Let's do The Twist!

The Twist. Chubby Checker. Entemann's.

Raspberry is possibly my least favorite flavor and/or smell of all fruits. With one exception -- Entemann's raspberry danish twist. My favorite, favorite danish in the entire world. I've never eaten a whole one by myself, but that may change this weekend.

Mom brought me one on Friday when we met at the doctor's office and I was so excited. I almost opened it in the car on the way home, but didn't want to look like a complete oinker driving down the highway with a fistful of jammy cake. I've been slowly chipping away at it since last night. Well maybe not so slowly. It's more than half gone and I am pretty sure I'm the only one who's been in the box. Much like eating a loaf of banana bread, raspberry danish twist is a slippery slope. I might as well sit down with the box and a carton of milk and just go to town.

I'm totally going to woof down the rest of the twist tonight. Just please don't call me Chubby.

Twist update: I just reached a new danish low. Not only did I polish off the entire twist, but as I was eating the last piece, three large chunks of icing fell off and landed at my feet. I immediately bent down and, one by one, picked them up and put them directly into my mouth. I felt so bad, yet it was so good.

Sing it like Judas Priest

"Breakin' the law, breakin' the law!" Today I got my first ever moving violation. It's been a good 12 years since I've even been pulled over. That happened when I was leaving class at Drexel and I sped through a yellow light. It turned red before I crossed the point of no return and lucky for me the officer who caught me was in a good mood and sent me off with a warning. Today, even though I was stopped by a cop who was in good spirits, he knew my registration hadn't been renewed so I was destined to leave the scene with a ticket either way.

I was about a block from my OB's office when I saw the lights flashing behind me, so I pulled into the parking lot and shut off my engine. The officer asked for my license, insurance and registration. I handed over the first two, but while shuffling through my short stack of expired insurance and registration cards I noticed I was short one 2008 document. OOPS! The cop said, "Don't worry about looking in there, you won't find it. Your registration hasn't been renewed for this year." Double OOPS! I looked down and saw that my old one had expired in April, and I smiled and explained that I had a baby in mid-April and I completely spaced out on a lot of things, re-registering being one of them. Obviously. We exchanged pleasantries and he told me to hang on just a moment.

He went back to his cruiser and returned with my documents and a lovely pale marigold-colored piece of paper with some writing... oh no sorry, that pretty paper was my ticket. Shoot. He explained that he would have let me go if not for the fact that my law breakin' lack of registration shows up on the computer system in such a way that he had to issue the fine. Ok, ok, at least he said he would have let me slide. It took away the sting. Then he mentioned I should be careful driving back home (if I wanted to chance that at all) because normally they have to tow unregistered vehicles. Woo! But since I was on private property (the dr.'s office parking lot), he would let that go but added that I may not be so lucky on the off chance I got stopped again on the way home.

So you can tell I'm not in the slammer, thank God. I'm just going to pay the ticket and renew my registration online. I don't think I'll ever forget again, that's for sure. And I'll be hearing Rob Halford's voice in my head for at least the next couple of days... "Breakin' the law, breakin' the law!"

Electronics personal

Married white female seeks contemporary cellular telephone device to share enjoyable long term relationship. Possible candidates should be user-friendly, dress in fashionable colors, and come with own slide-out QWERTY keypad for easy texting. Must have experience entertaining small children. Built-in camera a plus, but not a necessity. Not looking for anything complicated, just something I can keep in my pocket and have a little fun with (vibrate, anyone?). Non-smokers only, please.

Plan of attack

Did you ever plan out in your head what you would do if you realized someone were breaking into your house? This is one of the things I think about every now and again.

Now, I'd like to think I could overpower and outsmart an intruder with sheer physical strength, athletic prowess, and ninja skills. I spent most of 2005 watching kung fu movies and honing my gang leader instincts in San Andreas. On the off chance these finely tuned reflexes don't kick in automatically if I should ever (God forbid) need them, I have things in my home mapped out in my favor and that's pretty much all I can say about that.

One thing that excites me is the thought of getting buff. My inspiration is two-fold. One, I try to recall my favorite Bruce Lee moments. I used to come home from the gym, put on a Bruce dvd, and flex, flex, flex. The thought of his glistening fitness brings out my own inner tiger, and for that I offer him my greatest thanks. And two, I watch the Bravo show "Workout". That Jackie is something else. If you've seen the show then you may not like her personality, but you have to admit she's one tough cookie. And saying this doesn't mean I've joined her team... but she's hot. She gives me the kind of confidence that makes me say that even though I'll be wearing a one-piece swimsuit this summer (after all, it's only been six weeks, people), next year it's bikini, bikini, bikini all the way!

IM on chat

I love to chat. Or IM, however you call it. I think it depends which chat you use. If I'm using Yahoo!, I say I'm on IM, or I'm IMing. When using iChat, I say I'm chatting. Then again, I talk to Jen on IM and we say "chat later" when we say goodbye. So maybe this is chat, and that is chat, and it's all very Seussian. Either way, chat is a wonderful thing, especially now that I hate talking on the telephone.

I lost my phone. I think it got lost some time on Sunday. Sunday afternoon I had it, then I went to make a call Sunday night and couldn't find it anywhere. Something distracted me and I forgot to keep looking, and now I have no idea where it's gone. But that's fine, since I'm not really interested in using it. My phone is old as shite. It's at least four years old. There's nothing wrong with it, and it's small enough, so I don't have a good reason to replace it. I have a house phone now for faxing and emergencies, so I can still check my voice mail. What's more, I can call people incognito since nobody knows my other number. I also have a third line on our wireless service and nobody knows that number either. If you get a call and hear lots of heavy breathing, then giggling, you'll know it's probably me. hehe.

The thing I love about chat is that I can have a whole conversation and not be the least bit inconvenienced by the telephone. Today, for instance, I was on with Jen and we wrote back and forth over the course of about three or four hours. Not constant conversation the whole time, but lines to each other here and there. Topics included things like hairstyles, baby sleep positions, how to make chili, nail polish for a special dress, and inspiration/motivation. There were side notes and topic changes. As we talked, I made dinner, did laundry, changed diapers, handed out snacks, and emptied the dishwasher. And not once did I have to shoosh anyone or ask Jen to repeat herself because someone was screaming or distracting me. It's also nice because I don't feel like the only adult on the planet, let alone the only one home with kids all day. Some days are better than others for chatting, but on the average day I can be found IM or chat or this or that at one time or another. It's not face to face with actual people, but it's enough to keep me connected in between contact with actual flesh and blood.

I'm back from the fortress and I'm not here to talk some shite

Sorry I haven't written. I've been buying furniture at IKEA for the past, oh, three days or so. My nickname for that store is "the fortress". No windows, no clocks, surrounded by cement. You might as well not exist. You go in and you're lucky if you ever get out. It's the shopping equivalent of "The Legend of Zelda". Trying to find your way out, or even getting from one level to the next, is futile. Ok, I'm exaggerating a little, but when you're stuck in the IKEA warp, those shopping shackles get so heavy you just want to collapse on a showroom bed, spend the night, and start fresh in the morning. Luckily they have a $.99 breakfast just in case.

When, finally, I emerged from the fortress on Saturday, I did so with a new bed base, an extendable toddler bed and mattress, shelves, dishes, toys, lighting, and various storage units, and chatch with which to fill said units. All in all, a fulfilling trip. Did I mention the duvet cover and pillowcases?

Tonight Frank was putting the bed base together and I noticed something was different. A big shift in my own behavior. Let me tell you what happened. Rather, let me tell you what didn't happen. Normally, furniture assembly is a time when I would make my presence known. I'd be saying, "Do this. No! Like this!" and "Wait, don't put that screw there, it goes over here!" and really smart, smart things like that. Half the time I'd be shuffling things in the wrong direction, and the rest of the time I'd be talking shite about what should happen next. Eventually the bed base would get assembled, but not without a queen size headache.

But things were different this evening. I had absolutely no interest in helping. No interest in talking shite. And I loooove to talk shite. Mostly I sat with the kids in their room. We watched tv and ate yogurt and graham crackers and goofed around. Frank asked me where a couple of pieces of bed frame were, and rather than getting up to help I just shrugged my shoulders. I did help him flip the mattress support slats, but after that was done I was happy to leave the room and get back to my own business (of which there is plenty). Maybe I've finally gotten involved enough in my own life that I can let some things happen without me. I have no plans to help put Nico's new bed together, or direct the shelf hanging process, or even assist with the placement of the spifffy new lights. Can't wait to see how things look when it's all finished.

The old switcheroo

There's a new plan in the works for who sleeps where in our house. The papa and I have the big room, and the kids have the small room. At the moment, though, the baby and I sleep in the big room and during the week the papa sleeps on the sofa. That way he can get ready for work and get out the door without waking anyone else. Nico is the lucky duck who has a room all to himself all the time. The plan was to move Livi in with him when she's about six months old. But now we think it's time to get Nico started in a toddler bed, and use his crib for the baby. The crib and the toddler bed were supposed to go into Nico's room, but like I said, he has the small room. So we're doing something radical -- we're switching rooms.

With the kids in the bigger room, we can keep all the baby and kiddie stuff in one place. The bassinet, the pack and play, the cradle swing, the Papasan seat... and that's just for Olivia. Add the crib, the dresser, the clothes and the toys and you're looking at a whole lotta shite. They need the bigger room. We're going to get a new bed base with drawers for ourselves, and some small end tables and storage to round out our room. The kids new room will double as a play room, and triple as a place for us to watch "Yo Gabba Gabba!" and "Jack's Big Music Show". I've never been excited about giving up any of my own space, but I'm totally looking forward to this. Plus I get to go shopping (woo!) and finally pick out some new bed linens. Sah-weet dreams.

My favorite muffin

If you don't shop at Wegman's, are you waiting for a personal invitation? Ok, sorry, that was a smart alecky thing to say. I just can't stress enough how important Wegman's is. Cousin Jennifer will back me up on this. I think we need to have t-shirts made up or something.

Today Mom went to pick up a few things for me. On my list were two of my favorite Wegman's bakery items -- chocolate chocolate chip muffins and everything bagels. Before I was a faithful Wegman's patron, my art director Lauren told me they had spectacular everything bagels. I'm easily lured by the promise of good everythings. I tried them and I've not since eaten an everything from anywhere else. At least not without choking in disgust at how not Wegman's it was. The chocolate chocolate chip muffins were just something Frank casually bought one day, knowing I love chocolate. Again, spectacular. Tonight, thanks to Mom, I will be woofing down one of my favorite muffins, and in the morning I'll be enjoying one of my favorite bagels.

There is something different, something special about Wegman's bakery. It's not the typical grocery store bakery. Everything is just better there. I started going for the bagels alone, and now look at me. I'm asking you to shop there -- no, no, I'm begging you to shop there for your own good. People describe it as Shop Rite and Whole Foods in one, but it's so much more and so much better than that. It's not a hybrid. It's its own creature of beauty. A phoenix rising from the ash heaps of lesser, not so lovely grocery markets. If you don't believe me, then I know you haven't really been to a Wegman's. Or if you have and you still don't shop there (and there alone), I know you're in need of some sort of intervention. I'll be over with my Wegman's posse any day now to set you straight.

Mandolin Run

Today I have two songs stuck in my head. Bruce Hornsby's "Mandolin Rain" and Run-DMC's "Run's House". Funny combo, right?

"Mandolin Rain" was just there when I woke up. I was having a dream about myself and my friend Sarah from college. In real life she recently found out she is going to be a mama, so I have been thinking about her often. I can't remember exactly what we were doing in the dream, only that she lived in the house in back of the house where I grew up. It was decorated as though she lived there, and at one point we hopped the fence between our houses. We had strung glowing lights in my mom's rose of sharon bushes so that we could see in the dark. "Mandolin Rain" is one of those songs that, as a kid, tore me up pretty good. It's more than sad. It's knowing you're going to lose someone but taking the chance to live that life regardless. Why was it stuck in my head? Maybe because of how my relationship with Sarah took some tough turns a couple of years ago right before she moved to Reno. Or maybe it was raining in the dream. It could be that it just seemed to fit in somewhere. I'll have to call her to check on her and see how she's doing, and that might explain it.

Come to think of it, in March I had a dream about Sarah. I was at her bridal shower (she's getting married in August) and I was running the game of bridal shower bingo. I was handing out the prizes and noticed they were all baby clothes. I thought hmm, that's weird... but the guests seemed delighted. A few weeks later, Sarah told me her news.

So back to the songs. I was dancing around this morning and started singing "Run's House". I don't even know the words, just the part where they say "Whose house? Run's House." so that's what I kept repeating. Think of Matt Damon in "Dogma". Yeah, like that. I gave the living room a good cleaning yesterday so I'm feeling that clean house pride. Whose house? Yeah... you know it!

Secret decoder

Every now and then, Frank says something that even I can't understand. I told him one day I was going to write this post, so don't think I'm mean because his accent and grammar are topics frequently discussed and/or made fun of in my house. He switches his pronouns a lot and sometimes he just flat out says things funny. He double checks things with me pretty often, the same way I do with him when I'm speaking Spanish. Any conjugation outside of simple present or past tense, and I sound like a total doofus. My own shaky foreign language skills aside, see if you can figure out what Frank actually means when he says...

1. bisswox
2. him/he
3. this
4. some chips
5. ice water
6. chickbots
7. in or on
and the classic...
8. witchcraps

I'll not keep you in suspense -- here are the answers:
1. beeswax
2. him/he or her/she. Very confusing when he's talking about his brothers and sisters or any group of people.
3. this or these
4. SunChips (the delicious, crispy snack). Confusing when we're making the shopping list and I have to clarify if he wants actual SunChips, or just some chips, meaning potato chips or Fritos. Hysterical when I offer him the bag of SunChips and ask, "You want SomeChips?"
5. water ice
6. butt cheeks (cheek butts)
7. on or in. Ex: "I'm in the bus" or "I'm on the car". In is on, and on is in. Basically it's the English equivalent of ser and estar.
8. witchcraft (usually used as an exclamation in the presence of a black cat)

How did you do? Honestly, even though I joke with Frank a lot about his accent, I'm really impressed by him. He moved here from Peru when he was still a teenager, and he didn't speak a single word of English. At 18, I would never have had the ballsies to pick up and move myself to a foreign country to start my life over. All by myself. He came here to make something of himself, and I'd say he's done a damn fine job. Sometimes I forget that about him. But it doesn't mean I'll ever stop busting his chops.

I-love-a-ya

I've heard some people fall in love with their babies the instant they are born. For me, that's been true to a certain extent. With Nico and Olivia, there was love at first sight. I saw them and knew I loved them right away. But it was the same love I'd been feeling for nine months, like I'd been holding the lock and suddenly there was the key.

After we brought the kids home, there came these very specific moments when the babies looked at me and I looked at them and I fell head over heels in love with them. The "I could never live without you" kind of love. When Olivia was about a week old, we were sitting on the sofa together and I was cradling her in my arms. She opened her eyes and looked up at me, and I completely melted. Ever since then, my nickname for her has been I-love-a-ya. We call her a few other cutesy things like Liviboo and Mamiloo. But I-love-a-ya pretty much sums it up. Olivia, I-love-a-ya.

All four of us have stuffy/runny noses this weekend. Last night I was giving the baby some saline spray and trying to suction out as much snot as possible, and she was being a real trooper about it. Nico had been taking pictures earlier and left the camera in our bedroom, and I happened to see it on the floor so I snapped this photo of Livi. She's getting so big. Yesterday she started wearing her 3 month size clothes. Anyway, here she is, love-a-ly as can be.

Can I just do one freakin' thing here?

Last night I remembered I had an eyebrow appointment today at noon. I wanted to go last weekend, because we were already out of the house and my girl had an opening at 3:15. It would have been a stretch, but I'd have gotten it out of the way and, whoop-de-doo, the kids would have taken their naps in the car while we drove around or sat in the parking lot until that time. But no, Frank insisted it was too long for us all to be out and he wanted to go home. Fine. So I made this noon appointment for today.

Of course Frank was all grumbles about it when it came time to leave the house. And I fed the baby at 11:15, but she wouldn't eat very much even though I warned her it would be a little while before I would be able to feed her again. Half way into the 20 minute drive, she started wailing. Of course. Nico, the only agreeable one in the bunch, was just glad to be out and about. He's used to going everywhere with me so it's never a big deal for him. I was 10 minutes late to the appointment but my eyebrow mistress is always kind to me and luckily she didn't have anyone coming in at 12:15. So I did get my brows done, but not without a hassle.

I miss being able to just run out and do whatever I feel like. I'm jealous that Frank can grab his wallet, say "See ya!" and go. I don't want to sound like a horrible mom, but sometimes it's hard to have to think of everyone else first. On days like today when all I want is an hour to go spend $20 on myself, and it turns out to be such a freakin' big deal, it just doesn't seem fair. I hear complaints like "Well you took too long getting ready", when all I did in the bathroom was brush my teeth and put my hair in a pony tail. No make-up, no fancy business, just the basics... and still someone is bitching. Tomorrow when I'm out with Mom and the kids getting Nico's ring bearer tux, my husband will be driving to visit his cousins in North Jersey. They'll drink beers and eat Inca chicken. He'll roll in tomorrow evening whenever he darn well pleases. It'll seem more fair on Monday morning when he has to leave for work and I get to stay home. But today I just have to vent. Sometimes I'd just like the afternoon to myself... or even just an hour.

One of those nights

This is one of those nights where I just don't have anything to say. I've begun to write on several topics and rejected them mid-post. First, there was an ode to Guinness, which was too redundant. Then a discussion of what I've eaten tonight. In short, Japanese delivery, Carvel ice cream cake, cookies, and Guinness. So that post was like three sentences long and I was already hurtin' for chit chat. Next, I considered bitching about Olivia's crazy time. This is basically a two or three hour stretch at night where she's fussy or crying before finally drifting off to sleep. But who cares about that? She's a baby, there's not much I can do about it but hold her, bounce her, pat her back, and tell her it's ok. End of story.

So here I stand at the breakfast bar, laptop on the counter, listening to the baby fuss and whine. And my mind is a total blank. I just remembered I need to make a note to pay two bills which are due on the 18th. I keep walking over to pick Olivia up. She falls asleep, I put her down, she wakes back up. It's brutal. I'm tired. I'm about to offer her cash in exchange for a few hours of rest.

*ten minutes later* Ok she finally fell asleep for real. Now that I have time to myself, I don't want to waste it sleeping. I want to watch tv, finish my beer, and eat chips. There are photos I want to upload and order prints of. I'd like to eat my leftovers from dinner. I need to send out thank you cards. I keep meaning to order some things online. I'll decide in a minute if I'm going to do any of those things. But for now I might as well say goodnight. Goodnight.

Venus de Mile-o (a Saturn)

Today I'm mailing out the last payment on my 2003 Saturn Ion 2. Woo-hoo! This will actually be the second time I officially own a car, the first one being Artie (the strongest car... in the world!) who was my gigantic, trusty ride back in '94-'95. I like to name my automobiles and I like it when my family and friends do the same. You spend a lot of time with your vehicle, so why not? It's also a fun little ritual and a ceremonious way to remember the boys and girls of your driving past. See if you recall any of these gems...

1. Maurice
2. Pearl
3. "The Egg"
4. Musty Rusty
5. Hee-Haw
6. Large Marge
7. Fun Gay Bobby

Venus de Mile-o is the name of my current car. She's silver-blue with silver roof rails, and she's my second Saturn. The first was a blackberry SL2 named Uranus. I think it's extremely appropriate to name Saturns in some planetary or space-related manner... no other car company offers such a soulful naming experience. Uranus wasn't the favorite of all my cars, so I used to make jokes at his expense. Like "I'm going to put gas in Uranus." Or "I just paid $10 to have Uranus waxed." Mature stuff like that.

I can't begin to tell you how happy I am about finally paying off Venus. It'll be a long time before I buy another car because I'm so sick of making the payments. So wish me luck with her. She's been good to me the first 5 years, and I hope it's only the beginning of our beautiful friendship.

I one the sandbox...

Remember that Bert and Ernie skit where Ernie fools Bert into saying he ate the sandbox? That's all I could think of today when I took the kids to Sturbridge Lake's playground. There's a big sandbox there, and Nico kept almost putting acorns in his mouth. Of course we'd have to change the line to "I eight the acorns" but you get the idea.

What a gorgeous day outside. Despite the huge grassy puddles from yesterday's gloom, there was plenty of room for running around, plenty of sticks to pick up, and even a cute little 2 year old girl for Nico to flirt with. Even though my son was clearly still wearing his pajama top (I honestly didn't think anyone else would be there), she flirted right back and sat next to him as he flung sand five feet into the air.

We spent over two hours running in the grass, puddle stomping, and admiring the biggest stick Nico's ever laid eyes on -- a branch that had fallen from a tree, probably from yesterday's wind. He tried to lift it up but it wouldn't budge, so he settled for touching as many parts of it as he could every time we got close. This is the kind of day I'll always love to remember... my free little bird playing at the park... and my sweet little girl sleeping in her baby carrier, enjoying her first day out in the fresh air.

Speak not

Going back to the whole thing with babies voices on records... there's one more form of creative expression that bugs the crap out of me. Spoken word. I've been going through my iPod, listening to different kid-friendly music during the day, and I came across an old favorite. Digable Planets "Reachin' (A New Refutation of Time and Space)". It's from, what, the early '90s? But I still love it, or at least most of it until the end when Butterfly insists on going all coffeehouse beatnik on me during "Le Femme Fetal".

There are certain people from whom I can tolerate spoken word. One is Henry Rollins. Think of him when you think of the kind of spoken word that doesn't make me want to gouge out my ears. There are a lot of artists I love until they word it up. Erykah Badu... Ani DiFranco... and yes, Digable Planets. And never mind the slew of non-singers who practice such literary crime. Here's a little sample of what irritates me most. Imagine the rhyming words being drug out in that monotone, semi-question-marked way. "I hate to sound macaaaaabre... but isn't it my jooooob... to lay it on the masseeeees... and get them off their asseeeees..." Barf. Ruined.

There must be some deep down punk bit of me that makes me reject this part of the artistic spectrum. Even the poetic hippie part of me cringes around the wrong variety of spoken word. It's just not tolerable. At least not to me. If I could just find the cable that connects my iPod to my laptop, I would be able to go in and edit my music. That's the rough part about having a disorganized house. It's so darn tough to find the things you really need when you're trying to keep your sanity.

Happy Moms

Happy Mother's Day to all you mamas out there.

We had a really wonderful morning/early afternoon at my mom's. Brunch, mimosas, and family hanging out, talking, and laughing. We're back home and it's family nap time. Yay!

Aloha, Mr. Hand

This evening, bleary-eyed, I caught the end of "Fast Times at Ridgemont High". I have two words for you -- Spicoli dance. This is a classic moment for everyone in my family, and is always brilliantly recreated by my brother. And my sister. In a weird way, when my sister does it, in my mind she is doing an impersonation of my brother doing the Spicoli dance. This makes it doubly goofy to me and cracks me up every time.

If you don't know the Spicoli dance, go rent this movie at once or find it on demand. Fast forward to the graduation dance when the band's playing "Wooly Bully" and watch Sean Penn. It only lasts a few seconds, but it's the best boogie-down ever captured on film.

Crazy insane

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today and, seriously, I mistook myself for a crazy person. I'm wearing green tartan boxers with a pink tank top that does not properly conceal my white bra straps. The icing on the cake was having the strap of the nursing bra fastened outside of and around the tank top strap, rather than underneath it. No idea how that happened. My hair is wrapped in a bun on top of my head, which is supposed to make me look more neat and tidy but actually there's hair sticking out everywhere. All I need is some sloppy neon pink lipstick (with a little dabbed on my front tooth) and the look would be complete.

Well... the baby just started crying again, so I gotta go back to Mommyville.

Swordfish

The other day I happened to catch the movie "Swordfish" on tv. I'd never seen it before and had no idea it's such a sexy movie! Have you seen the cast? Oh my. This would have been one of my "watch over and over" movies long ago had I seen Hugh Jackman and his infinite cuteness when this film first came out. Halle Berry is one of my least favorite actresses, but in this movie I'm making an exception. It's my new goal to look as good as she does in that little red outfit, eating that red rope liquorice. Sadly, though, I doubt having eaten 3/4 of a bag of Twizzlers in the past four days will have quite the same effect on my body as it does on hers. I'm not punishing this bag of strawberry twists, it's punishing me. But I don't care, I'm just trying to offset it by engaging my abs every time I eat another piece. Sounds good in theory... I'll let you know how it works out.

There's also a non-fat Travolta and my man Don Cheadle. A little Cheadle goes a long way for me in any film. I don't know why. He's barely in "Ocean's Eleven" so I really have to savor his goofy English accent in that one, but "Swordfish" has him looking handsome and acting all serious in a good way. Go, Cheadle. And any time Travolta looks good enough to not make me think of "Grease", I'm highly appreciative. Right now I'm thinking of Hugh Jackman and it's blocking out the memory of who else was in "Swordfish" but I will just say that I watched half the movie on mute and I was still glued to the tv. *lick finger, twist torso, touch butt* Tssss...

Mr. Nico

Just wanted to share this photo of me and Nico. He's finally getting over the sickies and getting back to his usual goofy self... he even put some peas and noodles in his ears at lunch today.

The pits

My husband has this goofy love for plants. He even puts up a fuss when I weed the plants we keep on our deck. It's upsetting for him to see me yank "the little plants" out of the pots.

The other day I was putting laundry away in our closet when I noticed an avocado pit in one of the cubbies. I asked him about it, and he was like well what's it to you, I want to keep it there. I was so confused. Why keep it in the closet? Some ancient Peruvian good luck charm? No... he just wanted to keep the pit. It's now accompanying the other avocado pit that's been sitting in the dirt of our basil plant on the kitchen counter. He also hides coins everywhere. All our potted bamboo plants have quarters and nickles buried in the stones. Open a cabinet and you might find a little pile of change on one of the shelves. If we're ever hard up for cash, all I have to do is make one sweep through the house to collect all the loose money. I could probably pay the mortgage with what he's got hidden in the bathroom closet.

So that's today's weirdo fact about life at La Rivera's house... the plants get to keep their weeds, and they all get a 401k plan.

Business as usual

Well I managed to dress myself this morning. It's a step in the right direction. It's 4:20 in the afternoon and I'm about to brush my teeth after enjoying a grape popsicle. The excitement never ends, does it?

And don't think for a minute that I'm not wearing blue granny undies with my white yoga pants. I said I'm wearing real clothes, I didn't say I made any effort to coordinate them with my undergarments. Luckily I don't have to go anywhere.

Speaking of pants... Miss Fussy Pants wanted to be held most of the day and she finally fell asleep for real about an hour and a half ago. Nico is still napping. *OW pause one brief moment for uterine-shrinking crampy stomach pain* Nico has gotten himself into the habit of running from one side of our L-shaped sofa to the other, and today he finally fell off. We've been warning him but he never listens; he prefers to laugh in the face of danger and look at us like we're crazy. It happened all too suddenly, too fast for me to move the baby off my lap and dive to catch him. Luckily he's fine.

It's late. I should go in and wake him from his nap. I'm just enjoying the peace and quiet so much that it hurts to think of doing anything but lying down on the sofa until he wakes on his own... even if that might not be until after 5:00.

I finally started doing it again tonight!

Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm talking about shaving my legs. It's been... hmm... many a month since I've had smooth legs. I think I gave it up some time around Thanksgiving. Or maybe it was Halloween. It was right after the last time I wore capri pants, which I think was at my sister's bridal shower. So that was actually pre-trick or treat.

My poor little pink razor had no idea what hit her tonight when I decided to get a shower. It took two rounds on each leg, but the results are impressive. I'll tell you what prompted me to finally start grooming myself again. I was about to get in the shower when I decided to check my post-partum body progress. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and I was surprised at how good I'm looking. Not to sound snooty or anything, but I'm really happy with how I'm healing up and shrinking down. My scar is nice and smooth, and my tummy isn't doing that oh-so-unattractive flop over thing, meaning I no longer have to lift up my tummy to see my scar. Might not sound like much, but to me it's a huge deal.

To celebrate my progress, I shaved my legs. A weird way to party down, but I feel like a whole new person. I think I'm even going to get a hair cut. A new style. I want to feel completely unencumbered by excess hair. It's time to rock and roll.

The sick and the tired

So Nico is sick. He's got an infection in his mouth, a viral type of thing, and he's got a spotty rash on his cute little face. His throat is sore and his gums are swollen and red. We're just trying to keep Olivia from catching any of it, washing our hands like crazy and changing our shirts after we hold Nico. After two outfit changes, we decided Frank would be in charge of Nico and I'd take care of the baby since I have to feed her anyway. She's been fussy all morning and is finally napping. Today is the first day she was awake all morning, which is good since we want her to get her nights and days in the right order. But I really wish she had been sleeping more today just so I could have gotten some rest. I'm so selfish.

Poor Nico is so uncomfortable. The doctor did say he'd get worse before he got better since yesterday was only the second day. Hopefully tomorrow he will be on the road to feeling much better. I'm just so tired. I miss those nice long nights of sleep. I could use a good six hour stretch right about now. Nico can go to bed at 8 and sleep through until 7 the next morning. I feel all screwed up now that I'm up and down during the nights again. I'm in this tunnel of no sleep, and not knowing when I'll be able to sleep, and I'm just not used to it and it's making me miserable. I'm about to drown my sorrows in a big bowl of pasta with Mom's sauce and meatballs. a-boo-woo-woo.

"Rufus is a T*t Man" (at least that's how they write it on iTunes)

One day, years ago, I was at work checking in on the latest iTunes had to offer. One of my favorite things to do was go through the celebrity play lists. Rufus Wainwright had his up, and one of his songs was a little tune by Loudon Wainwright III called "Rufus is a T*t Man". Rufus's comment on this song was that he believed himself to be the only person with a song written about him breastfeeding. I'm still entertained when I hum it to myself. I looked it up just now on iTunes, though, and only found an acoustic version which doesn't hold the same charm as the track I originally heard and still have stuck in my head. It's got to be the most original way I've heard of for memorializing that special time in your baby's life.

While it's fine to write a song for or about your kid, I have a certain opinion about artists including their children's actual voices in their music. At least the music they sell to me. Even now, my thought on the topic of putting your baby's voice on your record is thus: please, God, no. But they all do it anyway. Everyone from Stevie Wonder to Outkast to Tool has at one time or another ruined a song for me by bringing a baby (not necessarily their own) into the studio and having that baby cry, coo, talk, or curse (ok sometimes that's funny) into the microphone, and then they think it's just so darn spectacular that they just have to work it into a song somewhere.

I can understand wanting people to think your baby is cute. I'm certainly guilty of sending out photo after photo of my own, but this whole music thing is different. With a picture, people see it, say "aw", and that's it. With a song, the baby's voice is right there every time. You're forced to hear it over and over and over again. It can be the best song in the world, but throw a kiddie giggle in there and it's ruined forever. So please, all you musicians out there with kids... stop putting your babies on your records. I believe you that they're cute. I just don't need to hear it every time I listen to "Isn't She Lovely" -- which incidentally would be a perfect song if you'd just remove that ten minute chunk of baby sounds.