We can work it out

New smartphone means being able to post again. No more having to run to the desktop. Yeah, I said desktop. There have been baby steps in my technological advancement, so hopefully will there be a baby step in your entertainment.

I’m havin a bad bad day

Have you ever had to jump up in the middle of your lunch to get a screaming kid more to eat so you decide to get a fruit cup too and you can’t peel back the plastic because your hands are dirty so you try to use your teeth and it pops open and spills fruit juice down your shirt and into your bra cup and you don’t have any time to change or even clean yourself up because there’s a kid screaming for more food and another one that needs to be picked up from school on time or he will surely be emotionally traumatized and you already have a dog with abandonment issues so since you shouldn’t say a bad word really loudly or cry and since you’ve given up smoking to please someone else even though it was the only time you ever had to yourself and surely the most relaxing part of your day you have to just suck it up and stay with a sticky boob until you bring home one kid and put the other one to nap and THEN you can run upstairs to try and shower all the while praying and begging the older kid doesn’t burn the house down so you hurry the hell up because the sleeping child will only stay asleep long enough for you to literally step into the shower but not long enough for you to actually shower so you shower while one is screaming and one is turning up the cartoons on the tv and coming upstairs every two minutes to tell you his brother is screaming and don’t forget it’s time to make dinner and somehow get the laundry folded and more loads started?

Fucking hell.

When that sun is high in that Texas sky

What feels like forever but was really two weekends ago, we packed up The Monsters and drove south to San Antonio for Fiesta. “Fiesta?” you say? “As in a party?” Not quite. “As in an entire month of pageants and fundraisers culminating in a week of parades and parties and festivals? When parking restrictions and open container laws mean absolutely nothing? When asking to see a pretty girl’s shoes isn’t creepy?” Yup.

There is a historical side to Fiesta, however. It all began in 1890 as a singular parade put on by the Daughters of the Republic of Texas to honor the heroes of the battles of the Alamo and San Jacinto. Fiesta now stretches over 11 days with over 100 events, has a huge economic impact on the city of San Antonio and raises money for many charities and causes in and around the city as well. The Battle of Flowers Parade (where I took the above photo of The Joey) is second in size only to the Tournament of Roses Parade, and continues to be the only parade in the country organized and produced by women. Plus, it’s just awesome! 

When we (finally) made it to San Antonio there was just enough time to sleep until early the next morning, when we got up early to go to The Battle of Flowers Parade.

If you think I should look a little happier to be at the most awesome place in April, you’re right. I was miserable. As it turns out I am allergic to absolutely everything outdoors, most especially oak and pecan pollens, and grass. So springtime in San Antonio when it’s dry and windy and everything is coated in pollen and grass seed is not my friend. I took Benadryl and kept falling asleep behind my sunglasses sitting and waiting for the parade to start. Which is funny now because I’ve since learned that The Husband and my cousin Bucky kept talking to me only to find out I was asleep behind my sunglasses. Ha!

When was the last time you saw McGruff the dog?! I got a little excited, all those flashbacks to D.A.R.E. and all.

 

 

 

 

This is the army band. And what was so awesome was that they are playing tejano music! I will make a confession here: I still have no idea what they’re saying or anything, but something about San Antonio makes me love tejano music.

 

 

 

 

 

This is pretty much what San Antonio is like during Fiesta. Beautiful, tradtional and draped in flowers.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m still trying to figure out why only Miss San Antonio was driven in a low-rider.

 

 

This is one of the more traditional floats I saw in the parade. I wish the photo could translate the fresh, earthy sweet smell of the flowers as they passed by. It was just beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

So then we got out the cascarones. Confetti eggs. And if you’ve never had the joy of cracking a dyed eggshell filled with paper confetti on the skull of your beloved cousins (shout out, R’s!), you’ve obviously never lived. The downside is that when you have insanely thick curly hair and you get that confetti in there because your aforementioned beloved cousins not only crack the shell on your skull but then rub it in you have to brush out your hair, immediately resulting in a Mexi-fro.

I didn’t take a picture of that.

Did I forget to mention that I had my wisdom tooth out the day before we left for San Antonio? I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to eat all the yummies awaiting me down south, but it all worked out.

Except for the cerveza-ritas.

My cousins Bucky and Rae kept telling me and The Husband about some wonderful drink called a cerveza-rita. So since our grandmother was out of town* and we were staying there with The Monsters and Izzy the Wonder Dog alone, The Cousins brought over some liquor and beer and made Trey a cerveza-rita. Since I could neither drink through a straw nor ingest alcohol due to the wisdom tooth healing process, I just took the pictures of the cerveza-rita. I hope to have one soon. Very very soon. It wasn’t fair, and I may have pouted.

 

And that was just the end of day one.

 

*Who am I kidding? My grandmother would have probably pulled up a schooner with the rest of them. She’s kinda cool like that.

I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?

So every year I begin the spring season with high hopes of beautiful flowers and herbs. I head out to Lowes or Wal-Mart or wherever and load up my cart with planters, planting soil and seeds. I get myself outside (a rare event in and of itself), I get dirty (an even rarer event) and I dig around in the dirt planting things. Sometimes I even sweat (the rarest event of all). I water my little planters of dirt every other day religiously. I watch some seedlings poke through and then I talk to it, watering it every day and relishing in its growth and maturation process.

Then summer comes.

It’s too hot. Blazing, irradiating, scalding heat. The faucet singes my hand when I try to fill my watering can. Sometimes I swear I can feel the hellfire and smell the brimstone of the hell that is Texas summer. So I’ll attempt to con The Joey into watering my plants for me because it’s summer and he wants to live outside. But, as it happens, he’s only five and is about as reliable as I am in the watering-the-plants department.

Every once in a while I go outside with him (slathered in sunscreen and praying to God I don’t start sweating) and I’ll notice the poor withering, wilted, curled-up Plants Of Death and Dying. I begin my most sincere and heart-felt apologies to the plants (yes, I talk to my plants), watering them and nursing them back to health. But the cycle begins again; I don’t water and the Plants of Death and Dying eventually just die.

Here are some pictures I just took in my backyard:

IN MEMORIAM:

These are the remains of my basil plant. I used to make awesome pasta sauce with the help of this guy. Basil, you will be missed. Trust that you will be remembered fondly and often.

Alyssum and four o’clocks. R.I.P.

Alyssum and sweet peas (the flower). Do not go gentle into that good night.

Sunflowers, I don’t know how I’ll get over you.

Out of all tragedy comes a renewed hope in life. New life brings with it a sense of completion, a fresh start. In this case:

Sunflower sprouts and clover!

I planted sunflower seeds two years ago. And I’m still getting sunflowers. It’s awesome. And I know clover is a weed, but those little yellow flowers are so pretty! Of course, I know nothing about plants and for all I know those little yellow flowers could be something else entirely. So here’s a better picture in case you can identify it:

All joking aside, I really want to try again. Yes, again. It’s spring and I’ve got planting fever. The Husband and I have been discussing transforming our driveway from this:

to a wonderful patio oasis. We recently bought a sandbox for The Monsters, we’re looking at and pricing out patio furniture, and our plan is to create a barrier around our driveway space with large planters (I’m still on the hunt, if you have any suggestions. I’m going to Garden Ridge this weekend.). Yes, planters! You know what that means, don’t you?!

I GET TO PLANT FLOWERS!

This year I’m getting ambitious and I’m going to plant herbs, too. I love to cook and I miss Basil. But I don’t have planters yet, and we’re still in the planning stages of The Great Transformation (aka The Driveway Project). So on a trip to Target this week (danger, checkbook, danger!) I impulse-bought a greenhouse. Here is a collage of what I planted today:

In this picture (and in my greenhouse) are Texas bluebonnets, parsley, sweet peas, basil, cilantro, oregano, rosemary and four o’clocks. The herbs are pretty self-explanatory. I chose bluebonnets because I love bluebonnets and I kinda miss being out in Hell and seeing a ton of them everywhere. I call The Joey “Sweet Pea” and I’ve tried to grow them every spring for three years now. Finally, I chose the four o’clocks because when The Elliot decided to make his entrance and my water broke, I looked at the clock and it was 4:05am. I really hope they come in! After that, I really hope I keep them alive!

The last time I tried to use one of the greenhouses everything just molded and I got really sick. Because I’m allergic to mold. But I thought I’d give it another go and added plant food to the dirt mixture all in the hope that I see some sprouts in the coming weeks. For now I’ll have to settle for this:

With a rebel yell

I can graciously accept the fact that I am this close to buttoning my jeans. I know in a few weeks I'll be able to button them, and in a few weeks more I'll be in the gym getting ready for The Elder's wedding and those jeans will be bigger on me.

I can calmly deal with a traffic accident. The Husband lost control in his car yesterday morning and was T-boned on the passenger side. He is totally and completely fine save a scrape and a bruise on his leg. The car, however, is dead. We had to pay the second wrecker to arrive to the accident $140 bucks (nearly cleaning out our bank account) to pry apart the two vehicles. But since he spent the day at home he received an email on his personal account notifying him that his recent job application was denied on the due date and he was able to fix it and verify the application was received and approved for review. I can totally see the good side in that.

But I try throwing a boob and a baby together - arguably the most "natural" thing in the world - and my entire universe becomes unglued. Case in point, this afternoon. I'm alone in the house and trying to feed The Elliot (birth story/pictures/oohing and aahing post to follow when I'm a little less insane) with apparently the flattest nipple to ever exist and he's screaming. I suddenly decide it's not fair that he gets to be the only one to voice some frustration over the situation and I let out this primal, evil, possibly throat-damaging yell and hold it until I'm concerned I'll pop some blood vessels in my eyes. Funny - it worked. He stopped screaming long enough to latch on and finally eat.

But this is not an isolated incident or frustration. I totally want to give in. I'm tired of this - the bad days definitely outweigh the good and I just want my kid to eat well. And don't give me any of the horseshit about pumping; I tried it to relieve engorgement and it's totally not the same thing. I want to do this and am stubborn about getting it right and not giving in to formula. But some days it really feels like all roads lead to Similac.

At this point I'm evil. Yesterday morning after 40 minutes of trying to get him to eat I simply put him back in the bassinet and went downstairs. I cried and refused to feed him for probably another 45 minutes, during which time The Husband thought he was helping by trying to get me talk (to him and really just in general because I was just sitting there crying and looking at the tv that was off) but really just led me to express my dire hatred for him. Luckily he knew I wasn't in my right mind. Last night The Elliot wanted to eat every hour for a period of about 5-6 hours from 8 pm to 1 or 2 in the morning and I was having trouble sleeping anyway due to pure exhaustion and the fact that The Husband was snoring. So I had finally gotten to sleep and The Elliot started. The Husband started snoring louder. And I exploded inside. I don't even remember the things I said, but he left to sleep downstairs. And I was glad. The Elliot finished eating and finally went to sleep and so did I, only to be awoken at 5:30 to take The Husband to work. And the thing is, I wasn't upset about taking him to work that early, waking up the kids to do so. But I bet that if I had already been up and attempting to feed or feeding The Elliot when The Husband needed to go, one of us would have lost a testicle.

Hello I've waited here for you everlong

Hello...?

Is anyone still out there?

[crickets]

While I never promised to be a great (or even consistent) blogger, months without a post is probably too long. So I'm sorry. I was busy growing a person.

I'm still not done growing a person... and I'm so over it. I think we're down to about 9 weeks, maybe less. I've lost count. Whoever decided that nine months would be a good amount of time for babies to grow needs to reassess the situation. It sucks. And I'm tired. And my back hurts after doing something menial like cleaning the stovetop and then I can't do anything for the rest of the day. I'm fed up with being useless and in pain. I want to be able to pick up The Joey or take him outside to play or get on the floor and color... something. Anything.

Venting - done.

So I have a ton of things coming up, and most are requiring my craft skills to be in top form. I'm still working on the picture frames for the nursery (pictures will follow when the room is complete, probably January 2010), and then next on my list is a tablecloth for the table The Husband made for the living room. Yes, made. Handy husband + crafty wife = more money in the bank! So then after the tablecloth is done, I'm going to have to put everything aside and start working on holiday madness. I think I've got the design for my younger sisters' Christmas gift done in my head. Actually I have two ideas, but I don't know which one to go with. I was going to make a set of two....

Luckily we're purchasing more than creating this year, solely to preserve my sanity. But when you're purchasing for three of the hardest people to shop for (The Husband's family) sanity is pretty much out the window from the get-go. I love my in-laws and I know how lucky I am to have a great relationship with them... but they are soooo hard to shop for!!!! And The Husband is not really very much help. At all. And my suggestions are all met with, "I dunno...."

Apparently I wasn't done venting. More apologies. I think I'll have some egg rolls for lunch and the world will be a better place.

Who gives a fuck about an oxford comma?

I remember my first day of school.

My mom got me up and put me in my dress that matched my older sister's. I had a full breakfast and we took the obligatory pictures, smiling and super excited about going to kindergarten. We got in the car and started the drive to the elementary school.

And there were no crossing guards.

And no kids walking to school.

And no traffic.

And no cars in the parking lot.

Turns out it was the day before the first day of school.

My first day of middle school my mom's car wouldn't start so the neighbor dropped me off. I was super late for my first day of high school for some reason I can't remember.

The Joey's first day of school wasn't like any of that. We took him into the school and he never gave us another glance. There was another kid crying and The Husband and I thought the same thing (we found out later): he's going to think there's something to be scared of, so let's not make a big deal out of goodbyes. Which turned out to be fine because The Joey started talking with his teacher and got in line and never looked at us again. I looked at the teacher and said "Is that it?!" and she said "Well, I guess so!" We went into the room and dropped off his school supplies and the line started to move. There were other parents in the room and we all kinda followed them out. Then The Husband and I went to find the nurse's office to drop off his updated shot record minus the absurd chickenpox vaccine (more on that another time) and we kept running into The Joey and his class! We'd hide behind corners so he wouldn't know we were still there... not that he would have noticed. He was totally in his own world, so happy to be at school.

Two words summed up yesterday, at a level I didn't know I could reach: so proud.

Look at me, look at me, Hands in the air like it's good to be

Slacker slacker slacker! I wear my title proudly. It's not like I haven't been doing things - I've been doing TONS of things. That's just the problem....

The Husband and I have reached a critical point in this pregnancy. I like to call it "Yeah... but how did it get in there?" Because that's the question Joey seems intent on getting an answer to. We tried to sugar-coat it with "Well, it takes a little bit of Mommy and a little bit of Daddy and a whole lot of love," only to be answered with a pause and "Yeah... but how did it get in there?" So we try again, with "Well, Mommy and Daddy love each other a whole lot and we love you a whole lot so we decided to have another baby," - "Yeah... but how did it get in there?" So I have no idea what to tell a four year old about sex and any book I could find at Barnes & Noble would probably make me giggle so we're just kind of not answering him for now. The Husband says he wants to wait until The Joey can be fully embarassed by the answer to the question. I plan on waiting until he's old enough to be truthful with.

So I guess I'll work backwards from here on out because honestly, I can remember what I did this week but not really what I did last week.

I am in the middle of an embroidery marathon. I can't stop, and I really shouldn't. Because I am the smartest person in the world, I decided to make a gift for a friend's baby shower but didn't really assess the project as a whole and there's a hell of a lot of embroidery to be done by the end of next week. Since she's probably reading this (hey Lauren!) I won't go into detail as to what it is but I can tell you I'm very happy to do it because I love this girl to death and am so happy for her and her husband and their baby girl. And I'm not even being facetious - I really mean it!

We also ordered our tickets to the circus next week! And I actually found badass seats for a badass price! See, The Husband brought home a flier from his work advertising 25% off ticket prices. So upon deeper research it was impossible to find good seats with the discount. So I remembered looking at the website last year when we thought we wanted to go and finding a military discount... for 50% off ticket prices!!! So then I went to the Ticketmaster website and looked for the best seats for every day the circus is in town. We wound up with center ring seats in the first row of the balcony for $7.50 a ticket! What we've found out about the whole circus thing is that The Husband and I are more excited about going to the circus than The Joey. I'm sure, though, that once we pay for parking and cotton candy and a glow wand and a souvenir cup The Joey will be more excited to be at the circus than we are.

Tuesday I ordered this (thanks Lauren!) for The Joey's Robot Room. and it said it would take 3-5 business days to arrive. So imagine my surprise when I saw the man in brown drop a big box on my doorstep and drive away yesterday afternoon... it was the sheets! We had an awesome time looking at the robots and talking about getting a new Big Brother Bed and then when the novelty was gone The Husband and I discussed putting a waterproof mattress pad on the Big Brother Bed. I wonder why they call it waterproof... everyone really knows it's being peeproof that really matters.

I got to spend last Sunday with The Doctor, and we had a blast. Luckily she works REALLY early in the morning so we get tired about the same time in the afternoon, so I wasn't out too late. We went to see "The Proposal" and were greatly surprised that we enjoyed it so much. I thought it was going to be your typical formulaic romantic comedy and while there were some of those elements to it, the greater proportion turned out to be hilarious and awesome. Then we went in search of pregnancy church clothes and athletic shoes... not to be worn together, of course. In between there we got some beyond-yummy-lunch that made the parasite very very happy. It was spicy!

I have no idea what else has happened since I last posted. All I can think about is embroidery. Someday I will be sane again....

You can't sing But you still put me to sleep

At this moment I am alone in my house. Kind of. After 16 or so days of +100 degree weather, it is 1:30 pm and 86 degrees outside. Nice, huh? Well, it is for Texas in July anyway. SOOOO... I put sunscreen and bug spray on the kid and sent him and Izzy the Babysitter Dog out to play. I opened up the backdoor and opened the window in my art room overlooking the backyard. So I am painting (right now - waiting for paint to dry), keeping an eye on the kid in the fort out back, and watching "7th Heaven". Life couldn't get any better.

Every night we put The Joey to bed and every night 3 minutes after we've closed the door he calls for us because he swears he saw a monster. So we devised a story about why there are no monsters in the house. So The Joey knows we brought Izzy home from a shelter a long time ago. But what he didn't know... was that before Izzy was at the shelter she was a super dog monster hunter. And whenever there is a monster close, Izzy the Monster Hunter will spring into action and eat the monster up.

Amazingly, it works.

And my paint is dry.

Please belive me I'll never do you no harm

As if getting started on The Robot Room, planning the rearranging furniture throughout the house, thinking about having a garage sale, sewing a baby blanket and growing a baby were not enough... I got out some directions I printed ages ago about how to recover a couch. I don't know if this is nesting or just me going off the deep end but I feel the need to bury myself in so much craft crap I won't ever be able to finish. If only I could get paid to do this stuff....

Note that "planning" and "thinking" aren't actually things I'm acting on, but sometimes I feel like our household's personal think tank - I don't even bring things up to The Husband until I've gone through all the logistics and contingencies. Then he comes in to do the heavy lifting. I tell him he's the muscle of our little operation, and he tells me I'm the brains.

At least I know that I will never be bored during our forever together. Last night I made mention of the doctor's appointment I have this afternoon. I told him a month a go and several times since it's come up in casual conversation that we will be hearing the baby's heartbeat today and I wanted him and the Joey to come to the appointment with me so we could all hear it together. Well as we were brushing our teeth before bed last night The Husband makes some side comment about staying home with the Joey while I go to the doctor and I just about lose my glue, going on about how I've already told him about this important appointment and if he isn't going to be involved with the things going on in this pregnancy I don't want him to come and I'll bring the Joey by myself and he can just stay at work for all I care. So he gets me calmed down a little by admitting he can't help stupid and he should have remembered what was going on. So then he says, "I know what's going on" and I say "Oh really? What's going on?" thinking he was going to say something like "I forgot what you said a month ago and I'm really sorry." No - he says "I'm getting in trouble!" and I guess my face must have shot up into flames like you see in cartoons because his eyes got really big and he stammered "Word vomit! That's not what I meant to say! I couldn't stop myself!" And I burst out laughing. The combination of his face and the fact that I really believe him when he says he can't stop himself sometimes just equals that I can't ever stay mad at him. What can I say? I love that man....

I can't decide what to do this July 4th weekend. I'd like to go out and see some fireworks or something but I don't think that's going to be possible without boiling the baby. I also thought about us making the trip up North to the lake and the boat but I remembered the last time we were up there a few weeks ago and I was just plain miserable. The boat wouldn't stop moving! And yes, I do know that's kind of what they do but if you were in my position that day you wouldn't care either.

During a conversation with The Doctor last weekend I revealed a secret wish of mine. I want to be sent away for a long weekend to somewhere with spa packages. I walk in and they have a room ready for me. The specific spa package has already been chosen for me and the only decisions I have to make for the entire weekend is what I'm going to order off the room service menu - everything is already paid for. I can walk into my room and turn off my cell phone, there is no computer and I can turn off the ringer on the landline in the room. There's a huge soaking tub in front of a picture window with a view of a valley or mountains or the beach - anything so I can get lost in a bathtub my whole body can fit into. No one bothers me and I can sleep as late as I want, get hot stone massages and watch movies alone. Nice dream, huh?

I like to replay this little fantasy of mine on the rare occasion I get to take a bubble bath here at home. The last time was last week - can't remember the time before. But my bathtub is too small (my upper arms don't even get damp in our standard-sized bathtub/shower combo) and WWIII was going on downstairs, something about The Joey not cleaning up his toys and The Husband got angry because The Joey never does anything he says but everything I say. Peaceful relaxing bubble bath, right? So the dream was shot and I gave up and played Switzerland until The Joey started crying because he got scared at The Husband's "angry voices" and then I was all U.S. on The Husband (like that metaphor?) until he relented and The United Nations was formed.

Wait a second... either I took that metaphor too far or I just really confused myself. No matter - cardio!

Well you know - we all want to change the world

Everytime I hear the first few lines of "Revolution" I think back to my freshman year when it was the motto for GDS and the Service Station would send out phone messages with it blaring off someone's stereo in the background. I had a special tradition for GDS: go as hung over as humanly possible. And every year I outdid the last! Hey, if you had to be anywhere at 7am on a Saturday in college you'd be hungover too - admit it.

I must have made a good case for more affordably priced boy dress clothes to the cosmos because I happened across a rad sale at Gymboree yesterday. Joey is now outfitted for several weeks of church and any number of emergency family occasions. If only we hadn't left his leather dress sandals on my in-laws' boat a couple of weekends ago....

I am on the hunt for affordable maternity clothes that don't look like circus tents. Mostly tops, since I have two Tummy Sleeves, one in white and one in black, that I wear with my jeans every day. However, I have a baby shower to go to this weekend and I'd like to look nicer than jeans and a t-shirt that fits like I'm just fat and not wearing my correct size (kind of a pet peeve of mine). Also, what the hell is the deal with maternity clothes that 80% of everything has to be sleeveless? I don't want to show off my arms, thank you - they are not my best asset. And that cardigans to then cover up the sleeveless-ness must be super expensive and hard to find? I have Kohl's, Ross, Old Navy, and Burlington on my list of places to go tomorrow but the shower is Saturday!

Not that anyone asked, but I'm feeling tons better. The debilitating vertigo-inducing nausea is all but gone! I must still nap sometimes twice a day and make sure I'm snacking or I may bite your head off instead, but I feel pretty good. It's a relief to me, anyway. And so far the only thing I crave is ice water. If someone can find some old wives' tale where craving ice water means you're having a girl it would be greatly appreciated.

You know, I'm not really ashamed of saying that we'll be a little disappointed if we don't have a girl this time around. Anyone who knows us knows that we love being parents and we will welcome any child into this world with love, compassion and warmth. But we want to add a little girl to our family! There's nothing wrong with that. But when people ask if we have a preference and we say a girl it's like there's a whole conversation that stems from that but is never said. And some people go ahead and say "Well healthy is all that matters," like that's not first in our hearts everyday for nine months and everyday thereafter for the rest of forever. It just bugs me that people take "We want a girl" to mean "We won't love a boy". We didn't get pregnant to have a girl, people. We got pregnant to have another baby.

And my dog needs a bath.

There ain't no rest for the wicked

Multiple people have told me how having Joey changed me. I softened during my pregnancy, loving every moment of it and when I gave birth everything in my world changed. Ibecame this token of motherhood. I nurtured him even while he was in the womb, playing soft yet rockable music on my belly. And it has all paid off. Joey is beyond anything I could have expected out of a child, and I'm proud of the result - a kick-ass kid who (for the most part) behaves and is polite.

Why do I mention all of this? Well, today I was at lunch with Joey and the husband and we were talking about just stuff and things. I said, "You know, I think this pregnancy has really brought the..." "...Anita out in you?" he interrupted. Well, I was going to say "You know, I think this pregnancy has really brought out the bitch in me," but didn't want to teach Joey that word. So yes, I had to agree with him. 

See, I'm sick. Not just a little "ooh I don't feel well and isn't it pregnancy wonderful" sick; I'm talking about dizziness, nausea, vertigo, headaches and all-around weakness from sun up to sun down. It blows. And even worse, as much as I try not to, the husband winds up taking a lot of shit from me and does more than his fair share around here. It's not fair and I've told him so but he is Mr. Wonderful and makes sure I don't do too much and go to bed early and is okay with the mood swings provided I apologize after them, which I do.

Yesterday I woke up sick and had some cold canned peaches for breakfast before heading out to meet my trainer at the gym. He may have worked me a little too hard for such a light breakfast but I figured I would be fine to do the grocery shopping and go home. Wrong. I was trying on some swimsuits (we're going boating this weekend) and found out after I was done that they had "tummy control" which really means no bueno for pregnant ladies' sensitive stomachs. So that started me feeling ill in the store but I had to finish getting groceries. Then I get hungry. I figure I can make it, it's just a couple more things. Then I get dizzy and I just about lose my shit because I don't know if I'm going to make it to the car without passing out. Seriously. So I come around an aisle and everything gets a little woozy and I hiccup and almost lose what little breakfast I had but accidentally made an audible burp and this lady, her bleach job and her manicure all look up at me in disgust. I [of course] said "oops! Excuse me" to Joey and restrained myself from letting that lady know her disgusted look makes her injectible wrinkle filler shift and makes her look 10 years older so back the fuck off if she wanted to keep up the facade she was still in her early 30's.

We went to Sears this morning and took our first studio family portrait and I was really expecting an awesome experience. It was the same studio I took Joey to for his Easter photos and they came out so great. We had a really rad photographer that time; she really connected with Joey and got some great smiles out of him. The photographer we had today, however, was a total amateur in comparison. She put us in such contrived and cheesy poses I at one point looked at her after she directed me to lay on my stomach, rest on my elbows and put my chin in my palms and said "I'm not doing that." Maybe that made her nervous and maybe not, but Joey smelled fear or weakness or a combination and was undirectable during the whole thing. The husband kept jumping in and trying to control him, only further confusing him. When the photographer tried to pose Joey to take a photo from above and was trying to get him to smile sweetly he put up his rock hands and said very plainly and in a monotone: "whoo." Yeah, we bought that picture.

So we're waiting to view the pictures and this chick has no fucking clue what she's doing because she kept calling another chick in to help her with the computer. I am sitting there just waiting and waiting, thinking about the poses I would have her do in case the ones she took really sucked and we had to do the whole thing over again. I was about to go and say something when she comes in nonchalantly apologizing for how long it took. I didn't say anything - she obviously knew it took fucking forever and I wasn't going to make her feel better for wasting my time. I was right - a lot of the pictures sucked and reeked of cheese. But we found a few we liked and even I was happy with the ones we wound up with.

As we were leaving the mall we decided to stop and have some lunch before we went home and the husband had to go to work (yes, on a Saturday). Which brings us back to the conversation that this pregnancy has brought out the, well... the Anita in me. Haven't you missed her? I am back. I will turn my nose up at you if you are obviously not wearing pants your own size. I will scowl at your dirty unbehaved heathen children. And I will definitely make sure I get what I know is right, fair, and (most importantly) what I want. So watch out world, the bitch is back and she fucking means it.

Isn't pregnancy wonderful?

A seven nation army couldn't hold me back

I want to throw up on your face right now.

Please don't take it personally, it's just the state of normalcy around here. I feel like shit. Then I nap, and 80% of the time I don't feel like shit for at least 3 hours following said nap. Then it starts all over again.

So this past Friday was a beautiful day here in Fort Worth: sunny, hot, not too many clouds in the sky, a little wind. I was running errands near the base and I saw this line of smoke coming from a plane that... oh my gosh... was heading straight for the ground. Like, no control nose down vertical falling to the ground. But nothing happened, and I didn't see the plane anymore. I went into the craft store and saw a huge poster for a free airshow on Saturday at the base. Duh! They were just practicing!!! So I call the husband and he's been watching them practice all day and we talk about going, but I have more errands to run and the discussion is tabled until he gets home. I took Joey to get his hair cut and while we're waiting in the reception area I hear this BOOM-whoosh! sound and then this weird feeling like everything in the salon (including the windows) bowed inward and then returned to normal. Turns out they were flying the F-18 and getting it to the fine line right before breaking the sound barrier and they must have pushed a little too hard because what I heard and felt was a sonic boom.

So we're all set to go see the airshow and then overnight... the rain came. And didn't leave. So we're constantly checking the website and we go get Joey a raincoat (but not rainboots because we obviously weren't taking into consideration that when rain falls it makes puddles and will soak right through Converse and socks) and an umbrella and headed out to the base. We got to look in a bunch of planes, and put Joey in a few. It was pretty cool. We got to go in the plane that the husband works on for the Air Force, the kind he rides all over the world in. Let me just tell you - it's not even remotely comfortable looking. There's wires and stuff all over the ceiling and walls, the seats fold down from the perimeter, and then all the gear goes in the middle. And it's so loud, he says, you have to wear ear protection when you ride it. I can't even imagine.... Then again, I go green even driving into an airport. If I have to fly somewhere I have white knuckles the entire time (they went numb when I flew non-stop to New York) and I'm grey when I get off the plane. So not only am I proud of my husband's service, I think he should get a gold star sticker for surviving those flight conditions.

Anyway, we were really unsure if we were going to see airplanes fly that day, but the sky cleared up a little and we got a totally super awesome rad show. The Doctor lent Joey her ear protector headphones (I don't really know why she had them in the first place) so when the F-16 and F-18 started flying Joey looked super cool. There were stunt flyers, a biplane, a B-52 flew over (8 engines!) - it was really cool. Joey even kind of paid attention, too. The F-18 did that thing like the day before, and right before a sonic boom the entire plane gets enveloped in this weird bubble thing. It was so cool.

So towards the end of the show Joey has to go to the bathroom. All they had was... porta-potties. Thankfully the husband took him in one hand and hand sanitizer in the other. Ugh. So they're gone for a little while and when they come back Joey has a gigantic hot dog in his hand, holding his daddy's hand and hopping along looking like the happiest kid in the world. It was enough to almost move me to tears. Turns out the hot dog stand was closing and had six hot dogs left so they gave one to Joey. It wasn't even a hot dog, really. It was a whole sausage link on a huge bun. He was so happy with it, though. So the show ended and we were walking back to the car and he's just chowing down. He finished it and was talking to us about the planes and then he stopped and held out his hands and looked around and said "Hey! Where's my food?!" In all seriousness, he had forgotten that he already finished it and thought we had heinously taken it from him. The husband said "You finished it, buddy. You ate the whole thing." And Joey almost fell apart. Poor kid, we were laughing so hard and all he wanted was his hot dog back.

It's been a long time since the party and the room is in a mess

I tried. I tried so hard. I even set my alarm last night. For 7 am. I was going to hop out of bed, put on my gym clothes, make some breakfast and head out to the gym.

At 8:30 I had already hit the snooze button so many times, and when the alarm went off the last time Joey was in the room and yelled "That really hurts my ears! Get up!" So I told him to leave the room so I could get dressed and to go get himself dressed. He won and stood at the bottom of the stairs for 10 minutes yelling "Are you dressed yet?" every couple of seconds. It wasn't my fault - I couldn't find the gym pants I like. I have 3 pairs of them, and it turns out every single one of them was in the dirty laundry. So I put on my B Team workout clothes and was absolutely displeased with the image looking back at me in the mirror (read: I looked like a fatass in the pants). I could in no way rally myself to want to go out in public looking like that, so I decided to stay home and do the laundry. Sure... that counts as a workout.

So I'm totally involved yesterday's "Oprah" while waiting for a load to finish drying when I realize I have lost my son. It's not a big house, and I hear some rustling in the bathroom so I figure he's doing his business in there. 10 or so minutes later I realize I have lost my son again and still hear rustling in the bathroom so I ask him what he's doing in there. "Well... I'm just coloring." Coloring? Really? Oh....

See, the husband and I bought Joey some soap crayons for his Easter basket this year and he absolutely loves them. He asked me earlier today if he could play with them, and I told him those are for only when he's in the bathtub.

So I walk into his bathroom and I'm about to get angry. He got the colors and colored all over one of the walls of his shower. But then I stopped. He was in the bathtub, after all.

We get the funniest looks from everyone we meet

Since he was a baby, Joey has been able to sleep through just about anything. We had multiple parties while he was newborn in our little apartment, a few more at our old house and he'd just snooze like nothing was going on. I am totally the same way - a heavy hard sleeper and don't even try and wake me up because I will come at you like something out of a horror movie. I'm not even a zombie until I've been "awake" for 10 minutes.

Anyway, early this morning after the husband went to work Joey let me know he peed in his bed and jammies. I told him to change his clothes and then come upstairs. He did so and actually fell back asleep which was good because I wasn't getting out of bed until my alarm rang in an hour and 15 minutes. So when it did ring I of course slapped the snooze button and glanced over at him - and he was still fast asleep. Didn't even stir.

My alarm used to have a nickname in college, given to me by my roommates. It was called The Louder Than Fuck Alarm. It has this "LOUD" setting that might actually raise the dead (further testing is needed) but couldn't rouse me from my sleep. And I'm talking about completely sober mornings, too. It still can't get me out of bed unless I implicitly have something to do in the morning.

So I needed to get Joey up and going because I was amused enough by him sleeping through the alarm to be awake and then I noted that I was hungry. I thought it would be a treat to turn on PBS and watch Sesame Street for a few minutes until he was awake. I pressed the "ON" button on the remote and the electric hum of the tv turning on got the kid to sit straight up in the bed from a dead sleep and he said/mumbled "Can I watch cartoons?"

Well it's time to begin as the summer sets in

After getting home from a great weekend with the inlaws, I got an envelope in the mail with the coolest fabric samples in it! Yay Big Sister! This stuff is awesome, and I can't wait to get started on what's sure to be the Great Robot Room Debacle. But no worries; it will turn into The Coolest Thing I've Done to Date right at the last minute. Then I'll have to think of The Next Coolest Thing to do; I'm already scheming, and I'm sure you will all be surprised and then jealous of my coolness.

Wouldn't it be totally rad to have a room full of toys? Just toys - shelves and drawers full of toys, a table to play with above mentioned toys on, a play kitchen and all sorts of play food, an entire bookshelf of books, a colorful rug, and a fun pillow shaped like a turtle to lay on. For some reason unbeknownst to the husband and myself, Joey refuses to play in his playroom! We tell him to go play there, and he screams like we told him to get Daddy's pliers and pull out his big toenail on his left foot (I know, I've told him to do the latter before and it's totally the same scream).

I'm so over it. I could turn that room into a future nursery or something and save myself the aggravation of a JoeyFit. I suppose that a lot of it has to do with how we had our old house set up; most of the toys were on a shelf in the living room and whatever wasn't was in his room. And we had no problem with him bringing the toys from his room to the living room. I was a single parent back then and it was easiest to keep him near me in the front of the house while I did whatever I had to do. But now I set aside a special area just for him to help contain the mess and he treats it like a cell in Sing Sing.

I've even considered going to a dark dark evil place: putting a tv and DVD player in the playroom. There I could research and develop my own special brand of zombie and start calling him The 3 Year Old Undead Wonder. I can totally see it now: him sitting on his knees with his arms lax at his sides, his head turned all the way up resting on the back of his neck, eyes open wide and his mouth open wider. I'd say "Joey?" and he'd grunt at me. I'd turn off the tv and he'd attack me with all the viciousness of a flesh-eating undead.

Remove the head!!!!!

Some, some, some I, some I murder - some I, some I let go

me: So I've been working out a lot at the gym

husband: Yeah, I know. I'm really proud of you

me: Well, I'm a little discouraged. I don't know if it's working. Do you see any difference in the way I look?

husband: [long, long, desperate pause] Would you be upset if I said no?

me: A little bit.

husband: I'm kind of... you know I'm no good at... um... can I just buy you some jewelry?

But I met with my trainer for my monthly assessment, and everything is okay and he told me not to get discouraged; we're getting there. So I'll still be working on my Michelle Obama arms....

I had a proud mother moment this afternoon while listening to the "Across the Universe" soundtrack. My son loves to sing "Strawberry Fields Forever"! So proud... *tear*.....

Sorry for such a short post today. It's time to be Mary Fucking Sunshine the Happy Homemaker and get some laundry and cleaning done before we take our trip North tomorrow.

And we could do the tango, wherever we go

I did a little research today on Mom groups here in Fort Worth, thinking it might be the best way to get out and meet new people and make some friends for Joey. And there's not all that much in my area. There's a lot in Yuppyville areas, but I'm not interested in trading in my Ramones for Kenny Chesney. Anyway, I'll keep my eyes open online for "cool people" Mom groups.

We're heading North for the weekend and apparently there is to be a social gathering of the husband's friends. And that's about all I have to say on that.

Thinking about going to Houston at the end of May. Little Brother is graduating middle school! It might be nice to go see some fun stuff too, like this. I'm sure Joey would love to see some dinosaurs, too. 

Not that the little beast deserves to go anywhere fun; yesterday I went out to the store for a few things and he wanted a new toy. So I decided to get him the game Memory but he didn't want it. He wanted a "big boy toy" - you know, Mom, like HotWheels! I said no. He could have Memory, but if he didn't want Memory he could have nothing. He took too long (like 5 minutes) to decide, and in the end he didn't get anything. But he sure screamed all the way out of the store, into the car, and all the way home! Now before you call me Bad Mommy come over to my house and check out his playroom - yes, a whole room devoted to Joey's toys. This kid has SO many toys he has no idea what to do with them, for real. I have seen him take out a bunch of toys and then jump around all anxiety-ridden because he doesn't know which one to play with. I would personally love to get rid of all of them save the books, HotWheels and anything educational. But the husband won't let me. So please, don't get my kid toys. Get him a book.

Or Memory.

He's had a rough couple of days with staying out of Mommy's hair. I'm sure it's my fault, but by the end of the day I am absolutely zapped of energy and pissed off with a headache. Then when the husband gets home the kid screams and yells and jumps, the dog is running around crazy taking out everything in her path and I want nothing to do with any of them. But this morning we had a pretty good time. We ate breakfast and I started some laundry and then Joey came up to me and said he wanted a snack.  This is how it went:

joey: Mommy, can I have a snack?

me: How do you ask for a snack?

joey: Can I have a snack please?

me: Sure. What would you like for snack?

joey: Poop.

me: I'm sure I didn't hear you right. What do you want for snack?

joey: Poop.

me: Little boys don't eat poop for snack.

joey: Then can I have fruit snacks?

me: Sure.

joey: And we can have puppy for dinner?

You don't have to admit you wanna play

I was watching "Good Morning America" this morning and heard an awesome story. Apparently this mom kicked her 10 & 12 year old daughters out of the car for fighting. One girl just went home, but the other one got noticed by a bystander and the bystander called police. Then the mom was arrested!

Okay: one time my mom kicked me and Big Sister out of the house and locked the door for pretty much the same thing. Then it started raining. And she wouldn't unlock the door. We didn't have a porch, people; we got rained on. I gotta say, now I would probably have done the same thing. Or at least send the one causing all the problems out (which, of course, could never have been me). Sometimes you have to get creative. Like that time I told Joey that monsters would come out of the floor at McDonald's and bite his toes off one by one if he didn't stay put for the minute and a half it took for us to get our order from behind the counter. Sure - he looked at me with huge eyes of fear, but he stayed put.

And I guess I should warn you all now, since the last time I didn't post I got a couple of demands for an update - I'm going out of town this weekend. So hold your breath - I'll be right back.

Spinning on that dizzy edge

So bored. So, so, so bored.

The husband has his drill this weekend so while he's at the base I'm just kinda here. I cleaned yesterday and I'm sure there's more to be done, but I'm too bored to do it. Same with the art - too bored to do anything. I'll bet it has something to do with the weather - it's rainy and gloomy and muggy and windy and I just want to curl up on the couch and doze off. Which I've already done, but I'm still bored.

Of course, in the time it took for me to type the last two paragraphs Joey has gotten up on the couch and fallen off, knocking over my filled-to-capacity embroidery thread box. I have to have at least 100 different colors in there. So at least now I have something to do... but instead I'm sitting right here in front of the computer. If Trey gets home before I get around to cleaning up the mess I'll just say I was leaving it there for him to see because it made me SO mad I couldn't bear to do it right away. Works every time....

So I've been thinking of all the nontraditional jobs I could do to bring in some money. I only need about $200 a week (post taxes) to make a difference; more if it were to mean I'd need to put Joey in daycare. But if I could work overnight somewhere I wouldn't have to worry about that. How cool would that be - working overnight doing something completely nontraditional? Talk about life experience.... I'm a night person anyway, sometimes to a fault. Those are the night/mornings when I'm still up at 3:30, 4 o'clock in the morning, just because. Or if someone just wants to hand me $200 bucks a week for being me - that would be pretty cool, too. I'm pretty damn good at just being me.

I cannot wait to receive a special package in the mail from New York City. Big Sister is sending me a GREAT fabric sample (from SoHo, no less!) for Joey's robot room quilt. I think I may be nesting - although is it possible to nest before one gets pregnant? Anyway, I want to get on this Robot Room right away, even though I have never quilted before or designed a room from scratch. Let's all just say a little prayer: "Dear lord of the sewing machine, paint brushes, and all things crafty - we're gathered here today to beg your blessing of the Robot Room Project. Many drops of blood, tears of frustration, and curse words will be sacrificed to you during the completion of this undertaking. Please forgive me, for I know not at all what I'm doing."

Come on, even the real God has to have a sense of humor.