Size does matter

I have decided that I have an affinity for things that are smaller and petite in nature.

Small plates perfect for snacks or dessert.

My miniature Depression glass chickens.

The miniature rooms at the Art Institute.

My address book.

E.

Somehow most things are just more attractive when they're smaller.

I've been wrestling with this preferance as it relates to my car: I love small cars. In May, I traded in my cute and peppy Volkswagen Rabbit for a kind of cute and more trunk space-like Volkswagen Jetta SportWagen. As I told a co-worker today, "I've accepted my fate." Meaning, as long as I continue to have small fries attached to my boob and/or hip--well, small cars be damned.

I told T the other night, "Once I'm done carting people around--minus you--I am getting a small car." I've always wanted a Mini, even a vintage Mini.

Then there's Fiat. Italian and small--it's quite possibly the cutest thing known to man. There used to be an old Fiat 500 in my parking lot at work and I'd just peer at it and pet it lovingly (lord knows, it doesn't have an alarm).




Look at her sassy pose.

But. BUT! Fiat recently announced that they're releasing their new 500 over here in the U.S.

Granted I'll be 50 before I can wedge T and I in one and ride off into the sunset. I guess better reason to keep my can from getting too big. I'm thinking there's a small margin of error in this car versus my VW.

In the meantime, T and I have to play Rubik's Cube with one Britax and two Chicco's to see what--if anything--can fit across my backseat. Seeing as it's no longer safe to have one child rolling around in the back, I am feeling Nervous Nelly about it not shaking out. Then what do we tell VW as we come shuffling back a mere four months later? "Sorry, I need to return this. Have anything not ugly and not too big?"

T thinks I'm being all Chicken Little and why-worry-it'll-be-fine. Hrumph. Maybe he'll be right.

We shall see.

Next order of business

I am a fevered list maker. Love me a list. I sometimes can't decide which I love more: making the list or checking things off the list. It's a close race.

Lately because of my sloth-like-almost-narcoleptic tiredness, I have been making brief lists in the morning for things to tackle once I am home. These lists were less about making sure things got done and more about making sure I stayed up right for a small window (until 8:45pm) of time.

Made on small pieces of paper, they usually resembled this:

Empty dishwasher
Fold clothes in dryer
Give E bath
Balance checkbook

Some of those items (like keeping my son clean) may not seem to warrant a line item, but believe me--if I could see it written down and know I only had to tackle that, well the evening just got a bit easier.

Lately, as the fog of sleepiness seems to be lifting I'm finding myself a bit perkier and industrious. Nothing crazy, but I can at least entertain a thought beyond 9pm and think about weekendy-things I'd like to accomplish. Oh, and start pondering all of the baby crap to purchase.

One of the common sayings when having a second baby is, "Well, at least you don't have to buy too much!" This is slowly becoming a laughable slice of misappropriated reality as we think about what we'll need to buy for two new babies.

Sure, we have lots of things we can reuse for the Two Amigos. A bouncer seat, a swing, baby washcloths, onesies...what else...oh, bins of boys clothes, other miscellaneous nonsense.

Things we don't have? A two person stroller. A second Bjorn. Two cribs. Two mattresses. More sheets. A second rocker. A second carseat. Three kids in daycare. A bigger car.

Apparently, all big ticket items.

Nothing about this adventure will be cheap. And not to put too fine a point on it, but it sometimes scares me shitless. I already know what I'm like when I am woken up every two hours. I already know how finagle getting myself ready in the morning and wrangling a Small Fry. What I don't know is how to wrangle the finances. Because as much as our family is expanding by leaps and bounds, our income isn't.

I had these same "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! HOW WILL WE EEEEAAATT?" while pregnant with E. And when we bought our house. And when we get new cars. You know what?--it all shook out. I know that it will here as well. I'm just thinking that we're going to need to get our game faces on in more ways than one. Probably sooner rather than later as procrastination is not really an option here. It appears they're here to stay.

In the meantime, I'm working with babysteps. On my to do list this weekend:

Look into listing guest bedroom furniture on Craigslist
Make T stiff drink
Show T list of all baby items we will need to buy
Feel nervous and so very excited

What's on your weekend to do list?

Me and you, you and me

Yesterday was a good day. I had the day off of work. T and I ate large at P.F. Changs. I found out that all chromosomes are normal and workin' well for upcoming new baby.

And I found out that we're having a boy.

And a girl.

Dos.

Deux.

Zwei.

Two babies.

Lordy.

In the PM

This past week T has been traveling a lot and while he does do a speedracer to get home before E goes to bed, it usually leaves E and I manning the fort and eyeballing each other the better part of the evening.

It goes a little something like this:

5:35pm: Arrive home, desperately think of what I can cook for E for dinner before he wigs out

5:40pm: Make E his post daycare cocktail. 1 mL of multivitamin, two fingers of apple juice, tap water, shake.

5:50pm: Sit down to leftovers from the restaurant the other night, green beans and cantaloupe. Am eating cantaloupe of my own which E keeps trying to snagglepuss even though he has some of own right in front of him.

5:57pm: Mini meltdown complete with running snot due to E biting his tongue

6:10pm: I wash dishes while E plays with tupperware and attempts to lick the dishwasher and chew on the corner of our one cupboard. Suddenly wonder if I am raising a Lab.

6:15pm: The pants come off (E's, I kept my own skirt on) and we head into the living room for:

Books...

Watching city buses go by...

Playing peekaboo...

And wrapping up the evening with a paci, jammies, a book, a taggie, yet another blanket and lounging on the couch for a bit of Blue's Clues.

Hair apparent

I may have mentioned/dramatically bemoaned the fact that my hair is in a ridiculous growing out phase. For reals. It currently looks something like this:

I have only been able to soften the blow of this 1960s version of the business up-front-party-in-back by employing many a headband. But even that's been a pain in my ever widening can because headbands sometimes hurt. And are pinchy. And have been known to inflict cruel headaches by 8:27am.

While perhaps considered timeless and classic, the headbands are getting old. But! As I mentioned a bit ago, I have a hair appointment this Saturday. And because it's been so infernally long between cuts and I've been hanging on by a thread through the growing out, I think it's finally long enough to resemble what I want. This:

But not in blonde. Although, apparently Agyness Deyn was a brunette and I think the platinum works on her. Of course, she's a model so she belongs to that special place in the universe where most anything "works on her." On us commoners, not so much.

At any rate, since my hair is stick straight and refuses to do anything but lay there like a brown cap, I'm hoping this style shakes out. And I'm hoping that all bits of hair cooperate and have grown to appropriate lengths.

Sigh. T never has this trouble with his hairs. His options: 1) Do I need a haircut? and 2) Do I need a haircut? Whatever.

A question to you all: Are you loving your current hair? And if you, too, are in a heinous place of growing out--share the love.

Neither here nor there

There have been lots of pregnancy-related tidbits that I've wanted to write about here, but when attempting to be compile these stories into a post, really they make no damn sense and sound rather inane.

Like how about the time T and I went to Ann Arbor to have some genetic testing done and the uber long questionnaire asked if I and the father of this pregnancy are related?

And how about the time (today, really) that I waited so long in the ultrasound room that I fell asleep and I was happy that least my pants were zipped.

Or how my boobs have finally reached that "NOW we're cookin' with gas!" stage and are bigger and kind of Busty Malone in my bras.

Or how desperately scared and neurotic I am about being on bedrest and out of work and unable to care for E?

And how if I get anything less than 9 hours of sleep at night I'm a hot.mess the next day?

All riveting, I know.

Instead I'll regal you with this: At approximately the same time every evening I have to use the rest room. By this point in the game, E has had dinner (T and I eat once he's gone to bed) and we're playing in the living room. I pop out to use our downstairs restroom and E continues to play with (or be wrestled by) T.

I am probably not on the toilet but 10 seconds until I hear, "Momma! Momma!" and little feet heading towards the bathroom to find me. He pushes the door open like some miniature cowpoke at the O.K. Corral and saunters right in.

From here it usually goes like this: Run towards me for kiss (I am still on the toilet), dink around with the pipes under our sink, rip the towels off the rack, unspool the toilet paper (this I can actually stop since it's within arms reach), stare at me for a moment while I'm trying to have a moment, me shout at T to call E to go into the other room, T yelling for E in the living room, me sighing heavily and know that I will never be able to do anything--not even this--in private ever again.

Last night it turned even more comical because after storming in on me, E decides to give us both some privacy and close the door behind him. He then tried to open it, but given the dimensions of our downstairs bathroom he kept either bonking his head on the towel rack hanging from our sink or smooshing his toes with the bottom of the door. I then tried to explain to him (with pants around my ankles) to move out of the way just so to get the door open. Meanwhile T is at the front door ringing the doorbell in efforts to lure E out of the bathroom (E loves the doorbell). I'm yelling at T that we're trapped in there and to stop ringing the damn doorbell. E starts crying because he's frustrated and trapped by the towel rack. I'm still on the toilet because I'm not done, dammit, I was interrupted.

T finally comes to find E and gives me a hot second to finish why I went in there in the first place. Criminy.

It's not usually that interesting (used loosely) at our house, but for some reason as E gets older and more saucy and as I become larger and more tired--things have been escalating.

Lordy.

Random useless tidbits

Today I am wearing pants and closed toe shoes. I need to shave my legs and get a pedicure, but was (am?) to lazy to address both yesterday.

****

I really want fall to arrive. I'm ready for crisp weather. Long sleeves. Crunchy leaves. The humidity we've been experiencing lately is driving me a batty.

****

When I talked to T after lunch he told me that he had a pounding headache. I now have a headache. Can headaches teleport?

****

I really want to watch Mad Men. But since I am a little anal about tv shows that are new and also serials, I refuse to jump in mid-way. And because I have zero time to catch up on the previous two seasons, season three will probably pass me by as well. What can you do.

****

This morning while moving my pillow to make our bed, a spider ran out from under the pillow. On our sheets. In our bed.

I whispered, "Oh, fuck me." not because I was scared but because, dude!, if I'd slept in that spider would've been near my head. The spider tried to bolt for the covers I'd yet to pull back, but I finger-flicked him across the room. At that point, I didn't want to lose him by finding something to squish him with and was more concerned of him bolting for the foot of the bed to wait for my feet tonight.

Not happening.

****

E has croup and it makes him sound like he's smoked a pack of Marlboros a day since he was five months old.

Other than waking up crying and needing a hug before passing back out, he's been fine. Sleeping fine. Eating fine. Playing fine. So, I took him to daycare. Doctor said he wasn't contagious any more at this point, so why stay home with him? If I'd taken him home, we'd both wish he were at daycare. Him because I'm pretty sure he has more fun there and thinks T and I are chump change when he's stuck with us on the weekends. Me because I need to save all my personal days so that I am paid while out on maternity leave. Lordy.

****

The other morning T asked me, "Aren't you going to put that lotion on your stomach to keep you from getting stretch marks?" I told him I haven't had time to get it yet. Another part of me realized that I simply don't give a crap this time around. What the hell am I trying to preserve? While I indeed didn't get stretchmarks from having E, I sort of feel like my two-piece-bathing-suit-with-a-swath-of-skin-showing days are over. At least for a few years until I get can this body back to a happy place and keep it there for longer than a month.

My lord, that's going to be hard.

****

Things I would like to eat this evening but am hoping I'm too tired to shove in my mouth (see tidbit immediately above):

coffee cake
chocolate ice cream
a hot dog
scratch that...no hot dog...my head hurts and that doesn't sound good
grapes
grapefruit
pizza

****

I had a haircut scheduled for next week Saturday that I just rescheduled for this Saturday. This is good. It's been almost 10 weeks since my last haircut and for short hair this can only spell disaster. In fact, my hair currently looks like this and I would really like it to look like this. Or some variation of that at any rate. This ridiculous length of time between haircuts has been good to let all of the crazy ass layers grow out to an acceptable length where they can all have some sort of meeting of the minds somewhere in the middle.

Regardless of what it looks like, I have--what seems to me--a lot of hair. As T puts it when he sees me first thing in the morning, "That's some coif you've got there."

Decisions, decisions

When we were little my cousin, G, and I would make each other choose anything and everything. If there was more than one, we would ask the other which one she'd want to have, want to be or want to wear. The only rule being that you had to choose one; it could even be the same one as the other person. No hard feelings.

Examples...
Jaclyn Smith or Farrah Fawcett?
The model wearing the yellow sweater or the model wearing the red sweater?
A Cabbage Patch doll with red hair or a Cabbage Patch doll with brown hair?
The pink purse or the purple purse?

Important decisions.

Shoot, I still do this with my friends and I'm in my thirties. Just last week loveball and I were eating lunch and looking at Emily Watson's most recent dress choices for the Harry Potter premiers. We then took it upon ourselves to pick (and point!) out the dresses we personally would wear.

So while watching the Sex and The City movie for the bazillionth time on On Demand last night (T was working late), I knew that I had to choose the wedding dress I liked most.

Bottomline: you don't want to be left dithering in the moment of need.

The choices:

Vera Wang

Christian Lacroix

Vivienne Westwood

Christian Dior (left) Oscar de la Renta (right)

Christian Dior (again)

Jeanne Lanvin

Vintage


So, I chose the Lacroix dress. Vintage-y, 20's-eque, dash of black, lots of pearls, classy with a dash of edge. Love.

Which one would you choose? (Remember! You have to pick one!)

Well, hey, there

After approximately umpteen months of feeling like I've been talking to myself in a loony fashion, I finally think E and I might be on the same wave length. I say this because I have suspicions that he may actually understand what I'm saying. This now has me thinking that the previous 14 months may have been a ruse, a cover up, if you will. What if he came out the womb just playing dumb but really understanding what I was saying to him? Just a thought.

Anyway, since he was old enough to actually keep his eyes from crossing--I've been telling him, "E, patience please." when he wigs the eff out. Sometimes it's shot all to hell and he ignores me and continues to writhe like a gator on his changing table, but lately he looks at me and at least simmers down a little bit.

Last night, in addition to his ravenous, Serengeti hunger, he was thirsty beyond reasonableness. I gave him a cup of water and let him wonder around the kitchen where everything is tiled. The rule is to stay on the tile and not go on the wood with his cup. When he's done, I put the cup on the foot portion of his highchair that way he can reach it when he wants it. After two attempts to take it in the living room, I again told him, "Please put your cup here when you're done and we can go play." Hot damn, he put the cup right down and we wandered off into the sunset together.

Later in the evening, before getting ready for bed he and I were picking up all the toys and I asked him to pick up his books. He picked up a few and put them on the chair where we usually keep them. I practically fell over.

There have been a few other instances of me asking him to do something or explaining how it's all going to go down and it's like I can see the light bulb coming on. It's a wondrous thing.

With this exaltation also comes the acknowledgement that he is little. And temperamental. And also a fan of stomping his feet up and down when he super wants something and is de.nied. So, there's that.

But, hey!, in the meantime, if I can ask the little rascal to do something and he's mildly willing to entertain the thought, well life just got a little easier.

In other news, you should know that with this second pregnancy there has been a veritable explosion out of my clothes. Gaping buttons on blouses, buttons that won't even touch on pants--it ain't pretty. The good news is that since I lost a bunch of weight before (and by "before" I mean practically weeks prior) getting knocked up again, my thighs have yet to catch up. This is good. While pregnant with E, everything expanded at an ever-increasing/disconcertingly even rate. This time around I have the fortunate experience, at least in the short term, of impersonating those women whose thighs remain pencils while they sport a cute pregnant mid-section. I fully expect this theme to end soon.

Boo.

This day in infamy...

Last August 11 I was returning to work after being out for almost 14 weeks. It was strange returning to work after that length of time because while everything looked remarkably the same--student faces, the flowers out front, my office--I'd been out of the loop for a long time. I kind of felt like Marty McFly when he's shuffling around his town circa 1955. Looks kind of the same, but feels off.

Anyway, I'm a creature of thinking back to "at this time last week..." or "this time last year..." Since I don't really have a journal or diary to flip back through (and really only have the drivel I post here), thinking back helps me remember what I was doing at that time. I find it relaxing to let those memories wrap around my brain and take me back.

A year ago I was feeling sassy in my back-to-work clothes that finally fit sort of right. A year ago I was coming back to work with a new and better role that would make juggling work and a family a lot easier. A year ago I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get out the door each morning sporting makeup and undies. A year ago today I was happy that I'd made it through maternity leave without losing my marbles.

Remembering all of this and thinking back, I certainly wasn't thinking that a year into the future I would be pregnant. Because, dude, I had some "stuff" still healing up.

So, here I am on August 11, 10 weeks and some days pregnant. Feeling good but eye-rollingly tired.

I wonder where I'll be next August 11. I'm betting not any more rested...

Knock three times

I sometimes joke that there are people I meet in everyday life whom I wouldn't mind having "live in our attic." People who are so lovely yet have a purpose and would be handy to have around in a pinch.

Our attic, while big and with official steps and a door, is still kind of creepy so I doubt that these individuals would actually want to live up there (especially since I don't cook or bake very often and am not good about sharing my DVR), but should they inquire--I'm thinking it behooves me to have a list ready to available space.

--The nice barista who makes my fat free, sugar free mochas and calls me "honey"
--E's daycare teacher who gives him a hug each morning
--The resident who once worked with Dr. EBFS and was so kind that I think she happens to be reason I got knocked up with E
--The guy at the local bakery who sells me two blueberry muffins and a tall skim milk and doesn't ask if I'm sharing them anyone (I'm not)
--The nurse at Dr. EBFS who always answered all of my questions and didn't act exasperated
--The grocery store employee who let's E hold a balloon while we're there and then give it back before we leave
--The employee at a particular store who would call T when certain pants (yes, that's right...pants) arrived that he would interested in
--The nice woman in the business office where I work. She is busy but always has time to answer my questions

So, getting a little crowded.

There are also a handful of people who have been barred from the attic: the douchebag driver who cut me off twice in the span of four city blocks, the butthole receptionist at my doctor's office, others. Thankfully, the list of those who are nice is a longer one.

Who might you invite to come live with you?

Free association

I am wearing the most evil pair of underwear ever. Too small, pinchy and scratchy. I rued wearing them by about 8:27am.

I am so very tired and wish I could be at home right now.

I'd hoped to go the pool tomorrow since the weather said it was going to be partly sunny and 89. Now it's looking mostly rainy and 85. Boo hiss.

A friend is having an ice cream social tomorrow evening and I am so very excited. You should know, J, that T wanted to steal this idea and host his very own ice cream social. When I quizzed him on how he planned on passing this idea off as his own with you in attendance--he said maybe he wouldn't invite you. Harsh, I know.

I have zero motivation for anything related to work or my workplace. I feel some guilt about this but then the lack of motivation squashes this guilt and I settle back nicely into reading things about the sinking of the Lusitania, the Moors, Mount Rushmore on Wikipedia.

T and I swapped cars yesterday and whenever this happens I find my car to be full of crumbies and bits of napkin and maladjusted seats. Although, he did put gas in the tank--so there's that.

Last week I picked up crayons and PlayDough for E to explore at home on the weekends. I think we may crack them out if it's rainy.

T and I are going out on an afternoon daydate on Sunday. A post-nap/pre-dinner getaway. May see a movie, may just simply park the car and take a three hour nap.

Lastly, two pictures my dad took of E on our July vacation. Babalooo!

Weekend Revue

Maybe a day late and a dollar short, but our weekend was lovely. Saturday involved pancakes and an early (9ish?) romp in the park where there was an absence of dogs and one lonely duck. But we ran into my friend Starr Fish who was being tres industrious and running. A trip to the library where it was deigned that E was starting to get a little glassy-eyed. Lunch. Nap. Nap for T. Nap for me. 5 loads of laundry and a visit from the grandparents rounded out the day. Oh, and a bath. Little boy feet in the summer get downright manky by the end of the day. What gives? I tried to conjole T into watching Red Eye that night (holy hell Cillian Murphy is creepy) but he wasn't having it. I think I put up a meager fight, ate a Kit Kat and shuffled off to bed.

Sunday, E slept in to 8am. And as I type this for the universe--I should know that it will now never happen again. As that is generally how things happen. Muffins, milk and a walk outside--I then had to troop to work from Noon to 8pm. It sucked, but I was able to meet up with J for some fruity drinks. A few chicken nuggets, a visit from E and T, some laughs with a co-worker and it was time to go home.

Okay, that was quite possibly the most boring post ever. How about some pictures to numb the blow?



A random pile of dirty laundry in our living room (don't judge). What I deleted a picture of is E actually rooting through the pile until he found my bra and then proceeding to run around the dining room table with it. T made me swore that I wouldn't post that picture for fear of public cries of "CPS!" and "Inappropriate!" by the internets.




More appropriate dirty laundry--his taggie. But, yeah, still from the pile. Still in our living room. Notice T in the background blissfully reading his Consumers Reports.




Something apparently funny ha-ha

Addiction

Of all the things I'm addicted to (E's smile in the morning, potato chips and french onion dip, vacations with T, fruit punch Gatorade, ballet flats, bacon, extra sharp cheddar cheese), I'm not sure how baby sheets figure into the mix. And although I don't actually buy every sheet I love, I do kind of oh-and-ah over the pattern and colors. I find it the best possible way to jazz up a room without dropping a hot dime (like you have to on king-size bedding). Plus the patterns! Shapes! Monkeys! Elephants! Numbers! I could go on and on.

Some that I'm in love with...

Around the world

Because I am stuck hopelessly at work until 8:00pm, there are--obviously--lots of other places I would rather be. Mainly at home hanging out with T and E, but since they just bolted to go to the local botanical gardens--there are lots of places I wouldn't mind visiting.



Vancouver

I'm o.k. with our friendly neighbors to the north (minus their affinity for coins) what with their radio stations in French and little crown as a logo for their QEW expressway. I've always thought that Vancouver seemed like a great metropolitan place with perhaps cleaner air and better taxis. And tasty food.





Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario

T and I stopped in this town on our way to a wedding in Syracuse. It's about an hour before Niagara Falls, which--to be honest--is an absolutely atrocious place. If you haven't been to Niagara Falls, picture Atlantic City next to a big natural attraction. Ugh. BUT! Niagara-on-the-Lake was lovely and French and picturesque and had fabulous little fancy hotels and vineyards and cafes and shopping. It was just...lovely. We tried to go back here before E was born, but promptly ran out of time (and I believe money).

St. Lucia

It was between St. Barts and St. Lucia for our honeymoon and St. Lucia won out. Perhaps the most blissed out week I've ever spent with anyone. Ever. The sun, the lounging, the ridiculous food, the *cough* new husband. Oh, and this resort does not allow kids. Even as a parent, I can appreciate this concept. Perhaps because I'm a parent, I can appreciate this. Anyway, I'd love to go back there with T--perhaps some sort of 20th anniversary extravaganza.




Canary Islands

Heck, I'm a fan of a beachy/resorty vacation and these islands off the coast of Spain appear to be right up my alley. My only hope is that they serve less pork than Spain seems to.




Charleston, South Carolina

I love historical homes and I love quaint towns. Plus flowers! And trees! And fabulous southern food (well, hello there, fried chicken), Charleston has always appealed to me. Recently, T and I watched an episode of House Hunters on HGTV where a couple was relocating from Dallas to Charleston. They had a budget of $700,000 and only wanted to live in an historical home. I wanted them to adopt me.

Cairo, Egypt

Cairo has been on my list of "Places to See Before I Croak" since I was so little. Incredible history, interesting people, crazy sights. Looks a little toasty (and sandy), but I might be able to work through that.

Turks & Caicos

A collection of islands even further south than St. Lucia, the Turks & Caicos are known for their super white sand beaches. Love at first sight, I believe. When T and I were thinking of where to go for The Mega Trip of 2006, this got thrown in the hat. I'm determined to make it there--perhaps as rockin' retirees.

Phuket, Thailand

I know, I know. Again, with the sandy beaches. But, dude!, I live in Michigan. Our beaches are nice, but we only get to use them June through August. This leaves most craving a bit more. Anyway, Phuket is supposed to be the place to go in Asia if you love a beach. And! I love Thai food! Bonus.

Lake Victoria in Kenya

T spent most of his school days in Kenya and has always talked about how green and beautiful it is. Plus, I love a good lake. Although, this one apparently has things more deadly in it than small mouth bass and lake perch--so perhaps I'll be admiring from the shore v. swimming.

Morroco

Thick with culture and fabulous things to buy in Marrakech, Morroco has always intrigued me. I might wilt in the heat, but I think I'd be able to muscle through and take in all the country has to offer. Wonder how much tickets are?

So, that's where I'll be jetting off to. What about you?