Mateo had his grumpasaurus moments today. And since I was still getting over whatever illness I obtained last week (kindergerms), I couldn't be a full goofy mom with him. His attempts at playing turned into much frustration on both our parts, and I ended up slightly abused and rather perturbed at my child.
My list of abuses today were:
1. A full sippy cup slammed on big toe. I managed not to cry or swear. Or run off and hide in the bathroom while I cried and swore.
2. Plenty of "nnnnooooooooe"s followed by slaps. "Nooooeeee" is his new favorite word. I hate his new favorite word.
3. A good punch to the eye. After saying "ow!", he began to laugh. Because anything that causes an "ow" from someone is very funny. Veeeeerrry funny indeed.
4. Lots of hair pulling.
5. T-shirt and then hair grabbed by hands full of refried beans. I pretty much lost it then and walked out of the kitchen, telling my husband, "He's not my child. I'm done. I'm leaving. My child would so not do that to me!!!" I still have beans in my hair, thank you very much.
Then comes bed time. And Mateo actually sat through three books with no pacifier in his mouth and no page grabbing and no fussing and no screaming over my reading. He actually sat very intently, pointing to different things while telling me about them after I was done reading the page. Before that, he very gently gave his daddy these cute side hugs. It was almost like he was whispering something special to him. Even though he wasn't doing it to me, it definitely pulled at my heart strings.
After I finished the last book, Mateo finished his milk, and then settled down. No fussing, no yelling at me, no insisting to sit up straight or be let down. The most he did was touch my face with his chubby hand.
While we listened to his lullaby CD, I rubbed his forehead and arm. His eyes slowly closed, then opened, then closed. While still awake, but only slightly, I put him down in his crib. Not a single peep came from him.
I left and walked into the kitchen and told my husband, "He just made up for all the things he did to me today."
Dang I love that little dude, beans in my hair and all.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Why Moms can't get sick.
First reason, and the most obvious: The world....seems....to....just...fall....apart.
Poof! All common sense is gone cause mom's got a massive headache, sore throat and is completely disengaged from her body, mind and reality.
Second reason: The momless child simply won't eat. Why? Because mom usually takes care of this and so if she's off being sick, then momless child only gets slices of cheese for lunch.
Okay. I could go on and on, but why don't I just tell my little tale of me getting sick on Friday and how this drastically screwed up our weekend.
For some reason, me telling my husband that I had a sore throat, killer headache and swollen, painful lymph nodes wasn't enough of an indication that I was sick. He did tell me Friday morning he thought it was from the smokey atmosphere outside and that I wasn't really sick. I said I don't think my nodes would be hurting this much if it was just the air outside.
It wasn't until Saturday morning, when I finally dragged my sick and tired butt out of bed at 7:30ish (answering the screams and wails of my poor momless child), that my husband finally "got" that I was sick. And why? Because I sad I had a cold.
"You didn't say that yesterday!" he said to me.
I looked at him.
"What did I say yesterday?" I asked.
"You said you weren't feeling well."
"And what is the difference???" I asked.
Our poor momless child was acting like a complete wild fussy boy because my husband was trying to get him to take a nap. Seems Mateo woke up before 4am and my husband couldn't get him back to sleep. It was obvious Mateo was tired. But it was also obvious that something else was wrong.
"What has he eaten?" I asked.
"Eaten? Well....he's a had a lot of milk," he told me. He said this like it was something Mateo did on his own. Like it was his choice to drink a lot of milk.
He continued, "And a cereal bar."
Let's see. A lot of milk and one cereal bar. He's been up since before 4am, and it's now 7:30am. By now, if I had been up with him, he would of had a cereal bar, a banana and some yogurt. Not all at once, but definitely all three within three hours.
"He's acting this way because he's tired and hungry," I said. "There is no way he'll go down unless he's got a full belly."
"But he's tired," my husband told me.
"I know, but he won't settle down until his belly is full." I got up and went into the kitchen to get him some yogurt. I fed him the yogurt, and then we went into the living room to eat the banana. My husband was back in bed due to the lack of sleep. And yes, I know how it is because I do this same get up really early every Saturday and Sunday routine with Mateo, and I too am very tired after just a few hours of being up. So that's why, even though I was dead tired and sick and just wanted to go back to bed myself, I told my husband to go sleep and get some rest.
Mateo took a nice two hour nap after he ate all his breakfast.
Later my husband decided to take Mateo to the Mall and to return some things at Target. I had just woken up from a nap, so I didn't know what was going on during my sleep. Since the breakfast incident worried me, the first thing I wanted to know was if Mateo had lunch.
"Did he eat lunch yet?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah. He had two slices of cheese and a banana."
Okay. Two slices of cheese and a banana. While that might sound like a lot, that's definitely not enough food nor the right kind of food a growing toddler needs. Mateo was acting very similar to the way he was in the morning: feet stomping, body throwing, wails and cries.
"You might want to bring some snacks with you," I said. On second thought, I realized I couldn't send Mateo out into the world the way he was acting. I wanted to teach my husband a lessen that kids actually do need to sit down and eat, otherwise they act like complete brats, but I love my baby too much to let him out while hungry. "Actually, I think he's hungry and needs to eat."
My husband huffed, began washing the tray to his high chair, and I started heating up some food for Mateo. Mateo gladly sat down to his meal, ate and then declared himself finished by tossing food on the floor.
Today went much better even though I didn't do my normal things I do, like getting up with Mateo (while I did try, I was told to go back to bed), and feeding him, and playing with him, and doing the normal morning routine things until my husband was back from the gym. I think my husband finally got that Mateo needs to eat more than one item per mealtime with plenty of snacks in between.
I still don't get how the whole world seemed to fall apart because I wasn't up and doing my normal weekend stuff. I still don't get why I wasn't believed when I said I was sick. And I still don't get why when my husband is sick, he can lay around, watching TV or sleeping, but when I get sick, I'm a bother because I can't think straight and just need to rest.
With that all said, it's another good reason why we didn't go to Monterey this weekend. Sickness, fires and being stressed out are all fine reasons to stay home.
Poof! All common sense is gone cause mom's got a massive headache, sore throat and is completely disengaged from her body, mind and reality.
Second reason: The momless child simply won't eat. Why? Because mom usually takes care of this and so if she's off being sick, then momless child only gets slices of cheese for lunch.
Okay. I could go on and on, but why don't I just tell my little tale of me getting sick on Friday and how this drastically screwed up our weekend.
For some reason, me telling my husband that I had a sore throat, killer headache and swollen, painful lymph nodes wasn't enough of an indication that I was sick. He did tell me Friday morning he thought it was from the smokey atmosphere outside and that I wasn't really sick. I said I don't think my nodes would be hurting this much if it was just the air outside.
It wasn't until Saturday morning, when I finally dragged my sick and tired butt out of bed at 7:30ish (answering the screams and wails of my poor momless child), that my husband finally "got" that I was sick. And why? Because I sad I had a cold.
"You didn't say that yesterday!" he said to me.
I looked at him.
"What did I say yesterday?" I asked.
"You said you weren't feeling well."
"And what is the difference???" I asked.
Our poor momless child was acting like a complete wild fussy boy because my husband was trying to get him to take a nap. Seems Mateo woke up before 4am and my husband couldn't get him back to sleep. It was obvious Mateo was tired. But it was also obvious that something else was wrong.
"What has he eaten?" I asked.
"Eaten? Well....he's a had a lot of milk," he told me. He said this like it was something Mateo did on his own. Like it was his choice to drink a lot of milk.
He continued, "And a cereal bar."
Let's see. A lot of milk and one cereal bar. He's been up since before 4am, and it's now 7:30am. By now, if I had been up with him, he would of had a cereal bar, a banana and some yogurt. Not all at once, but definitely all three within three hours.
"He's acting this way because he's tired and hungry," I said. "There is no way he'll go down unless he's got a full belly."
"But he's tired," my husband told me.
"I know, but he won't settle down until his belly is full." I got up and went into the kitchen to get him some yogurt. I fed him the yogurt, and then we went into the living room to eat the banana. My husband was back in bed due to the lack of sleep. And yes, I know how it is because I do this same get up really early every Saturday and Sunday routine with Mateo, and I too am very tired after just a few hours of being up. So that's why, even though I was dead tired and sick and just wanted to go back to bed myself, I told my husband to go sleep and get some rest.
Mateo took a nice two hour nap after he ate all his breakfast.
Later my husband decided to take Mateo to the Mall and to return some things at Target. I had just woken up from a nap, so I didn't know what was going on during my sleep. Since the breakfast incident worried me, the first thing I wanted to know was if Mateo had lunch.
"Did he eat lunch yet?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah. He had two slices of cheese and a banana."
Okay. Two slices of cheese and a banana. While that might sound like a lot, that's definitely not enough food nor the right kind of food a growing toddler needs. Mateo was acting very similar to the way he was in the morning: feet stomping, body throwing, wails and cries.
"You might want to bring some snacks with you," I said. On second thought, I realized I couldn't send Mateo out into the world the way he was acting. I wanted to teach my husband a lessen that kids actually do need to sit down and eat, otherwise they act like complete brats, but I love my baby too much to let him out while hungry. "Actually, I think he's hungry and needs to eat."
My husband huffed, began washing the tray to his high chair, and I started heating up some food for Mateo. Mateo gladly sat down to his meal, ate and then declared himself finished by tossing food on the floor.
Today went much better even though I didn't do my normal things I do, like getting up with Mateo (while I did try, I was told to go back to bed), and feeding him, and playing with him, and doing the normal morning routine things until my husband was back from the gym. I think my husband finally got that Mateo needs to eat more than one item per mealtime with plenty of snacks in between.
I still don't get how the whole world seemed to fall apart because I wasn't up and doing my normal weekend stuff. I still don't get why I wasn't believed when I said I was sick. And I still don't get why when my husband is sick, he can lay around, watching TV or sleeping, but when I get sick, I'm a bother because I can't think straight and just need to rest.
With that all said, it's another good reason why we didn't go to Monterey this weekend. Sickness, fires and being stressed out are all fine reasons to stay home.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Let them have cake!
I must have heard incorrectly. There wasn't leftover cake today, but another party! Mateo got to participate in cake and ice cream, and he received yet another party gift bag favor thing.
And he didn't take anything home with him today.
Go figure.
And he didn't take anything home with him today.
Go figure.
Deny my child, see what you get.
I picked up Mateo yesterday, and when I got there, I noticed the parents of one of the little girls was there and it seemed like they had been there for a bit already. When I looked in Mateo's cubby, there was a party gift bag. Now it made sense. It was the little girl's birthday.
Right after I made that deduction, one of the daycare ladies told me about the party and how there was cake.
"Since we didn't know if Mateo could have cake or not, we put him in the high chair (read: locked him up) and gave him crackers (read: you can't participate in cake fun, you loser!)," she told me.
"Oh." I said. "Well, he can have cake. For the next time," I told her.
"There is plenty left over, so he can have some tomorrow," she said.
"Okay," I said. "Good."
Then I thought about it. How mean is it to locked up a kid, not allowing him to participate or at least eat at the table with the other kids, and having to eat crackers in lieu of tasty cake? My poor baby. Sad, very sad indeed.
At some point Mateo had grabbed a baby rattle and was lugging it around with him while I held him. I knew he had it, but by the time we left, I didn't think about it.
When I put him in his car seat, I realized he still had a grip on it.
That's what they get for not giving my kid cake. Locking him up as if he were a criminal. Now he's resorting to crime and stealing daycare toys!
(I brought it back today and told them he took it and it's dirty and needs to be cleaned.)
Right after I made that deduction, one of the daycare ladies told me about the party and how there was cake.
"Since we didn't know if Mateo could have cake or not, we put him in the high chair (read: locked him up) and gave him crackers (read: you can't participate in cake fun, you loser!)," she told me.
"Oh." I said. "Well, he can have cake. For the next time," I told her.
"There is plenty left over, so he can have some tomorrow," she said.
"Okay," I said. "Good."
Then I thought about it. How mean is it to locked up a kid, not allowing him to participate or at least eat at the table with the other kids, and having to eat crackers in lieu of tasty cake? My poor baby. Sad, very sad indeed.
At some point Mateo had grabbed a baby rattle and was lugging it around with him while I held him. I knew he had it, but by the time we left, I didn't think about it.
When I put him in his car seat, I realized he still had a grip on it.
That's what they get for not giving my kid cake. Locking him up as if he were a criminal. Now he's resorting to crime and stealing daycare toys!
(I brought it back today and told them he took it and it's dirty and needs to be cleaned.)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
My goodness, I'm dense.
Mateo communicates with us more and more, and he even understands some words like "bye," "hi," and "dinner."
I just discovered that he understands "dinner" tonight when we were in his room and I said, "Are you ready to eat? Let's get your dinner!" in a happy, animated mom voice. He immediately stood up, ran over to the baby gate and started bouncing around. I opened the gate and off he went into the kitchen. So yeah, he gets "dinner" now.
When I was pretty sure he was finished with dinner, I asked, "are you done?" He looked at me and smiled. "Are you done?" I asked again. That's when he started waving his hands around. I looked at him. "Done?" I said. He waved some more and started thrashing about.
That's when I got it. He was telling me he was done.
"Okay, okay," I said. "I'm sorry I don't understand sign language." I cleaned him up. Then I went into our bedroom to look up "finished"on the web (google, you rock!). Low and behold, I found this: Finish. And that's exactly what he did and has been doing for some time now. It's just that today he did it more clearly than he ever has before.
Later on we were in the living room; I was writing, he was flipping and flopping all over the couch while watching Yo Gabba Gabba. He wanted down, so I let him down, and he was messing around with toys on the ground. That's when he spotted his water table outside. He began to tilt his head, looking at me with his cute doe eyes, babbling something while making a waving motion that went up and down.
I said, "Stop doing that, you're too cute!" Cause come on, he is.
He kept doe eyeing me, making that gesture and babbling. I knew what he wanted: he wanted to go outside and play with his water table. Too bad it was after 6pm, he was in his PJs and already had a bath. In other words, it wasn't happening.
"Are you going outside?" I said jokingly.
When I was saying this, he just happened to be looking outside. As soon as he heard "outside," his head whipped around and he started making his waving gesture more frantically and tilting his head and his doe eyes got even bigger.
Gone are the days I can say anything in front of him and assuming he doesn't get it.
Then I realized if he was saying "finished" to me before, maybe that crazy wave means "outside." And interestingly enough, he always does that when he's leaving with his Dad to go outside to play. We always assumed he was waving goodbye to me.
So back to google, and low and behold I found this: outside/outdoors (go to the middle).
When my husband got home, I informed him that our child is a genius, told him why, got Mateo all goofed up because I said "outside" again (so my husband let him loose in the hallways in our condo for a few minutes), and when he came back in, started making the "outside" sign over and over.
Later on I realized my child has started his separate life from me. Because not only has he been communicating for a while now and we're just too stupid to get it, he's slowly learning more and more words and their meanings while at daycare.
So now I'm wondering when he's going to start telling people they're a "booger butt" or a "stinky boy" because I say that an awful lot to him these days. Terms of endearment, merely terms of endearment.
I just discovered that he understands "dinner" tonight when we were in his room and I said, "Are you ready to eat? Let's get your dinner!" in a happy, animated mom voice. He immediately stood up, ran over to the baby gate and started bouncing around. I opened the gate and off he went into the kitchen. So yeah, he gets "dinner" now.
When I was pretty sure he was finished with dinner, I asked, "are you done?" He looked at me and smiled. "Are you done?" I asked again. That's when he started waving his hands around. I looked at him. "Done?" I said. He waved some more and started thrashing about.
That's when I got it. He was telling me he was done.
"Okay, okay," I said. "I'm sorry I don't understand sign language." I cleaned him up. Then I went into our bedroom to look up "finished"on the web (google, you rock!). Low and behold, I found this: Finish. And that's exactly what he did and has been doing for some time now. It's just that today he did it more clearly than he ever has before.
Later on we were in the living room; I was writing, he was flipping and flopping all over the couch while watching Yo Gabba Gabba. He wanted down, so I let him down, and he was messing around with toys on the ground. That's when he spotted his water table outside. He began to tilt his head, looking at me with his cute doe eyes, babbling something while making a waving motion that went up and down.
I said, "Stop doing that, you're too cute!" Cause come on, he is.
He kept doe eyeing me, making that gesture and babbling. I knew what he wanted: he wanted to go outside and play with his water table. Too bad it was after 6pm, he was in his PJs and already had a bath. In other words, it wasn't happening.
"Are you going outside?" I said jokingly.
When I was saying this, he just happened to be looking outside. As soon as he heard "outside," his head whipped around and he started making his waving gesture more frantically and tilting his head and his doe eyes got even bigger.
Gone are the days I can say anything in front of him and assuming he doesn't get it.
Then I realized if he was saying "finished" to me before, maybe that crazy wave means "outside." And interestingly enough, he always does that when he's leaving with his Dad to go outside to play. We always assumed he was waving goodbye to me.
So back to google, and low and behold I found this: outside/outdoors (go to the middle).
When my husband got home, I informed him that our child is a genius, told him why, got Mateo all goofed up because I said "outside" again (so my husband let him loose in the hallways in our condo for a few minutes), and when he came back in, started making the "outside" sign over and over.
Later on I realized my child has started his separate life from me. Because not only has he been communicating for a while now and we're just too stupid to get it, he's slowly learning more and more words and their meanings while at daycare.
So now I'm wondering when he's going to start telling people they're a "booger butt" or a "stinky boy" because I say that an awful lot to him these days. Terms of endearment, merely terms of endearment.
Bye bye vacation.
We decided to cancel our "mini" vacation.
No, no, don't feel bad for us. We're okay. More than okay. And we only have so many months left when we can change our plans left and right because Mateo will be catching on soon. And believe me, he's fine with it.
For those of you out there who don't have a job but have a kid, and those of you who have a job and no kid, be grateful. Because trying to manage work, life, kid, and planning even a simple vacation is too much. At least right now and at Mateo's age.
Both my husband and I are too busy at work, and we both feel that if we took the time off (me one day, him a half a day), it would hurt us in the end. And while this was intended to be a vacation in the sense of relaxation and fun, really, was it going to be that way? Probably not. I'd rather work, get paid, not lose the one day, save myself from feeling super rushed to get things done, have that peace of mind instead of trying to figure out how I was going to fit in shopping and packing and making sure everything was taken care of not to mention figuring out how to get to the nearest hospital in Monterey in case something terrible happened to Mateo.
So the new plan is going to Happy Hollow in San Jose, but that's only if there are no fires making the sky funky with smoke and ashes.
Wish us luck with that.
No, no, don't feel bad for us. We're okay. More than okay. And we only have so many months left when we can change our plans left and right because Mateo will be catching on soon. And believe me, he's fine with it.
For those of you out there who don't have a job but have a kid, and those of you who have a job and no kid, be grateful. Because trying to manage work, life, kid, and planning even a simple vacation is too much. At least right now and at Mateo's age.
Both my husband and I are too busy at work, and we both feel that if we took the time off (me one day, him a half a day), it would hurt us in the end. And while this was intended to be a vacation in the sense of relaxation and fun, really, was it going to be that way? Probably not. I'd rather work, get paid, not lose the one day, save myself from feeling super rushed to get things done, have that peace of mind instead of trying to figure out how I was going to fit in shopping and packing and making sure everything was taken care of not to mention figuring out how to get to the nearest hospital in Monterey in case something terrible happened to Mateo.
So the new plan is going to Happy Hollow in San Jose, but that's only if there are no fires making the sky funky with smoke and ashes.
Wish us luck with that.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Nothing like a case of willpower to bite you in the butt.
While I was making dinner (as previously mentioned, hash browns and eggs in the nest...YUM!), my husband was putting Mateo to sleep. He slowly slipped out of Mateo's room at one point, leaving a mewing Mateo in his crib to fall off into slumber land.
Then the mewing got louder. And louder. Aaaaaannnnnnnd louder. It turned into full blown cry. I couldn't do anything because I had a pan full of tasty sizzling eggs in the nest cooking, so I assumed my husband was going to take care of Mateo's cries of displeasure. Since I had the vent on, I could hear Mateo, but I wasn't sure if my husband was in there with him or not.
After I was finished with our fabulous meal, I walked into our bedroom to find my husband.
"Did you go in there at all?" I asked.
"No. I'm letting him cry it out," my husband told me.
"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhh. You're tough. Tough and mean. So mean. He's in there all upset and you never once went in there. Mean, mean, mean." I have mentioned I'm keen on joking around at other people's expense, haven't I?
My husband looked at me. The poor guy looked guilty and sad and confused.
"Your dinner is ready," I said while I walked out.
During the first few minutes of our meal, Mateo started banging at something near his crib. Boing! Boing! Boing!
I said, "That's his way of saying 'you bastards!'"
Eventually he settled down and we heard no more Mateo peeps.
After watching Intervention where the parents of a guy got upset over and over about their son's crack addiction, I had to make a teary-eyed visit to Mateo. Pretty much anything on TV makes me think of Mateo and how he'll probably break my heart some day. Some how.
When I walked into Mateo's room, I could smell the familiar stank of Mateo poop. I went over to his crib. He was on his belly with one leg sticking up, held up by the crib slats. I did my butt squeeze inspection, which woke him up, and I was fairly certain he had a poop in his diaper.
He slowly stood up, and I picked him up and took him over to his dresser to get inspected and changed.
He had pooped.
Since I went MIA for a bit, I realized after I left Mateo's room that my husband was looking for me in our really big condo, and when he saw me, he said, "what were you doing in there?
"You want to know? You want some Dad guilt?"
"Huh?"
"You really want to know?"
"What?"
"Okay...get ready to feel bad. He had pooped!" I said.
"But he doesn't poop when he sleeps," my husband told me.
"He pooped."
"He didn't poop when I was in there," he told me.
"He pooped when you left. He pooped. You poop. Everybody poops."
"But I didn't know...." he said sadly.
"Well now don't you feel bad for not going in there. Poor little guy with poop in his diaper."
It's so much fun turning guilt onto someone else. So much fun.
Then the mewing got louder. And louder. Aaaaaannnnnnnd louder. It turned into full blown cry. I couldn't do anything because I had a pan full of tasty sizzling eggs in the nest cooking, so I assumed my husband was going to take care of Mateo's cries of displeasure. Since I had the vent on, I could hear Mateo, but I wasn't sure if my husband was in there with him or not.
After I was finished with our fabulous meal, I walked into our bedroom to find my husband.
"Did you go in there at all?" I asked.
"No. I'm letting him cry it out," my husband told me.
"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhh. You're tough. Tough and mean. So mean. He's in there all upset and you never once went in there. Mean, mean, mean." I have mentioned I'm keen on joking around at other people's expense, haven't I?
My husband looked at me. The poor guy looked guilty and sad and confused.
"Your dinner is ready," I said while I walked out.
During the first few minutes of our meal, Mateo started banging at something near his crib. Boing! Boing! Boing!
I said, "That's his way of saying 'you bastards!'"
Eventually he settled down and we heard no more Mateo peeps.
After watching Intervention where the parents of a guy got upset over and over about their son's crack addiction, I had to make a teary-eyed visit to Mateo. Pretty much anything on TV makes me think of Mateo and how he'll probably break my heart some day. Some how.
When I walked into Mateo's room, I could smell the familiar stank of Mateo poop. I went over to his crib. He was on his belly with one leg sticking up, held up by the crib slats. I did my butt squeeze inspection, which woke him up, and I was fairly certain he had a poop in his diaper.
He slowly stood up, and I picked him up and took him over to his dresser to get inspected and changed.
He had pooped.
Since I went MIA for a bit, I realized after I left Mateo's room that my husband was looking for me in our really big condo, and when he saw me, he said, "what were you doing in there?
"You want to know? You want some Dad guilt?"
"Huh?"
"You really want to know?"
"What?"
"Okay...get ready to feel bad. He had pooped!" I said.
"But he doesn't poop when he sleeps," my husband told me.
"He pooped."
"He didn't poop when I was in there," he told me.
"He pooped when you left. He pooped. You poop. Everybody poops."
"But I didn't know...." he said sadly.
"Well now don't you feel bad for not going in there. Poor little guy with poop in his diaper."
It's so much fun turning guilt onto someone else. So much fun.
Vacation panic.
Countdown: -5 days to go and we're officially on our "mini" vacation.
How many times have I ran through lists of things I need to pack and all the stuff I need to do before we go: 100,394 times. Wait...100,395.
To alleviate some brain worries, I actually typed up a list for all the items we need for Mateo. It's now about a page long. And I really haven't alleviated any brain worries, I'm just now worried my list will never end or I'm still going to forget something.
We never managed to go grocery shopping this past weekend, so we've been eating take-out or cereal for meals (Fatty McGoo will be back come Monday, I promise. I got a wedding to go to in August and I don't want to wear a mu-mu.) I was going to go grocery shopping after picking up Mateo from daycare tonight, but he had other plans and wanted to whine and cry, so I figured it was going to be torture for me and him if we went.
On tonight's menu: The last thing in the house besides Mateo food. Eggs and hash browns. I might even whip up some tasty eggs in the nest! Call me Chef de Cuisine!
And to top off everything and my poor planning, I looked up events in Monterey this weekend. Blues Festival. Starting Friday. Through Sunday.
So depending on many factors out of my control so I'm trying to tell myself not to worry about them, we may be staying at our hotel resort with the golf carts and beach right out our door the whole weekend and venturing out purely for food and milk, or we may attempt a trip to the Aquarium to look at fish and touch some ocean creatures.
Not to mention clam chowder in a bread bowl.
How many times have I ran through lists of things I need to pack and all the stuff I need to do before we go: 100,394 times. Wait...100,395.
To alleviate some brain worries, I actually typed up a list for all the items we need for Mateo. It's now about a page long. And I really haven't alleviated any brain worries, I'm just now worried my list will never end or I'm still going to forget something.
We never managed to go grocery shopping this past weekend, so we've been eating take-out or cereal for meals (Fatty McGoo will be back come Monday, I promise. I got a wedding to go to in August and I don't want to wear a mu-mu.) I was going to go grocery shopping after picking up Mateo from daycare tonight, but he had other plans and wanted to whine and cry, so I figured it was going to be torture for me and him if we went.
On tonight's menu: The last thing in the house besides Mateo food. Eggs and hash browns. I might even whip up some tasty eggs in the nest! Call me Chef de Cuisine!
And to top off everything and my poor planning, I looked up events in Monterey this weekend. Blues Festival. Starting Friday. Through Sunday.
So depending on many factors out of my control so I'm trying to tell myself not to worry about them, we may be staying at our hotel resort with the golf carts and beach right out our door the whole weekend and venturing out purely for food and milk, or we may attempt a trip to the Aquarium to look at fish and touch some ocean creatures.
Not to mention clam chowder in a bread bowl.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Give up the seat already!
Some minor details I must give before going into my story.
Okay. So with that said. I managed to get my coveted window seat going home. A middle aged man...wait, I'm middled aged or just about...a man older than myself was sitting in the aisle seat next to me. Miraculously, the bench facing us had two women sitting on it. Very very rare these days for three women to sit. Very rare indeed.
The man passed out (conveniently) after I blocked my iPod from his view. I so hate looky-loos. You can't hear, why would you possibly want to watch something when you don't even know what is going on? At some point he came too. I knew this because he sat himself up straight. His BART sleeping technique was chin the chest.
And older man was standing right behind the man next to me. For ease of story, we'll call the man next to me 'Lazy' and the older man 'man.'
Man says to no one in particular "I've been standing up all day! I tell you!" But not in a complainy way. Just in an I'm an older man and I'm tired, and I've been standing up all day, working like a dog at my job, and that's just how it is, and now I'm trying to get my tired bones home, and here I am standing.
Lazy says, "Oh really?" PAUSE..... "Here, take my seat...."
Man says, "Oh no, it's okay! I stand on my feet all day, I'm so used to it, but thank you very much."
And older lady was standing in the aisle in front of man and Lazy. She says something good in good humor.
Lazy says, "Oh, okay."
That's right, no insistence, nothing. Not even a nod to the older lady to ask her is she might want his seat.
Man says, "Thank you very much, but I don't mind standing. I stand for a living."
Lazy says, "Oh, I couldn't do that. I sit all day. There is NO WAY I could stand all day!"
Man says something, lady says something, laughter, guffaws, etc..
Then Lazy has the nerve to talk about how his commute is oh so much longer now, that he doesn't normally take BART at this time, and so he can't believe how crowded it is and whoa is me and so on and so forth.
The lady keeps talking to him, and he never once offers his seat to her.
I am sickened by people like Lazy. I know he only offered his seat because man said what he said, which in and of itself is sorta annoying because why say that if you aren't going to take a seat offered to you, but still.
And before you ask why I didn't get up and give my seat to anyone, I was watching my iPod and simply could not be bothered. Plus, if I had to stand up, my feet would have sweat more and the train would of had to be evacuated. For every one's safety, it's best I was seated.
- It was, oh, about 95 degrees going home today, at 5PM. On public transportation, that means it's oh, about 150 degrees with a ton of human stink added to the mix (including my stanky feet - I fully admit my feet are STANKY).
- BART is on an alternate, much SLOWER schedule than normal due to some fire in May. Due to this fire, it's added an additional 10-20 minutes onto people's commutes. Going home is much worse than going to work.
- Now that gas costs half a paycheck, more people are taking BART in lieu of driving.
- Men still don't give up their seats for anyone, including pregnant women and handicap folks. Unless you're my husband, then you will (that's why I keep him around).
Okay. So with that said. I managed to get my coveted window seat going home. A middle aged man...wait, I'm middled aged or just about...a man older than myself was sitting in the aisle seat next to me. Miraculously, the bench facing us had two women sitting on it. Very very rare these days for three women to sit. Very rare indeed.
The man passed out (conveniently) after I blocked my iPod from his view. I so hate looky-loos. You can't hear, why would you possibly want to watch something when you don't even know what is going on? At some point he came too. I knew this because he sat himself up straight. His BART sleeping technique was chin the chest.
And older man was standing right behind the man next to me. For ease of story, we'll call the man next to me 'Lazy' and the older man 'man.'
Man says to no one in particular "I've been standing up all day! I tell you!" But not in a complainy way. Just in an I'm an older man and I'm tired, and I've been standing up all day, working like a dog at my job, and that's just how it is, and now I'm trying to get my tired bones home, and here I am standing.
Lazy says, "Oh really?" PAUSE..... "Here, take my seat...."
Man says, "Oh no, it's okay! I stand on my feet all day, I'm so used to it, but thank you very much."
And older lady was standing in the aisle in front of man and Lazy. She says something good in good humor.
Lazy says, "Oh, okay."
That's right, no insistence, nothing. Not even a nod to the older lady to ask her is she might want his seat.
Man says, "Thank you very much, but I don't mind standing. I stand for a living."
Lazy says, "Oh, I couldn't do that. I sit all day. There is NO WAY I could stand all day!"
Man says something, lady says something, laughter, guffaws, etc..
Then Lazy has the nerve to talk about how his commute is oh so much longer now, that he doesn't normally take BART at this time, and so he can't believe how crowded it is and whoa is me and so on and so forth.
The lady keeps talking to him, and he never once offers his seat to her.
I am sickened by people like Lazy. I know he only offered his seat because man said what he said, which in and of itself is sorta annoying because why say that if you aren't going to take a seat offered to you, but still.
And before you ask why I didn't get up and give my seat to anyone, I was watching my iPod and simply could not be bothered. Plus, if I had to stand up, my feet would have sweat more and the train would of had to be evacuated. For every one's safety, it's best I was seated.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Etch-a-Sketch
My wonderful, always well-intentioned mother sent me a link to an online Etch-a-Sketch without realizing my deep hatred towards the "toy" (loosely called in my book).
Oh sure, you can make tons of fabulous things like box after box after box, unless you're one of these dexterous people with a lot of free time on their hands:
and then you're making fabulous works of art -- somehow. (I think you're all wizards and warlocks and witches and demons!)
We had etch-a-sketches as a child, and I quickly realized how inapt I was at making anything more than a horizon, a box, and maybe a stick figure. And lots and lots of boxes and lines and more boxes, and when I got really frustrated, many squiggles.
Now, as an adult, this is the most I can do, and I really really tried:
I even saved it the the etchy gallery, and I've deemed this fabulous piece of artwork as "House on the abstract." As you can clearly see, there is a tree, a house with an open window (or a tank with a machine gun poking out an open window we all can't see) and what looks to be like some animal with a broken tail. Based on the demensions of the objects in my fabulous artwork, the animal with the broken tail is huge, and could possibly be a dinosaur recently back from a tussle with a raptor.
Give me a lite brite any day or one of those Wooly Willy magnetic face toys.
(Side note: When did they start making lite brites on "flat screens"? Oh, I am so old.)
Thanks, Mom. Thanks for making me realize what a horrible etch-a-sketch artist I am.
For those of you who like online art things that require no talent whatsoever, visit the Jackson Pollock web site to create your own paint splattered art or play with the Mr. Picasso Head.
Oh sure, you can make tons of fabulous things like box after box after box, unless you're one of these dexterous people with a lot of free time on their hands:
and then you're making fabulous works of art -- somehow. (I think you're all wizards and warlocks and witches and demons!)
We had etch-a-sketches as a child, and I quickly realized how inapt I was at making anything more than a horizon, a box, and maybe a stick figure. And lots and lots of boxes and lines and more boxes, and when I got really frustrated, many squiggles.
Now, as an adult, this is the most I can do, and I really really tried:
I even saved it the the etchy gallery, and I've deemed this fabulous piece of artwork as "House on the abstract." As you can clearly see, there is a tree, a house with an open window (or a tank with a machine gun poking out an open window we all can't see) and what looks to be like some animal with a broken tail. Based on the demensions of the objects in my fabulous artwork, the animal with the broken tail is huge, and could possibly be a dinosaur recently back from a tussle with a raptor.
Give me a lite brite any day or one of those Wooly Willy magnetic face toys.
(Side note: When did they start making lite brites on "flat screens"? Oh, I am so old.)
Thanks, Mom. Thanks for making me realize what a horrible etch-a-sketch artist I am.
For those of you who like online art things that require no talent whatsoever, visit the Jackson Pollock web site to create your own paint splattered art or play with the Mr. Picasso Head.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Let's just bring back foot binding!
I just saw a video on Yahoo about high heels for babies age 0-6 months. I started this post off differently and then went back and changed it. I was going to put a direct link to the web site, so everyone could enjoy the ridiculousness known as high heels for babies, but then I thought, why should I? If you, dear reader, are that interested in seeing these stupid shoes, you have your clues, go head on over to google and search to your heart's content. You might not find the actual site, but you'll find plenty sites discussing it.
Back to the video: The two women who invented this atrocity and who were being interviewed have got to be the stupidest women on the face of the earth. One lady said she didn't equate high heels with sex and seemed perplexed at the thought that others would. She didn't see any problem with putting the stupid shoes on a baby because the shoes would be baby's "first pair of high heels" and hey, let's just go ahead and start them early.
If I had a baby girl, I would dread the day she would want to look like a mini adult. While high heels don't necessarily equal sex to me either, I do believe that they have a social, sexual and oppressive stigmata. Then you have to think about all the creeps out there who view children and infants as sexual objects. They're sick enough as it is, so why would you want to add fuel to their fire by sexing up your child?
We went to birthday party for a girl turning three, and one of the gifts she received was a bikini. All the women guests oooohed and aaaaahed over it, the person who gave it was proud as a peacock, and my husband and I were baffled.
My husband, who usually doesn't find things weird like I do, told me he felt it was inappropriate and weird, and it was even more weird how all the women acted. I said that I wasn't sure a bikini was a good way to go for a little girl, but then, it might just be how the world is these days that makes us think this way. Obviously not everyone feels the same way we do, otherwise there'd be no market for high heel crib shoes or bikinis for little girls.
I don't much like high heels for adults let alone teenagers and not to mention 5-year-old pageant girls. Babies? Come on. A bit too much.
So it makes me wonder....make-up for babies? Bras for babies? Jock straps for babies? S & M outfits for babies?
Get real people.
Now I must go dress my little boy in a tux and top hat and find his cane.
Back to the video: The two women who invented this atrocity and who were being interviewed have got to be the stupidest women on the face of the earth. One lady said she didn't equate high heels with sex and seemed perplexed at the thought that others would. She didn't see any problem with putting the stupid shoes on a baby because the shoes would be baby's "first pair of high heels" and hey, let's just go ahead and start them early.
If I had a baby girl, I would dread the day she would want to look like a mini adult. While high heels don't necessarily equal sex to me either, I do believe that they have a social, sexual and oppressive stigmata. Then you have to think about all the creeps out there who view children and infants as sexual objects. They're sick enough as it is, so why would you want to add fuel to their fire by sexing up your child?
We went to birthday party for a girl turning three, and one of the gifts she received was a bikini. All the women guests oooohed and aaaaahed over it, the person who gave it was proud as a peacock, and my husband and I were baffled.
My husband, who usually doesn't find things weird like I do, told me he felt it was inappropriate and weird, and it was even more weird how all the women acted. I said that I wasn't sure a bikini was a good way to go for a little girl, but then, it might just be how the world is these days that makes us think this way. Obviously not everyone feels the same way we do, otherwise there'd be no market for high heel crib shoes or bikinis for little girls.
I don't much like high heels for adults let alone teenagers and not to mention 5-year-old pageant girls. Babies? Come on. A bit too much.
So it makes me wonder....make-up for babies? Bras for babies? Jock straps for babies? S & M outfits for babies?
Get real people.
Now I must go dress my little boy in a tux and top hat and find his cane.
My patience, over there. Worn thin and boozing.
Mateo is sick. Supposedly.
He woke up with a slightly red eye and a bit of gunk in the corner, and since he goes to daycare, I had a strong feeling if we decided to be "those" kind of parents who still take their kid to daycare even though they sorta, kinda had an inkling that something may be wrong with him, I would be receiving a phone call mid day telling me my child's eye was bright red and his nose was dripping gloops of snot.
So I told my husband I was staying home, and after a bit of thought, decided to call Kaiser to get him an appointment. He has a mild eye infection and a slight cold, but you wouldn't know it based on the day I spent with him yesterday.
His doctor told me that if he doesn't have an appetite, not to worry, just make sure he gets a lot of fluids. Let's see, before the appointment he had a whole banana and a container of yogurt. And his morning milk. After his appointment he had most of my Trader Joe's thin pizza and a cereal bar.
Loss of appetite wasn't an issue.
After a much needed nap, we went outside to play with some chalk and a ball. You can see pictures of that fun over here. We had two incidents of frustration, one when I took the chalk away from him because he was trying to chalk up the fountain and bench, and another when I took the ball away so he'd stop trying to fling himself into the fountain after it. Both times he turned into a limp, wailing rag. Both times people were walking around. Both times I couldn't help but laugh because he's just so ridiculously over the top with his displeasure.
We went back in and I fed him his lunch. Pictures of that fun can be seen over here.
(Side note: Doesn't he seem really sick in the pictures?)
After that he decided it was time to lay in on Zoe, our petite kitty who is slightly on the simple side and doesn't seem to get it when Mateo or Sophia (our other cat) is trying to kill her.
My patience ran out on me and sat in the corner around 4:30 PM. I looked over right when Mateo reached and grabbed Zoe's tail, and started yanking and bending it in ways it's not supposed to bend.
Upon later reflection, I realized I did the one thing you're not supposed to do to a 16-month old who learns a lot from mimicking, and trial and error: I screamed, really really screamed, while my patience was in the corner drinking a tall cold one, "MATEO - STOP IT NOW!"
Yes, he stopped. He stopped and looked at me in shock. Zoe ran off because my screaming completely freaked her out.
While I toned my voice down and told him not to pull her tail, not to hurt her, etc., he began to babble. And babble. And babble even louder. And then really loud. Almost as loud as his mommy did to him a few seconds ago.
So not only did I have no patience anymore because it was in the corner, drinking it up and having a blast while it laughed at the scene unfolding, I now had a toddler screaming at me. And a sick one at that.
He woke up with a slightly red eye and a bit of gunk in the corner, and since he goes to daycare, I had a strong feeling if we decided to be "those" kind of parents who still take their kid to daycare even though they sorta, kinda had an inkling that something may be wrong with him, I would be receiving a phone call mid day telling me my child's eye was bright red and his nose was dripping gloops of snot.
So I told my husband I was staying home, and after a bit of thought, decided to call Kaiser to get him an appointment. He has a mild eye infection and a slight cold, but you wouldn't know it based on the day I spent with him yesterday.
His doctor told me that if he doesn't have an appetite, not to worry, just make sure he gets a lot of fluids. Let's see, before the appointment he had a whole banana and a container of yogurt. And his morning milk. After his appointment he had most of my Trader Joe's thin pizza and a cereal bar.
Loss of appetite wasn't an issue.
After a much needed nap, we went outside to play with some chalk and a ball. You can see pictures of that fun over here. We had two incidents of frustration, one when I took the chalk away from him because he was trying to chalk up the fountain and bench, and another when I took the ball away so he'd stop trying to fling himself into the fountain after it. Both times he turned into a limp, wailing rag. Both times people were walking around. Both times I couldn't help but laugh because he's just so ridiculously over the top with his displeasure.
We went back in and I fed him his lunch. Pictures of that fun can be seen over here.
(Side note: Doesn't he seem really sick in the pictures?)
After that he decided it was time to lay in on Zoe, our petite kitty who is slightly on the simple side and doesn't seem to get it when Mateo or Sophia (our other cat) is trying to kill her.
My patience ran out on me and sat in the corner around 4:30 PM. I looked over right when Mateo reached and grabbed Zoe's tail, and started yanking and bending it in ways it's not supposed to bend.
Upon later reflection, I realized I did the one thing you're not supposed to do to a 16-month old who learns a lot from mimicking, and trial and error: I screamed, really really screamed, while my patience was in the corner drinking a tall cold one, "MATEO - STOP IT NOW!"
Yes, he stopped. He stopped and looked at me in shock. Zoe ran off because my screaming completely freaked her out.
While I toned my voice down and told him not to pull her tail, not to hurt her, etc., he began to babble. And babble. And babble even louder. And then really loud. Almost as loud as his mommy did to him a few seconds ago.
So not only did I have no patience anymore because it was in the corner, drinking it up and having a blast while it laughed at the scene unfolding, I now had a toddler screaming at me. And a sick one at that.
Diaper rash ointment works wonders for all kinds of things.
My husband nicked the corner of his mouth while shaving and was complaining about how the little cut wouldn't heal.
I agreed, it sucks to have a little cut at the corner of your mouth that won't heal because of constant eating and yammering.
That night he asked me if we had anything he could put on the little cut to help it heal. He seems to think he's trained himself so he doesn't sleep with his mouth hanging open, and for some reason thinks sleeping with his mouth open is not a good thing, mostly because that means he's slobbering on his pillow. I've caught him plenty of times sleeping with his mouth hanging open and slobbering just as much as Mateo does while teething, so I'm not sure who he thinks he's fooling. I guess his plan was to put something on the cut, and since he sleeps tight lipped, the "something" will help his cut heal.
"I have some lip stuff in my basket," I told him. I have an extensive beauty supply that I hold in an Easter basket I got about 10 or more years ago. My beauty regime consists of foundation, concealer, powder, sometimes mascara, and chap stick I hardly use. What can I say, no fuss, no muss.
For some reason he didn't want to use chap stick.
"Don't we have petroleum jelly or something? For Mateo? Didn't we buy some?" he asked.
"Yeah, but I don't know where it is," I told him. "It might be in his room, but I don't know where."
I think I bought the jelly to put on Mateo's penis after we brought him home from the hospital. It was supposed to help the healing process or protect the wound or something. Then I found out you're not supposed to do that. So I don't think it was ever used.
"Do you think I can go into his room and look for it without waking him up?" he asked me.
I raised my eyebrows in question. "Maybe?" I said. You wake him up, you put him back to sleep, I was thinking.
He was in there for a bit, then came out and into our room.
"I didn't find it. But I figured I'll use his butt stuff since it's basically petroleum jelly and it's supposed to help skin heal!" he told me proudly. He's so...innovative!
I looked up at him.
"Are you sure want to do that?" I asked.
He looked at me. He had his finger pointed upwards with the jelly smeared on the tip.
"Why?"
"Can you be sure neither one of us has put some on our finger, wiped his butt with it, and then put some more on our finger, which would then contaminate the opening of the tube with his butt germs?"
"Oh."
He immediately turned around, went into the bathroom, and washed off his finger.
While he was in the bathroom, I remembered I had moved Mateo's miscellaneous medical stuff into the towel closet when he was old enough to grab things.
On our bathroom counter stands the petroleum jelly. I hope he notice if the surface was broken or not before he slabbed some jelly on his open cut.
I agreed, it sucks to have a little cut at the corner of your mouth that won't heal because of constant eating and yammering.
That night he asked me if we had anything he could put on the little cut to help it heal. He seems to think he's trained himself so he doesn't sleep with his mouth hanging open, and for some reason thinks sleeping with his mouth open is not a good thing, mostly because that means he's slobbering on his pillow. I've caught him plenty of times sleeping with his mouth hanging open and slobbering just as much as Mateo does while teething, so I'm not sure who he thinks he's fooling. I guess his plan was to put something on the cut, and since he sleeps tight lipped, the "something" will help his cut heal.
"I have some lip stuff in my basket," I told him. I have an extensive beauty supply that I hold in an Easter basket I got about 10 or more years ago. My beauty regime consists of foundation, concealer, powder, sometimes mascara, and chap stick I hardly use. What can I say, no fuss, no muss.
For some reason he didn't want to use chap stick.
"Don't we have petroleum jelly or something? For Mateo? Didn't we buy some?" he asked.
"Yeah, but I don't know where it is," I told him. "It might be in his room, but I don't know where."
I think I bought the jelly to put on Mateo's penis after we brought him home from the hospital. It was supposed to help the healing process or protect the wound or something. Then I found out you're not supposed to do that. So I don't think it was ever used.
"Do you think I can go into his room and look for it without waking him up?" he asked me.
I raised my eyebrows in question. "Maybe?" I said. You wake him up, you put him back to sleep, I was thinking.
He was in there for a bit, then came out and into our room.
"I didn't find it. But I figured I'll use his butt stuff since it's basically petroleum jelly and it's supposed to help skin heal!" he told me proudly. He's so...innovative!
I looked up at him.
"Are you sure want to do that?" I asked.
He looked at me. He had his finger pointed upwards with the jelly smeared on the tip.
"Why?"
"Can you be sure neither one of us has put some on our finger, wiped his butt with it, and then put some more on our finger, which would then contaminate the opening of the tube with his butt germs?"
"Oh."
He immediately turned around, went into the bathroom, and washed off his finger.
While he was in the bathroom, I remembered I had moved Mateo's miscellaneous medical stuff into the towel closet when he was old enough to grab things.
On our bathroom counter stands the petroleum jelly. I hope he notice if the surface was broken or not before he slabbed some jelly on his open cut.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Happy Bleeping Father's Day.
My husband came home with this on Friday:
Notice all the fabulous glittery goodness:
Not to mention the little boy's picture who just happens to be our child, the same child who was not sent home the Friday before Mother's Day with a bleeping Mother's Day card!!
For those who are storing this away in their memory bank (me):
Notice all the fabulous glittery goodness:
Not to mention the little boy's picture who just happens to be our child, the same child who was not sent home the Friday before Mother's Day with a bleeping Mother's Day card!!
For those who are storing this away in their memory bank (me):
- Husband = 2 Father's Day cards from Mateo, made while at daycare
- Mom (me) = ZILTCH
I warned my husband that I would be burning it. What 35-year-old man needs that much glitter?
Friday, June 13, 2008
Naked is never a smart idea.
I undressed Mateo because 1. I thought he pooped, and 2. he needed to get in his PJs. He didn't poop, contrary to the smells emanating from his bottom, and he was being so goofy while naked, I let him run around his room naked and free. He was doing some jiggly dances, flashing his Daddy, and having an all around good time.
A few minutes passed and I kept asking him (he listens well, he does, that angel) to come over to me so I could put his diaper and PJs on. He had other ideas (I told you he listens well, really really well) and stood by the baby gate, shaking his chubby butt. I kept asking him to come to me. He kept ignoring me.
Then I said he better not pee.
That's when he looked down, and that's when I saw the stream.
So yes, letting your 16-month old run around naked is never a good idea. Even those who, um, listen well.
A few minutes passed and I kept asking him (he listens well, he does, that angel) to come over to me so I could put his diaper and PJs on. He had other ideas (I told you he listens well, really really well) and stood by the baby gate, shaking his chubby butt. I kept asking him to come to me. He kept ignoring me.
Then I said he better not pee.
That's when he looked down, and that's when I saw the stream.
So yes, letting your 16-month old run around naked is never a good idea. Even those who, um, listen well.
Gift cards and why they aren't a good gift. For me. That is.
I'm a hoarder when it comes right down to it. And this is why you should never ever give me a gift card as a gift.
Money isn't so good either. I'll hoard that as well. I can make a twenty last for a good few weeks, I tell you.
Add my son's gift cards to the hoard list. Because you just never know when 20 bucks at Target will come in handy. He still has his gift card from Gymboree his grandparents gave him for Christmas. I almost spent it once. Gymboree was having one of their super sales, and I got the e-mail really early. I hit the online store, started piling clothes in my shopping bag, most of which were for months down the road.
Then, like the good wife that I am, I waited until my husband got to work so I could send him links to everything so he could reject any of my choices. Lesson learned: Don't wait for anyone to get online so you can send links when a fabulous Gymboree sale is going on.
I went to my shopping bag, clicked on the first link, and it came up empty. I clicked on the second link; empty. I didn't get it. So then I went back to the sales page and sorted by the age range of the clothes I wanted to buy.
Yup, that's right, hardly anything came up.
Because I'm a big dummy and waited for my husband, other people snagged my items because nothing is really saved, even if you put it in your shopping bag.
So, long story short, I ended up buying nothing and I still have his gift card and I probably will for some time.
Yesterday was my 9-year wedding anniversary, and for "modern" times, 9 years means a leather gift. I got my husband a new iPod case, made of leather, thank you very much, and he got me an... electronic gift card. For iTunes. Which is great cause I love, love, love music, but not great because it was for 3o bucks (the limit I put on gifts), and 30 bucks means only three albums, and three albums out of a million I could possibly buy means I'm going to hoard, hoard and hoard some more.
My husband specified that I had to buy music for myself since we tend to buy things we both want. All day I was telling him what I could buy (The Lilys, The Microphones, Sun Kil Moon, Wolf Parade, Mum among many), and he was rooting me on, yeah, buy that, yeah, that's good, what about this? didn't you want that?
I never bought anything.
That night he kept bugging me: did you pick something yet? what're you going to buy? what about this?
I never bought anything.
This morning I wasclose to buying The Microphones, but Mateo woke up and so I abandoned my decision making.
Tonight I'm doing some random listening on Last.fm, and came across Tyler Ramsey, a folk musician whom I'm really digging, so I just bought that, and it's being downloaded right now. Now I only have 20 bucks, which means two albums, and a whole lot of thinking to do. I think I broke my hoarding record though by using a gift card a mere day after receiving it.
Money isn't so good either. I'll hoard that as well. I can make a twenty last for a good few weeks, I tell you.
Add my son's gift cards to the hoard list. Because you just never know when 20 bucks at Target will come in handy. He still has his gift card from Gymboree his grandparents gave him for Christmas. I almost spent it once. Gymboree was having one of their super sales, and I got the e-mail really early. I hit the online store, started piling clothes in my shopping bag, most of which were for months down the road.
Then, like the good wife that I am, I waited until my husband got to work so I could send him links to everything so he could reject any of my choices. Lesson learned: Don't wait for anyone to get online so you can send links when a fabulous Gymboree sale is going on.
I went to my shopping bag, clicked on the first link, and it came up empty. I clicked on the second link; empty. I didn't get it. So then I went back to the sales page and sorted by the age range of the clothes I wanted to buy.
Yup, that's right, hardly anything came up.
Because I'm a big dummy and waited for my husband, other people snagged my items because nothing is really saved, even if you put it in your shopping bag.
So, long story short, I ended up buying nothing and I still have his gift card and I probably will for some time.
Yesterday was my 9-year wedding anniversary, and for "modern" times, 9 years means a leather gift. I got my husband a new iPod case, made of leather, thank you very much, and he got me an... electronic gift card. For iTunes. Which is great cause I love, love, love music, but not great because it was for 3o bucks (the limit I put on gifts), and 30 bucks means only three albums, and three albums out of a million I could possibly buy means I'm going to hoard, hoard and hoard some more.
My husband specified that I had to buy music for myself since we tend to buy things we both want. All day I was telling him what I could buy (The Lilys, The Microphones, Sun Kil Moon, Wolf Parade, Mum among many), and he was rooting me on, yeah, buy that, yeah, that's good, what about this? didn't you want that?
I never bought anything.
That night he kept bugging me: did you pick something yet? what're you going to buy? what about this?
I never bought anything.
This morning I was
Tonight I'm doing some random listening on Last.fm, and came across Tyler Ramsey, a folk musician whom I'm really digging, so I just bought that, and it's being downloaded right now. Now I only have 20 bucks, which means two albums, and a whole lot of thinking to do. I think I broke my hoarding record though by using a gift card a mere day after receiving it.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I like to do drawings.
I'm creating my online portfolio. These are some of the things I drew today using Adobe Illustrator. My mom says to use color in the full illustration, my husband didn't care for it at all. I, for one, love that I'm finally doing something the way I want to do it without constantly worrying if so and so will like it.
My only problem is figuring out how to create my portfolio with all the whizbangy dealy-bobs I want. Flash is a tricky thing, I tell you. But mighty powerful.
bee
flower in grass
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Alaska Experiment, or why there is no camping in my life.
I got my husband hooked on The Discovery Channel's Alaska Experiment. If you're unfamiliar with this show, it's basically a bunch of people living in the rugged Alaska wilderness for 6o days while trying not to starve, die of thirst, go crazy (the "cabin fever" episode is really freaky) or get eaten by any one of the various animals that could easily take them down in two seconds.
While watching the "cabin fever" episode, three things were highlighted: one being cabin fever, two being peeing and pooping in a bucket in the kitchen in a cabin, and three being hallucinating while trying to hike 40 miles to visit another group of Alaska Experiment revellers. The hike, by the way, took 7 days. The hiking group thought it would take maybe 1 or 2 days and planned for that and only that (meaning they ran out of water, hence the hallucinations).
If this show doesn't sound even slightly interesting to you, at least watch the "cabin fever" episode. There is nothing like watching people lose their marbles, I tell you, nothing. It's really freaky. The couple in the cabin thought they heard noises and apparitions of people in their cabin (which, by the way, is only 200 square feet). My husband felt the man looked crazy, and kept telling me, "that's the face of a crazy person!!" I didn't quite see it that way. He just looked haggard and tired to me.
The people hiking affected me way more than the couple in the cabin. I watched a show about people hiking up Mount Everest, and it was explained how people hallucinate and lose it because of altitude sickness among other factors. The Alaska Experiment showed it. All three of them lost it, but were close enough to reality that they knew they were hallucinating at the same time. They thought they heard singing coming from the people they were going to visit (they were 2 miles away), and there was lots of maniacal laughter and just nonsense talk. And tons of ice eating, which is bad because it lowers your inner core temperature and you really aren't getting a lot of water to begin with.
And then there was the pee and poop bucket. One couple made an outside outhouse because they didn't want their waste inside their tiny 200 square foot tent cabin. In this episode, they decided to head on over to the ocean to try to get some more protein (clams) before the bad weather really set in. The ocean location they were heading to is where another group lived, a father and his two daughters (don't even get me started on the two daughters, boy howdy, if anyone deserves a few punches, it's those two girls), so when they arrived, the father invited them to spend the night with them.
The father gave them a tour of the cabin, including his own poop bucket setup, which he proudly showed, like he invented indoor plumbing or something. The production people grabbed the visiting man to get his feelings on the inside poop bucket, and he basically said if they want to have human waste right next to where they store their food and cook their food, then more power to them, but you can tell he was completely disturbed by the whole thing (remember, he's the one with the outdoor poop bucket). The kicker to the whole scene was that the visiting man was eating something when the father proudly showed off the poop bucket (which had a big jar of what looked like pee right next to it, so maybe the poop bucket is just for poop).
So because of 1. cabin fever, 2. poop buckets, and 3. hallucinations, my husband thinks he has even more fuel to his "people shouldn't camp" fire. He is not one for camping for many reasons, mainly because he doesn't have his own private bathroom and shower, not to mention butler and chef, and during this episode he kept telling me these were even more reasons not to camp.
I told him that 1. unless he decides to isolate himself in a small space, he's not going to get cabin fever while camping, 2. he would never be pooping in any bucket because I would never poop in a bucket while camping, however, I have used an outhouse, and while it's not pretty and you pretty much have to vie for space with all the flies, you do get used to it (and used to not breathing through your nose), and 3. unless he's taking drugs while camping, or eats some berries he's not supposed to, there will be no hallucinations on my watch.
While watching the "cabin fever" episode, three things were highlighted: one being cabin fever, two being peeing and pooping in a bucket in the kitchen in a cabin, and three being hallucinating while trying to hike 40 miles to visit another group of Alaska Experiment revellers. The hike, by the way, took 7 days. The hiking group thought it would take maybe 1 or 2 days and planned for that and only that (meaning they ran out of water, hence the hallucinations).
If this show doesn't sound even slightly interesting to you, at least watch the "cabin fever" episode. There is nothing like watching people lose their marbles, I tell you, nothing. It's really freaky. The couple in the cabin thought they heard noises and apparitions of people in their cabin (which, by the way, is only 200 square feet). My husband felt the man looked crazy, and kept telling me, "that's the face of a crazy person!!" I didn't quite see it that way. He just looked haggard and tired to me.
The people hiking affected me way more than the couple in the cabin. I watched a show about people hiking up Mount Everest, and it was explained how people hallucinate and lose it because of altitude sickness among other factors. The Alaska Experiment showed it. All three of them lost it, but were close enough to reality that they knew they were hallucinating at the same time. They thought they heard singing coming from the people they were going to visit (they were 2 miles away), and there was lots of maniacal laughter and just nonsense talk. And tons of ice eating, which is bad because it lowers your inner core temperature and you really aren't getting a lot of water to begin with.
And then there was the pee and poop bucket. One couple made an outside outhouse because they didn't want their waste inside their tiny 200 square foot tent cabin. In this episode, they decided to head on over to the ocean to try to get some more protein (clams) before the bad weather really set in. The ocean location they were heading to is where another group lived, a father and his two daughters (don't even get me started on the two daughters, boy howdy, if anyone deserves a few punches, it's those two girls), so when they arrived, the father invited them to spend the night with them.
The father gave them a tour of the cabin, including his own poop bucket setup, which he proudly showed, like he invented indoor plumbing or something. The production people grabbed the visiting man to get his feelings on the inside poop bucket, and he basically said if they want to have human waste right next to where they store their food and cook their food, then more power to them, but you can tell he was completely disturbed by the whole thing (remember, he's the one with the outdoor poop bucket). The kicker to the whole scene was that the visiting man was eating something when the father proudly showed off the poop bucket (which had a big jar of what looked like pee right next to it, so maybe the poop bucket is just for poop).
So because of 1. cabin fever, 2. poop buckets, and 3. hallucinations, my husband thinks he has even more fuel to his "people shouldn't camp" fire. He is not one for camping for many reasons, mainly because he doesn't have his own private bathroom and shower, not to mention butler and chef, and during this episode he kept telling me these were even more reasons not to camp.
I told him that 1. unless he decides to isolate himself in a small space, he's not going to get cabin fever while camping, 2. he would never be pooping in any bucket because I would never poop in a bucket while camping, however, I have used an outhouse, and while it's not pretty and you pretty much have to vie for space with all the flies, you do get used to it (and used to not breathing through your nose), and 3. unless he's taking drugs while camping, or eats some berries he's not supposed to, there will be no hallucinations on my watch.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Kids will be just kids - right? RIGHT?! Tell me I'm right.
I have a slight aversion to kids' spit, slobber, boogers, germs, cooties, pee, poop and throw up. Unless it's Mateo's. Well, except for his throw up. I still have a hard time with his throw up, especially when it's cottage cheesy and smells funkalicious. Okay, now that I've gotten everyone all grossed out, I'll proceed with my story.
I dropped Mateo off a bit later than normal due to him waking up at 3am and not wanting to go back to sleep until he had a belly full of milk, which was at 4:30am, and then he slept a luxurious additional 2 hours after that while I tried to get ready and start working.
When we got there, there were three other toddlers already sitting at the “food” table, eating various snacks. Mateo is used to being dropped off when there are either no other kids or one or two wandering around, so he acted a bit shy at first, then he walked over to the table. There was one empty chair so I grabbed his snacks and poured him some on a paper towel.
While he was quietly eating, like the innocent child he is who never ever stands on top of tables, bookcases or toys, or pushes or hits other children for that matter, I went over to the desk to fill out his day form. I turned myself so I could see what the innocent one was up to.
Right when I turned, a little girl sitting next to him reached over, grabbed a puff from Mateo’s pile, and put it in her mouth. He got upset because he’s too young to get that sort of thing, and gestured at her mouth like, “Hey!!! You stupid girl! Give me that back!!!! MINE!!!” The little girl saw me eyeballing her.
What did she do?
That’s right, because no one will ever notice this move; she reached into her mouth, pulled out the soggy, wet puff and put it back on Mateo’s paper towel, next to the pile of dry, fresh, untampered puffs. Mateo, being the 16-month old that he is, reached toward the wet, soggy puff. I was rushing in slow motion, saying, “Noooooooououououououoouuou...
….ddddddoooonnnnn’tttttttt doooooo tttthhhhhhaaaattttt!” without trying to look too crazy.
I got to the table faster than Mateo could pick up the soggy puff and put it in his mouth. The little girl looked at me all innocent-like. She was told by a teacher to move her puff-stealing butt and go play. She refused. I said that she took one of Mateo’s puffs and he’s a bit weirded out now (Okay, maybe I was. He seemed perfectly content eating a soggy puff like the little baby bird he is.).
The teacher then said that she thinks she can do anything she wants because her mom lets her do anything she wants.
Ahhhh, I replied.
While this may sound like a mean thing to say to another parent, I happen to really like this teacher because she tells it like it is to the correct people (my husband and I). As long as she’s not saying mean things about Mateo, or as long as I never hear them, then I’m good.
The little girl was then removed from the table. She ran off in a crying huff while Mateo sat innocently (he’s an angel, really, he is), fearing that some other brut of a toddler was going to come along and steal his puffs, eat them, regurgitate the puffs and plop the soggy mess back on his paper towel.
I plunked a puff in his mouth, kissed him goodbye and left before he flipped out over my departure.
I dropped Mateo off a bit later than normal due to him waking up at 3am and not wanting to go back to sleep until he had a belly full of milk, which was at 4:30am, and then he slept a luxurious additional 2 hours after that while I tried to get ready and start working.
When we got there, there were three other toddlers already sitting at the “food” table, eating various snacks. Mateo is used to being dropped off when there are either no other kids or one or two wandering around, so he acted a bit shy at first, then he walked over to the table. There was one empty chair so I grabbed his snacks and poured him some on a paper towel.
While he was quietly eating, like the innocent child he is who never ever stands on top of tables, bookcases or toys, or pushes or hits other children for that matter, I went over to the desk to fill out his day form. I turned myself so I could see what the innocent one was up to.
Right when I turned, a little girl sitting next to him reached over, grabbed a puff from Mateo’s pile, and put it in her mouth. He got upset because he’s too young to get that sort of thing, and gestured at her mouth like, “Hey!!! You stupid girl! Give me that back!!!! MINE!!!” The little girl saw me eyeballing her.
What did she do?
That’s right, because no one will ever notice this move; she reached into her mouth, pulled out the soggy, wet puff and put it back on Mateo’s paper towel, next to the pile of dry, fresh, untampered puffs. Mateo, being the 16-month old that he is, reached toward the wet, soggy puff. I was rushing in slow motion, saying, “Noooooooououououououoouuou...
….ddddddoooonnnnn’tttttttt doooooo tttthhhhhhaaaattttt!” without trying to look too crazy.
I got to the table faster than Mateo could pick up the soggy puff and put it in his mouth. The little girl looked at me all innocent-like. She was told by a teacher to move her puff-stealing butt and go play. She refused. I said that she took one of Mateo’s puffs and he’s a bit weirded out now (Okay, maybe I was. He seemed perfectly content eating a soggy puff like the little baby bird he is.).
The teacher then said that she thinks she can do anything she wants because her mom lets her do anything she wants.
Ahhhh, I replied.
While this may sound like a mean thing to say to another parent, I happen to really like this teacher because she tells it like it is to the correct people (my husband and I). As long as she’s not saying mean things about Mateo, or as long as I never hear them, then I’m good.
The little girl was then removed from the table. She ran off in a crying huff while Mateo sat innocently (he’s an angel, really, he is), fearing that some other brut of a toddler was going to come along and steal his puffs, eat them, regurgitate the puffs and plop the soggy mess back on his paper towel.
I plunked a puff in his mouth, kissed him goodbye and left before he flipped out over my departure.
One thing I like, one thing I don't.
I like that not only do we get channel after channel of movie goodness from Encore, but I just found out yesterday that we get On Demand movies as well. It seems, from my slight scan through, that all the movies they are currently showing for the month are also available On Demand. This means no more recording on the DVR and taking up space. Which means more room for all the stupid shows I tend to find and want to watch. To my husband it would mean more room to record stupid MMA. This also means I can watch movies in our bedroom instead of watching the recorded movies in the living room. This means laziness can abound!
What I'm not liking is that I'm accident pron and not very graceful, nor do I take time to manicure my nails, so they are jagged and dangerous. I don't like that when I was hurriedly brushing my hair, I dug out a line of skin on the side of my face with said jagged nail while reaching up to pull the brush through my way too long hair. I really don't like that it still stings, an hour later.
What I'm not liking is that I'm accident pron and not very graceful, nor do I take time to manicure my nails, so they are jagged and dangerous. I don't like that when I was hurriedly brushing my hair, I dug out a line of skin on the side of my face with said jagged nail while reaching up to pull the brush through my way too long hair. I really don't like that it still stings, an hour later.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Movie Morning in lieu of Movie Night!
With the maybe broken DVD player, a husband who refuses to decide on which DVD ripper he wants to purchase and download so we can copy DVDs to iTunes, and no extra funds to rent an On Demand movie, there was no movie night this weekend.
However, a few weekends ago, while trying to find some stupid MMA / boxing / let's just beat each other up while in sex positions channel, we realized we get Encore. And like 7 different channels of Encore (with themes such as "love" and "action" and "family"). And yes, while Encore doesn't really have the newest movies out there or the best movies or the movies I would like to watch all the time, it does have some that I've been meaning to watch but just never have. Like:
The Queen
The Libertine
The Holiday
I turned Sunday morning into Movie Morning and during the thirty or so minutes Mateo will actually sit still and relax with me after waking up, I began to watch it. Now I have three movies I need to finish because I still never finished History of Violence or Smokin' Aces.
Where is that DVD ripper....?
However, a few weekends ago, while trying to find some stupid MMA / boxing / let's just beat each other up while in sex positions channel, we realized we get Encore. And like 7 different channels of Encore (with themes such as "love" and "action" and "family"). And yes, while Encore doesn't really have the newest movies out there or the best movies or the movies I would like to watch all the time, it does have some that I've been meaning to watch but just never have. Like:
The Queen
The Libertine
The Holiday
I turned Sunday morning into Movie Morning and during the thirty or so minutes Mateo will actually sit still and relax with me after waking up, I began to watch it. Now I have three movies I need to finish because I still never finished History of Violence or Smokin' Aces.
Where is that DVD ripper....?
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Cottage cheese in pink, please.
I wrote about going to the farmer's market over here. We had a bit of disastrous ATM card fiasco right before we were supposed to go to the farmer's market, and we had to head on back home to grab some cash (we live all of 30 seconds away from the farmer's market, so yeah, I know, I have no real excuse for not going more often).
On the way back home from the mall, there was a couple walking their two dogs (one was part wolf, I swear it was); the lady was pushing her child in a stroller.
I mentioned that one of the dogs looked like a wolf, and my husband agreed.
Then I looked at the lady. She was wearing pink tracksuit pants and a pink t-shirt.
"Oh no. She should NOT be wearing that," I said.
My husband snickered.
I'm not sure if her tracksuit was several years old and had gone through a bazillion washings, but it was way too see-through. It also didn't fit her. While I wouldn't say she was large, because she certainly wasn't, she wasn't thin either. And every bump and lump and wiggle and jiggle showed right through her pink tracksuit pants. She was also sporting granny panties with the pantie lines shining right through her thin tracksuit pant material.
She basically looked like a sausage wrapped in a too-small casing.
After looking and looking and looking some more, I realized how nice and thin her husband looked. And how well his clothes fit him. And how he obviously was blind and needed the wolf dog to help him traverse the streets of Newark.
Then I got mad.
"You husbands suck! Why wouldn't he tell her she looks horrible in those pants? Why??? I know you guys get so used to us wives looking gross and slobby and our hair sticking up out of barrettes and ponytails (or is that just our relationship?), but come on. I mean, I know I wear shirts that are really big on me, and that makes me look bigger than I am, but I have a really hard time find shirts that fit okay. What she's doing it just wrong, and him letting her is even more wrong."
Then I went onto a rant about how she's probably trying to lose weight because she just had a baby, but that doesn't give her husband any right to let her walk out of the house with all her cottage cheese flapping in the wind.
My husband then told me that their child looked to be about four years old and that they were probably going to the farmer's market. I could just tell her she looks horrible myself.
I was still rather annoyed by the whole thing when we made it back to the farmer's market, and low and behold, who did we see? That's right Ms. Pink Cottage Cheese and her mean husband and wolf dog. I again said that husbands suck.
My husband then went into his own rant about how she would have just yelled at him for being honest, so what was the point, and blah blah blah. I told him that no matter how loudly she yells, deep down she would have been so happy to know that her husband saved her from the embarrassment of going out into public wearing super thin pants and showing off her goods. The yelling simply covers embarrassment. And shame. Or both.
We all know that, why don't men?
On the way back home from the mall, there was a couple walking their two dogs (one was part wolf, I swear it was); the lady was pushing her child in a stroller.
I mentioned that one of the dogs looked like a wolf, and my husband agreed.
Then I looked at the lady. She was wearing pink tracksuit pants and a pink t-shirt.
"Oh no. She should NOT be wearing that," I said.
My husband snickered.
I'm not sure if her tracksuit was several years old and had gone through a bazillion washings, but it was way too see-through. It also didn't fit her. While I wouldn't say she was large, because she certainly wasn't, she wasn't thin either. And every bump and lump and wiggle and jiggle showed right through her pink tracksuit pants. She was also sporting granny panties with the pantie lines shining right through her thin tracksuit pant material.
She basically looked like a sausage wrapped in a too-small casing.
After looking and looking and looking some more, I realized how nice and thin her husband looked. And how well his clothes fit him. And how he obviously was blind and needed the wolf dog to help him traverse the streets of Newark.
Then I got mad.
"You husbands suck! Why wouldn't he tell her she looks horrible in those pants? Why??? I know you guys get so used to us wives looking gross and slobby and our hair sticking up out of barrettes and ponytails (or is that just our relationship?), but come on. I mean, I know I wear shirts that are really big on me, and that makes me look bigger than I am, but I have a really hard time find shirts that fit okay. What she's doing it just wrong, and him letting her is even more wrong."
Then I went onto a rant about how she's probably trying to lose weight because she just had a baby, but that doesn't give her husband any right to let her walk out of the house with all her cottage cheese flapping in the wind.
My husband then told me that their child looked to be about four years old and that they were probably going to the farmer's market. I could just tell her she looks horrible myself.
I was still rather annoyed by the whole thing when we made it back to the farmer's market, and low and behold, who did we see? That's right Ms. Pink Cottage Cheese and her mean husband and wolf dog. I again said that husbands suck.
My husband then went into his own rant about how she would have just yelled at him for being honest, so what was the point, and blah blah blah. I told him that no matter how loudly she yells, deep down she would have been so happy to know that her husband saved her from the embarrassment of going out into public wearing super thin pants and showing off her goods. The yelling simply covers embarrassment. And shame. Or both.
We all know that, why don't men?
Friday, June 06, 2008
I'm paying what for daycare???
Last night my husband and I went to the third and last Kindercare in our city because it was "open house" night for prospective parents. After a few incidents during the two weeks Mateo's normal "teacher" was on vacation, we thought it would be in his best interest to check out this Kindercare to see how we felt about it and maybe start planning a switch for Mateo.
We pay an extraordinary amount of money weekly for Mateo's daycare. It's a necessary evil, and only because we own a condo that has now depreciated so much that we can't even sell it so one of us can stay home with Mateo (Ya California housing boom! Booo bubble bursts!) while either living in a big three bedroom apartment in a fantastic apartment complex OR while living in Oregon or Washington and living in a nice condo or townhouse that costs way less than what our stupid condo cost us.
(I don't regret too many things I've done in life, but buying this condo is one of them. I hate you condo!!!)
Anyway. So we pay a ton for Mateo's daycare. And we've been doing so for a year now. And it's been really hard managing money and debt and all that good stuff. But we've been doing it. Every week. Every. Single. Week.
At the open house last night, we were given a price sheet. For the toddlers, the fee listed was roughly $111 less than what we pay now. That's $444 more in our pocket each month. Or $444 less debt. Depends on how you want to think about it.
Needless to say, my calculator brain kicked in (it only rears its calculator head when I'm trying to save a dime, any other time I can't do math worth a piece of poo) and I started thinking about how much we'd save monthly, yearly, and how it'll go down even more as he got older, and then my ovaries started aching again, and I thought, maybe, just maybe we could have another kid, and have a condo that I hate, and have daycare, and still eat!
Then my husband kept saying how he didn't like the look of the daycare, you'd think they would have renovated the building when it was changed to a Kindercare, you'd think they would have cleaned up for the open house. And I couldn't stop the faint urine smell from permeating my nose.
I think my husband's expectations are way too high, but I do understand where he's coming from because I wasn't too impressed with how Mateo's current daycare looked when we first checked it out. Now I don't notice anything because there really isn't anything to notice. You can't clean up ever teeny tiny speck of dirt each and every day. Come look at our bedroom if you don't believe me.
We later found out that since Mateo isn't 2 years yet, the fee would be higher than what was listed on the paper, but still less than what we pay now. Then we realized that we don't even know how much the fee will be when he does move to the toddler room at his daycare (set to happen some time very soon), nor have either one of us paid a lick of attention to the condition of the toddler room the few times we've been in there, nor do we know what the student to teacher ratio is in the toddler room (this is important because if the ratio is higher than in the infant room, we get a 10% discount! - something else I remembered while my wheels were a-spinning last night), and basically we can't make any decision until we figure these things out.
We've got some thinking to do. And some questions to ask. And for me, some money to try to save.
And a little boy to keep happy, which is most imporant.
We pay an extraordinary amount of money weekly for Mateo's daycare. It's a necessary evil, and only because we own a condo that has now depreciated so much that we can't even sell it so one of us can stay home with Mateo (Ya California housing boom! Booo bubble bursts!) while either living in a big three bedroom apartment in a fantastic apartment complex OR while living in Oregon or Washington and living in a nice condo or townhouse that costs way less than what our stupid condo cost us.
(I don't regret too many things I've done in life, but buying this condo is one of them. I hate you condo!!!)
Anyway. So we pay a ton for Mateo's daycare. And we've been doing so for a year now. And it's been really hard managing money and debt and all that good stuff. But we've been doing it. Every week. Every. Single. Week.
At the open house last night, we were given a price sheet. For the toddlers, the fee listed was roughly $111 less than what we pay now. That's $444 more in our pocket each month. Or $444 less debt. Depends on how you want to think about it.
Needless to say, my calculator brain kicked in (it only rears its calculator head when I'm trying to save a dime, any other time I can't do math worth a piece of poo) and I started thinking about how much we'd save monthly, yearly, and how it'll go down even more as he got older, and then my ovaries started aching again, and I thought, maybe, just maybe we could have another kid, and have a condo that I hate, and have daycare, and still eat!
Then my husband kept saying how he didn't like the look of the daycare, you'd think they would have renovated the building when it was changed to a Kindercare, you'd think they would have cleaned up for the open house. And I couldn't stop the faint urine smell from permeating my nose.
I think my husband's expectations are way too high, but I do understand where he's coming from because I wasn't too impressed with how Mateo's current daycare looked when we first checked it out. Now I don't notice anything because there really isn't anything to notice. You can't clean up ever teeny tiny speck of dirt each and every day. Come look at our bedroom if you don't believe me.
We later found out that since Mateo isn't 2 years yet, the fee would be higher than what was listed on the paper, but still less than what we pay now. Then we realized that we don't even know how much the fee will be when he does move to the toddler room at his daycare (set to happen some time very soon), nor have either one of us paid a lick of attention to the condition of the toddler room the few times we've been in there, nor do we know what the student to teacher ratio is in the toddler room (this is important because if the ratio is higher than in the infant room, we get a 10% discount! - something else I remembered while my wheels were a-spinning last night), and basically we can't make any decision until we figure these things out.
We've got some thinking to do. And some questions to ask. And for me, some money to try to save.
And a little boy to keep happy, which is most imporant.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Feral children are on everyone's mind.
One of my posts that gets constant hits is the one I wrote about my fascination with feral children.
I'm certain this post will get hits as well because I'll write it again: feral children. Feral, feral, feral!
Why are you, you who happened upon my blog via google, interested in feral children?
I know why I am.
First, I don't get how any person could not care for his / her child and leave the child to rot outside in a cage or fend for them self by finding scraps to eat. Or worse.
Second, I really would like to know all the details about a child reared by animals. Supposedly it has happened. My two cats are pretty clueless, one can't kill a bug right in front of her nose and throws up constantly (she may be visiting the vet tomorrow, in fact), and the other likes to hunt lights shining in from the outside, from laptop monitors, from DVD surfaces, flashlights, etc.. I don't see either one of them being able to rear their own kittens.
Third, I would like to know how the children, when adults, survive every day life, that is assuming they have been placed into some sort of care to help elevated some of the mental abuse (and probably physical abuse) received for so long as a child.
I'm certain this post will get hits as well because I'll write it again: feral children. Feral, feral, feral!
Why are you, you who happened upon my blog via google, interested in feral children?
I know why I am.
First, I don't get how any person could not care for his / her child and leave the child to rot outside in a cage or fend for them self by finding scraps to eat. Or worse.
Second, I really would like to know all the details about a child reared by animals. Supposedly it has happened. My two cats are pretty clueless, one can't kill a bug right in front of her nose and throws up constantly (she may be visiting the vet tomorrow, in fact), and the other likes to hunt lights shining in from the outside, from laptop monitors, from DVD surfaces, flashlights, etc.. I don't see either one of them being able to rear their own kittens.
Third, I would like to know how the children, when adults, survive every day life, that is assuming they have been placed into some sort of care to help elevated some of the mental abuse (and probably physical abuse) received for so long as a child.
I'm also very interested in how people turn evil or if they're born that way. And, if you're going to just completely ignore the fact that your child is a living creature that needs love and security, then you're pretty darn evil in my book.
So what says you, you searchers of the feral children, you lurky lurkers?
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Girl parties? I don't do girl parties.
Remember that birthday party we went to on Sunday? As we were walking out, the husband of a high school friend of my husband walked out with us. (I know, that's confusing, but I don't like to name names). As we left the house he said, "So M was thinking of throwing a girl party sometime this summer....blah blah blah."
I did a mental check and realized I was the only girl around, so that means he was suggesting I attend this "girl" party.
Let me break it down:
1. These people are my husband's friends and only are my friends by default.
2. I abhor the idea of being in a room with a bunch of girls as girls tend to act crazy and bitchy and I'm sorry, I need a dosage of testosterone in the room with me if I'm around a bunch of girls.
3. I tend to like to hang out with guys more than girls.
4. I don't have much time to myself as it is, so why would I want to spend time that is being given to me by my husband to spend time with his girl friends?
Then the husband of the friend mentioned that his wife, M, was planning on calling the lingerie lady for the girl party. That's when I almost lost it. Me and lingerie have NEVER been friends. Especially now that I'm a rather robust person and I have a toddler in my life who manages to get snot, food and slobber all over my clothes. I prefer my comfy bag lady ensemble to lingerie.
The husband said to my husband that the "men" would take care of the "kids," probably stay out in the backyard or something.
"Can I hang out in the backyard with the men?" I asked. Because really, that's what I'd rather be doing.
Side story: Another friend of my husband was getting married, and the fiancee and he were having a co-ed bridal / groom shower. That's the only reason why I said I would go because while I sorta knew the guy, I really didn't know the girl at all, and all the girls invited I definitely would not know, and I'm just never in the mood to be friendly and make new friends.
So we walked into the house where the shower was being held, and it was full of girls. No guys. Just girls. I felt stupid because I was duped. My husband felt stupid because he was the only guy.
Come to find out, they decided to split the shower, sending the men to another house around the corner to drink and do what men do. Since I understand more what men do than what women do, I was sent off with my husband (much to the annoyance of his friend and all the other males there, I'm sure).
I had a much better time with the guys than I would of had with the girls. Whether or not the guys had a much better time with me than if they were left alone, I don't know and don't care.
End of side story.
In answer to my question about hanging out with the guys, the husband said, "What? Ah, come on!" like hanging out with a bunch of girls, looking at lingerie, drinking booze and having the constant feeling like I have to buy one of these lingerie pieces by the end of the night was a fabulous and fun idea.
The topic got changed because of Mateo and something he did, and the husband, who tends to not be the brightest bulb in the box, forgot what he was saying, but then my husband, who is a polite and nice fellow, brought it up again and told him to tell M to call him.
I think my husband and I both know how I feel about a girl party. So much so, that I didn't even say anything about it on the way home. Neither did he. It's like it was never brought up to begin with....
I did a mental check and realized I was the only girl around, so that means he was suggesting I attend this "girl" party.
Let me break it down:
1. These people are my husband's friends and only are my friends by default.
2. I abhor the idea of being in a room with a bunch of girls as girls tend to act crazy and bitchy and I'm sorry, I need a dosage of testosterone in the room with me if I'm around a bunch of girls.
3. I tend to like to hang out with guys more than girls.
4. I don't have much time to myself as it is, so why would I want to spend time that is being given to me by my husband to spend time with his girl friends?
Then the husband of the friend mentioned that his wife, M, was planning on calling the lingerie lady for the girl party. That's when I almost lost it. Me and lingerie have NEVER been friends. Especially now that I'm a rather robust person and I have a toddler in my life who manages to get snot, food and slobber all over my clothes. I prefer my comfy bag lady ensemble to lingerie.
The husband said to my husband that the "men" would take care of the "kids," probably stay out in the backyard or something.
"Can I hang out in the backyard with the men?" I asked. Because really, that's what I'd rather be doing.
Side story: Another friend of my husband was getting married, and the fiancee and he were having a co-ed bridal / groom shower. That's the only reason why I said I would go because while I sorta knew the guy, I really didn't know the girl at all, and all the girls invited I definitely would not know, and I'm just never in the mood to be friendly and make new friends.
So we walked into the house where the shower was being held, and it was full of girls. No guys. Just girls. I felt stupid because I was duped. My husband felt stupid because he was the only guy.
Come to find out, they decided to split the shower, sending the men to another house around the corner to drink and do what men do. Since I understand more what men do than what women do, I was sent off with my husband (much to the annoyance of his friend and all the other males there, I'm sure).
I had a much better time with the guys than I would of had with the girls. Whether or not the guys had a much better time with me than if they were left alone, I don't know and don't care.
End of side story.
In answer to my question about hanging out with the guys, the husband said, "What? Ah, come on!" like hanging out with a bunch of girls, looking at lingerie, drinking booze and having the constant feeling like I have to buy one of these lingerie pieces by the end of the night was a fabulous and fun idea.
The topic got changed because of Mateo and something he did, and the husband, who tends to not be the brightest bulb in the box, forgot what he was saying, but then my husband, who is a polite and nice fellow, brought it up again and told him to tell M to call him.
I think my husband and I both know how I feel about a girl party. So much so, that I didn't even say anything about it on the way home. Neither did he. It's like it was never brought up to begin with....
Monday, June 02, 2008
Achy ovaries? Pssshaw!
Per Babycenter.com:
Let’s see.
Temper easily aroused. Check.
Shortlived displays of anger and frustration. Check.
Pick absolute worst times to throw fits. Check.
Overstimulated, unfamiliar people, loud noises. Check.
Doesn’t have full attention. Check
Father thinks his child is more crazy and nutty and energetic than any other child he’s been around at his child’s age. Check.
Mateo’s 15-month attitude hit us full force this past weekend. I was super tired on Saturday and had what my doctor has deemed a “menstrual migraine.” After Mateo and I took a much needed nap (he was acting up and acting tired, I was just plain tired – darn that movie night #2 making me stay up til 10pm!), Mateo and Dad went off to Little Scissors to get Mateo’s hair cut. I got ready for the day in nice, peaceful quiet.
When Mateo and Dad came home, we headed to the park so Mateo could let off some steam and run around and have fun. This trip turned out to be the worst park trip by far. Mateo for some unknown reason felt he had superpowers, and while he can’t even run that great, he thought he could walk up slides. Dad helped him the first time, and so after that, that’s all he wanted to do. He normally likes the baby swings, but this time I think he was feeling too uncertain, and wanted out after a few minutes.
Right after that, he waddled (the playground ground was sand) to a very low monkey bar. I knew what was going to happen, but I had my camera in my hand, and my husband was closer to him, so I assumed my husband would have known what was going to happen, but apparently not.
Mateo walked right up to the waist high monkey bar, bent over it, and flipped right onto his face, doing a nice face plant into the sand.
“Didn’t you see that happening?” I asked my husband, who just then started reaching over to Mateo to help him up.
“I…I…I didn’t think he would actually bend over!” he said.
I got the diaper bag, which had a sippy cup of water in it, and I poured water into Mateo’s mouth, which, of course, dribbled right out and all over his shirt. My husband, always the conscious of fashion, was concerned about me getting Mateo’s shirt all wet, so I told him I had another shirt in his bag, so not to worry. Mateo didn’t seem phased by this whole incident, although he wasn’t too pleased with the feel of sand all over if face and hands.
After this incident and the slide walking Mateo couldn’t do, we decided it might be a bit easier to just let Mateo wander around the park instead of trying to kill himself at the playground. He was flipping out way too much over everything (the biggest thing being his non-existent slide walking skills), so we thought just letting him have freedom would be good for him.
Not so. He just wanted to run back to the playground, and for every 10 steps he took forward, he took 5 steps back. Yet it doesn’t seem like we moved from the same spot for about 15 minutes. After some snacks and more water, we decided it was time for Mateo to go home. There was way too much parental abuse going on (hitting), and we were both tired of it all.
Mateo was hit and miss when we got him home, but he went to bed early, which means we got an early reprieve as well.
Sunday Mateo had a birthday party to go to. We both thought he was going to be much better because he slept well and had a two hour nap before the party.
But, as Babycenter.com so clearly outlined, he picked this time to throw his crazy fits, to get mad over everything, and, of course, have a massive stinky poop that I had to carefully clean on the hosts’ bed without benefit of the plastic sheet thing we normally keep in the diaper bag (it found its way out of the bag, but never in – curses!).
Mateo was not on his best behavior, was waaaaay overstimulated because there was a whole mess of kids and adults and people giving him tons of attention and he didn’t know what to do with it. There was a mysterious jumpy jump he was interested in but too scared to enter, tons of toys clearly labeled “mine,” as in his, not the kids’ who lived there, and the two of us following him closely behind and trying to make sure he doesn’t destroy, annoy or hurt himself.
By the time we left, which was roughly an hour later, my husband and I were both dead tired, achy from tension, hungry and in need of libations. Even though prompted by the hostess’s mom to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat while she “watched” Mateo and it was okay because he was just “playing,” neither one of us did until we felt Mateo was hungry. Even then, our eating was just eating what he didn’t eat, from the little we gave him.
Once home, Mateo was immediately sent to bed for a late nap so we could decompress. Mateo woke up, had dinner, played a bit, and then was put to bed. About 15 minutes after bedtime, he started moaning and crying, so my husband went into his room to soothe him back to sleep. I was making dinner, and after about 20 minutes of my husband being gone, I knew something weird was going on and once dinner was okay to leave on the stove, I went in to check.
There I found my husband passed out in the rocking chair, chin sitting on his chest, and Mateo half asleep in his crib. I woke my husband up and told him to get out of his room, and he mumbled something and then adjusted himself so it looked like he wasn’t asleep, nope, not at all, the whole time he was in there. By the time I finally got him to fully wake up, Mateo was fully awake, and so I tried to get him back to sleep. He had other plans.
I let him back out into the living room where we played and watched some Yo Gabba Gabba (now I have the “I like fish” song in my head, curses to the kid shows!), and then it was back to bed.
After all this, and when we were back to peaceful quiet, my husband asked me, “Will it get easier?”
This coming from the self-professed baby and child expert.
Apparently Mateo is the only child he’s ever been around who acts the way he does, which is, in my opinion, simply a curious and highly energetic child who wants to explore and learn and test his boundaries and is very, very normal.
I told him it will get easier, and then it won’t, and then it will, and then it won’t. I explained it’s Mateo’s age, and he’s just excited to be able to do what he can do and wants to do more and more and more!
While we would both love to have that “perfect” child (wait, he is!), Mateo’s still a child and he’s going to act out and be frustrated and drive us to drink, but he’s still the best. And based on the force of his hugs (or is he just trying to choke me?), he still loves us, no matter how many times he hits us when we’re not looking. I’ve suffered a conk on the head with a hard plastic toy, many slaps and hits, and tons of hair pulls this pass weekend. Momhood is hard.
So back to achy ovaries really quick. Yeah, right now, not so much.
First the bad news: Your toddler's temper is easily aroused. Now the good: His displays of anger or frustration are generally short-lived. Of course it may seem like your child picks the absolute worst times to throw fits — in the middle of the grocery store, at the airport in front of your mother-in-law — and it's up to you to experiment with ways to handle the flare-ups. One reason that children seem to fall apart in public is simply that they're overstimulated: Unfamiliar people, bright lights, and loud noises all at one time can be too much for your child to handle. When you're out and about trying to run errands, your toddler knows he doesn't have your full attention, which is what he wants more than anything else — and will do just about anything to get.
Let’s see.
Temper easily aroused. Check.
Shortlived displays of anger and frustration. Check.
Pick absolute worst times to throw fits. Check.
Overstimulated, unfamiliar people, loud noises. Check.
Doesn’t have full attention. Check
Father thinks his child is more crazy and nutty and energetic than any other child he’s been around at his child’s age. Check.
Mateo’s 15-month attitude hit us full force this past weekend. I was super tired on Saturday and had what my doctor has deemed a “menstrual migraine.” After Mateo and I took a much needed nap (he was acting up and acting tired, I was just plain tired – darn that movie night #2 making me stay up til 10pm!), Mateo and Dad went off to Little Scissors to get Mateo’s hair cut. I got ready for the day in nice, peaceful quiet.
When Mateo and Dad came home, we headed to the park so Mateo could let off some steam and run around and have fun. This trip turned out to be the worst park trip by far. Mateo for some unknown reason felt he had superpowers, and while he can’t even run that great, he thought he could walk up slides. Dad helped him the first time, and so after that, that’s all he wanted to do. He normally likes the baby swings, but this time I think he was feeling too uncertain, and wanted out after a few minutes.
Right after that, he waddled (the playground ground was sand) to a very low monkey bar. I knew what was going to happen, but I had my camera in my hand, and my husband was closer to him, so I assumed my husband would have known what was going to happen, but apparently not.
Mateo walked right up to the waist high monkey bar, bent over it, and flipped right onto his face, doing a nice face plant into the sand.
“Didn’t you see that happening?” I asked my husband, who just then started reaching over to Mateo to help him up.
“I…I…I didn’t think he would actually bend over!” he said.
I got the diaper bag, which had a sippy cup of water in it, and I poured water into Mateo’s mouth, which, of course, dribbled right out and all over his shirt. My husband, always the conscious of fashion, was concerned about me getting Mateo’s shirt all wet, so I told him I had another shirt in his bag, so not to worry. Mateo didn’t seem phased by this whole incident, although he wasn’t too pleased with the feel of sand all over if face and hands.
After this incident and the slide walking Mateo couldn’t do, we decided it might be a bit easier to just let Mateo wander around the park instead of trying to kill himself at the playground. He was flipping out way too much over everything (the biggest thing being his non-existent slide walking skills), so we thought just letting him have freedom would be good for him.
Not so. He just wanted to run back to the playground, and for every 10 steps he took forward, he took 5 steps back. Yet it doesn’t seem like we moved from the same spot for about 15 minutes. After some snacks and more water, we decided it was time for Mateo to go home. There was way too much parental abuse going on (hitting), and we were both tired of it all.
Mateo was hit and miss when we got him home, but he went to bed early, which means we got an early reprieve as well.
Sunday Mateo had a birthday party to go to. We both thought he was going to be much better because he slept well and had a two hour nap before the party.
But, as Babycenter.com so clearly outlined, he picked this time to throw his crazy fits, to get mad over everything, and, of course, have a massive stinky poop that I had to carefully clean on the hosts’ bed without benefit of the plastic sheet thing we normally keep in the diaper bag (it found its way out of the bag, but never in – curses!).
Mateo was not on his best behavior, was waaaaay overstimulated because there was a whole mess of kids and adults and people giving him tons of attention and he didn’t know what to do with it. There was a mysterious jumpy jump he was interested in but too scared to enter, tons of toys clearly labeled “mine,” as in his, not the kids’ who lived there, and the two of us following him closely behind and trying to make sure he doesn’t destroy, annoy or hurt himself.
By the time we left, which was roughly an hour later, my husband and I were both dead tired, achy from tension, hungry and in need of libations. Even though prompted by the hostess’s mom to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat while she “watched” Mateo and it was okay because he was just “playing,” neither one of us did until we felt Mateo was hungry. Even then, our eating was just eating what he didn’t eat, from the little we gave him.
Once home, Mateo was immediately sent to bed for a late nap so we could decompress. Mateo woke up, had dinner, played a bit, and then was put to bed. About 15 minutes after bedtime, he started moaning and crying, so my husband went into his room to soothe him back to sleep. I was making dinner, and after about 20 minutes of my husband being gone, I knew something weird was going on and once dinner was okay to leave on the stove, I went in to check.
There I found my husband passed out in the rocking chair, chin sitting on his chest, and Mateo half asleep in his crib. I woke my husband up and told him to get out of his room, and he mumbled something and then adjusted himself so it looked like he wasn’t asleep, nope, not at all, the whole time he was in there. By the time I finally got him to fully wake up, Mateo was fully awake, and so I tried to get him back to sleep. He had other plans.
I let him back out into the living room where we played and watched some Yo Gabba Gabba (now I have the “I like fish” song in my head, curses to the kid shows!), and then it was back to bed.
After all this, and when we were back to peaceful quiet, my husband asked me, “Will it get easier?”
This coming from the self-professed baby and child expert.
Apparently Mateo is the only child he’s ever been around who acts the way he does, which is, in my opinion, simply a curious and highly energetic child who wants to explore and learn and test his boundaries and is very, very normal.
I told him it will get easier, and then it won’t, and then it will, and then it won’t. I explained it’s Mateo’s age, and he’s just excited to be able to do what he can do and wants to do more and more and more!
While we would both love to have that “perfect” child (wait, he is!), Mateo’s still a child and he’s going to act out and be frustrated and drive us to drink, but he’s still the best. And based on the force of his hugs (or is he just trying to choke me?), he still loves us, no matter how many times he hits us when we’re not looking. I’ve suffered a conk on the head with a hard plastic toy, many slaps and hits, and tons of hair pulls this pass weekend. Momhood is hard.
So back to achy ovaries really quick. Yeah, right now, not so much.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Let this be a lesson to YOU.
Yesterday my husband came into the living room and announced, "I hate My Space!"
I asked why. It was particularly weird that he was even on My Space because he's not the type to network socially; in fact, all he does on Facebook is play Scrabulous with me all day long while at work.
He said he got a friend request, and so he went and looked, and the friend request included a picture of a baby, and so he thought, "I need to see what's up with this baby."
(No, my husband isn't a weirdo who likes babies, he's a parent and a father and just happens to have babies on the brain.)
So he went to the page and it immediately wanted to run some program, which then caused the anti-virus protection program to work overtime. Eventually whatever was being downloaded was removed.
Now my husband is refusing all friend requests, including wayward babies, and is mad at My Space for allowing such things to happen to innocent fathers and parents.
I asked why. It was particularly weird that he was even on My Space because he's not the type to network socially; in fact, all he does on Facebook is play Scrabulous with me all day long while at work.
He said he got a friend request, and so he went and looked, and the friend request included a picture of a baby, and so he thought, "I need to see what's up with this baby."
(No, my husband isn't a weirdo who likes babies, he's a parent and a father and just happens to have babies on the brain.)
So he went to the page and it immediately wanted to run some program, which then caused the anti-virus protection program to work overtime. Eventually whatever was being downloaded was removed.
Now my husband is refusing all friend requests, including wayward babies, and is mad at My Space for allowing such things to happen to innocent fathers and parents.
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