Monday, January 31, 2011

French Bulldog For Sale

Today I arrived home from the grocery store to find Ryan, towel in hand, anxious to share with me what happened while I was away.  What could possibly happen in just 20 minutes?

"Your son," he begins, of course he is MY son when he is bad.  "Your son decided it would be a good idea to get paint all over the house."

Excuse me, paint?  How did he get paint?  Where is there even paint in our house and where the hell did he find a screw driver to pop open the can?

Ryan continues to explain that while he was in the bathroom pooping reading Abner broke into the work in progress nursery and helped himself to a tiny plastic bottle filled with paint, a sample.  He then proceeded to chew on the top until it popped open ON THE CARPET and prance in it before wandering around the house creating a cute puppy paw print art project.

Ryan came out of the bathroom to find Abner STANDING ON THE KITCHEN TABLE, paint all over his face and front paws, calmly staring out the window.  Why he was on the kitchen table I honestly have no idea, but there he sat, perhaps he was showing off his painted face.

This is about the time I got home.  Ryan was finishing wiping up paw prints and I arrived just in time to attempt to clean the carpet.  Does anyone have any brilliant ideas on how to get paint out of carpeting? 

So, the offer stands, what do you think a fair rate for a paint eating French Bulldog is?

And let's not even get into the ideas running through my head about our future human child.  Oh that Nessier kids parents let him eat paint again...What's that, the Nessier kid is ripping the stuffing out of his toys again. I swear that child was raised by dogs?

Saturday, January 29, 2011

He's a Special One

Recently I purchased a gorgeous quilt from Anthropologie without reading the care instructions.  This sort of thing happens when said quilt is 65% off, who cares how to wash it, I'll beat it with a rock in the river!  Well, turns out that it is dry clean only which means that it, along with my beautiful and 75% off winter coat, will be dirty. 

It is no secret that we love our dogs and while they do not sleep with us at night, they are welcome to come up and hang out while we read or watch TV before bed or in the morning.  This means that a lot of dog fur and the occasional dirty paw print end up on the comforter.

No problem when it was a basic white duvet that I washed once a week, but big problem with a beautiful multi-colored dry clean only quilt.  To resolve this issue I turn down the quilt whenever the dogs are on the bed, but Ryan didn't get the memo. So, last night when we were getting ready for bed and I tell him that the quilt is dry clean only and won't fit in our washer so if he would please turn it down and not let the dogs lay on it I would appreciate it.

Ryan: "Why would you get a dry clean only quilt?"

Me: "I didn't read the label, it was on sale and it was pretty.  Sometimes pretty things aren't logical, babe."

Ryan: "I know, I'm married to you!"

Thursday, January 27, 2011


Since discovering I was pregnant, I have spent some time reading different community boards.  I actually have no idea what they are technically called, but it is like a big question and answer center with thousands of expectant moms, experienced moms, bitchy moms, drama moms, know it all moms, etc.

I first went to these boards because I was terrified of having a miscarriage and wanted to read all the information I could about everyone's experiences.   I wanted to know if their symptoms matched up with mine, if they were experiencing the same fears and how they were dealing with it. 

At first I found it to be somewhat therapeutic, "oh thank god, she got out of breath going up ONE flight of stairs too." But after a while I found the message boards to be downright annoying.

The most annoying part, aside from people making judgments about others OVER THE INTERNET, and something I overlooked in the beginning because, well, I was desperate, is the use of abbreviations.  At first I was like what the fuck are these ladies saying to each other?  My DH and my DD went to the SM to buy a HPT and I got a BFP and it was so exciting that I LOL'ed.

Seriously?  That is your sentence?  What am I supposed to do with that?  Is there some kind of internet mom language that I am supposed to know how to read?  Do I need to buy a companion book for this website?

Oh no, no need, the websites have a special reference page that tells you what everything means.  Are you kidding me?  DH is dear husband, DD is dear daughter, HPT is home pregnancy test, BFP is big fat positive on said test and holy shit there are like 300 more!  It is absolutely ridiculous.

Now, I know that if one of these moms read this blog I would probably be shunned forever, never to read their precious message boards again, but I have to get if off my chest.  Ladies, and I'm not saying every one, but a lot of you are on these boards for HOURS each day.  Posting away and giving lovely advice but if you have hours to spend on the internet then clearly you have plenty of time to WRITE OUT THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORD YOU ARE TYPING AND NOT USE ABBREVIATIONS.

Thank you, and I will totally continue to stalk the boards when I am rattled that only my left boob stopped throbbing in pain today.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Ryan Too, is Lucky He's Cute

A few weeks ago we did some major furniture juggling around our house.  Well, I watched, pointed, nagged and made concerned faces, but someone's got to.  Anyway, our old den/TV room is now our bedroom, our old bedroom is now an empty room that will become a nursery and our living room is now actually going to be our living room.

During the move Ryan questioned where to put the elliptical machine.  For a while we thought about moving all of our workout equipment to the basement but decided against it.  And when I say "all", I mean one machine a few weights and a yoga mat, not like we have a gym here, but I have gotten used to having the elliptical machine in the office/guestroom.  It is nice that I see it every day so I am reminded to use it.

Well, Ryan doesn't really love the elliptical in the office/guestroom so I asked him where he would suggest we put it. 

He suggested we put it in the baby's room. 

Me: "The baby room?  Whey the hell would we put the elliptical machine in the baby's room? "

Ryan: "You know, for motivation.  Like you go into the baby's room and it motivates you to loose the baby weight."

Me: "You have got to be fucking kidding me, right?"

Ryan: "No babe, it's brilliant.  And when the baby is napping you can workout and check on it at the same time."

I am speechless.  I know he is kind of joking but the glimmer in his eyes tells me that he is actually kind of serious. 

I don't know whether to smack him or give him props for a good idea.  I still haven't decided quite how I feel about the suggestion.  I mean, I do want to loose baby weight quickly, and the elliptical is how I plan on doing it at first, and I am slightly obsessive and like to watch babies and dogs while they sleep just to make sure they don't spontaniously stop breathing. 

Am I the crazy one?

Either way it has become quite the joke around here, particularly because this was said in front of my brother who thought the idea was absolutely the most brilliant and hilarious thing he'd heard all year. 

I'll smack them both and eat some cookies.  I can work them off the baby's room

Thursday, January 20, 2011

It Has Happened

I have officially reached the, "Is she fat or pregnant?" stage.

Eyelids forming, ears growing, legs lengthening, heart pumping, that's all well and fine, but this, THIS should have it's own chapter in a book.

If I were asked to write said chapter, and why wouldn't I be, it would go a little something like this.

Ladies, you will all reach a stage in your pregnancy when you are not quite fitting into your pre-pregnancy clothes but not quite ready for maternity clothes either ; an awkward stage to say the least.  Think back on puberty when you weren't quite ready for a big girl bra but the training bra was digging into your ribs, kind of like that but things are digging in all over.

Here are some signs you have reached this stage.  People start looking at you like you need to buy new pants.  Familiar faces that know you but don't know you are pregnant may mumble under their breath how some people just don't keep their figure after high school.  Or perhaps a person will make eye contact and then their stare will slowly drift down to your midsection and stay for just a second too long; their eyes asking, "Fat or pregnant?"

Punch them and run.  In this stage of pregnancy you should still be able to run.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Unwelcomed House Guests

Ants, I hate ants.  I know they serve multiple purposes and are very important to our ecosystem, but does one of their purposes have to be to annoy me? 

I noticed a few of them wandering around yesterday afternoon, but assumed they would take my evil glare seriously and leave me alone.  Wrong.  This morning I woke up to the fucking rose parade as interrupted by a million ants marching in my kitchen. 

I had to go so Ryan wiped them up with some Seventh Generation glass cleaner and went about his day.  When we returned home later that afternoon they were back in full force.  The ants are like, really Ryan, Seventh Generation cleaner?  You think THAT is going to kill us?  We have evolved to outlive RAID!

Anyway, I decided to vacuum them up while Ryan traced the origin of their trail.  Once the origin of ants is found you can draw a chalk line in front of it and all around your door where they are climbing in.  Ants will NOT cross a chalk line.  Why, I have no idea, but they won't. 

Next time ants invade your house try to chalk line experiment.  You will be amazed how they approach the line all cocky and all of a sudden stop like they are faced with climbing Mount Everest.  Does chalk create some sort of epic glacier illusion?  You may be able to lift 1,000 times your own weight, ants, but you sure are stupid. 

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

300, +/-

According to some books, and my doctor, I am supposed to be eating an extra 300 calories every day during this trimester.  I typically try to get these calories healthfully by eating extra fruit, oatmeal, ice cream, yogurt, homemade wheat toast with fig jam, etc.

Not today.  Today I got my extra calories with a Taco Bell quesadilla and some chubby hubby ice cream.


I know it is gross and probably not the best choice for me or baby, but I have been wanting a damn Taco Bell quesadilla for like 3 months and today I gave in.  I must say that while it was delicious, it has left me with a bit of a stomach ache.   Stomach ache or not, my craving is satiated and I won't be needing Taco Bell for another year or so.

Now here's the real question.  Should I eat the rest of the chubby hubby?  There is only like 1/4 cup left.  All alone and lonely in that dark freezer.  So sad...

Okay fine, I'll eat it tomorrow

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Among the Orchards

Last weekend my mom and I visited the Nessier Ranch in Modesto, Ca.  Ryan has been spending his weekends there helping to organize and catalog a lifetime of memories.  It is an emotional time for everyone in the family; a lot of change is overwhelming a long-standing home built by noble hands with love.

I was lucky enough to capture some great photographs throughout the day and this, Ryan holding up an old mailbox belonging to his grandparents, is one of my favorites.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Family Bonding

Today I had my regular once a month doctors appointment in which I was reminded AGAIN that I need to get the pertussis vaccine. This is one vaccine that I am not apposed to getting as whooping cough is very dangerous to babies and supposedly on the rise these past few years. 

I figured rather than have him remind me again in February, might as well get it done right then and there.  Now, I have not had a shot, other than a tetanus shot about 10 years ago in well, I can't even tell you how long.  Probably since my 5 year old vaccines. 

I am in no way afraid of shots or needles but it was still kind of strange.  Like what if they give me the wrong thing and all of a sudden I shoot spiderwebs out of my wrists and stop trains with my mind or something.  I suppose that would be kind of cool, but you get what I'm saying.  Fear of the unknown. 

Clear substance in a syringe, plunged into your arm.  Band-aid and you are on your way.  Just weird.

Anyway, since I got my vaccine today the doctor recommended Ryan go ahead and get his out of the way as well.  He gave us an address for a free clinic in Seaside and we decided Red's Donuts would be our reward for going to a free clinic, in SEASIDE. 

I decided to wait in the car because I can only imagine the germs floating around in there.  And since the flu shot is one vaccine I refuse to get, the car seamed the safest place.  I guess I should point out that the reason I am not getting the flu shot is because not only have I never had the vaccine before, but I have also never had the flu. 

Trust me, this is an informed decision for me and I am also a very respectful member of society and do not go in public if I think I am getting sick or have a fever.  I know that while I am not one of them, there are many people with compromised immune systems and I don't want to contaminate anyone!

That being said, back to the clinic!

About twenty minutes have passed and my arm is now starting to throb.  Ten more minutes and Ryan comes out shaking his head.  Having been to a free clinic myself once before, I can imagine why he is shaking his head, but I of course want stories.  The woman helping him answering her cell phone a minimum of 5 times to yell at her boyfriend, telling him to stop bothering her while she's working was my favorite.

Back in the car my arm is starting to hurt worse and I am kind of wondering if Ryan's arm hurts as well...

Me: "Babe, does your arm hurt.  Like it is throbbing!?"

Ryan: "Yes, it actually hurts quite a bit."

Me: "Good, now I don't have to pretend like mine doesn't hurt to prove how tuff I am."

In conclusion, I recommend that you do not get this shot on a day when you have to vacuum, make dinner for friends, whisk a recipe for 10 minutes and/or attempt to pick up a 28 pound French Bulldog because he looks like he needs a hug.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Fresh Squeezed

I LOVE making fresh juice.  Cleaning the juicer, not so much, but I digress. 

I have so much fun mixing up different fruits and vegetables and seeing what combinations turn out and which ones I have to hold my nose and chug to get down. 

If you are a fellow juice lover, I recommend trying my recipe for "green lemonade."  It is 1 lemon, 1 gala apple and 1/2 bunch of Tuscan kale.  All organic if you can, or not if you can't.  Any type of kale will do, but for juicing I like the Tuscan variety.

A few days ago I took some time to juice and thought the separation of colors in glass jars was particularly beautiful.  I know that you are supposed to make small batches and drink the juice immediately after juicing for optimal benefit/vitamins, but then I'd be cleaning the juicer as often as I clean the dog nose marks off of the stainless steel fridge...EVERY DAMN DAY!

Kale, Swiss Chard, Apple, Orange and Tangerine, Orange juices

It Wasn't Me

Gosh mom, why are you always so quick to blame the bulldog?  I swear I didn't chew up that towel.

What's that on my lip?  Oh that's nothing.  Moving on 

Monday, January 10, 2011

When Brilliance Backfires

A few years back when Ryan and I were living separately in Fresno, he told me he was going to use his day off to clean his entire house and do yard work.  Sounds good to me.  Later that day I arrived to his house and found him eager to show me his handy work. 

He scrubbed the bathroom, mowed the lawn, planted flowers, dusted, vacuumed and FINALLY got that pesky pet hair out from behind the hot water heater on the porch.  How did he get the pesky pet hair out you might ask? 

I did.

A huge grin spread across his face.  "I used the leaf blower and blew out the whole kitchen and porch, even behind the oven!"  Wow, I didn't see that one coming.  I took it all in for a moment and to be honest, while I was a bit taken a back to his method, you have to admit it was a pretty clever idea.

The next morning Ryan woke up and headed to the shower before work.  I heard the water come on and then I heard a little scream, kind of like the noise a girl makes when you tickle her. The bathroom door flew open.

Ryan: "The water is freezing.  It won't get warm."

Me: "Um, I'm sorry.  Maybe it just needs more time to warm up."

Ryan: "No, something is wrong." and walks into the kitchen


Me: "What's wrong."

Ryan: "While I was blowing out the kitchen I accidentally blew out the pilot light on the hot water heater." 

Trying to control my laughter and be kind about the situation..."Maybe a cold shower will do you good, wake you up, get you ready to start the day."

All I got was a glare. 

If this happened now I'd totally laugh.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Come On In, But Don't Take off That Coat

Our house is cold, like really cold.  

Why not turn on the heater you say?  Paying 300 dollars a month for heat doesn't sound like my idea of fun. 

How do we combat the cold?   I wear sweats, a tank top, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, uggs and soak my feet in hot water before bed.  Ryan on the other hand is incredibly efficient at keeping his own body warm.

But Abner?  Abner is like his mom and doesn't like to be cold so he hogs the space heater and lounges in piles of warm laundry.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Didn't I Already Go Through This About 15 Years Ago?

I think I am repeating puberty.

Wasn't it bad enough the first time? 

I have all the symptoms.  Moody, check.  Boobs getting bigger, check.  Hips getting wider, check.  Random extra hair growing where it need not be growing, check.  Moody, check.  A face full of pimples, check.  Did I mention I'm kind of moody?

This time around at least I can somewhat control my emotions and not go off on a crying tangent because everything sucks and nothing fits right and the whole world is going to end if I don't get a dark chocolate covered peppermint joe joe.

I mean who would do that?  Really.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Part II

Feeling a bit better and wearing clean, dry pants, we headed for home.  I knew Abner wasn't feeling well from talking to my mom earlier so I was anxious to get home and see his condition.  He was pathetic.  The poor guy did not feel well at all.  He was all out of sorts, sitting still and not bothering anything.  Guys, he was being a perfect angel, that is not a good sign.

We fed him some dinner (mistake) and headed for bed.  I was going to let him sleep in bed with us as a special treat, but he curled up in his own bed so I left him there.  I spent the first part of the night staring at him trying to get comfortable, then he spent a while staring at me like, "Mom, I am not comfortable!"  Finally I got up to see if he needed to go to the bathroom but all he did was stare, driving the knife deeper and deeper into my heart.

I must have drifted off to sleep because the next sound I heard was of his nails clicking on the hardwood.  Assuming he needed to go out I rolled out of bed and that is when I saw his face; he was petrified!  His ears were flat against his head and he was shaking and panting with his eyes bulging out and a rock hard abdomen.  All he did was pace back and forth trying to find some relief.

I quickly woke up Ryan who suggested we drive him to the emergency vet.  We were dressed and out the door in about 30 seconds.  The drive over seemed like an eternity, hitting red lights was torture.  We finally arrived and I carried Abner in still panting and shaking and now pissed off that we were taking him to the vet  of all places.

4 hours, 2 x-rays, 1 poop, 3mm of pain meds, and a bill that made my stomach turn later, we headed for home.  This time the drive was quick but all I could think of was what if we need to get him back?  Maybe we should have asked to spend the night in the waiting room or perhaps slept in the car parked out front.  Why didn't I think to ask the Dr. x, y, and z?

Around 4:30am, we pulled into the driveway and walked inside.  Lilly greeted us with a sideways grin that could only mean one of two things; she shit the bed or she ate something she wasn't supposed to.  With trepidation I walked into the living room and the evidence was ALL OVER.  Those gingerbread men didn't stand a chance, she caught them, every last one. 

I looked at her, looked at Abner, and looked up into the sky, "WHY, WHY CAN'T MY DOGS JUST BE NORMAL?  WHY UNIVERSE, WHY?"

I just got home from the vet because one of my dogs has indiscriminate ingestion problems and now my other dog is eating gingerbread men with fucking RED HOT BUTTONS on their coats and who knows how much plastic wrapper went down with them. Please, please let my cat come and vomit on the duvet, it would be the perfect topper to this day. 

None of us slept that night.

The next day my mom took Abner to his regular vet while I was at work trying to stay awake, not cry and try to get my mind off of weather or not the pee pee nerve can hurt the baby.  His vet said the same thing as everyone else, which is pretty much that they have no idea what is wrong.  He ate something bad.  Um, obvious but thanks.  A bland diet, some antiacid, lots of laying in front of the heater and many, many holes started through him later, things are looking up. 

Yesterday was his first day back on his normal diet and I am pleased to report that he has SOLID POOP.  We still have no idea what he ate, but he is a complete pain in the ass, getting into everything, bothering everyone and being his old self again, a terrorist pygmy hippo.

Earlier today I was trying to fold laundry while he was crawling all over it, barking at me, bringing me toys like I had nothing better to do than to play with him and being a general pain.  I found myself getting frustrated but then I remembered that just a few days ago I would have given my left arm for him act like this, to be himself, and it got me thinking. 

Now, I know he is a dog, but he is my child, and like human children he is sometimes very trying.  I imagined myself for a moment with a sick child and it got me thinking about this young woman I saw the other day screaming at her toddler for being loud and running about the store.  I couldn't help but wonder, would she be pleading with God for her child to run around and scream if he were sick in bed, I imagine she would.

Then I started crying. 

I blame the future child that will probably one up my dogs in every joy and worry.  Is it too late to back out of this?