Dear Sleep,

Sleep, why have you forsaken me? You and I used to be BFFs - we'd spend so much quality time together on the weekends. I was godmother to your new puppy, we'd give each other manis and pedis, we'd do shots of goldschlager and play beer pong together while watching the Dukes of Hazzard. Remember how much time we spent together in college? So many hours, days, weeks even - in class, in the library... Where has our friendship gone? Yes, there are extenuating circumstances that are difficult to overcome. But you and me, we're stronger together than we are apart. If you wrap your Sleepy arms around my head a little tighter, you and I might get some old-school QT. Come back to me Sleep - don't mind these little people who are trying to scare you away because I will always love you.
Please come back, and not just for a visit, but for good. I still have your bunkbed set up with the glow in the dark stars just the way you like them.
XOXO,
Kate

There's just something about a 3 year old that swears.

Something awesome, that is. He's still young enough so that when he throws his hands up in the air and says 'where's my fuckin' blankie??' with that look that I know could be transplanted directly onto my face the next time I'm looking for my keys or wallet that makes my mother heart fill up with twisted pride. My kid was in speech therapy, he didn't talk for a long time and then when he started he was very hard to understand so I am super proud that he has enough of a grasp on the English language that he can add in obscenities, and do it with such casual panache. He locked himself in his room a couple of weeks ago, and the best part - the only good part, really - of the whole fiasco was him shouting 'open the fucking door!' Why he has latched on to 'fuck' I'm not sure, because I pepper my speech liberally with any expletive I can muster in time to work in the sentence before it comes screeching out of my mouth - but I guess he has decided that he will go straight to the top of the curse word hierarchy, right up to the big kahuna.
I also love that he's starting to make up words that I am pretty sure are swears but since I don't speak threeyearold I can't call him on it. For instance, 'Pum'. When I tell him to do/not do something he says 'okay Pum Mummy' - hmmm. Good one, kid.
Now I know that it won't be funny for much longer, and I surely do hope I'm not there the first time he drops the F Bomb at my in-law's house (although secretly I will never be prouder, b/c something about sitting uncomfortably in that stuffy living room certainly makes me want to say and do inappropriate things) and we really need to break him of this before we send him off to be taught by nuns next year at the crunchy preschool we have picked out. But for now when we are in the car and get cut off in traffic and I hear floating up from the back seat 'fucking car' I just want to turn around, give him a salute, and choke out 'Well said, son. Well said.' as I wipe a tear from my eye.

I hate bathing.

Hate it. It is such a waste of time. I'm like a 7 year old boy when it comes to getting me to clean myself. I need to plan ahead for it, psych myself up, set aside some time that I'm not going to get involved in anything else, and just DO IT. If I ever get really rich I am going to pay some old blind lady to bathe me, or construct some sort of car wash type contraption in my bathroom to get the job done quickly.
I also hate emptying the dish rack. I will pile that fucker so full of dishes that one wrong brush against an outlying saucer will send the whole damn thing screaming to the floor. And the silverware - oh the silverware. I haven't emptied that part in months. Why bother? It's like making your bed.
Which leads me to making the bed. I do like the bed neat and the sheets tucked in at the bottom before I get in it, but when I get up in the morning I don't look back man, I'm off. No time to fuck around in the bedroom. Which may be why my bedroom looks like a 7 year old boy's bedroom. Hmmm. Noticing a pattern here. Anyway, yeah - the bed making. Someday maybe I'll be one of those people who gets up in the morning before somebody is crying (that somebody could be me or one of the kids - never can tell) and can take the time to make the bed, get dressed WHETHER OR NOT I'M LEAVING THE HOUSE, (oh remind me to talk about jeans and their place in the home - or lack thereof) eat breakfast like a grownup - you know, be a productive member of society instead of somebody who drifts from one pair of pajamas to the next, somebody who realizes on Thursday that she hasn't left the house since Sunday and is really okay with that other than a vague feeling of unease, somebody - and this is the bottom line here folks - who wears underwear every day. (I don't wear squirrely covers to bed, so typically I'm going commando b/c I'm almost always dressed in what I rolled out of bed wearing and jeez isn't my husband a lucky man)
I'm not as bad as I seem. If you bumped into me on the street (fat chance of that!) I'd be sweet-smelling and well dressed(ish). I just don't like doing boring things.
And I don't ever - EVER - wear jeans in the house. They are reserved strictly for leaving the comfort of my home. I do not understand people who can hang out at home in a pair of jeans, how is that comfortable? And don't get me started on wearing shoes around the house. That is just wrong and un-American.

It's been a long time.

Oops - if anybody remembers this blog, I apologize - it's odd how you can completely forget that things ever existed. But I did.

Anyway, I have missed months of interesting blog opportunities, I am 9 months pregnant and just as complainy as ever - actually maybe it's for the best that I didn't have this outlet. I probably would have alienated everyone that read it, in one way or another.

So I'm 4 days away from being officially full term, it's been a pretty easy pregnancy so far - a couple of things here and there but nothing like my first pregnancy, which was a spotting/preterm labor/bedrest/holy shit fiesta from start to finish. This girl has been fairly easy overall, aside from the nausea and constipation and headaches that plagued my first and second trimesters. The third tri has been good, and now I am ready to knock out the heavy cleaning that I've been waiting on and start going for long labor-inducing walks. And doing other labor-inducing things, wink wink.

The biggest issue I've had with this preg is the guilt I have been feeling about having a second child. Every time I start to get excited about the new baby, I think about my existing baby, and how this is all going to rock his world. And most likely not in a good way. Alex is a very sensitive child, and I am so worried that he is going to suffer. I know in the long run having a sibling is going to be wonderful for him, for all of us - I just hope it isn't too traumatic for him. My poor little baby. I keep fucking up and doing stupid insensitive things in the name of baby preparation - ie. taking old toys of his and putting them in the baby's room (shit he hasn't touched or thought about in months and months, I swear) and other things like that that I only later realize probably freak him out. I've never had 2 kids before, these things don't occur to me. Plus I am dealing with a healthy dose of pregnancy-induced stupidity that is not helping things at all.

But we'll get through it, everyone else does I suppose.

One good thing about having one kid already is I am not terrified of labor the way I was with Alex. I know it hurts incredibly, unbelievably, but the nice thing is the pain isn't constant, it doesn't last forever, and I know I can do it so I'm okay with that part. We do live further from the hospital now, Glenn is relying on public transportation to get home from Boston now and he didn't before - so it could potentially take him a couple of hours to get home - and I do have a little boy who is not going to be at all interested in helping me breath thru contractions if I am home alone with him, so those are the parts of labor that are terrifying me - the logistics. But that is me - I'm an obsessive-compulsive planning freak, so these 'unplanable' things really mess me up.

So that's my update - I hope to get back in the swing of blogging, I will have lots of middle-of-the-night time I'm sure while somebody is hanging off of my nipple and keeping me awake. And I'm not talking about Glenn.

HOME ALONE

Glenn and Alex went to my FIL's for a couple of hours - my mind is positively SPINNING with all of the things I could be doing right now. I could do shots of tequila at the coffee table, I could listen to death-metal really super loud, I could smoke a carton of something, I could use really really foul language at the top of my lungs and watch a violent movie, I could invite the dirt-neighbors over to party, shit I could leave without a diaper bag...
OR
I could paint my toe nails, do the dishes without somebody pulling my pants down (either one, G or A, of course they have very different reasons for doing so), and finish my book.
Hmmmm.
I guess I'll go with option B, with a violent movie thrown in.
But really this is like a goddamn celebration - what a treat!!! I haven't been alone in my own house for more than 20 minutes in months! WOOO HOOOO!!

So the library had

'Truck Day' today, fire trucks, construction vehicles, school buses, all sorts of cool things. I thought for sure Alex would dig it, since he is crazy about vehicles of all kinds.
He didn't.
He didn't mind looking at the trucks from afar, but as soon as I tried to put him near one, or God forbid in one, he lost his mind. A fireman spoke to him, and you would have thought he had been approached by the grim reaper. It's embarassing when a nice man is trying to give your child a cool shiny gold sticker shaped like a badge, and your child screams and tries to climb over your shoulder and run away.
It was very disappointing for me (cause everything is really about me, when you get right down to it). I was looking forward to this all week (yes, my life is fairly empty - it's been raining a lot) and Alex might as well have been at the Dr.s office getting shots. I think this must be Karmic (is that a word) payback, since I have a pretty good idea that I was exactly the same way when I was little, and I am sure my mum must have left many events feeling gypped.
I remember the story of trying to put me in dancing lessons, and I just stood in the corner and cried until she took pity on me.
Field Hockey - I clung to the chain link fence and screamed 'don't leave me here!' - I was like 9 at that point.
Anything new or different, and I spazzed - so I guess I can take credit for this part of Alex's personality. Not that Glenn was an outgoing daring child, I think he was pretty much the same way. We'll be lucky if Alex doesn't grow up to live in a bunker in remote Montana, wearing a tin-foil hat and kleenex box shoes. Poor kid -

Good lord.

I can't describe how pleased I am that there is an X-Files marathon on today.
This morning I was thinking about my upcoming day and what I needed to get done, and it all involved cleaning and I said to myself 'it would be cool if there was an X-Files marathon on today that I could watch while I was cleaning' and lo and behold, there is. Seriously, I had that conversation with myself. It's small things like this that make me happy.
Also, I talk to myself probably more than is healthy.
Anyway... it's nice to take joy from little things, to appreciate and notice when you have a positive response to something. To think about what you are happy about, instead of what is pissing you off. I'm going to do more of this, and less of that I think - it's good to be alive and healthy.
Luke Wilson is in this one, I'm digging it.

Oh shit.

I gave my son the WORST. HAIRCUT. EVER.

Sorry monkey - mummy really isn't trying to make you look like Elmo, I promise. It just turned out that way.

Working parents

As a SAHM, I really appreciate you. I bitch a lot about how bored I am or other trivial issues that plague my stay at home days, but I don't have to leave the house and go to work everyday like you do. I don't have the stress of knowing that if I don't work so many hours, my family won't be able to eat. I don't have to agree with people that annoy me (mostly) or sit in an uncomfortable chair all day or wait until __ to eat or stand at a bus stop or train station or sit in traffic or drink shitty office coffee. All of those things you do to provide for your families is really wonderful - not to mention that you come home from work, and work some more - because you never stop being a parent, regardless of where or how you spend your days.
I know many working parents that are simply happier people having professional and outside interaction, and made the choice to work accordingly - but the stress must be incredible at times, trying to stretch yourselves all over the place, whether you are working by choice or neccessity.
So while I complain about the things I complain about, I understand that my husband has a lot to complain about too, and I appreciate him so much. How hard, to leave your baby every day and go to work with people you may not like or respect. And it's not about leaving your baby with a daycare provider or a spouse or family member - you're still leaving, you're missing things, and that must be hard.
Although on some days it must be really nice too - I say this as Alex is throwing himself on the floor and kicking his feet b/c his book fell off the coffee table. In other words, for no reason...

Daddy

Mondays are boring. Actually, so are all the other days of the week - but Monday is especially painful. The house seems empty, lonely without Daddy - it feels like we're all waiting for something to happen. (pretty sure it's the 5:24 train) Scout sort of lurks around, Alex grabs the phone and hands it to me constantly and runs to the stairs, wondering if Daddy is up there.
It just seems quieter in here - Glenn isn't a particularly noisy person, but he has a presence that we all sort of revolve around. If he isn't sitting here next to me he's in the other room singing some nonsensical song in one of his creepy voices, or puttering here and there doing some Glenn-thing. Of course it is also a lot neater when Glenn is at work, which is one good thing - he generates a lot of mess I've found. Just about as much as Alex. The two of them pull out thier 'toys' as they go, flitting from interest to interest and leaving the piles behind them.
So, we'll call Daddy every now and again today see how he's doing at work - and what a good man, a good provider he is, to work so long and so hard for us. We are very lucky - we love Daddy.

La da deeeee la da daaaa

we went to my parent's house today, an unplanned trip - Alex was bored and dog-torturing by 10:15 (not even Elmo's drunk friend Telly was an acceptable diversion) so in the car we went to York. I love going to my parent's house. I have been wanting to move back home since about 2 weeks after I moved out, which was right about when my parents realized that and moved 2 hours away from me - I think they realized that chances of me ever leaving the nest were slim, so they'd take the decision out of my hands. Anyway, we went to the beach there, Alex had a blast - he didn't nap at all, so his fun was of the frantic, edge-of-control variety. Anyway, the beach and it's frequenters never cease to amaze me. On the one hand I wonder what in God's name some of these people were thinking - or why they weren't thinking at all, apparently - when they decided to strip down to small bits of nylon and spandex, and on the other hand I am happy for them that they are comfortable enough to say 'fuck you all, look at my rolls or look somewhere else'. That's cool, good for you - but there has to be some bit of decency, some small little part of your common sense that is whispering 'hey - hey!! Check out the rear-view before you do this!' It was actually quite amusing. I also wonder where everyone has been hiding so that they haven't heard of this phenomena called skin cancer - I saw a lady that was so tan she was purple, for real - purple.
I of course kept my shorts and tank top on (I was with my dad, after all, can't be parading around in a bikini - icky) and judged people, something of a hobby of mine. But man, if you're putting yourself out there in 6 pieces of string and 4 patches of fabric, expect to be judged.
So there.

Alex is toying with me.

I KNOW he's hungry, he keeps making the 'more' sign and running into the kitchen and climbing up onto his chair. But he will not eat his cereal, he took two bites and then pushed it away. It is infuriating. And I'm not making him anything else, he needs to just start cooperating at mealtimes. I can't afford to make him 3 different meals in the hopes that he'll like one of them - GO HUNGRY!! GRRRRRRRR!!!!

My Medicine Box

I like to be prepared. I like knowing I have all sorts of remedies. I have a big shoe box - not one that a pair of sandals or something came in, but a running shoe box - full of medicines.
I have vitamins, I have decongestants. I have dramamine, tylenol, aleve, ibuprofin. I have 3 different kinds of pills that will help you sleep. I have heartburn relief. I have at any given moment no less than 3 bottles of infant's motrin, and at least two bottles of infant tylenol. And children's benadryl, even though it's now akin to baby heroin apparently. (I just like knowing it's there) I have homeopathic remedies, and drops, and powders and sprays and sucky-things. I have 3 thermometers - one ear, one traditional, one rectal - teething drops, expectorants, I think I even have some prenatal vitamins left in there.
This isn't my first aid box you understand - that one is bigger. This is merely a box of happiness, a box of peace of mind.
I hope everyone has a box. (tee hee hee - but seriously.)

Have you ever encountered a crazy old lady?

Like, for-realsies crazy, not fun quirky eccentric crazy but scary malfunctioning-cyborg crazy?
I have. I used to live next door to one. Not just next door like the next house, but like we shared a wall next door. She was awful. Her name was Priscilla, and she had a Jack Russell Terrier named Irwin. I have never hated an elderly person, or an animal, like I hated those two. And at first it made me feel guilty. But then I got over that. This bitch was so crazy and just mean to the core that we actually called the police on her - can you imagine, calling the police on a little old lady? What I really wanted to do was punch her in the face, so I guess it was the better decision on our part. She would stand outside her door and scream obscenities at nobody. She would knock on everyone's door at all hours and just harass the shit out of them for no reason.
One time - get this, this is funny - some new people moved in across the way. They went out, and didn't lock thier door. She let herself into thier apartment, moved thier fucking furniture around, and left a note on thier stereo telling them what number the volume should be at.
She would leave her stupid little mean shit dog outside in his pen for hours and hours - and if you've ever heard a Jack Russell bark, you can imagine that misery up close and personal for 3 or 4 or 5 hours at a time. She would slam her door shut over and over and over again at 2 in the morning, so hard the building shook. She was obsessed with hating the maintenance dude, who seemed like a perfectly nice guy. Anything or anyone she was angry at, she'd call it 'Cushman' (his last name) for instance: 'Goddamned Cushman door!!' she'd scream, when she couldn't get her screen door to shut right. Or 'Goddamned Cushman car!!' when somebody parked imaginarily close to her car.
I find, generally, that hating is a waste of energy. But I hated her. She made me have panic attacks towards the end... what an awful woman. She smelled funny too.

Damn train whistle

The train tracks are across the street and behind those houses at the bottom of a hill. (we literally live on the wrong side of the tracks) At first it was cool hearing the train, Alex would make his choo-choo noise and once or twice a day we'd walk down to the end of the street to watch the train go by, and we always walk down to the train stop to meet daddy's train at 5:30 every night. So at first living near the train was fun - it is far enough away so as not to be scary, and close enough to be a good distraction for a cranky toddler.
The bloom has worn off that rose, let me tell you. Something has changed over the last week so that those asshole train drivers (conductors? whatever) are blowing the shit out of thier horns, like through the entire center of town, starting at 5:30am and going right through to 11 at night. I hate the fucking train now. I just can't add another source of white noise to my sleeping environment, or my husband will start sleeping on the couch (he doesn't like the 2 fans and AC - sorry man, gots to have 'em). My son's room sounds like a raging inferno I have his white noise machine up so loud just to drown out those sons of bitches and thier heavy horn hand.
So I filled out a complaint form, I wonder if it'll do any good. Seriously, it's terrible. I don't know how the people on the other side of the street deal with it - I'd be throwing eggs and dirty diapers and paint-filled balloons at the train if it were going through my backyard, being a loud stupid whistley assface.
I hate noise. I was hoping now that we live in the sticks it'd be nice and quiet here... nope.
At least we don't still live next to the crazy old lady.
Oh man - new blog. Crazy old lady. She was a piece of work.