From the monthly archives:

February 2009

Hopes & Wishes

My hopes for you, my sweet birthday boy…

I hope you always wake up in the best of moods. It’s a joy to greet you at the crack of dawn.

I hope you always make me laugh, just as you have every single day for the past two years.

I hope you never lose that sparkle in your eye that totally lights up your face.

I hope you remain the best of friends with your siblings. You’ll never find people who’ll love you like they will.

I hope you find a partner who someday loves you (almost)as much as I do.

I hope you’ll never stop being my baby, even long after you’ve outgrown me.

I hope all of your wishes come true, today and always.

And, I sincerely hope that this prehistoric fascination isn’t a quickly passing phase. Because you are now the proud owner of a boatload of dinosaur shit. Enjoy.

And have the happiest of birthdays. I love you, babe.

Around the web

My Big Boy

A look back at Benji’s early years, as we get ready to celebrate his third birthday on Saturday…

(P.S. I’m taking my baby to have his tonsils and adenoids removed next Wednesday. Happy birthday, little guy. I stumbled upon this post and am now scared shitless. Has anyone gone through this? Any tips for him? Me?

Around the web

The Downside of a Blog

Despite the countless wonderful things about having a blog, there are some major negatives that nobody seems to talk about. Trying to visit so many other blogs when there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Obsessing over posting often enough but not boring you all with senseless posts. Remembering that although it sometimes feels like it, this isn’t actually a job. It’s fucking exhausting.

One of the biggest struggles I seem to have is confusing my real life with my blog life. Being crass and sarcastic is all well and good here, but outside of my computer, not so much. And it’s easy to forget that. “No, I just keep getting knocked up” is not an appropriate answer to the dinner party question of whether I work outside of the home. Or, at least the woman whose jaw dropped to the floor didn’t think so. I guess she wouldn’t appreciate it here.

The biggest negative, though, is that I now have tangible evidence of my many failures. Those fifteen pounds I promised would be gone back in December haven’t magically evaporated. Potty training started out with a bang five months ago and I’d say we were farther along back then than we are now. And then there was my vow to take away Ben’s pacifier last May. Here I am, nine months later, and he still gets one to sleep. And that baby who I swore I’d break cold turkey of his paci habit? He’s now totally dependant on that little piece of plastic, sometimes toting around two or three. Just like I promised he’d never be. Crap.

Turns out I’m all talk. Maybe it’s a good thing I have a blog after all.

Around the web

My Son, the Dog

Ben is my impossible eater. He happily eats macaroni, fruit and grilled cheese. That’s about it. Maybe, ravioli if the wind is blowing in the right direction. Occasionally, a carrot or pea enters his system, but it’s a very rare occurrence. Getting him to eat anything he doesn’t want to is pure torture. Because of this, I’ve resorted to some pathetic ways of nourishing him. Some days, I can get him to eat chicken or lasagna by pretending he’s a baby and spoon feeding him. Or I tell stories and make him take a bite in between words. We’ll listen to music and eat when certain words play. I’ll try anything.

Last night I was at my wits end— none of my usual tricks were working and the kid hadn’t eaten all afternoon. I’d made tortellini, and there was spinach in it. The horror. Evan happily shoveled them in his mouth, as he does with every morsel of food ever presented to him. Lily ate her 13 and was on to her strawberries and banana. Ben was in minute 17 of his hissy fit and I had a pounding headache. I picked up his plate and was about to chuck it in the sink and ~~shoot myself~~ send him to bed. For some reason, my desperation led to me to ask “want to be a doggie and I’ll feed you on the floor?” His eyes lit up and he nodded yes, sliding onto the ceramic tile. I proceeded to feed him his entire plate of food. Spinach and all. It was a miracle.

I knew that it wasn’t the wisest parenting move, but he was eating spinach for crying out loud. I stifled the voice in the back of my head warning of inevitable repercussions and patted him on the head. Go me!

Sure enough, he bolted down from bed this morning barking and asking for waffles on the floor. Silly boy, that’s a deal I’m only willing to make for vegetables.

Around the web

My husband drives me crazy V

Alternatively titled: “The post where you all hate me and call me a bitch”

I’ve mentioned a time (or million) how very thrifty I am. My darling husband, on the other hand, is not. To put it mildly. Jeff just loves to ravish me with jewelry– each and every holiday is reason for him to present me with a little box proving the depths of his love for me. I’m sure most wives would just love to be at the receiving end of this. Unfortunately for him, the person he chose to marry does not. At all. I am unable to recall a single little black box he has ever presented me with that I haven’t either returned or wanted to. Instead of appreciating the gesture, I calculate just what I would have purchased with the money instead. Visions of appliances, small and large dance in my head. (I’m such a romantic.) It’s shitty of me, I know, and eventually he’ll just stop buying me things. In fact, that’s just what I’ve been trying to accomplish for the last thirteen years.

For Valentine’s Day he presented me with a gift box. My heart sank. We’d (I’d) decided that we were going not going to exchange gifts this year. There are tons of things we need and we were headed to Chattanooga for the weekend and that was our gift to each other. Or, at least it should have been.

It’s a really funny story, he said, as my pulse quickened. I wasn’t going to get you anything, but there was a store that was going out of business. Everything was, like, 75% off. I know how you feel about a bargain so I just couldn’t resist. Trust me, they were a really good deal. A really good deal.

I took a deep breath as I examined them. He was so proud of himself. So hopeful. And there they were; little locks dangling from hoops. All I could think about was the hot water heater we were in dire need of and the nice little dent these would have made towards it. These were the last thing I needed. So… they aren’t returnable, I assume? No, he responded. (Thud.) But they were on sale, right?!! They were a great deal!

Oh, Jeff. I adore you, but what on earth were you thinking? You get points for finding a bargain, but purchasing me something that can’t be returned? Don’t you know better by now? Next time, just buy me a blender. Or a new hot water heater. And should you ever attempt to purchase jewelry for me again, please, please, make sure they’re returnable.

I love you.