Back on the Wagon

Jeffrey's still draggin' Mads around in that little dump truck, even though it dumped her right on her head not that long ago. I can't say I blame him, she conks out after the third lap.

I think adding the pillow was a nice touch.

I'm saving tip money to buy one of these bitches:

Now that's a freakin' wagon. Check out those tires!

Daddy-Baby Day

Madelynn spent the day with her hand in Daddy's, and I spent the day behind the camera.

Not only was it "win-win" for everyone involved, but the sun actually came out for a little while.

Best Friday ever.

Pretty Girl

Personally, I think that Madelynn is the most gorgeous of all gorgeous children in the whole entire universe.

I'm not sure if I think that because she is truly an exceptionally stunning baby,

or if it's just that all mothers think that about their kids.

I'm kidding, I know the truth. My child is just heartbreakingly beautiful.

Watch out Heidi Klum, you're hot now, but you'll be pretty old by the time Madelynn steps on the scene.

And she should already be over her drooling phase by then. You don't stand a chance.

I'm a 90's Kid

Jeffrey and I have been spending a ton of time on our balcony. With Babe's strict 7pm bed time, there's really nothing better to do. The "big kids" in these apartments (the ones who get to stay up until frickin' midnight) are always playing in the grass right below us. When they aren't smashing baby dolls off of rocks or throwing basketballs at the handicap signs, they're usually playing some newfangled form of patty cake. I say "newfangled" only because I never patty-caked about Miley Cyrus. Anyways, when there was a break in chanting and screaming, I busted out my favorite patty-cake for Jeffrey (who was totally speechless [confused? scared?]). Here it is, the way we used to say it (I'm sure there are other versions).

Miss Lulu had a steamboat, the steamboat had a bell.
Miss Lulu went to heaven, the steamboat went to
Hello operator, give me number nine.
And if you disconnect me I will kick you from
Behind the fridgerator, there was a piece of glass.
Miss Lulu sat upon it, and shoved it up her
Ask me no more questions, tell me no more lies.
The boys are in the bathroom, zipping up their
Flies are in the kitchen, bees are in the park.
Boys and girls are kissing, in the D-A-R-K D-A-R-K-D-A-R-K ::high slaps:: dark dark dark!

Oh the good 'ole days. I could go for a challenging round of cat's cradle right about now.

A Room to Play in

After our day of fun and sun, my parents (the most super-cool people in the universe) came over to help me with Babe's play room. Mum has been spending quite a bit of time at auctions and yard sales, so they had plenty of things to fill her room with, alongside the whole plethora of plastic that was in my living room. But before I show you, I have to do a before (I'm obsessed with befores).

Room that was supposed to be a play room but wasn't at all:

I wish I had a before-before to show you, back when it was a cat's room. Oh well.

And yesterday:

Of course it's not finished yet (nothing in my life ever is), but it is a functional play-room now, and that's all I could ever dream of. Although my living room still looks like the Toys-R-Us giraffe vomited in there, it's way more organized than before. I was afraid that Mads would walk into the play-room, see all of her toys in the wrong place, and then drag them all back out to the living room. Well she surprised me by doing the opposite, dragging toys from the living room into the play-room. I think it's gonna work out, and I'm a pretty happy person right now.

Thanks Mum and Daddy!

Beachy Keen, Sandy Queen

Yesterday, Mum took Babe and I to one of my most favorite places in the world, Black Moshannon. After a pic-nic lunch of fruit and Jello, the sunblock monster attacked.

Although Babe was afraid of the sand at first (she wouldn't leave the safety of the blanket for almost 45 minutes), she soon conquered her fear and tripped all over the sand.

Armed with a bucket of water and three rubber ducks, Madelynn was finally content to hang out away from the tadpoles (she's a little too confident in the water now).

When I wasn't taking pictures (I got sand in my lens... this is awful), I made the best sand castle on the beach (at least in my opinion). Given the tools I had to work with, one measuring cup, I'd say it's pretty damn good.

Back home at my parent's, Mads sat on Pappy's four-wheeler (which is just as good as riding it, in her opinion).

And finally, she played way hard in her super-cool new toy.

It was a fabulous day with fun, sand and too much sun. What more could you ask for?**

**There is more. See next post... :)

Insult to Injury... Pile it on!

I wasn't really mad at Jeffrey for the popsicle and light bulb incident, I was only slightly perturbed and even somewhat amused. I mean, who wouldn't laugh at that?

Babe likes brushing her teeth. Loves it. Problem is, she's not very good at it, so after she sucks all of the toothpaste off, I reapply and re-brush. Gotta keep those pearly whites pearly, right? Well Mads hates it when I brush her teeth. She bats the toothbrush away, turns her head and screams. It's awful. So this morning while brushing teeth, we had a full bathroom, Jeffrey, Mads and me. After I had finished mine, I prepared to stick my face in the lion's mouth once again. But then I thought, "Wait a second! Jeffrey always brushes her teeth three mornings a week... I bet that guy has a better method!" I got really excited and said:

She's always fighting the toothbrush for me, how do you brush her teeth?

And he says:

I don't.

?????

But you brush them three days a week...

No I don't.

?????

Well why the fuck not?

I dunno.

???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

This is what my child's mouth will look like, ya know, since we're only brushing her teeth four mornings a week:

After that admission, I threw a fabulous temper tantrum, grabbing Babe, two t-shirts and a diaper to move out with. I may have called him a moron. It wasn't my best moment, and after doing a little grocery shopping with Mads and Mr. Bear, I had cooled off enough to go back home. I'm still pissed though, and I brushed Babe's teeth extra hard before bed. Poor kid.

The fiance is no longer free. I'll pay you fifty bucks to take him off my hands. In this economy, there has to be a taker.

*I assure you this is not just a miscommunication. He knows which days are his teeth days, and I always ask him "Did you brush her teeth?" And do you know what he says? Do you know?? "YES, ugh" like I'm asking the most ridiculous question ever asked. I need wine. At least a bottle.

Play Ball

Free Fiance

**I have one, 25 year old fiance, free to a good home (or any home). Hardly used, in good/fair condition. It's just taking up space at this point. I'm willing to deliver out of state if needed. Thank you.**

I feel no guilt.

Here's what happened. There is absolutely NO food in this apartment. I made Babe the last of the pancakes for breakfast, along with the last five cherries. I used the last two pieces of bread for her lunch, along with the last piece of cheese. I'm telling you, we have zero food (unless you consider ranch dressing and stove-top stuffing food). Jeffrey has off today, so I told him to run out and buy a few items just to get us through the next couple days. I really didn't feel like spending an hour grocery shopping today, so I assumed that I could trust Jeffrey to buy a few necessities to last us until I went shopping on Saturday. You know what they say about people who assume, don't you?

Bologna, popsicles, rolls and a dozen eggs. Plus two packs of light bulbs.

That's what he walked in the door with. ???? It took him an hour to make his purchases. ???? First of all, neither Madelynn nor I eat processed pig snout. Second of all, we have sugar and water at the house, along with a freezer. We could have made our own damn popsicles. We wouldn't do that though. Why? Because popsicles aren't food!!

Mads and I shared a light bulb for dinner.

Free fiance.

The "I Hate my Job" Blues and Two out of Three

Last August, I started waitressing two days a week. I got the job not only for that added cash in my pocket, but also to get away from Mads once in a while. I was in desperate need of adult conversation, and getting paid to chat for ten hours a week sounded like a good deal. Unfortunately, I have come to find that I have absolutely nothing in common with childless adults, therefore very little socializing actually goes on. Unless you wear a diaper and call me "bad cat" twenty times a day, I have nothing to say to you, which is why I am so over this silly job. Why didn't I just join a book club? Why did I ever think that hanging out with assholes and teenagers would fulfill my need for big people talk? I'm so over it.

Monday is my split day at work. I work for two hours, have two hours off, then work another three hours. It ruins my whole day, and I probably lose more money than I make when you factor in the commute. Strike two, I need to make a list. Anyways, when I woke up yesterday morning with sun light smashing me in the face, my only dream for the day was to take Babe back to the duck park. It was a beautiful day, and I felt that she had been semi-cheated the last time we went because of the yuck weather and the sweatshirt requirement. But yesterday? Yesterday was the perfect day for the park. Seriously. Perfect. I had an 11:30 in time, so my dream was quickly broken, and I grudgingly went through the motions of getting myself ready.

As I was doing my make-up, I realized that even though I couldn't get to the ducks, there was no reason why Babe couldn't enjoy the day without me. Before I left for work, I scribbled this note on the counter, highlighting the most important parts of the message so there would be no confusion:

While at work, I received this text message:

We just came back from the park but i forgot about pictures she wasnt all that into it she ate more bread than she threw and she is the tiredest

My first thought was that I should have just stapled the camera to Jeffrey's forehead (I was in a foul mood), but then I realized that even when forced to bring a camera, Jeffrey would still be unlikely to actually use it. When re-reading the message, I finally saw the word bread, and all ill thoughts were lost. He remembered the baby, and the bread. That's pretty good.

Although I have no pictures to show you, I can tell you that Babe enjoyed some bread yesterday.

So what's my point in this completely random post? Well, two out of three ain't bad. For real. Also, I'm looking for a new 10 hour job, preferably one that A.) does not interfere with duck time, B.) does not employ only drunks, sluts and high-schoolers, C.) does not require me to fake niceness to nasty tippers, and D.) involves little to no actual work. Any suggestions, or am I being too picky?

Ducks, Trucks and a "Joy Ride" Reference

I'm so sick of waiting around for Pennsylvania to get it's act together. The forecast for the week is rainy, cloudy, stormy and shitty. Babe and I can't be cooped up in this apartment any longer! So even though the sky looked ready to burst, I decided to take Mads to the park right down the road from our place. I figured if it did rain, we would be close enough to home that wet clothes wouldn't be a big deal. So I drive down the long dirt road to the park, and total score, it's deserted. But wait, as I'm turning the car off, a huge mack truck comes trundling down the lane. Now I'm not usually one to stereotype, but the truck driver didn't look like someone I wanted to be alone with in a park, especially with no one close enough to hear my desperate screams. I waited it out to see where he was going to land his rig (with the doors firmly locked of course), and when he backed that bitch up so close to my car that I couldn't even open my door if I wanted to (totally unnecessary), I had to fight the urge to scream "I'm not Paul Walker!! I'm not Candy Cane!!" Of course I didn't do that, but I did high-tail it out of there, kicking dirt and rocks all over his twenty foot tires. Crisis averted.

With the first park ruined by my fear of scruffy old men, we stopped at the house to grab some bread. We were going to the duck park instead. This is Madelynn's first encounter with large birds, birds that will eat your toes if you get too close, so of course I captured it all on my faithful camera.

Now these ducks were just a little too tame for my liking, I think they could smell our stash of bread hidden in my purse. One of those little buggers actually walked right over my foot.

The fish were Madelynn's favorite. Those suckers were huge. And hungry.

The playground bridge was my personal favorite. Talk about a Kodak moment.

Before leaving the park, Mads had the opportunity to have her picture taken with a local celebrity! (Not Paul Walker, unfortunately... Governor Beaver... Even better.)

And was absolutely amazed by his pretty light.

With our shoes caked in duck poo...

(I totally wore the wrong shoes for this excursion, BTW)

We stopped at the Hot-Dog-House where we shared a grilled cheese and some chicken noodle soup. And now, Jeffrey is home and I'm spending the rest of this Mommy-Daughter day hiding out on the porch. There's nothing like a little bit of soup and a shit-ton of poop to wipe a girl out. The sun will come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar!