She really is in good spirits and acts like nothing is wrong. She’s talking, playing, and laughing as usual, which makes me feel better about the whole situation.
My poor munchkin. Daycare is the devil.
But giving her that first dose was like a night with Linda Blair part deux. That medicine tasted so bad – the pharmacist warned me about it, and I even tasted it myself. It was horribly bitter and lingered in your mouth. I gave her about ¼ teaspoon (the dosage is ¾ tsp) and tried to follow it with juice, but she immediately started coughing from the awful taste. It wasn’t ten seconds later that we had projectile vomit. She had just eaten (food is required with this medicine), so she was still in her booster seat. I took the tray to the sink, but unfortunately, she was not done. She puked two more times. It was everywhere…her shirt, pants, hands, and feet, the booster seat, chair, floor, and rug. Needless to say, she had a bath in the deep sink in the garage. The next attempt was while she was having a bottle, and we were much more successful.
She really is in good spirits and acts like nothing is wrong. She’s talking, playing, and laughing as usual, which makes me feel better about the whole situation.
My poor munchkin. Daycare is the devil.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
No matter what anyone says, money IS important
I have a good life.
I have a beautiful, healthy baby girl. I have a husband that takes very good care of us. No, we don't have a perfect relationship, but we get along well enough. I have a house, a yard, a car, some sweet dogs, a full time job (in today's market, that's an achievement), and some money in savings.
Yet, somehow, I am STILL jealous.
I have a friend who is a year younger than me. We graduated together from college, but because her friend's dad was a big-wig at an oil/gas company, she got a job BEFORE she even got her diploma. She's making at least twice what I make now. And don't let me forget to mention her husband. He took a pay cut to join the current company he's with, but he's still making nearly $100K/year. He was making $160K at his last job, but he went to the current company because they practically guaranteed him over $200K/year in less than eight years. They have traveled to so many places. In the fall, he went to Dubai, Malaysia, and Brazil. Last spring, they went to Costa Rica. They go to Denmark on a regular basis because he's from there, and once last year they also went to Norway. They went to Sedona on a weekend spa getaway. For their honeymoon? Crete. Since Christmas, she went to Miami for a bachelorette party, he went to Acapulco for a bachelor party (I mean, that's where we went on our honeymoon!), and they went to Playa del Carmen on a trip completely paid for by his company. They're going to Denmark again next month and then to St. Thomas with us in June. Oh, and they just sold their house...they're making $70K on it...in this effin market. I was flabbergasted.
My life is great, but is it wrong for me to be jealous of hers? I mean, I think it's only natural to be somewhat jealous of certain people in our lives. To be able to just go and do whatever and whenever, to have a practically indispensable cash flow...ugh.
Can't I just have a little...please?
I have a beautiful, healthy baby girl. I have a husband that takes very good care of us. No, we don't have a perfect relationship, but we get along well enough. I have a house, a yard, a car, some sweet dogs, a full time job (in today's market, that's an achievement), and some money in savings.
Yet, somehow, I am STILL jealous.
I have a friend who is a year younger than me. We graduated together from college, but because her friend's dad was a big-wig at an oil/gas company, she got a job BEFORE she even got her diploma. She's making at least twice what I make now. And don't let me forget to mention her husband. He took a pay cut to join the current company he's with, but he's still making nearly $100K/year. He was making $160K at his last job, but he went to the current company because they practically guaranteed him over $200K/year in less than eight years. They have traveled to so many places. In the fall, he went to Dubai, Malaysia, and Brazil. Last spring, they went to Costa Rica. They go to Denmark on a regular basis because he's from there, and once last year they also went to Norway. They went to Sedona on a weekend spa getaway. For their honeymoon? Crete. Since Christmas, she went to Miami for a bachelorette party, he went to Acapulco for a bachelor party (I mean, that's where we went on our honeymoon!), and they went to Playa del Carmen on a trip completely paid for by his company. They're going to Denmark again next month and then to St. Thomas with us in June. Oh, and they just sold their house...they're making $70K on it...in this effin market. I was flabbergasted.
My life is great, but is it wrong for me to be jealous of hers? I mean, I think it's only natural to be somewhat jealous of certain people in our lives. To be able to just go and do whatever and whenever, to have a practically indispensable cash flow...ugh.
Can't I just have a little...please?
Friday, April 17, 2009
Prepare for lots of tears
Need a cry fest? Click here. Unbelievably heartbreaking.
I was going to post about our theme for last week's trip to see the hubs ("I wish you had feelings, you bastard GPS"), but I'm just too emotional after reading about Maddie, that sweet baby girl in the link above. I wasn't going to read/watch because I just can't handle that stuff, but something drew me to it.
It really makes you appreciate what you have, which is why I'm letting my munchkin consume way too many M&Ms at this very moment.
I was going to post about our theme for last week's trip to see the hubs ("I wish you had feelings, you bastard GPS"), but I'm just too emotional after reading about Maddie, that sweet baby girl in the link above. I wasn't going to read/watch because I just can't handle that stuff, but something drew me to it.
It really makes you appreciate what you have, which is why I'm letting my munchkin consume way too many M&Ms at this very moment.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
For sanity's fucking sake
I feel as though, once again, I have my very own stalker.
Wait…let me rephrase that. My MUNCHKIN has her own stalker. Yes, already, at only 16 months.
This person’s name…MIL.
Let me begin by saying she is driving me up the mother fucking wall, across the ceiling, and back down again. She has to know every single itty bitty detail of munchkin’s existence. And it doesn’t help that the hubs fuels the fire by telling her nearly every single itty bitty detail.
For example, last week’s night with Linda Blair. Hubs told MIL about it, so the next day, FIL sends an email to me. I reply with what happened and how munchkin was doing, which was perfectly fine. MIL decides to send me an email about it later in the afternoon, to which I did not reply because I was actually working. At around 5:15, MIL calls. I was rocking munchkin, so I missed her call. Forty-five minutes later, MIL calls again. This time munchkin was sleeping in my arms, so I didn’t answer. Another 45 mother fucking minutes later, she calls again. This time, I was cooking, and my phone was nowhere near me. I called her back about 20 minutes later, and guess what…she is on the other line and doesn’t answer. I’m thinking, unreal. FIL calls me like 10 minutes after this. We talk a little more about munchkin and the dinner we had together just the night before (they were here the 3rd – 6th…all these effin phone calls took place the 7th). I say goodnight to FIL, and we hang up. Less than five minutes later, MIL calls me for the fourth fucking time, I shit you not. I see her name on the caller ID and think, YOU’VE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!!! What does she want to know? The same shit I just got through telling FIL. He told her everything I said, but she “just had to talk to me herself.” Ho-ly smokes.
So Friday rolls around, and the hubs is deployed for his every-eight-weeks-two-week-tour. The munchkin and I decide to go visit him for the weekend because of Easter. I get a text from none other than MIL while I was driving asking if I was getting off early. I carefully texted back, “already on the road.” Oh, I have to say that the night before, she sent me an email telling me to let her know when we left the house to go see hubs and when we arrived at said destination. Ho-ly balls, my own mother doesn’t keep tabs on us like this. When we arrived, I asked the hubs, “Have you spoken to your parents yet?” “No, is something wrong?” he replies. I immediately texted my FIL for fear of another effin phone call. I didn’t hear back from him until around 9:00 when he texted, “Good. We were just getting ready to call.”
On Sunday, we left the hubs around noon (it’s about a three hour drive). I got a phone call from none other than my MIL when we were only 20 minutes from home.
MIL “When are you leaving?”
Me “I’m driving now.”
MIL “Is the hubs asleep?”**
Me “How the fuck would I know? I’m DRIVING.” No, I didn’t really say this, though I was TOTALLY thinking it. I said, “I have no idea. We’re only 20 minutes from home.”
MIL “Oh, well, I called him a few times, but he didn’t answer.”
Hellllloooo?!? He’s probably sleeping for Christ’s sake! He works the 11pm-6am shift, woman!! She then proceeds to go on about something, and all the while the munchkin is getting cranked up. She is so ready to get out of that car seat, and it’s all I can do to keep her occupied. MIL hears her getting upset, acknowledges it, but doesn’t stop talking. She keeps going on about the stuff she’s collecting for the munchkin to use while we are on vacation in a few months. Do I give a rat’s ass right now? Um, no. Is it illegal to drive and talk on the phone in my state? Hell-to-the-yes. Does she know this? Ding ding ding!! My frustration was mounting when she finally says, “Well, it sounds like you’re nearly home, so I’ll let you go.” Praise the sweet Lord for His mercy.
Is there really any question as to why my phone stays on vibrate 24 hours/day?
**Obviously, MIL did not say “the hubs,” but for sanity’s sake, his name will be left out.
Wait…let me rephrase that. My MUNCHKIN has her own stalker. Yes, already, at only 16 months.
This person’s name…MIL.
Let me begin by saying she is driving me up the mother fucking wall, across the ceiling, and back down again. She has to know every single itty bitty detail of munchkin’s existence. And it doesn’t help that the hubs fuels the fire by telling her nearly every single itty bitty detail.
For example, last week’s night with Linda Blair. Hubs told MIL about it, so the next day, FIL sends an email to me. I reply with what happened and how munchkin was doing, which was perfectly fine. MIL decides to send me an email about it later in the afternoon, to which I did not reply because I was actually working. At around 5:15, MIL calls. I was rocking munchkin, so I missed her call. Forty-five minutes later, MIL calls again. This time munchkin was sleeping in my arms, so I didn’t answer. Another 45 mother fucking minutes later, she calls again. This time, I was cooking, and my phone was nowhere near me. I called her back about 20 minutes later, and guess what…she is on the other line and doesn’t answer. I’m thinking, unreal. FIL calls me like 10 minutes after this. We talk a little more about munchkin and the dinner we had together just the night before (they were here the 3rd – 6th…all these effin phone calls took place the 7th). I say goodnight to FIL, and we hang up. Less than five minutes later, MIL calls me for the fourth fucking time, I shit you not. I see her name on the caller ID and think, YOU’VE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!!! What does she want to know? The same shit I just got through telling FIL. He told her everything I said, but she “just had to talk to me herself.” Ho-ly smokes.
So Friday rolls around, and the hubs is deployed for his every-eight-weeks-two-week-tour. The munchkin and I decide to go visit him for the weekend because of Easter. I get a text from none other than MIL while I was driving asking if I was getting off early. I carefully texted back, “already on the road.” Oh, I have to say that the night before, she sent me an email telling me to let her know when we left the house to go see hubs and when we arrived at said destination. Ho-ly balls, my own mother doesn’t keep tabs on us like this. When we arrived, I asked the hubs, “Have you spoken to your parents yet?” “No, is something wrong?” he replies. I immediately texted my FIL for fear of another effin phone call. I didn’t hear back from him until around 9:00 when he texted, “Good. We were just getting ready to call.”
On Sunday, we left the hubs around noon (it’s about a three hour drive). I got a phone call from none other than my MIL when we were only 20 minutes from home.
MIL “When are you leaving?”
Me “I’m driving now.”
MIL “Is the hubs asleep?”**
Me “How the fuck would I know? I’m DRIVING.” No, I didn’t really say this, though I was TOTALLY thinking it. I said, “I have no idea. We’re only 20 minutes from home.”
MIL “Oh, well, I called him a few times, but he didn’t answer.”
Hellllloooo?!? He’s probably sleeping for Christ’s sake! He works the 11pm-6am shift, woman!! She then proceeds to go on about something, and all the while the munchkin is getting cranked up. She is so ready to get out of that car seat, and it’s all I can do to keep her occupied. MIL hears her getting upset, acknowledges it, but doesn’t stop talking. She keeps going on about the stuff she’s collecting for the munchkin to use while we are on vacation in a few months. Do I give a rat’s ass right now? Um, no. Is it illegal to drive and talk on the phone in my state? Hell-to-the-yes. Does she know this? Ding ding ding!! My frustration was mounting when she finally says, “Well, it sounds like you’re nearly home, so I’ll let you go.” Praise the sweet Lord for His mercy.
Is there really any question as to why my phone stays on vibrate 24 hours/day?
**Obviously, MIL did not say “the hubs,” but for sanity’s sake, his name will be left out.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My night with Linda Blair
So last night, the munchkin and I were in bed, and she was having her nighttime bottle (yes, we do that…for now). She was slurping it down pretty fast. She pushed the bottle away from her mouth when she was done (like normal) but then she sat up pretty quickly. She laid her head on my stomach, sat up again, and then puked all over my chest and stomach. Before I could get the lamp on, she laid her head back down on my chest…in the barf.
The part I was most bothered by was seeing the right side of her face covered in puke. Before I sat up, I pulled her shirt off and wiped her face with it (as she started squealing in delight). I ripped the barf-stained comforter off, followed by my shirt (this took careful planning as I had to avoid any pouring off onto the carpet). In the bathroom, I wiped myself off really well, tipped my head forward, and still smelled sour milk. I had to give both of us a sponge bath in the sink (a second shower was just not an option…we took a shower together only thirty minutes before this). Amazingly, none got in my hair. I rinsed our shirts off in the shower and then had to clean out the green beans left in the drain.
I had just put new sheets on the bed not ten minutes before this nightmare, so I had to re-make it. We had to go back downstairs so that I could deposit the barf-stained linens at the washing machine area and to get the munchkin a new shirt. I ended up heating about 5 oz. of milk for her, but I was extremely hesitant about it. I tried to put her back down without the milk, but she was having too much fun bouncing around the bed (especially since Daddy wasn’t there to take up half the bed). I only let her have an ounce of milk, but that was enough to put her out. She slept fine after that and woke up as perky as ever.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could all have a barfing episode only to come out of it happy and feeling like a million bucks? I think I’d weigh a hell of a lot less.
The part I was most bothered by was seeing the right side of her face covered in puke. Before I sat up, I pulled her shirt off and wiped her face with it (as she started squealing in delight). I ripped the barf-stained comforter off, followed by my shirt (this took careful planning as I had to avoid any pouring off onto the carpet). In the bathroom, I wiped myself off really well, tipped my head forward, and still smelled sour milk. I had to give both of us a sponge bath in the sink (a second shower was just not an option…we took a shower together only thirty minutes before this). Amazingly, none got in my hair. I rinsed our shirts off in the shower and then had to clean out the green beans left in the drain.
I had just put new sheets on the bed not ten minutes before this nightmare, so I had to re-make it. We had to go back downstairs so that I could deposit the barf-stained linens at the washing machine area and to get the munchkin a new shirt. I ended up heating about 5 oz. of milk for her, but I was extremely hesitant about it. I tried to put her back down without the milk, but she was having too much fun bouncing around the bed (especially since Daddy wasn’t there to take up half the bed). I only let her have an ounce of milk, but that was enough to put her out. She slept fine after that and woke up as perky as ever.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could all have a barfing episode only to come out of it happy and feeling like a million bucks? I think I’d weigh a hell of a lot less.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The devil hunts Easter eggs
Tonight the hubs heads out for DC once again. This time the munchkin and I will be going to visit. We’re heading down on Friday and coming back Sunday. I’m not so thrilled about not going to church on Easter (yes, we are those people that only go to church on holidays…I don’t like this, but it’s just the way it is until we agree on a denomination), but at least we’ll be spending time together as a family. I’m praying that the weather will be nice so that we can have a picnic at one of the memorial parks. I’ve got the munchkin’s Easter basket goodies all ready to go, and I plan on dying a half dozen eggs that she can hunt.
While we’re on the topic of Easter egg hunts…what is it about mean-ass kids and hunting fucking plastic eggs? The hubs’ work had an Easter egg hunt on Saturday, and the first kids to go were 3 and under. We only had about 30 seconds to hunt before the big kids broke out of their cage. This wasn’t the plan, but those kids couldn’t contain themselves any longer. I was coaxing my munchkin to an egg, and she was only a foot away when these two brats ran up and grabbed the egg. I gave them my dirtiest look, and let me tell you, I hope their stupid mothers saw. Just a word of advice…please teach your children that it is NOT polite to steal Easter eggs from babies.
Saturday I head to The Container Store in Arlington, VA. I am SO excited!!! I’ve never been but have perused through their website several times eyeing things I want. There is just something about organizational items that gets my blood pumpin’. Bacon keeper, here I come!
I will end with a poem from Office Haiku: Poems Inspired by the Daily Grind by James Rogauskas:
Late afternoon cup –
The coffee is cold and stale.
Drink it anyway.
While we’re on the topic of Easter egg hunts…what is it about mean-ass kids and hunting fucking plastic eggs? The hubs’ work had an Easter egg hunt on Saturday, and the first kids to go were 3 and under. We only had about 30 seconds to hunt before the big kids broke out of their cage. This wasn’t the plan, but those kids couldn’t contain themselves any longer. I was coaxing my munchkin to an egg, and she was only a foot away when these two brats ran up and grabbed the egg. I gave them my dirtiest look, and let me tell you, I hope their stupid mothers saw. Just a word of advice…please teach your children that it is NOT polite to steal Easter eggs from babies.
Saturday I head to The Container Store in Arlington, VA. I am SO excited!!! I’ve never been but have perused through their website several times eyeing things I want. There is just something about organizational items that gets my blood pumpin’. Bacon keeper, here I come!
I will end with a poem from Office Haiku: Poems Inspired by the Daily Grind by James Rogauskas:
Late afternoon cup –
The coffee is cold and stale.
Drink it anyway.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Leavin' on a jet plane
I couldn’t dread a tropical vacation more than I do the trip to St. Thomas in June. To make matters worse, the hubs says to me…
“I need you to take a half day to go to Cape May with me before we go to St. Thomas.”
“Why?”
“So we can go to legal…”
End conversation.
Cue crying.
It absolutely terrifies me to think about leaving my munchkin. I honestly want to cancel our trip. Actually, I’m seriously considering flying my mom out to meet us there so that she can watch the munchkin while we enjoy ourselves. I don’t think she’d mind babysitting in paradise for free.
He then adds, "We have to do it because we're both going to be on a plane, and she won't be with us." Cue hysteria.
Tell me (if anyone still reads this blog), when did you first leave your child? Was it the hardest thing ever? How old was your child?
When I think about our vacation, my hands begin to sweat, my heart rate skyrockets, and I get highly emotional. My therapist says this isn’t good.
Cue the medication.
“I need you to take a half day to go to Cape May with me before we go to St. Thomas.”
“Why?”
“So we can go to legal…”
End conversation.
Cue crying.
It absolutely terrifies me to think about leaving my munchkin. I honestly want to cancel our trip. Actually, I’m seriously considering flying my mom out to meet us there so that she can watch the munchkin while we enjoy ourselves. I don’t think she’d mind babysitting in paradise for free.
He then adds, "We have to do it because we're both going to be on a plane, and she won't be with us." Cue hysteria.
Tell me (if anyone still reads this blog), when did you first leave your child? Was it the hardest thing ever? How old was your child?
When I think about our vacation, my hands begin to sweat, my heart rate skyrockets, and I get highly emotional. My therapist says this isn’t good.
Cue the medication.
Friday, April 3, 2009
*SIGH*
I feel like life is lived by waiting on the next event. This past year and a half (almost) has been the happiest of my life, but it’s as though we’re always waiting on the next trip, vacation, family visit, etc. I just wish we could ignore the impending and thoroughly enjoy the now. My baby is growing up fast before my eyes…she’s already saying “thank you” and “uh-oh,” knows what a “kissy” is, knows what to do to put her jacket on. She runs and screams with delight. She loves the outdoors and cries when we have to come inside. She already knows and understands so much. I just want to be able to observe her more, to make thousands of mental notes about every move she makes just so I will never forget. I want to remember every smile, every tear, every laugh, every hug, every kiss, every everything.
Life, in essence, is just too damn fast.
Life, in essence, is just too damn fast.
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