Thursday, July 09, 2009
Doggy’s Girl
At the end of a goodnight (and they are still startlingly infrequent), I am awakened still in my bed. From the next room, I hear a baby tittering quietly or perhaps the dulcet tones of her glowworm lullaby-ing. I sneak past her bedroom, hit the bathroom and put in my contacts (because glasses are, apparently in naomi’s world, strictly verboten and will not be suffered gladly). I crack open her door and say, “hello, my first-thing-in-the-morning girl!”
She’s generally standing in the corner of her bed. A soft early morning light falls upon her, lighting her up like a little cherub. She gazes up from under her messy mop, smiles broadly and lovingly and offers a single word of greeting, part salutation, part triumphant cheer.
“Doggy!”
Sigh.
To be fair, it’s safe to assume that Naomi is not dissing me for canines. I know this because doggy (or the derivative form “daggy”) is her word for just about everything. Person, place, thing, or idea, they can all be summed up in that single word. Even in this tender, early-morning moment, doggy means (in this order): owl, green mouse in the corner, orange mouse on the closest wall, dog on the poster and, if she’s feeling very verbose and pointy (she points, you see. That’s how I know which “daggy” she’s referring to) it can be a flower, a polka dot, a rainbow, and a butterfly. (She has decals on the wall. We don’t live in a menagerie).
As the day progresses, doggy transcends its morning, playful, joyful temperament. It can be forceful, shooting out of her mouth like a bullet (Duh-gee), it can become a syncopated chant (dah-GEE, dah-GEE), or it can be simple but focused (this is the one she uses when she points to her father or a picture of a dog…or any other animal in a book, it’s simply “doggy” with no exclamation point).
Naomi’s 14 months, so I’m sure I can’t hope for much beyond nonsense speak, but part of me is still a little hurt that she started out with the Da sounds. She’s been saying da-da for months and it’s still her preferred syllable. But recently, she’s given me a little hope to hang onto until she becomes a full-fledged talker. When I point to my chest and ask her with all the hope in the world, “Naomi, who’s this?” after careful consideration, some quiet thought, she drops her chin, looks up at me with a heart melting glance and says shyly, “Mimimimimi.”
I’ll take it.
At the end of a goodnight (and they are still startlingly infrequent), I am awakened still in my bed. From the next room, I hear a baby tittering quietly or perhaps the dulcet tones of her glowworm lullaby-ing. I sneak past her bedroom, hit the bathroom and put in my contacts (because glasses are, apparently in naomi’s world, strictly verboten and will not be suffered gladly). I crack open her door and say, “hello, my first-thing-in-the-morning girl!”
She’s generally standing in the corner of her bed. A soft early morning light falls upon her, lighting her up like a little cherub. She gazes up from under her messy mop, smiles broadly and lovingly and offers a single word of greeting, part salutation, part triumphant cheer.
“Doggy!”
Sigh.
To be fair, it’s safe to assume that Naomi is not dissing me for canines. I know this because doggy (or the derivative form “daggy”) is her word for just about everything. Person, place, thing, or idea, they can all be summed up in that single word. Even in this tender, early-morning moment, doggy means (in this order): owl, green mouse in the corner, orange mouse on the closest wall, dog on the poster and, if she’s feeling very verbose and pointy (she points, you see. That’s how I know which “daggy” she’s referring to) it can be a flower, a polka dot, a rainbow, and a butterfly. (She has decals on the wall. We don’t live in a menagerie).
As the day progresses, doggy transcends its morning, playful, joyful temperament. It can be forceful, shooting out of her mouth like a bullet (Duh-gee), it can become a syncopated chant (dah-GEE, dah-GEE), or it can be simple but focused (this is the one she uses when she points to her father or a picture of a dog…or any other animal in a book, it’s simply “doggy” with no exclamation point).
Naomi’s 14 months, so I’m sure I can’t hope for much beyond nonsense speak, but part of me is still a little hurt that she started out with the Da sounds. She’s been saying da-da for months and it’s still her preferred syllable. But recently, she’s given me a little hope to hang onto until she becomes a full-fledged talker. When I point to my chest and ask her with all the hope in the world, “Naomi, who’s this?” after careful consideration, some quiet thought, she drops her chin, looks up at me with a heart melting glance and says shyly, “Mimimimimi.”
I’ll take it.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Little Slugger
In my life, I have seen very few slugs. Maybe one when I was a child, closer to the ground and more prone to look at the life there. Maybe one when my parents were making me weed the front yard. Maybe an errant one on a sidewalk. My slug exposure has, for the most part, been minimal.
And then this happened.
In the past few weeks, nary a day has gone by where there hasn’t been a slug splooshing along near our back door. They never get very far, but there they are, like a lengthy booger, smudging their way into my home. Due to their lack of speed, I haven’t been horribly bothered by them. Speed is my primary problem with most bugs. Roaches move like there’s a fire behind them and spiders move both quickly and in a manner creepier than anything else. In the world. But these harmless booger bugs would just find their way in and then were content to scoot back and forth between the garbage can and the air vent, biding their time until matt picked them up and put them in the bush outside our door.
Except yesterday our slug came in (because I’ve convinced myself it’s just one slug who’s made an attachment to us and our humble abode) and I was making dinner. And matt was minding the baby. And this slug started to really move. Well, in a relative fashion. I was minding the sage butter (oh yes, be impressed) and I would periodically check his progress and he was edging ever nearer to me. I was alerting matt to the situation, but he felt he needed to stay with the baby. What? You can’t leave a baby on a couch unattended? Oh please.
All right, he probably had a point.
I was becoming more and more discontented. It was coming nearer and nearer. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed one of the 4000 pieces of unopened mail that festoon our key table, and I decided to scoop the little fellow up and put him back where he belonged. I leaned in with the envelope and gently nudged it under the slug.
Then it happened. I saw this little boogie’s antennae and…I fell in love. Its buggy antennae were twirling and searching and withdrawing then coming back and I was smitten. What a cute little disgusting creature.
There was some amount to coaxing involved, but eventually, I got the bug onto its transportation and I took it outside. It was a bit of a production to release it from the envelope onto a welcoming leaf, but eventually I extricated it and walked happily back inside with my slightly moistened envelope.
I meant to go back to my cooking but instead I gasped. There was another slug on my floor.
Cuteness be damned, we clearly have an infestation. I was stunned by the rapidity with which one slug replaced another. And I was kind of afraid.
Lovefest over.
Matt came home from lunch today and when I walked into the kitchen it was with horror that I saw two slugs: one by the door and one sludging up it.
I think we have a problem.
In my life, I have seen very few slugs. Maybe one when I was a child, closer to the ground and more prone to look at the life there. Maybe one when my parents were making me weed the front yard. Maybe an errant one on a sidewalk. My slug exposure has, for the most part, been minimal.
And then this happened.
In the past few weeks, nary a day has gone by where there hasn’t been a slug splooshing along near our back door. They never get very far, but there they are, like a lengthy booger, smudging their way into my home. Due to their lack of speed, I haven’t been horribly bothered by them. Speed is my primary problem with most bugs. Roaches move like there’s a fire behind them and spiders move both quickly and in a manner creepier than anything else. In the world. But these harmless booger bugs would just find their way in and then were content to scoot back and forth between the garbage can and the air vent, biding their time until matt picked them up and put them in the bush outside our door.
Except yesterday our slug came in (because I’ve convinced myself it’s just one slug who’s made an attachment to us and our humble abode) and I was making dinner. And matt was minding the baby. And this slug started to really move. Well, in a relative fashion. I was minding the sage butter (oh yes, be impressed) and I would periodically check his progress and he was edging ever nearer to me. I was alerting matt to the situation, but he felt he needed to stay with the baby. What? You can’t leave a baby on a couch unattended? Oh please.
All right, he probably had a point.
I was becoming more and more discontented. It was coming nearer and nearer. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed one of the 4000 pieces of unopened mail that festoon our key table, and I decided to scoop the little fellow up and put him back where he belonged. I leaned in with the envelope and gently nudged it under the slug.
Then it happened. I saw this little boogie’s antennae and…I fell in love. Its buggy antennae were twirling and searching and withdrawing then coming back and I was smitten. What a cute little disgusting creature.
There was some amount to coaxing involved, but eventually, I got the bug onto its transportation and I took it outside. It was a bit of a production to release it from the envelope onto a welcoming leaf, but eventually I extricated it and walked happily back inside with my slightly moistened envelope.
I meant to go back to my cooking but instead I gasped. There was another slug on my floor.
Cuteness be damned, we clearly have an infestation. I was stunned by the rapidity with which one slug replaced another. And I was kind of afraid.
Lovefest over.
Matt came home from lunch today and when I walked into the kitchen it was with horror that I saw two slugs: one by the door and one sludging up it.
I think we have a problem.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The lion sleeps tonight
Oh. My. Gosh.
My baby—my sweet little Naomi, the apple of my eye, the muffin of my pantry, the darling little person who has changed my life so beautifully—slept. My baby slept. all night AND even wanted to snooze some more. Oh. My. Gosh.
I tried to restrain myself when it happened two nights ago. It could have just been a fluke. Then it happened again last night and I’m daring to dream that the sleepless, wakeful nights are finally over.
You never realize how debilitating a lack of sleep can be until you experience it for four and a half months, which is practically five months which is practically a half a year. Even on the nights when after three of four feedings I could coax this little lovely to nap with me until ten, bringing my net total of sleep to the 8 to 9 hour range, it didn’t count. Nothing compares to the unbridled peace of mind that uninterrupted sleep brings.
Ah. Sleep.
So it’s been awhile. How are you? I am good. Despite the lack of sleep, being a mom has been exceptionally great. I think my baby is uncommonly nice. She’s ruined me for future babies. She rarely cries, she laughs all the time, and even her poops don’t smell (one of these last statements was not true. You be the judge). We actually went out of town last weekend, she and I and my mother, and even with plane rides and extended car rides, she was very, very nice. And I was totally horrified that she wouldn’t be.
You may or may not be aware that traveling these days is a pretty stressful experience. Lines, license, boarding passes, carry-ons, diapers, bottles, changing pads, stuffed eeyores, the list goes on an on. So adding a human baby to the mix makes for pure, liquid chaos. If my mother hadn’t been there, I would have just laid on the ground and given up the ghost. And of course, on top of all the gear, I was horrified in ways I can not describe that I would be on the receiving end of dirty looks a-plenty for bringing a child on a plane.
And then she slept. And ate. And slept and didn’t cry for any notable time from Birmingham to Baltimore, from Baltimore to Pennsylvania, and back. Amazing.
That said, the first night we were there was exceedingly rough. She wouldn’t just wake up in the night. She would wake up frantic and screaming and if I may be so bold, I believe the baby-to-grown-up translation was something like, “MOOOOOOOOM!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?! WHERE AM I?!? WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?! THIS ISN’T MY BED! GET HERE NOW! MOOOOOM!” Something like that. It was not such a good night of sleep. But, as I alluded, I’m pretty well accustomed to lack of sleep.
There was one other incident but it’s so par for the course at this point that it was only with the unblurred vision of a woman with two nights of sleep that I realize it was kinda weird. Standing in the boarding line for our flight home (oh yeah, they don’t preboard babies any more. Suckage), my mom and I had about 10 people between us. I stood holding the baby, while a little adorable three year old was talking about the baby to her mom. (I realize that might read as sarcastic. It shouldn’t. she was actually very very cute). Then I felt the warmth. I know the warmth. The warmth and I have many experiences most days. My baby, who was facing away from me, had had a major puke the warmth I felt was it running down my front and arm, onto my foot, and onto the floor. Now holding a baby and simultaneously wiping off the area between you and the baby, where the puke is pinned, is a rather grave impossibility. So I just figured, well, there’s puke on me. That’s that. I made little moves to get it off, but nothing doing. So I let it go.
Except apparently my baby’s Linda Blair moment had caught the eye of some other people in line and a stranger offered to hold my baby while I wiped up the puke. And so, that is how a stranger in Maryland ended up holding my baby while I tried to clean the floor of the airport. I couldn’t attend my own parcels.
I guess I’ll wrap it up here. Hopefully, I’m back! But if i’m gone for another 6 months, you should know, I like my baby, I like my husband, and I like you.
Here’s a video that makes me laugh. Look, I know it’s been out for a long time, but I’ve been gone for a long time and my love for Flight of the Conchords has only grown:
Listen you, if you have any love for films or any love for my husband matt (watch it, you!) you should visit www.filmnerds.com. It’s currently a little light on content (but it’s getting there) but it has a very active forum where nerdy folks banter about movie films. If you could get a kick out of such things, visit, register, and make matt smile.
Oh. My. Gosh.
My baby—my sweet little Naomi, the apple of my eye, the muffin of my pantry, the darling little person who has changed my life so beautifully—slept. My baby slept. all night AND even wanted to snooze some more. Oh. My. Gosh.
I tried to restrain myself when it happened two nights ago. It could have just been a fluke. Then it happened again last night and I’m daring to dream that the sleepless, wakeful nights are finally over.
You never realize how debilitating a lack of sleep can be until you experience it for four and a half months, which is practically five months which is practically a half a year. Even on the nights when after three of four feedings I could coax this little lovely to nap with me until ten, bringing my net total of sleep to the 8 to 9 hour range, it didn’t count. Nothing compares to the unbridled peace of mind that uninterrupted sleep brings.
Ah. Sleep.
So it’s been awhile. How are you? I am good. Despite the lack of sleep, being a mom has been exceptionally great. I think my baby is uncommonly nice. She’s ruined me for future babies. She rarely cries, she laughs all the time, and even her poops don’t smell (one of these last statements was not true. You be the judge). We actually went out of town last weekend, she and I and my mother, and even with plane rides and extended car rides, she was very, very nice. And I was totally horrified that she wouldn’t be.
You may or may not be aware that traveling these days is a pretty stressful experience. Lines, license, boarding passes, carry-ons, diapers, bottles, changing pads, stuffed eeyores, the list goes on an on. So adding a human baby to the mix makes for pure, liquid chaos. If my mother hadn’t been there, I would have just laid on the ground and given up the ghost. And of course, on top of all the gear, I was horrified in ways I can not describe that I would be on the receiving end of dirty looks a-plenty for bringing a child on a plane.
And then she slept. And ate. And slept and didn’t cry for any notable time from Birmingham to Baltimore, from Baltimore to Pennsylvania, and back. Amazing.
That said, the first night we were there was exceedingly rough. She wouldn’t just wake up in the night. She would wake up frantic and screaming and if I may be so bold, I believe the baby-to-grown-up translation was something like, “MOOOOOOOOM!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?! WHERE AM I?!? WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?! THIS ISN’T MY BED! GET HERE NOW! MOOOOOM!” Something like that. It was not such a good night of sleep. But, as I alluded, I’m pretty well accustomed to lack of sleep.
There was one other incident but it’s so par for the course at this point that it was only with the unblurred vision of a woman with two nights of sleep that I realize it was kinda weird. Standing in the boarding line for our flight home (oh yeah, they don’t preboard babies any more. Suckage), my mom and I had about 10 people between us. I stood holding the baby, while a little adorable three year old was talking about the baby to her mom. (I realize that might read as sarcastic. It shouldn’t. she was actually very very cute). Then I felt the warmth. I know the warmth. The warmth and I have many experiences most days. My baby, who was facing away from me, had had a major puke the warmth I felt was it running down my front and arm, onto my foot, and onto the floor. Now holding a baby and simultaneously wiping off the area between you and the baby, where the puke is pinned, is a rather grave impossibility. So I just figured, well, there’s puke on me. That’s that. I made little moves to get it off, but nothing doing. So I let it go.
Except apparently my baby’s Linda Blair moment had caught the eye of some other people in line and a stranger offered to hold my baby while I wiped up the puke. And so, that is how a stranger in Maryland ended up holding my baby while I tried to clean the floor of the airport. I couldn’t attend my own parcels.
I guess I’ll wrap it up here. Hopefully, I’m back! But if i’m gone for another 6 months, you should know, I like my baby, I like my husband, and I like you.
Here’s a video that makes me laugh. Look, I know it’s been out for a long time, but I’ve been gone for a long time and my love for Flight of the Conchords has only grown:
Listen you, if you have any love for films or any love for my husband matt (watch it, you!) you should visit www.filmnerds.com. It’s currently a little light on content (but it’s getting there) but it has a very active forum where nerdy folks banter about movie films. If you could get a kick out of such things, visit, register, and make matt smile.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Remember Me?
Somewhere in the cosmos, my husband is cringing over this title. He had a mildly unfortunate incident in his youth which involved him muttering that phrase to someone who indeed did not remember him. While that’s sort of embarrassing, he carries that in his pocket as the most traumatizing moment of his childhood. Lucky mo. You only have to scratch the surface of my life to get to the dalmatian humping my dog at a busy intersection and someone jumping out of their car to assist the thoroughly flummoxed me.
So, I suppose I have some ‘splaining to do. As you know, a baby was had. She’s cute as all get out still and is, amazingly, six weeks old today. We’ve all been doing well. I mean, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since she was born, but all things considered, if that’s the worst of our problems, we’re in good shape. Strangely enough, I remembered just today that my mother-in-law told me that she had once been advised that life wouldn’t even begin to feel normal again until about 6 weeks in. And, lo and behold, I finally get down to writing a blog.
That said, peanut is screaming and I’ll have to get back to you…
Well, ok. Now I’m doing the one hand type. I’m actually getting fairly accomplished at this.
Right, so about life getting a little bit back to normal. I went to get coffee this morning, with baby in tow. This was kinda huge. For the most part, I have limited going out to BIG outings. That is to say, the kind that involves a meticulously planned diaper bag. It’s such a fuss to put the little lady in her enormously heavy baby chair. And there is the issue of what the car does to her. Nine times out of ten, it has a soothing, you’re getting sleepy effect on her. But oh, that tenth time….she will scream and scream. And this is tough, because she’s in the back seat. So, at best, I can twist myself into a pretzel and sort of tap the top if her head. This is probably, more than anything, just unsettling. Imagine, a disembodied hand touching your head. My mother’s always telling me about the good old unsafe days when a baby could ride in the passenger seat and you could give them a lollipop to get them to stop crying. (true, horrifying story mom tells.)
Anyways, this morning I went to get coffee. I’ve been craving it since I’ve been watching the Gilmore girls. I’m not really proud of it, but I kinda like the show. And it comes on five days a week and it’s an hour long. To someone who’s glued to the couch nursing for much of her waking hours, that’s heaven. Anyways, one of the main characters, Lorelei, is always waxing poetic about coffee.
(ok, sorry, this is turning out to be the blog that took a thousand years to write. I just got the mail. Now, aside from getting a public mailbox worth of forwarded mail—which annoyingly contained a number of time sensitive items—we also got our free picture from olan mills as a thank you for being a part of our church’s pictorial directory. I’m still looking fat from having the baby, the baby is making a pursed lips but pretty cute face, and matt looks nice. My beef? They’re a professional photography group and yet they couldn’t find it in there heart to photoshop my lip sweat out. There’s a little shining, glimmering line of lip sweat above my top lip. Lovely).
Blah, blah, so I wanted to get some coffee this morning. Now the thing is, I have to rock something with a drive through. Much as I love to support our local coffee house, ohenry’s, a five dollar specialty drink isn’t reason enough for my to haul baby-and-seat our of the car. But, our local starbucks (which, amazingly, is new…that’s how wonderful this community is: they only recently got a starbucks) doesn’t have a drive-thru. So I’m left with one option. This mysterious little drive-thru only coffee joint called Seattle’s Best. As per usual, it’s taken me weeks to get up the nerve to try this something new. But I got the baby in the car, she was being quiet and I needed to go to the post office, so I thought, what the heck, I’ll give it a try.
Firstly, I was a little confused, because it’s little more than a shack and there’s a drive-thru on either side, so I had some negotiating to do. Still, making a choice was fairly easy as a) they don’t have an extensive menu and b) I just wanted something cool. Because it’s hot as balls outside. (please note: I use the expression not from experience but from enjoying it’s usage in a restaurant setting). I get to the window, order the drink from the mildly pushy employee (if I wanted a muffin or biscotti, I would have asked for it now, wouldn’t i?), and then was stunned when, after handing me my change she said, “Thanks and see you tomorrow!” WHAT?! I had never been there before…did she confuse me with a regular? Was she playing some jedi mind trick? It did sort of make me feel like I should go again tomorrow just to keep her honest. “See you tomorrow”? Who says that? I was seriously confused for about 30 seconds until I drove near the exit sign which was also emblazoned with the phrase, “see you tomorrow.” I guess it’s their slogan. As I drove home I pondered it all.
I think seattle’s best is really smart. I do want to go again tomorrow and I think it’s because they’re expecting it of me. I don’t want to let them down. Also, they call themselves the best of seattle. And I have no reason not to accept that claim. I’ve never been there.
The only other thing I’d like to tell you is really important. We haven’t spoken in over a month and I’ve been burning to share this. I watched karate kid 2. Wow. It starts with an amazing clip show of the first movie and then jumps 6 months in the future, explains in a sentence Elizabeth shue’s absence then goes crazy from there. International travel? Check. Love interest for mr. miyagi? Check. Cheesy romance sequence including but not limited to an 80s ballad, a jog on the beach and a girl in lavender MC hammer pants and suspenders? Checkity chizeck. A typhoon? You better believe it. And this. Wonderful, amazing, make-me-fall-in-love-with-daniel-san-all-over-again this:
a swing dance in Okinawa. Naturally.
Post script: my husband and his friend Jason have made a series of videos that are somewhat offensive but mostly funny. There’re only 2 posted thus far, but more to come. Check them out here: http://www.youtube.com/user/CupsofPooKing
Somewhere in the cosmos, my husband is cringing over this title. He had a mildly unfortunate incident in his youth which involved him muttering that phrase to someone who indeed did not remember him. While that’s sort of embarrassing, he carries that in his pocket as the most traumatizing moment of his childhood. Lucky mo. You only have to scratch the surface of my life to get to the dalmatian humping my dog at a busy intersection and someone jumping out of their car to assist the thoroughly flummoxed me.
So, I suppose I have some ‘splaining to do. As you know, a baby was had. She’s cute as all get out still and is, amazingly, six weeks old today. We’ve all been doing well. I mean, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since she was born, but all things considered, if that’s the worst of our problems, we’re in good shape. Strangely enough, I remembered just today that my mother-in-law told me that she had once been advised that life wouldn’t even begin to feel normal again until about 6 weeks in. And, lo and behold, I finally get down to writing a blog.
That said, peanut is screaming and I’ll have to get back to you…
Well, ok. Now I’m doing the one hand type. I’m actually getting fairly accomplished at this.
Right, so about life getting a little bit back to normal. I went to get coffee this morning, with baby in tow. This was kinda huge. For the most part, I have limited going out to BIG outings. That is to say, the kind that involves a meticulously planned diaper bag. It’s such a fuss to put the little lady in her enormously heavy baby chair. And there is the issue of what the car does to her. Nine times out of ten, it has a soothing, you’re getting sleepy effect on her. But oh, that tenth time….she will scream and scream. And this is tough, because she’s in the back seat. So, at best, I can twist myself into a pretzel and sort of tap the top if her head. This is probably, more than anything, just unsettling. Imagine, a disembodied hand touching your head. My mother’s always telling me about the good old unsafe days when a baby could ride in the passenger seat and you could give them a lollipop to get them to stop crying. (true, horrifying story mom tells.)
Anyways, this morning I went to get coffee. I’ve been craving it since I’ve been watching the Gilmore girls. I’m not really proud of it, but I kinda like the show. And it comes on five days a week and it’s an hour long. To someone who’s glued to the couch nursing for much of her waking hours, that’s heaven. Anyways, one of the main characters, Lorelei, is always waxing poetic about coffee.
(ok, sorry, this is turning out to be the blog that took a thousand years to write. I just got the mail. Now, aside from getting a public mailbox worth of forwarded mail—which annoyingly contained a number of time sensitive items—we also got our free picture from olan mills as a thank you for being a part of our church’s pictorial directory. I’m still looking fat from having the baby, the baby is making a pursed lips but pretty cute face, and matt looks nice. My beef? They’re a professional photography group and yet they couldn’t find it in there heart to photoshop my lip sweat out. There’s a little shining, glimmering line of lip sweat above my top lip. Lovely).
Blah, blah, so I wanted to get some coffee this morning. Now the thing is, I have to rock something with a drive through. Much as I love to support our local coffee house, ohenry’s, a five dollar specialty drink isn’t reason enough for my to haul baby-and-seat our of the car. But, our local starbucks (which, amazingly, is new…that’s how wonderful this community is: they only recently got a starbucks) doesn’t have a drive-thru. So I’m left with one option. This mysterious little drive-thru only coffee joint called Seattle’s Best. As per usual, it’s taken me weeks to get up the nerve to try this something new. But I got the baby in the car, she was being quiet and I needed to go to the post office, so I thought, what the heck, I’ll give it a try.
Firstly, I was a little confused, because it’s little more than a shack and there’s a drive-thru on either side, so I had some negotiating to do. Still, making a choice was fairly easy as a) they don’t have an extensive menu and b) I just wanted something cool. Because it’s hot as balls outside. (please note: I use the expression not from experience but from enjoying it’s usage in a restaurant setting). I get to the window, order the drink from the mildly pushy employee (if I wanted a muffin or biscotti, I would have asked for it now, wouldn’t i?), and then was stunned when, after handing me my change she said, “Thanks and see you tomorrow!” WHAT?! I had never been there before…did she confuse me with a regular? Was she playing some jedi mind trick? It did sort of make me feel like I should go again tomorrow just to keep her honest. “See you tomorrow”? Who says that? I was seriously confused for about 30 seconds until I drove near the exit sign which was also emblazoned with the phrase, “see you tomorrow.” I guess it’s their slogan. As I drove home I pondered it all.
I think seattle’s best is really smart. I do want to go again tomorrow and I think it’s because they’re expecting it of me. I don’t want to let them down. Also, they call themselves the best of seattle. And I have no reason not to accept that claim. I’ve never been there.
The only other thing I’d like to tell you is really important. We haven’t spoken in over a month and I’ve been burning to share this. I watched karate kid 2. Wow. It starts with an amazing clip show of the first movie and then jumps 6 months in the future, explains in a sentence Elizabeth shue’s absence then goes crazy from there. International travel? Check. Love interest for mr. miyagi? Check. Cheesy romance sequence including but not limited to an 80s ballad, a jog on the beach and a girl in lavender MC hammer pants and suspenders? Checkity chizeck. A typhoon? You better believe it. And this. Wonderful, amazing, make-me-fall-in-love-with-daniel-san-all-over-again this:
a swing dance in Okinawa. Naturally.
Post script: my husband and his friend Jason have made a series of videos that are somewhat offensive but mostly funny. There’re only 2 posted thus far, but more to come. Check them out here: http://www.youtube.com/user/CupsofPooKing
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
New
Still no baby. And thus, still no excuse for my negligence. Apologies and a cooked goose for everyone!
In the time that has elapsed since last we spoke, not much has happened on the baby-front. She actually didn’t measure bigger at this week’s appointment, which could mean that the largeness prediction could have been a fluke. One can only hope. Of course, the largeness thing would have had the pleasant side effect of possibly meaning that she would make an appearance a little early. So who even knows what to wish for these days. She’s healthy so go on girl! That’s enough for me.
So she’s good. I’m a whiny mess. My feet are still swelling like balloons. Our friend Jason correctly assessed that they look like cabbage patch kid feet. So right! There’s no delineation between calves, ankles, and feet. There are some hideous wrinkles at the bottom of my toes but otherwise, it’s just a mess of swollen. Really terrible.
Also, my stomach and back muscles are barking most of the time. This led to an unfortunate incident where I went to sit on my bed, instead sat on the corner of some harry potter books sitting atop my bed, thus falling over, grabbing my butt in pain, and winding up in a situation not unlike that of an overturned turtle. Matt rushed in after hearing my cry, thinking that I had gone into labor. If only. Rather, I had hurt my butt and lacked the musculature to keep myself from just throwing in the towel. I was also getting changed at the time. there is no such thing as dignity in my life at this juncture.
In other news, last week I watched, in a piecemeal fashion, Little Women, the 1930s version starring Katherine Hepburn. It was the first time I had watched this one. Growing up, I loved the June Allyson one. Mom would try to encourage us to watch the older version, but we just couldn’t make it happen. It was black and white, after all! Then the winona ryder one swooped in and was delightful too. But, older, maturer, and unemployed, I decided to give the 30s one a chance. Not going to lie, not a huge fan. I just don’t really like Katherine Hepburn’s acting. I think that’s a crime to say in most states, but there it is.
Still, the story gets me every time. I think this is a very quintessential girl experience. Matt pointed out to me that it’s such a girl thing. I suppose he’s right. I know all my sisters love it and I think I can confidently say that my mother and her sister’s fall into that category too. I think it’s the sort of idealized version of sisterhood that’s so appealing. Plus, there’s a little humor, a little romance, how can you miss?
But I do have to say, I’m still a little troubled by Jo’s refusal of laurie (oh, sorry. Spoiler alert. But really, who doesn’t know that?). I suppose with age, I’m a little more understanding, but really. They should have been together. I think it really gets my goat because not only do Jo and Laurie not get together, but then he marries stupid old amy. Honestly.
That’s all I have to say on that. That and everything. I’m done. Have a lovely day. And if you’re not anticipating a lovely day, here’s a bit of advice that might help.
Still no baby. And thus, still no excuse for my negligence. Apologies and a cooked goose for everyone!
In the time that has elapsed since last we spoke, not much has happened on the baby-front. She actually didn’t measure bigger at this week’s appointment, which could mean that the largeness prediction could have been a fluke. One can only hope. Of course, the largeness thing would have had the pleasant side effect of possibly meaning that she would make an appearance a little early. So who even knows what to wish for these days. She’s healthy so go on girl! That’s enough for me.
So she’s good. I’m a whiny mess. My feet are still swelling like balloons. Our friend Jason correctly assessed that they look like cabbage patch kid feet. So right! There’s no delineation between calves, ankles, and feet. There are some hideous wrinkles at the bottom of my toes but otherwise, it’s just a mess of swollen. Really terrible.
Also, my stomach and back muscles are barking most of the time. This led to an unfortunate incident where I went to sit on my bed, instead sat on the corner of some harry potter books sitting atop my bed, thus falling over, grabbing my butt in pain, and winding up in a situation not unlike that of an overturned turtle. Matt rushed in after hearing my cry, thinking that I had gone into labor. If only. Rather, I had hurt my butt and lacked the musculature to keep myself from just throwing in the towel. I was also getting changed at the time. there is no such thing as dignity in my life at this juncture.
In other news, last week I watched, in a piecemeal fashion, Little Women, the 1930s version starring Katherine Hepburn. It was the first time I had watched this one. Growing up, I loved the June Allyson one. Mom would try to encourage us to watch the older version, but we just couldn’t make it happen. It was black and white, after all! Then the winona ryder one swooped in and was delightful too. But, older, maturer, and unemployed, I decided to give the 30s one a chance. Not going to lie, not a huge fan. I just don’t really like Katherine Hepburn’s acting. I think that’s a crime to say in most states, but there it is.
Still, the story gets me every time. I think this is a very quintessential girl experience. Matt pointed out to me that it’s such a girl thing. I suppose he’s right. I know all my sisters love it and I think I can confidently say that my mother and her sister’s fall into that category too. I think it’s the sort of idealized version of sisterhood that’s so appealing. Plus, there’s a little humor, a little romance, how can you miss?
But I do have to say, I’m still a little troubled by Jo’s refusal of laurie (oh, sorry. Spoiler alert. But really, who doesn’t know that?). I suppose with age, I’m a little more understanding, but really. They should have been together. I think it really gets my goat because not only do Jo and Laurie not get together, but then he marries stupid old amy. Honestly.
That’s all I have to say on that. That and everything. I’m done. Have a lovely day. And if you’re not anticipating a lovely day, here’s a bit of advice that might help.
