Last night I got into bed and, in an attempt to begin one of my so-called "resolutions", I began to write in one of the numerous blank journal books that have accumulated in my house over the years. Then, the following conversation occurred:
J: What's that, your fart journal? [begin high-pitched imitation voice, tinged with inexplicable British aristocrat accent] "Dear Fart Journal, I farted SO many times today. At least 7, but I'm not sure, I think I lost count. What EVER could I have eaten that caused so many farts?"
Me: Well actually, I just want to write down one thing every day that I am thankful for.
[I look at J and think maybe he thinks this is an impressive idea]
Me: And also, I thought it might be helpful to write down some, like, personal affirmations or something, to help me be healthier.
[I notice the beginnings of a smirk on his face].
Me: Go ahead, laugh at me, whatever.
J: I liked the Fart Journal better.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Monday, December 08, 2008
a letter to my new maids
Dear New Cleaning People,
While I am glad to have you as replacements for the former cleaning guy, who stopped showing up after being arrested for robbery (and then subsequently, according to The Advocate's "Dumb Criminals" section, stole a SHORT BUS and used it to lift a flat-screen TV and a bunch of booze from someone's home), I am not completely satisfied with the way you clean my house.
Obviously, I am appreciative of your willingness not to mention the stains on my mattress cover when you change my sheets, or the Playboy magazine in the bathroom, or the many, many, piles of clutter created by my husband that you must navigate around while attempting to dust.
However, it does not appear that you vacuumed my living room rug today. Do you realize that I have a 9 month old whose favorite game is "lick the rug when Mommy isn't looking"? Also, I specifically left the cat vomit stain on the floor next to the couch for you to tackle (because really, I may as well get the most for my money) but you seem to have overlooked it. And, how could you not have noticed that the couch is absolutely covered in cat hair? If you mistakenly thought it was part of the design, I do apologize.
If you'll allow me to get really anal retentive, I will say that despite being a crooked thief, my former cleaner always ensured that my tea kettle was shiny and spotless. I can only hope that you will begin to pay a little more attention to detail on future visits.
Sincerely,
The Woman Who Has No Idea How Much She Is Supposed to Tip You, But Thinks That Maybe You'd Get More If You Moved The Ottoman Once in a While
While I am glad to have you as replacements for the former cleaning guy, who stopped showing up after being arrested for robbery (and then subsequently, according to The Advocate's "Dumb Criminals" section, stole a SHORT BUS and used it to lift a flat-screen TV and a bunch of booze from someone's home), I am not completely satisfied with the way you clean my house.
Obviously, I am appreciative of your willingness not to mention the stains on my mattress cover when you change my sheets, or the Playboy magazine in the bathroom, or the many, many, piles of clutter created by my husband that you must navigate around while attempting to dust.
However, it does not appear that you vacuumed my living room rug today. Do you realize that I have a 9 month old whose favorite game is "lick the rug when Mommy isn't looking"? Also, I specifically left the cat vomit stain on the floor next to the couch for you to tackle (because really, I may as well get the most for my money) but you seem to have overlooked it. And, how could you not have noticed that the couch is absolutely covered in cat hair? If you mistakenly thought it was part of the design, I do apologize.
If you'll allow me to get really anal retentive, I will say that despite being a crooked thief, my former cleaner always ensured that my tea kettle was shiny and spotless. I can only hope that you will begin to pay a little more attention to detail on future visits.
Sincerely,
The Woman Who Has No Idea How Much She Is Supposed to Tip You, But Thinks That Maybe You'd Get More If You Moved The Ottoman Once in a While
Thursday, November 27, 2008
gobble gobble!
Let's be blunt, things really suck right now for a whole lot of people. People in the US losing their homes, struggling to feed their kids, wondering how they will afford their medicine. People in Mumbai being held hostage by terrorists. Kids in Africa, hungry and orphaned because of AIDS.
It's easy to get caught up in our own insignificant problems, but today especially, I have nothing but gratitude in my heart for the many blessings I have in my life.
A beautiful, happy, healthy baby who brings me boundless joy.
A loving husband who is madly in love with his little girl.
Secure jobs that allow us to keep a roof over our head, food on our table, and more.
Loving, caring family.
Wonderful friends: new and old, near and far.
A home that I love in a safe area.
The fact that I lost all the baby weight, even if I'm still up 20 pounds (ok...30) from my wedding weight...
Hoping you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day!
It's easy to get caught up in our own insignificant problems, but today especially, I have nothing but gratitude in my heart for the many blessings I have in my life.
A beautiful, happy, healthy baby who brings me boundless joy.
A loving husband who is madly in love with his little girl.
Secure jobs that allow us to keep a roof over our head, food on our table, and more.
Loving, caring family.
Wonderful friends: new and old, near and far.
A home that I love in a safe area.
The fact that I lost all the baby weight, even if I'm still up 20 pounds (ok...30) from my wedding weight...
Hoping you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day!
Friday, November 07, 2008
Dr. Atkins spins in his grave
Our evenings are usually pretty hectic. I pick Maia up from daycare at 5 (around the same time J gets home). Maia gets dinner around 5:30 and the bedtime routine starts about an hour later. You can see why J and I don't normally eat dinner until about 8. J is pretty good about asking if he can help get dinner started while I put Maia to bed. He's no Cordon Bleu chef but, unlike his brother, he does know that you need to boil water *before* adding the pasta to the pot.
So, the other night J asks if he can get something started for dinner, and I told him there was an open box of pasta in the cupboard. So, he looks at the box, which was only half full, since I had previously used half the pasta for another dinner. He complained, "this is all there is?", and, too tired to argue that half a box of pasta really was plenty for 2 people, I told him he could find more pasta in the pantry. He proceeded to cook a full box of penne--serving each of us half the box.
A few minutes later, I hear him turning on the oven. He comes back from the freezer with a frozen pizza. "What are you doing? You must be pretty hungry, huh?," I asked. "This is the bread dish," was the reply. And here I thought it was important to have a *vegetable* dish with dinner. Silly me.
So, the other night J asks if he can get something started for dinner, and I told him there was an open box of pasta in the cupboard. So, he looks at the box, which was only half full, since I had previously used half the pasta for another dinner. He complained, "this is all there is?", and, too tired to argue that half a box of pasta really was plenty for 2 people, I told him he could find more pasta in the pantry. He proceeded to cook a full box of penne--serving each of us half the box.
A few minutes later, I hear him turning on the oven. He comes back from the freezer with a frozen pizza. "What are you doing? You must be pretty hungry, huh?," I asked. "This is the bread dish," was the reply. And here I thought it was important to have a *vegetable* dish with dinner. Silly me.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
catching up
I've really been absent around here...not that anyone probably even bothers to check anymore! Somehow I just can't let this blog totally go.
With last night's Obama victory, I was finally able to put a lot of pent-up anxiety to rest. Listening to him speaking last night, I will admit that I got teary-eyed from the realization that we finally have an intelligent, eloquent leader, and that this election meant so very much to so many people. Watching the crowd at Grant park was amazing. I went to sleep last night knowing that in the morning I would kiss my baby and have great hope for a better future for her and others of her generation.
Now, on to some things I've been wanting to say to some people who shall remain nameless.
To person #1: I will post whatever I want there, and I don't care if it embarrasses you in front of your little Republican club. In fact, I'm quite convinced that the only reason you're so involved with that group is because you like being clique-y. I don't think you have a clue about the actual issues, and I certainly don't think you have any interest in learning.
To person #2: You and your family really disgust me. I can't believe you had the nerve to accuse Democrats of having no class or dignity after all of the vile smears you've been spreading on your page. I didn't think it was possible to be both openly gay and an ultra-right wing nutjob (closeted gay, of course, we see that all the time). Go suck a fat dick. Or should I say a skinny dick? Whichever is the least enjoyable for you.
To HR: Excuse me, but I don't want to just "assume a 9 or 10 hour work day". I have a baby at home, and a husband. I left academia (which I am seriously starting to regret) so that I could work nice, normal, 9-5 hours. This is bullshit. I'm working twice as hard as I used to and I better get a fucking raise or at least a bonus to show for it.
To my co-worker: You are a goody-two-shoes and you are fucking everything up at work. Have you ever heard of saying "no"?? You're making it harder for the rest of us who really don't feel like working 60-hour weeks. I don't want to compete with you but you're making me look bad. You talk too much and you never return my emails when I need you to. Bite me.
To person #3: You seem like a nice enough person, but could you be any more naive? Why don't you just bitch and moan some more about liberals before your next Medicare-funded OB appointment. I'm sure you have no clue that Medicare comes from the government. Maybe you should have gotten your own fucking health insurance before you got pregnant again.
I'm sure there's more, but it feels pretty good getting these out.
With last night's Obama victory, I was finally able to put a lot of pent-up anxiety to rest. Listening to him speaking last night, I will admit that I got teary-eyed from the realization that we finally have an intelligent, eloquent leader, and that this election meant so very much to so many people. Watching the crowd at Grant park was amazing. I went to sleep last night knowing that in the morning I would kiss my baby and have great hope for a better future for her and others of her generation.
Now, on to some things I've been wanting to say to some people who shall remain nameless.
To person #1: I will post whatever I want there, and I don't care if it embarrasses you in front of your little Republican club. In fact, I'm quite convinced that the only reason you're so involved with that group is because you like being clique-y. I don't think you have a clue about the actual issues, and I certainly don't think you have any interest in learning.
To person #2: You and your family really disgust me. I can't believe you had the nerve to accuse Democrats of having no class or dignity after all of the vile smears you've been spreading on your page. I didn't think it was possible to be both openly gay and an ultra-right wing nutjob (closeted gay, of course, we see that all the time). Go suck a fat dick. Or should I say a skinny dick? Whichever is the least enjoyable for you.
To HR: Excuse me, but I don't want to just "assume a 9 or 10 hour work day". I have a baby at home, and a husband. I left academia (which I am seriously starting to regret) so that I could work nice, normal, 9-5 hours. This is bullshit. I'm working twice as hard as I used to and I better get a fucking raise or at least a bonus to show for it.
To my co-worker: You are a goody-two-shoes and you are fucking everything up at work. Have you ever heard of saying "no"?? You're making it harder for the rest of us who really don't feel like working 60-hour weeks. I don't want to compete with you but you're making me look bad. You talk too much and you never return my emails when I need you to. Bite me.
To person #3: You seem like a nice enough person, but could you be any more naive? Why don't you just bitch and moan some more about liberals before your next Medicare-funded OB appointment. I'm sure you have no clue that Medicare comes from the government. Maybe you should have gotten your own fucking health insurance before you got pregnant again.
I'm sure there's more, but it feels pretty good getting these out.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Friday cute attack
Just to prove it's not all about the poop...here is a video of Maia meeting Grandma and Grandpa's dog Harley. She is very much into dogs and cats lately...she will do anything to get her hands (and mouth) on them. Luckily the animals in our life are mostly obliging. I don't think I've ever heard her laugh so much as she did during this meeting with Harley...
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
diaper doody
Ever wonder why new parents spend so much time talking about baby poop? Because it's fucking fascinating, that's why!
Babies who are exclusively breast-fed have watery mustard yellow poop that smells a little like popcorn--in the same way that dogs' paws smell like popcorn, I guess. It's a little bit sweet and not really unpleasant at all. Sometimes it turns green, and when that happens it's because of an imbalance in the bacteria of the gut. So for the first 6 months or so you can enjoy not having people run like hell when your baby starts grunting and farting without being the least bit embarrassed about it, and you can even change baby's diaper right there at the airport gate on the floor without offending anyone's sense of smell.
Well, we all know babies can't live on milk forever (though it would be much more convenient for me--what with all the baby food jars and spoons and things that eating non-milk food requires). When they start adding solids to their diets, their poop starts becoming more solid as well. And I suppose I should have been prepared for some other changes, but I will admit that I was utterly surprised to find what appeared to be smashed cooked carrots in Maia's diaper today. It was as if the carrots she had at lunch yesterday had passed through her completely unchanged, like they were just taking a ride on the Chunnel and would be on their way.
But what I was *really* unprepared for was how--in the 2 seconds I stood marveling at the diaper full of pumpkin pie--Maia's little hand managed to make a swift grab at her lady parts, plucking up a chunk of carrot poop on its merry way. This is where the mommy reflexes come into play...at the same time, and as quickly as possible, the poop-infested hand must be grabbed and wiped, while keeping the other hand away from the poop-covered nether regions, not to mention blocking baby's sock-covered, kicking feet from becoming the next to fall victim to fecal staining. Then there's still the matter of actually wiping the poop from baby's bottom and maneuvering a new diaper on before she decides it's a good time to pee. Dads just can't handle this kind of high-stress situation (at least in my house, I think this scenario would have ended up with both Dad and baby covered in orange poop and Dad swearing at me as if it were my fault). Oh wait a second, I'm the only one who changes diapers in this house so, nevermind.
Hmmm, I wonder when it'll be alright to feed Maia blueberries. Maybe that day I'll insist that it's Dad's turn for diapers.
Babies who are exclusively breast-fed have watery mustard yellow poop that smells a little like popcorn--in the same way that dogs' paws smell like popcorn, I guess. It's a little bit sweet and not really unpleasant at all. Sometimes it turns green, and when that happens it's because of an imbalance in the bacteria of the gut. So for the first 6 months or so you can enjoy not having people run like hell when your baby starts grunting and farting without being the least bit embarrassed about it, and you can even change baby's diaper right there at the airport gate on the floor without offending anyone's sense of smell.
Well, we all know babies can't live on milk forever (though it would be much more convenient for me--what with all the baby food jars and spoons and things that eating non-milk food requires). When they start adding solids to their diets, their poop starts becoming more solid as well. And I suppose I should have been prepared for some other changes, but I will admit that I was utterly surprised to find what appeared to be smashed cooked carrots in Maia's diaper today. It was as if the carrots she had at lunch yesterday had passed through her completely unchanged, like they were just taking a ride on the Chunnel and would be on their way.
But what I was *really* unprepared for was how--in the 2 seconds I stood marveling at the diaper full of pumpkin pie--Maia's little hand managed to make a swift grab at her lady parts, plucking up a chunk of carrot poop on its merry way. This is where the mommy reflexes come into play...at the same time, and as quickly as possible, the poop-infested hand must be grabbed and wiped, while keeping the other hand away from the poop-covered nether regions, not to mention blocking baby's sock-covered, kicking feet from becoming the next to fall victim to fecal staining. Then there's still the matter of actually wiping the poop from baby's bottom and maneuvering a new diaper on before she decides it's a good time to pee. Dads just can't handle this kind of high-stress situation (at least in my house, I think this scenario would have ended up with both Dad and baby covered in orange poop and Dad swearing at me as if it were my fault). Oh wait a second, I'm the only one who changes diapers in this house so, nevermind.
Hmmm, I wonder when it'll be alright to feed Maia blueberries. Maybe that day I'll insist that it's Dad's turn for diapers.
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