Eh? What'd You Say?

Please tell me the screaming and screeching phase doesn't last long.

What?

What was that?

Speak up, I can't hear you!

Seriously, I'm surprised the husband's ear drums didn't shatter tonight when we were on the phone and E decided to climb up me and shriek right next to it every five seconds. My head is pounding and my ears are still ringing. I'm coming down with something involving a fever, chills and a sore throat, so the patience level was non-existent by the time the kid was deposited in her lid-less cage for the night. Thankfully, it's the weekend and there are five unsuspecting grandparents to pawn her off on.

Although, this is an excellent payback for the drum set next door. In fact, we hung out on that side of the apartment most of the day.

Dear Bicor VX1005

I hate you.

Yes, hate is a strong word, but I feel you truly deserve it. You are a sorry excuse for a sewing machine, dropping stitches, breaking needles, jamming the bobbin and switching tension when ever you want. It is completely unacceptable to cause me to stop and fix something every six inches, and to turn a two hour project into five.

In case my point was not made clear by the repeated obscenities and banging on the table, you're on very thin ice here. If it hadn't been one in the morning and ten degrees outside, you can be sure that the dumpster would be your new home. And dumpsters are very lonely, cold places.

I expect that we'll have a better relationship tonight. Otherwise . . . well, it's sayonara. Because I have 20 yards of fabric that aren't going to sew themselves.

That Moment of Wild Panic

Catching up on my Google Reader this morning, I did my usual quick skim, half-attention catch up. As I scrolled down through the latest post by Ask And Ye Shall Receive, my name jumped out. (Actually, it was more like it reached through the monitor and smacked me upside the head.)

So, I backed that page up and started really reading, while the little commentary played in my head.

"Oh, shit!

I'm not ready for this.

Crap, this is gonna hurt.

Where was my A-game?

Oh, what A-game? I never had any A-game.

Snark! There's no snark! They'll hate it!

Oh.

Wait.

Shit! She doesn't hate it!"

Thank you Calamity, for not tearing me apart. And for acknowledging something very near and dear to my heart - punctuation. (A red pen and some time alone with a piece of writing is what I call a hot date).

Final rating:

To read the full review, go here: Baby Mix Me A Drink

Don't Think, It Might Hurt

It's crunch time. The southbound wagon train leaves in one month. So, I think it's perfectly justifiable that I have been slightly panicky about finding somewhere to live for the past few months. The rental market in the low country is brutal, unless you have your very own magic money tree and can rent one of the brand new luxury homes popping up everywhere. We don't. The only thing the foliage around here produces is a mess for me to clean up.

I found an adorable little house in a perfect location for a price so low that it's probably built on haunted burial grounds or something. Nothing we can't live with. I'm cheap, so four walls, all the major appliances and new carpet is about all it takes to sell me on something. I got a little giddy when I saw the double basin sink in the kitchen, though.

After almost a week of waiting to find out if our application had been approved or not, I started nagging the rental company. Turns out, it wasn't a case of southern style business practices and they were actually on top of things. It was my current apartment manager that was holding everything up. So, I marched myself down there through 10 inches of fresh snow and a raging blizzard. (Okay, so it wasn't quite raging, and the path was pure slush, but still).

Me: "Hi, my name is Jayna and there is a rental company in Georgia that has been contacting you about a referral for us."

Clueless Chick #1: "Uh-huh."

Me: "I need to know the status on that, as it's very important that it be sent back as soon as possible."

Clueless Chick #2: "Dee (actual apartment manager) just got back from vacation last week."

Me: "Uh-huh. So?"

Clueless Chick #1: "She's very busy. It might take a while for her to get caught up on everything that has piled up." (She gestures to a stack of filing boxes, which has only one thing in it. Suspiciously, it looks like a referral form.)

Me: "Uh-huh. So, how long do you think it's going to take, as she's already had it a week now."

Clueless Chick #2: "Maybe another couple of weeks."

Me, trying not to laugh: "Weeks? It's seriously going to take weeks to fill out one sheet of paper and fax it?"

Clueless Chick #2: "Well, she's really behind. You should have asked for this a lot farther in advance. It always takes a long time. It's not our fault you didn't plan ahead."

Me: " . . . "

*crickets*

*death stare*

*flaming daggers*

Dee (walking into the office): "Hey Jayna! How's that adorable baby? Oh! I sent your referral this morning, did you want a copy of it?"

*sound of heels clacking as Clueless #1 and #2 scatter*

A Captive's Story

"Hey! I can't get this open. What's the deal here?"

"Dude, seriously? We're stuck in here at the big people's mercy?"

"Ahhhhhh! Noooooo! Let us out!!!"

"We're all going to starve! We'll have to eat paper!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

**I am seriously pissed at myself for cutting off her head in that last picture, cause that one is just priceless**

The Pumpkin is Home

Or, would I not be a pumpkin yet, since I made it in before midnight?

I haven't been out of my apartment after dark, other than a jaunt downstairs to the car, in months. Seriously. Months. The kid goes to sleep by 6pm, which means dinner is at 5, which means I'm usually home by then. So, it's completely normal that I spent most of my evening out tonight on the brink of an anxiety attack . . . right? Right?

Today, I cashed in on a Christmas present and went to see Wicked. My stepmother, her two daughters, her three sisters, and one niece all went as well. The play was absolutely awesome and I'm telling you right now that you should go. Run and buy tickets, it's that good. The company, however, was rather eye opening. It was like a day-long game of "one of these things is not like the other." I wasn't expecting to hear tales of who shot who, or which friend is in jail for drugs, or how many kids so and so has, or how many DUIs everyone has. It was a perfect example of how sheltered us country bumpkins can be.

Anyways, my ears are still ringing from sitting at a tiny dinner table with 7 other talkative women, and I have this incredible urge to go wake the kid up to give her a big hug. Seeing how I'm not quite that crazy, I'm just going to settle for worrying that she didn't drink enough all day and pick up the toysplosion that happens when grandpa lets someone get into everything.

What I've Been Up To

Mmmm, fluffy bum! The first picture is of some prefolds made out of bamboo velour and bamboo terry, with a pocket to stuff with doublers. I had a ball dying them all different colors, and they will be making their debut on my hyenacart store next week. Super excited only comes close to describing it.

The next pictures are of my unhappy and uncooperative model in the first fitted I made. Somehow it turned out perfect, and as soon as I get my gigantic order of fabric, I'll be pumping these suckers out like crazy, replacing my $20 ones that fit exactly the same. I had a huge "Yay! Yay! Yay!" moment today when I tried it on her, because I, as usual, ordered before I knew I could definitely use the fabric.

That sewing machine was the best thing to ever come from the in-laws. Besides the husband, of course.

This is How We Get Things Done

10 and a half months. I've lived here at this particular address for 10 and a half months. Know how many complains I've lodged with the post office?

12.

Damn. I didn't realize just how anal I was till I went back through my files and counted. (Yes, I do file stuff like that. Yes, that contributes to the anal-ness. Yes, I am considering therapy for my problems.) That's more than one incident a month. Pretty bad track record, even for an office managed by a guy name T-Cat with hair down to his waist.

There have been lost packages, smashed packages, opened packages, packages not picked up, packages dropped outside the door and left in the rain, packages jammed in the door, and more lost packages. And now I'm on a first name basis with Mr. T-Cat.

Today is the beginning of a new era though. I opened my door and nearly tripped over a package. On my mat. All the way up here. On the third floor. Sweet postal gods, someone did their job!

Apparently, my route has become such a nuisance that not only do I have a brand new post lady delivering everything, but she is under orders to bring my packages all the way up to my door.

So, the new motto is going to be 'just bitch harder' and maybe things will get done.

Can You Dig It?

Dear Sesame Street . . .

Thank you.

Thank you for 5 minutes to eat breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever meal that was.

Although I'm not feeling the new "PC" version compared to what I remember, I still find the counting games and letter of the day to be wonderful background noise for that glorious hour.

She digs it.

And I dig anything that keeps the miniature tornado out of trouble.
(I think she's been deprived from regular diapers too much. There was nothing but pure joy as she ripped apart this package I found in the closet and deliberately flung each and every one around the room. We stopped the game before she could attack the other package.)

Huh? Sleeping? Me? Nah . . .

Where, oh where, have I been? Passed out. That's where.

And not just passed out. Paaaaaasssssssed out.

See, every night I rock E for a little bit before I stick her in the crib. Lately, we've been doing a lot less rocking, as I manage to put myself to sleep shortly after her. Luckily I haven't dropped her yet. I've been waking up an hour or so later, wondering what in the world happened. And then my whole night is thrown off track, because I've had orders to make and sitting on my butt in front of the computer is last on the priority list.

And then last night, I did my best to stay awake to get her in the crib, and then came out into the living room. I sat down on the couch to fold clothes, and well, that's the last thing I remember. I woke up at 12:30 in a puddle of drool.

So, given the fact that I'm only getting more and more tired, it's "peace out, ya'll" tonight. I've got a little bit of sewing to do, and then I'm going to purposely pass out. In bed. Where I belong. No more of this couch stuff.

Theme Thursday - Pure

The theme for this week was "pure". Interpretively, this could go a lot of ways, but we're going with the straightforward one - straight out of camera, or SOOC.

I'll be the first to admit that I haven't met a photo I didn't want to edit, but this was a good exercise in restraint. Sometimes it's perfectly fine to leave it alone. Unfortunately, the "whoa, this light is awesome, I don't even need to adjust the levels" moment is very rare for me. I have no patience, I shoot and think about the elements later. (It could have something to do with the fact that it's ass freezing cold outside and I practically live in a cave with no light in the first place). The other day, though, was one of those rare moments.


Check out more Theme Thursday over at The Land of K.A.

Wordless Wednesday - Cheese!

Really, You Can Learn From Me

So, say it's wickedly cold outside. Blowing, snowing, sleeting, snizzle, the works. You're not only out of food, but you're also out of toilet paper. You'd go out, right?

Well, I did. E was bundled into a marshmallow state, and I warmed the car up for nearly a half an hour to start thawing the ice enough to scrape it off. We headed out and went to the grocery store and Target. Idiot drivers were, of course, out in full force. You know, the ones that forgot that generally you park in rows in a parking lot, not diagonally. Or the one that drives down the center of two lanes, despite two clear sets of tracks. And the one that stops 15 feet before the trigger for the turning lane, causing a huge backup because the light never changes, they don't move, and no one can go around them.

I made it back, after learning that the anti-skid function on my car sounds like something horrible is happening to the front end, and that I really should slow down on my apartment complex drive. (Downhill, 90 degree turn, and a giant ditch on the other side). It was raining freezing rain really hard when I pulled in, so I just grabbed E and ran into the building. I thought I would go down after she fell asleep and get my groceries.

But see, it was freezing rain.

Crap.

And now it's 12 degrees out.

Crap.

And my car is frozen solid.

Crap.

And the toilet paper is still in there.

Along with the Kleenex. And the paper towels. And my Reese's peanut butter & chocolate heart.

Shit.

Georgia . . . Georgia . . . I've got Georgia on my mind. . .

And Then the Doorbell Rang

Have I said before how awesome my husband is? Because, he is. Very awesome.

Smack dab in the middle of E's afternoon nap, my ridiculously loud buzzer went off from the lobby downstairs. Eff'ing this and eff'ing that, I buzzed the door open and went out into my hallway, ready to give whomever it was a giant piece of my mind.

**It's been a while, but any time someone needed to get into the building, they would randomly buzz someone's apartment, hoping they were home and would let them in. Since I wasn't expecting any packages, it was fairly safe to assume the hoodlums were at it again. And after the last couple times, I swore the next person was going to get handed a screaming baby and really experience the reason they shouldn't do that.**

However . . . up the stairs came the FTD delivery guy, carrying this awesome vase of flowers. And I melted. A little puddle of mushy, weepy me out in the hallway.

And then I heard someone crying. Loudly.

So much for naptime.

Oh, It Gets Better

So, obnoxious saxophone playing neighbors?

They are now ridiculously beyond annoying saxophone AND drum playing neighbors.

I shit you not.

A few days after my last mention of the endless practicing, I heard something odd. I was washing clothes, so I wrote it off as my washer making some wicked bad sounds and ignored it. Then, the next day, I heard it again. It didn't last long, and I completely forgot about it. The day after that though, was an afternoon filled with the delights of saxophone scales and senseless drum banging. I listened closely, holding onto a shred of hope that it was just a snare, and not a whole set. And that hope was brutally shattered today to the tune of crashing cymbals, booming bass and banging snare. All approximately 2 inches on the other side of the shared wall.

What apartment dwelling parent would be so cruel to their neighbors as to not only get their kids an entire drum set, but to set it up as close to the other apartment as possible?

Seriously?

7 more weeks. 7 more weeks. 7 more weeks.

Wordless Wednesday - St. Simon's

And, I'm cheating and making this only half of a wordless kind of post . . .

I stumbled across something on the great internet world that has left me scratching my head. Thanks to my trusty hit counter, I found one of my pictures somewhere else. Frankly, I don't like that form of flattery. Nor can I see why they would want it, because I'm not really that good. I mean, seriously, if you're going to poach pictures, take one from a good photographer at least!

So, from here on out, I will be watermarking. As much as it bugs the crap out of me to add an extra step, and as ridiculous as it may look stuck on those random, crappy snapshots, it will be there.

(And, no, it wasn't a picture of E.)

Apparently Driver's Ed is Not a Requirement

It's always the brilliant ideas that go down in flames the best.

Today was a soggy, dreary, crappy day. But, it was a warm kind of crappy. A virtual heat wave at 50 degrees. And by late afternoon, E and I were going a bit beyond stir crazy. So, I bundled her up, grabbed a couple of blankets, and pulled on my boots. I got her all settled and cozy in the stroller, with the blankets draped so she would stay dry everywhere. And off we went, up the road and to the store.

There is one intersection I have to cross, and it's the main road. There are four lanes, plus a turning lane. However, there is no cross walk there, or anywhere in this po-dunk village. The light switches just long enough for me to haul ass across, and hope some dimwit doesn't turn without looking.

Well, the dimwits were out in full force today.

The light switched and I started across, keeping an eye on the cars pulling up. I was just about in front of the turning lane when a police car pulled up and jerked to a stop. Stupidly, I assumed he saw me, and that's why it was so sudden.

Nope.

After his car jerked to a stop, he gunned it, about to make the turn. Which was a bit of a problem because - A) his light was red and B) I was directly in front of him.

Being that I'm here writing this, it's safe to assume that not only did he stop and not run us over, but also that I am not in jail for assaulting a police officer for being an idiot. If he would have so much as touched E's stroller with the grill of his car . . .

Yeah, use your imagination. As it was, the evil eye was nowhere near enough. I seriously considered really letting know how I felt, but settled for a tamer hand gesture.

Eventually we made it to the store and did our shopping. Checked out and headed back home.

And then the rain started.

The kid was warm and dry.

The groceries were safe and dry.

I was sopping wet.

Who Wants Her?

E and I spent the weekend at my mom's house. And it was glorious.

Sleeping all night long, kind of glorious.

Seriously. The kid will pitch a fit, convince me I'm confining her to a torture chamber, and wake up every two hours for the first part of the night. But the second we're at grandma's house? Angelic. Perfect. Asleep before hitting the mattress. Not a peep, all night long.

So yeah, next time we're having another bout of sleeping wars here - we're packing up and heading to grandma's. She can wear herself out chasing dogs and climbing stairs (neither of which she sees here).

Taking Care of Business (Finally!)

Burgh Baby's Mom was kind enough to share the love long, long ago. And, I've completely slacked on all things related to bloggy love. Better late than never, eh? So, BBM, my freakily similar bloggy buddy, thank you.

I'm sending Nap Warden's award on to Veronica at Sleepless Nights, cause well, I can't stop reading her blog. And it's a really happy time over there right now, so it deserves some celebration!

The Blog Buddies Award I'm sending on to Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter, cause, again, I can't stop reading her blog. And I love when she pops up over here.

And now, knocking all this tag-you're-it stuff out of the way at once . . . on to Burgh Baby's Mom's tag for a meme.

5 things I want my kid to know:
1. It's better to be happy with yourself, than to be like everyone else.
2. Appreciate rainbows, fresh cut grass, glittering icicles and all the gifts of nature.
3. That money doesn't grow on trees, and things in life are rarely free, so learn to save.
4. Never hide intelligence or creativity.
5. Sometimes life's problems can be solved with milk and cookies and a good snuggle.

5 things you want to tell your child when she is grown up:
1. You are not defined by your relationship status. One plus one still makes two, and you should never change who you are for a man.
2. Explore the world at every chance you get.
3. About grandma, and great grandma, and why you need to know yourself.
4. It really is okay to start with dessert.
5. Work where you're happy, not where you're paid the most.

5 things you want to tell your child before you die:
1. You changed my life in ways you'll never know.
2. As much about your great grandpa as I can.
3. Why I fell in love with your father.
4. Always take pride in yourself and what you do. Do not settle for 'good enough'.
5. Secrets. My deep, dark, oldest secrets.

5 things you want your child to know before she dies:
1. Satisfaction, with anything - love, family, work, yourself.
2. Why baby hugs are so special.
3. How the mist of a waterfall feels, how wind on top of a mountain feels, and how ocean waves feel.
4. Devotion. Old fashioned devotion to something that draws you deeply.
5. More than me. If I can share as much as I know, then you can know so much more.

Tag-you're-it to Jenn at Life on the Roof, and anyone else who wants it.