Bathing a slippery baby is hard enough in itself, so adding a toddler to the mix is just a big, wet mess.
And now I need to go clean the five gallons of water off the floor and hang the bath mat up to dry. Again.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The Faces of Tub Time
Bathing a slippery baby is hard enough in itself, so adding a toddler to the mix is just a big, wet mess.
And now I need to go clean the five gallons of water off the floor and hang the bath mat up to dry. Again.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Big Girl Seat
And of course Mads has to try it out as well, just to make sure it's a good one.
It passed the test. I was a little disappointed when I realized that I couldn't get the same car seat for Ev that Mads already has. I really, REALLY wanted them to be the same, however I wasn't willing to fork over an extra eighty big ones for a discontinued classic Marathon with an older manufacturer date. So, the Marathon 70 it is, and I'm only slightly saddened by the fact that it doesn't match. At all.
Oh memories. And can you believe how many teeth are in that child's head compared to Ev's single, half tooth?
Anyway, the new seat is pretty fabulous. It has more padding, a few extra convenience bells and whistles and higher weight limits (40/70 vs. 35/65). Best yet, it's on sale!!
Albeebaby.com and use coupon code BRITAX25 to save 25% on all non-discounted Britax seats.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
It's Back!
Last winter, after all the holiday and new year excitement had died down, I started getting a bad case of cabin fever. In warmer months, our daily trips to the park kept me sane, I didn't realize how valuable that break in the day was until it was too cold to continue. Being cooped up with a toddler in an apartment for seven days a week is not a good time, in fact, it's my personal definition of hell. Then one day, I found my playgroup. Two mornings a week I was happy to set my alarm and drag my huge, pregnant ass out of bed to get to playgroup early. Mads and I both looked forward to play mornings, she was able to burn all that pent up energy and I was able to talk shop with a hundred other moms suffering from toddler-induced-mush-brain. And now, playgroup is back and I couldn't possibly be more excited!
If you want to find me in a really good mood, look for me on Tuesdays and Fridays until Spring!
If you want to find me in a really good mood, look for me on Tuesdays and Fridays until Spring!
Friday, January 7, 2011
I Just Used FUBAR in a Post
The Blazer fiasco was a great way to kick off 2011. No full calender year can be perfect, it's just as well that we get the crappy parts out of the way early. With the Blazer's required documents turned into the police station, I avoided a $140 fine. So really, it wasn't that bad. Just a ton of embarrassment and a little hassle, nothing worth crying over.
It's the Kia that makes me want to cry. The Kia, so dependable, good gas mileage and a radio that works. It has never given me a problem before, never left me on the side of the road or forced me into a billboard. When the battery drained, I didn't think anything of it. A quick jump would have us back in business, an easy fix.
Jeffrey jumped the Kia the night of the Blazer incident. He had a hard time getting the hood open, but whatever, right? The battery would not hold a charge, so a new one was in our immediate future. Not an issue, batteries are cheap, easy to change, not an issue. However, the broken hood cable has proved to be a massive issue. I'm so angry. I went down to that stupid car last night, with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, determined to get that hood open at any cost. I ripped the cable out of the pull and yanked until my arms were tired. Nothing. I stuck my hand through the grill, bruising my knuckles, and pushed the hood release farther than the bones in my hand would allow. Nothing. I kicked it, twice, not expecting much. I did feel a little better, but the hood was still firmly closed. I stood there and stared that Kia down while snowflakes whirled around me. And then, I just couldn't look at it anymore. Who would have thought one tiny cable could render such a complex piece of machinery absolutely useless. It's nothing but a toy car, too big to even play with, if you can't get the fucking hood open. I'm disgusted.
Driving THE BLAZER, with it's expired registration sticker and FUBAR radio might make me cry. If I get pulled over on my way to work tonight, I'm going to be prepared. License, temporary registration and an insurance card, safely tucked inside my bra.
It's the Kia that makes me want to cry. The Kia, so dependable, good gas mileage and a radio that works. It has never given me a problem before, never left me on the side of the road or forced me into a billboard. When the battery drained, I didn't think anything of it. A quick jump would have us back in business, an easy fix.
Jeffrey jumped the Kia the night of the Blazer incident. He had a hard time getting the hood open, but whatever, right? The battery would not hold a charge, so a new one was in our immediate future. Not an issue, batteries are cheap, easy to change, not an issue. However, the broken hood cable has proved to be a massive issue. I'm so angry. I went down to that stupid car last night, with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, determined to get that hood open at any cost. I ripped the cable out of the pull and yanked until my arms were tired. Nothing. I stuck my hand through the grill, bruising my knuckles, and pushed the hood release farther than the bones in my hand would allow. Nothing. I kicked it, twice, not expecting much. I did feel a little better, but the hood was still firmly closed. I stood there and stared that Kia down while snowflakes whirled around me. And then, I just couldn't look at it anymore. Who would have thought one tiny cable could render such a complex piece of machinery absolutely useless. It's nothing but a toy car, too big to even play with, if you can't get the fucking hood open. I'm disgusted.
Driving THE BLAZER, with it's expired registration sticker and FUBAR radio might make me cry. If I get pulled over on my way to work tonight, I'm going to be prepared. License, temporary registration and an insurance card, safely tucked inside my bra.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Pretty Pirates
When I tied the bandana around Madelynn's head, I hadn't even thought of playing pirate... but she did. "Arrgh, Mommy! Where's my sword?" With only one plastic sword in the house, I was forced to do battle with a paper towel tube. I laid out the rules before the duel; no hitting the baby, no throwing the sword, no aiming for Mommy's face. The rules were followed, however I endured so many pokes to the shins I now have bruises on both legs. Evelynn watched from a safe distance, using her toilet paper tube as a chew toy rather than the weapon it was supposed to be. After Madelynn's victory (plastic beats cardboard), I stuck the sword on the highest shelf I could find. What a horrible idea that bad been.
It sure made for some cute pictures though!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Late for Work
Last night, we did a little grocery shopping. I carried the kids up and Jeffrey carried the bags and dipes. He went back for the massive bag of cat food in the trunk.
Today as I was getting ready for work, I realized that I was behind schedule. I needed to hurry up if I was going to make it there on time. Kiss the girls, kiss the husband, grab the keys. I'm in the Kia, waving up to Madelynn as she pounds on the living room window. I turn the key and nothing happens. The trunk light on the dash is blinking. It takes me about 45 seconds to realize what is happening. Jeffrey didn't close the trunk the whole way when he was getting the cat food last night, the light in the trunk stayed on, the battery drained. Curses. I ran back up the three flights to get the keys to the Blazer.
Short background on the Blazer, it took a shit a couple weeks before Christmas. All I know is the back end is bad and it will only drive in four wheel drive. I've only driven that massive hunk of metal once, it was for about three miles and that was back when it wasn't broken. I didn't care for it then, so you can imagine how I felt about it now. Until we can fix it, Jeffrey has been taking the Kia to work and the Blazer has just been sitting. Until today.
So anyway, I'm sitting in the Blazer and I'm running late. I can't figure out how to move the seat up, and I really don't have time to go back upstairs to ask Jeffrey. I'm barely over five feet tall and I have to pretty much lay down in this sucker just to stretch my leg far enough to reach the gas pedal. The radio only has one volume, super fucking loud, you can't turn it down or up or even off as far as I can tell. I can't imagine what I must look like, small girl laying in a big truck, jammin' out to Baby Got Back and veering to the right. Did I mention the Blazer pulls to the right?
I made it halfway to work before I saw the flashing lights in the rear view mirror. The fact that I saw them at all is truly a miracle, it's not like I was in any position to be using my mirrors correctly. While I'm waiting for the officer, I'm desperately trying to figure out what I did wrong. I wasn't speeding, I was wearing a seat belt, I wasn't swerving although I may have over corrected a few times when the truck tried to take me into a guard rail... The officer comes to my window and tells me that my registration is expired, hence the traffic stop. I'm cursing Jeffrey, registrations are his job. He renewed the Kia so I assumed that he had done the Blazer as well. The cop asks me to turn the radio down. "I'm sorry sir, I can't turn the radio down."
This isn't funny, so don't laugh.
The officer and I are screaming to each other over Willow Smith's new song. It never once occurs to me that I should just remove the key from the vehicle, and apparently, the cop doesn't think of this either. "Can you reach the pedals, ma'am?" I got this far didn't I? He wants my insurance card. Now this is something I can handle. Everyone knows that everyone keeps their insurance card in the glove box. I'm looking for the glove box, but the dash in front of the passenger seat is solid, there's no handle. Maybe the glove box is under the radio... but it's not. Maybe the glove box is under the driver's side dash... or not. "I'm sorry sir, I can't find the glove box." And this is when I really start to worry that I'm going to jail.
The cop goes back to his car and I continue to search for the glove box. Seriously, there has to be one. I'm pounding on the passenger dash when he returns. "The handle is on the top, ma'am." And it is on the top. The dash kind of curls at the top and the handle is behind that curve. And you know what really pisses me off? He knew it was there the whole time. I open the glove box and hand him the insurance card. You know, the one that expired in July? Fuck. I yank open the center console and there's a really important looking paper in there, so I shove it through the window at the officer. "Ma'am, why would you keep your title in your car? If someone steals it, they have the title, which means they have a new car." And I'm thinking, pfft, they can have it. I'm trying to explain that this isn't my car, so I'm really not familiar with it. He can totally understand that, right? "If this isn't your car, why is your name on the title, registration and insurance?" Well shit. I guess technically it is my car, I've just never driven it before.
I'm laying there, listening to Willow Smith whip her hair back and forth, and I just don't know what to say. After all of this, how can I possibly convince this guy that I am intelligent enough to operate a motor vehicle? "Could you please ask me for my license because I totally have that."
"Ma'am, you already gave me your license."
I have until Tuesday to show proof of registration... and I was late for work.
**I am fully aware that this is my fault. I drove a broken-down, illegal truck on public roads and I have learned my lesson.
***Edit to add: When I got home, I asked Jeffrey where he keeps the insurance card. It was in the center console the entire time... right under the title.
Today as I was getting ready for work, I realized that I was behind schedule. I needed to hurry up if I was going to make it there on time. Kiss the girls, kiss the husband, grab the keys. I'm in the Kia, waving up to Madelynn as she pounds on the living room window. I turn the key and nothing happens. The trunk light on the dash is blinking. It takes me about 45 seconds to realize what is happening. Jeffrey didn't close the trunk the whole way when he was getting the cat food last night, the light in the trunk stayed on, the battery drained. Curses. I ran back up the three flights to get the keys to the Blazer.
Short background on the Blazer, it took a shit a couple weeks before Christmas. All I know is the back end is bad and it will only drive in four wheel drive. I've only driven that massive hunk of metal once, it was for about three miles and that was back when it wasn't broken. I didn't care for it then, so you can imagine how I felt about it now. Until we can fix it, Jeffrey has been taking the Kia to work and the Blazer has just been sitting. Until today.
So anyway, I'm sitting in the Blazer and I'm running late. I can't figure out how to move the seat up, and I really don't have time to go back upstairs to ask Jeffrey. I'm barely over five feet tall and I have to pretty much lay down in this sucker just to stretch my leg far enough to reach the gas pedal. The radio only has one volume, super fucking loud, you can't turn it down or up or even off as far as I can tell. I can't imagine what I must look like, small girl laying in a big truck, jammin' out to Baby Got Back and veering to the right. Did I mention the Blazer pulls to the right?
I made it halfway to work before I saw the flashing lights in the rear view mirror. The fact that I saw them at all is truly a miracle, it's not like I was in any position to be using my mirrors correctly. While I'm waiting for the officer, I'm desperately trying to figure out what I did wrong. I wasn't speeding, I was wearing a seat belt, I wasn't swerving although I may have over corrected a few times when the truck tried to take me into a guard rail... The officer comes to my window and tells me that my registration is expired, hence the traffic stop. I'm cursing Jeffrey, registrations are his job. He renewed the Kia so I assumed that he had done the Blazer as well. The cop asks me to turn the radio down. "I'm sorry sir, I can't turn the radio down."
This isn't funny, so don't laugh.
The officer and I are screaming to each other over Willow Smith's new song. It never once occurs to me that I should just remove the key from the vehicle, and apparently, the cop doesn't think of this either. "Can you reach the pedals, ma'am?" I got this far didn't I? He wants my insurance card. Now this is something I can handle. Everyone knows that everyone keeps their insurance card in the glove box. I'm looking for the glove box, but the dash in front of the passenger seat is solid, there's no handle. Maybe the glove box is under the radio... but it's not. Maybe the glove box is under the driver's side dash... or not. "I'm sorry sir, I can't find the glove box." And this is when I really start to worry that I'm going to jail.
The cop goes back to his car and I continue to search for the glove box. Seriously, there has to be one. I'm pounding on the passenger dash when he returns. "The handle is on the top, ma'am." And it is on the top. The dash kind of curls at the top and the handle is behind that curve. And you know what really pisses me off? He knew it was there the whole time. I open the glove box and hand him the insurance card. You know, the one that expired in July? Fuck. I yank open the center console and there's a really important looking paper in there, so I shove it through the window at the officer. "Ma'am, why would you keep your title in your car? If someone steals it, they have the title, which means they have a new car." And I'm thinking, pfft, they can have it. I'm trying to explain that this isn't my car, so I'm really not familiar with it. He can totally understand that, right? "If this isn't your car, why is your name on the title, registration and insurance?" Well shit. I guess technically it is my car, I've just never driven it before.
I'm laying there, listening to Willow Smith whip her hair back and forth, and I just don't know what to say. After all of this, how can I possibly convince this guy that I am intelligent enough to operate a motor vehicle? "Could you please ask me for my license because I totally have that."
"Ma'am, you already gave me your license."
I have until Tuesday to show proof of registration... and I was late for work.
**I am fully aware that this is my fault. I drove a broken-down, illegal truck on public roads and I have learned my lesson.
***Edit to add: When I got home, I asked Jeffrey where he keeps the insurance card. It was in the center console the entire time... right under the title.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
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