After a cold, rainy couple of weeks, we welcomed the sun today with open arms...for about an hour or so, then most of us complained about being hot. Not me, me who hates heat more than repetitive imaginary drum playing, was loving it; once I found a skirt that fit, it was Ryan who has gotten soft. Today's weather was like Fresno at 8am in July and he couldn't hang. Maybe he needs a Summer visit to remember what hot actually feels like. He and Abner, who had to be carried the last few blocks of our walk due to excessive panting, awe.
Here are a few cute shots of the hot boys...
Note that his feet hover above the floor when he lays flat
I don't know about you, but my favorite M&M's color was light brown. That is until they replaced it with blue; bright, offensive, invasive, blue. When they first came out I refused to eat the blue, giving them away or leaving them behind. Of course now I eat them, but not without a bit of spite, imagining them as the discontinued glossy light brown morsels as I chew.
What is it with ever evolving products and expanding product lines? Why do manufacturers feel the need to mess with stuff all the time? Is there actually pressure on them to change products and constantly formulate new ones? Do we really need 250 choices? Am I the only one who takes it personally when one of my beloved products is "new and improved?" Also, who the hell coined the phrase, "new and improved," it is impossible, if something is new it cannot also be improved.
Find a shampoo you love and within a few months they have changed the formula. Supposedly it is improved, reformulated for even better hair days, but I call bullshit. I think that some nerd figured out that if they cut one ingredient and add another that each bottle will cost .0001 cents less manufacture thus increasing the company's profit margin by 2 million for the year. Who cares about the wee consumer and her frizzy hair.
And toothbrushes! My god, toothbrushes. It seems that every day there is a new toothbrush out on the market with some weird new rubber finger thing that is going to massage my gums, fight cavities and walk my dogs. Isn't the basic premise of a toothbrush to brush the teeth. Can't a simple cluster of bristles do this efficiently? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe we need 14 different height levels and rubber thingies, and angled heads, but somehow I don't buy it.
I do understand the need for change and the desire to evolve, even with the toothbrush, but do we really need an entire aisle of choices? I see people all the time just standing in the middle of the aisle completely overwhelmed, eyes glazed over, staring at all the choices and trying to decide which one to place in their cart. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads and the stress it is causing their primal brains only designed to choose between a few things.
I am typically the person who walks down the aisle and picks up the same items I have picked up for years without even looking at the new and/or improved products. If my mascara has worked for 10 years why change it? But then one day I can't find my mascara. Where is it? What did you go with my mascara? What do you mean you changed the formula and redesigned the packaging? Now I too stand in the middle of the aisle, head spinning, waiting for another woman to come along and choose a mascara so I can just grab the same one and be done.
I hate having to make decisions like this. I have already spent countless hours that I will never get back deciphering between literally thousands of baby products and gimmicks and have decided on my favorites. I'm sure once baby gets here I will tweak my choices a bit until eventually I find products that I love...that will surely be discontinued or "improved" within a matter of months.
Parents have been manipulating their children since the beginning of time. Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Santa! They have been messing with us our entire lives! I am sure we can all look back and remember a time when we bought what our parents were selling out of pure naivete. I fell victim to the crust being the most nutritious part of the bread scheme, and I believed it for most of my life. Then, one day while eating a sandwich, a light bulb. The crust is the exact same as the rest of the slice it just gets crusty because it is out he outside! Eureka, I've got it!
Part of me felt duped and a bit idiotic but really I was impressed. Impressed with the power that parents have over their children's thoughts and opinions of the world. Wow, I really believed that? I bet some of you did too. Perhaps you figured it out before you hit your twenties, but wasn't is a crazy moment? Did you wonder what other lies you believed as a child? Do you wonder now what you are being manipulated to believe as an adult?
Gnarly, right? But that is a WHOLE other topic that I could fill 10 pages with if I chose to get into it. Lucky for you, I won't. You're welcome.
But really, think of the power you have as a parent, or even just as a person in a child's life. Shit, you have a lot of power even if you meet a kid once and tell them some off beat story. I guarentee if you tell a random kid in the park that there are alien fish swimming in the sand, they will believe you. And probably talk about it for weeks and drive their parents crazy and never want to touch the sand again! HA the power!
Quite frankly, this "power" scares the crap out of me. It totally blows my mind that in a few short years I am going to be the one doing the manipulating. My child is going to be looking to me for answers, ME? I don't know anything about anything and yet I am being given the awesome responsibility of shaping the mind of a child! Are you sure about this? Shouldn't I have gone through some sort of interview process? I was checked out more thoroughly when I got a puppy!
While the whole idea of it does make me break out in a sweat and wish that xanex was approved for pregnancy, it is pretty amazing. I will try my best to take it seriously and when my child looks at me and says, "But mommy, I don't like the crust," You can bet your ass that I'm telling that kid he has to eat it because that is where all the nutrients are. I'll be dammed if I'm going to let this kid get off without any hangups.
So, I'm in the back room, ironing, minding my own business, when I look out into the yard and see Abner. He is not taking a nap or engaging in his favorite past time of chasing dragonfly shadows; he is foaming at the mouth, profusely, 24 gallons of yellowish foam are taking over his body like the blob.
I run outside in a panic. All I can think of is that he is choking to death or perhaps has been bitten by a rabid animal and is now himself a rabid foaming Cujo. Just when I am imaging myself locked in the car for 2 days with Danny Pintauro I realize what is causing the foaming. He is masticating a snail. Not chewing, that is far too polite a word for what he was doing, he was masticating this poor slimy snail to death.
Without thinking I perform "the sweep" wherein I pry open his mouth and use my other hand to clear out its contents. I immediately regret my decision, as I typically do when sweeping out his mouth, because now my hand is covered in masticated snail bits and yellow foam. Better than when it was covered in cat shit, but still incredibly gag worthy.
Now Abner, I know you are French, and escargot is a delicacy, but can we arrange for you to pull this kind of stunt when you are hanging out with your father? I'm kind of tired of the heart attacks and filth, plus he would be so much more fun. He'd actually vomit if he had snail bits on his hands. Just saying.
In the words of Charlie Brown..."Why can't my dog just be NORMAL?"
As you already know from previous posts, Ryan and I will not be finding out the sex of our baby until it is born and the doctor utters those infamous words, "It's a..."
I find that I go back and forth about this whole not knowing thing; I think it's my controlling side shining through. I typically try to keep that side under wraps, but every once and a while it's like, hello, my name is Anne and I'm a total control freak and by the way, that vase goes .33 inches to the left!!
I know that finding out would make a few things easier, like choosing bedding, choosing a name and mentally preparing for one or the other, but not finding out gives us an opportunity to be genuinely surprised. How often in your adult life do you get to be truly, joyfully, 100% surprised? Not too often.
So, because we are not finding out we thought it would be fun to try some of the old traditional gender predictors like the Chinese calendar, the wedding ring hanging above my belly, and having multiple people tell us their opinions.
So far the Chinese calendar says boy, the wedding ring says girl and the majority of people and their opinions say boy. I am not going to lie and say that I don't have a preference, I do, I would like a boy. But just because my preference is boy doesn't mean that I will be disappointed or any less in love with a girl, I just feel more comfortable with a boy the first time around.
So, what do you think? Are you feeling a certain pull toward one or the other? Want to get in on a poll? The winner will get a lifetime supply of personal significance; you really can't beat that!
Everyone loves a creamsicle. Fresh, bright citrus on the outside and smooth, creamy ice cream on the inside. It's just one of those perfect food combinations, like peanut butter and chocolate. And while I do love a creamsicle, I never imagined I would be obsessing over the color of the frozen delight rather than the treat itself, but here I am, or there I was, in search for the perfect orange.
First of all, I don't even like the color orange...or red or yellow, way too bright and cheerful. But for some strange reason when deciding on colors for the nursery I was immediately drawn to orange. Not traffic cone orange or even the true color or a proper orange, but the cool, delicious, impossibly artificial color or a creamsicle.
Now, before you think I have officially gone off the deep end, no, I didn't make Ryan repaint the walls orange. OK, now that that's out of the way...
Having never looked for anything orange before, remember, I don't like the color, I ignorantly assumed it would be as easy as walking in, selecting the perfect color and getting on with painting. Wrong. I must have grabbed 30 paint chips from 5 different stores that day alone.
Unfortunately none of them was quite perfect, so back to the store again to collect even more paint chips. I even scanned the spray paint section which to my surprise only had one choice, traffic cone orange. Might come in handy if I were painting lines on the cement out back, but not so appealing for a nursery.
Overwhelmed, I began the process of rifling through all the paint chips I had collected. Colors were flying, many duplicates were discarded and a few close matches survived. I even contemplated going to the grocery store to buy some creamsicles so I could match the color perfectly, but decided against it. I mean that would be crazy, right?
Finally I chose a color that I felt matched what I envisioned and Ryan and I were off to the store.
Why do I keep saying "the store?" I'm sure you know what store I am talking about and it's not like their lawyers read my blog and are going to sue me for not asking for permission to use their name, HOME DEPOT damn it. We went to Home Depot AGAIN! Dealt with the parade of idiots that work at Home Depot AGAIN! Waited forever to be helped by employees that don't know shit about anything AGAIN!
So, we are at Home Depot and I'm feeling good. I am not going to let that unattended kid swinging the shovel in the aisle bother me, I'm on a mission, I'm going to get this paint and it is going to be the perfect paint and the project is going to paint itself and... I spot two little boys whispering and kind of pushing each other. One of them must have been about 6 or 7 and the other one about 4.
They catch my eye so I watch them and soon realize that the younger boy has his pants undone and is walking over to the display toilet to have a pee pee, his little weinner is out and everything! The older brother is trying to tell him that he can't pee there but he doesn't care. He is dead set on using that display toilet.
He walks up to it, lifts the lid and just as he is about to relieve himself his dad notices what is happening and grabs his arm gasping, "Diego, NO!"
I'm pretty sure a little bit of pee pee snuck out into that display toilet, but I'm also pretty sure that this wasn't the first time that has happened. You surround kids and/or drunk men begrudgingly doing honey do lists with toilets and someone is bound to pee.
My take away parent note of the day. If you have a newly potty trained toddler/child surrounded by potties, keep a close watch or sew their fly shut!
Here is a sneak peek of the dresser getting covered in creamsicle orange. Delicious.
I'm not going to lie, I am honestly kind of surprised how many people are offended by my calling our unborn child "it." I mean, what else am I going to call it? See, there I go again.
As you already know, we aren't finding out the sex of our baby. But what you may or may not know is that I am not to keen on cutesy little names for things like unborn babies or your husbands penis. My dog may have 28 nicknames, but he is alive and breathing and earned every one.
At first I didn't want to call it anything because I was afraid to get attached. Well, I got attached anyway in about 25 seconds, but still didn't really call it anything. For a moment I suggested we call it Baby X but Ryan thought that was too hardcore and opted for Baby Z. It never stuck; It stuck.
And I can't tell you how many disgusted or disappointed looks I get from women when I tell them that we aren't finding out the sex of the baby. "But what are you going to call it?" they ask in a concerned tone. "Uh, I call it It." Trying to hold their composure, their eyes bulging with surprise. "Just It?"
After asking me if I was having a boy or a girl and responding that I didn't know, one woman told me, "You just have to find out the sex! That baby needs a name!?" OK, I'll get right on that. My husband and I will just forgo our whole surprise and excitement and name the unborn child so that you can sleep better at night.
Thank you so much for your input, I had no idea that not naming our baby while it was still in the womb could be so detrimental to its development.
While getting a massage today, the masseuse was working oh my hips and...
"Oh, I think I feel his or her head or bottom over here"
"Yeah, sometimes I can feel it really sticking out. It is so strange"
"So are you having a boy or a girl?"
"I don't know. We aren't finding out"
"But what are you going to call him, I mean the baby"
"Um, I call it it"
"You call your baby it?"
"Yeah, like Cousin It"
Someone call the baby police. This woman is an unfit mother! I wonder what she would have thought if I told her that sometimes I call it an Alien or The Monster Inside!
Seriously though, my sarcasm is probably going to land me in a scenario like this...
It's cookie time! And while I am pretty sure the Girl Scouts of America are getting cheap and skimping on the peanut butter portion of their Tagalongs, (did you think we wouldn't notice!?) the Somoas are amazing!
Thanks Miss Marley (our Daisy Scout in the family)
I have been a sick blob on the bed all week and have reached my breaking point! I have to do something... ANYTHING before I die of boredom, my muscles begin to atrophy and my brain turns to mush from daytime television. All this laying around though, got me thinking about the poor women on bed rest. I have really taken for granted how easy my pregnancy has been thus far but things can change at any moment.
I bet there are plenty of women out therewho thought it was going to be smooth sailing and then bam, a problem strikes and they are in the hospital or on bed rest. And they lay there day in and day out uncomfortable and scared, because that is what you have to do. When you are carrying a baby it's not all about you anymore.
This is a particularly hard pill for me to swallow being the "type" of person that I am. I do not sit still, accept help from others, relax, heal, take care of myself, or let the picture frame be crooked while I'm just laying there very well, but it is good practice for the future because guess what, it will NEVER be just about me again.
And that's OK
I'm making progress
*Wow, I can tell that I wrote this when I was sick and didn't have the energy to edit. There are like 20 grammatical errors in a 3 paragraph entry. Horrible