June 25, 2006

Visit Me At My New Home

When I royally screwed up last week and lost my entire blog, I decided to take the opportunity to explore other options and found one that seems to work a bit better for me.

Please take a moment to visit, bookmark, comment on, and visit again and again at my new website!

Hope to hear from you!!

June 24, 2006

Take the Money and Run

After arriving in D.C. this afternoon, I was excited to find out that my girlfriend with whom I was meeting up had invited two of her friends who live here in the city to have dinner with us. It's so nice to be with locals - I just love going to big cities and hanging out and eating where the locals and NOT the tourists hang out and eat.

Sitting on the rooftop of The Washington Hotel, over looking the city, somehow we got on the topic of getting married. Note that I was the only married person of the four of us, however two of the women have been married in the past. They both mentioned that, had they the ability to relive their wedding experience, they would have eloped and not had the big fancy wedding.

My husband and I eloped. We took the money and ran. My dad always said that if I chose to elope rather than have a big wedding, he'd give me a fat check. I've since learned that his definition of 'fat check' is a bit different than mine, but nevertheless, that money helped buy our house and I've never regretted our decision.

These days, many women are waiting until they are in their thirties to get married - as opposed to when our parents were younger and the thing to do was to get married in your early twenties. I was 35 when I got married and the idea of a traditional wedding, dressed in a traditional wedding gown, cutting a cake, the first dance .. all of it .. seemed more like I'd be playing dress up and I'd look sillier than hell because I'm too damn old to play dress up. I did not, even for one second, hesitate at the idea of eloping - of course, it helped that we eloped in Hawaii. On the beach. At sunset. The most romantic sunset EVER.

Because my dad had often offered up the idea of giving me money if I chose to elope, I don't think it came to a surprise to my mom that I would actually take him up on that offer. Five years earlier, when my brother got married to a whore from whom he is now divorced (YAY!), my mom planned that wedding. His whore-fiance didn't have a relationship with her mother, so my mom stepped in and planned - and paid for - the entire thing. She loved it because she loved to plan parties. I remember telling her to enjoy every single moment because I didn't want that kind of a wedding. Looking back, I am happy that she had the chance to plan the wedding of one of her two children, even if it was her son's wedding and not her daughter's.

What works for one person certainly doesn't always work for the next. That's the beauty in all of this. We can each do what works best for us. I'm just here to share my experience because hey, it's my blog and I can. And my experience based on the ten times I've been a bridesmaid is that weddings are stressful, expensive, stressful, expensive, and over before you know it. I look back on my inexpensive stress-free wedding day and I don't have any stories about the fights with my bridesmaids, the caterer that sucked, or the photographer that was an asshole, or my Aunt Lilly who got too drunk and caused a scene with Uncle Joe.

Of course, I also don't have oodles of wedding gifts as a result. But that's actually a good thing in my case. After all, as I mentioned, I was 35 years old when I got married. I had my own coffee maker already. And my own set of dishes. The only thing I didn't have was monogrammed bath towels - but I think those are silly anyways, so no biggie there. What I do have is an amazing memory, and a beautiful home for my family as a result of our decision to take the money and run away!

June 23, 2006

D.C. Bound

As the HR Manager for a single location company, I rarely get to travel. The one exception each year takes place in June when I get to attend that Society of Human Resource Management (SHRM) convention for five days. This year, I’m headed to D.C.

I’m excited and apprehensive all at the same time. Excited because I’ve never been to D.C. before. Apprehensive because I hate to fly. HATE to fly. So much so that I have my very own prescription of Valium to help ease my anxiety. Having never taken Valium before I was worried about taking it for the first time on an airplane especially because I’m traveling alone, so I decided to take a trail run this week. Luckily, no problems – so I feel much relief because of the fact that I have this little bottle to carry with me that, I hope, will get me through the ordeal of flying with as little anxiety as possible.

The thought of being away from V and the Husband for five days has me both excited and apprehensive as well. Excited because it’s five days of no family obligations … I can take a nap every afternoon if I so desire!! Apprehensive because I worry that my husband will forget to change V’s diaper, or forget to feed him, or forget to make sure V drinks enough water since it’s supposed to be nearly 110-degrees here this weekend. I’m sure it will be just fine – and I’m also sure I’m not the only mom out there that feels no one can take care of her baby as well as she can. No one. Not even said baby’s dad.

So I have high hopes for D.C. I hope to learn a thing or ten in my convention. I hope to take a few good long naps. I hope to see some sights. I hope to spend uninterrupted time trying to get my blog completely moved over from blogger to wordpress. I’m not worried about the naps or sights. It’s anyone’s guess about the blog. We’ll see how that goes. Wish me luck.

June 22, 2006

Three Days to Potty Train?

I’ve said it here before, and I’ll say it again, I’m trying not to stress about potty training and the fact that my two and a half year old is showing no interest. Zero. Zip. Nada-damn bit.

I know that V will NOT be a ten year old still wearing diapers. Logically I know this. I don’t believe in pushing him until he’s ready and the kid just isn’t showing any signs of being ready. He, in fact, announced to me that he likes his diapers. Oy.

A girlfriend recently gave me a 16-or-so page document about potty training in three days time. Have you heard of this? Has any of you tried it? I’ve read through the document and I’m honestly not sure how I feel about it. The basic concept is that on day one you throw all of your diapers away and put underwear on your child. No training pants – only real underwear. Then, you give the child as much liquid as the kid will consume. Naturally, this will result in frequent urination and, being that you need to stay close to your child the entire three days, you will see when he/she begins to urinate. At that point, you pick him/her up and carry him/her to the potty. Should the child finish the duty in the potty, you celebrate and celebrate big. This lady suggests that at some point during the three days, after your child has had enough of peeing on him/herself that it will click and they will forever be potty trained (with the exception of a few accidents now that then).

The girlfriend that gave me the document swears by it and tells me she has six friends that all had success. Three days. All it takes. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? More than anything, I’m having a hard time coming up with three consecutive days during which we have little or no plans to leave the house … perhaps I should have considered this in the middle of winter instead!

I would really, really LOVE to hear your input on this. Anyone?

June 19, 2006

Ugh

... so I had a bit of spare time on my hands tonight and thought I'd try my hand at customizing this blog. In the process, I completely screwed it up and lost what little customization I had to begin with.

Please bear with me as I rebuild.

It's likely going to take awhile as I'm quite obviously technically challenged!

A Boy and his Peanut

Two weeks beyond his two-and-a-half-years on this Earth, and it happened. My son stuck his very first foreign object up his nose. And it stuck.

I was busily preparing his lunch, looking forward to it’s completion so that we could both take a much-needed nap, when he came up to me and said:

“Help me!” (pointing to his nose)

“What’s the matter honey?”

“Peanut stuck!”

“What?”

Peanut STUCK! Help MEEEE!”

Yep. There it was in all it’s glory. An entire peanut. Stuck.

“Blow”

(blows)

“Blow harder”

(blows harder. Nothing)


After lots of tears on his part, and about ten seconds shy of giving up and driving him to urgent care, I finally got it out. I knelt down and explained to him that we don’t stick anything up our nose. Ever.

Five minutes later …

“Help me, Mama”

“What’s the matter, V?”

“Peanut stuck. This nose” (pointing to his other nostril)

I kneel down and look up his nose.

“Just kidding, Mama!”

Great. I have a prankster already.

June 17, 2006

A Warm Welcome to My New Renter

Please take a moment to get to know a bit about my renter, Jess, from North Georgia. Like me, she's a mom. Unlike me, she's expecting (me ... hopefully soon!).

Scroll down and read the post entitled "I Wasn't an Angel". I did and it got me thinking about when I was a teenager and all the trouble I gave my parents. It's certainly one of the reasons that I always say that I don't want to be a mother to a girl. I'm sure you're all familiar with the old saying "payback's a bitch"? 'Nuf said!

I, too, was no angel growing up. I had the bad-boy boyfriend that my parents hated. I probably wouldn't have dated him as long as I did (9 years) if it weren't for my mother. Because I was a teenager I was bound and determined to prove that I could do whatever I wanted on my own terms. And because she told me she didn't want me dating him, I did. More for that reason that anything else, looking back. I smoked cigarettes. Smoked pot. Lied about where I was going and who I was with. Drank beer with my friends. I got caught doing most of this and was always grounded.

Ahhh, a trip down memory lane ... thanks to my renter, Jess. Make sure to pay her a visit!!

The Dance

The Husband and I go through our ups and downs. During the downs we can't seem to stand to be around each other. Our fights are always about the same topics and, as I've recently discovered, they are like a dance. An uncoordinated, out-of-rhythm dance, but a dance none-the-less. Here's an example:

Step One
He: Pissed off because he thinks I don't appreciate how much work he does around the house.

Me: Pissed off because he can't focus on one project and complete it without first starting ten other projects. Hence, we always have a zillion unfinished projects.

Step Two
He: Argues with me. Throws in minor insults, which we both know he doesn't mean but he says because he's mad.

Me: Same as above

Step Three
He: Repeat Step Two

Step Four
Me: Clams up. Lets him vent. Doesn't say much. Doesn't argue with him - makes sure he gets it all out. I let most things pass, but every once in awhile he says something that I completely and totally disagree with in which case we find ourselves back at Step Two.

Step Five
He: Eventually softens and cools down. Starts to understand my original point of view. Apologizes.

Step Six
He: Next day. Tells me how bad he feels about conversation the night before and apologizes yet again.

I wonder if most couples have some sort of dance to the way they argue or disagree? So long as the dance doesn't include physical harm, I'm guessing it's probably a good thing ....

June 15, 2006

Nose Pickies

A few nights ago V found his way in to our bed in the middle of the night. Yes, we’re still dealing with that issue, although not nearly as often thank goodness! It wasn’t until the next day that I was having dinner with my girlfriends that I remembered something that occurred in the middle of the night.

At some point, V woke me up from a hard sleep to inform me that he had “nose picky” on his finger. That finger, pointed about two inches from my face, displayed quite a large booger on it. I took it from him, disposed of it in a Kleenex next to my bed, and less than 30 seconds later we were both fast asleep again.

Remembering this incident over dinner caused a discussion to break out regarding kids and boogers. One girlfriend shared that her son had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night, picking his nose, and wiping the boogers on the wall. Another friend chimed in that her son did the same thing. Both commented on how difficult it was to remove dried nose boogies from a wall … practically requiring a putty knife and sometimes removing paint in the process. I laughed and quietly thank God that I’ve yet to experience that.

Did I mention that this conversation with the girls took place LAST NIGHT?

So guess what V proudly pointed out to me this morning when I went in to his bedroom. That’s right … “nose pickies on the wall”. The kid’s timing is un.be.lieve.able.