(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Happy Lazy Halloween!

It’s the baby’s first Halloween! Hooray! And like the excellent mother that I am, I…totally did nothing to celebrate the occasion.

I know, I’m awful. But guys…it’s a Wednesday. And costumes cost money. And he’s a baby. I just didn’t have it in me to care.

But I did put him in his shark hoodie, which, while not technically a costume (this is just normal adorable everyday wear ’round these parts), should earn him a few points:

And please note that his socks, although monkey-themed and not actually related to Halloween at all, are in fact orange:

And I did have a pumpkin t-shirt from a bag of hand-me-downs (sure, it was technically a girls shirt — but beggars can’t be choosers!):

And Grandma had some pumpkins that he found quite intriguing (too bad the aforementioned pumpkin shirt was dirty by this point in the day):

Best of all, my mom’s neighbor had their house all decked out, providing for this fantastic photo op:

Based on the photos, it almost looks like I put some effort into making my son’s first Halloween special!

Next year, I swear I’ll actually try.

Most likely.

Blistering Heat, Freezing Cold, and Hurricane Sandy

The hubbins and I have lived in our rental house here in LA for about 20 months now, and while I’m not a licensed contractor, I feel confident when I say that I have determined with 99% certainty that my house is constructed out of nothing more than old 1950’s typewriter paper and Elmer’s glue. I cannot even begin to estimate how many times we have bemoaned the lack of insulation up in this bitch — in the summer, it’s a minimum of 15 degrees hotter inside than out (and it gets plenty hot outside); in the winter, I swear I’ve seen frost develop on the inside of our pathetic excuses for windows (which appear to be made out of that plastic film you use to make Shrinky Dinks).

And have I mentioned that we have neither central air nor heat?

During the seemingly infinite heat waves, our “air conditioning” consists of opened windows, a few strategically aimed fans, and tears (they really cool you down when the fans hit your face!). For those icy cold LA winters (shut up), we do have heat, but since the only two furnaces in the house are located in the most ridiculous locations possible — each one faces a bathroom (WHY!?), which is just delightful when you get up in the middle of the night to pee but absolutely useless while you shiver in bed down the hall — it’s not much better during the “cold” months.

There’s No Crying In Baseball

As is well-documented in this here blog, I truly love being a mother. It really seems to suit me, and I think I’m doing a bang-up job. It’s been nearly 11 months now and my son hasn’t been arrested or developed a drug habit (that I’m aware of) yet. Mother of the year!

Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain that being an excellent mother is going to get harder as Bubba gets older, primarily because I’m supposed to set good examples for him…and that sounds pretty tricky. As a baby, he doesn’t pay much attention to what I do unless it directly involves him, but I know that’s going to change soon. I’m well aware that children pick up on their parents’ behavior, attitudes, and moods and often follow suit, and this frightens me to no end.

I’m full of bad behavior that no child should emulate. I don’t eat vegetables. I’ve been known to get cranky. Perhaps worst of all, I cry when the Yankees lose in the post-season.

Literally.

Wordless Wednesday: Puffs & Crackers (Does He Eat Anything Else?)

Weekend Wrap-Up: Productivity Queen

As a “mommy blogger,” I consider it my duty to religiously follow no fewer than one zillion other blogs. Most of the time, my blog obsession results in little more than fits of jealousy as I bemoan the superior popularity of every other blog on the planet (how do you do it?!? Who do I need to bribe?) and drool over all the cool site designs I am too lazy/untalented to implement on this hunk of junk, but every once in a while I glean some serious inspiration from my fellow bloggers.

On Friday, I happened upon a blog written by an insane person. Well, technically speaking, she’s not insane — just one of those maddening domestic goddesses that cooks literally everything from scratch (SHE HAS GOATS AND MILKS THEM DAILY, YOU GUYS) and makes all kinds of awesome crafts (SHE HAS A VINYL MACHINE THINGY, YOU GUYS) and lives super frugally and has a gorgeous house and essentially is everything I wish I could be in terms of homemaking.

Needless to say, my jealousy was through the roof.

But! So was my inspiration! If this woman can make all-natural homemade pop-tarts out of spelt flour (which I had never even heard of but apparently is some sort of even-better-for-you alternative to whole wheat), surely I can take five minutes to fold the clean laundry that’s been rotting in the basket for a week, right?

RIGHT!

And fold that laundry I did. AND SO MUCH MORE! Fasten your seat belts and be prepared to be jealous of ME (unless you are the type of person who makes your own organic soap, in which case, prepare to laugh at my embarrassing attempt to be like you) because I was EXTREMELY PRODUCTIVE this this weekend. Let’s break it down:

Big Boy (Someday)

Around 3 o’clock this morning, as I was rocking the baby back to sleep for the six hundredth time of the night (there better be a tooth to show for this nonsense, stat), I consoled myself by thinking about how he wouldn’t be a baby forever. At some point these sleepless nights will be a thing of the past, along with the diapers and the formula and those godawful talking Leapfrog toys (which are sure to haunt my dreams for years to come; in fact, I wholly intend to use my dying breath to croak out a raspy “thanks for learning with Leapfrog…bye bye…”).

Yes, someday my baby is going to grow up and I’m going to have a “big kid.” This all sounded great to my sleep-deprived brain in the wee hours of the morning, but after I finally got a couple precious hours of sweet, sweet sleep and was able to put together a coherent thought or two, I began feeling a bit sad at the thought of eventually trading in my little lad for a certified Big Boy.

A big boy who doesn’t want to cuddle with his mama.

A big boy who doesn’t think I’m hilarious (and he’ll be WRONG because I totally am), and probably even finds me quite embarrassing.

A big boy who thinks Bubba is a dumb nickname (I’ll concede that he’ll be correct on that account).

A big boy who argues with me over everything from what to watch on TV to whether he has to eat his vegetables (the answer is YES, even though vegetables are indeed nasty…)

Stop the train! I’m not ready for all that, and I’m not sure I ever will be. I like my baby, thankyouverymuch — 2am cryfests and all. I see now why my grandmother had 10 children: you need a fresh baby every time another morphs into a Big Kid.

Seriously, come on:

Someday that beautiful baby is going to rebuff my attempt to kiss him goodnight, and my heart is going to break.

(Solution: I’m going to need to have another baby every few years. Someone fill TFW in for me.)

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Thanks to Mama Kat‘s writer’s workshop prompt (“someday I’m going to ___”) for the inspiration!

I’m Dreaming of an Unemployed Husband

Last November, when I was 8 months pregnant with Bubba, TFW was informed that his department was being downsized and thus he would no longer have a job as of January 1. What awful timing for such terrible news, right?

WRONG! I’ve never been so happy in my life.

Prior to getting that “bad” news, I had spent the duration of my pregnancy in a constant state of stress about what would happen after I had the baby. Thanks to this country’s horrific lack of reasonable laws regarding maternity leave (thanks a lot, Obama*), if I wanted to keep my job (and I sure did), I was going to have to return to work precisely three weeks after giving birth.

Which of course meant that I’d have to start looking for a nanny approximately 3 minutes after giving birth (I felt that I couldn’t hammer it down ahead of time because I didn’t know exactly when the baby would be arriving and thus couldn’t give anyone a firm start date, and, more importantly, because I was a nervous wreck throughout my pregnancy and was superstitiously convinced that too much planning would surely result in disaster; yes, I realize how ridiculous that sounds now and yes, the sheer pathetic-ness is making me cringe). And then prepare to hand my three week old newborn over to a virtual stranger every day.

I cried stress-tears every day for about four straight months.

Deputy Director of Sickly Activities

A fun Friday riddle for all you puzzle-lovers: What has two ruptured eardrums, leaked foul-smelling ear discharge onto my sweater, ran up a $173 bill at the pharmacy, and was recently elected Deputy Director of Sickly Activities in Sickville County, USA?

Answer: My son!

It’s been a long week.

It started on Monday, when Bubba ran a fever and was just generally out of sorts (think lots of assorted pathetic whimpers and sad half-hearted playtime that consisted primarily of listlessly cuddling stuffed animals with one hand while forlornly sucking his thumb):

Things did not improve on Tuesday, but, like any terrible mother, I just kept pouring Tylenol down his gullet and assumed he’d be fine by the next day. I mean come on, he’s a healthy kid! Surely he’ll buck up in the morning — no one has a fever for three straight days, right?

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Happy Anniversary

2005:
2006:

2007:

2008:

Wedding! 10/10/2009:

2010:

2011:

2012:

Happy anniversary to the love of my life and the best baby-daddy a gal could ask for.

Thanks for loving me through 30 different hair colors and countless questionable fashion choices!

Just Another Manic Monday…

It’s not over yet, but I’m over it.

It being Monday, of course.

How much did I hate today? Let me count the ways…

3: Number of times the baby woke up between midnight and 5:30am

7:29: Time I received a text from the babysitter’s sister reporting that said babysitter was too sick to work

8:00: Time I am supposed to start work

1: Frantic phone call to my mom begging her to let me bring the baby over

6 million: Things I had to do to get the baby and myself ready to head over to my mom’s

7:59: Time I left the house. And no, my mom does not live one minute away.

7: Droplets of gasoline in my car’s gas tank

4.76: Price per gallon of gasoline at the station by the freeway on-ramp

15: Number of times I’ve told people (thus far) about the ridiculous price I paid for gasoline. Seriously, people: $4.76!!!!!!!!!!

41: Minutes late I logged into work

4: Number of things I quickly discovered I forgot to pack in my mad rush to leave the house

102: Approximate temperature the baby spiked shortly after arriving at Grandma’s

0: Amount of baby Tylenol I packed in the diaper bag (I’m sure Grandma loved her trip to the drugstore with a feverish baby in tow…)

250: Approximate count of pathetic whimpers I heard from the baby while I worked (sick baby = saddest sound ever)

1: Number of delicious Chipotle burritos my dad brought me for lunch. At least one awesome thing occurred today!

300: Number of times I apologized to and thanked my mom for being a Certified Lifesaver

0: Number of chilled Caffeine Free Diet Dr Peppers in my fridge when I got home. HOW COULD I FORGET TO PUT A NEW PACK IN?!

0: Number of activities not involving “sit in Mama’s lap” the baby was interested in engaging in this evening

2-1: Current score in the Yanks-Orioles game. The 2 is not the Yankees.

9:45: Time I have to go pick up my sis at the airport tonight. This day may never end…

Is it Friday yet?