Exhaustion + Witty Repertoire

So .. it's been awhile.  Again.  Sue me!! I have a toddler.  And I've been promoted at my job.  Life is busy.  And tiring.  So, so tiring.

I've seriously began to master sleeping wakefulness.  You know what that is?  When you're so damn tired, you're wide ass awake.

  

I've mentioned before that I get asked so many questions.  So goddamn many questions.  And, as an added bonus, my son is now asking all of the questions.  All of the time.  "Mama! Mama! Mama!" until I look at him.  

But, enough whining on my part.  What have I accomplished these last several months?  Well, my son is still not potty-trained.  In fact, he could give no more fucks about pooping his pants than he would about picking his nose.  It just doesn't bother him one freaking bit.  And I wish I could convince him that... well, sitting in your own shit is gross.  And honestly, humans should be born with the ability to wipe their own asses.  But, I guess that would eliminate one of the most effective forms of birth control there is: a poopy, runny, blowing-it-out-the-bottom-of-the-diaper diapers.  

Hell, next spawn of mine, I'll just throw all of those diapers in other people's directions, and begin counting them as points.  Whoever racks up the most points wins ... something clever.  I'm not sure yet.  I'll have to bookmark that idea for one day when I'm not taping my eyes open with scotch tape that I should be using to wrap the Christmas presents with.  Cause, yes, I'm already wrapping mother fucking Christmas presents.  I wish those bitches wrapped themselves. (Yes, damnit, that IS what she said!)

Kudos to the poor saps that spend all day long wrapping presents for lazy sons-of-bitches like myself that don't want to wrap themselves.  The bitch of it all?  My first present looks like Ray Charles wrapped it, but by the time I'm done with all of the measuring and cutting and folding and taping and all of the other bullshit, it looks like I channeled my inner Martha fucking Stewart and wrapped it like a pro.  Then, twelve months later, Ray Charles has struck again!

Maybe, one day, I will mature enough that I won't use almost an entire roll of tape wrapping a single present, but part of me enjoys watching my dad search each corner of the present for a spot where he can easily start to open it.  I make it into Fort Knox of Scotch Tape and just sit back and watch him struggle.  It's pretty damn entertaining.  He eventually wisens up and will just slice it with his pocket knife, unknowingly and almost inevitably maiming the present inside.  

Most recently, my husband informed me that I suck at buying presents.  So, I've almost decided on just throwing in the fucking towel and getting him a gift card.  Is it a cop out?  Sure.  But, he wouldn't have room to say I didn't buy him the right thing, now would he?  No, I'm kidding.  I could never just give him a gift card.  I'll just get the wrong version of something and watch it sit on a shelf for 10 months before he finally finds some reason to interact it with it for four hours, only to put it on a different shelf in the top of the closet in the corner underneath all of the clothes he's thinking about donating,  Just kidding, those clothes aren't on the shelf, they are piled in the bottom of the fucking closet!!!  But, alas, I love him more than life itself.  

Here's to you babe.  After all, you're the only one who reads this blog!

Fantastic Beasts

I'm a bit of a Harry Potter nerd.  Okay, more than a bit.  Whenever ABC Fam ... er ... Freeform has a #HarryPotterForever weekend, I will force my spawn and my husband to watch them with me. 

Fortunately, my child likes Hagrid (I think it's the hair).  

My husband on the other hand, would almost rather put his eye out with a wand than watch one of the movies for the 89th time.  On rare occasions, if I've had a hellacious day at work or with the aforementioned spawn, he'll throw out there, "Hey, wanna watch some Potter?" in which case he usually accumulates lots of brownie points.  

I'm the one who will insert random obscure Potter references into everyday conversation.  My co-workers feed the beast by inserting their own references (there's a thats-what-she-said joke in there somewhere).  They know I'm good for a funny computer background change when they go to the bathroom.  To break up an otherwise pretty awkward moment, I'll let out a random: 

It makes me happy.  I feel like that's important in today's world.  A world so full of snarky assholes and people with their hands held out, it's nice to have something to fall back on that.  Something that makes me smile and lets my brain spread it's little fingers and let my imagination out to play.  Yeah, my family makes me happy.  But, I can turn my brain off and vacate the norm and either read HP or watch a movie.  Either way, I can just feel without having to think about life's hard choices or decisions.  Sorta like Ron, when he's eating:

Picture my brain on Potter.

Sometimes, at work, I feel like Hermione.  I'm constantly the one with the answers.  Not to toot my own horn, but I'm kind of a big deal there.  I'm the decision maker.  

Sometimes, I just want to be Harry in that gif.  The "what-the-fuck-do-i-care" face.

I come home, and I'm pretty much spent.  Don't ask me questions, don't make me have to make a decision.  Dear Husband knows this by now.  I think that's why he will randomly offer to watch Potter.  Because he knows it makes me happy.  And he does everything he can to make me happy.  He gets lots of points for Gryffindor.  (Because, duh, of course he will be in the awesome-est house.) 

So onto the reason for this post.  Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them will be out this summer.  I am super stoked.  I may not be at the midnight premiere, because, Spawn, but I will be sitting my tush in one of those super comfortable chairs, quite possibly with a slushie drink in my hand, watching this movie eventually.  Yeah, I know, it's a few decades before Harry and the gang are even spermies in their dad's junk, but I still think it's an epic idea.  Some people, some seriously jaded people, are agitated because they think it's just JK Rowling and WB trying to get more money, which, I'm sure is some of it.  I think most of it is they know how much we loved that universe.  I would totes live there if I could.  Muggles, flying Anglicas, The Sorting Hat, Gringott's Goblins and dragons galore.

  

Speaking of Dumbley-dore, here's my favorite:

Today, Husband has to work.  So, what will Spawn and I do today?  Most likely watch a couple of Potter movies.  My child will like reading and watching Harry Potter, if it's the last thing I do!

My husband pre-ordered me the soon to be released 8th Harry Potter book.  I'm elated!  Also, he pre-ordered me the Fantastic Beasts screen play as well.  Needless to say, I'm reading the whole HP book series again.  For, like, the gazillionth time.  But that's okay.  One day, I'll just be able to recite it ... verbatim ... on a whim .. for fun.  'Cause I certainly can't quote random parts of the books now.  Naaah.  

Cleaning Tips? Free Maid Service? Anything? Bueller? Bueller?

If you have any cleaning/organizing tips, I'd love to hear them.  Honestly, I consider myself to be a pretty organized person.  As a matter of fact, my almost-two year old actually helps me put his toys away, will put his books back on the shelf, will actually help the teachers at daycare put toys away, so I'm fairly certain it's in my DNA and hence my child inherited my cleanliness.  I think he watched me sweep so many times when he was an infant, to this day if the broom is out, he will push it around the living room.  And we have three dogs.  We sweep a lot.

My husband comes home from work and will empty his pockets on any shelf in the living room.  I will go behind him and put his belongings in the same corner of the same shelf every single time.  I will hang his keys on the key chain hanger thingy.  I've compromised with him on this.  Originally, I was of the mind set that those belongings needed to be in the bedroom on the dresser, but I got tired of fighting that, so I just put them in a corner where I don't have to look at them all of the time.  

I have anxiety, and it's tied directly to my environment.  If I'm in a messy place, I can literally feel my anxiety climb, can literally not be able to sit and relax until it's organized, or cleaned.  I grew up in a massively cluttered house.  We would get a knick-knack every vacation we took, sometimes several knick-knacks.  (We went on a lot of vacations.)  Needless to say, these knick-knacks just became huge dust collectors and shelf space taker-uppers.  So, I lived in that place for 18 years.  Once I got my own place, I decided, sure, I'd have souveneirs, but I'm going to have a neat, crisp environment. 

Enter: man.  Enter: child.  A bomb has exploded.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my husband, and I wouldn't change him for anything.  My child is the light of my life.  But, holy hell balls.  They have so much stuff!! Thankfully, as I've previously stated, child of mine will clean and help me organize.  Husband, will try.

I know I was just blubbering on and on about wanting another baby, and yes, this is true.  Am I willing to sacrifice some of my anxiety-ridden cleaning freak-ness?  Most definitely.  I do think I would be able to deal with this weird quirk of mine.  Could I do it in my current abode?  Hell fucking no.  

This place is not big enough for 4 humans and 3 canines.  Absolutely not.  My husband is working tirelessly to put us in a better position to be able to buy a house this time next year.  Mark my words: April/May 2017, this family will be packing their oodles and oodles of belongings up, and we will be moving into a house, hopefully built to our specifications and to our needs.  

Bay-bees

Babies.  There is so much that comes along with those little bundles of joy.  You never knew your heart could be so full of love for another human being.  You never thought you'd feel that tremendous pull on your heart until you see the little being that used to be inside you.  Being so excited, but so damn scared.
                                       

A part of you will miss feeling the baby move around inside you.  Those little bubbles that were the first indications that something was alive inside.  The weird cravings or the things that you eat that you will never tell another living soul (we all have those dirty little secrets ... mine may or may not have been an entire container of cinnamon rolls).

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The excuse for buying a body pillow if you don't already have one.  Swaying.  Whether you are aware of the swaying or not, it's very soothing.

Then, there are the things about pregnancy you won't miss.    

The constant need to pee being the most obvious.  I know with my pregnancy, Baby L decided my sciatic nerve was a great cushion and I was in the worst amount of pain during my last trimester.  I couldn't walk without limping, I couldn't really move without the feel of a hot knife in my lower back.

                                          

I hated people touching my stomach.  Personal space is not a myth people!

                                          

I couldn't flip over in bed without waking up, partially because of the sciatica, but mostly because it'd take momentum to get me to flip over.  The swelling.  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, the swelling.  Not being able to reach my feet and shoe laces.  Those two do not mesh well.  Being in that "in-between" stage, where people would look at you and silently wonder if you were pregnant, or just fat.  I could go on.  For awhile.

Infant hood.  Those long nights where you are sleep deprived and are torn between main-lining caffeine or stabbing your husband while he sleeps and you nurse the baby.  Where it may or may not be frowned upon to duct tape the pacifier to your baby's face.

To this day, River Monsters reminds me of when Baby L decided it was a great night to not sleep without the pacifier, but didn't like the way it felt in his mouth.  So, that night, I laid on the couch with baby in his floor bouncer with my hand on his mouth keeping the pacifier in it watching about 5 hours of River Monsters at 2 in the morning.  That was a long night.)  Those mornings where your husband will wake refreshed and ready for the day ahead while you are still rocking in the chair trying to get a squirming baby comfortable enough to fall asleep.  I have lost count of the times that I have rocked MYSELF to sleep and not my child.  Learning the ancient art of Swaddling and wrapping and re-wrapping again to get the blanket just right.  Nursing.  Oh, nursing, how I do not miss thee.  I'll spare you the horror stories.

Toddler hood.  When you're baby develops his personality and learns how to un-childproof your entire life quicker than it took you to read the book about how to child proof your life.  This is good times.  When Baby L learned how to crawl, we were so excited. When he progressed to walking, we were so proud.  With toddler hood, comes scissor-kicking our legs during diaper changes.

                                            

With toddler hood, comes handing over cell phones to entertain while riding in the car.  Long lost are the days where baby will sleep at the drop of a hat.  Long lost are the times where you could make a quick trip to the grocery store with naught but your key and your wallet.  Now, it's a whole ordeal.  "Do you have extra diapers?  What about a bottle in case the baby gets hungry?  Do you have a blanket, it might get cold?  What about the pacifier?  Oh, and an extra pacifier in case the first one gets dirty?  And the pacifier cleansing wipes?  A change of clothes?"  Oh, and holy alien babies, do NOT forget the child!  (No, I'm not speaking from experience.)

After all of this, I look at my toddler and decide, I want another one.  I miss the feather light baby weight.  The smell of baby breath.  The cuddles.  Oh, the snuggles and cuddles.  The first coo.  The first time they smile.  All of the firsts.  And the seconds.

Are all of the blood, sweat, tears, and trials worth it?  Abso-fucking-lutely.  I'm doing it again.  For faces like this:

                                                    

Daycare Can Shove It

Wednesday.  I was at home.  Normally, I have Thursdays off, but my child has the poops.

 

 
I got a phone call from Baby L's daycare Tuesday saying he had three loose stools within an hour, therefore he needed to go home, per their rules.  He has no fever, he is in good spirits.  In addition to that, he would not be allowed to return on Wednesday, for fear that what is affecting his tummy may be transmissible to the other children.  Sure, I could guess that makes sense.  However, Monday, they fed my child baked beans.  Baked freaking beans.  No wonder his guts are torn up!!

So, needless to say, I picked my child up from daycare and we went home to watch the live adaptation of Grease that was on TV not too long ago that I recorded.  Baby L loves the music and he loves dancing to it.  It's freaking adorable.

It's such a pretty day, we went to the park.  Played on the swings for like, an hour, walked around the duck pond, pointed out all of the "Na Nav's" and all around had a great day.  Baby L pooped twice.  All day.  So, I pretty much missed out on a days worth of work so spend some great quality time with the man.  It was wonderful.  He was a happy camper, I was a happy camper.  Worked out perfectly.

So, onto the reason for this post, I suppose.  I've been thinking about daycare a lot lately.  I mean, it is ridiculously expensive.  When my pregnancy was close to being over, we did our due diligence with researching local schools, checking out a few different places, trying to budget money.  We ended up with one that is close to work, so bonus for when I wanted to visit my newborn on my lunch break.  Said daycare was a smidgen more expensive than others, but seemed totally worth it.  The teachers were articulate, they wore shoes (which seems pretty much like a given, but we learned that .. no, not so much.), they even had a uniform of sorts with all of the teachers wearing a smock.  They had structured classroom schedules and would give us a little report at the end of the day tallying how much your child ate, how many times he pooped his pants, etc.  Pretty legit place.  We've been using them for close to two years now, and I have come to the conclusion that I am in the WRONG industry.  They HAVE to be making money hand over fist in that place.  Not even counting the weekly "tuition" that we have to pay, but they nickel and dime the ever living crap out of us.  (see what I did there, with the "crap" joke??)  $50 "supply fee" due every August, oh look, if you are a teacher and want to not bring your child in for the summer months then just pay this "reservation fee" and we will gladly take Junior back in August, but oh hey, this "reservation fee" isn't going to go towards the tuition once he returns, it'll just go into our pocket.  (Granted, I'm not a teacher, so this doesn't apply to me, but you can get the picture.)  "Oh, it's Thanksgiving coming up, so we are going to be closed Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday also for good measure.  What's that you're thinking?  Oh, you think you'll only have to pay 2 days worth of tuition, well, that's hysterical for you to think that, because you're wrong!! You still have to pay us for the entire week!!"

It's a complete racket!  They even had the nerve to send out an email last Christmas saying they couldn't afford to give everybody a Christmas bonus, so if every family just donated $50, then they could provide everybody with the raise they deserve.  Bullshit!! I'll give my son's teacher a coffee mug with a candle in it and call it a fucking day!  I'm not forking over ANOTHER fifty bucks, when you are probably laying out crisp $100 bills on your pillow every night so you can sleep on them.  

Basically, daycare has me over a barrel.  I work so I can help pay our bills.  If I didn't work, we would lose half of our monthly income (duh).  One of my checks covers a month of daycare.  So, one of my paychecks goes to bills.  This is with one child.  Add another into the mix, and I would basically work to put my kids in daycare.  I don't want money to interfere with my dreams of having another child, but holy fucking hell, daycare is expensive.  Can I be a stay-at-home-mom?  Probably.  I'd like to think I'd be June Cleaver, but we all know I'd probably become Lorena Bobbitt.  

I need to win the lottery.  The money kind, not the rock kind.  I have enough rocks, thank you.  

I don't have a title for this post.  I am not entirely sure I know what I plan on talking about.  It's Valentine's day, in case you were unaware.  Valentine's Day.  You know, I'm not entirely sure I know the history of why this day is this day, but what I do know is how vastly different V-Day is post-children than it was not 3 years ago.

This day used to be about getting dressed up in clothes that I was super uncomfortable in, wear shoes that pinched my toes, have a pair of "underwear" on that could be deemed cruel and unusual punishment by at least 10 states (noticed the " "'s.  I'm not sure this undergarment could pass as real clothing...)  I would go out with my husband, we'd wine and dine ourselves silly, quite possibly see a movie, I'd get flowers or chocolate, he'd get some gifts of his own, and we'd wake up the next morning and go right back to work.

Fast forward a few years, add in a toddler to the mix, and you'd need an abacus to help you count the differences.  It's needless to mention that money is tight.  Tighter than getting plants allows.  Even if they smell nice.  Who needs plants?  Today was like any other Sunday, pretty much.  Husband brought me an egg sandwich and coffee this morning, I showered, put on jeans and a t-shirt, we woke the child up, went grocery shopping, put said child to nap, watched DVR, and here it is, 5:00, and I am currently wearing an overly large tee, sleeping shorts, and underwear that would make my grandmother proud.  I may have a glass of wine to my left, but otherwise, this is my now V-Day.  Baby L is watching Dinotrucks on Netflix, Husband is cooking up a pretty fabulous smelling dinner after he decided today is a good day to bathe the dogs.  (We have a corgi... 'nuff said.)  The thing is, I wouldn't change a damn thing.  Today was amazing.  I would so much rather be with my family, in comfortable clothes, barefoot, drinking wine that doesn't break the bank per glass, waiting on what I know will be a delicious meal, than have to put on a show out in the world.  Much less wait an hour for a meal that quite honestly, isn't worth the money spent.   I won't have to tip the waiter, I won't have to worry about my babysitter sneaking her boyfriend over for some nookie on my couch.  Sure, I didn't get flowers today.  Flowers die.  I have the unwavering loyalty and love from my family, and that is something I could never, nor will I ever sacrifice or let go.  

I'm neglecting to mention that we did indeed celebrate V-Day.  As a family, we took our Monster to the Aquarium yesterday.  We got there early so we could leave once it got busy.  And let me tell you, it got busy,  I have a thing against crowds, much less adding in a toddler that just wants to run around all of the exhibits paying no heed to the people he's forcing his mom to weave around as she tried to catch him.  It's awesome that we are beginning to be able to experience these types of things with Baby L.  When they are so small, you're super paranoid about taking your baby around strangers or you're worried about how said child would handle the stimulation.  That was us.  Totally and one hundred percent.  Now, we are taking quick trips to different venues.  We went to the Zoo back in October.  Success.  Last weekend was a traveling fair-type event called Jurassic Quest.  Success.  This weekend, then Aquarium.  Success.  Now, if we could only make it through grocery shopping without losing our shit when we see a balloon, that'd be a perfect scenario  (yes, I may be talking about today at the grocery store with all of the Valentine's Day balloons at every. single. register.)

Would I do it all over again?  Hell yes.  In fact, I plan on it.  I want more kids.  Sure, Baby L. keeps me on my toes, but he's making me a better person.  Before baby, I sped, I cut people off, I wouldn't hesitate prior to ringing my neighbors doorbell at 6 in the morning because she parked so close to my car that I couldn't get into it (I will admit, I dinked the ever living shit out of her door getting in, whoops.).  I'm more positive.  I'm happier.  I am more loving and open about my feelings.  I do it all for him.  And Husband.  Him too.

Cat Butt Crocheter, Extraordinaire!

A lot has happened.  A lot.  I suppose I should start from the beginning.

A coworker sent me a text one day asking if I could make her cat butt drink coasters.  I thought, probably, but not any time soon!  See, I was on maternity leave at that point, so there was a lot of sleeping, crying, (on both my part and Baby L's) diaper changing (mostly on Baby L's, but there were some close calls on my part), baby juggling, ect. ect.  Needless to say, I did not have time for another project.

 

So, I waited until about December.  By that time, I had settled into more of a routine, so I felt like I was budgeting my time better.  On one of my days off from work, I was mainlining episodes of Holiday Baker's Championship on the Food Network, and decided, why not?  Looking at a photo, I winged it.  My butts looked pretty damn cute.  

  

I made her a set of four and took them to work.  Who would've thought that they would be such a hit with the people I work with?  My boss even insisted that I sell them up front.  So, a budding little Cat Butt Coaster franchise was born.  I was selling sets of 4 butts for $15 each.  And it being Christmas-time, I sold a good amount of sets.  I had people special ordering (Can I have one butt that has white feet, but gray body, and one white body with black tail?) and ordering multiple sets at once.  I could hardly keep up!! I was able to turn out one set of coasters an hour, pretty much spending my evenings crocheting after I put Baby L down to sleep.  My husband was content, because that meant I was making money on it.  A few months passed, my butts kind of slowed down some.  I kept getting people telling me I should make DOG butts, but then as I sat there and patiently waited for them to actually visualize the way a dog's butt looks, they quickly decided maybe that wasn't the best bet.  One person insisted I make dog NOSES.  Hey, that's okay... I'll just stick with the butts of felines.  I will admit, I did have several people mention dog PAWS, so the same thing happened as before with the butts.  One day off, I decided sure, let's try this one.  I winged it (especially since if I'm following a crochet pattern, but creation NEVER looks like what the original poster's, reference the dinosaur I made my son, but that's a WHOLE OTHER story.)

And now, the Dog Paw Coasters were born.  People can custom-make them to their heart's desire.  And, this is how I have become the Cat Butt Crocheter, Extraordinaire (with a little Dog Paw side action going on)!

I've been making these boogers for a little over a year now.  I guess I could have been keeping track of how many sets I have sold, but I really wasn't expecting them to take off like they have.  I'm not saying I am making money hand-over-fist, but it's nice to have the unexpected pocket change when I get into work and see $15 in my box from a set somebody has sold while I wasn't there.  

I've attempted my hand at non-animal related coaster sets, but being honest with myself, people aren't really in the market for yarn made drink coasters.  I just happened to be able to make quirky coasters that people can find appealing, if they have the right sense of humor.  I suppose if any of you out there in Blogger land would like to purchase a set of said coasters, you'll find a way to get in touch with me.

I think as a 2016 Year Resolution, I'm going to attempt to revisit my poor, neglected blog.  I definitely think I started it with good intentions, but life kind of gets in the way of ... posting about life, sometimes.  I might not have crochet patterns or book reviews each blog, but I'm going to try to commit to myself and to all of you non-readers out there, that I'll blog at least once a week.  If that doesn't work, I'll try at least once a month.  ;) 

I've found a TON of Mommy-related blogs, most of which make me die laughing, especially when I was still a walking ball of feelings.

I decided that I will never be as funny or witty as those moms.  I've accepted it, but I will forever still try to channel them.  These moms have kids that are either the biggest assholes in the tot kingdom or they are the biggest angels ever.  But, let's be honest here, the blogs about the kids that set fire to the grass in the backyard are hell of a lot funnier than those that talk about the latest award their daughter won by helping the elderly cross the street.  Baby L is still undecided at this moment in time.  Sometimes, he's the sweetest, most darlingest babe ever, then other times, he's swatting the glasses off my face or trying to bite the dog's ear.  I suppose that is life in the almost-2 year old's world.  His mission is to see how fast he can dump his toy chest over and how quickly he can un-baby-proof the abode.  I swear, he laughs in the face of those cabinet door locks and push-to-open medicine caps.  But, I wouldn't change him for the world.  In fact, having him has not deterred me from wanting more!  Just have to get the hubby on board for that, but we will see.  In time, I'm sure I can wear him down with my feminine wiles.  Even if my wiles are a haphazard wink that gets mistaken for having a hair hitting my eyeball and a come hither look that looks like I'm falling asleep standing at the base of the bed.

Oh well, now I've got a week to think of a new topic for my next post.  'Cause I'll be back.  Mark my words.