Him: It was yucky.
Me: What do you mean it was yucky? It was exactly what you asked me to make you.
Him: That was a ham sandwich?
Me: Yes.
Him: Ooh... I should have eaten that.
10.14.2010
4.08.2008
We almost lost Thumper
What happened was, Thumper and I had made the trek to the cake decorating store in Berkeley for the special cupcake papers for NSSDs 40th birthday party on Saturday. They ended up not having the papers I wanted so it was an almost wasted trip, but I picked up some sprinkles and a pastry box big enough to transport 75 cupcakes and was on my way out the door when the unwieldy piece of cardboard wrapped itself around a string of jingle bells hanging from the door handle. I turned to free myself and the box from the door and when I turned back around Thumper and his stroller were nowhere to be seen. After frantically glancing up and down the street, I finally spotted the bright green Bob overturned in the middle of University Avenue. There was no movement or crying, and instantly I knew that the it had been struck by a car and that Thumper was dead or, at the very least, suffering from a severe head trauma. I darted over and righted the stroller to reveal Thumper, securely strapped in, unscathed, and completely unaffected by it all. In reality, it was fortunate that the stroller had capsized as it went over the curb since it had kept him from proceeding far enough out into the street to be in any real danger. A few more feet and he would have been a goner.
After I had rescued him from the wayward stroller, showered him with kisses, and checked and rechecked his carseat before heading off to the next errand, I started to think about a story I had heard a few years ago about an incident that was captured on a security camera. A woman was running to beat a train at the crossing while carrying her baby in a car carrier. At the last minute she decided she wouldn't make it and stopped, however the carrier kept moving forward from momentum and swung out in front of the train just as it passed. I didn't see the video myself, and the story is horrendous enough that I would like to believe that it is an urban myth. It doesn't matter, though, the image that I have conjured up in my head is stuck there forever and whenever I think about it my heart hurts as if it was my baby, and my moment to wish I could take back. None of us is impervious to mistakes or moments of sheer stupidity. I am acutely aware of all of the times I forgot to buckle Bear's seatbelt or turned my back for a minute too long, and I shudder to think of what could have happened. Life is full of almosts and near misses. Luckily for me almost doesn't count.
We headed on to the grocery store for cake mixes, and as we left the checker asked me if I needed any help out. For a moment I imagined Thumper in the grocery cart, careening down the steep parking lot and spilling out onto Redwood Road, perhaps gaining enough forward momentum to make it all the way to Taco Bell. I took a deep breath. "No thanks" I said, taking a firm grip on the cart. "I can handle it."
After I had rescued him from the wayward stroller, showered him with kisses, and checked and rechecked his carseat before heading off to the next errand, I started to think about a story I had heard a few years ago about an incident that was captured on a security camera. A woman was running to beat a train at the crossing while carrying her baby in a car carrier. At the last minute she decided she wouldn't make it and stopped, however the carrier kept moving forward from momentum and swung out in front of the train just as it passed. I didn't see the video myself, and the story is horrendous enough that I would like to believe that it is an urban myth. It doesn't matter, though, the image that I have conjured up in my head is stuck there forever and whenever I think about it my heart hurts as if it was my baby, and my moment to wish I could take back. None of us is impervious to mistakes or moments of sheer stupidity. I am acutely aware of all of the times I forgot to buckle Bear's seatbelt or turned my back for a minute too long, and I shudder to think of what could have happened. Life is full of almosts and near misses. Luckily for me almost doesn't count.
We headed on to the grocery store for cake mixes, and as we left the checker asked me if I needed any help out. For a moment I imagined Thumper in the grocery cart, careening down the steep parking lot and spilling out onto Redwood Road, perhaps gaining enough forward momentum to make it all the way to Taco Bell. I took a deep breath. "No thanks" I said, taking a firm grip on the cart. "I can handle it."
A bang up job.
My hairdresser left me. True, he was only my stylist for a year, and it was at least 12 years ago that he moved to New York, but the pain is real and I have never really gotten past it and moved on with my life. Oh, I have had other hairdressers since then, some of them reasonably good, but none have made it past the second cut. No one has been able to take the place of Glen. None have had that magical way of delivering the perfect, stylish, maintenance-free haircut that he did.
For the past 12+ years, I have been looking for that perfect hairstyle that will change my life. The problem has been that I won't trust a new hairstylist with a major change, and I haven't stuck with any stylist long enough to trust her. Instead, I put off getting a cut until the situation becomes an emergency, then head off to whomever I managed to find that can cut my hair on a Saturday on short notice, ending up with another mediocre cut.
I am not sure what got into me a couple of weeks ago when I decided to use the occasion of visiting my parents to get a cut at the walk-in place at the local mall. I am also not sure what I was thinking when I asked for a complicated, layered style with bangs (which I haven't had since the hairstylist in Italy who thought he would do the uncultured american a favor and send me home with hair an inch long.) I should have known better when she looked at the picture I showed her and frowned for several seconds. When she said "I'll be right back" and disappeared into the back room for over 5 minutes, I should have run for the hills. I don't know why I have such a hard time trusting my instincts. Instead, I stayed, naively and optimistically believing that what I would get would be somewhat similar to what I had asked for. After all, this woman was trained to cut hair, was she not? How bad could it be?
I will tell you how bad it could be: First, she cut the back of my hair to the correct length, while cutting the front an inch too short on one side and 2 inches too short on the other. Then, instead of soft, blended layers, she cut a thick, blunt, choppy shelf 2/3 of the way around my head. It was a comical, exaggerated, sitcom version of a bad haircut. It looked like a practical joke. And here is the best part: when I went back to complain to the manager, the woman who had cut it came over to defend herself, telling me I had the wrong kind of hair for that style.
After a week of wearing my hair in a ponytail, I finally got up the courage to have it fixed. I tracked down a highly recommended salon and managed to get a next-day appointment. A perfectly nice person named Amber did what she could with what was left of my hair. She managed to blend the layers so I don't look like I had had an accident with farming equipment. She did what she could do even up the sides. She had a lot to work with, and in the end I think it is just going to have to grow out for a couple of month before it will look decent again. So it is back in a pony tail for the forseeable future. Lesson learned - no more mall cuts.
The bangs do look cute, though.
For the past 12+ years, I have been looking for that perfect hairstyle that will change my life. The problem has been that I won't trust a new hairstylist with a major change, and I haven't stuck with any stylist long enough to trust her. Instead, I put off getting a cut until the situation becomes an emergency, then head off to whomever I managed to find that can cut my hair on a Saturday on short notice, ending up with another mediocre cut.
I am not sure what got into me a couple of weeks ago when I decided to use the occasion of visiting my parents to get a cut at the walk-in place at the local mall. I am also not sure what I was thinking when I asked for a complicated, layered style with bangs (which I haven't had since the hairstylist in Italy who thought he would do the uncultured american a favor and send me home with hair an inch long.) I should have known better when she looked at the picture I showed her and frowned for several seconds. When she said "I'll be right back" and disappeared into the back room for over 5 minutes, I should have run for the hills. I don't know why I have such a hard time trusting my instincts. Instead, I stayed, naively and optimistically believing that what I would get would be somewhat similar to what I had asked for. After all, this woman was trained to cut hair, was she not? How bad could it be?
I will tell you how bad it could be: First, she cut the back of my hair to the correct length, while cutting the front an inch too short on one side and 2 inches too short on the other. Then, instead of soft, blended layers, she cut a thick, blunt, choppy shelf 2/3 of the way around my head. It was a comical, exaggerated, sitcom version of a bad haircut. It looked like a practical joke. And here is the best part: when I went back to complain to the manager, the woman who had cut it came over to defend herself, telling me I had the wrong kind of hair for that style.
After a week of wearing my hair in a ponytail, I finally got up the courage to have it fixed. I tracked down a highly recommended salon and managed to get a next-day appointment. A perfectly nice person named Amber did what she could with what was left of my hair. She managed to blend the layers so I don't look like I had had an accident with farming equipment. She did what she could do even up the sides. She had a lot to work with, and in the end I think it is just going to have to grow out for a couple of month before it will look decent again. So it is back in a pony tail for the forseeable future. Lesson learned - no more mall cuts.
The bangs do look cute, though.
3.17.2008
Nothing a few M&Ms can't fix
Every year around Mother's Day, Salary.com has been releasing a study of how much stay-at-home-moms should be paid based on the various jobs they perform. Among the duties listed in our job description are cook, nurse, daycare provider, janitor, teacher, etc. The one job missing from the list is hazardous materials specialist.
It has been another poopy week for us. It all started about 2 weeks ago when, to my best guess, Bear was a wee bit constipated, had a painful poop, and decided he was not going to be doing that again. Thus began the proclamations of "My tummy hurts, I have to poop - NO, I don't have to poop!" Despite our best efforts, we just could not coax him into pooping and after a couple of days he would not even consider sitting on the potty. 5 poopless days later we went to the doctor, who assured us that this is normal behavior for this age and sent us on our way with a suggestion of adding Miralax to his juice until the situation resolved itself. Lo and behold, an hour after finishing his laxative-laced apple juice, Bear did indeed sit down on the potty and produce approximately 5 days worth of poop. Problem solved. Or not. Bear, who has been writing new scripts for himself like crazy, had already decided that the potty is really optional. It was another 2 days before we saw any more movement, and then nothing again for nearly a week.
Funny thing about poop, you can only hold it for so long before it starts coming out on its own. At first we started to see evidence of an impending poop in his underwear, then little bits in the bathtub. Then the floodgates really opened. Skid marks turned into mudslides at a rate of 2 or 3 a day, each accident taking a half hour of clean up time and requiring a full wardrobe change. At one point Bear said "I don't feel good. There is something in my bottom." "That's poop" said I "and it needs to come out. Poop goes in the potty. If you don't sit on the potty, it will come out in your pants." "Then it's going to come out in my pants." said he. And sure enough, out it came at school an hour later. He came home with 2 plastic bags - one full of clothes, one full of poopy underwear - and a report from his teacher that she found him hiding under a pile of pillows. Bear may not care about the uncomfortable load in his underwear or smelling like skid row, but at least he has the good since to not want other people to know about it.
The fix was so simple I am ashamed that I didn't think of it earlier. M&Ms. The same bribe we used to potty train him in the first place. All it took was 2 M&Ms to get him back on track and then he seemed to get right back into the swing of things. Of course I have thought that before.
It has been another poopy week for us. It all started about 2 weeks ago when, to my best guess, Bear was a wee bit constipated, had a painful poop, and decided he was not going to be doing that again. Thus began the proclamations of "My tummy hurts, I have to poop - NO, I don't have to poop!" Despite our best efforts, we just could not coax him into pooping and after a couple of days he would not even consider sitting on the potty. 5 poopless days later we went to the doctor, who assured us that this is normal behavior for this age and sent us on our way with a suggestion of adding Miralax to his juice until the situation resolved itself. Lo and behold, an hour after finishing his laxative-laced apple juice, Bear did indeed sit down on the potty and produce approximately 5 days worth of poop. Problem solved. Or not. Bear, who has been writing new scripts for himself like crazy, had already decided that the potty is really optional. It was another 2 days before we saw any more movement, and then nothing again for nearly a week.
Funny thing about poop, you can only hold it for so long before it starts coming out on its own. At first we started to see evidence of an impending poop in his underwear, then little bits in the bathtub. Then the floodgates really opened. Skid marks turned into mudslides at a rate of 2 or 3 a day, each accident taking a half hour of clean up time and requiring a full wardrobe change. At one point Bear said "I don't feel good. There is something in my bottom." "That's poop" said I "and it needs to come out. Poop goes in the potty. If you don't sit on the potty, it will come out in your pants." "Then it's going to come out in my pants." said he. And sure enough, out it came at school an hour later. He came home with 2 plastic bags - one full of clothes, one full of poopy underwear - and a report from his teacher that she found him hiding under a pile of pillows. Bear may not care about the uncomfortable load in his underwear or smelling like skid row, but at least he has the good since to not want other people to know about it.
The fix was so simple I am ashamed that I didn't think of it earlier. M&Ms. The same bribe we used to potty train him in the first place. All it took was 2 M&Ms to get him back on track and then he seemed to get right back into the swing of things. Of course I have thought that before.
3.11.2008
How Did I Get Here?
The boys and I are on our own again this week. NSSD is in Nashville on business. Now, it is a well-documented fact that I am a big old neurotic scaredy-cat who should never be left home alone at night. Every night, no matter how exhausted I am and how much I swear to myself that tonight I will be going to bed early, it is practically unheard of for me to hit the hay before midnight when I am alone. Oh, I will start off to bed at 10, but somehow what with all of the checking and rechecking of doors and windows, even getting back out of bed once or twice to make sure I didn't leave my house keys hanging in the front door, pretty soon 10 turns into 12 and there I am still being creeped-out by the overzealous motion detector light on our back porch and repositioning the phone on my nightstand to be within an easy arms reach.
Just before he left, NSSD, in all earnestness, asked me if I ever wondered to myself how we ended up here. (What? You mean crammed into an 1100 sq. ft. house not far from one of the scariest neighborhoods in one of the most crime-infested cities, an hour and a half commute from your office? You mean that?) It is funny that he brought it up as if he had just thought of it, when it is in fact a dialogue we have probably had 50 times in the past year. I know how we got here, and it actually made sense at the time. What I don't know, and am wondering now, is what are we still doing here?
We have been incredibly fortunate this year to have happened to be where we are, just half a mile from what has turned out to be an excellent school for Bear. But know, as we are nearing his next IEP, which will decide his fate for next year, it is looking more and more like we are about to be stuck paying for a year of private preschool in order to avoid pushing him into kindergarten before he is ready - a preschool that is a half-hour away. So once again I am asking myself "what are we still doing here?" and I guess the answer is we just don't know what else to do.
Just before he left, NSSD, in all earnestness, asked me if I ever wondered to myself how we ended up here. (What? You mean crammed into an 1100 sq. ft. house not far from one of the scariest neighborhoods in one of the most crime-infested cities, an hour and a half commute from your office? You mean that?) It is funny that he brought it up as if he had just thought of it, when it is in fact a dialogue we have probably had 50 times in the past year. I know how we got here, and it actually made sense at the time. What I don't know, and am wondering now, is what are we still doing here?
We have been incredibly fortunate this year to have happened to be where we are, just half a mile from what has turned out to be an excellent school for Bear. But know, as we are nearing his next IEP, which will decide his fate for next year, it is looking more and more like we are about to be stuck paying for a year of private preschool in order to avoid pushing him into kindergarten before he is ready - a preschool that is a half-hour away. So once again I am asking myself "what are we still doing here?" and I guess the answer is we just don't know what else to do.
2.28.2008
I should have put him in bed with me
It was bound to happen. The flashlight has become and issue. Bear now feels that anytime he wakes up at night, he must start over with his flashlight ritual to fall asleep again. He also feels he must involve me in the process, so in addition to Thumper waking at all hours, now Bear is calling me out of bed to come help him find his flashlight, or just to point out that he has it. I know the flashlight has to go, but it is so hard to start that struggle at 2 a.m. knowing the screaming and banging on doors that are sure to ensue. I can't even imagine what new ritual will take its place.
2.26.2008
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