So I already let the cat out of the bag that I was stealing Mateo's gift card money and his Kaiser experiment money to pay for my new LAVENDER and quite fabulous dyson.
Well guess what showed up in our mailbox today? Yet another check made out to Mateo from Kaiser. Why? I don't know. As far as I was told, he was only getting 50 bucks since he only got one shot.
Boy howdy, you know where this money is going. I'm about 150 short from paying off my lovely and bestest pal, my dyson, so his money is going there! I'm also working on making a nice chunk of change at work by whoring myself out as a blog master for a community blog.
And isn't May at three paycheck month? And isn't the IRS giving us more money back in form of refund? I'm a greedy, dyson-wielding crazy momma!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
My new dyson.
Contrary to popular belief (MOM), the picture posted below is of a purple / lavender dyson and not that stupid pink one you saw on Target's web site yesterday. Regardless of how color blind anyone reading my blog may be, I would never, ever, EVER buy a pink dyson. Why light purple (aka lavender, very close to its friend, pink), is okay with me, I do not know. But pink? Who buys a pink vacuum? Mary Kay peeps?
All I do know is this: I vacuumed Mateo's room, which is not big by any means, but suits his 2 foot some odd inches frame quite well, and the canister, which seems rather big although I haven't checked it out from the inside, is FULL OF CAT HAIR. Sorry for yelling.
What disturbs me is this: how does that much cat hair and dust and funk and what have you burrow itself into a small rug space? How is it that you can clearly see it and all its glory, while contained in the canister, but before it was all sucked up (with no suction, mind you), you would never know it was there? You might suspect it was there, but you wouldn't look at his rug and say, ah, yes, this kid's mom hasn't vacuumed with a vacuum that actually works in MONTHS. What a bad mom. She sucks (and quite unlike the dyson, which doesn't, but literally and figuratively).
Anyhoo. I'm very tempted to take a picture of all the grossness that's in the canister because I find it completely fascinating, but I'm not sure anyone else would. I just want to stare and stare at it and wonder how my two cats possibly created a whole new cat and how that cat got into my new LAVENDER dyson canister.
All I do know is this: I vacuumed Mateo's room, which is not big by any means, but suits his 2 foot some odd inches frame quite well, and the canister, which seems rather big although I haven't checked it out from the inside, is FULL OF CAT HAIR. Sorry for yelling.
What disturbs me is this: how does that much cat hair and dust and funk and what have you burrow itself into a small rug space? How is it that you can clearly see it and all its glory, while contained in the canister, but before it was all sucked up (with no suction, mind you), you would never know it was there? You might suspect it was there, but you wouldn't look at his rug and say, ah, yes, this kid's mom hasn't vacuumed with a vacuum that actually works in MONTHS. What a bad mom. She sucks (and quite unlike the dyson, which doesn't, but literally and figuratively).
Anyhoo. I'm very tempted to take a picture of all the grossness that's in the canister because I find it completely fascinating, but I'm not sure anyone else would. I just want to stare and stare at it and wonder how my two cats possibly created a whole new cat and how that cat got into my new LAVENDER dyson canister.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Now I realize why having another baby now would not be a good idea.
Besides the fact that we simply can't afford one.
Mateo got sick yesterday. We weren't sure how bad it was, if it was a real cold or if it was from teething (which I'm no longer convinced is happening), and how his night was going to go. We had plans to go out to dinner, so we cancelled those, and brought the dinner to us via take-out, which is the only way to go for us these days. Despite his huffy puffy belly breathing, we got him to sleep okay. But then, an hour later, he woke up all upset. Got him back to sleep again.
This is when I should have just went to bed myself.
He woke up at 10ish, and it took forever to get him back to sleep. I took on mommy duty of taking care of her huffy puffy coughy whining little boy. He and I got little sleep last night.
Some of last night's highlights include: him almost puking on my head (I was on the floor, next to his crib, so I could monitor him - good job I did), realizing he had already puked in another spot in his crib, having to clean up said puke and child (I did crib, dad did child, I almost tossed my cookies a bazillion times -- why does throw up have to smell soooo bad???), moving into the living room, sleeping on his play mat, ripping a hole in my PJ bottoms somehow - I remembering hearing it, but not how it happened (husband informs me this morning, when he came into the room to ask me to watch Mateo, that I need to throw my PJ bottoms away - apparently my big rip offended him so), moving Mateo back into his crib and me just...giving....up and heading back to my bed.
My husband took on morning duty so I could sleep more since I think I got about 2 hours of very interrupted sleep before going back to bed.
Now Mateo's in his crib, taking the first of many naps today, all the while coughing (and hopefully not throwing up).
And here I sit, imagining if I did have a baby or had a wee one in the oven and how last night would have gone, especially if I had to nurse my imaginary baby. Yeah....no thanks.
Mateo got sick yesterday. We weren't sure how bad it was, if it was a real cold or if it was from teething (which I'm no longer convinced is happening), and how his night was going to go. We had plans to go out to dinner, so we cancelled those, and brought the dinner to us via take-out, which is the only way to go for us these days. Despite his huffy puffy belly breathing, we got him to sleep okay. But then, an hour later, he woke up all upset. Got him back to sleep again.
This is when I should have just went to bed myself.
He woke up at 10ish, and it took forever to get him back to sleep. I took on mommy duty of taking care of her huffy puffy coughy whining little boy. He and I got little sleep last night.
Some of last night's highlights include: him almost puking on my head (I was on the floor, next to his crib, so I could monitor him - good job I did), realizing he had already puked in another spot in his crib, having to clean up said puke and child (I did crib, dad did child, I almost tossed my cookies a bazillion times -- why does throw up have to smell soooo bad???), moving into the living room, sleeping on his play mat, ripping a hole in my PJ bottoms somehow - I remembering hearing it, but not how it happened (husband informs me this morning, when he came into the room to ask me to watch Mateo, that I need to throw my PJ bottoms away - apparently my big rip offended him so), moving Mateo back into his crib and me just...giving....up and heading back to my bed.
My husband took on morning duty so I could sleep more since I think I got about 2 hours of very interrupted sleep before going back to bed.
Now Mateo's in his crib, taking the first of many naps today, all the while coughing (and hopefully not throwing up).
And here I sit, imagining if I did have a baby or had a wee one in the oven and how last night would have gone, especially if I had to nurse my imaginary baby. Yeah....no thanks.
Friday, April 25, 2008
My vacation fears.
A while back my husband and I discussed renting a house somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was near the coast and in the redwoods, just so we could get away. The last big vacation we took was way back in 2006 when we all (Mateo was a seedling at the time) went to Montreal. That was a huge waste of money and a big letdown because one of the main things to do while in Montreal is drink, and this momma was not drinking. Although this momma certainly ate a lot, took many naps, and watched plenty of Baby Story.
So now that Mateo is walking and slightly more independent, we thought a nice, local vacation would be fun. I searched for houses, cabins, anything where we had our own kitchen or kitchenette, bathroom, and some space. I found a lot of nice places, somewhat close, but still quite a trip for our first time driving a couple of hours with a wiggly, short-attention span toddler in the back seat. I was ready to book.
Then the fear set in. What if Mateo breaks something? Falls into the river (many houses I was interested in were right on the river)? Drowns (in said river)? Never sleeps which means I never sleep? Is a 24-hour crab apple? Breaks something? Breaks more things? Was it worth it? The deposit was hefty. The fees were more hefty. If something horrible happened and we had to pay for damage, it was going to be the same as buying the house.
I chickened out.
Then a month or so ago, my husband and I looked for cabins again, anything that was quick to get to and get out of (in case it all goes bad, see above), cheap with no written hefty fees that we had to sign our lives away on. We actually agreed on one plus in the Big Basin area. My husband called. They said we had to stay a week -- minimum. Well, there goes that idea. I just don't stay anywhere that long.
Then a few weeks ago, I got the vacation crazies. I needed a vacation, my heart was telling me. So what if Mateo destroys a place we're renting. It's okay. We're on vacation. Right then, and I kid you not, I got an e-mail about the opening of some new hotel / resort in Half Moon Bay, a place my husband and I have frequented a few times, staying at a lovely B&B right next to the ocean. I looked. It was expensive. For some stupid reason I was considering it. Then I remembered about The Beach House, which is a super nice hotel featuring all suites. Although expensive, depending on what you wanted to see outside your window, it was cheaper than the new place opening up.
I looked at my options, I asked my boss if it was "kid-friendly" enough so that I won't want to hide in our room with my toddler who will be 16 months when we go, and then booked the suite. Sigh....vacation, I thought. It'll all be okay. We have two beds (in case one of us has to sleep with Mateo because a threesome isn't working - and no, we don't normally sleep with him, but I have a feeling a hotel crib isn't going to cut it for him), a tub (to wash all the sand and dirt and yuck and muck Mateo will get on him) and a little living room area. My husband was pleased. Everything was set.
Now this brings me here, today, April 25th, and the more I think about our two-night trip to Half Moon Bay, the more I begin to worry:
Is there a refrigerator? (yes)
If there wasn't, what the heck are we going to do about milk? (ah, not to worry cause there IS ONE.)
What about food? (pack it?)
What if Mateo is a nightmare? (it'll probably happen off and on, but what else is new?)
What if Mateo doesn't sleep? (little boy + outside + water + new things to explore + sun + warm weather = one pooped out little boy)
What if it's no fun and all stress? (it'll b fun and stressful - but isn't that what you signed up for?)
Will we be able to have a sit-down meal? (probably, but bring lots of cheerios)
Will I find a bathing suit that fits me but isn't a tight, spandex-y sac yet makes me feel sorta okay? (no, but have you ever?)
What will we do? (lots of stuff - don't worry)
Will Mateo sleep? Will I sleep? (yes, and sorta)
What about feeding Mateo? (see items 1-3 above)
One thing I realized as I was going home today that will help me get through this and not vocalize my worries so much is that when we decided to create the child known as Mateo, we pretty much gave up the right to want to have singular fun as a couple. And that pretty much everything we do that is fun from this point on until who knows when it about making life fun, exciting and new for him.
And while I do miss those carefree days of doing whatever whenever and as late as I wanted to, I'm pretty excited that we're able to share so much with Mateo (yes, even though he won't remember a single thing about it) now and hopefully continue to do so.
If I keep telling myself that, will I stop worrying? Nahhhhh.
So now that Mateo is walking and slightly more independent, we thought a nice, local vacation would be fun. I searched for houses, cabins, anything where we had our own kitchen or kitchenette, bathroom, and some space. I found a lot of nice places, somewhat close, but still quite a trip for our first time driving a couple of hours with a wiggly, short-attention span toddler in the back seat. I was ready to book.
Then the fear set in. What if Mateo breaks something? Falls into the river (many houses I was interested in were right on the river)? Drowns (in said river)? Never sleeps which means I never sleep? Is a 24-hour crab apple? Breaks something? Breaks more things? Was it worth it? The deposit was hefty. The fees were more hefty. If something horrible happened and we had to pay for damage, it was going to be the same as buying the house.
I chickened out.
Then a month or so ago, my husband and I looked for cabins again, anything that was quick to get to and get out of (in case it all goes bad, see above), cheap with no written hefty fees that we had to sign our lives away on. We actually agreed on one plus in the Big Basin area. My husband called. They said we had to stay a week -- minimum. Well, there goes that idea. I just don't stay anywhere that long.
Then a few weeks ago, I got the vacation crazies. I needed a vacation, my heart was telling me. So what if Mateo destroys a place we're renting. It's okay. We're on vacation. Right then, and I kid you not, I got an e-mail about the opening of some new hotel / resort in Half Moon Bay, a place my husband and I have frequented a few times, staying at a lovely B&B right next to the ocean. I looked. It was expensive. For some stupid reason I was considering it. Then I remembered about The Beach House, which is a super nice hotel featuring all suites. Although expensive, depending on what you wanted to see outside your window, it was cheaper than the new place opening up.
I looked at my options, I asked my boss if it was "kid-friendly" enough so that I won't want to hide in our room with my toddler who will be 16 months when we go, and then booked the suite. Sigh....vacation, I thought. It'll all be okay. We have two beds (in case one of us has to sleep with Mateo because a threesome isn't working - and no, we don't normally sleep with him, but I have a feeling a hotel crib isn't going to cut it for him), a tub (to wash all the sand and dirt and yuck and muck Mateo will get on him) and a little living room area. My husband was pleased. Everything was set.
Now this brings me here, today, April 25th, and the more I think about our two-night trip to Half Moon Bay, the more I begin to worry:
Is there a refrigerator? (yes)
If there wasn't, what the heck are we going to do about milk? (ah, not to worry cause there IS ONE.)
What about food? (pack it?)
What if Mateo is a nightmare? (it'll probably happen off and on, but what else is new?)
What if Mateo doesn't sleep? (little boy + outside + water + new things to explore + sun + warm weather = one pooped out little boy)
What if it's no fun and all stress? (it'll b fun and stressful - but isn't that what you signed up for?)
Will we be able to have a sit-down meal? (probably, but bring lots of cheerios)
Will I find a bathing suit that fits me but isn't a tight, spandex-y sac yet makes me feel sorta okay? (no, but have you ever?)
What will we do? (lots of stuff - don't worry)
Will Mateo sleep? Will I sleep? (yes, and sorta)
What about feeding Mateo? (see items 1-3 above)
One thing I realized as I was going home today that will help me get through this and not vocalize my worries so much is that when we decided to create the child known as Mateo, we pretty much gave up the right to want to have singular fun as a couple. And that pretty much everything we do that is fun from this point on until who knows when it about making life fun, exciting and new for him.
And while I do miss those carefree days of doing whatever whenever and as late as I wanted to, I'm pretty excited that we're able to share so much with Mateo (yes, even though he won't remember a single thing about it) now and hopefully continue to do so.
If I keep telling myself that, will I stop worrying? Nahhhhh.
What I did on my day off.
Took cat to the vet.
Pokes, prods, shot, shave? How about
Muzzled. Now she's nuts.
Hissing at Zoe
Hissing at me. Hope she gets
over it quickly.
Off to the police
station. Time to switch car seat
to forward facing.
Picked up Mateo
from daycare. Watched his face go
from nothing to joy.
Now I can see him.
Little legs crossed, happy eyes.
At red lights we meet.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
I don't like this. One bit.
A while back a friend and I had a discussion about how we'd feel if a man worked at our respective daycare centers. My first reaction was: Hell-to-the-no way. NO WAY.
Then another person told me about a time her daughter was spending the night at a her (perons I know) friend's house, and how the husband, whom she (the person I know) knows pretty well, gave her (the person I know) daughter a bath. And we both felt this way: Hell-to-the-no way. NO WAY. She said her daughter would never spend the night at her (the person I know) friend's house again.
Pronouns are tricky.
When I asked my husband how he felt about both topics, he was sorta, well...I don't see what's wrong with it.... I'm assuming partly because he's a man and I'm talking about men and he's got to stand up for his man power. Or he just didn't see the weirdness in it all like most women would.
Personally it gives me the creeps that any man would want to work with very small and defenseless children. And yes I'm stereotyping to a certain extent. I'm sorry, but I trust women WAY more to take care of my child and not do anything creepy with him. I'm not a statistics junky, but I'm sure if I looked it up, most of the child molesters caught and registered or even accused would be men. And creepy men at that. Big fat creepy men. Women, for whatever reason, prey on teenage boys, and since I don't have one of them yet, I'm not going to worry about it until that time.
So, to my dismay, when I walked into my daycare this morning to sign my son in, a man was in the office being told all kinds of stuff that wouldn't be said to a parent, so I had to assume he was a new hire. I told myself that perhaps he's a corporate exec or something, or, better yet, a journalist! Ya, that's it. And then I promptly forgot all about it.
When I picked up my son, and went into the office to sign him out, the man was still there. Lumbering around the tiny lobby area while the center director talked to a perspective parent. He eyeballed me. I ignored him. I was already getting whiffs of creepy dude from him. He asked me how I was, I said fine. I signed Mateo out. I left.
To my DISMAY, the parent wanted to see the infant/young toddler room, so here comes the parent, baby of parent, center director, and lumbering man.
He didn't know what to do with himself, so he came over to me and said, "How's blahblahbhhshahahhh?"
I was so put off by his fat belly, his geeky glasses, his just utter ickiness for the fact that he wanted to and is working at a daycare center, that I didn't hear him.
"I'm sorry?" I said.
"How's the little guy doing?" he repeated.
I looked down at Mateo, whom I was holding while he bottle fed himself (my kid is slow on the uptake and yes, still needs a bottle here and there), and saw his cute little pudgy, smiley, happy face crumbling. The whine began deep inside, the cry was let out, the fake tears dripped.
"Um, I think that's an indication of how he is," I said. DRYLY.
"Oh, ha, ha," he said, still standing and staring.
Miss J, Mateo's teacher, piped in and said that Mateo wasn't used to the man because he was new. As in, get away from him, you creepy child predator and why the heck are you even here, you don't belong here, go away, and go away fast. At least that's what I heard. Didn't everyone?
So he walked away and found another small defenseless child to torment.
Simply put:
I do not like this. I do not like this at all.
Then another person told me about a time her daughter was spending the night at a her (perons I know) friend's house, and how the husband, whom she (the person I know) knows pretty well, gave her (the person I know) daughter a bath. And we both felt this way: Hell-to-the-no way. NO WAY. She said her daughter would never spend the night at her (the person I know) friend's house again.
Pronouns are tricky.
When I asked my husband how he felt about both topics, he was sorta, well...I don't see what's wrong with it.... I'm assuming partly because he's a man and I'm talking about men and he's got to stand up for his man power. Or he just didn't see the weirdness in it all like most women would.
Personally it gives me the creeps that any man would want to work with very small and defenseless children. And yes I'm stereotyping to a certain extent. I'm sorry, but I trust women WAY more to take care of my child and not do anything creepy with him. I'm not a statistics junky, but I'm sure if I looked it up, most of the child molesters caught and registered or even accused would be men. And creepy men at that. Big fat creepy men. Women, for whatever reason, prey on teenage boys, and since I don't have one of them yet, I'm not going to worry about it until that time.
So, to my dismay, when I walked into my daycare this morning to sign my son in, a man was in the office being told all kinds of stuff that wouldn't be said to a parent, so I had to assume he was a new hire. I told myself that perhaps he's a corporate exec or something, or, better yet, a journalist! Ya, that's it. And then I promptly forgot all about it.
When I picked up my son, and went into the office to sign him out, the man was still there. Lumbering around the tiny lobby area while the center director talked to a perspective parent. He eyeballed me. I ignored him. I was already getting whiffs of creepy dude from him. He asked me how I was, I said fine. I signed Mateo out. I left.
To my DISMAY, the parent wanted to see the infant/young toddler room, so here comes the parent, baby of parent, center director, and lumbering man.
He didn't know what to do with himself, so he came over to me and said, "How's blahblahbhhshahahhh?"
I was so put off by his fat belly, his geeky glasses, his just utter ickiness for the fact that he wanted to and is working at a daycare center, that I didn't hear him.
"I'm sorry?" I said.
"How's the little guy doing?" he repeated.
I looked down at Mateo, whom I was holding while he bottle fed himself (my kid is slow on the uptake and yes, still needs a bottle here and there), and saw his cute little pudgy, smiley, happy face crumbling. The whine began deep inside, the cry was let out, the fake tears dripped.
"Um, I think that's an indication of how he is," I said. DRYLY.
"Oh, ha, ha," he said, still standing and staring.
Miss J, Mateo's teacher, piped in and said that Mateo wasn't used to the man because he was new. As in, get away from him, you creepy child predator and why the heck are you even here, you don't belong here, go away, and go away fast. At least that's what I heard. Didn't everyone?
So he walked away and found another small defenseless child to torment.
Simply put:
I do not like this. I do not like this at all.
Friday, April 18, 2008
This American Life
I'm hooked on the podcast This American Life. It's funny, interesting, real, about real life, about real life we don't often hear about. The editing is great, the stories are great, and I think I have a crush on Ira Glass, even though he's 15 years my senior. Those glasses! Meow!
Anyway. I'm writing about This American Life because they are doing a live broadcast at various movie theatres around the US. First time I heard about this, I thought, well, it'll be in San Francisco or Berkeley and so that means I won't be going (even though I would love, love, love to). So today, I looked it up, and they're actually showing the live broadcast in Union City. Which is right next to where I live. Which is just 10 minutes up the freeway. Which is so close that it makes me ill.
Why?
Because it's happening on May 1st. And since I know that May 2nd is a Friday, that means the 1st is a Thursday. So there is no way I'll be going.
So, if anything, maybe someone will read this and say, heeeeyyyyy...I live near Union City, I could go..... And please do. And then e-mail me and tell me all about it.
Anyway. I'm writing about This American Life because they are doing a live broadcast at various movie theatres around the US. First time I heard about this, I thought, well, it'll be in San Francisco or Berkeley and so that means I won't be going (even though I would love, love, love to). So today, I looked it up, and they're actually showing the live broadcast in Union City. Which is right next to where I live. Which is just 10 minutes up the freeway. Which is so close that it makes me ill.
Why?
Because it's happening on May 1st. And since I know that May 2nd is a Friday, that means the 1st is a Thursday. So there is no way I'll be going.
So, if anything, maybe someone will read this and say, heeeeyyyyy...I live near Union City, I could go..... And please do. And then e-mail me and tell me all about it.
Get me through this day.
Finally, Friday.
Tomorrow I sleep for hours.
Got to shake this cold.
Husband off to work.
Mateo is still sleeping.
Calm before the storm.
Busy day ahead.
Must be creative or else.
Is my iPod charged?
Monday, April 14, 2008
Fashion Plates
I rarely get to buy gifts for little girls, so when I do, I'm always hard-pressed to find a gift that's fun and different and definitely something other parents wouldn't be purchasing as a gift. I don't want to do the same old Barbie doll, and I've already bought clothes for the last three birthday party gifts, so this time I'm trying to find something that I loved when I was a kid: Fashion plates.
Do you remember Fashion plates? Oh how I loved them so. I even had a set for making vans or something. The baw-chucka-baw-wow vans at that (Mom, call me and I'll explain what that means). Fashion plates are something I constantly think about because I'm a dork. Apparently they don't make them anymore, although I found a whole mess of them on eBay, the soonest ending auction was at $42.00. Curses to myself for not keeping things! The amount of money I could be rolling in if I saved my Fashion plates, my ewok dolls, my cabbage patch kids, whatever else I had as a kid that is considered "retro" now. Ack, I'm old.
Oh you know I'll be hoarding some of Mateo's toys now. Although I'm looking at them with the same eyes I looked at my own toys: Who would care about this stuff in 25 years?
But I digress:
What little girl wouldn't love to mix and match outfits and hair styles and textures and be able to color them all in!? I did find some Dora the Explorer thing, and some other random cheapo items that are similar to Fashion plates, but just don't do it for me. And at this point, if I do find something vaguely similar to Fashion plates that I do approve of, I'll probably end up keeping it for myself.
Do you remember Fashion plates? Oh how I loved them so. I even had a set for making vans or something. The baw-chucka-baw-wow vans at that (Mom, call me and I'll explain what that means). Fashion plates are something I constantly think about because I'm a dork. Apparently they don't make them anymore, although I found a whole mess of them on eBay, the soonest ending auction was at $42.00. Curses to myself for not keeping things! The amount of money I could be rolling in if I saved my Fashion plates, my ewok dolls, my cabbage patch kids, whatever else I had as a kid that is considered "retro" now. Ack, I'm old.
Oh you know I'll be hoarding some of Mateo's toys now. Although I'm looking at them with the same eyes I looked at my own toys: Who would care about this stuff in 25 years?
But I digress:
What little girl wouldn't love to mix and match outfits and hair styles and textures and be able to color them all in!? I did find some Dora the Explorer thing, and some other random cheapo items that are similar to Fashion plates, but just don't do it for me. And at this point, if I do find something vaguely similar to Fashion plates that I do approve of, I'll probably end up keeping it for myself.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Day in the life of....me!
I jokingly said to someone yesterday that I should document everything I do in one day so when I'm really old, I can look back on it and think how crazy I was. Yesterday was a typical day for me when I work at home. I decided this is a good day to document.
4am: wake up
4am - 5am: wash hair, do make-up, hair, get mateo's food together for daycare, make coffee
5am: start working
5:20am: listen to Mateo while he's waking up, ignore Mateo in hopes he goes back to sleep
5:45am: get dressed, get bottle, banana, antibiotics for Mateo
5:50am: get Mateo, change diaper, give him bottle, banana, antibiotics
6am: give Mateo eye drops and dress him
6:05am: give Mateo first inhaler
6:07am: move it into the the living room for second inhaler and some TV watching
6:20am: give second inhaler
6:30am: leave for daycare
6:50am: arrive at daycare and get Mateo settled
7am: leave for Safeway to buy sick husband a pastry
7:10am: leave to Walmart to pick up some random things
7:40am: back home, start working
11:30am: husband requests Sudafed, leave for Walmart
12pm: back home, keep working
12:35pm: leave to pick up Mateo from daycare
12:50pm: arrive at daycare, gather up Mateo's stuff, talk to Miss Joanne, leave
1:10pm: arrive at Safeway, buy some food for dinner and other random things needed that couldn't purchased in the morning because they didn't have them out yet
1:40pm: arrive home, load up stroller with groceries and Mateo.
1:45pm: get inside condo, unload everything, husband runs off with Mateo
1:50pm: start putting dinner together (fabulous Crock Pot Chicken Tortilla Soup)
2pm: back to work
3:30pm: rescue Mateo from husband who has been trying to put Mateo to sleep for a good half an hour and all Mateo is doing is crying.
3:35pm: change dirty diaper (might have been cause of crying...husbands....argh), give Mateo dose of eye drops
3:36pm: feed Mateo a tasty meal of cheese, peas, lil' crunchies, chicken (refused, of course), banana (another cause of crying...perhaps...husbands....)
3:50pm: back to work
4pm: move to living room to work
5pm: stop working, pj time for mateo
5:10pm: back in living room for fun and frolicks
5:30pm: off to bed for Mateo, gather bottle, antibiotics, inhalers, pacifier, Mateo in tow
5:50pm: Mateo is asleep, dinner time
6pm: dinner is served, husband and I eat
6:30pm: put dishes in dishwasher, clean kitchen
6:45pm: sweep kitchen floor, sweep entire living room floor (fake hardwood), sweep rug, torture Zoe with broom, attack Zoe with letters from play mat, sweep cat food and litter box area
7:10pm: confirm with husband that he feels much better that the floor is now swept (he normally does this, but he was sick, so I didn't want him doing anything)
7:30pm: move into the bedroom to synchronize my work laptop and play some Scrabulous with husband
8:00pm: take shower
8:15pm: continue with Scrabulous game while messing around on the internet and watching Big Brother and eating a cookie and ice cream
9pm: start watching Super Nanny so I could see how crazy kids can be
9:05pm: husband turns off TV despite my protestations, says he'll turn it back on, and I say no because he'll lay on his side and I won't be able to see the TV anyway.
9:10pm: sleep
10:30pm: wake up because of Mateo shrieking, go see what's wrong
10:50pm: back in bed, asleep 'til 4am when it starts all over again....
4am: wake up
4am - 5am: wash hair, do make-up, hair, get mateo's food together for daycare, make coffee
5am: start working
5:20am: listen to Mateo while he's waking up, ignore Mateo in hopes he goes back to sleep
5:45am: get dressed, get bottle, banana, antibiotics for Mateo
5:50am: get Mateo, change diaper, give him bottle, banana, antibiotics
6am: give Mateo eye drops and dress him
6:05am: give Mateo first inhaler
6:07am: move it into the the living room for second inhaler and some TV watching
6:20am: give second inhaler
6:30am: leave for daycare
6:50am: arrive at daycare and get Mateo settled
7am: leave for Safeway to buy sick husband a pastry
7:10am: leave to Walmart to pick up some random things
7:40am: back home, start working
11:30am: husband requests Sudafed, leave for Walmart
12pm: back home, keep working
12:35pm: leave to pick up Mateo from daycare
12:50pm: arrive at daycare, gather up Mateo's stuff, talk to Miss Joanne, leave
1:10pm: arrive at Safeway, buy some food for dinner and other random things needed that couldn't purchased in the morning because they didn't have them out yet
1:40pm: arrive home, load up stroller with groceries and Mateo.
1:45pm: get inside condo, unload everything, husband runs off with Mateo
1:50pm: start putting dinner together (fabulous Crock Pot Chicken Tortilla Soup)
2pm: back to work
3:30pm: rescue Mateo from husband who has been trying to put Mateo to sleep for a good half an hour and all Mateo is doing is crying.
3:35pm: change dirty diaper (might have been cause of crying...husbands....argh), give Mateo dose of eye drops
3:36pm: feed Mateo a tasty meal of cheese, peas, lil' crunchies, chicken (refused, of course), banana (another cause of crying...perhaps...husbands....)
3:50pm: back to work
4pm: move to living room to work
5pm: stop working, pj time for mateo
5:10pm: back in living room for fun and frolicks
5:30pm: off to bed for Mateo, gather bottle, antibiotics, inhalers, pacifier, Mateo in tow
5:50pm: Mateo is asleep, dinner time
6pm: dinner is served, husband and I eat
6:30pm: put dishes in dishwasher, clean kitchen
6:45pm: sweep kitchen floor, sweep entire living room floor (fake hardwood), sweep rug, torture Zoe with broom, attack Zoe with letters from play mat, sweep cat food and litter box area
7:10pm: confirm with husband that he feels much better that the floor is now swept (he normally does this, but he was sick, so I didn't want him doing anything)
7:30pm: move into the bedroom to synchronize my work laptop and play some Scrabulous with husband
8:00pm: take shower
8:15pm: continue with Scrabulous game while messing around on the internet and watching Big Brother and eating a cookie and ice cream
9pm: start watching Super Nanny so I could see how crazy kids can be
9:05pm: husband turns off TV despite my protestations, says he'll turn it back on, and I say no because he'll lay on his side and I won't be able to see the TV anyway.
9:10pm: sleep
10:30pm: wake up because of Mateo shrieking, go see what's wrong
10:50pm: back in bed, asleep 'til 4am when it starts all over again....
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Check to son + google = why I love the internet
My son was part of a study for a meningitis vaccine (please, if anyone has anything negative to say about this, keep it to yourself - believe me, I've had my scares and worries) and because of this, he received a $50 check in the mail.
Made out to him.
Not me or the parents of or to my husband.
I asked my husband if he knew what to do (which is silly because he's never had a child until our child). He didn't know.
Now, this check is needed to add to my Dyson vacuum cleaner fund. Because our vacuum sucks. Actually, it doesn't "suck" which is why it needs to go away. I'm hoarding all kinds of random monies that are falling into my hands, mostly due to rebates, so we can buy one of them fa-bu-lous dysons that supposedly never stop working well. And because the new vacuum will create a cleaner and more dust and mite free environment for our wean, I'm okay with stealing his money.
So this morning I googled "how to deposit check to child" and the first result was How to Deposit Checks Written to Children. For those of you who do not want to go to another web site to find out how, assuming because you love my blog so, here is the low down:
1. sign child's name
2. write "minor by"
3 sign your own name
Nice that parents can take money designate for their children - and easily.
And this is why I love the internet. You can pretty much find the answer to any question. The only problem is - can I believe the answers I find?
Made out to him.
Not me or the parents of or to my husband.
I asked my husband if he knew what to do (which is silly because he's never had a child until our child). He didn't know.
Now, this check is needed to add to my Dyson vacuum cleaner fund. Because our vacuum sucks. Actually, it doesn't "suck" which is why it needs to go away. I'm hoarding all kinds of random monies that are falling into my hands, mostly due to rebates, so we can buy one of them fa-bu-lous dysons that supposedly never stop working well. And because the new vacuum will create a cleaner and more dust and mite free environment for our wean, I'm okay with stealing his money.
So this morning I googled "how to deposit check to child" and the first result was How to Deposit Checks Written to Children. For those of you who do not want to go to another web site to find out how, assuming because you love my blog so, here is the low down:
1. sign child's name
2. write "minor by"
3 sign your own name
Nice that parents can take money designate for their children - and easily.
And this is why I love the internet. You can pretty much find the answer to any question. The only problem is - can I believe the answers I find?
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
And so it begins.
Mateo is half Mexican. He looks more white (and more like me) than he does his dad. But the more he goes outside, the more his coloring is changing from pale to a nice swarthy olive color. The more he goes outside, the darker he's going to get. But he's still going to look like me. Yes, I like to say that.
Today he had to go to Kaiser to get some shots and some blood drawn. We went to the research nurses office, and there was a new nurse there I've never seen before.
At one point she asked me, "Does he eat carrots?"
I thought about it, then said, "Does he? No, not really. We're trying to get him to. He loves peas, though." I wasn't really sure why she was even asking me this.
"Oh, so he doesn't eat carrots," she said. "It's just that his skin color is so...."
I don't even remember what she called it. Dark? Brown? Orange? I know the assumption is that he is fully white, but carrots being the reason his skin isn't like mine? Isn't that kinda...dumb? Wouldn't one need to eat carrots constantly to get an orange tint?
So I said, "His dad is Mexican, that's why his skin is that way. The more he goes outside, the darker he'll get."
One nurse said something about how it's nice he'll have tan skin and not....
I interrupted, "...pale? Like his mom's?"
Ha, ha, ha....guffaws ensue. Okay, maybe not that much.
Carrots? Seriously?
Today he had to go to Kaiser to get some shots and some blood drawn. We went to the research nurses office, and there was a new nurse there I've never seen before.
At one point she asked me, "Does he eat carrots?"
I thought about it, then said, "Does he? No, not really. We're trying to get him to. He loves peas, though." I wasn't really sure why she was even asking me this.
"Oh, so he doesn't eat carrots," she said. "It's just that his skin color is so...."
I don't even remember what she called it. Dark? Brown? Orange? I know the assumption is that he is fully white, but carrots being the reason his skin isn't like mine? Isn't that kinda...dumb? Wouldn't one need to eat carrots constantly to get an orange tint?
So I said, "His dad is Mexican, that's why his skin is that way. The more he goes outside, the darker he'll get."
One nurse said something about how it's nice he'll have tan skin and not....
I interrupted, "...pale? Like his mom's?"
Ha, ha, ha....guffaws ensue. Okay, maybe not that much.
Carrots? Seriously?
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