Round-Up: SAHM Edition

Last week, I was on vacation.  Glorious, stress-free, vacation…AT HOME.  I have always wanted to take a full week of vacation time and just sit at home, eating nachos for breakfast, watching Kathy Lee and Hoda, reading Us Weekly and wearing yoga pants with zero intention of actually doing yoga (or any physical activity, for that matter).  Now that we’re parents, a week of time at home gives me a peek into the life of a stay-at-home mom.

I learned a few things in those 7ish days; some of those things are valuable life tools.  And some of those things involve The Wiggles.

Top Ten Things Learned During SAHM Week…

10. You’re an anti-TV parent until you are forced to become a TV parent.  Let me clarify this by saying we are still anti-TV parents; however, when you need 15 minutes to vacuum, take a phone call, find the cat or just poop, well…plopping Miles in the Jumperoo and giving him some PBS was the answer.

9. Your coffee will probably be cold by the time you finish it.  Every morning, I would play with Miles on the floor in the living room and attempt to drink my coffee.  This worked fine, until he noticed my coffee mug.  Once the mug was in his line of sight, it was game over.  He would stop at nothing in his attempts to grab my mug, because suddenly that mug of coffee was more important than anything in the entire universe, ever. 

8. All electrical cords belong to Miles.  I thought I could work on our family Christmas card while Miles was playing with one of his favorite toys (a measuring cup).  He was intently putting his orange monkey under the measuring cup, scooting it over, then picking it up again to see if monkey was still there.  He had no idea I was even in the room.  I quietly plugged in my laptop, and started working.  That was the moment his spidey senses kicked in…realizing an electrical cord was nearby, Miles immediately stopped playing with his cup.  After 10 minutes of attempting to work, I gave up.  A similar situation arose with the vacuum, steam mop, and phone charger.  Some of you may be wondering why electrical cords are so awesome.  Like all awesome toys, you can BEAT THEM ON THE FLOOR AND MAKE NOISE.

7. A majority of children’s programming is frightening, or created by people taking psychotropic drugs.  I thought I’d check out that BabyFirst channel, only to find some terrifying show with three large and incredibly realistic looking mice singing and dancing, with no movement from their mouths.  Just these blank, vacant stares from their beady costume eyes.  

And now you can share in my nightmare.

So that ended up on the “do not watch” list.  Then I tried something called Lazy Town, but found most of the actors had rubber masks or weird hair, and added that to the list as well.  These very strange shows also seemed to lack any educational value.  

Not good role models.  Also, questionable fashion choices.

What made the cut?  The Wiggles, Barney and Friends (YES, THAT IS STILL ON THE AIR!), Sid the Science Guy, Sesame Street and The Chica Show.  Good stuff.

6. A majority of new children’s music is also frightening.  While I am anti-TV, during playtime we do have music going…Miles loves music.  We usually listen to jazz, but I decided to venture into the world of children’s music.  There’s a lot of good stuff out there.  For instance, Caspar Babypants (you can’t make this stuff up) is now in my regular playlist.  He’s like a Jack Johnson for babies, and it is awesomesauce.  

How can you not love this guy?

SERIOUSLY.  He's awesome.  I would listen to him even if I didn't have children.

However, when a group called “Preschool Popstars” came on singing a song about a daycare dance party, I decided I did not want my eight month old in da club.  You would also be amazed at the number of adult pop songs (Lady Gaga, Beyonce, etc.) that make it to the children’s station because they are being sung by THE CHIPMUNKS.  This type of torture should be saved for Guantanamo.  Fun fact: These tunes will also make your ears bleed.

Sippin' on juice.  Just juice.

THIS IS AN ACTUAL SONG.

Yes, I could have made the entire post about this one thing.

It's like a train wreck, I just can't turn away from it.

WHY IS THAT TODDLER WEARING SUNGLASSES?!

5. You can wear the same clothes five days in a row, and no one will know.  Except the UPS guy.  And maybe the mailman.  Also, employees at Publix, depending on how many times you visit the store.  Fashion be damned, I wore the same yoga pants and Grateful Dead t-shirt ALL. WEEK. LONG.  It was awesome.

4. You get to eat lunch with your kiddo!  Feeding Miles while simultaneously feeding myself is nothing new, but eating lunch at 11am is.  So at 2pm, when I was suddenly hungry in a way that can only be akin to a bear waking from hibernation, I would usually binge on something sensible, like an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers and half a jar of Nutella.  Don’t look at me like that.

3. You finally see why all the other moms won’t stop talking about the blue Wiggle.

 Oh, you think he's kind of lame?

TRY AGAIN.

2. You get to read a book!  And a magazine!  And watch re-runs of SATC!  Miles’ longest nap usually happens around lunch time…two hours of glorious, uninterrupted ME TIME.  Choirs of angels sang the first time I sat down to read. 

1. YOU GET TO TAKE A NAP…EVERY SINGLE DAY!  Oh my gosh, naps.  I haven’t taken a nap since…how old is my son?  That long.  It was awesome.

Besides these learning moments, I also really, really, really enjoyed just getting some downtime with my kiddo.  These are the days that go by quickly, where he seems to still be swaddled one minute and somehow riding a tricycle the next.  It happens that fast.  So having many, many days of “just us” was an incredible, tremendous blessing.  I cried The Ugly Cry three times last week, just sitting there watching him play, because I suddenly realized he was no longer my teeny, tiny little baby.  He’s a big boy.  An amazing, smart, funny, snuggly and loving little guy. 

Dropping him off at school on Monday was like that first day, all over again.  Only this time, Miles eagerly crawled to the basket of toys and immediately began dumping them all over the floor, totally oblivious to the fact that mom was standing there, teary eyed, watching her baby grow up.  I kissed him goodbye; he bopped me on the nose and tried to take my glasses, then he gave me a hug.  A real hug.

I left before my morning at daycare turned into a Publix Thanksgiving commercial.

You cried when the pilgrims were separated at the table, right?

Working parents, if you get the chance to take some vacation and spend it at home with your young ones, I cannot encourage you enough to do it.  In the blink of an eye, kids are off at college, getting married, giving you grandchildren…these days are precious and brief.  Even when you’re tired, distracted, running a hundred miles an hour…stop, and make the most of these days.  You will appreciate these memories so much as your children grow.

Sappy McSapperston,

Kristin

Early Round-Up

Just boob, no tube…

Remember last week when I told you I was going without TV for a week?  Well, weekdays?  Maybe?  I did it.  Sort of on purpose, sort of not. 

Here’s the reason it wasn’t exactly on purpose…Evan had a couple late nights this week (like, Miles is already in bed asleep late nights).  So, when I’m in Single Parent Status (this is a real thing I refer to at home, just ask my husband) there’s really no time for television.  Once The Short One has hit the hay, I’m washing bottles, prepping food for the next day, herding the small zoo that lives in our home, touching up my nail polish, drinking a glass of wine and going to bed.  But I did appreciate that time in a way, because it helped me to see that my dependency on TV isn’t as severe as I thought it was.

For instance, I have FIVE episodes of Law & Order: SVU sitting there, just waiting to be watched.  Of course I miss Detective Benson, but she’ll be there when I eventually get around to watching it. 

Other than the regular weeknight stuff, what else did I accomplish in my disconnected state?  I got Miles’ baby book caught up to current!  I also mailed some stuff to the IRS that I’d been meaning to send since 2009 for a while, painted my nails, organized our bedroom closet, did eleventy billion loads of laundry and and AND started reading a book; one that was not written by Dr. Seuss, does not have heavy duty cardboard pages perfect for chewing, or pictures!

Side note: IRS, I’m sure you’re in kahootz with the NSA.  If you audit me, you will unleash the wrath of the past eight years I’ve spent learning tax forms for personal and business, single member LLC, S-Corps, carry the 2 and divide by 17.8, wrongformagainlololol.  It’s not easy to have a full-time career and also be a volunteer accountant on the side…now that I’m a mom, I’m not playing around.  If you audit me, I will send that guy from “Taken” after you.  Seriously.  Not really.  Please don’t audit me.

I did watch a teeny, tiny bit of TV: one episode of The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, and one episode of Two Broke Girls.  Because I also learned that without TV, I can get extra sleep.  Glorious, beautiful, sleep.

So, DVR…I guess our relationship just went from “it’s complicated” to “I’m just not that into you.”  If it weren’t for The Walking Dead, American Horror Story, Criminal Minds, The New Girl, SVU, Two Broke Girls, Boardwalk Empire, re-runs of Cosby and Roseanne, football, Food Network and Hot in Cleveland, we’d probably never see each other again.  Probably.

Speaking of sleep…

Miles has always been given an A++ with extra gold stars and sunshine for being such an excellent sleeper.  Then, the mindgame of Daylight Savings Time came, along with the 29-30 week growth spurt (which is, coincidentally, when babies learn about separation anxiety).  And now, for the past week, he has woken up every couple hours.  Sometimes he cries, sometimes he lays there and makes noises, sometimes he wants to play. 

Either way, he’s getting a D+ right now as far as I’m concerned.  He isn’t failing yet because his daytime naps are superawesomesunbeams, which is great.  Also, this waking up business makes me grumpy, but has zero effect on The Short One.  In fact, Miles seems to get a super energy burst of smiles from waking up every two hours.  What happens in our adult lives to change this effect?

He’s almost seven months old.  We’ve never had to sleep train, but when faced with the choice of sleep training or crazy training, well…you know what’s up.  Tonight we’re going to go all Ferber Method and see how it goes.  Please pray.  Hard.  Also, send wine.  I don’t know if my heart/mind/mommy guilt can take it.  But I need sleeeeep.

Parents of young kiddos, we follow The Wonder Weeks.  You can download a free app on your phone, and it’s super helpful for knowing what each growth spurt entails, and what skills your child is developing.  This is also how I know that we’re going through the “holy crap my parents can just walk out of the room and leave me here?!” thing at night.

Also, since my post on parenting fail, he has fallen down umpteen times, with minimal crying.  I think the feelings of fear when falling have been replaced with a dogged determination to walk, because he really, really wants to hang out with the cats and they keep finding places to nap that are just out of his reach.  He’s like a little McGyver, moving boxes against the couch to climb up them.  Right now it’s adorable; ask me if I feel the same way when I find him swinging from a ceiling fan one day.

Update!

Wow, this is the first update I’ve ever had the pleasure of giving!  Remember this post?  Well guess what…

THERE WILL BE A PART TWO!  Oh yes, there will be.  Evan was called to testify.  It’s awesome, because it gives me some writing material.  It also sucks, because the trial falls on our 8 year wedding anniversary.  Sacrifices, right?

Ferberizing,

Kristin

Friday Round-Up: Halloween(ish) Edition

If it takes four months to prepare for vacation, then it should naturally take some length of time to get back into the swing of things, right?  I’m getting there…it’s just hard to catch up with so many important things on my list I need to accomplish:

-         Haul all of the fall and Christmas decorations out of the garage.

-         Sort the decorations.

-         Admire the decorations.

-         Tell the decorations how much I’ve missed them.

-         Sit around and smell my Fall Harvest, Cozy Fireside and Balsam Pine Scentsy bars, to prepare myself for the seasons.

Look, it’s a zen process, full of meditation and sitting around in PJs wishing the weather would turn cooler.

So, Round-Up time…yes, Halloween was a million years ago, but I had some thoughts that I wrote down and I’m sharing them now…

Halloweenie

Teenage girls and mothers of teenage girls…seriously, what’s up with the costumes?  Why do you look like you’re auditioning for the Bunny Ranch?  WHAT KIND OF EXAMPLE ARE YOU SETTING?  I would like a nationwide spandex/lycra ban next year.  Also, no more animal ears and tails.

Greedy kids…one visit to a house/trunk-or-treat/other Halloween event is adequate.  There’s no need to show up four times, demanding more candy.  I’m totally ratting you out to your dentist.

Florida…can we get some cooler weather for Halloween?  It’s unfair that I find the most adorable costume ever in the history of time and space, and Miles can only wear it for 20 minutes because it happens to be fleece but it also happens to be 178 degrees outside at 8:00pm.  Get with the program.

Neighbors...when we arrived home from Trunk-Or-Treat, you were throwing boomerangs in the park across the street.  You are not Aussies, but I respect your hobby.  I am unsure as to why (and a little unnerved) you felt the need to throw boomerangs until ELEVEN THIRTY PM.  I half expected Halloween night to turn into some B horror movie: “Boomerangicide: THEY ALWAYS RETURN.”

Costumes…other than the costumes for Miles and Evan (I win 1,000,000 points for those) my favorite costume this year belonged to a dad of one of the kids trick-or-treating in our neighborhood.  He was wearing a “bloody” t-shirt with knife slashes and mini cereal boxes attached all over.  I interpreted this costume as “Killer Cereal”, since to be a cereal killer, it seems like he’d be the knife wielder, right?  So if his intention was ironic, he gets 10,000 points.

American Horror Story…are you guys watching this season?  It hasn’t been very scary, but it’s been disturbing.  I’m loving the last two Halloween episodes, though.  Good stuff.  If you watch AHS, you can catch a good (and hilarious) recap over at My Favorite and My Best.  She’s awesomesauce, not only for her artistic abilities (inspires me to continue not finishing any of our reno projects) but also for her spot on Jessica Lange impersonation and screen caps from each episode.  I mean, it's no Walking Dead (swoon) but it's still good stuff.

Candy...I love you SO. MUCH.  Especially candy corn, mini Snickers, Milky Ways, Baby Ruth, Tootsie Rolls, and Dots.  Man, do I love Dots.  They're totally worth it, even if they pull out your fillings.  But candy corn wins all the candy points; that stuff is irresistable.   

Now, for things non-All Hallows’ Eve related…

Hairy Carey…last week, I cut my own bangs.  I do this a lot, usually with some level of success.  I’m still growing out a not-awesome haircut I got right before Miles was born (my hair grows super slow, except for the grays – they sprout like bamboo and take over).  I know I’m not the only person too lazy/thrifty to pay for someone else to cut my bangs.  What about color?  I’m considering a new color, which I’ll do myself.  Darker?  Lighter?  Grayer?  If your choice is the last, I have been fashionable for 18 months.

The No TV Project

PEOPLE: I am considering taking a hiatus from television for one week (okay, five weekdays).  One of those guilt-ridden inspirational photo posts popped up somewhere (Facebook?  Pinterest?  Instagram?  Epicurious?  I have no idea…) and it said,

If you don’t have enough time, turn off the TV.

And I thought to myself, “sonofabitch, they’re watching me through the living room window.”  Because seriously, I love my DVR.  I love my DVR in a way that if polygamy was allowed in Florida, we would go all Big Love with the DVR.  Maybe the OnDemand, too.  I will admit that my amount of TV watching isn’t what it used to be, but I still think that I watch enough of it in the evenings that it interferes with the things I’d like to accomplish during the week (also, things that have been on my to-do list since before Miles was born).

We don’t watch TV until after Miles goes to bed, normally around 8pm.  I usually hit the hay by 10pm, sometimes earlier, but let’s average and say I’m watching two hours of TV a day.  It doesn’t seem like much to some, but when I consider how ticked off I get the next day because I didn’t complete XYZ task, I silently curse the TV in my head.

TV : Kristin  ::  Apple : Eve

So, I am considering going off the DVR grid next week.  Wish me luck.  I’m already depressed.  A little excited, but depressed, too.  Maybe I can just cut down to one show a day?  The thought of missing AHS, SVU and Criminal Minds is giving me heart palpitations…thank the TV angels that The Walking Dead airs on Sunday nights.

18 mini Snickers to go,

Kristin

Round-Up

Welcome to the Round-Up, weekend edition…late, because that’s my favorite way to arrive to anything (just ask my husband).  Today we’re going to talk about how much I loathe pumping gas, why I love October, and of course, poop.  I’ll bet you thought there’s not much left to say about poop, right?  Well, you were wrong.

Lights on the Dash

People like me are the reason car manufacturers have lights on the dash to tell you when to do certain things.  If it weren’t for those lights, I’d never know when my left tail light is out, when I’m low on washer fluid, when an oil change is needed (because there’s a different light to tell you it’s required) and, most importantly, when I’m low on fuel.

Oh yes, I’m one of those.

I am one of those people because I don’t like doing anything automobile related.  This probably sounds old fashioned (read: setting the feminist movement back 60 years) but I’ve always viewed car stuff as boy stuff.  I have zero desire to learn how to do anything.  If I get a flat, I’ll call AAA, and a boy will come and change the tire.  If I need an oil change, I’ll take the truck to Goodyear, and a boy will change the oil.  I don’t want to get dirty, sweaty, smelly or greasy. 

My least favorite car related activity is pumping gas.  That’s one of the reasons I let the low fuel light come on…it reminds me to remind my husband that I need gas.  Of course, there was a brief time in my driving life that I did not know Evan, which meant I did have to fend for myself.  So if I absolutely have to pump gas, I will.

There are two reasons I hate pumping gas: 1.) GERMS and 2.) Creepy guys.  The first reasons is completely self-explanatory.  If you actually considered how many unwashed hands have been on that gas pump…hands that could belong to people who shovel manure, handle raw meat, care for people with Swine Flu, or even an axe murderer, it’s just gross.  There isn’t enough Purell in the world to handle all that nonsense.

Reason number two.  On the rare occasion I have to pump gas, I always end up at a pump next to some creepy guy.  And even better – Creepy Guy almost always thinks I want his attention.  It’s probably because I have a staring problem (Evan likes to call me a “people watcher”) but really, it’s the Creepy Guy’s fault.  Don’t paint a giant flamingo on your truck, get a neck tattoo declaring your abhorrence of law enforcement, or pump gas with no shirt on, if you don’t want me to stare at you.  And that look on my face should be conveying, “SERIOUSLY?!” and not whatever else you’re thinking.  Also, what’s up with guys and no shirts?  It’s hot in Florida, but it is never so hot that you can have total disregard for clothing the top half of your body.  PUT A SHIRT ON (also, pull up your pants while you’re at it).  And those stupid tank tops don’t count.

Ryan Gosling: This does not apply to you.  Feel free to pump gas, mow the lawn, fold my laundry or empty my dishwasher topless.  Evan gives you permission.

OMGSRSLY MORE POOP?

On Wednesday, I took Miles to the pediatrician for the second time since he came down with this ear infection.  The trip was to check on the cough he had developed (because, of course, I’m thinking it’s croup or whooping cough or some other weird thing).  His lungs sounded good, his throat was fine, diagnosis was either post nasal drip or a cold.  But his ear still looked a little infected…like there was still a little fluid in there.  Not a real infection, but it would be easy to re-infect.  At this point, I think the pediatrician (who was not Miles’ regular doc…I love the regular doc but we only see him for well visits) can tell I’m an OCD WebMDer, and he’s just playing games with me.  I could’ve sworn I heard him ask, “Oh, have you heard of that new chicken flu?  These symptoms are exactly like it…” (there is no chicken flu, that I know of).

The pediatrician writes a prescription for a second antibiotic, and instructs us to start it on Friday, if the cough hasn’t improved.  I don’t want to start another antibiotic.  I know it hurts the good bacteria in Miles’ little tummy.  Also, he’s not a good sleeper when he’s on antibiotics (anxiety and insomnia are common side effects for most meds) and trust me when I tell you that we were all equally exhausted after the last 10 day round.

Friday arrived, and the cough was most certainly overstaying its welcome.  No amount of Vicks BabyRub, Simply Saline, steam baths or prayers were getting this cough to hit the road.  I begrudgingly picked up the antibiotics, and read the label: TWELVE DAYS.  Yes, the Twelve Days of I’m Never Sleeping Again.

Thankfully, this one is a once-a-day dosage.  We started Friday night, and he had his second dose Saturday morning.

Around lunchtime Saturday, Miles and I were playing on the floor when he casually told me he needed a diaper change.  His morning constitutional was complete.

He’s on the changing table, and I’m singing our usual diaper changing song.  I open the diaper, and just stand there, horrified…his poop is red.  Not bright red; more of a brick red, but red nonetheless.  A thousand thoughts are running through my head (chicken flu, followed by internal bleeding, and ending with zombie apocalypse) so I do what any sensible and rational parent would do…I fold the diaper back over (like in a “IT’S GOING TO GET ME!” fashion) and tell myself to calm down.  Then, I change his diaper.  I save the red poop diaper.

Miles is laughing and playing and looking at me like, “Make with the baby powder, woman!”  This is the only thing keeping me from putting him in my purse and sprinting to the ER.

In my happiest, sing-songy voice, I put Miles in his crib and tell him I’ll be right back, I just need to check on something.  I head to my laptop (you already know where this is going, right?) and immediately go to WebMD.  I look up the antibiotic he’s taking: Cefnidir.  Finally, I find the page with “possible side effects/precautions.”  And I find the usual suspects…but buried at the bottom, under the “precautions” I find exactly what I’m looking for:

This medication may cause stools to turn a reddish color.  This is common, and not harmful.

ARE YOU SERIOUS?  If poop turning RED is a possible side effect, you’d think that a pharmacist, pediatrician, nurse, somebody, would make that the first side effect listed on the bottle.  And not only that, but everyone should have to remind the parent or patient that this could happen.  A dozen times.  Because if you had red poop, you’d probably freak out, too.  They should just call the antibiotic "redpoopacillidin" so we'd know not to totally panic.  Right?

Miles is fine, we’re on day three of antibiotics/red poop and the cough is clearing.  Nine days to go…

OCTOBER IS HERE!

I love October…it’s the beginning of Fall, which is my favorite season.  But I do not love October for its pumpkin spiced lattes, pumpkin cream cheese, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin bagels, pumpkin yogurt or pumpkin toothpaste.  I love October for the return of this:

 Cue music...

And this:

 Ch-ch-ch-ch...

And this:

 Staying for dinner?

But MOST IMPORTANTLY...THIS:

 Need braaaains.

 Delicious.

 TONIGHTTONIGHTTONIGHT!  So. Excited.

Also, Darryl:

XOXOX

Only six hours to go,

Kristin

Friday Round-Up

It’s poop again!

Man, it’s been one heck of a week at the Coke House.  Most of you know we’ve been battling Miles’ first illness (an ear infection) which means little sleep, food, rest, showering or sanity.  Last night, he went to bed around 9p.  Woke up at 10p.  Back to bed around midnight, and slept through until 5:30a, hallelujah!  Today, he’s even more back to normal, so I am full expecting and have requested an 8p-6a sleep.  For me.  Miles can do what he wants; I’ve left instructions with the cats on how to care for him should he wake before I do.

One thing I forgot to include in my sickies post was the constipation (not me, Miles – I’m more of a “nervous pooper” and I don’t care if that’s TMI).  When kiddos get sick, their guts go haywire…I think you’ll either end up in a too much or a not enough situation when it comes to poop.  And we were on the not enough end (literally). 

Wednesday, he pooped.  It was glorious.  I mean, it was gross, but it was awesome.  I could at least worry less about whether the kid would ever poop again.

Parents, why do you not tell future or soon-to-be parents about the joys/concerns of diaper contents?  I suppose those moments end up in the eventual blur that is ages 0-5, right?

Oh, Billy...

Why do I never get anything done?

People, life is so busy.  I mean, I thought it was busy before we had Miles, but now I realize I was just spending my Saturday watching the time-suck that is The Cosby Show and doing not much of anything else.  Now?  There are days I walk out of the house wearing slippers because, in my extreme haste, I forgot to change back into my shoes for work.  It takes two hands for me to count the number of times I’ve forgotten to put on deodorant.  I come home during my lunch hour solely to dust, mop or do laundry, because I just can’t find time to do ALL OF THE THINGS during the week/weekend.  Mostly because I want to hang with Miles, but still…he does nap.

The thing about his napping…it’s unpredictable at home on the weekends.  I mean, if we take a nap together, you can count on a solid two hours.  Perfect for me to catch some shuteye, or read, or just lay there and watch 17 episodes of Roseanne.  If I put him in his crib?  Could be 30 minutes, could be three hours.  There’s no telling.  That makes someone as OCD as I am totally bonkers when you’re trying to do things.

During maternity leave, I could maximize nap time like nobody’s business.  As a newborn, babies are (at least mine) pretty predictable in their napping schedules.  Now that I’m back to working full time, and naps are as long (or short) as Miles sees fit, I go into complete panic trying to decide which of the things I want to do.

Mop?  Fold laundry?  Organize something I meant to organize three years ago?  Bake a cheesecake?  WHAT IF I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH TIME?

So, I usually end up sitting here, eating handfuls of cereal, reading celebrity gossip and blogging.

Like right now…it’s 5:15pm, and Miles is sleeping in his carseat (inside, duh) because he fell asleep on the way home.  So instead of starting dinner or making the bed, I’m writing about why we’ll probably just have Thai take-out and who cares because tomorrow is sheet/towel/blanket laundry day, anyway.

Lunch is on the house…

Today, I went to lunch with one of my GFs/co-workers.  It was a glorious Friday lunch, because the producers we work with were both out of the office on vacation.  For those unfamiliar with the world of insurance, producers (the guys on vacay) are outside sales, and the account execs (us on our most productive Friday ever) are inside sales, working with a producer.  So when the cat’s away…the mice go an undisclosed location for a fun lunch.

We’re blabbing and stuffing our faces with chips and salsa, when my friend gets a semi-concerned look on her face.  She says something along the lines of, “I don’t want you to freak out, but…blah blah blah.” 

PEOPLE: If you start a sentence with, “I don’t want you to _______, but…” do you know what happens?  Yeah, whatever you used to fill in the blank.  So if you didn’t want me to panic, freak out, call the cops, or eat that last cookie, well you’re SOL.  I didn’t even hear what the filled in blank was because I was already fuh-reaking-out.

What was the blank?  A ROACH.  A German roach, to be more specific.  A teeny, tiny, scampering, intruding, creepy German roach.  Walking (crawling?) in loop-de-loops on the wall of the restaurant.  On my side of the table.  We both sat there, staring at our lunch guest.

First, we thought he’d loop through the opening in the wall to the other side of the restaurant.  He almost did, twice, but no…the thought of crawling on our utensils, in our purses, up our legs, probably in my hair, was far more intriguing.

He wiggled down the wall, towards our table.  He veered to my side.  He centimetered his way closer and closer.  This roach had an agenda. 

I get it…I’m nice, funny, clever, and (now that Miles is feeling better) showering on a regular basis, so I smell pretty good.  Yes, practically irresistible.

I thought about smushing him, but knew that he probably had some super powered roach propeller wings that he would use to fly at my head, land in my hair, and forever become tangled.  Or worse – he’d send his legion of roach buddies after me.  Oh yes, they were probably waiting in the car at that very moment. 

Home Sweet Home

So I did what any rational patron would do when a germ covered, apocalypse surviving, asexual pest starts circling you…I sat there in a state of panic.  And did nothing.

My friend got up, relayed our concern (read: ohmygoshpanicattack) to a waiter.  Three waiters came to our rescue…and the best part?  Our meal was comped.

This makes me want to make friends with little German roaches, so I can carry them in my pocket and get free lunches and dinners.  Also, always order the steak.

Weekend Love and Rainbows,

Kristin 

Friday Round-Up

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

WE HAVE NEW NEIGHBORS!  Eek, I am so excited.  Wanna know why?  Because not only are they our age, but they're pregnant with their first child, and guess what?  IT'S A BOY!  This means instant best friend for Miles.  Also, because they bought the house, that means they're locked in for a long term commitment with us as neighbors.  It'll be just like a TV sitcom!  Yay!

My current concern is how long to wait before I begin the stalking.  Also, what's an appropriate food item to welcome them to the 'hood?  What if they have a food allergy?  Or can't eat chicken on Saturdays because of some religious belief?  What if they only eat organic apples washed by the tears of happy apple picking children?  I thought about baking banana nut bread.  Or maybe something pumpkin, since the calendar tells me it's Fall (although the weather does not).  Does it need to be gluten free, dairy free, vegan friendly, kosher and smell good?

Help me out here, people.  I don't want to offend the parents of Miles' future BFF.

Side note: Evan has met Cameron (the husband) and says he's super nice.  They have two dogs.  Last night, one of the dogs came into our yard (TO POOP!!!) while they were probably lugging boxes inside.  Evan advised me of the dog's (POOPING) presence by saying, "HONEY THERE'S AN ANIMAL IN THE YARD!"  This is not how you tell me there's a dog (POOPING) in the yard.  If you tell me there's an animal, my mind sees a grizzly bear or a sixteen foot alligator or a sharktopus (Google it).  I have a legitimate fear of zombies coming to my front door.  Ask my husband.  So the best way to tell me there's a dog in the yard is to say, "Hey, there's a cute, sweet, harmless looking dog in the front yard."

I went to the window and peeked through the blinds.  The dog looked up (FROM HIS POOPING, IN MY YARD!!!) and we made eye contact.  And we both stood there, frozen.  I did what any rational adult would do: I stuck my tongue out at the dog.

The dog proceeded to bark hysterically at me.  I closed the blinds.  Right now I'm iffy about the new dogs next door. 

Reduce, Reuse…

Most of you know I am big on taking care of Mother Earth.  After all, what we do today is the legacy we’ll live our children, grandchildren, great grandchildren…and I would like to make sure there are still some trees, estuaries, wildlife, and other cool stuff left for them to enjoy.  I don’t drive a Prius (yet) and we haven’t gone totally organic (yet) but I do enjoy hugging trees, picking up garbage, cutting the plastic rings from six-packs so ducks don’t get stuck, and recycling.  I have always been quietly proud of my recycling efforts, until my husband jumped on board.

There are a few things I refuse to reduce, reuse, recycle:

-          Cat food cans

-          Jelly jars

-          Salad dressing bottles

The effort to clean these things is more than I can muster.  Also, cat food cans are smelly…I freak out if any of the cat food juice gets on my fingers (like, flailing because I touched a spider web freak out).  I am darn sure not washing the turkey giblets out of it.  Ick.

If Evan catches me discarding any of these items, he will remove them from the garbage (no matter how deep I’ve buried them) and proceed to wash them.  It’s not unusual to find a jelly jar soaking by the sink when I get home from work.  Even if I try to sneak said item into the garbage can, his Captain America senses tingle and he runs to the rescue.  If I try to beat him to the garbage can, he foils my attempt in QB sack fashion.

In 2009, we took a 4,000 miles road trip from FL to Washington DC, New Jersey, NYC, Niagara Falls, and then west to Kentucky for my brother’s graduation from basic training.  Side note: Does it count as cross-country if it was mostly north to south traveling?  I mean, we did go to Kentucky, which could really just secede and become its own country (sorry, Kentuckians…) so cross country it is.  We traveled for 15 days.  Evan kept every single water bottle, napkin, newspaper, coffee cup, flyer, take-out container and plastic utensil we used.  When we arrived back in Florida, we had two black garbage bags full of recycling.  Evan would have left luggage in Ohio if it meant we could squeeze more recyclable goods in our truck.

We’ve been to parties and cook-outs where folks weren’t recycling their bottles and cans.  People: don’t do this around my husband.  Do you know what he’ll do?  Turn into a raccoon and start rummaging through your garbage cans to remove all of the recyclables.  Then we have to take them all home.

Please, for my sanity, recycle.

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring…

Floridians, what is up with this weather?!  It’s like the clouds have us confused with Seattle, and have sent all the grungy, depressed, flannel wearing rain to our neck of the woods.  Not cool.

This week alone, I’ve seen three accidents (minor) on my way to or from work.  The weather has brought the following to my attention:

-          Leaving adequate space between my car and the car ahead of me is something I view as a safety precaution.  Everyone else on the road believes I’m just leaving enough space to let six cars cut me off.

-          No one uses their headlights when it’s a monsoon; however, if it’s a light drizzle, at least two people will turn on their hazard lights and drive 25mph.

-          I never need to replace my wiper blades until it’s raining.

-          I never need to pump gas until it’s raining.

-          Umbrellas are stupid.  I am positive I get more water on me, in the car, in my purse, down my shirt and on Miles if I try to use an umbrella.  Is there some magical umbrella trick you can use to get in your car without soaking yourself?  Because it if you look at me after I’ve used an umbrella, you’d think I’m just standing outside, holding it upside down.  UMBRELLAS ARE STUPID.

-          No one remembers they needed to turn righthererightnowohmygoshhereicome until the very last minute.  At least I’ve given you plenty of space in front of me to attempt vehicular homicide.

-          The reduction of driving skills exhibited by the motorists on Del Prado is directly proportionate to the increase in precipitation.

Rain…please GTFO.  Thanks.

Happy Weekend!

Round-Up: The Heathen Edition

I had originally thought about including a blurb about The Heathens and golf clubs in a Round-Up edition, then I realized that I've never actually introduced The Heathens.  This post is dedicated to the little terror suspects living around the corner. 

Everyone has neighbors that maybe they aren’t too fond of.  Sometimes those neighbors are the ones who play their (horrible) music way too loud and way too late; other times, those neighbors are the ones who insist on mowing, weed whacking, trimming and using their leaf blower at 6:30am on a Saturday.  The neighbors that I’m least fond of happen to be a trio of boys in the 6-8 year old range.  In our house, these neighbors are affectionately referred to as, “The Heathens.”

Let’s get one thing straight…I am not a person who can’t stand kids.  In fact, I love kids, especially when they’re moderately well behaved and not totally covered in stickiness (what is that kids roll around in that causes the sticky shield?)  But if you’re kid is a jerk, well, chances are I’m probably not going to offer to babysit.

The Heathens live around the corner from us.  Their parents, from what I can tell, work from home.  This means they are present for a majority of the heathen behavior, which as far as I can tell, goes unpunished.  Visits from the Heathens to our side of the neighborhood are frequent, because the land across the street from our house is a “park.”  It’s a preserve the City of Cape Coral bought about 20 years ago because it runs along the Rubicon Canal.  Fun fact: our neighbor’s house was on that side of the street when it was first built in the early 90s, and when the City purchased the land, they actually moved the house to our side of the street.

Lots of folks in the neighborhood use the park to run their dogs, throw the football, or go fish in the canal.  We all have a mutual respect for each other; if the guy down the street is throwing the tennis ball with his Rottweiler, I’m not going to take my below average intelligence Collie across the street to play.

One Saturday afternoon about two years ago, I was in the living room reading (my favorite thing to do BC: spend six hours on Saturday laying on the couch reading Stephen King novels).  Our living room window faces the park.  I could hear some commotion, and I saw the Heathens running around like they’d chugged sixteen Monsters and eaten nothing but Pixie Stix for breakfast (side note: this is the glitz pageant standard breakfast).  I could feel my annoyance level rising.

The park has about a dozen or so trees.  Some are older, and some were just planted about five years ago.  The Heathens zeroed in on one of the younger trees.  They proceed to jump up, grab branches, and swing from them like the apes they are.  Branches were ripped from the poor tree.  I contemplated going outside, or calling the police (yes, I will be that lady one day) or squirting them with the water hose.  But in my laziness, and assumption that this wouldn’t last long, I just went back to reading.

About half an hour later, I got up to make some tea…and I saw the remnants of warfare.  These Heathens had managed to rip every single branch from the tree.  They had also disappeared, leaving only their path of destruction behind.

Two days later, the City of Cape Coral sent some workers out who had to cut down the tree and grind the stump, because the Heathens killed it.  Yes, those little terror suspects had committed arborcide.  And if that’s not a word, it is now.

There are a lot of things that break my bleeding, liberal, love everyone, tree hugging heart.  Like those ASPCA commercials with the Sara McLaughlin song in the background (you KNOW the ones), people who litter (especially from their cars – you give me road rage) and people who kill trees. 

The following weekend, the Heathens were playing football across the street.  

They looked something like this:

Scary.

Seeing the Heathens made me feeling something like this:

Damn straight. 

I refrained from marching over there and starting this:

 Sorry, ran out of images from 300 I found acceptable.  But this is pretty accurate, too.

The Heathens managed to avoid causing any loss of life to plants, animals, small children or elderly folks enjoying the beautiful afternoon.  But, they did leave their football behind.  Once the coast was clear, I marched my happy butt across the street and stole their football.

Was it mature?  No.  Was it honest?  No.  Was it what Jesus would have done?  Probably not.  Probably.  But it made me feel better, and Evan was super excited to have a new football.

Last week I saw the trio loading up into their dad’s SUV, and they were wearing karate uniforms.  KARATE.  Yes, the battle continues…