The Jargon Alternative

They say we become our parents.

Well, maybe.

I find myself saying phrases that my mother used to say to me. How when she gets mad at us, she calls us by our first and middle names. Or her French response when we ask her when we are going to do something. (In the week of three Thursdays. Which means never. I don't know how to type it in French, only say it.)

I was also an 80's child.

I grew up in the 80's and 90's, and spent most Saturday morning with Saturday morning cartoons. And afternoons during the week with cartoons and TV shows. Gummi Bears, Captain Planet, Nickelodeon, My Little Pony, Care Bears, Ghostwriter, Tale Spin, Rescue Rangers, Looney Tunes, you name it. I actually watched Spaceballs before I ever saw Star Wars (and was quite disappointed when my dad put on A New Hope when I asked to watch "the movie with the guy with the big helmet"). To this day I can't watch that alien coming out of the stomach in the diner scene.

Anyhoo.

I find myself using phrases and songs from my childhood in my life now. I quoted in an email just the other day to a colleague that "the choice is yours!"

I sang the theme song to Gummi Bears just the other day. My husband's Pandora is set on Toddler Radio.

Sometimes I go a little off base.

For example, today I was in a "glass case of emotion." Anyone? Anchorman?

Also out of my mouth this week "Oh captain my captain."

And my pride and joy? "Shiny."

Apparently I'm getting a little too old, or a little too nerdy. Or both. A trait I can only hope Anna picks up on.

Oh well.

Time to dive into Firefly episodes and Captain Planet. : )

The Small Stuff

How does it go?

"Don't sweat the small stuff,"

Well, you try not to as a parent.

Unless, somewhere along the way, you took a corse in microbiology.

And then, you sweat the small stuff. The micro sized stuff. Not just the stuff kids can choke on.

The germs.

Now I'm ok with the basics. Snot, sneezes, they happen.

But food germs.

Gross.

I am the one to throw away the smelly sponges. After someone washes baby bottles with them. And I have to wash them again. Or when you realize the drying rack for said bottles is under the paper towel holder. Or when someone puts the bottle brush brush down in the sink that has just had raw chicken in it. Or puts the semi cleaned cutting board that said chicken was cut leaning over the clean bottle nipples.

I want to vomit just thinking about it.

I need a shower. Of Lysol. STAT. 

The Flirtation Phenomenon

Anna has been eating cereal and a fruit or veggie for dinner each night.

And each night, without fail, she ends up grinning and cooing at the freezer.

Not at her reflection, but at a dog magnet.

When she crawls, she immediately smiles and goes straight for the dog.

At least someone in the house likes that dog.

OK, i love her too.

As long as I don't live here.

The Mixup Mistake

It's finally happened.

Granted, at six months old, Anna doesn't do much that is yell-worthy.

My mom's dog, however, does.

And yesterday, as I was feeding Anna, I mixed the two up.

I yelled Anna's name at the dog, and then tried to get Anna's attention using the dog's name.

Twice. In a row.

Neither seemed to mind. Except me, who facepalmed some baby peaches into my hair.

Time to start taking evening showers.

The Pet Peeve

In retrospect, the title for this post should have gone to The Dog Dilemma.

At the moment, it refers to the little things that for some reason make you absolutely crazy in the head in ten seconds or less.

Like my husband.

God love him, but when the man washes dishes, or in this case, breast pump supplies, he has no sense of style. Or smell.

I asked him a few days ago if he could please wash the equipment. I wash it every day, at least twice a day, for almost seven months straight.

I'm a little sick of it.

I ask my husband to do it.

And he does.

And i go to the bedroom to do my thing, get all set up and realize that all the parts smell like dirty sponge.

#1 Gross

#2 WTH

#3 i know he has a poor sense of smell, and though this has occasionally worked in my favor for the odd toot or forgotten deoderant, this just makes me crazy!

The Song Revelation

Some songs are very meaningful. Sometimes a song takes you back to an old memory, buried in your brain and dragged to the surface where it hopefully reminds you of a good time I your life.

Happened to me twice today. Once was Gloria Estefan's "I just want to be happy", which brought up memories of evacuating four hurricanes in a row, car trips to Tampa, sleeping on a carpet, and dancing to this song over and over with. Bunch if college friends and one of their (mostly) sober moms.

Another song reminded me of one of those college friends. B was just my height, crazy smart, crazy opinionated (but funny about it) and was par of a group of the same nerdy friends. We dated only briefly, and remained friends. About a year later he confessed to us his deepest secret: he was gay. 

Now I've told this story (the extended cut) many times, and have occasionally gotten laughter or mockery at the fact that I was his last girlfriend before his confession. 

I mean really. Even if he knew he was gay then (and he did) what does it matter? It's not embarrassing to me at all. Maybe I helped him realize what he really wanted. Maybe as a group we finally made him feel comfortable enough to pursue true happiness. Whatever it was--we're both happy now and that is what counts!

The Dog Dilemma

We are still at my mother's house.

They cannot build our house fast enough.

My mom went away to Florida for a week. I was alone with Anna and the dog while the husband was in Texas. All went ok, and I felt like a superhero balancing baby, work, and dog needs including feeding, going outside, eye drops, incontinence, and insulin shots.

Whew.

And then the hubby came home and things were a bit easier. 

Until Thursday night.

When we had raging thunderstorms. Anna slept through them fine...until the whining dog woke her up. And continued to whine ALL NIGHT. So as a family, we accumulated about eight hours of sleep. 

Needless to say, I did not go to work on Friday. 

Now while I can deal with incontinence, shots, and gross eye drops, what I can't deal with is an inconsolable dog and no sleep.

The raging beast of sleepless nights had returned. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. A LOT. I yelled in whispers. I threw pillows. I threw an absolute tantrum after trying EVERYTHING. She wouldn't eat or lay with me or cuddle or lay down. 

My stance in getting a dog has changed. Because I can't deal with a dog that gets up and whines more than my infant child does.

I'd rather have a maid.

The High Revelation

Best high chair ever. On wheels!

Mommy Moment #3

Realizing that all you have to do to entertain your six month old is sit her in a high chair while you cook. And give her an empty sugar container.

And maybe dance.

And try to stay calm when you realize she's dumped her milk on the tray table and is making sugar slush.

And trying to eat it.

Along with the dog toy someone left on her exersaucer.

The Fundraising Surprise

Seriously?

She's not even a year old and I have to start fundraising?

I'm exhausted already.

Can't I just gve you the money?

The Highway Proposal

Some days I just wish I had the road to myself. 

Or at least this:

To wipe out the jerk who will likely cause some kind of accident. 

And these:

For those slowpokes who hold us all up!