Thursday, April 15, 2010

Lies my father told me

The husband and I have very different view points when it comes to food. He grew up in a family that ate everything. Right down to the brains of a cow. (that those crazy Greeks for ya) While I was raised on good, old fashioned comfort foods. If a recipe didn't include ground beef, cheese or butter, chance were it didn't belong in our house. That's not to say my mother couldn't cook. She was a fabulous cook, everything she made was my favorite. She just had certain likes and dislikes.

Take fish for example. Fish was not something EVER served in my house. My mother didn't like it, my father still doesn't like it (unless that's the only food option, then he'll eat it to keep from going hungry). And my sister believes that if she doesn't eat fish, other little fishes all over the world will spread the good news of her sacrifice and they'll spare her when she chooses to swim in the ocean. She's got some crazy theories....

The closest a fish ever came to being in our house was when my sister was 5. My dad went out fishing without her, which she was DEVASTATED about, and she made him bring home a fish for her to see. When he returned home he had a huge catfish (in retrospect, it probably wasn't all that big) and he had it in his metal minnow bucket with some water. My sister was ecstatic. She was so proud of the fish dad caught that she announced she was taking it to show n tell on Monday. My mother, however, announced it would have to live on the back porch. Perfectly understandable. [nods] This was Saturday. And by Monday morning we discovered that we probably should not have let the fish live on the back porch. Because Sunday had been hot, and fish do not survive on hot days. In metal buckets. We now had a nice steamed catfish. Swimming belly up. It was end of my sister's world. She cried and cried and cried and cried some more. Over a fish. But to make matters worse, she demanded that my dad take the dead fish back to his family. At the lake. An hour away. Perfectly logical to a 5yr old. A fish has got family, a family needs to grieve.

It can easily be assumed that my father was not about to drive an hour away just to throw a dead fish into a pond.

My dad, however, being the crafty father he was, explained to my sister, that if we put him down the storm drain in the front of the house, it'll take him straight back to his family, and everyone would be happy.

She bought it; Hook, line and sinker (pun very much intended).

And she believed that fish had gone back to his family until dad dusted off this old story about 10 yrs later in front of a large family gathering. My sister of course was shocked to find out my dad had lied. How could he?!

To which my father replied, "that's just what parents do..."

And that statement has never been more clear than now. Now that I'm a parent, I find myself "lying" to Tyler out of pure convenience. Alot.

"No, we can't go see the steam shovels at the construction site for the 5th time today, they're sleeping. We don't want to wake them up, right?"



Wednesday, April 14, 2010

He was a visual learner

Ever since we got pregnant, people have always asked, "What does Tyler think of having a baby sister?" Since Tyler had still not processed this concept completely, I just smiled and reply that we're not there yet.

Because if you ask Tyler directly does he want a baby sister, he'll smile his huge smile and shout, "I'm having a baby Emma!"

You see in Tyler's life, he only knows 3 babies; 2 of which are named Emma. Therefore, by toddler logic this means all babies are baby Emma's. Makes perfect sense.

Except that our baby girl's name will be Evelyn, Evie for short.

And when you correct Tyler and say "No Tyler, we're having a baby Evie."

He'll counter with "No, baby Emma!"

Which just turns into a back and forth argument with a 3 yr old. And I'm ashamed to admit, but I have this argument at least once a week. Every time Tyler wins by default, because I forfeit, throw my hands up in the air, sigh my annoyed with everything sigh and stomp out of the room. No judging; an argument with a 3 yr old is way more stressful than arguing with the husband.

Tyler even thinks HE'S the one having the baby. If I point to my abdomen and explain that baby Evie is in my belly. He'll smile back at me, pull up his shirt, smack his belly and announce baby Emma is in his belly. [sigh, head shake] Rationalization isn't working, I will need to change strategies.

Next, I tried showing Tyler how big my belly was getting. I'd stand and show him my profile, and outline the shape of my belly with my hands. Mind you, I was "fluffy" in my mid-section to begin with and up until several weeks ago, despite wearing maternity clothes for nearly 14 wks, most people (including all my coworkers) just thought to themselves that I'd just really let myself go. [humph] Well ain't that a kick in the crotch.


This tactic only backfired when Tyler pointed to the husband's mid-section, poked his belly button, and asked if he too was having a baby. The husband was not pleased.

So I'd all but given up trying to explain to Tyler that he'd have a baby sister in 16 short weeks, conceding that he'd just never get it. When Monday, in a last ditch feasible attempt at understanding, I laid on the couch, pointed to my belly and told Tyler baby Evie was growing inside.

He looked up at me, galloped over, looked quizzically at my belly, poked my belly once, while he announced "Baby Evie in here"

I nearly leaped off the couch. Eureka! We have connection, the light bulb finally went off!

I was so happy that it must have been obvious all over my face, because Tyler just smiled back at me and giggled.

"Yes! Baby Evie is in my belly" I said still smiling.

"And baby Emma up here!" he said and smacked both my boobs.


"Wha, What?" I asked, clarifying. Surely I'd heard him wrong.

"Baby Evie down here" patting my belly "And my babies up here" smacking my boobs again.

I was stunned, speechless, left without thought.

I laughed nervously, and quickly changed the TV channel to Wonder Pets. No sense talking about nonsense, right?

When the husband got home later that night, I rehashed the story for him. He chuckled that fatherly laugh men get when their boys have done them proud. I frowned hoping to communicate my displeasure for our son taking ownership of my breasts.

"That's funny" the husband said, still laughing "But tell him I'm not sharing"

Oh boy.


Monday, April 12, 2010

When it doesn't suck, dismantle

Several years ago, the husband decided to go all out and buy me a Dyson for Christmas. It was WAY more than he should have spent, but who am I to begrudge his thoughtfulness. It was purple. Heavy. Had lots of gadgets and could suck an obscene amount of dirt out of my 30 yr old carpet. Enough to make Dear Abby faint. So I figured no one should return expensive, heavy, purple gifts that can dazzle and gross you out all at the same time. Right? It was Christmas, and my Santa had got it just right.

Eventually, I discovered I wasn't the only one obsessed with my fancy cleaning machine from heaven. And for those of you who follow me regularly, you can probably guess who else in my house gets really excited when it's time to vacuum.

Tyler loves the vacuum. It's his forever friend. He likes to drag it around the room. He likes to drape himself in the 30 ft cord. He likes to push the knobs, and to empty out the dust canister. He really likes to extend the 14ft cleaning wand and add the attachments and pretend he's sucking up bugs. He also, on occasion, like to give his friend a "snack". (more on this later)

One of the many reason why I love my Dyson is no matter what I suck up, (dirt, wrappers, twisty ties, hair, M&M's, etc) it keeps on sucking. I can vacuum my entire house, fill up the canister WAY past the maximum fill line and I'd still be able to suck my curtains right off the wall.

Now, Dyson advertisers claim: Instead of relying on bags and filters to trap the dust, a Dyson vacuum uses patented cyclone technology to spin the dirt out of the air. That's one of the reasons why it doesn't lose suction, picks up more dirt from your home and expels clean air.

Conclusion: A Dyson doesn't lose suction.

Analysis: Mostly true.

But a better tag ling would have read:

A Dyson doesn't lose suction, even when clogged with batteries.

Why? Because Tyler's vacuum snack was 3 batteries. Several conclusions I made from this fun filled experience.

1) A Dyson's suction is strong enough to suck up 3 batteries shoved in the attachment hose.
2) Tyler's red fire truck is missing it's battery cover.
3) The opening to the dirt canister is not big enough for 3 batteries to pass through.
4) 3 batteries, rattling in the return compartment does not create enough noise for the Husband to be distracted from his ultimate goal. Finish vacuuming in order to watch golf.
5) The sound a Dyson makes when it finally loses suction, is loud enough to send the dog running for cover.
6) Time it takes to locate the noise and dismantle a Dyson in order to reach the resting location of the 3 batteries, 30 mins.

You know you all want to try this little "field experiment" at home now don't you!


Looked so bad I had to do a double take

I'm gonna need bigger pants. And longer shirts.

My mid-term pregnancy belly is not nearly as "cute" as its predecessor was. The top half of my belly is starting to fill out and get that nice pregnancy round orb shape.

My bottom half, however, is dragging ass, literally, and needs to get with the program.

The bottom half is the floppy, jiggly, cellulite filled, discarded remains of my first pregnancy. The part where I may have gloriously returned to my pre-pregnancy "fluffy" weight [a choir of angels sing] but my lower abdomen didn't get the memo and decided to keep a souvenir.

And now as my body is trying like hell to return to the glory days of a cute pregnant woman, my bottom half is resisting. It's sad, forlorn and insists on hanging out the bottom of my shirts. Making me look like a trailer trash redneck woman who refuses to admit she's gained a few 30 pounds.

I suppose it could be worse. I could look like this.

Gotta love People of Walmart


Friday, April 9, 2010

When shopping with a 2yr old, all bets are off

The husband has a cousin who lives here in the city and is an eye doctor by profession. Due to busy schedules on both sides, we rarely see each other outside of major family holidays, but on occasion we visit him for “discounted” services.

The husband was in desperate need of new glasses. His current ones were going on 4 years old, whopper-jawed from too many wrestling matches with Tyler and had a wicked crack in the left lens near the bridge. If his glasses were a relative, they’d be the out of work, grabby uncle Moe no one wants to stand next to.

We threw caution to the wind and dared to take Tyler, seeing as this was family, even though that little common sense voice in the back of my head told me I should seriously rethink that plan. Upon our arrival we began perusing the selection, trying on different pairs and eliminating ones that made the husband look too “nerdy”.

Almost immediately I deeply regretted my decision to bring Tyler. Everything was at a 2 yr olds level; perfect for little grubby hands. I’d turned around and he would be double fisting two pair of glasses, clenching them tight, twisting them around. Crunching them between his little stubby fingers.

“Ack! Tyler, put those down!”

But as soon as I’d pry one pair from his hands, he’d yell, “How about these mommy?!” and wrench another pair from the display.

The finale was when he knocked an entire display section of glasses off the wall, hurdling about 30 pairs of glasses onto the floor right in front of the sales person.

My face turned 3 shades of crimson red. I was mortified.

I quickly placed myself between Tyler and the temptation and began scooping up glasses, apologizing with every pair. The sales person, in all honestly, could have been a tad bit more forgiving, her icy stares and curt “it’s ok” communicated that it was anything but “OK”. Obviously she did not have kids of her own.

After the clean up, I herded Tyler over into a corner with a few waiting chair and some out of date magazines. I resolved that we would both sit right here and wait for the husband’s cousin to avoid any further complications or embarrassing situations. I plopped him down in the corner chair and growled out “Sit!” through my clenched teeth. While I forced a smile and glanced around the store to see how much of a scene we’d caused.

Too much.

The husband moseyed over and took a seat to the left of Tyler, while I sat on his right; deploying a technique we had long since mastered. When waiting with a toddler, never leave an open avenue; surround him, block off all means of escape and remove any opportunity to cause trouble.

Maybe we should add “avoid eyeglass stores” to that mastery list...


Thursday, April 8, 2010

Thar she blows!

I really should invest in pantyliner's.

Or maxi pads.

Or a really good laundry detergent.

Or maybe even....[gulp] incontinence products. Oh my god, I'm gonna need adult diapers.

I'm gonna be a 30 yr old pregnant woman, waddling around with a over sized squishy butt who makes a crinkle noise when she sits. I can hear me now.

Swish, swash, swish, swash, crinkle
, crinkle.


Because every time I sneeze, I pee myself.

Aah! Aah! Ah-choo! [trickle] Damn it!

There. I said it. I have bladder control issues.

I go through about 3 pairs of underwear, and two pairs of maternity pants a day. Mainly because I refuse to admit that I am a grown woman who can't control her own bladder.

Hell, my 3 yr old has better bowel controls than I do right now and he's still potty training!


It's even worse when baby girl wakes up and starts her running man impression on my bladder. Thump, thump, thump, tinkle....

I wonder if Julia Roberts peed herself when she was pregnant? Nah...she's pretty woman. Pretty woman don't pee herself. She's got herself together.

Although, it would make my situation a bit more glamorous. To think of celebrities also wearing adult diapers. We could all just sit around, in our pee-pee pants, sipping coffee and gossiping. Like we were all BFF's.

Breaking News: It's the new spring trend! Neon colored pee-pee pants! Don't be caught without yours!


Who am I kidding. It's not fashionable, It's embarrassing. Even the husband thinks it's hysterical.

Makes me wonder if he'd find it so funny if the tables were turned. If he was the one wetting himself 3 times a day for the sake of procreation.

I'd gather not.


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