The Box Is Waiting

I was accused yesterday by the husband of being a pack rat. He elaborated to say that, no, I am just a pack rat for boxes. Which I fully admit, and have no shame. You know why?

Because my nearly new, absolutely perfect, dearly beloved iMac will be riding in style in it's original box. And I will be a hell of a lot calmer about sticking it underneath 5 tons of cat and kid stuff in the back of my car.

So, in the box it goes. Tomorrow.

I've got butterflies kick-boxing me in my stomach lately.

Tomorrow, E, the cats, and I will head off to my mom's for a few days. The trailer is getting loaded on Saturday, and the wagon train is kicking off on Wednesday.

Here come the Yankees!!

So, being that all my pictures are on this computer, and I'll be slumming it on my mother's HP after this . . . I give you E's Easter pictures. Or, at least, the four I felt like editing.

11 Months Old

For once I'm hitting the monthly milestone on the right day. The kid is 11 months old. Climbing everything - couches, chairs, boxes, baby gates, over dogs, bathtub sides, toilets, window sills. It won't be long before I find her swinging from the chandelier. She is growing into a little replica of her daddy, constant chatter, snuggle bum, and a lover of all things involving uncontrollable laughter. She says "neigh" for horses, "meow" for cats and just laughs at the dogs. I'm waiting for the day when she actually tells me off when I take away the paper she has shoved in her mouth, instead of screaming "BAH BAH BAH!" at me. (We all know she really means "Hey! Stupid $%*#@! Gimme my %$#@%*% paper back!!")

If You Don't Have Stairs

Make your own!

This is what happens and makes one realize that it's no longer safe to go pee by yourself.

This Is A New One

Four moves in three years, and I've learned a lot of valuable tidbits of information along the way. Such as:

~If something is painted blue, it will rub on your couch in the one spot that isn't covered.
~Fishtanks break. Especially when the elevator door closes on them.
~Nothing ever goes back together again the same way. That desk will always wobble and that chair will always creak.
~Sleeper sofas are a bitch to get up and down three flights of stairs.
~Never, ever throw away a box. Otherwise you'll be wishing you still had what that table/microwave/sewing machine came in.
~Flirt with the box boys at the grocery store and those egg boxes are all yours.
~Putting the screws to every unassembled piece of furniture in one bag is a really, really bad idea.
~Rubbermaid totes are not meant to be filled with textbooks. Nor are they meant to be so full even duct tape won't hold.
~Do not pack the toilet paper. Last thing in, first thing out.
~9 months pregnant really is a great time to move. Telling other people where to put those boxes is a lot more fun than carrying them.
~It's never to early to start packing. Heck, why unpack? Keep half your stuff in boxes, ready to go!

But, the most valuable thing I learned while packing today? Do not try to pack up an 11 month old's room while they are with you. Book in the box, book out of the box. Dress in the box, dress out of the box. Stuffies in the box, screaming tantrum from the child. More toys in the box, absolutely livid child. Child in the box, much more fun.

It doesn't help that she's still in the stage where gnawing off chunks of the cardboard is appealing. I got bit more times than I could count, while fishing out soggy bits and pieces.

It Always Ends The Same Way

There's no fooling this kid. She knows where she belongs - playing on a pile of sand, not snow. Forget this cold crap!

We spent the weekend at grandma's again (trying to fill up the guilt-o-meter for when I move away. Again.) and from Saturday morning to early Sunday morning, we got 24 inches of snow. It was gorgeous . . . for about 5 minutes. That crap was heavy as all get out, and I about busted my ass trying to shovel out my car this morning. I settled for digging a path to get in it and then dropping it into 4-wheel to get over the snow bank in front of it.

Everything was shut down, of course. Even the Pancake Breakfast at the local high school. That, my friends, is disappointment. Digging yourself out of a snowbound house, warming the car up, braving the roads, and finding the parking lot absolutely deserted. Obviously, we aren't the sharpest tools in the shed, not realizing that if most of the churches in the area were canceling services, that a measly pancake breakfast wasn't going to happen.

So, we went over to my grandma's, where I busted my ass again digging a path to her door. There are two lazy, good for nothing (grown men) cousins that live within a mile and we're the ones that have to dig her out. Lazy asses.

Eventually we made it back to my mom's house and I figured that this was an event that should not be missed by the child. We bundled her up and tossed her out in the cold for some pictures.

Fantabulous

10 1/2 months later and we've got our first fever.

I'm such a loving and caring mommy that I just couldn't help but pass on the sickness to the child. Poor thing is miserable and has already been up four times since I put her to bed.

It's gonna be a fun night.

You Know It's Above 40

There's a yearly phenomenon that occurs here in Northern Ohio. It commonly affects high school and college students. Common sense stands no chance. As soon as the temperature hits 40 . . .

They forget to put their pants on.


Yesterday, it hit 56 degrees. Spring! Spring! Spring! Despite the inability to go more than 2 minutes without sniffling and feeling like my head was going to explode, I took the kid out for a walk at the Metroparks. As I strolled along, I was lapped by scantily clad girls sporting fake n' bake legs and asses I would have even been jealous of 10 years ago.

Bitter, party of one, your table is ready.

Is it wrong to hope that those freshman 15 hit hard?

Anyways, I got over myself and came to terms with the perma-jiggle going on with my own rear end. (Not running anymore is killing me. But given the fact that I feel 90, clutching my aching back, it's clear that I haven't healed nearly enough, even after four months.) I huffed and puffed and hauled the stroller up the gigantic hill, stopped to give the kid some freedom and a biscuit, and then headed back to the car. I was almost there, and had put my camera away already. And then. I saw her.

**Accept my sincerest apologies for not have a picture of this chick. But, I was too busy double-taking and scratching my head to dig it out fast enough.**

Bouncy blond ponytail. Orange glow tan. Lime green sports bra. White belly tank. Sparkling clean running shoes. And . . . wait for it . . . men's briefs. That's right. Men's briefs. So skin tight that the front opening was gaping. Thank God she was wearing underwear.

It was just wrong on so many levels.

"Hey! Put your pants back on!"

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.

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**

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.)

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).

9 Months!

Happy 9 months to the girly!

She was being a little difficult, and made getting the obligatory monthly picture a lengthy process. We went through three pieces of paper before I got one of her not actually eating it. I almost said "screw it" and thought I was never going to see a hint of a smile.

This, however, is what I saw most of the day. Under the feet, tugging on the pants, whining to be picked up. Fickle as can be, she was all smiles when I was right there, and then immediate crocodile tears when I walked away.

Unless, of course, she was involved in something really, really important. And tasty.

Let's play catch up, shall we?

Grab your coffee, folks, this one's a doozy!
(This is what you get when I don't blog more than a picture or a recipe for a week.)

Weiner, whiner.
I am a spoiled, spoiled wife. I spent weeks talking to my husband every day. And then . . . we went three days with no phone call and it just about broke me.

You don't realize how cherished those conversations are (even the ones where neither has anything to say, or you're both pissy), until they aren't there.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done. So over this deployment crap.

Yes, I am that customer.
The husband ordered me an absolutely rockin' anniversary present. He ordered it before our anniversary, which was the 1st, and I just got the email with the shipping info and tracking number on Friday. Their site claims 7-10 day shipping. Friday was day 13. Strike one.

I checked the tracking number from UPS, and saw that it said there had already been an attempted delivery. Which was odd, because I was home all day (because I have no life) and even saw the truck, but never had the buzzer ring. Late Friday night, I checked the number again and, lo and behold, it said the package was delivered. And it was signed for by someone that clearly did not have the same last name as me. Strike two.

I called UPS and found out that the sender (where the husband ordered from) had written a 0 instead of a 1, and it had been delivered to another apartment in my complex. So, UPS, not at fault.

This morning, I called the company to resolve this issue (I use resolve lightly - I generally demand my way or the highway). I lucked out and got the chick who can't think of an answer for herself and had to put me on hold every 13 seconds. After going round and round that I did not actually have a brand new Kitchen Aid mixer, Artisan style in Pistachio, sitting right next to me, she wised up and called UPS herself. While I sat on hold. For a very, very long time.

I don't know what she got out of her conversation with them, but when she came back on the phone her explanation was that UPS delivers your package to your neighbor's house when you aren't home. (*scratches head*)

In the end, she had three options for me: 1) Go over there and ask them for it myself (Nope, not happening). 2) Have them send out a trace through UPS for it, and then have it delivered striahgt to me from them. (Again, not happening, we paid for a new mixer and damnit, I'm getting a new mixer - not one someone else may have done who knows what with). 3)Send out the trace, which would take about 10 days, have it delivered back to the company, and then they would send out my new one. (So, I will have waited 4 weeks by then. Nope, not happening.) Strikes three through five.

So, I told them to suck it and cancel my effing order.
(Well, not really in those words. But I wanted to.)

We just can't have nice things!
Looky, looky what has come to live with me!


When I jump into something, I dive all the way in. So, having found a penchant for sewing, I got myself a serger. Logical step, right? (Yes, you are entitled to roll your eyes at this point.)

The project list is piling up, and the storage for fabric is growing full.E is going to be one stylin' kid, if I can get the hang of this. And, if I don't break it any more than I already have.

Yeah, that's right. The machine was in my possession for less than 20 minutes before I broke the thread rod. Well, actually, my dad broke it by reclining the seat in my car back onto it . . . but we aren't telling him that.

Someone tell her to stop growing up!
So, the reason for the complete and utter lack of sleep? Well, I could blame Burgh Baby for starting the trend and sending out the word to all kiddos to protest sleep at all costs . . . But, shockingly, there seems to be a real explanation this time.

Teeth number 7 and 8 have shown up. Yes, folks, that's 8 teeth in 7 weeks. Nothing like life in the fast lane of development.

And speaking of development . . . I'm going to go broke buying new pants for this kid. (Unless I can keep scoring them for less than $2.50 at Old Navy like I did yesterday.) She is not even 9 months old, and we had to size up to 18-24 months. I put her in the 12-18 right before Christmas, and they are now mid-calf length. (Yay, capris!)

I was smart though. I snatched up a couple of 2Ts as well. You know, for next month, when these don't fit.

Mommy ain't too bright, now is she?
Note to self: Do not teach the kid a new trick and make her laugh while she is eating peas. Not only do they stain the carpet, but green cat puke stains worse. And cats puke when they eat peas. Even just one.

Sledding with E

"Here we go!"

"Or, here we will go, if Mom ever gets this thing figured out. She's saying sleds must have gotten smaller since she was little."

"And now her big butt got us stuck. I don't think it's that the sleds that got smaller, Mom."

"Seriously, she thinks this is fun?"

"What? It's over? Yay! Fun! Let's go in!"

"I thought it was over. I wanna go in. This cold stuff blows."

"IwannagoinandgetwarmandyoustuckmeinthesnowandIhateit. Takemetothebeachinstead!"

Crazy is as crazy does

What on earth is the poor kid going to do without her grandma? I sure as hell can't make her laugh like this.

We'll just have to keep our fingers crossed that she thinks her daddy is as much of a comedian as my crazy mother.

Well, we survived that one.

Sooooo . . .

~ Christmas is over! Yay! Whoohoo! The happy face can come off and I can go back to my routine of only being social on the weekends. No more family oriented holidays. My mom and I are going to split a bottle of champagne for our lonely and boring New Year's Eve. I'm pretending New Year's Day is just an ordinary Tuesday and not my anniversary. Valentine's Day is a non-holiday in our house anyways. I may be back in Georgia in time to take E to the St. Patty's Day Parade. And then . . . then . . . then there will be a homecoming ceremony to go to! And if it doesn't happen before Easter, I'm going to be a slightly annoyed. If it doesn't happen before E's birthday, I'm going to be really, really annoyed. Really.

~ Being on autopilot with a smile pasted on should be convincing. But, clearly I need some more practice, as every time I find myself in that mode, the in-laws think I'm pissed at them about something. I mean, chances are I'm annoyed about one thing or another, but usually it's so far off from what they think it is, it's kinda funny.

~ There are two of the same toy sitting in my living room. Each given to E by a parent of mine. Each of which doesn't really care for the other. And, of course, each toy has just enough variation to them that I can't pass them off as exactly the same. So, we will play musical toys when the respective grandparent comes over.

~ E's closet is now stocked with a full winter wardrobe. In sizes 12-24 months. Which will fit this spring. When we move back to Georgia. Where it's at least 80.

~ It is absolutely impossible to find a swimsuit for a child in the middle of winter. Let alone a non-skimpy adult one. We may be attending the baby swim class in t-shirts.

~ Teeth are evil. Teething is evil. E and I both agree on that one. Sleeping patterns are shot to hell. 6pm-8am one night, up three times the next, up every half hour the one after that. Tonight I'm on edge and the apartment is absolutely silent in hopes she'll at least get till early morning.

~ My mother came up with a new reason to love being a grandparent. E and I slept over two nights, and in the morning my mom recounted how happy it made her to hear E wake up and to know that she didn't have to go get her. She claims she thought about getting up for me, but her bed was awfully cozy and somehow she just fell back asleep.

~Despite lack of sleep, the two of us can be really silly. E has started to get laughing fits where she laughs so hard she falls over. This is especially prone to happen when I'm looking like a madwoman and chasing her around the house on all fours.



Well, there goes that sleeping baby thought. In the time it took to upload that there picture, the wailing and banging on the crib music player thing has begun.

Oh, joy of joys.

I know, I know. Payback's a bitch and this is what I get for those angelic first 8 months.

E's first Christmas - v3.0

I don't expect anyone but my husband to get a kick out of this one, but I think he'll be happy I posted it.

I'll give a hint though - the comic value is not with the baby.

E's first Christmas - v2.0

Round Two

E's first Christmas - v1.0

Round One!


Three words for this one, my friends. Spoiled and Sensory Overload.

Magic and randomness

"Oh, looky! A remote!"

"Ohmmmm. Ohmmmm."

"Yeah. I rock. I'm the next great magician. Now watch me make it disappear!"

On with the randomness!

~ The diaper E is wearing is the newest addition to the diaper collection. We have entered the world of prefolds. Quite fun, and a ton cheaper than the other obsessions. However, they are the biggest pain in the ass to fasten when Lil' Miss Buttercup refuses to sit still or stand still or at least not put up such a huge struggle. I'm still searching for something to hold her attention for longer than .4 seconds.

~ I had an idea for two matching somethings to sew, and am obsessing over the fabric that is on it's way here. I'm going to make up a prototype this weekend. So, so excited about this one!

~ I'm not leaving my apartment for the rest of the holiday season. In one venture merely 5 minutes up the road, I . . .
. . . was nearly hit by someone running a red light.
. . . was flipped of for taking a parking spot that was rightfully mine - blinker on and everything.
. . . was bashed into while walking through the store, caused to drop everything, and no one offered to help pick it back up - despite the juggling act I was already doing with the kid.
. . . was not given a bag for my purchases. Yes. At Best Buy, I actually had to ask the cashier to put my stuff in a bag.
. . . was told to "hurry up and move" while standing next to my car and buckling the kid in. Apparently, me getting to my car first and spending the 30 seconds to buckle her in was going to ruin this person's day. Despite the fact they told me to move BEFORE they had even gotten into their car.
. . . was cut-off by a semi truck, who was dead stopped in one lane and decided he wanted to be in mine as I was approaching. The speed limit is 55. And he turned just about when I was at his bumper. And yeah, my brakes really stink when they get locked up.
And that, folks, is why I'm not leaving the apartment until next year.