The Hiatus Situation

This blog has been temporarily put on hold due to the government shutdown.

And us preparing to move into our house. And Internet troubles.

The Smart Choice

I wrote this blog to be funny, but also to be serious. I want it to be real.

Lots of women talk about how stupid their husbands are. I may allude to it, but mine is not stupid at all.

In fact, he may be a lot smarter than I give him credit for.

We used to play volleyball as a family--the four of us and D. See earlier posts for a family tree.

We don't anymore because D won't play with my brother or my sister because they take the game a little too seriously. 

I overlooked it for awhile. It didn't bother me as much. I stopped playing when I had Anna. And started back up four months after she was born.

My brother's attitude had changed. He was nicer, more supportive. It was enjoyable. We won a trophy. Until he started classes for work and had to skip games. 

And then my sister took aver.

And we got into a fight during the playoff game. Granted, we were short players and had only one guy, but still. I resisted. I won't go into details, but I finally broke and told her to shut up and stop talking to me.

I didn't say it very nicely.

But I realized why my sister and husband were reluctant to play with her.

Because she brought out the worst in me. I came to play, to have fun. And I was having neither. I was mad, and swearing. I hated it. What if Anna saw me like this? It's not even a real trophy and we don't get to keep it! 

So I decided it's not good for our relationship to play with them anymore. As much as I love to play. I love her more. It's better this way.

The Lazy Mommy Moment

When you are so lazy you don't want to go to the 7-Eleven for milk, and seriously consider using your own breast milk in your cereal.

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.