As a rule, I immediately leave any blog with an entry that begins: Sorry for my recent absence from my blog but … That said, sorry for my recent absence from my blog, but …
No really. I have a great excuse. Several of them in fact. They involve the usual suspects; the holidays, the kid, my short attention span, etc.-- but the real reason I haven’t blogged is .. well frankly, it’s Michael’s fault.
For one thing, he was supposed to post Christmas pictures from Sprout’s Christmas festivities, which were adorable, and he hasn’t done that yet. And I’m sure his excuse is that he contracted a flesh-eating virus two days after Christmas. Yes, that is an exaggeration, but you wouldn’t know it by listening to him tell it. Yeah, so the rash covered his entire body, and yeah, maybe his eyes were swelling shut by the time we finally got in to see the doctor at UrgentCare, but seriously, buck up, man! Let me tell you that I speak the truth when I say that I would rather have toxic mold in my house than a sick husband.
Did I have a point here? I’m sure I did. Where was it? Right, my excuses on not blogging. Right. It’s Michael’s fault.
Honestly, we had a really great holiday followed by some difficult days, but such is life. The good news is that everybody is improving, and I’m still letting them live here. I hope all the best for you, my faithful readers, in 2010.
May our family be as blessed in the next year as in the last one. I am a very fortunate woman to have a wonderful husband and a healthy, adorable son.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
I Hate UPS
As is well documented on this blog, I hate shopping. Michael feels much the same way, so we do a lot of online shopping, which is great and convenient and all, but can lead to some confusion. Here’s what I mean:
This afternoon at around 4:30, a package was delivered. So I went outside in the cold and hunted around on the porch for the package. In addition to Macy’s and Best Buy, UPS is high on the list of companies that I loathe with a passion that perhaps exceeds all reason. Apparently, UPS cannot be bothered to ring the doorbell and wait politely for someone to answer the door. Actually, I complain about this, but I do sort of understand it. I mean, they’re busy, especially this time of year, and I guess when they see no car in the driveway, they just assume nobody is home. That’s fine. As for their uncanny ability to arrive at Sprout’s nap time, I got no idea. But anyway, so they delivered a package this afternoon. It was wicked cold, so I didn’t tarry long out on the front porch. After some degree of searching, which involved sweeping out one leg from side to side while trying not to fall on my behind (a practiced maneuver necessitated by UPS’s disinclination to put packages in the same place two times in a row), I found the package and brought it inside. I ripped it open with the aid of a kitchen knife—kids, do not try this at home—and there was my gift to Michael, which I promptly hid. Go me! Christmas shopping for hubby, check.
Then later, Michael was outside putting our wreath on the front door and found another package. And here’s where things started to get confusing. We both ordered each other’s gifts from Amazon.com. That isn’t really giving anything away because, well, it’s Amazon.com. They have everything. Both items were sent to Michael, but our Amazon account is in his name, so that didn’t clarify anything either. He refused to let me feel of the box because I’m awfully good at guessing presents from the feel of them, and because there was a high probability that I might run off and open the gift. I really am annoying that way. I was pretty sure that the package I had opened earlier was Michael’s gift, but then, there was always the chance that something had to be shipped separately. The only solution we could come up with was for my mother to look inside the package and see whose gift it really was. But here’s the thing—I can get anything out of my mother. If I tried hard enough, I could know tomorrow what she’s getting me for Christmas. She just isn’t great at keeping secrets. So naturally, Michael was not cool with this plan. He checked online to see what time his gift to me had been delivered. No help there. It was delivered at the same time as my gift to him but I had neglected to find it in my search of the porch. Damn UPS anyway. So we were at an impasse. Finally, I convinced him to let me feel of the package to determine whether or not it could be part of my gift for him. After a long, long time of extensive feeling, I determined that no, it was not part of my gift to him. That means it’s my gift, which means I was this close to “accidentally” opening it, had I only known it was out there. A.K.A.—damn UPS!
What all of this boils down to is that in the midst of all the holiday decorating, planning, baking, etc., plus child care that I have to do tomorrow, I also have to tear this house apart in search of my present. No really, I have to. It’s just what I do.
This afternoon at around 4:30, a package was delivered. So I went outside in the cold and hunted around on the porch for the package. In addition to Macy’s and Best Buy, UPS is high on the list of companies that I loathe with a passion that perhaps exceeds all reason. Apparently, UPS cannot be bothered to ring the doorbell and wait politely for someone to answer the door. Actually, I complain about this, but I do sort of understand it. I mean, they’re busy, especially this time of year, and I guess when they see no car in the driveway, they just assume nobody is home. That’s fine. As for their uncanny ability to arrive at Sprout’s nap time, I got no idea. But anyway, so they delivered a package this afternoon. It was wicked cold, so I didn’t tarry long out on the front porch. After some degree of searching, which involved sweeping out one leg from side to side while trying not to fall on my behind (a practiced maneuver necessitated by UPS’s disinclination to put packages in the same place two times in a row), I found the package and brought it inside. I ripped it open with the aid of a kitchen knife—kids, do not try this at home—and there was my gift to Michael, which I promptly hid. Go me! Christmas shopping for hubby, check.
Then later, Michael was outside putting our wreath on the front door and found another package. And here’s where things started to get confusing. We both ordered each other’s gifts from Amazon.com. That isn’t really giving anything away because, well, it’s Amazon.com. They have everything. Both items were sent to Michael, but our Amazon account is in his name, so that didn’t clarify anything either. He refused to let me feel of the box because I’m awfully good at guessing presents from the feel of them, and because there was a high probability that I might run off and open the gift. I really am annoying that way. I was pretty sure that the package I had opened earlier was Michael’s gift, but then, there was always the chance that something had to be shipped separately. The only solution we could come up with was for my mother to look inside the package and see whose gift it really was. But here’s the thing—I can get anything out of my mother. If I tried hard enough, I could know tomorrow what she’s getting me for Christmas. She just isn’t great at keeping secrets. So naturally, Michael was not cool with this plan. He checked online to see what time his gift to me had been delivered. No help there. It was delivered at the same time as my gift to him but I had neglected to find it in my search of the porch. Damn UPS anyway. So we were at an impasse. Finally, I convinced him to let me feel of the package to determine whether or not it could be part of my gift for him. After a long, long time of extensive feeling, I determined that no, it was not part of my gift to him. That means it’s my gift, which means I was this close to “accidentally” opening it, had I only known it was out there. A.K.A.—damn UPS!
What all of this boils down to is that in the midst of all the holiday decorating, planning, baking, etc., plus child care that I have to do tomorrow, I also have to tear this house apart in search of my present. No really, I have to. It’s just what I do.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Merry Christmas from Darth Sproutie
It’s been busy here at the ranch with the usual holiday stuff, made all the more difficult by curious little hands—hands attached to a body, driven by a mind that has learned the art of stealth. Somehow, Sprout has figured out that silence is the key to investigating new things with relative impunity. While he was suffering with teething pain, we were more lenient with the pacifier. Normally, the pacifier was only for naps and bedtime, but since it was the only thing that soothed him, we let him have it even while he was playing. I found that this made Sprout harder to find. He’s something of an open mouth breather, you see, and that’s typically how I would locate a Sproutie who didn’t want to be found. The breathing gave him away. Not so with pacy firmly in mouth. So yeah, that’s a problem. Or it was until Sprout and I both came down with some icky virus thing. Now, when he has the pacy in, he sounds like Darth Vader because of his stuffy nose. The good news is that regardless of the pacifier, I can now locate my kid anywhere in the house. The bad news is that he and I are waking each other up all through the night coughing.
I get laryngitis once every year and this time, this cold/sinus thingy was the impetus for it. What follows is a conversation I had with Michael on Saturday when, despite my laryngitis and strict admonishments from the doctor not to talk, Christmas shopping had to go on:
Me: “At least we don’t have to go to Best Buy.”
Michael: “You want to go to Best Buy?”
Me: “No. I said at least we don’t have to go to Best Buy.”
Michael: “I thought you hated Best Buy, but sure, if you want to go, I’ll take you.”
Me: “I do hate Best Buy.”
Michael: “What’s that? You love Best Buy?”
Yeah, so that conversation was real great for my laryngitis. But my husband knows what lines should not be crossed, and he knows that Best Buy lies way, way on the other side of that line. So no, we did not go to Best Buy.
Tonight, we are putting up the Christmas tree. We have one of those pre-lit deals that is nearly hassle free to assemble. The most trouble will be getting it out of the building and bringing it inside. And I’m not sure how to decorate it. Some people have told me that they just put the ornaments higher up on the tree so as not to tempt little hands. I could be wrong, but I feel sure that Sprout will not rest until the Christmas tree has been completely toppled. It’ll be an irresistible challenge to him. He’s an evil genius that way. We considered putting the tree in the dining room and letting Sprout look at it longingly from this side of the baby gate. The problem lies in getting the tree over the baby gate on Christmas morning. So we might put it in the living room, but without ornaments. I have a mortal fear of those little ornament hooks being swallowed or reeking heretofore unconsidered havoc. So those of you with curious little toddlers in the house, what do you do about the tree and holiday decorations?
Since Thanksgiving, Sprout has grown both physically and intellectually. He has outgrown all of his pants, so we’re hoping that Santa (A.K.A. grandparents) will bring him some new ones. And he says all kinds of words now. As a matter of fact, he just sits around sometimes going through lists of his favorite words: “Papaw, ball, mommy, daddy, mow (meow, for cat), hee-bo.” That last one is hair bow, which refers to the clips I usually wear in my hair to keep it off my face. He pulls them out of my hair and thinks they’re huge fun to play with. He can also say dog, duck, boy, girl, apple, banana, cow, car, diaper, and lots of other words, new ones every day. But not Granny. That one has him stumped. He repeats almost everything he hears which means that yes, we have ventured into “better stop cussing” territory. Sprout hears a lot of “Hey!” which is what I say to mean quit doing whatever thing you are doing that you know you aren’t supposed to be doing. Lately, my “Hey!” is almost always followed by a “Hey!” from Sprout. “No!” I say, and he says, “No!” We get “No!” a lot from him these days. That one is his absolute favorite word. In the last two weeks, he has managed to call both Aunt Jana and Granny on the telephone. This has me puzzled, but I feel sure it involves the redial button combined with my relenting after endless whining to give him the phone.
So it’s the usual mayhem here. I’m blogging now thanks to a cold-induced long nap for Sprout. I hope everyone’s holiday season is merry and bright.
I get laryngitis once every year and this time, this cold/sinus thingy was the impetus for it. What follows is a conversation I had with Michael on Saturday when, despite my laryngitis and strict admonishments from the doctor not to talk, Christmas shopping had to go on:
Me: “At least we don’t have to go to Best Buy.”
Michael: “You want to go to Best Buy?”
Me: “No. I said at least we don’t have to go to Best Buy.”
Michael: “I thought you hated Best Buy, but sure, if you want to go, I’ll take you.”
Me: “I do hate Best Buy.”
Michael: “What’s that? You love Best Buy?”
Yeah, so that conversation was real great for my laryngitis. But my husband knows what lines should not be crossed, and he knows that Best Buy lies way, way on the other side of that line. So no, we did not go to Best Buy.
Tonight, we are putting up the Christmas tree. We have one of those pre-lit deals that is nearly hassle free to assemble. The most trouble will be getting it out of the building and bringing it inside. And I’m not sure how to decorate it. Some people have told me that they just put the ornaments higher up on the tree so as not to tempt little hands. I could be wrong, but I feel sure that Sprout will not rest until the Christmas tree has been completely toppled. It’ll be an irresistible challenge to him. He’s an evil genius that way. We considered putting the tree in the dining room and letting Sprout look at it longingly from this side of the baby gate. The problem lies in getting the tree over the baby gate on Christmas morning. So we might put it in the living room, but without ornaments. I have a mortal fear of those little ornament hooks being swallowed or reeking heretofore unconsidered havoc. So those of you with curious little toddlers in the house, what do you do about the tree and holiday decorations?
Since Thanksgiving, Sprout has grown both physically and intellectually. He has outgrown all of his pants, so we’re hoping that Santa (A.K.A. grandparents) will bring him some new ones. And he says all kinds of words now. As a matter of fact, he just sits around sometimes going through lists of his favorite words: “Papaw, ball, mommy, daddy, mow (meow, for cat), hee-bo.” That last one is hair bow, which refers to the clips I usually wear in my hair to keep it off my face. He pulls them out of my hair and thinks they’re huge fun to play with. He can also say dog, duck, boy, girl, apple, banana, cow, car, diaper, and lots of other words, new ones every day. But not Granny. That one has him stumped. He repeats almost everything he hears which means that yes, we have ventured into “better stop cussing” territory. Sprout hears a lot of “Hey!” which is what I say to mean quit doing whatever thing you are doing that you know you aren’t supposed to be doing. Lately, my “Hey!” is almost always followed by a “Hey!” from Sprout. “No!” I say, and he says, “No!” We get “No!” a lot from him these days. That one is his absolute favorite word. In the last two weeks, he has managed to call both Aunt Jana and Granny on the telephone. This has me puzzled, but I feel sure it involves the redial button combined with my relenting after endless whining to give him the phone.
So it’s the usual mayhem here. I’m blogging now thanks to a cold-induced long nap for Sprout. I hope everyone’s holiday season is merry and bright.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thanks
Well I’m back. I hope all that daily blogging that Michael did hasn’t got you, our faithful readers, spoiled, because let me just tell you now-- that ship has sailed. I’m all worded out. I achieved my goal: I wrote 50,206 words during the month of November. I even finished up early, Nov. 27, three days to spare.
I am incredibly proud of myself but I am also incredibly lucky. Michael made my dream his dream too and supported me at every step. When Sprout got impossible, Michael was there to deal with it. When I got a killer headache the week before Thanksgiving, Michael was there to be a calming influence and to dispense the meds. And when I was convinced that writing “blah, blah, blah” for 50,000 words would be more interesting than the crap I was churning out, Michael reassured me that though my first draft might not be perfect, it would be workable. So thanks, my wonderful husband, who just so happens to be turning … well, older today. Happy Birthday to the greatest husband ever!
I honestly believe that it does take a village to raise a child (and if you happen to know any villagers in the market for a toddler …), but it also takes a village to write a book, which I did not know until I embarked on a month of writing madness. All the grandparents pitched in several times to help babysit Sprout. Lots of other people offered encouragement that I really did need. It was really great to have so many people supporting me, even if they did think what I was doing was at best some half-baked notion and at worst, evidence of the insanity they suspected me of all along. So anyway, thanks to everybody in my life. I am blessed with wonderful family and friends. So yeah, that’s the Thanksgiving bit a little late.
Once I get my head a little more together, I’ll get back to blogging about the world of Sprout.
I am incredibly proud of myself but I am also incredibly lucky. Michael made my dream his dream too and supported me at every step. When Sprout got impossible, Michael was there to deal with it. When I got a killer headache the week before Thanksgiving, Michael was there to be a calming influence and to dispense the meds. And when I was convinced that writing “blah, blah, blah” for 50,000 words would be more interesting than the crap I was churning out, Michael reassured me that though my first draft might not be perfect, it would be workable. So thanks, my wonderful husband, who just so happens to be turning … well, older today. Happy Birthday to the greatest husband ever!
I honestly believe that it does take a village to raise a child (and if you happen to know any villagers in the market for a toddler …), but it also takes a village to write a book, which I did not know until I embarked on a month of writing madness. All the grandparents pitched in several times to help babysit Sprout. Lots of other people offered encouragement that I really did need. It was really great to have so many people supporting me, even if they did think what I was doing was at best some half-baked notion and at worst, evidence of the insanity they suspected me of all along. So anyway, thanks to everybody in my life. I am blessed with wonderful family and friends. So yeah, that’s the Thanksgiving bit a little late.
Once I get my head a little more together, I’ll get back to blogging about the world of Sprout.
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