The absolute craziest thing happened to us the other day. The girls and I were with my sister at the Polynesian Resort in Disney World. Nick was in Orlando for Odyssey of the Mind stuff so the girls and I drove down to see his kids perform and to hang out with him. All three girls took a nap in the car on the way to Orlando (something so rare that it is worth noting) so I told them that we could all ride the monorail as a reward. Katie happened to be there doing Disney cast member stuff so she met us for dinner, which puts us at the Poly, outside, eating some chicken with pineapple and pulled pork nachos (which were FANTASTIC). Alexa had the nachos in front of her and was munching away listening to Katie and I talk. We had just finished telling the girls that we had something super awesome planned for this evening (again, yay for naps) but we could not do anything fun if we had any fussers. There was to be no complaining and absolutely no crying. As soon as the words left my mouth, we were attacked! A giant black bird swooped down, slammed on the table between myself and Alexa, grabbed a chunk of food off of the nacho plate and then took off flying over Kate’s head, brushing Alexa’s face with it’s wings! It was the craziest shit I have ever seen! Katie and I sat there with our mouths open. All of the people around us stared at us in shock and Kate and Alexa had a look of horror on their faces. When we finally came to our senses, Katie and I looked at each other and then at the girls and told them that it was okay to cry. Alexa immediately burst into tears and Kate jumped out of her chair exclaiming “I’m done eating!”. We threw away the rest of the food and ran inside before any more birds could attack (and so did a couple of the people who were sitting around us). It was something straight out of my nightmares. Those nasty, feathered sky rats have it out for me and my children. They fly together in flocks so that they can plan their next attack. You think I’m crazy but this shit is real!!! Nick would agree with you too, he doesn’t pay attention to half of what I talk about anymore. He says that I give animals too much credit because I think that they communicate with each other and think intelligently but I’m telling you this bird was serious about his attack! So what have we learned from this experience? Birds are evil and you must believe everything Disney World says, which leads me to my PSA of the day. I love Disney World and the revamp of the Polynesian looks amazing, but if Disney tells you to not feed the birds, DO NOT FEED THE DAMN BIRDS!!!!! They will think that everybody’s food is for them and they will attack you and your children!
Tag Archives: Are You Serious?!
How To Pack A Car (Alone) With 2 Children In 27 Easy Steps
1- A week before your trip, make multiple lists for every possible item you may need.
2- Spend every spare moment you have in that preceding week packing the bags and making new lists.
3- The night before you leave, collect your bags by the door and double check your packing skills. Make a new list of last minute items to be packed in the morning and have yet another bag ready for those things.
4- The morning of your trip, wake up, get the children up and (referring to your final list) pack your last bag. Go ahead and feel really good about yourself right now and take a moment to let that feeling sink in because this will be your best parenting moment of the day. Please notice that your best parenting moment did not include children.
5- Try to take the dog out and realize that it’s starting to rain. Well crap. You will then have to pick the dog up and put her in the grass because she has developed a sudden, irrational fear of water (especially the kind that falls from the sky). Tell her that she’s being ridiculous, that it’s only sprinkling and that she needs to pee now. She does not pee, but turns around the second you put her on the grass and runs back inside.
6- Go put a pee pee pad down on the floor in your bathroom for the dog to pee on.
7- Attempt to stop the 1 year old from unpacking all of your beautifully packed bags that are still sitting by the door.
8- When the 3 year old asks to help, tell her that she can help by watching the 1 year old. (She will then say “OK!” and sit on the floor in your room with the 1 year old to play with her. Appreciate this moment.)
9- Begin carrying the bags out to your car. You will need to take the double stroller, so there will be some strategy in packing the trunk of your little Ford Focus.
10- After you have the stroller and larger bags by the trunk of the car, take a moment to assess the situation and visualize how everything will fit best. About half way through packing the bags into the trunk you will notice a small, chunky baby running out of the garage into the rain…barefoot. And guess who’s running out right behind her? The (apparently miraculously healed of her water phobia) dog. The same dog who was acting as if we had acid rain in North Florida is now chasing after the 1 year old and jumping in puddles like she’s a puppy. Meanwhile, of course the rain starts coming down harder and the bags are getting wet.
11- Screw the systematic approach and throw the rest of the bags into the trunk.
12- Run after the barefoot 1 year old who is now soaked and filthy and is also now running away from you while shrieking with laughter.
13- After you get the 1 year old back into the garage, go back out for the dog who has now apparently gone deaf because she suddenly has no idea what the phrase “Minnie! Get back in the house!!!” means. As you get the dog, be prepared for the 1 year old to try to escape back out into the rain…it will happen.
14- With the dog under one arm and the 1 year old under the other arm, get back into the house where you will find the 3 year old standing in your room. Now here’s where I’m going to save you the trouble because if you ask her: “Alexa, I thought you were going to help Mommy by watching Kate and Minnie” she will answer: “I was watching them and then they walked away from me and I couldn’t see them anymore.” I have no words.
15- Get the baby cleaned up and put shoes on everyone.
16- Pack up some snacks for the car . Look up and realize that it stopped raining (probably as soon as you came inside).
17- Tell everyone that it’s time to get in the car and, with the bags that contain the car toys on your shoulder, try to herd the children through the garage and out to the car.
18- Spend about 5 minutes getting them into their seats and buckled in.
19- Bring the dog back inside. Again. Tell her that she’s not coming this time.
20- Grab your purse and keys, lock the door and get into the car. This is when the 3 year old will ask for a drink…and you realize that her sippy cup is not in the diaper bag.
21- Go back into the house to get the missing sippy cup (which the 1 year old had pulled out of the bag in her attempt to unpack everything).
22- Get back into the car and realize that your phone isn’t plugged into the charger and in the cup holder where you keep it.
23- Search frantically for the phone. Dump out your purse and diaper bag onto the front seat.
24- Go back inside to look for your phone. (you left it on the kitchen counter) On your way out, grab some more snacks.
25- Dump your phone and the snacks onto the front seat in the car and go back into the garage to get a Pepsi out of the fridge (because who the hell thought it was a good idea to wake up at 6:45 so that we could leave as soon as the girls got up?!).
26- Go back into the house at least 3 more times for random items that you either forgot or one of the girls said that they need.
26- Drive to the stop sign at the end of your street where you will suddenly remember 2 more things that you forgot.
27- Keep driving. It’s not worth it.
(June 12, 2014)
Skinny Jeans
I had a very strange experience while shopping for jeans the other day. First of all, let me say that the last time I went shopping for…well, any kind of clothing for myself…was right after Alexa was born. And I’m pretty sure my mom bought me the jeans I got then. Anyway, fast forward three years. Those post-Alexa jeans are too short (who would have thought, right?), so now it’s cold out and I don’t have any jeans that fit. My first disappointment was walking into the store and realizing that they don’t have a section for ‘I just stopped breastfeeding and immediately gained 5-10 pounds’. What the hell. OK, so obviously I need to change my approach. That’s OK, I can adapt…or so I thought. It took me about 10 minutes to find a pair of jeans that were not labeled “skinny”. I’m sorry, what? I mean, I’m not completely out of it, I knew about skinny jeans. I was just unaware of the sheer quantity of them and the complete lack of anything else! In one store I was in, they not only had skinny jeans, they had “super skinny” jeans. Who wears those? I’m serious. Who is their target marketing group? Because I’m just gonna go out on a limb and say that 98% of women are not shaped like 9 year old boys, and therefore, would look horrible in skinny (and especially super skinny) jeans. I know, there is always that group of outliers. That strange group of women who’s thighs don’t rub together. And trust me, I’m kind of jealous of the lack of chaffing that you experience. But for the large majority of us, we need real jeans that fit real women. And I don’t mean skinny jeans that are labeled “curvy” with a “mid rise waist and roomy through the hip and thigh”. Skinny jeans with a curvy fit is an oxymoron. Speaking of oxymorons… skinny jeans in any size above a 4 is an oxymoron also. I know, I know. There are some super tall girls who wear larger sizes and yet are proportioned so that skinny jeans actually look really good on them. Now before you start thinking ‘Oh yeah, that is totally me. I look fantastic in my skinny jeans!’, if you are shorter than 5’9”, it’s not you. Go ahead and absorb that fact and then go buy yourself some new pants. This is tough love, people, tough love. I am here for all of my fellow big-butted women, trying to save you from looking nasty. And please don’t think that I’m calling anybody fat or saying for anyone to loose weight in order to be able to fit into those jeans. I have a butt and I always will. I like my ass. It looks good. I mean, the flab to muscle ratio is a little bit skewed in the wrong direction after having two kids, but I’m working on that. And just because I like the butt I have, doesn’t mean that I need to be squeezing it into a pair of jeans that makes me look like _____ (I was going to write here a description of what the jeans look like on me but it’s indescribable. There are no words).
Do you know who the real genius in all this is? The guy (or girl) who first saw skinny jeans on a runway somewhere and decided “Yes! We can sell these to everyday women”. I feel like there was probably a down-to-earth assistant (probably with mildly wavy brown hair and glasses) who was like “Sir, everyday women won’t look good in those jeans. They were made for the super skinny models to wear.” And then the guy was like “I know! That’s what makes it so perfect! We call them ‘skinny jeans’ and everyone will think that they make them look skinny! They will sell like crazy! Then we can sit back and watch all the young women and teenage girls in America prance around with these horrible jeans on! It will be hilarious!!! Muahhhahahahaha!” (That last part was his evil laugh…I didn’t say that he was nice, just that he was a genius.) The genius part about of this is that it actually worked! And it obviously made this guy super rich. So, to the random rich skinny jean selling guy out there somewhere: good job. To his assistant: You are a failure. Maybe you need to make a different career choice. Perhaps something behind a desk. In a cubicle. To all of you ladies who need to now buy some new pants: good luck and don’t give in to the ‘skinny’ label. And finally, to Alexa and Kate: with the families that you come from, there is no hope of tiny butts or thighs in your future. But that’s OK!!! You have two of the cutest butts I have ever seen in my life!!!! But we have to keep it classy so don’t ever expect to see any kind of skinny jeans in our house. Ever.
(November 28, 2013)
What’s For Dinner?
Disclaimer: Nick is a really good husband and father. Seriously. He feeds, bathes and puts Alexa to bed at least three times a week because I am at work or teaching and he’s done a fantastic job so far when he’s been at home by himself with both girls when I’m working on a weekend. He even vacuumed the house last night as I was bathing Lexi. OK, I had to put that out there first. On to my story.
I’m not a good cook. I can follow a recipe just fine but I’m definitely not one of those people who just throws stuff together to form culinary awesomeness. It’s just not something that I enjoy. Dinner never falls very high on my list of priorities and, if it were just me and Alexa eating, she’d have a peanut butter sandwich, I’d have a bowl of dry cereal and everyone would be happy. Now, Nick is different when it comes to dinner. He would love to have a four course meal every night, which obviously doesn’t happen in our house…ever. So, when I was pregnant with Katelyn, one of the things that just irked me to no end was Nick coming home from work (at 4:00…plenty of time left for group decision about what to eat) and asking what was for dinner. At that point, having spent my day entertaining Alexa, cleaning, getting ready for the baby (and usually sleeping), the ‘what’s for dinner’ question just really made me want to inflict some major pain. Or hide in a closet. (Or the more likely scenario: hiding in a closet while dreaming about inflicting pain) I imagined that Nick wanted to come home to me wearing a dress, heels and an apron, preparing this fantastic meal while Alexa was quietly sitting at the table teaching herself calculus. Reality was, obviously, just about the opposite. It was a good day when I was able to even take a shower and Alexa was usually running around like a little crazy girl, and occasionally naked (Alexa, not me. It’s really hard to keep clothes on that kid!).
Shortly before having the baby, I decided that I had had enough. I realized that he was just asking an innocent question, so I had to come up with a way to answer that question without getting anxious, frazzled and mad. My solution: monthly meal plans. For the past three months, I have made a calendar with dinner planned out for each day. At the beginning of the month, we have one big Publix shopping trip and we only go back to the store half way through the month to get milk and fruit. Not only do we always know what’s for dinner, we have saved a lot of money by staying away from the stores. Our meal calendars are posted in the laundry room and on the inside of a kitchen cabinet so everyone knows what’s for dinner all the time.
So, Nick calls me at work the other day, from home, as he is standing in front of the refrigerator and as soon as I answer the phone he says “Hey, what’s for dinner tonight?”. Are you serious? I can’t win.
(July 7, 2013)
A Whole Lot of Crazy – part 2
Since Alexa has had the bumpers off of her crib, she has been having a little problem at night keeping her pacis. She doesn’t realize it, but when she’s sleeping she throws them on the floor. The phrase ‘active sleeper’ just doesn’t even begin to describe her. You have to see it to believe it. So, on to my story:
I got up for work one morning and everything seemed to be how it should be. After showering and getting dressed, I was in the kitchen making my oatmeal when I heard a whimpering noise. It sounded just like Wolfie. Wait. I think I should first tell you that about two days before this happened I swear I saw Wolfie in my family room. Alexa and I were playing in her room and when I looked out her door I know I saw him walk by the couches. At first I assumed I was crazy, that it must have been one of the girls but then I realized that both girls were sitting right next to me. This is not even the crazy that I’m going to talk about, either. I swear that I see people all the time. Like the ghost at Dance Explosion (that many people have seen) who I know is my grandpa Nettina. Oh and another time, when I was vacuming, I was positive that I saw grandpa Natwick sitting on my couch. And the obvious time when grandma Natwick stopped by on her way to heaven to tell me about her chair. Are you telling me that it is a coincidence that I woke up at the exact time she passed and could think of nothing else but that chair? OK, I’m getting off track. Anyway, so it’s 5:30 in the morning and I hear a whimpering noise. First, I dismiss it, thinking that I’m hearing something from the microwave or something outside. Then it happens again. And again. And again. Enough times that now I know I am hearing something and that it is in the house. Oh yeah, and it sounds EXACTLY like how Wolfie used to whimper. Do I think that I have a small child in the other room? No, of course not. I immediately jump to the conclusion that my dog has come down from doggie heaven to say hello. Trying to be sane, I turned on the lights in my room to check on the girls and make sure it wasn’t them (Nick was sleeping in the guest bedroom that night – with the monitor. But that’s a whole other story that will take up much too much time). So anyway, I turn on the lights and Glynnis and Minnie are passed out sleeping. I’m pretty sure Minnie was snoring, and I’m positive that neither of them were whimpering. ‘Great’, I think, now I’m just one step closer to crazy. So what do I do? I go back out to the kitchen/family room and I’m sneaking around whispering Wolfie’s name. And then I hear it again. Now I’m sure I’m crazy. Thoughts of schitzophrenia are running through my head. Here’s the crazy girl who doesn’t hear voices. Oh no, she hears her deceased dog crying for her. I decide that I need to go wake up Nick because he needs to have me admitted somewhere, he needs to take me to the crazy house and OH MY GOD, why won’t that dog stop crying?!?! It is at this point, when I am about five steps away from the guest room door, that I remember that I have a child. I walk up to Alexa’s door and slowly creep inside her room to find her sitting up, kind of slumped in the corner of her crib. She looked at me, made her little Wolfie-like whimper and I silently said a small prayer of thanks for the last bit of my sanity. Apparently, I’m not quite as crazy as I once thought. When I walked up to Alexa and asked if she was ok, she nodded yes. And then in a completely big girl and whimper free voice she said “paci fall on floor”.
(September 20, 2012)
A Whole Lot of Crazy – Part 1
Alexa has always been great going to bed (when I’m home). She’s one of those kids who you put in the bed, she picks up her paci and bunny, turns on her music, lays down and goes to sleep. It’s a big part of what makes her so incredibly awesome. So, a few weeks ago (I know, I’ve been a little too distracted with other things to keep up with the blog lately) we were all doing our usual bedtime routine and for some reason Lexi wanted her paci early. We are hopefully going to be getting rid of the paci soon, so she only gets it when she is physically in her bed. So after lots of screaming, we finally put her in the crib, gave her the paci and said good night. Well, she did not like that at all. She kept on screaming that she was “all done night night” and after lots of hugs and kisses I just told her it was time to go to sleep and left her in the crib to scream by herself. No big deal. I assumed she would just lay down and go to sleep like she always does. About two minutes later, as I was doing dishes, I looked up to see her door slightly open. My first thought was ‘why did Nick go in there? She finally quieted down and she needs to just put herself to sleep.’ Then I saw a little 2.5 foot creature in her pink footie pajamas creep around the door, grab the handle and slowly pull it closed. She turned around to look at me with an expression of equal parts awe, excitement and pure terror. And then she said “hi”. Crazy girl had climbed out of her crib, somehow (thank God) landed on her feet and decided to come hang out with the grown ups. We scooped her up and I read her some books as Nick took the bumpers off of her crib. I know it’s something we should have done months ago but she likes her crib so much, I never thought she’d try to climb out of it. Plus, she’s so short the side rails on the crib come up to her armpits. Even if she used the bumpers to stand on, I thought it’d be impossible for her to actually get out. Well apparently I have been proven wrong. As usual. And after laying on the floor next to her crib pretending to sleep and watching her crawl out not one but two more times that night without the help of the bumpers, I have come to the conclusion that my child has super human upper body strength. She goes to the front right corner of her crib, grabs onto the outside of the rail and pulls herself up until she can get her right leg up onto the right side rail. Then she uses her leg to help pull herself up so that she’s laying on top of the side rail on her belly and I assume then she swings her legs around to drop and land on her feet (I ‘woke up’ and stopped her when she got to her belly). I guess that its a good thing that we drilled into her head to get down from the couch or our bed feet first. At least maybe that helped her from landing on her head. Needless to say, we went out and got another video monitor after that night (our first one had broken months ago and we’ve just been using an audio monitor). And, so far, she hasn’t tried to climb out again. Which I’m very happy about. Alexa really does love her crib and, the way that she sleeps, I wouldn’t trust her to be in a toddler bed. Plus, I like knowing that when we put her to bed at night she has to stay there until we get her in the morning. No night time strolls around the house or midnight play time in her room. I’m not ready for that yet.
(September 20, 2012)
Ballerina Roach
You know how I hate roaches? No? Well, I do. They’re horrible and are on my list of the top three things which should become extinct (along with alligators and toads). For my whole life they have been out to get me. I am not kidding. I have distinct memories of playing in the living room at my parents house right after we moved in (I was 5) and pulling a dead roach out of the shag carpeting. (I realize that one was dead and could not possibly be out to get me, but still) They have crawled across my arm when I was working at my dad’s shop in Miami. They have tried to attack me in my house. I have even witnessed a flying roach fly down my mom’s shirt (which, I’m not gonna lie, was half terrifying and half hilarious). Usually, when I see them, I run for cover and scream at someone else to go kill it. Once, I was laying in my bed, saw a roach on the opposite wall, and instead of killing it, I pulled the blanket over my head and called Nick (who was in the other room) on my phone to come and get rid of it. I think I have made my point.
So, a couple of weeks ago (it has actually taken that long for me to talk about this) I was at work giving report to the oncoming nurse. Now, let’s remember that it was 7am, I had been at work for 12 hours and I was pretty much delirious with no filter. OK, so we were standing outside the patient’s room when the day shift nurse, let’s call her Betsy, casually said to me “oh, look at that little roach running”. What?! How can you even speak that sentence no nonchalantly?! And, little roach? Oh no, that thing was a freaking monster! And you bet your ass it was running…right toward me! Plus, it was running and barely touching the floor! It’s like the thing was running on pointe. It was freaking ballerina roach in attack mode coming to get me!!! What do I do? Of course I jump around screaming “kill it, Betsy, kill it!!!!” (Which is what every PICU patient and family want to hear at 7am, I’m sure.) I tried to move laterally and what does the roach do? Turn toward me. It can sense my fear. Finally, after 3 stomps (3 stomps!!!) Betsy killed the roach and then kicked it under the counter thing of the nurses station (where, I’m sure it was regenerating and planning it’s next move). Meanwhile, all the other night and day shift nurses are at the nurses station either looking at me like I’m crazy or hysterically laughing at me. I, of course, announce that I’m having palpitations and that I needed to finish giving report on the other side of the unit because I really feel that the roach is going to come back from the dead and attack me again. Seriously.
I know that I live in Florida and that means that there are roaches everywhere. I also realize (in the rational part of my brain) that the roach really can’t hurt me and that my fear would be better placed on even something like a bee or a wasp where there is a small but real potential for harm. But I don’t care. Bees and wasps don’t freak me out. I have no problem killing spiders or any other kind of bug that gets into the house, and I’ll pick up lizards and put them back outside without even squirming. But for some reason, I can’t handle a roach. I think we should kill them all.
(May 25, 2012)
The Bulletin Board
OK, so they have this bulletin board at work where they talk about the staff. There’s a little paragraph or two about where the nurse/secretary/PCA grew up, went to school, hobbies, why you like working in Peds, etc. And then each person has a picture by their little summary thing. (Well, most people have a picture. There’s one picture that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable and another one that has a picture of the beach…no person, just the beach.) This board is right in the middle of a wall between Peds and the PICU so it’s there for everyone (patients, families, everyone) to see. When asked the “why do you like working in pediatrics?” question, every one’s answer is something like “I love working with kids” or “my coworkers are great and I love the kids” or “little kids are so sweet and innocent” or “any time I can get even a small smile out of a child, it makes my day.” (yes, I got up just now to make sure that I got that all right) Anyway, so I was joking around last weekend about how they would never put me up on that wall because they’d be afraid of how I would answer the questions. For example, if asked why I enjoyed working in pediatrics, I would answer that, given the choice, I’d much rather clean up baby poop than adult poop. Now, that’s an honest answer. Well, now wouldn’t you know that on Monday morning, one of the leadership people asked if she could interview me for the board?!?! First of all, this person works day shift in the out patient area so I have spoken to her a total of about 2 times (including my little ‘interview’). And I’m about 99% sure that she asked about me (mostly who I was, but also if I was married, had kids, etc) before this so called interview. I have my sources. Anyway, she interviewed me at7 in the morning after I had just worked all night (without much sleep the day before) and was exhausted so the filter was way off. Plus, she asked me all these questions in the middle of the nurses station with both the night shift and oncoming day shift nurses (who I happen to really like) there so I felt the need to make small comments after each of my answers. For example, when asked where I grew up I answered “Hollywood, Florida” and then proceeded to do a single handed raising of the roof while singing in my ghetto voice “Holly-hood!” See? Filter off. I couldn’t help myself. It was my musical turrets. It’s hereditary, right Katie? I think I did OK with the middle questions about school and stuff. I told her about how I danced in a company in college and how I teach now. I talked about competition but I don’t think she really got it. Then came the question I was waiting for! She asked me why I enjoyed working in peds and I answered, without hesitation, that given the choice, I’d much rather clean up baby poop than adult poop. She stared at me. Courtney and Catherine laughed. She asked me what I wanted the board to say and I told her to write something about how kids are wonderful and I work with awesome people but right as I was answering, Courtney said “no, she said the poop thing, that’s what you should write!” Then Courtney (she used to work night shift) said that I was really funny so my interviewer wrote on her paper “funny”. So, needless to say, I’m pretty excited for the new board to come out. Oh, and she also asked me to email her a picture of myself and tonight, as I was looking for one, I discovered that there are none. At least none in the past four or five years where I don’t look like a complete idiot. Most of the recent pictures of me include Alexa:
Or, they are of Katie and I acting like a bunch of fools:
Or, Katie and I trying to be pretty (while wearing other people’s mickey hats…sorry Lauren):
Or, we take pictures to bring attention to serious issues. For example, this picture, which clearly demonstrates the many dangers of under aged driving:
There is the random picture of me posing with objects (not shown is me with flowers (which happen to be a great example of my best friend’s wedding colors), me with random pieces of food and me with various Christmas presents…I like the croquet mallet picture the best):
And then there is this one, which I still consider to be one of my finest moments and pretty much the best picture ever taken (slight exaggeration):
In conclusion, I have decided that my little personal summary thing is either going to be highly offensive to others or an extreme misrepresentation of me. It could go either way. Oh, and also, I need to have her take a picture of me because I don’t think they will approve of my options and I refuse to have a random beach scene as my photo.
(May 7, 2012)
Crazy, Just Crazy
I am eventually going to post pictures of our Disney trip (maybe even tonight, if I get motivated) but first I must tell you about my crazy day with my crazy child and my crazy dogs. First of all, Wolfie isn’t doing to hot. He has some back problems and now he’s developed some anxiety. Yeah, that’s right, the dog has anxiety. Now, normally I would tell him to suck it up and get over it except that his form of anxiety manifests as a high pitched whinny cry that pierces your soul and is never ending. When you are trying to sleep, you will do anything to make that stop. Trust me. That being said, while I sleep, Wolfie is now allowed to roam the house at his leisure instead of going in the crate with the girls. So I woke up this afternoon, an hour earlier than I wanted to (this is of course after getting up to pee three times because of all the Pepsi I drank at work trying to stay awake through the night) irritated that the one day I can sleep in a little bit, I wake up at 1:30. Whatever. So I get up, clean up Wolfie’s pee off the floor (I’m not going to even get into that), and take the dogs out. Of course Wolfie won’t go outside so I have to pick him up and put him on the grass where he proceeds to lay down. Fine, obviously you don’t have to pee since you did it already on my wood floors. He lays there until the girls are done and then finally decides to walk around a little bit and do his business. So we stay outside longer. Finally, 15 minutes later, after we all were ready to go back inside, I was able to take a shower and get ready. I left to pick up Alexa from day care and returned home to find poop on one of the area rugs. I was gone for about 20 minutes total. I’m not going to get into how I know it was Wolfie poop but let’s just say I have my ways. The next hour and a half was full of making dinner, eating dinner, getting dressed for work and playing with Alexa/trying to keep her occupied so she will quit screaming like a banshee. After dinner, we went outside with the dogs. Everything was fine until it was time to go inside. Of course that was the point where Alexa decided that she wanted to ride in her car or throw a ball or do anything else that I said ‘no’ to. I’d be herding the dogs to the door, I’d get Alexa almost to the door and then she’d run to something else that she wanted to play with. I tell her no, she throws a fit, I drag her to the door again, repeat, repeat, repeat. Meanwhile, Wolfie now decided (of course) that it was a nice time to take a walk by the woods. You have got to be kidding me. Let’s all now think back to that wonderful bear we had about 6 months ago which was never actually caught, which I imagine is sitting just beyond my field of vision waiting to pounce on and eat whatever small creature happens to be walking by. (Hey, I never said that I didn’t have issues too) So, of course now my priority is Wolfie (who, by the way, I need two hands to carry because of his back) and of course I never got Alexa close enough to the door to actually get her in the house. I run to go pick up Wolfie and Alexa runs to the swing. The whole time looking at me and shreiking with laughter. I loose it, and start screaming that every living creature in this yard better get their butts into the house NOW! (slight paraphrase) Eventually, everyone got inside, Alexa and I got into the car and I was able to drop her off to Nick who was still at work. During the whole walk to Nick’s room, Alexa and I worked on stopping, going and listening to Mommy. And I also decided that no one is allowed to chase her around the house for fun saying ‘I’m gonna get you!’ anymore. It’s banned.
On a lighter note, Alexa and I are going to a 31 party on Thursday with all of the women in the subdivision we live in. I’m kind of excited to meet some of our neighbors but I’m mostly terrified of having to actually talk to people I don’t know. In any kind of social situation you can pretty much say good bye to nice, kind of funny, sarcastic and witty Kristin and say hello to silent, awkward Kristin. And without Nick to hide behind, it will be ten times worse. At least Alexa is coming with me. She’s a good excuse to have to leave if need be. I can almost hear my mom asking me “Kristin, did you make any friends today?!” No, mom, I didn’t. Well, at least on Thursday I can get points for trying.
Someone Get That Girl a Corndog, STAT!!!
So I was on Pinterest today, which is one of my new favorite websites to go on. Anyway, I cameacross this pin that was probably one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever seen. Here it is:
Wrong. Are you freaking kidding me?!?! That is such bullshit. I have been both skinny and chunker(just ask Katie about my triple chin ‘fat Kristin’ years) for my size so I feel like I’m in a good position to call bullshit on this pin. First of all, there are lots of things that taste better than skinny feels. Lots. Shall we name a few?! Brownies, ice cream, bread, pasta, peanut butter balls, cheese, pepperoni, tacos, any breakfast food. I could go on and on. Second, did you look at the girl in the picture?! Whoever thinks they are going to be able to look like that (and thinks it looks good) is delusional. My thighs haven’t been that thin since I was 3 months old, and I am completely OK with that. I don’t need to wear a little bikini to the beach, I’m perfectly happy in my skirt bathing suit. She looks anorexic. This is like the poster-pin for the FATS (Future Anorexic Teenager Society). Wouldn’t it be hilarious if there was actually a group called the FATS?! I may have to try to start one. hehe. OK, off topic. I just can’t get over how someone would look at this and honestly find motivation in it without making themselves feel like crap. Obviously you are never going to look like her. She is barely a real person! Whatever happened to feeling comfortable in your own body and having a positive self image? What happened to exercising and eating right (not that I eat right at all) to get to your own personal ideal body weight? All I have to say is that whoever came up with this phrase obviously has never had a peppermint chocolate chip milkshake from Chick-fil-A.
(December 14, 2011)
5 Feet of Dynamite 