Moving

I am moving. I am packing up the boxes and moving on. And I am not just talking about my move back to Los Angeles. I am moving this bloggy too. GITR now lives here: www.girlintheroom.com

Exposed

Back when I worked, people were always getting in trouble over e-mail snafus. One lady got the boot cause she wrote an e-mail about one of our celeb prospective parents and sent it to Sarah the boss instead of Sarah the assistant. And there were other issues. People often hit the "reply all" button as opposed to the "reply to sender" button leaving more than one person in an embarrassing e-mail sitch and throwing the tech team into overdrive to shutdown the message before all the "alls" could retrieve it. The panic always cracked me up. And you need that kind of thing to lighten your day when you live in a cave.

But when an e-mail snafu happens to you, or to me, to be more precise, it is not such a laughing matter. And I know better. I know not to write it in an e-mail. It was a truthful e-mail but potentially hurtful and it somehow got before the eyes of the person it was about. And though she knew about it for at least a couple of weeks, just confronted me yesterday. She actually thanked me because what I said in the e-mail helped her reflect on our relationship. I am not sure if the apology was sincere or a stab but the whole situation created a lot of tears and hurt and I feel at once both violated and embarrassed, hurt and ashamed. I wish I had had the guts to say what I had to say to this person from the get go, but some relationships, especially familial are incredibly tense, twisted, and confusing. I don't totally regret writing it because it was and is the truth but I do regret that it somehow got to her because it was a private conversation. But it happened and I can't take it back so it is what it is. I am sorry that I hurt this person but not sorry that I wrote about my honest feelings and I will not use other people's computers in the future.

Getting Over It

When I quit work, we had to move. Bug and I moved to the desert. Big D stayed in Los Angeles and came to us on the weekends. At first it didn't matter much. Bug was nursing all the time and refluxing when she wasn't nursing and we two were a beautiful mess. But as the months turned into a year, the weekdays without Big D became grueling and the commuting back and forth for Big D became arduous. Bug became attached to her Daddy. It became obvious that we needed to move back. But in doing so, I have come to realize that this temporary move to the desert has been a buffer from the feelings of having to, for financial reasons and other more personal reasons, leave. The house in Eagle Rock has our blood, sweat, and tears in it. For now, it is still ours though we no longer live there. But I am realizing that I have to mourn a little for it and then get over it. Cause a house is only a home when the people you love are in it. And that is what I have learned. So, here is my goodbye to my lovely little house. I think we did right by you.

When The Kids Play

I think I've mentioned before that I went to high school and college in Las Vegas and most of Big D's family lives there as well. So does my BFF who is known in bloggieland as Existential Waitress. We have wanted to get our kids to meet and play since before Bug was born but for a variety of circumstances that didn't happen until this last Friday when we went to Vegas for a visit.

We had the feeling our kids would get along but their interaction exceeded our expectations. It was a serious funfest. Our kids played and played and danced and played "See You" otherwise known as Hide and Seek for hours and hours. Bug LOVED all of Maggs and Bear's toys and they just got along so damn well. EW and I were such proud parents. We were mentally high-fiving each other all evening cause our kids rocked! It is the kind of thing that makes a mommy all sappy and even a little teary-eyed. It was awesome!

I'm Goin' Back to Cali

And in honor of this, here are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs about Los Angeles...

California love! 2Pac featuring Dr. Dre

California...knows how to party
California...knows how to party
In the citaaay of L.A.
In the citaaay of good ol' Watts
In the citaaay, the city of Compton
We keep it rockin! We keep it rockin!

Now let me welcome everybody to the wild, wild west
A state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness
The track hits ya eardrum like a slug to ya chest
Pack a vest for your Jimmy in the city of sex
We in that sunshine state with a bomb ass hemp beat
the state where ya never find a dance floor empty
And pimps be on a mission for them greens
lean mean money-makin-machines servin fiends
I been in the game for ten years makin rap tunes
ever since honeys was wearin sassoon
Now it's '95 and they clock me and watch me
Diamonds shinin lookin like I robbed Liberace
It's all good, from Diego to tha Bay
Your city is tha bomb if your city makin pay
Throw up a finger if ya feel the same way
Dre puttin it down for
Californ-i-a

Shake it shake it baby
Shake it shake it baby
Shake it shake it mama
Shake it Cali
Shake it shake it baby
Shake it shake it shake it shake it...

Out on bail fresh outta jail, California dreamin
Soon as I stepped on the scene, I'm hearin hoochies screamin
Fiendin for money and alcohol
the life of a west side playa where cowards die and its all ball
Only in Cali where we riot not rally to live and die
In L.A. we wearin Chucks not Ballies (that's right)
Dressed in Locs and khaki suits and ride is what we do
Flossin but have caution we collide with other crews
Famous cause we program worldwide
Let'em recognize from Long Beach to Rosecrans
Bumpin and grindin like a slow jam, it's west side
So you know the row won't bow down to no man
Say what you say
But give me that bomb beat from Dre
Let me serenade the streets of L.A.
From Oakland to Sacktown
The Bay Area and back down
Cali is where they put they mack down
Give me love!

now make it shake...

uh, yeah, uh, longbeach in tha house, uh yeah
Oaktown, Oakland definately in tha house hahaha
Frisko, Frisko

hey, you know LA is up in this
Pasadena, where you at
yeah, Inglewood, Inglewood always up to no good
even Hollywood tryin to get a piece baby
Sacramento, sacramento where ya at? yeah

Throw it up y'all, throw it up, Throw it up
Let's show these fools how we do this on that west side
Cause you and I know it's tha best side

yeah, That's riight
west coast, west coast
uh, California Love
California Love

The Best Way To Choose A Home

We have lived in many homes--some owned some rented. I have come to believe that this indeed IS the best way to choose a home.

Blogging Makes Me Feel Bad

I just can't seem to keep up with you. You are beautiful and smart and a great mother and you are funny and witty and multi-task and have a perfect home and are crafty and have side projects and make money and write and have hobbies and good spelling and grammar and you are good wife and have a doting husband who has a great career too and you are financially stable and your blog is pretty and you post every day and you upload photos of your perfectness and you exercise and eat right and your kids wear cute clothes and you know how to dress yourself too and your kids sleep and eat vegetables and you take mini-vacations with your girlfriends and you sleep.

Glad I Didn't Do That

Doesn't she look pissed? Totally.

Do you think all the women who got this porcupine hairdo are really pissed off now that they are stuck growing it out while Kate got expensive hair extensions from a celebrity stylist?

When I was in a deep dark place, a time of weakness, a person who shall remain nameless actually suggested I get this hairdo. Even in that time of confusion, I had the mental fortitude to pass. Even my six inch roots and fried ends were better than having to grow something like that out. I am much better now (and so is my hair) but I still kinda hold that suggestion against that person. I think it was a little mean-spirited.

I May Be An Asshole, But My Kid Has a Bunny-Pig and a Puppy

Target. We are at Target. Me and the Bugs. And we are scooting down the aisles. Pow. Pow (I am making little shooting gun actions with my hands in my mind cause I am totally knocking down these aisles, baby). We are really doing a wham-bam-thank-you-mam of this shopping endeavor. We are getting what we need and getting out. I am feeling pretty good about myself. I am not being sucked into the Target vortex. You know the one. The one where you go in for toothpaste and baby wipes and end up hours later, eyes glazed over, and holding a receipt over $100. How does that happen? Well, it wasn't happening this time.

But then we had to go by the aisle with the cheery ceramic piggy banks and Bug sees them and says, "Piggy!" to which I say yes, "Piggy." Which clicks something in her 17 month old brain that says MUST HAVE PIGGY RIGHT NOW!!!! So now we are close to a full blown PIGGY INCIDENT in the aisles of Target. Bug is crying, pleading, "piggy, piggy!" I get the bright idea to head over to the toy aisle and pick up some little pig that she can hold onto while we finish this shopping excursion and get outta here. We are zooming down the toy aisles, my eyes like radar for anything pig. And nothin', I find nothin'. I grab a little stuffed animal dog and this seems to please her cause now she's all "puppy, puppy."


But I am a glutton for punishment and I decide to make one last stab at finding this child a pig. So I dash us over to the $1 aisle and think I've found it...eureka!...its pink and round it's a pig....no wait it's a bunny. But she doesn't have to know that, right? Right. I give it to her and exclaim, "PIG!" She gives me a slighted look that says, alright lady, I'll go along with your story, now let's go pay for my new puppy and bunny-pig and let's get outta here and go play outside. While in line, I get this bright idea to not actually buy the pig and the doggy. She won't care, right? I have somehow forgotten that my child NEVER FORGETS ANYTHING! If we played with bubble outside four months ago, every time we are in that spot where we blew said bubbles, she'll say, "bubbles!"

And she does not forget this time either. The entire ride home she is crying for piggy and dog. I tell her we'll see them when we get home. And when we get home I bring her her two stuffed animal pigs and make a big show of it, "Piggy piggy, Yay!!!!" But she is not having it. She is screaming her head off and pointing to the Target bag and begging for piggy and dog. There are times when I can feel exactly what she is feeling and the feeling was betrayal.

So (and this is where you may judge me and deem me an asshole) I tell her that we are going back to the store to get the puppy and the pig. She runs to the door. We get in the car. We go back to Target. We get the puppy and the pig. They cost a grand total of $6.49. Why the hell didn't I just buy them to begin with? You might think my mistake was going back. You might think I should have let her have a tantrum and get over it and learn that life is not fair and she doesn't get everything she wants. You might think I missed out on a teachable moment. Well I do think this is a teachable moment...for me.

My mistake was putting those toys in her little hands to calm her down if I had no intention of buying them. She couldn't have a ceramic piggy bank. I should have let her cry about that, if anything. Instead, I made it easier on both of us by appeasing her with a distraction. However, when I slyly removed them from the checkout stand, I used deception against my child. That is not the way I want to mother. She was right to feel betrayed because everything I did in the store led her to believe that I was going to buy them for her. If I didn't plan to buy them for her I should have never given them to her to begin with. That is holding myself accountable and teaching ethical behavior. Again, feel free to judge.

A Little TMI Otherwise Known As The Return Of My Period (I Think)

I think I am having my period. There are little drops of blood in my underwear. So must be, right? It has been so long. I think November of 2007 was my last sight of the bloods. Except, of course, for the massive soaking that comes after giving birth.

And then there was also the scary bleeding I had in the first trimester. When I saw the blood on the toilet paper this morning, my heart sank right back to that horrible morning I started bleeding. I remembered crawling back into bed after my 4:30 AM trip to the bathroom and whispering "No,no,no no, please God, no" and then rushing into the Ob/Gyn, my face stained with tears, my hands trembling, wanting to run into the ultrasound room and shove the wand up there myself and see that little heart beating and be relieved. It would take one more bloody scare for the doctor to tell me it looked liked the bleeding was from a low lying placenta and to take it easy but the baby was going to be fine. And she was. Better than fine. Perfect, she is.

The next time I would bleed would be the night I woke up to go to the bathroom three days before my due date and found blood on the toilet paper. As I went to lay down, I felt crampy and realized I felt like sitting up and as I sat there, I noticed that the crampy feeling was coming on rhythmically. I was having contractions and was at the beginning of labor.

My second thought this morning went to implantation bleeding before even considering it could be a period. I was all, "Oh hell no, I can't possibly be pregnant." Then I was all, "Hell no, you idiot, you are not pregnant. You are crampy and bloated and craving chocolate and salt. You are having your period." I think, anyway. It seems so much of my life has been punctuated with blood or the lack thereof over the past few years.

I Just Celebrated My 10 Year Anniversary And I am Feeling Nostalgic. Damn, I Must Be Getting Old.

(me and my friends circa 1995)

So it is NOT exactly us, it is a still from Reality Bites, but if you look quickly out of the corner of your eye, it's us. When I first saw Reality Bites, I hated it. How could a movie stereotype my generation like that? And make us seem like such dorks while doing it? I saw this movie again a few years ago and laughed my ass off because this movie WAS US. We dressed like that and drank like that and I even carried around a hi-8 video camera documenting our oh-so important life happenings or making short movies about how depressing Las Vegas is and everything was SOOO serious and we were going to change the world with our new technologies and the internet would unite us all. Cause how could there be war when you can be in touch with the whole universe just by uploading some video to your computer? God, we were soooo naive. Good Times.

More walks down memory lane to come...

Getting To Know Me, Getting to Know All About Me

Gabrielle over @ The Wifey Blogs has included me in her list of Beautiful Bloggers. Thank you so much!!! I am really lame at these awards because, like contests, I am never sure if I am doing them right. I know, I am a serious dork. I also feel bad having to nominate someone because I am worried they will be pissed off or just annoyed. I know, I am seriously lame.


Here are the rules.

1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the award & place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Share 7 interesting things about yourself.
5. Nominate 7 additional Beautiful Bloggers.

Seven Interesting Things About ME ME ME ME ME....

1) I thought I was going to be a film/video editor. I did a little editing after college. Then went to grad school where I did ALOT of editing. After I graduated, I didn't want to ever step foot inside an editing bay ever again. I was totally burned out on it. The thought of sitting alone in a dark cold room editing crappy TV (I am all for watching it at home in a comfy and warm nicely lit family room though) made me want to die. I had a sort of quarter-life crisis. I spent the next seven years working in education instead. And yes, I have about eight million dollars in student loan debt. Oh well.

2) I moved 2.5 million times as a kid due to my father's job. It made me pretty jaded because I started to see the exact same kids in each school I went to and the same cliques. It made me good at reading people but also made me a loner and distrustful.

3) I loved Neil Finn from Crowded House when I was a teenager. My friend and I stalked a waiter at Chili's for about a year cause we thought he resembled him.

4) I love being a mother and think I am pretty damn good at it but I wish the rest of my life wasn't so fucked up.

5) I went to high school and college in Las Vegas. Though I am originally from Massachusetts, I have probably been shaped more by Vegas than New England. Living there helped make me the weirdo I am today.

6) My husband and I have been together since the beginning of time. We started dating at the end of 1995. We lived together in Las Vegas and then moved to Los Angeles together to go to graduate school. We got married in 2000. Our tin anniversary is in a couple of days.

7) Some days I really want another baby. Other days I am in complete disagreement about that.

And The Award Goes To....

Existential Waitress---Cause she would nominate me for any award that she received cause she is my bestie like that.

Organic Motherhood With Cool Whip---Cause her blog is just fantastically wonderful.

The Wifey---Cause I believe in giving it right back atcha when I get an award.

The All New (Brief History) of the Rise and Fall of Ten Minutes Ago---Because Jason, Big D, and I backpacked through Europe together in another lifetime and because his beautiful wife is soon to have their second baby.

Clueless But Hopeful Mama---Cause she has some of the most thought provoking posts about motherhood in the whole mommy-blogging bloggieland.

Reformed By Motherhood---Cause she has a Bug too. And cause I just love her writing and her topics.

The Stroller Ballet---Cause Sarah is a lovely person with a lovely blog.

Cause You Love My Boobs And I Love You

So, EW just wrote about a sweet encounter with her boobie sucker, and it made me realize that I haven't talked about breastfeeding in like a way too long time. I know, you are sitting at the edge of your seats in anticipation cause BFing blog posts rock your world too.



Well, I have been nursing Bug for one month short of a year and a half. We are down to about one or two feedings during the day and about 5 million at night. That's right, I am day-weaning and night nursing cause night-weaning is for wimps and the lack of sleep is giving me a glossy glow and doe eyes. Truth be told, I did this ass backwards cause I am an idiot breast-feeder and I lack the ability to let my kid cry at night. Yeah, I am that kind of parent. I call myself the "Accidental AP Parent" because I really had no parenting plan before Bug was born other than playing it by ear and rolling with the punches. I didn't know much about the whole--baby-wearing, nursing until college, letting the kid take over cal-king bed--type of parenting until I had Bug. But, as it turns out, that is what I am. And that is what I am because that is what Bug needed (needs) and I felt (feel) like my job is to respond to those needs. I baby wore because Bug had reflux and needed to be upright to be comfortable. I co-slept because she woke up constantly throughout the night and I needed (need) some damn sleep. I continue to nurse because it is her comfort and I can't see a real reason in her best interest to take it away from her. That said, breastfeeding is not nearly as simple as I thought it would be. I remember thinking all I needed was my boobs. Here is list of a few things that I realize I needed:



1. Nursing Bras. But not the expensive ones. The $50 dollar one I bought at the trendy BFing store in SM. Um yeah, not so much. The ones I bought in desperation, right after my milk came in and I was so engorged I was asking random strangers to suck on my boobs just to get a little relief, well those were somewhat better but didn't hold up in the wash and seriously people, when you are BFing every hour and half around the clock you really do not have time or the will to hand wash your stinky milk stained bras. Pulease. Which bras worked (work) the best? The $15 dollar ones I bought at Target. Without a doubt, the best.



2. The Medela Breastpump. If you are planning to BF your kiddo, you need to get one of these BEFORE your milk comes in and learn how to use it. Again, this was something I bought after my milk came in A) cause I had major oversupply issues and needed to pump to control my supply. Inversely, if you have low supply you need to pump to build up your supply or so I have been told. B) because I thought I'd be going back to work and needed to start pumping a supply of milk. I have to admit, I was actually afraid to use it at first and it took me a couple weeks of it sitting on display on my dining room table before I worked up the nerve to put my boob into the milk station. C) Cause how many other times in your life will you be able to buy such a ridiculous item and actually use it? The breast pump is all kinds of awesomeness and weirdness.


3. Zoloft. Well, not so much for the breastfeeding but for my sanity. My postpartum anxiety sucked and Zoloft did the trick to get things back on track. Not that my days are now picking wildflowers in a meadow, chasing rainbows and unicorns, but I am able to cope with the chaos. I stopped taking the meds several months ago but I highly recommend getting a little medicinal help if you need it.



4. A Postpartum Doula. OK, I sooo did not have this. I did have my mom's help. And she WAS a tremendous help. But even though I didn't have to pay her in cash, that kind of help didn't come for cheap. I PAID FOR IT WITH MY SOUL!!!!!! Seriously, next time ( if there is a next time) I'll hire a Doula. NOT KIDDING!

****There are lots of other obvious things. I got a boppy hand-me-down from a friend. And these pillows come in handy for the first couple of months. I had a really cute nursing cover-up thingy. I used it a bit but Bug hated being covered while nursing so it didn't get much use. Nursing tops are not too necessary and I stuck with t-shirts and cardigans as my nursing drobe but again, when else can you justify buying something as fanciful as easy access tops which allow you too whip out your boob through a nice little hole in the shirt? They are kind of hilarious.****

It's My Laundry And I'll Fold What I Want To

For the time being I am suspending all sock sorting and folding activity. Socks, I am leaving you in this basket from whence I will fetch you on an as-needed basis. Take that, laundry. Yeah yeah, shirts and pants, don't get your panties all in a bunch. I am still gonna fold you (and you too panties, for that matter). Shirts, I even ironed one of you last week. So get off my back. Socks, just deal with it. Think of your time in this basket as a party and mingle.

Cuteness Before Sickness

The worst part of getting sick on our trip to Flagstaff was knowing that Bug would get it too. But she didn't get sick until the last day of our trip so she got to enjoy her first visit to the snow!

These Family Vacations Are For The Dogs, Literally

Last week we headed up to Flagstaff to have the much anticipated and drama producing "the dogs of the family need to meet" vacation in the snow. Mind you, a few members of Big D's family have yet to meet Bug and this would be Bug's first introduction to snow. But these facts were far down on the list in importance to the dogs of Big D's family romping in the snow together. As we pulled onto the highway, I felt that familiar little scratch in the back of my throat that undoubtedly signals a cold is coming on. And of course a cold was coming on. I was going on a vacation. I always get sick on vacations. I always get sick on family vacations. I always get sick on vacations with Big D's family. Of course. My body revolts against me. Or against Big D's family. So right when I need my strength the most to keep a happy face and zen out amidst the madness (oh the stories I so wish I could tell) I am usually drowning in phlegm or coughing up a lung or puking up my guts. Lovely. It is just lovely. So of course, I got a full blown cold the whole time we where in Flagstaff. My head was a freight train being attacked by a sledgehammer and yet I went sledding, visited the ruins, made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and of course watched out for Bug. I wouldn't have wanted to disrupt the doggie lovefest with a severe cold or minor case of piggy flu.


And it reminded me of another Big D family trip. This was a few years before the birth of the Bug. We were living in Los Angeles and we were heading down to San Diego for a reunion with Big D's family to watch the Browns kick the Chargers asses. Hahaha. Though neither Big D nor any of his siblings ever lived in Cleveland, his father is from Ohio and so they all are devout Browns fans in honor of their father. I was raised in New England and am therefore, though not much of a football fan, a fan of the Patriots nonetheless. But the point is, I was going to this family reunion to show allegiance to my husband and his family. And of course, on the way down to San Diego I feel that scratch in the back of my throat. Does my body revolt against the very idea of these family reunions? Maybe. I think my body just revolts against me.


So I did my best to suck it up. I drugged myself up good and smiled through it. And then the day of the game came. It was so hot. Ridiculously hot. The hot that doesn't happen in San Diego. Blistering sun. No sea breeze. Just bright sun which feels like daggers in my eyes so I keep the dark shades on and keep my eyes closed beneath them. As we approach the stadium Big D notes that the Echo is out of gas. He notes it but does he stop for a refill. Oh hell no! Big D has got to get to that stadium and get his football on. The point is we have NO GAS IN THE CAR as we putter into the stadium. And the traffic is a long line of turtles waddling into the parking lot. And because we have no gas we HAVE NO AIR CONDITIONING. And the Echo is the size of a peanut with three big guys plus me squished into it. And I have jacked myself up on cold medicine and diet coke to try to make it through the day from hell and save my marriage. And I am not kidding when I say that. Big D takes his family's likes and dislikes very seriously. When we were first dating, I fell asleep while watching a movie called something like A Man in The Wilderness, a movie revered in Big D's family, and it almost cost us the relationship. I think Big D still has hurt feelings over that. They take these things VERY seriously.


So anyway, the car is hot and stuffy and puttering along and you guessed it, I start puking all over the car. But this doesn't detract from their enthusiasm. In fact, they are so pumped up for the game I am not sure if anyone notices I am BARFING ON THE FLOOR of the car. GOOD TIMES!! Once in the stadium a harsh reality is upon us. The sun is beating down on the Browns side of the stadium and I am quickly adding sun stroke to my current bout of consumption. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom to make friends with the toilet. Ah, puking in public bathrooms, now that is classy (and has happened more than I care to admit). As I am puking, I realize that I really need to find a place to lie down and get out of the sun. So I go wandering the inner bowels of the stadium and stumble upon the clinic. I tell them that I am sick and need to lay down. The nurses look at me like, "Sure bitch, you are just drunk and can't hold your liqueur". But they let me lay down for 10 minutes. They actually time it and kick me off the cot at ten minutes and tell me that I either have to leave or go home. Go home? Not an option. Because if I pull Big D and say I was kicked out of the game for being sick, I would be headed to divorce court. Wow, the kindness of these medical professionals really astounds me. I am feeling the love. So I wander back to my seat where someone in the family starts taking photos of us all having a good time. And it seems everyone is completely oblivious to the fact that I am on death's door at this point. I am actually made to smile for the camera and I somehow manage to do it without vomiting--now that photo would have been a keeper!


So I am sitting there trying to meditate, praying I make it through this. And I begin noticing that Browns fans are particularly gross. For example, the people in front of me have two wild child brats. These kids have giant mats of nappiness for hair and the dad has some sort of skin disease that he keeps itching on and it starts bleeding. They are eating massive amounts of food and I am not kidding but the kids apparently don't know how to chew because as they are piling nachos and hotdogs into their mouths it just come tumbling out in chunks all over themselves and the seats and the floor and the hair of the people in front of them. And I realize I need to get out of there fast. So I spend most of the game sitting on the concrete in the hallway trying not to die. As the game nears an end (the Browns losing of course) I wander around a little and find that there is a whole picnic area on the first floor with chairs and tables and benches and shade and I could have sat there the whole time. And I am really pissed off at that point because the evil medical people could have told me that this place existed if they had a shred of humanity.


And then the game finally ends. Big D's family is pissed off and hating on the Chargers and making up reasons why the Browns lost yet another game. We make our way back to the car but we can't leave yet because there is no gas in the car so we have to wait until the parking lot empties until we can leave. This takes over an hour, maybe two. At this point, I no longer think I am dying, I want to die. Take me lord, take me now! We finally get in the car. Hallelujah! And now we have to find a place to get gas which for some reason takes an unholy amount of time. To top it of we follow Big D's Brother back to the condo and his Bro gets lost. It takes hours to get home. When we finally get home, I have to take the dogs out to pee because the boys need to finish watching football on TV before they can be bothered with the bathroom needs of the dogs. Someone orders Subway. We eat. I go to bed. Yeah, family vacations rule.

A Few Reasons Why It is Not A Good Idea to Have Dogs While Trying to Teach a Toddler to be Human

Because it is hard to explain to you that it is OK for mommy to throw all your leftover eggs to the dogs but it is NOT OK to throw ALL your breakfast to the dogs. Cause this makes mommy want to fall on the dog-licked kitchen floor, curl into a fetal position, and bawl for the remainder of the morning.

Because it is really cute when you pretend to help mommy clean up chihuahua pee off the carpet(writing this, I realize it doesn't sound cute at all but you'll have to trust that it is heart-gushingly cute) but it is not a good idea to pee on the carpet yourself and then clean it up. This, in my opinion, is heart-gushingly cute too but I am trying to teach you to be a human being not a neurotic chihuahua and I think I might be losing the battle.

Because I need to teach you to eat off human dishes not out of dog bowls which is much more appealing to you. Retrieving you from your head in a dog dish is not my finest parenting moment.

Because while I find it hilarious that you like to say hi poop!!! to dog poop when you see it on the ground, others might find this disturbing and it could make you socially awkward.

Because while I secretly agree with you that it is pathetically funny when the chihuahua bears his teeth and snaps, it is not nice to torment the poor old curmudgeon just for a laugh.

Because a bit of healthy fear of large animals might be a good idea and since you enjoy getting licked from head to toe by the largest dog known to mankind, it is difficult to explain to you that the pit bull on the corner isn't so friendly which often leads to you falling to the dirty sidewalk screaming to the sky and kicking my shins because I am the meanest mommy in the world because I don't allow the dog to chew off your fingers through the fence.

My Brain Is Weird

Wow, I think some lame and random shit during the course of a day:

1. Is cloudy or clear apple juice better?

2. Why does the dog smell like she rolled in garbage?

3. How long have I had this toenail polish on?

4. Do Mormons ever skip a day on the Mormon underwear?

5. How many pairs of Mormon underwear do they have anyway?

6. If Bug is sleeping at 5:00 PM does that mean I am in for it tonight?

7. Should I dye my hair brown?

8. Should I wake Bug up now?

9. Why does the Chihuahua's breathe smell like something crawled into his intestine and died?

10. How many days has it been since I took a shower?

The Monolith

After we sold the condo we moved (escaped) to the cottage in Culver City. The owner called it a cottage but it was, in reality, more like a converted shed set back behind a row of 1920ish Spanish Bungalows. I called it my Innisfree at the time because the stress of the condo had sent me into a near mental collapse and I was looking for a hideaway or, more precisely, a hideout. There were some seriously insane people in the condo building--I'm talking horror movie scary--and I actually feared for my life. Or at the very least, my Chihuahua's life. And this place was so hidden I felt like even the Nazis couldn't find me. Of course, I eventually came to realize that all this seclusion turned in on me and made me even more fearful. If someone broke in to kill me, would anyone hear me scream? I know, I am terribly paranoid and the victim of an overactive imagination but it really wasn't a place you wanted to be alone in at night.

Being that it was some sort of converted shed that had undergone two or three expansions in its long life, it was full of charm but low on practical features such as closets. This set me out on a search for something which could contain all the sundry things one normally puts neatly away in closets or cabinets. We found this large armoire on craigslist. The seller lived in Silverlake and was moving to New York and needed to unload some of his eclectic possessions. This one being an antique Indian apothecary armoire. Of course, as my husband and our friend Jason, who we paid off to help move the damn thing from Silverlake to Culver City (too far for those of you not familiar with Los Angeles) learned, the most likely reason he was selling it was because it weighs more than than the entire naval fleet of the US Military. The sucker is heavy. On that very first move into the cottage, we christened it with the name Monolith ala Space Odyssey 2001 and it is truly deserving of the title. Who would ever want to move with that damn thing? Oh, I guess us since we've moved it three times.

It is now with me in the desert and has become something other than the monolith. It has become the black hole of clutter, the dark hole of crap. I'm not a hoarder, I love getting rid of my things, even things I like. I've given away furniture to friends, clothing to co-workers, and food to any charity that asks. Your interested in that book? Oh, you can have it. What comes around goes around. Out with the old in with the new. But, if I were to fall into a parallel universe and find myself in a Twilight Zone-like episode of Hoarders, and they were to ask, standing amidst piles of old receipts, unread books and magazines stacked high like a twisted Edwardian maze, if I could pinpoint exactly where it all went wrong, what exactly birthed this horrible reality, I would succinctly and without a beat, point to my nemesis, the Monolith, as the source of the insanity.

It is the one place in my home that I can't seem to get to. I can't seem to tackle. It is a junk drawer on steroids. It is the place I shove things when visitors are coming over. It's the place I put things that I want out of sight but can't throw out. I have everything from board games to bills shoved in that thing. I hate its utter lack of organization and yet I need it. I need it because it keeps the crap out of the rest of the living space. I know there will come a day when I will get rid of it or at least its contents and that will be a day to raise a glass and toast my freedom from the Monolith.

I am Moving to Australia

So today has been when of those days. I'd say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed if it weren't for the fact that you can't wake up when you never actually go to sleep. Nola wanted to nurse all night long and when she wasn't nursing she was sleeping like a possessed person-- sitting up and then falling down, rambling in her sleep about Buddha and the dogs, flipping over me, and then ultimately crying for bobo (her word for boob). That is probably why waking up to an anonymous person telling me my blog sucked since 2007 up until yesterday's post made me want to lay down and die. I am being seriously over-sensitive cause this person merely said that my blog was getting better and that isn't a bad thing. But that is what two years of no sleep will do to a person. In fact, I am impressed that there is even a shred of coherency in this blog. Also, I jumped to the conclusion that anonymous person was Big D, which I guess it isn't and I sent him an e-mail begging him to back of my little blog and leave it alone. Sorry, babe, I am just having a really bad day.

This Place is Getting Too Small Already (And I Might Be Fat)

This house is a mess. Not just a little messy. It needs a top to bottom cleaning. I call this kind of cleaning a furniture moving experience. And this house is in desperate need of a furniture moving experience. The problem is I don't have the will to begin. Nor the time to finish. Mess and clutter give me anxiety. I (metaphorically) stand in the middle of the family room and just wring my hands. It doesn't help that the family room is the only bit of living space in this little house. I might lose it. Or just sit in the middle of this mess and eat leftover quiche and watch some TV.

Also, I weighed less six months after giving birth than I do now. To make matters even worse, I weighed less six weeks after giving birth than I do now. This is not a good situation and I really need to do something about it. But again, I am lacking motivation.

The Way My Luck Runs

I was meaning to sit down and write a post about how much 2009 sucked. Because in so many ways it did. It sucked harder than just about any year in my piling up years. But I kept thinking about Bug and how I have spent the whole year with her. Every night. Every day. I have never been a lucky person. I am not saying that to be negative, it is just the truth. Things don't just happen for me. I'm not a contest winner. I don't ever open the mailbox and find cash. OK, every now and then I find and old 20 dollar bill in a purse I haven't used in a while and when that happens I do think I LUCKED OUT. I'm all, "Hey, 20 bucks, let's go out and get us some Starbucks." But seriously, is finding old money really luck? Methinks it is more like housekeeping than luck. But the point is, seeing Bug turn into a talking (did I tell you she knows at least 100 words?), running, funny, boisterous, silly, persistent, hugable, almost jumping, loving, adorable, little person has been my biggest stroke of luck to date. So F U 2009, you didn't get me down after all. And now you are gone and done for and I am still standing so it looks like I won.