My BFF and I went to see Sex and the City Numero Dos on Fri--this has been the fabulous highlight of my year.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
My BFF and I went to see Sex and the City Numero Dos on Fri--this has been the fabulous highlight of my year.
We got there 30-minutes early to nab the front row center seats with the bar upon which we rest our (perhaps inappropriate for the early show? Nah!) high-heeled, mini-skirted, spray tanned, freshly waxed legs. We put more effort into getting ready for Carrie than we do for our husbands.
We snuck in three splits of Perrier Jouet La Fleur champagne. Halfway during the movie, BFF is attempting to open the third without attracting attention of the surrounding audience.
POP!!!! It was as loud as the toasting pop at a wedding.
I scream from shock (and the cold fizz that is penetrating my white, linen skirt).
Everyone around us turns to stare in disgust ( I think jealously) as the two of us collapse in a fit of laughter, tears and pee.
The best part? After the cork shot up about 8-feet in the air, it landed right back in her lap. And there goes the evidence...
Thursday, May 27, 2010
There is a man who owes Darling Husband some money for work he had done. He doesn't have the cash, but offered to do any stonework for us as a trade. Our house came with stone paths and walls already, but I wasn't about to let a chance for free stone anything slip away.
I had a great brainstorm that we can have him upgrade the sad fire pit and build a patio with a...wait for it....OUTDOOR KITCHEN!!
Unfortunately, what my vision of an outdoor kitchen (see above left) and Darling Husband's vision (see above center) are vastly askew.
I fear even meeting in the middle won't satisfy my now NEED to be able to make outdoor omlettes and frappes...(see bottom).
When I complained that we at least needed a way to keep beer down there, he sent the picture of the grill made out of...wait for it...a keg.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I am obsessed with any holiday that equates with getting gifts. Lucky for me my husband is a wonderful gift-giver. Lucky for him I am a wonderful gift-receiver.
Today is our 4-year wedding anniversary and we both forgot. Since I couldn't find anything on-line that he would love AND be delivered today for under and extra $100 fee, I said we didn't need to exchange gifts and spending time together would be enough.
Sadly, I see now the 4th year gift is silk or linen, and I would love new lingerie and sheets. (yes, that IS me in the banner pic)
On a completely different note, I wanted to give a shout out to our friends at the fabulous Greenlight Studio in Portland--they are a wonderful place to bring your kids to play (in the AC!!) while moms drink coffee and eat Sea Salt Caramel Gelatto...so maybe not wearing new lingerie is best after I ate a huge bowl of it today!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I was outside playing with bubbles with Baby Boy. He kept dumping the bubbles and I was trying to teach him the proper way to take out the wand and make the bubbles.
"Pull it out and I'll blow it!" I kept saying.
It wasn't until after the neighbors on the other side of the trees went dead silent then I caught on.
Friday, May 21, 2010
We were reading McElligot's Pool to Baby Boy before bed. When we got to the "Fish that Crows Like a Rooster" (keep in mind this fish has a very pronounced belly), BB pointed to the illustration, placed his hand on Darling Husband's tummy and said "Dada Fish."
"I guess I'll skip dinner tonight," he said.
You can't have any flaws around a toddler.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
We have these new neighbors--they have grandkids my age, so you do the math. These are the same neighbors we stalk whenever they have the Big Orange Trucks working in their yard. (http://sexynaptime.blogspot.com/2010/05/sexy-mouse-in-hole.html)
They came over on Sunday with a bag for Baby Boy.
"This isn't a gift," the man clarified. "We found these trucks in our basement when we moved--hell, they must be 40-years old. You make the call if they are safe."
(Translation: We found these old pieces of crap after we had made all the dump runs we planned on, so...it's his birthday around now isn't it?)
Before I could do the Death Toy inspection, BB had ripped open the bag and the clanging of metal parts hit the floor.
He won't let these newfound gems go. As I follow him around wondering how much of the lead paint he is inhaling or upon what jagged edge he had punctured a lung, I imagine the couple smiling to each other knowing they have found a way to keep us out of their yard.
As least until I file a lawsuit.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
I saw a man being very abusive to his wife in front of their two very small kids today. I pulled over and tried to call the police but I was shaking so badly that he took off by the time I calmed down. I ran to her and asked if she was OK as her toddler huddled against the wall sucking his thumb and the infant wailed in his carrier.
If that is how he treated his family in public I can only imagine how he treats them behind closed doors. It is sickening.
Remember everyday that there are so many kids that are born into situations that are horrible. All children deserve the chance to be respected and loved.
Posted by Maggie Knowles at 4:14 PM
Monday, May 17, 2010
I've been watching you now
for almost an hour flip and hop and spin
you move with the innocence of being
unaware that you are not alone
small tufts of dandelion snow
float around your face
with small streaks of sun
like a Jackson Pollack piece
I don't think you realize
your little skips
are in perfect rhythm
with the baby chickadee
I think I was Gatsby in a past life--I love, love throwing huge parties much to the dismay of my husband's growing anti-social side (more likely his wallet).
We had a 2-year old birthday party for Baby Boy yesterday. The night prior Darling Husband was catching up in our toddler development book.
"It says here," he huffed. "That you should only have one guest per age of the child."
My son sure does look amazing for 46...
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I was at Lowe's the other day stocking up on hanging baskets that incidently all died in the May frost we had last night. There was a display of little Sesame Street garden kits. The tomato kit was Elmo themed (the check out gal did not laugh when I asked her if the tomatoes were Elmo flavored).
Baby Boy and I were just out getting prepared to plant his very first garden.
"When Elmo's tomatoes grow," I explained to his star-struck eyes, "You can eat them!"
Until I just saw in bold letters on the package, NOT FOR CONSUMPTION.
Do they mean Elmo in general is not edible or the produce?
I had a friend who had a big orange cat. In their kitchen there was a hole. One day, a mouse popped out of the hole like a Kitty Vending Machine.
Everyday for the next two years, that cat sat in front of the hole waiting for another mouse to come out. The owners felt so sad for the cat, they resorted to buying pet store mice to shove in the hole.
Over a month ago, there was a massive orange excavator ripping out trees at the end of our road. We took Baby Boy to see this and every morning since, at 6:30 am, he calls out, not for Mama or Dada, but "Truck! Orange! Truck! Trees!"
I walk him down there everyday to show him the truck isn't there...but today it was, like another mouse popping from the hole. His scream of ecstacy had neighbors running into their yard in a panic--there really isn't a better way to get to know your neighbors than having a toddler obsessed with machinery in their yard.
On the adult end of happy days: I went into my favorite bakery today and not only did I get a chocolate-seasalt cookie right out of the oven, but a customer was in there with two Maine coon kittens. If that doesn't make you smile, then you are a sourpuss.
Monday, May 10, 2010
AH. Mother's Day--the one day when we get breakfast in bed and a free pass t0 not cook, clean or brush our teeth (although when Monday comes and we have to clean everything up, we wonder if it was worth it).
Darling Husband and Uncle Andoo took my whole family out to a lovely brunch. About 8-minutes in, Baby Boy wanted no part of the seersucker pants and tiny muffins. Realizing it was my turn to let him run around (even though I was in heel and a short dress), I walked him outside (keep in mind it was in the 40's with gale force winds--ask me how my hair looked).
In the courtyard was a gaggle of dolled-up moms with fussing toddlers. They glared at their coffee-sipping husbands through the window: one was on his Blackberry, one was flirting with the cute waitress and one was actually filling out his wife's Mother's Day card.
The wind picked up and blew bits of sand and gravel into our eyes. We looked like the "before"
mom in the Suave commercial.
"It always seems like a good idea," I sigh pointing to the children who were now dirty, hungry for something not smothered in Hollandaise and flipping over potted plants.
I saw in the fellow Mom's eyes that they were holding on to the last scrap of calmness in hopes that when they got home there would be diamonds, flowers or at the very least, a card that was filled out prior to leaving that morning.
HAPPY MOMMY DAY!!!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The majority of our friends all have kids older than Baby Boy--and they all either play hockey or soccer. These two life-sucking sports turn otherwise vibrant and energetic people into travel-team Zombies. Ice time at 4am, driving 6 hours in a van for a three-day tourney--nothing is off limits for these fanatics.
Darling Husband I had the talk pre-conception that none of our kids would ever play these sports.
"Polo, fencing, tennis, golf...these are all acceptable," I jotted down.
"Or if he is small he can be a jockey," added DH as he signed the Non-Compete waiver.
Baby Boy had his Two Year Check-Up yesterday. Dr. Steve ran down the list of things BB should be doing at this age.
"Does he stack blocks? (Yes) Complete a two-step command? (Yes) Kick a ball?"
At this DH and I glanced at each other not knowing what to say. In our desire to never let BB near a kickable ball (hence he show some insane talent thereby forcing us to hire private coaches and devote our lives to following the World Cup) we had no idea if he could even attempt this skill.
As soon as we got home I put a tennis ball by BB's feet. He did kick it (about 5-inches). Enough to know he is normal but does not have David Beckham genes--which is good because I don't think I could ever be as skinny as Posh.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
My son has become attached--obessed, rather-- with this soft washcloth thing with a lamb's head (yes, the same one he smooshed in the poo last week http://sexynaptime.blogspot.com/2010/04/sexy-sht-happens.html) that he calls BA.
It occurred, to me as he screamed and cried this morning until we found BA shoved in the dishwasher, that if we ever lost BA for good, then he may never smile, sleep or eat again.
We didn't buy BA originally, so it took a lot of Googling to find Back Up BA's. Three to be exact.
The package of new BA's just came. They are so soft. So clean. So new. As I was contemplating the issue of sneakily swapping in the new BA's to the rotation so they get equal wear and tear, Baby Boy appered.
His eyes lit up and he realized BA had become quadruplets.
Now I am going to have to buy 16 BA's in the worst-case scenario that the quads get misplaced. Or we can start a reality show a la Jon and Kate: Baby Boy, Ma, Pa and BAAAAAAAA.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
My son is two today. Darling Husband left me a message that he wanted me to pick him up a lacrosse set for his present. Keeping in mind the child can barely use a spoon, I don't think high-level sporting goods are the appropriate choice--but I can't tell him that. So, I said Target was all sold out.
"Must be a really popular gift for Toddlers, honey."
Then I get a call from my father saying the found the perfect gift.
"It is this Hummer-type vehicle that he can ride on. It goes over mounds of rocks and ice and even up walls!"
"Dad, what is the age recommendation on the box?"
"Box? Hell this thing can't fit in a box!"
Why is it men want little boys to act like they are all grown up and want their women to dress like we are teenagers?
Baby Boy turns TWO today. I have been in denial since his party is a couple weeks away, thus retarding his leap into the so -called Terribles.
I was at Whole Foods earlier today when I felt a soft pat on the back of my hair. I turned to see a 4-month old turned out in a Baby Bjorn staring up at me. We locked eyes and he immediately smiled and kicked his feet in glee.
The only time Baby Boy stares at me is when I wrap blankets over my face and pretend I am a ghost. The only time he kicks is when he is throwing himself on the floor screaming because I won't let him play with the Forbidden Kitchen for another 2 hours.
This fact that my Baby is no longer a baby hit me like ice. I burst into tears as I grasped ahold of the little boy's hand.
His mother, rightly horrified, backed away knocking over a display of wipes. I fled before she could report the crazy lady who was trying to steal her child.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I love words. In my drive toward having an amazingly verbal son (who at this point only says about 10 words and they all sound the same as in "Gark!" "Yes, Buddy! That IS an orange car!") I like giving him alternate words. So, if I say "happy" I follow up with, "gleeful is another word for happy" etc.
This morning when he was brushing his teeth atop his favorite blue STOOL, for some reason I blurted out, "Stool is another word for poop."
And that got his attention.
All day long he would point to every chair, bench whatever one could sit upon and proudly yell, "POOP!"
My husband kept asking me why I thought he was doing that, but I played dumb. (Dense, dim-witted, doltish, dull, feebleminded, moronic, thick...you get the drift.)