The Visor Is Extra

Because you never seem to have the time to look through those hair magazines at the salon to pick out your ideal do, I've coined and patented the haircut term for you.

Observe and Appreciate: The Star Wars Helmet.

Don't thank me now, my birthday is in a few months...

In other news, last week Griffin told me he broke his head. I said, "What?" And he said, with exasperated efficiency, "I broke......my head". So, of course I told him, as any good parenting award recipient would, "Well, if you think it hurts now, wait till your first hangover".

In other other news, you should definitely watch Anthony Bourdain's Rome episode from Monday night. If you don't want to rip your tv down off the wall/stand and eat it during this episode I don't know what is wrong with your brain, but there are plenty of neurologists who would take your money to find out. Maybe they'll even ask you to donate your brain to science afterward. (Although, I had to work on those things in nursing school and let's just say body donation is not on my list of top ten things I have to do before I die and go to Bora Bora.) Just saying.

In unrelated other news, we had a family vaca to Salt Fork Lodge last weekend and it was awesome. Pics to come, when I decide that uploading photos is more important than ridding this city of fried foods one french fry at a time after work today. It's a dirty job...

To All the Mom's I've Loved Before...

Mothers Rock*.

*Disclaimer: At this time I must disclose that I, myself, am a said "mother" and thereby hold certain financial ties to being a "mother" and therefore so what.

My mother and my relationship has run the gamut of emotions in my lifetime, as do most maternal-daughter relationships I would contend. We bonded early or so I was told, since it began at birth and lasted for several years of which I have no memory, but the fact that I survived and was a pretty happy and extremely intelligent child is proof enough for me. Then we went through our headbutting stage, which I might pinpoint to start when I was 4 years old (meaning the first formable memories I do have of my life) and ending at about 24, so that was brief. But around the time that I had Griffin, and you may have heard this before, my entire perspective of mothers completely went out the window and crashed on the pavement 4 stories below, injuring hundreds of people. There's just something about pushing a gigantic human baby out of your you-who that says, "Gee, my mom's a pretty f-ing terrific and classy lady. I better make her a really special construction paper card right now". Trust me, if you don't understand exactly what I mean now, you surely will someday soon.

Over the course of the last 2 years my suspicion of her awesomeness has only grown. If I thought pregnancy was challenging, raising a 1.5 year old absolutely blew my mind. And it's not even the disciplining that gets me, it's the teaching. Over and over again with the teaching. This is a spoon, this is an apple, this is your bathtub, that is your peepee now leave it alone for the love of the lord. Don't blatantly hit the kid that stole your truck, just make it look like an accident. Say please and thank you but only to grownups or if a grownup is watching, otherwise kids your age will think you're a dork. I mean, was there a course on this in college because I'm pretty sure I would have remembered it and possibly had a plan and budget in mind to outsource my childrearing responsibilities when this time came. J/k! Ha. Haha. Okay, well maybe just a few hours a week at most.

But I think I do an okay job of it, and that is because of my mom. As these situations of being a mom crop up here and there with Griffin, I find myself remembering that I know what to do. As if I read this book somewhere along the line that told me all the answers but then I totally forgot I read it so when it comes back to me, I'm totally surprised and thankful for that book. Only the book was my mom and I'm still reading it every day, every time I talk to her. And the scariest part about the whole thing is now I've realized I need to read ahead, because at some point I won't have the book to consult anymore. And yes, I'm sorry I just went there on a Friday morning when the sun is shining and the birds are chirping there little heads off but the reality is I have never been more aware of my parents mortality than I am as a parent myself. So hug your mom today and tomorrow and your dad to because 1 or 2 days a year is not enough to thank them for being everything to you as a child, and more importantly as an adult.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Don't Tell Me This Means I've Finally Grown Up

Another chapter from our trip home was not-so-fantastic and involved the one where you tell your family that you were just kidding about moving home this summer after 4+ years in a far, far away land called New York City, and that in reality you were going to stay in the far, far away land for another 2-ish years, only nobody likes that kind of story so turns out they are not going to give you the Caldecott Medal for that one...

Unfortunately, thus is the story of Grant, Griffin, and my situation as of late and it's been a roller coaster of emotional breakdowns, awkward silences, and several pig latin cuss words (which incidentally detracts a bit from the point of cuss words). All I can say in a nutshell is that life is not linear, and when curves come you have to either be ready to take the turn or end up lieing in a ditch somewhere bitching about your bad luck while everyone else passes you by.

Though many would see this as a story of compromise, I see it as a story of trust. Trust that your spouse is truly your partner in life, whose goal it is to see to it that you accomplish the most you possibly can in your life, both spiritually and concretely, regardless of his/her personal ambitions, and trusting that you will do the same for him/her, thereby ensuring each of your happiness and fulfillment will always be at the forefront of your relationship together. It's also a story of trust from your family. That the person you chose to spend the rest of your life in partnership with will always do what's best for you, so that they can rest assured you are being loved as much as is humanly possible.

And somehow, this little algorithm of mine makes life's speedbumps seem a bit more manageable.

This One's Going in the Baby Book

From time to time I hear things from my Grant like, "Do not blog about this" or "I don't want this to end up on your blog" and "This is not to go on your website". Which, of course you know translates to "ABSOLUTELY BLOGWORTHY" in my brain of brains, or lack thereof. Hereafter lies the latest addition to this group... (Faint of Heart Disclaimer: If you have problems reading, talking, hearing, or otherwise being part of certain feminine matters regarding the "special time of the month", you may want to sit this one out).

[Curtain up, my mother's house over the holidays which is a venerable 3 ring circus of adults, children, babies, cats, Santa, neighbors, solicitors etc etc.] The house is somewhat empty, magically, and I run to the loo to quickly pee all whilst leaving the door open so I can hear Grif getting into some kind of trouble all the way across the house, knowing I can't actually stop him, and imagining the horror I will find upon exiting said restroom.

Only this time he pops his head in for a visit just as I grab my Kotex from the drawer. He immediately begins screaming something at the top of his lungs. Now, this little 18 month-old fireball of mine is quite verbal at this age but there are still many, many, many things he says that I scratch my head at and move on because there is no possible way he is saying something intelligible to my brain (much like 90% of the things my husband says as well, but I digress). I initially do the same to this exclamatory outburst but as he keeps it up for 2 minutes I realize he is saying something. And when the realization of what it is smacks me full in the face I have to hold on to the wall to keep from falling off my "seat", both in comedic appreciation and also in fear of what he will blog about me someday...

Let me digress again for a second to give you some back story. There are several things in this world that can make my son absolutely lose his mind in excitement for. Lest anyone question his paternity or maternity, one of them is food. (Obviously). Trucks, trains, airplanes, babies, slides, dogs, and balls also rank pretty high up there on the scale of unimaginable bliss. And, within the food category also exists a hierarchy of favoritism. Starting out with chicken or meatballs, advancing to bananas and peas, then up to blueberries, and at the utmost top remain the unseated champions yogurt (or "gogurt") and cheese.

Back to my restroom experience...

After seeing me begin to unwrap my Kotex, Griffin begins circling the bathroom yelling at the top of his lungs, as if his very life depended on me understanding what he is saying, "Cheese? CHEESE! Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese. C.H.E.E.S.E!"

I'm so proud of that kid.

Remind Me To Tell You the One About "Cheese!"

Boy oh geez it's been a while. Insert several apologetic comments here... And on to the news!

Let's take stock, shall we?

3 weeks in Ohio for Christmas vacation - Check.

1 week stint in Park City having a marvelous time skiing - Check.

2 cases of near-death gastrointestinal virus, not marvelous - Yep, check.

1 Katherine Heigl siting - Check.

423 new toddler toys I don't have anywhere to put - Check.

7 days of delaying taking down Christmas decorations - Check.

200 new words in Griffin's vocabulary - Check, check, check, CHEESE!

22 days past rent due date - Whoops and check. (Well, actually there's no check, that's the problem. See, my checkbook was among the casualties in trying to pack up way-too-much-f'ing-crap in about 15 minutes to come back to New York after my near-death viral experience last weekend. RIP checkbook, sorry Landlord.)

And most importantly, at least 37 good stories I have to tell you, just as soon as I get around to it. (Read: So if you're lucky before next Christmas...)

Ciao!

Note to Self: Dye Hair Before 15-Year

Why haven't I told you about my 10 year high school reunion yet? Why? Why? Why? Because I don't care if you have never met anyone from my high school at all, this is an entertaining story.

I'll skip over the part where I was either gigantically popular or enormously stupid which led me to be our senior class president, but I was. Which leaves me forever strapped to the responsibility of planning our reunions, and thereby receiving months and months of hate-mail emails telling me what a horrible job I'm doing, and how the reunion is going to suck, and how my eyebrows are uneven. *Highlight.* And maybe some would even say I deserve the hate email because I don't "plan things in advance" or "give a shit", but I say to those people, "f%$^ off" and if you would rather snort spaghetti through your nose than come to a reunion planned by me, than go for it Chef Boyardee. L'chaim.

My idea for our reunion involved two things: people and booze. Now, maybe I'm a little conceited here but I didn't estimate it taking me very long to secure these things for the party, like, all of 4.7 seconds of my time. Which must have just really pissed some people off. Wait I retract, there was a good 15 minutes it took me to stop and pick up sticky name tags, 15 minutes 4.7 seconds total. Added to some serious Facebook and emailing efforts to reach people and we were in the money.

Day of reunion arrives and Grant and I get there early, but not early enough because there was already 4 or 5 people waiting. Wow, the enthusiasm. I measure the evening on several points that added up to an all out raging success. The points are as follows:

- Out of 210ish classmates, around 80 were in attendance.

- A total of 4 people were cut off at the bar before 9pm.

- The cops were called 3 times.

- My tab was under $100.

If not for some minor fall backs (ie the bartender recognized me immediately as the "older sister" of one of her friends and ps she graduated high school in 2005), I was thrilled to have so many people there and watch everyone having a great time together. Especially, the part where our former classmate cornered Grant by the bar to give him this card before launching into a 15 minute narrative about his trip to the Netherlands for the Redhead Convention. Let that just sink in for a minute. Poor guy spent the entire party trying to locate every person in our class who had red hair to initiate them into the club. And by the way, you have to have a passcode to get into the website. Those redheads don't joke around. But by far, my favorite comment of the night was his and his alone, "Hey Mike, does your sister still have red hair?".

A-may-zing.

Well, Do You?!

The second series of events set in motion during the Pallone Hotel Patio Fiasco of 2009 was my dad showing up after wandering in the wrong courtyard looking for us for some undisclosed amount of time that might have resembled about an hour. Dad shows up with his suitpants and a white t-shirt on and immediately takes a seat of honor and beer from Vince. Gina offers him a brownie, to which he automatically says, "These aren't marijuana brownies, are they?" .......

Because did you know, my family is big on marijuana brownies? And especially serving them on hotel patios? With a million kids around? And especially offering one to my dad? Well, I didn't either. Cut to the rest of us just losing our shit again and it taking a good 5 minutes to regain breathing function before we're able to have a conversation. Now I see where we all get it from. Epiphany.

Which isn't even the funniest part, a while later my dad leans over to my brother in law Mike and says, "Hey Mike, how would you ask an old lady if she wants some chicken?"



And so ends the rest of any coherent conversation during that evening because the only thing that happened after that was a series of different people in different pitch ranges, with differing volumes screaming at the top of their lungs, respectively, "DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!"

The end.

DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!

Let me explain.

This past weekend was my cousin on my father's side, Dominic's wedding in Ohio. 2, repeat 2 weeks ago I decided to pack the whole fam-damly up and go home for it. Leading up to our departure a series of hectic things occurred, per usual, and had me contemplating my intelligence score several times over. However, with the promise of things to come in my head, I persevered and boy was I not disappointed.

The wedding was beautiful, outdoors, under the shade of giant oak trees on the front lawn of this tiny little Inn in Granville, OH. After the ceremony, we all smashed inside for the dinner and dancing (aka. free Budweiser and wine). We danced a little, ate a lot, smoked cigars on the patio, and imbibed on a few free beverages. Then the beer ran out. So they broke out Bud Lite bottles and the party really got started. Excuse me, it's hot in her'.

Round about 8:45ish pm the little one was getting tired and we decided to continue the party back at our hotel where we could put him to sleep, go next door and drink the rest of the night away with my siblings. My brother Vince and his wife Heidi came with and voila! Grif hit the sack immediately and we were 3 or 7 drinks in, as well as 3 or 5 philosophical convo's in, by the time the rest of the fam showed up.

Needless to say, more drinks were poured and consumed hastily. And the first of 2 series of events was set in motion: I'm jittery still thinking of how hard we were laughing, or maybe that's the coffee. Who cares anyway. So, all of our rooms had walk out patios to this central courtyard thingy. We were on Vince and Heidi's patio and had accumulated round about 14 chairs from miscellaneous departments for all to have a seat. Mindi, my other sister in law, was the first victim. She was only maybe 1 or 2 drinks into the hotel scene when she decided to go back in the room for something and whamo right into the screen door, full tilt and dropped like a hotcake right ontop of Grant who was the lucky one in the chair closest to the door. What else would you do when you make a fool out of yourself in front of a hugemungous group of people, she blames Grant for "pushing her into the screen door", right.

Next up was Julia, Mindi and Noah's 7 year old daughter. She's talking and walking and talking and whamo II. Screen door meet Julia face. Hello? How are you? For this we try to muster not laughing so as not to hurt the little one's feelings, but no sooner is she out of earshot before we lose it and 1 if not 2 unnamed victims slightly peed themselves.

Third time's a charm and my sister Marie was that lucky charm. She decided to take a different approach and run through the screen from inside the room coming out, so we all got to see her face as she realized mesh is not as forgiving as once thought. And this was a pivotal run-in because she set the screendoor off the track. Setting up the 4th and finale of all screen door run-ins: Noah.

So in an attempt to encourage more gathering and boozing, my brother Noah went to his car to get 2 bag chairs he brought from home to set up outside. He was returning to the patio, from inside the room, 2 bag chairs over the shoulders and a beer in hand. Not only does he smack the screen door with his forehead, knock it to the ground and faceplant, he does it without dropping the chairs or his drink. It was a hotel patio miracle folks, and I wish you were there. Who needs church when you have God making miracles happen every day?

And I'll go on record here as the one who peed my pants, no qualms about it. And yes, it was well worth it.

Day Dream Believer

The ongoing catastrophe that is my sleep-dream cycle has once again spiraled out of control. Evidently, my real life isn't scary enough that I have to make up the craziest shit ever while trying to rest.

Cut to: the fog lifts to a scene between me (who is not really married to Grant anymore) Grant's mom and his dad. [I know you, you're thinking, "This is gonna be good!"]

Grant's dad to mom: So what I'm trying to say is, I had an affair 28 years ago and Grant is not really yours, he's mine and Teresa's somewhat related aunt (who is a fictitious person).

Grant's mom: Oh, okay then.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK?

Grant's mom: Well, it makes sense. I'm not mad at you, we've been married a long time and things like this are bound to happen. I'm glad you told me.

Me: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

Grant's dad: Don't worry Teresa, it's not your fault.

Me: I'm sorry, did you just say my fault? How the hell would this be my fault? I don't even know this woman you're saying is my aunt. And furthermore, are you insane? How can you not know you didn't give birth to your child? You're batshit, people. All of you.

Scene ends with Grant's parents trying to give me a group hug.

Holy hell, I'd rather just be awake. And though now I seriously want to Chuck Norris someone's face, I can't decide between his dad, his mom, my fictitious aunt, or Grant.

I Hope It's a "Big" Plane

In preparation of going back to Columbus next week, I need to do a few things:

1. Freak out about packing, because there is never a good time to start, we never have enough space, and yet we always take too much stuff.

2. Notify everyone within a 25 mile radius of home that we'll be in town in case they want to get together.

3. Pre-plan every breakfast, lunch, and dinner so as to accomplish #2 without leaving anyone out or spending too much time with any one person, group, or organization thereby offending other persons, groups, and organizations, thereby removing us from wills and/ or Christmas lists in the future - not an option.

4. Pack all necessary items including many unnecessary items for two adults, one baby and one high maintenance dog to permit us to be away from our apartment for 4 very short days - not to mention it's daylight savings time and we lose a whole 60 minutes to nothingness (completely unfair and litigious).

5. Freak out for approximately 24-72 hours about our plane going down en route.

6. Streamline books to take for pleasure reading: HA. That's a good one!

7. Coordinate pick up and drop off of earlier mentioned high maintenance dog, then over analyze the effects of leaving him for 4 days on his non-existent psyche.

8. Consume any perishable food items from frig and cabinets - check.

9. Water plants - shit I always forget to do that on a regular basis - thereby making me feel really guilty about leaving them for several days without the option of having me water them.

10. Make lots of lists.

Though every trip home is always much anticipated and way too short, I will not have nostalgia for these packing, unpacking, and repacking trips once we are permanently relocated in O to the izz-O.

Witness: The Family (Insert Jaws theme here).

Run 2 of Random Facts About Me

1. When I was 9 I told everyone my name was "Mrs. Wilson". (?)

2. I went to Buckeye Girl's State in high school. I have no idea what we did there. But we did order a pizza that never got delivered.

3. I play the bagpipes. In my throat.

4. I once stalked my volleyball coach for an entire year.

5. My favorite food group is alcohol. It's also my favorite season and sport.

6. I can play Enter Sandman on the trombone.

7. My most embarrassing moment was in the 6th grade, I fell off the gym stage in front of the entire school. Oddly enough - no alcohol was involved. I can still feel my foot getting caught in the foam matting which caused the fall to end all falls.

8. The first time I shaved my legs was also in the 6th grade and I almost bled out in the tub. But I was front stage for a musical and we had to wear shorts, so like hell I was going to be the Yeti up there. Better to be covered in scabs and bandaids than hair, am I right?

9. My Great Grandmother had $8 to her name when she immigrated from Italy to Ellis Island. She was alone, unmarried, and not yet 16.

10. Juno might be my all time favorite movie.

11. Empire Records is a close second. The best things in life are free.

12. I am an intensive care nurse and yet I've never had a plant live more than a few weeks under my care. I successfully kept 4 alive for about a year and a few weeks ago they all died except the one my Grandmother gave me. I see signs of my grandparents almost every day.

13. My favorite words are aardvark and coconut. If only I had an aardvark named Coconut... [sigh].

14. I've spent a good portion of my life laughing. At everything and nothing in particular. I laugh out loud more now than I ever have in my entire life, thanks to Griffin.

15. I got a Snoopy Snow Cone machine when I was 14. Not by choice.

16. My roommate in college was hometown friends with Sam Hornish Jr. (So what, I name drop. Kiss it.)

17. My husband played for the Steeler's for 2 weeks during the 2005 season and they were the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl. I sat in the 10th row, 30 yard line for Super Bowl XL. WTF?

18. I once found a vibrator on the ironing board of a B & B I stayed in for my friend's wedding.

19. I did a shot of Tequila with Snoop Dog. (See #17).

20. I only skipped school once in high school. It was the day before prom, we got caught, and weren't allowed to go to the dance. I married the bastard that kept me from my Junior prom. [Love you, honey!]

21. My mom accidentally cracked my head open when I was 9 months old. I have a scar between my eyes.

22. My sister has quintuplets. No, she does not look like Angelina Jolie.

23. I used to throw tea parties for my dolls using plastic shot glasses. Now #5 makes sense, doesn't it?

24. I was both my high school and college senior class president. Running on a platform of "Why the hell not?"

25. My left eyebrow is slightly higher than my right one. In response, I buy crooked sunglasses.



Your turn, hit me with some randoms.

Introducing Her Majesty:

Lindsey Marie.

Five full pounds of beauty and energy.

And if you don't want to eat her in this picture, I don't know what planet you're from.I can't believe I have to wait two more weeks to see her.
I'm like an ADD fourth grader waiting for recess over here.

My OB-Gyn, The Miracle Worker

I feel it is my sworn duty as the educator to the childless masses to inform you of a delightful new development in our lives as of late. Remember how I told you about this back in November? Well! Friends. Don't go out and get your tubes tied just yet. There is progress on the V-jay jay front.

After consultation with my doctor which went something like this, "PLEASE, please, please, pretty, pretty please, f-ing are you kidding me, I want to die, do something before I light myself on fire to help me, please" she took mercy and wrote me a little prescription for estrogen which completely changed the ballgame. Thank the good lord almighty and then some. Give that woman a raise.

So no worries that after you birth a child you'll never have sex again, because you will. And it will be great. Well, I can't vouch for the great part because I don't know what kind of sex you're having to begin with, but hopefully its good? That's a hypothetical there, you don't have to tell me how your sex is, actually never tell me how your sex is, ok? We're just going to say yes, we have it and it's just fine, got that? Whew. Got a little nervous there for a sec that you might comment and tell me about your bedroom exploits and jeez how I don't need to read about that tomorrow morning.

Alright, what else do I need to tell you about? Oh yes. My sister had her baby! Her name is Lindsey and she is a-dor-a-ble so much that I need to eat her and contemplate doing just that on a daily basis. Pictures are forthcoming, she was born last Friday the 6th at 5 pounds and she has tons of brown beautiful hair. Gina and baby are doing very well and are at home enjoying some R & R. So the circle of life spins once more for our family and now there are 14 grandchildren for my parents: Gabriella, Ben, Grace, Mary Kate, Emma, Alex, Julia, Anna, Rebecca, Logan, Joey, Griffin, Aedan, and now Lindsey. I cannot believe how wonderful they make my life and how much I miss living in Columbus just so I can see them grow every day and listen to them spout off the philosophy of 9, 8, 6 and 4 year olds.

Happy late Valentine's to you all!

In Stores Now

I don't know when it happened but all of a sudden I realize I am a conceited piece of poo, either that or just plain cheap. Why? You ask. Because this year for Christmas I am giving everyone a picture of myself. Nothing says holiday cheer like gifting someone your big dumb face smiling away at some ridiculous moment that they were not originally a part of. And it's like saying, "because you don't think of me enough, here's a picture to put in your house so that you must remember me often and think constantly of my face. Happy Birth of Jesus!"

If you are reading this right now and jealous that you are not in our inner circle and therefore will be missing out on the picture of my face for Christmas, here:

And don't say I never got you anything. And don't even look for the receipt because there isn't one.

ON LOCATION

So, though I've promised many a time and never actually delivered, I am officially blogging on location. Allow the awe to wash over you. Do not deny it.

This writing is made possible because I am wall to wall relatives here in Columbus fighting over each other to watch, change, feed, cuddle, kiss, and whathaveyou my child to death. It is, as they say, a wonderful world.

Though I must preface this with the submission that if you allow said relatives to smother your child with attention when you want them to, they may also begin new and exciting habits like getting your little person up at 6AM to play with him even though he NEVER EVER gets up at 6AM and therefore forces you to get up at 6AM when you are ON VACATION PEOPLE.

Wow. Sorry about the yelling so early in the morning. Had to vent*.

* Seeing as how I'll be home with an offensive amount of relatives for approximately a month, I may be "venting" quite often. I will not apologize, you must bear the weight with me if you want to benefit from the hilarity of my prose. Amen and Hosana in the Highest.

Happy Insanity Holidays

There are few certainties in life save for death, taxes, and the inevitable: every family has it's share of "crazy". So let's talk about the latter, shall we?

Haven't we all made the statement "but everyone's family's got issues" after railing for 30 minutes about how crazy your family is, or how annoyed you are at so-and-so, or how crazy that person's family is, etc, etc? Nod your head, it's okay, I laugh at the TV screen all the time.

My problem is, I am 520+ miles away from said family and so all of the things that should drive a person crazy just make me miss mine more. As dysfunctional as we all are, and trust me, we're dysfunctional with a capital Dys, I love those crazy sons of b*%^$es, I really do.

So hug your loved ones tight this Chrismas-Hanukkah season and whisper discreetly, "You know you're ass backwards insane, but I love you anyway. And if my present's another Roadside Emergency Kit, I'll kick you in the balls. Merry Chrismas".

Ex-caruuse Me? Oh, No You Di'nt.

Though there is an abominably large amount of information I need to share with you regarding the past few weeks of my boring life - this issue is pressing... (on my "BITCH MOMENT Processing Center").

After hauling ass to get the three of us on our flight home to Columbus for Thanksgiving, proceeding through the holiday with a smile and all of my bodily appendages intact, avoiding killing any next of kin, and flying home by myself with the Little Big Guy, I received this comment by the flight attendant of an unnamed airline that might rhyme with Smelta:
"Well, I guess the Little Guy doesn't need a coat in this weather!"

Listen here, Flight Attendant Devil Woman, if you had told me while we were waiting for 45 MINUTES in the gate area that we were going to have to go outside to board the rinky dink ass little plane you were flying us on to New York, I would have put his DAMN COAT ON. But seeing as how you were too busy trying to fit your gargantuan ass behind the ticket counter to notify us of this important detail, I have made the executive decision as the FANF*INGTASTIC mother that I am to subject my poor defenseless infant to the bitter cold for the sake of getting the plane out on time. Now, do you think you could go ahead and open a can of "SHUT THE HELL UP" so we can be airborne shortly?

Thank you and accept my birdie as a compliment to your airline.

Last Post Cont.

3. Bring rambunctious, wild, crazy, annoying dog along. Because you're already screwing with Mother Nature here, why not really piss her off?

4. Allow parents to tell everyone and their neighbor's best friend that we are coming to town and to all come over to see the new baby! Translation: come over and wipe your grubby, dirty hands all over the clean, brand new baby with no immune system.

5. Stay up way too late entertaining family with baby and proceed to attempt to go without sleep for the entire trip home.

6. Get Mastitis (just wait till I post about this one!), aka massive red swollen breast requiring antibiotics for 7 days. Fun!

7. Separate the Marital Twosome, thereby allowing outside forces like extended family and friends to intertwine themselves in baby rule decision making.

8. Lose all track of feeding and sleeping schedules and replacing the orderly system with new system of "Who the hell knows, just stick a boob in his mouth if he's crying" System*.

*This is a faulty system. We as a unit do not endorse this system.

9. Try to hold onto a shred of protectiveness over newborn infant by squirting everyone who comes within two football fields of your son with Purell Hand Sanitizer. If they resist, squirt them in the eye.

10. When everyone's thoroughly exhausted and cranky, strap 6 week old infant back in car seat and back track across Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and finally New York to your place of origin, mastitis in tow.

Summation: It's going to be a while before we do something this stupid again. Like maybe a week or two. At least.

Day 6 of being home update - Everyone's still alive. And I've only bathed the kid 234 times. I swear he likes it, see?

Weekend In Snowbound Nutshell

So this happened. And I'm knocked up so I couldn't even snowboard. Even though there aren't so much "mountains" in Ohio as much as "hills" that are really "mounds" barely higher than my "kneecaps". (I had a thing going there, did you see?)

But let me backtrack to the actual act of getting home for the weekend: In route to Columbus on Friday morning my lovely pilot, Pilot Dan, decided to turn the plane around, and send us back to New York only to wait on the plane for 40 minutes before he told us he was going to and I quote, "Try this again" end quote. Fantastic. Let's just "try" this whole thing with the flying and the 38,000 feet altitude, and the landing part in a FREAKING BLIZZARD. Yeah, let's just try it. I mean, how bad could it be if it doesn't work, right?

No. No Pilot Dan, no.

In addition to ripping the muscles from my hands trying to hold onto the armrest as tightly as possible, I was blessed with the conversations of this quasi-elderly couple sitting behind me. It started just about the time Pilot Dan decided to make his U-Turn. They were annihilating each other for the fact that our plane was returning to New York and they might possibly miss the wedding they were supposed to attend on Saturday. I mean, this woman made Mommy Dearest look like June Cleaver. Of course, I tried my best not to eavesdrop - riiight, but it went on and on and at points I was furiously scribbling notes to myself so I could remember to tell you about the funniest parts. Here's a summary:

Him: We'd better call John.
Her: We are NOT calling John! Why would we call him?! We have no idea what's going to happen! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. We are NOT calling John.

Her: Did you take my Rachel Ray? I can't find my Rachel Ray!
Him: No, did you put it up with the coats?
Her: NO! Why would I have put it up with the coats? I couldn't even have put it up there, your coat was too big! I think someone stole it.
Him: That's it! I'm telling the stewardess.
Her: NO you are NOT! You are not telling the stewardess. But someone must have stolen it. I know they did. I must have laid it down and someone took it.
Him: Miss! Miss! Someone stole my wife's magazine.
{Stewardess looks at the guy like, no shit? You think I care? And walks away without saying anything. - I love that girl.}

Her: You better put your seat up!
Him: I'm TRYING, but it won't WORK.
Her: You just have to push the button. What's the matter, can't you push the button. NO, not that one, the other one!
Him: I'm pushing it! It's not working! It's broken!
Her: You can't do anything.

You get the idea. This continued for the return trip to New York and then the entire time we sat there on the runway before taking off again. Mercy was upon me though, and once we took off the second time they pretty much shut up for the rest of the trip.

So we actually managed to arrive safely and I arrived at my parent's house to sit and watch the snow. And watch. And watch. And then we ate, then we watched some more. For the next two days, my activities consisted of eating, peeing, and sitting on the couch watching the 18 inches of snow fall 1 centimeter at a time. Everyone was snowed in so I got to go nowhere and only see 1/2 of the family, even though that still accounted for about 20 people.

One of the highlights was my sister bringing me my Girl Scout Cookies, yessssss, and catching up with my nieces and nephews. I also managed to burrow my way to Kohl's and get a few maternity shirts that are desperately needed, less I start wearing the only tops that still fit me - my scrub tops - with jeans to the bar on Friday night. (You'd better believe I would so do it.)

I also got to see my best friends and talk about the art of farting, and with-holding s.e.x. which is pretty much the reason that they are my best friends. I wonder if I'll ever be able to see my friends whenever I want. I hope so. Except now that my friends live all over the East Coast and Midwest, it might pose a geographical quandary.

The First Christmas I Wasn't Left With "Bitter Christmas Mouth"

Do you know what I'm talking about? Like, magically at midnight on December 26th anything whatsoever even resembling Christmas makes you want to puke your guts out? Like, if I have to listen to one more freaking Christmas song, I'm going to go ballistic and rip someone's ears or possibly toes off? And if I even see a Christmas decoration I'm going to rip my own eyes out and stuff them in the garbage disposal (sorry that one was kind of gross).

Well, guess what? It didn't happen this year! I am still full of the Christmas Spirit. And it's January 4th. And now my New Years Spirit is raring to go, too. That's double the holiday spirit, people. Call the National Guard, or the Navy, or someone. I have been reminiscing over what might have saved me from the After Christmas Poo-Poo Letdown Massacre and have decided that it is entirely due to the fact that I refused to let myself get abducted by the Commercial Christmas Nazis that govern all methods of entertainment and advertising during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. I did not buy one materialistic overpriced gift, did not purchase one single extraneous Christmas decoration, or participate in any gift swap of any kind. I spent time and love making presents for everyone I care about this season and they were more intrinsically valuable to me to give than I ever believed it would be for the people to receive them. That is awesome. I have stumbled on the answer and I will fall down flat on my face gladly year after year doing the same thing.

My Post Holiday Transcendence is also due in large part to the time we got to spend with our families this year. For the first time, I didn't feel rushed and anxious over attending everything possible and seeing everyone individually. We had lots of time to see everyone and spend good quality time rather than frantic holidays on crack time. I cannot believe it went by so quickly, but I also feel blessed to have had that much time to spend at home at all. Thank you to everyone who made our holidays special. We love you all dearly and value your friendships to no end.

Happy New Year.