-image-ear bangs…not as attractive as you’d think

May 31, 2006 | Jojo, Mr. Squirrel, The Office

Hi mommy. I love you! You’re not angry with me, are you? What about daddy? Remember when he erased your laptop’s harddrive this weekend and lost everything? Luckily you had this adorable photo of me in your email archives. Bad daddy!

Hm, I think I got off-track here. Que sopresa! Tomorrow Amber will be watching Jojo in the afternoon! It’s a baby swap! We’re easing into the daycare swap with 4 hours a day, once per week. Eventually, we hope to be able to watch each other’s baby part of the work week to save major money. We’ll see. I’m a tad nervous about working 20 hours per week and, on the off days, watching my son and OtherBaby. That means for those 20 hours, I can’t leave the house. Because seriously, I cannot manage 2 babies at the liquor grocery store.

I don’t think my husband gets my key arguments against this plan on saving money on childcare. I will be home (sans air conditioning) and unable to l.e.a.v.e. But then, these are his arguments for making the effort:

• $$$$$$ Need money to redo the kitchen/pay the 2nd mortgage
• $$$ Need more money for trip to Holland in September for his dad’s side’s family reunion
• $$$$ Need even more money so I can accompany my husband on his work conference here in October

Screw the hideously outdated kitchen and faulty appliances. Screw the great-grandmas who are clamoring (or as they say in the Netherlands, klaankerfelderoki’mmakingthisup) for Jojo. Momma is going to Maui. Probably with Jojo. And my parents. As my mom said, “Jojo can sleep with us and you two can have sex and get me another grandchild.” Pardon?

SO YEAH. I need to cut some spending. No more grande half caf vanilla lattes with a scone. No more fruit (I let it go bad and have to throw it out anyway). And I should really just boycott Target. And Marshall’s. And Amazon.com. Maybe I should be that woman who trolls people’s recycling containers on Fridays to see if anyone is recycling $.05 pop cans. Yes, I can store them under the stroller and teach Jojo all about recycling! Brilliant!

Don’t you like how I have several topics in my posts and then sort of address each of them and then just stop when I get tired and want to read in bed?

-image-Please wash your hands before reading this post.

May 27, 2006 | a girl's gotta shop

I don’t want your dirty hands to soil my purse. YES, this is THEE purse. The one I capriciously purchased, instantly regretted, repeatedly considered returning and finally, after listening to all 25 CDs of Personal Power II, confidently clipped the tags and shredded the receipt. After two weeks of light usage, I’m stunned to report that the purse is still smudge-free! No ink! No pureed peaches or green beans! No grime from being rubbed against the side of my dirt-encrusted car! No guacamole…which, incidentally, is currently staining our bedsheets. I have no idea, people. We don’t eat in bed. And no… no no no. So yeah. I should probably do some laundry. But for now, I don’t have to worry about my purse!

And now it’s time, friends, to introduce you to my beloved shoes. Sigh. Deep breath. Be strong! Harness your inner power, like Tony said! These shoes no longer fit. One of the many bodily changes resulting from pregnancy include slightly bigger feet. JUST ENOUGH to cause pure pain upon insertion of these lovely black shoes. Oh how can it be? I’m unable and unwilling to give them to charity. I just can’t let them go to a stranger. I want– nay, need–them to be loved and worn and shown off. They may look a little weird without feet in them and just standing alone, vulnerable, on our hardwoods; but, trust me, I get, ahem, got, compliments on them all the stinking time. Do you know someone, perhaps yourself, that could give them a good home? They are clean, stank-free and a larger size 7 (I usually wear a 7.5). If you covet them, I will gladly send them to you, free of charge, if you PROMISE TO WEAR THEM WITH BOOTCUT PANTS (at some point) and bask in the glory of their beauty. Sniff. Just let me know.

-image-Mommy lost her…

May 25, 2006 | Jojo, Me

a. Mind
b. Credit card
c. Patience
d. Memory
e. b and d

The answer, dear friends, is “e.” Although I have at some point lost all the options above, most recently I have lost my credit card and memory of where in the capital district that little plastic lovie could be. I heart my credit card. I’ve had this same one for over 10 years. With the same sixteen digit number that I know by heart and can recite quicker than my social security number or telephone number. I made the call to report it missing, which means I should stumble upon it any second now. I’m just waiting for the cute little blue guy to peek out from under one of my many half-read magazines or photos of Jojo.

Speaking of Jojo, let’s see what he is up to:

Lost Schmost, people! I’ve had the card for days…just enough time to order me some TOYS GLORIOUS TOYS!

-image-shark jizz

May 24, 2006 | Jojo, trips down amnesia lane, Me

For the love of everything holy, people, I’m sick again. Ok, it is probably just my severe allergies acting up, but it’s still sick. See for yourself with my symptoms. First, the sore throat. Next, runny snot quickly joined the fun. Hating to be left out, my sinuses are clogging up as we speak. And the area under my nose…it’s bright red and chapped, like my kid’s ass. Kidding. I use Balmex and his ass is beautiful. But back to me… add all this to my sleep deprivation, and I’m a sorry sack of (oozing, sneezing, whining, tissues shoved up my nose) sloth. Pair this with a highly energetic and teething 7 month old, and you’ve got gooood times. Poor Jojo. I’m trying to play with him, but Mommy as a Slug or Mommy as a Speed Bump isn’t very enjoyable for him, mainly because I do still have enough effort not to let him yank out all of my hair.

On a totally different note (I know, usually my post are so well organized…), sometimes I turn on the Today Show and it’s like they’ve been reading my mind. Dr. Ferber on sleep problems in babies. Food addictions. Derek Jeter. Jojo loved Dr. Ferber. He got all the smiles. Or were they snarky smirks? Silly, Dr. Ferber… I will outlast your graduated go-in-and-soothe-the-baby plan and drive you all to the very brink of insanity and then right when you’re about to ship me off to Minneapolis or Michigan, where crazy people are clammoring for my appearance, I will reach up and give you a big wet kiss and nuzzle your neck. I love to fuck with you! Can’t you wait until I’m a teenager? weeeeee!

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with the post, but it’s one of my favorites. He’s under attack!! Beware rotund pink bears and pastel zebras! And if you squint, you can see his sleepy face in the mirror. Oh, yes, and you can also see the purple ring (bottom right) with white dots that is connected to a ribbon on the mirror. That ring is long gone, as my son ripped it off in a fit of rage one evening.

So I tried feeding Jojo (yes, new topic! Keep up with me, will you?) stage 2 macaroni & cheese again. The experts say babies can refuse a certain taste 10-15 times before they decide that they like it. So far, peas, mixed vegetables with peas and macaroni & cheese are his least favorites. This evening, however, DAMN I wish we had recorded his reaction to the mac & cheese. He was having NONE of it, but he didn’t cry, he just dry heaved and then sent it back out, down his chin. And, I cannot blame him. It looks like shark jizz. How do I know this? Am I a sharktologist? Oh yes, that’s what they’re called, I’m sure of it. Well, let’s take a trip back to 10th grade biology. Nikki*, Jack* and I are put on a team together to dissect the baby shark. At some point during the lab, Jack suggested I push on a certain exposed body part. Of the shark, people. Sick. So I did. And this stage-2-mac-&-cheese-like-substance came shooting out between Nikki & my heads and landed SPLAT on my friend Pam’s leg. Yeah. That didn’t go over too well with her or our teacher, who only heard the screaming and tears (oops. Pam was really upset.).

To this day, I cannot eat shark. But that didn’t stop me from making mac & cheese tonight.

*all names have not been changed. But at least I left off last names, right?

-image-have mercy people

May 22, 2006 | TV/movie addiction

Have you ever watched That’s Clever on HGTV? They feature crafters. I haven’t watched it before, but everything left on TiVo has to be viewed with my husband, so I’m stuck with (gasp) live tv. Ick. So, do you think the producers only choose annoying people or do they tell the crafters to try and be entertaining/funny? The word being “try.” Currently, the woman they are featuring is trying wwaaaaayyyy too hard to be funny and kooky. On the awkward/annoying continuum, she’s far into annoying. Or…does she also sculpt crackpipes and perhaps they only have enough segment for her photo necklace craft? Let’s see… we’re onto another crafter in Oklahoma. Oh goody! She’s annoying but even more awkward. I’m not sure how much more of this I can watch.

Oh sweet Jesus. So I’ve been away from you for a few minutes, watching What Not to Wear because I can’t take more of the crafters. This tiny petite bad dresser has a fucking leather bathing suit. And I swear it is homemade. Teal with like the letter “P” on it with yellow and red fabrics making up the “P.” I’m not kidding. The look on Stacy’s face was priceless, especially when little bad dresser said “it’s styli…ehhhhhhhhhh” when they buried it in the trashcan. Oh so sad to see the leather bathing suit put to rest. Actually, she was only sad for a second and now she’s PERKY again. And embarrassing herself. I’m not the only one who thinks this. Clinton, upon seeing his tiny project “dance” in a dress, said “ok, this is like low budget porn. It could go very wrong.” Bingo, Clinton. Bingo.

I should really stop blogging about live tv and get back to swiffering our dirty house. I have a guest coming! More importantly, I have a highly recommended potential babysitter stopping by to meet Jojo! One of my neighbors is moving and gave me the name of her beloved sitter. I got her phone number at like 8:15 this morning and waited anxiously for the clock to turn 10 am to call her. I still woke her (she’s a college student), but she was quite nice about it. Could it BE that my husband and I have a date night in our future? We’ll see…

-image-it’s a cake

May 21, 2006 | TV/movie addiction

I just teared up over a cake contest on the Food Network. Seriously. I need help.

-image-So how long were you in labor?

May 17, 2006 | Baby Making, bitterness

I have been asked how long I was in labor countless times. I h.a.t.e. that question. I never know what to say…what is counted as being “in labor?” I’ve heard moms say they were in labor anywhere from three hours to several days. And men. They always one up you with how many hours their wives were in labor. For them and many other competitive people, labor is painful and difficult– and the longer the labor, the tougher the woman.

But all of labor is not difficult and painful. And I don’t think most people understand this. When people ask how long were you in labor, do you think they want to know from the murky beginning, when the contractions can be barely felt and maybe my back is just aching from carrying the groceries? Are they counting the breaking of the bag of waters? Dilation? Time admitted to hospital? No. I believe, and this is only my opinion, that they want to know how long were you in excrutiating pain or pain but under the influence of a sweet, sweet epidural. They’re picturing the sweaty, screaming death throes from the childbirth video they saw in Health Class or on the Discovery Channel.

This misunderstanding, occasional competitiveness and confusion bothers me. I just hate getting this question, and I don’t know the answer, which is why when I get the question, I always end up boring the person to tears with a long answer, beginning with “Well, it’s kind of a difficult question to answer because do you mean…” and then my conversation partner’s eyes glaze over and they start backing up and checking their watch and I’m like “but you asked, suckah” so sit tight and I’ll end with the blood and gore that you oh so want.

I really do want to know the correct answer. Maybe I should ask my OB. But even knowing the correct answer (”x hours. Does that answer your question?”) will not translate into honest understanding by others of the time spent shackled to machines and IVs in a stupidly uncomfortable “bed” and not being allowed to eat because of the Pitocin, the many hours of easy labor (”can’t you feel the contraction you just had? No?”), a couple hours of ridiculously painful, back-breaking “oh my GOD I cannot do this” contractions, three hours of sort-of numbed then holy shit the epidural is wearing off exhausting PUSHING and finally! THE BABY! Stop counting NOW!!!! Oh, and then, just for fun, your placenta isn’t coming out, so “I have to go in and manually extract it.” Ok, that last part is post-baby, so that probably doesn’t count, but damn. Not fun.

Jeeeeezus. That was quite the rant, eh? But I just hate the question. There’s no easy answer. I’m not sure there’s even a correct answer. And I’m pretty certain that what I wrote above is not only grammatically incorrect and disorganized but could serve as an example of why I need to be committed. So if you want to ask me, sit back, grab a tasty beverage, and I’ll tell you the most amazing story of my life. Which I hope to do again soon.

Kidding.

Well, not soon, but someday.

-image-My First Time

May 14, 2006 | Jojo, Me, holidays

It’s a Mother’s Day Special! On the menu? Love, chocolate, sloppy kisses and the tiniest teeniest tip of front right bottom tooth!

I’d like to give some blogging love to some moms and friends who make me a better mom. First, of course, is my own mom. I’m not going to wax on wax off too much, because she doesn’t even know I have a blog. She won’t be seeing any of this. Plus, I’ve already called and cooed and sent a present, so we’re all set on that end. But, she is awesomely generous, thoughtful, kind, inspiring, strong and generally amazing. Trust me.

Happy Mother’s Day to my wonderful friends from Minnesota who have served as incredible role models for me. Lisa, Terri, Rachel, and Alison: your support and encouragement, humor and own amazing gifts of mothering have inspired me and make me miss you even more on this special day. To my other mommy friends (not located in the Loon State or the State of Cheese (I can’t remember what WI is…sorry Terri)), thank you, too, for answering my questions, listening to my fears, reassuring me and helping me with Jojo– Amber, Cindy, Kate, Erin, Robin, Katie and Jill. I hope you all enjoyed this day and received numerous wet kisses and sweet hugs. Not to mention cash money.

Thank you to my friends without kids who have called and written me and asked about Jojo, don’t mind when I send pictures and don’t give me too hard a time for forgetting birthdays, not emailing as much as I use to and not being able to see you as much. Lisa, Heather, Suzanne, Mary, Alison, Sweets, and Anne, your thoughtfulness, enthusiasm and hilariousness keep me going when I’ve been pooped on, haven’t slept in days and am desperately in need of a shower. Thank you for letting me be a proud (and probably annoying) mom.

With that said, I’m missing out on even more amazing moms I know from home…family friends and relatives, but people who will never ever ever read the blog, and I’m running out of superlatives honestly. So many awesome mother figures in my life. I’m so fortunate.

I’m also very fortunate to have the most amazing son…who has his first tooth! Today, finally, I can feel the sharp little bugger poking through. I’ll attempt a picture soon, but wrangling a finger in his mouth to pull open his lip, move aside his tongue, and maneuver the camera while (now) avoiding being cut on the razor sharp shark tooth may prove to be too much for this first time mom to handle. But Jojo…sigh…my son. I’m so in love. And not just because he wrote me a sweet Mother’s Day card or bought me Godiva truffles. Or because he gives me big, wet open mouth kisses all over my face. Or because he laughs from his little belly when I kiss his neck and tickle him. Or because when I’m about to set him down on the floor he wildly kicks and wants to dance around or practice walking. Or… well, you get the drift. It’s just because he’s him. He’s my son. I’m his mommy. And I’m just head over heels he had me at hello.

I’m a cheese. Anyway, Happy Mother’s Day, friends! Jojo’s winking at you. He loves you THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS much.

-image-I Heckled Jon Stewart (or “Karma…you bitch!”)

May 10, 2006 | Jojo, TV/movie addiction, Me, vacation

Monday (the 8th…I’m a little behind. Sorry!) was the day my husband and I had VIP tickets to see a taping of The Daily Show. We loaded up Jojo, the Zooper, a diaper bag, two backpacks and ourselves into the Corolla and headed down to White Plains to then take the Metro-North into the city. This was all on Sunday. Things went smoothly despite having a 6.5 month old and a mommy with a sinus infection and a severe case of exhaustion. We dropped off a bag at the hotel and then set out to stroll around the city. Usually on the edge of the stroller in full “alert” mode, Jojo relaxed back in a “this city stinks…like really smells” mode:

Of course, maybe he’s just miffed that he has a Zooper instead of the NYC standard Bugaboo.

But, he took it in stride and even broke out a few smiles at Tompkins park, where he swung in his first swing:

Ok, so he’s not smiling here, but he is giving me a “I’m tolerating this for now, ladycakes” look. I get this one a lot.
Poor Jojo also saw the worst use of overalls ever:

My husband called them “overnuthins.” I don’t want to speculate what is under the overs. Let’s just move on.

We strolled ALL OVER the city. LORDY. We took several subway rides as well, but let me get this point across– I was sick and exhausted and my GOD how many more blocks??? And stairs. The stairs. We visited one of my husband’s college friends in Soho. Monty has an amazing apartment, but the 4th floor walk up with the baby and stroller and bags. Mercy people. Then my sister-in-law’s 3rd floor walk up in Greenwich. I’m getting winded just thinking back.

But I complain. I know…shocker. So, Sunday was lovely overall, and after dinner with some of my husband’s college friends, we headed back to the hotel and tried to put Jojo down in the crib that the hotel provided. I was impressed they actually had real crib bedding. I knew Jojo wouldn’t fall for it, and so by about midnight, he was between us in bed. There, he tossed and turned and wimpered and moaned until about 6:45…when I couldn’t take it anymore and took a shower. And then he slept like the dead until after 9. I swear, when he’s a teenager, I’m going to sound off a fricking airhorn in his room on random mornings. I say these things, but then I see his sweet cheeks and wispy hair,

evident in this picture and I’m all smitten and forgiving.

This is Jojo on Monday in Bryant Park. Oh my GOD do you want to just eat up those cheeks or what? And that chin? yummy. We dropped him off with his aunt after her day of teaching ended, and my husband and I did our best impression of The Amazing Race…which ended fine, but reaffirmed my position that we could never be on the show because I would have a heart attack, be a raving lunatic and ruin our marriage. He thinks this is funny and we’d be fine because his calmness counters my … my … personality, but seriously, I’d go apeshit on him. We couldn’t find a cab in New York City for christ’s sake to get to The Daily Show. Well, we did, but it was stressful and I almost flipped out.

Here’s the thing about going to a taping– (mind you, I speak from vast taping experience…with The Daily Show being my second taping after an unfortunate Maury Povich Show taping a few years back.) — there’s a lot of waiting around. If you’re impatient, have a bladder problem or are wearing bad shoes, this may not be the extracurricular activity for you. Thankfully, for this event, only my impatience was bothering me. Well, until one of the jackasses in the waiting room ripped a dooooooozy of a fart and seriously people. We’re all adults here. There were several bathrooms available. WHY EVER WOULD YOU DO THAT? I hate you, farter. hate. Oh and speaking of bathrooms. Tell me what you make of this air freshening method…a urinal cake wedged between the stall and the wall? Fairly odd. I’m betting Colbert did that before leaving.

After what can only be described as a fricking millenium, we were loosely assigned seating in the studio. I was pumped because we were placed next to the four people that were led in first, by name (guests of staffers or something like that). My pumpedness was premature, as later we were craning our necks around one of the cameras to catch the guest. But oh well. After another decade or so, the warm-up comedian came out and it was only a few short minutes before I smart-assedly clapped at something he said, so he began picking on me. My husband stepped in with a funny slam at my expense (but it was damn good), so we were mocked a few times — me as the shrew, and my husband as a weak “pussy” I believe the word was. But we didn’t care, people, sticks & stones. Let’s get Jon Stewart out here! Chop chop!

FINALLY, cute adorable Jon walks out. sigh. We were told ahead of time not to ask for a lock of his hair, autographs, etc. So… Sweets… I stole the urinal cake for you. That’s good, right? He took a few questions, and of course, I was itching to raise my hand, but I really don’t do well when it’s not off the cuff. I stutter, turn red and then just awkwardly avoid eye contact until the person goes away. It’s charming! I’d prepared a couple of questions in my head, during our 100 year wait, in the hopes that maybe we could write them down, but alas, no. I opted out of asking them for several reasons. The first question was a no-go because it would have reaffirmed my shrew status: “Do YOU buy your wife something for Mother’s Day?” Eh hem. And my second question: “Can I borrow one of your investigative reporters to find out who fucking farted in your waiting room because that’s just sick?” Well, I just thought that might be embarrassing for me. I was alread the harpie. Did I want to be the one who smelt it/deal it? So, I kept my hands firmly clasped in my lap.

Perhaps I should have had them covering my mouth, because then Jon was asked a question and in answering it, he left himself WIDE OPEN for a slam. And people, that is one thing I cannot hold back from. These giddy girls from Penn State asked a question and then Jon mentioned that he applied to Penn but didn’t get in because “they have… they have…” So, I said “Standards?” I swear, my voice sounded like a little mouse, and I thought “oh thank GOD he didn’t hear me,” but he did. And he laughed and cracked on people heckling him and stuff, but it was funny and eventually my armpits stopped sweating.

SO after like 8 minutes of banter, they began taping and then it was alll business. The correspondent was Samantha Bee– she was ok, but we were hoping for Rob. David Remnick (editor of The New Yorker) was the guest. He’s not a comedian, and at one point, he didn’t “get” Jon’s question, so it was kind of awkward, at least for me. They didn’t tape a segment with Colbert, and it seemed all rather short. Jon said a few quick things at the end, but he obviously wanted to get the h out asap. And if you saw the show on May 8th, and you are observant, then you may have noticed that during the obesity segment, Jon was wearing a different shirt and tie than in the rest of the program. Because it wasn’t taped that day. Bummer. That was like the best part of the show. My recommendations if you want to attend a Daily Show taping are free! You don’t even need to sign up for my newsletter. They are as follows:

• Ask for VIP tickets so you’re assured entry (there are 60 given per show, so it doesn’t hurt to ask).
• Get there early if you want a good seat. They seat like Southwest Airlines, in groups of 30. Even if you’re in general admission seating, the earlier you get there, the better chance you have of getting in and getting a good seat. But, to be fair, most of the seats are good.
• When waiting in the fetid waiting area, the double doors closest to the bathroom are the ones which lead to the studio, so stand near there.
• Wear comfortable shoes because you’ll be waiting.
• Bring a gas mask in case someone rips one.
• There is one bathroom upstairs and four downstairs; head downstairs and hit the one to the left (almost down another hallway) because there are two stalls. It may be a women’s room (only), but the urinal cake in the wall threw me off.

The best part of the day, besides reuniting with Jojo at my sister-in-law’s apartment, was eating CHIPOTLE for dinner. Oh sweet jesus we hadn’t eaten Chipotle since leaving Chicago. I could eat there every other day. It was getting late, so we needed to get Jojo and get going. He’d been sooo incredibly good and sweet, and I didn’t want to push him past his limits. Which must have been what happened (not karma coming back to kick me for disrespecting Mr. Stewart no no no) because on the Metro North, Jojo projectile vomited all over the place. He threw up on my sweater, down my sweater, up my sleeve, all over my lap, on the floor and on the seat. Not a drop on my husband. It was remarkable. I had no idea he could hold so much liquid. Or not hold so much liquid. The train was pretty full, but thankfully, a full-on barf-a-rama was avoided. My husband cleaned up Jojo while I changed sweaters and cleaned up what I could of the devastation. Then, Jojo fell asleep in the stroller and remained asleep the rest of the way home.

And that, my friends, was our weekend in NYC…in a nutshell.

-image-Nobody Should Wear a Speedo

May 9, 2006 | Jojo, vacation

except for my baby:

SERIOUSLY, this is how he fell asleep by the pool in Florida. And “by the pool,” I mean, safely sleeping several feet away from the pool, guarded by mom and grandma, covered in sunscreen. Shaded by an umbrella. Lying on three beach towels and a changing pad. And obviously, wearing some sweet shades.