I think that is what my hubby would say some days when it feels like the house is in controlled chaos since I am the one who is really the bad husband (stereotype) in our marriage. I don’t mind clutter until it takes over the house. I’d rather go out to dinner than worry about cooking. I am working on this piece by trying to do little things when the baby sleeps or let him watch the baby while I do some house stuff. His favorite line is “What have you done for the house today?” Today, I have done dishes and laundry already while being up since 5:30 with baby and dogs. Why am I telling all this? Because of the guests on Rachel Ray today. I am a little miffed about assumption that women are the ones doing all of it in the house after a baby. Two women have written a book called I’d Trade My Husband for a Housekeeper. I feel like they interviewed certain women to get a limited view. They admit to interview dads too, but I’m skeptical. I also wonder if these women had good marriages before they had kids. They complain about not going out to dinner whenever they want or texting while home because they don’t have time to talk (?!?). I guess I am lucky because we still go out to dinner (we have just let go of the nice restaurant dinners, but we still go). We even went out to breakfast the other day and didn’t talk about the baby until the very end (Full Disclosure: little duffer was at daycare for the day). I think all of that is very healthy. I guess overall I just want to say that I am lucky to have a husband who does all that he does. Maybe I don’t say it enough, but there is NO WAY I want to trade my husband for a housekeeper. He is the man. I guess this means that he does deserve the week away (minus tonight) at his conference enjoying an open bar and bocce tournaments. Of course, maybe that means when I go to my conference at the beginning of August in Stowe (the town over) I can stay late one afternoon and get a spa treatment. A girl can dream.
Tag Archives: Unbelievable
Thoughts
In all this quiet, I have time for things or thoughts that have crossed the dashboard of my life in the last so many days. Since I have limited quiet time, I will recount them in no particular order, importance, or reason.
Death Wish — Turkey Style. Driving home yesterday, the largest most wild turkey flew directly in front of our windshield. Now, as a woman whose mother has hit a deer in her lifetime, you would think the sight of a bird flying extremely close to a window would be small potatoes, but in my case I nearly fainted. Out of nowhere on a highway connector came this bird with purpose. As the passenger, I saw it before my husband, but instead of warning him I merely closed my eyes and waited for it to all pass. You think it strange that I would not warn my hubby of this honkin’ bird that could probably do more damage to our car than it to us, but it seemed perfectly legit to me. See — my hubby told me I had to stop making noises or yelling if cars were too close or something was happening while he was driving because it startled him. So, in some zen meditative state, I remembered this piece of advice and calmly closed my eyes with my hands over them and waited. Of course afterward, my husband wondered why I hadn’t warned him, but like the good wife that I am I reminded him that he asked for less squeaks or comments and for the first time I actually listened to his request.
Running. The half marathon is a couple months away, but I am on week 3 of training and doing okay. Since I hadn’t been running since pre-baby by a long shot, I was a little nervous about starting with running. My friend told me that her doctor had told her no running until after she was done breastfeeding because of how loose the joints still are, but I assumed her doctor meant her and continued my quest anyway. I am glad that I have. I feel stronger. I feel faster. I feel more assured as a runner this time around. I don’t know if this is because my cross training is running after a little duffer who has recently learned to crawl or carrying him around (at least 25 pounds) or if because I am beginning to feel fit again, but I actually can say without reservation — I like running.
The Burlington Scene. In the last couple days, my hubby and I have had to be in Burlington doing things and for the first time we decided we are so not Burlington. We have definitely become part of a different scene which is really having no scene at all. Sitting at Breakwaters watching some really out there outfits while visiting with colleagues, we realized we are not 25 anymore. Burlington has this feel to it that seems like a time in our past. In addition, the news is reporting that we are getting a Whole Foods in South Burlington — ugh. Let’s bring more of corporate American disguised as some holistic food market to our small state. Interestingly, the comments on the news website embracing the chain are from the same people who condemn Walmart coming into other parts of the state. Hypocrisy? Plus, the driving in the Burlington area has gotten a little out of control in the last couple years. People drive like Jimmie Johnson–like they want to hit you in turn four right before you cross the finish line. In some ways, we could mourn the fact that we are not as hip as we thought we were once, but both of us agree that we are okay not being cool. In fact, we are enjoying it.
It’s, oh, so quiet. It’s, oh, so still. You’re all alone. And so peaceful until…
I find lately when I am in situations where it is really still and quiet that this Bjork song comes through my head like a montage. I wait patiently for the part in the song where Bjork explodes, but still all is quiet. With an eight month old, two dogs, and a house full of guests until a couple days ago, I forgot what quiet was. Today, my little duffer is at daycare and my hubby is at the junkyard with two of his friends looking for car parts and I am sitting oh so quietly on my couch after a quick hilly run. There are gray clouds in the distance that scream thunderstorm so I know the tweet of the birds and the whistle of the leaves is temporary, but I’ll take it. Of course, in all this quiet, I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to get the laundry cranking, do all the dishes in the sink, vacuum the rug in the living room, but I am actually thinking how nice the quiet is. Plus, I keep waiting for the part of song to get revved up and the dogs to start barking at the neighbor’s truck returning or the phone ringing telling me I need to pick up my son or something that will disrupt the sweet tinkling sound my dog’s bell makes as she checks in with me to make sure all is well. But… for now I’ll take it.
I saw it written and I saw it say…Pink moon is on it’s way…
or pink eye. We’ve moved from a gray day to a pink day. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. At least, my husband and I had a chance to exercise. He powered through a half hour or so bike ride in our hilly neck of the woods while I did a little under three miles in a little over a half hour. Only minor glitch was the dry heaving at the end of it all. I guess I pushed myself a little too hard coming back up the hill. When you are out of the running world for a while you are never quite sure how hard it too hard to go out. Now, off to spend the day with my eye-gooey son. Guess he prefers hanging out with mom after all.
I have a Masters Degree, really?
At least that is what I want to wear as a name tag when conversing with someone lately. My friend asked me if anything exciting had happened since we last saw him (it has only been two days so really unless I won Powerball or my almost four month old walked what could really have happened). My first thought to tell him was about the Poonami because it really was the most excitement I had that day. Maybe most traumatic would have been the more appropriate adjective. And since I find this story to be one that could be included in a book about moms and babies I will include it here. On Wednesday morning, I went to yoga BY MYSELF. It was even Ashtanga yoga (which for those of you who are not familiar with the different kinds this is the really active one that when I used to attend classes in Burlington in the summer I walked out looking like I had peed my pants all the way down to my feet because we just kept moving the entire time — not exactly the reflective type of yoga, but boy it makes you feel like you are exercising). Of course, the class on Wednesday was like the kid version of Ashtanga, but I am still telling people I went to an Ashtanga class if they are asking because it makes me feel badass. Anyway, after returning from class I was feeling quite centered and ready to take my little munchkin to Story Hour. We were meeting his friend E and we were excited for the fifteen minute (when you are almost four months old Story Hour is really story fifteen minute) songs and stories. My husband (the nice guy that he is) helped me put Duffer in the car with Swingsley his monkey and then came around to kiss me goodbye. Before kissing me he said (and I quote), I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but when I clicked the little duffer in, well you know. Quizzically, I looked at him unsure of exactly what you know is. Again, maybe my genius four month old is talking and said I want steak or something inane like that. Husband again, I think he pooed. Naive me said, oh that I’ll just change him when I get down to the library. Famous last words. Upon arriving at the library I was running late. Library doesn’t open doors until 10 Story Hour starts at 10, but it was like 10:05 so I was rushing to make sure to get a good seat on the carpet. Luckily, my friend had saved us a spot because it was a full house (must have been because it was vacation). I sit down. I quietly say to my friend, Duffer pooed on the way down, but I think we can make it through Story Hour. I unzip the down suit. A strangely familiar smell begins to waft (the same one that has caused me to dry heave on occasion). I still think oh, it just smells so bad because it is like a trapped fart. Since he pooed inside a pretty airtight outfit, the smell is stuck. I roll him over to start taking him out of suit when I realize I am not that lucky and no we cannot make it through Story Hour. The woman to my left says to me as I realize I need a hazmat suit and a biohazard tent like on Fringe or Eleventh Hour, oh, we’ve all had one of those. One of those? There is a category for this. I excuse myself to the rug by the exit and begin the process of decontaminating my son. For all of those who have had a Poonami come your way or been around when one has happened, you know, there is no easy way to clean up this disaster. Luckily, I carry plastic bags from a dispenser (the kind you have if you need to pick up dog poo — Thanks K!). The entire outfit has to be put in one bag because except for the shoes and socks everything has been touched — this includes pants, a onesie, a shirt, and a fleece jacket. I can’t take the diaper off to clean it off because I have to get all the poo that is all the way up to my son’s shoulders. I can’t take the diaper off because knowing my luck my son will pee on the books on the shelf behind me and on me (by this point I already have poo all over my shirt and I am dry heaving in the corner while the nice library reads about monkeys and sings Criss Cross Applesauce). I am cursing my husband who knows that our son is famous for his poo. That lucky bastard is now at home watching Days of Thunder while I am having a pit stop of my own. In only true miracle fashion, I am able to clean up my son and return for the last two songs of Story Hour where we talk about kittens and mittens and other such things. I chose books as if nothing has happened including two about heavy equipment (diggers and dump trucks) plus the monkey story that started Story Hour since we didn’t really hear it. I manage to wrap my son in my sweater and hurry him to the car since the down suit is out of commission. We make it home in one piece and even manage to get poo out of all his clothes with the Charlie’s Soap we use for the cloth diapers (truth — on the label it says it gets out poo and it really does). After all of this hullabaloo, I dress my son in another snowsuit and head to Staples for some therapeutic shopping. Later on, I end up with my friend at a local restaurant telling him this story. Then I remember, once I used to tell stories of books I read and educational philosophies I believed. Am I really that far gone?
867-5309
Tommy Tutone managed to get a one hit wonder with these digits. I myself have many a time made comments from the song towards people regarding that number. Can I remember them right now ? No, but then again I am home with a sick kid and all my brainpower is literally being sucked into how to creatively suck the boogers out of my son’s nose without him freaking out. The coolest connection I have to the number above is that one of our friends actually had that number when he was a single guy living in B-town. He did tell us that on weekends they got a lot of random phone calls late in the night. It must be like someone is at 80s night at Retronome, hears the song, and thinks damn I wonder what would happen if I did call that number. Today, we didn’t win Powerball. We didn’t even get two numbers in the same line so it looks like after vacation we will need to go back to work. Who won’t need to worry about working for a while is this New Jersey D.J. who has the said number above and is auctioning it off on e-bay. So far, the bid it at $350,000. All I know is sleep is a precious commodity. Why would I pay that much money to give it away with random people making dumb comments about the elusive Jenny?
What They Don’t Tell You…
is that being sick with a baby is like running a marathon backwards. Even worse is if both parents are sick while baby is not sick. I envision that all of the family being sick is even worse, but we didn’t encounter that this weekend. Instead, we had two trips to the ER for their finest IVs and anti-nausea medicine and a mandatory rest period from work because neither of us could get there. Today, I am out again because standing for any period of time proves tiring. In fact, I am writing this during one of my only awake times so far today. Luckily, we have a great baby who has his routine and doesn’t mind hanging out with his parents (sure, this will change when he is thirteen, but we got time). I am resting up because my husband and baby are due back by the end of the day and I know I will need to be on. We have over five baskets of laundry to fold and baby needs a bath tonight. Dinner will be easy because both of us are eating — wait for it — soup again. I haven’t had real food since Saturday. Me, who loves chicken wings, almost had my husband get out of the car on Sunday after he went into our local supermarket to get supplies and came out smelling like a bar on Friday nights that gives out free wings with drinks. Usually, I love that smell. That day, forget it. Maybe by tomorrow I will get to have a real meal, but again that could be a pipe dream. One that I can’t wait to indulge in.
Alex Ovechkin is the Man
At least that is what my almost eleven week old son thinks. Of course, I can’t seem to get his age right. For the last two weeks, he has been nine weeks old. Took going to yoga class and having a woman whose daughter was born four days after Duffer telling me my math might be wrong. Go figure. If you haven’t seen the stylish outfit that Ovechkin wore during the All Star Skills Challenge I do recommend checking it out. I love a guy who has a little fun with life, as does Duffer. Last night, Duffer hung with the guys watching the Skills Challenge. We have a great picture of him lounging on the couch in a pose that echoes a picture of me as a baby (yes mom we had to take a picture of him even though you told us not to). However, the big news is we have started a bedtime schedule for Duffer and it is working. My friend started telling me how she had a whole nighttime ritual for getting her daughter to bed and I thought maybe I should start Duffer on that since I am heading back to work tomorrow. Last night, I gave him a bath, read him some stories, and put his mobile on. I walked away and came back about ten or so minutes later. He was asleep. Tonight, I did the same thing and he is asleep! What is most interesting is I bought a book about getting him on a sleep schedule over a month ago because someone recommended it and I have not read it yet. Goes to show you that sometimes things just happen.
I’ve heard of drunk driving on bicycles, but Zambonis!?!?!
It’s A Miracle I Get Anything Done At All
Yesterday was my six week doctor’s appointment. Four weeks ago when I made the appointment I thought having it at 9 a.m. would allow for us to get in and out and on with our day. Four weeks ago I had my husband and sister helping me get around because I was still recovering from a c-section, not driving, and probably not worrying about things like showers. Yesterday, we started out early. At 6:30, we began the routine of feeding, showering, dressing, etc. Hindsight is a slap in the face if you ask me. My husband didn’t have class until 10 a.m. If I had been smart, or had a memory that lasted longer than three seconds out, I might have asked him to help us get ready and on the road. Instead, I ran around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. Now, my husband also pointed out that had I been a J instead of a P (back to the whole Myer’s Briggs thing) I would have been out the doctor and on the road hours before I even needed to be there. I snapped back that maybe if I had been a J I wouldn’t have dealt so well with the changes in plan/hurdles that happened as we attempted to leave the house. Change #1 — my son became hungry at 8 a.m. when I was supposed to starting the car and warming it up, as well as packing the bags (yes, I suppose I could have packed these the night before, but what if something had changed and besides my entire life has been spent packing in the wee hours of the morning before leaving for anywhere and I have done fine — no wisecracks about now I have another person to worry about). I needed to stop and feed so the car didn’t get started until 8:15 a.m., by that time I realized I did get myself dressed in nonelastic pants (okay, they are a couple sizes larger than my usual, but they are not elastic), pack the bags, and get the munchkin dressed in one of his many Randy snow outfits. I did not, however, do my hair. Hurdle #1 — taking off the jacket would take away precious time from being able to possibly walk out of the house at 8:30 a.m. so I decided I would put the little monkey in the vibrating chair that was thankfully still in the bathroom and throw product in my hair. Well, throw is what I did. The gel that I attempted to pump out of its container landed on the wall and all over my jacket — nowhere near my hair. Irritated, partly because I finally was able to wear one of my skinner jackets, I wiped off the goo, left the jacket on, and put more gel to put in my hair. Next, I held my now crying son while I brushed my teeth over the sink. Only small amounts of spray landed on the kid and me. All and all, we were finally able to walk out of the house at 8:40ish so that we were only fifteen or twenty minutes late for the appointment. Thank goodness, people think the little man is so cute and say things like “Oh, we understand” when something like that happens. We survived the rest of the day in one piece (managing to even get a bagel since we had forgotten to eat breakfast, a birthday present for a dinner we are attending tomorrow evening [we are bringing the whine since it is during my son's meltdown time -- we are either very brave or very stupid -- I'll let you know later], and go to two banks [okay one was a drive-through]). Our afternoon was much quieter, as we spent time on the couch eating way too many sugar cookies and staring off into the distant waiting for the coffee drink my husband had promised to bring home. Now, it is 7:40 the next morning and we have been up since 4ish (I no longer count the ten minutes here and there I doze off next to my son on the couch as actual sleep time) because we have been hungry, pooing, and just downright pissed at the world at times. Truthfully, I think my son is just getting himself ready as my husband says we are leaving the house by 9 a.m. today to do errands before the snow arrives. Meanwhile, I’m thinking closer to 10:30 — if at all.
