Life returns to normal

[caption id="attachment_2542" align="alignleft" width="150" caption="Our classy mirrored bar room, baby."][/caption]

Our new house came with a fairly extensive learning curve. It's an odd U shape and sports more windows and light switches than the viewing room at Good Morning America.

I'm not a fan of ridiculously bright rooms. I like a subtle, glowing atmosphere. Hence, nearly every time I walk by the living room I flick off the overhead lights. Only I'm not flicking off the overhead lights, I'm actually flicking the switch that my husband's computer and light are plugged into. It's not my fault they put the switches in the wrong place. I'll get used to it eventually. Ahh, the little things we do on a daily basis to compound our marital bliss.

Which makes me think of this morning. I cooked eggs for the kiddos in a little cast iron skillet that we found buried in the back yard of our old house in Placerville when I was a teenager, scrubbed to a black sheen by my determined Mother. She read somewhere that I can get iron in my kids' diets by cooking with a cast iron skillet. I don't know if it's true, but I figure it can't hurt. (Note to self: buy some SOS pads.)



After an unsuccessful battle with the stubborn egg funk coating the sides of the skillet aprés cook, I tucked my tail betwixt my legs and trudged over to the side of the fridge to add non-stick cooking spray to my running list. Shocked and pleased was I to discover that my husband had added something to the list for the very first time: AAA batteries! However, since he was in the area, he saw fit to install judgment on my denotation of intent to purchase self-tanner.



Listen up, Mr. Smug with the natural golden glow. I'm sick of being mistaken for the recent undead due to my ghastly white pallor. Not only that, I'm convinced that if I carefully apply self tanner to the ridges of the cellulite craters on my thighs I will render them invisible. Again, I have no proof to back this up but it's worth a try. You'll be thanking me later.

We all had fun last night after bath time. There is nary such a pleasing sight to thine eyes as my babies Joe and Lily scooting around in their jammies, freshly-scrubbed and sweet-smelling, high on new surroundings to claim and explore.



[caption id="attachment_2550" align="alignnone" width="225" caption="What's your order, Mom?"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2549" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Joe was moving so fast I had to snap this picture two seconds before he ran into the kitchen to get the shot."][/caption]

Here are some random pictures of the past couple of weeks for interested family and friends to peruse. Some were taken at home, others at Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas. Have a wonderful Sunday, everybody. :)



[caption id="attachment_2539" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Lily and Brian camped out in our living room shortly before the move to Texas."][/caption]

Car Tripping

My family and I boarded the Quest last week and set sail for Placerville, CA. We stopped often to look and touch and taste, but what amused me the most were my husband Dennis' quips as he navigated back down the 101 towards the barren, scorpion-ridden kiln of a desert we call home.

Dennis pontificated about the fact that radio stations in coastal towns always play some sort of "lite" jazz.
Dennis: Nothing threatening: No drums, no guitar riffs, just a homogenized mixture of non-threatening musical instruments.
Heather: Soft music that feels good.
Dennis: Radio stations with call signs like KOST.
Dennis: Or KLITE. *starts laughing*
Heather: What?
Dennis: Say it out loud.
Heather: K lit... OMG!!

Dennis: Do you think Percy Sledge was the brother of Sister Sledge? Just wonderin'.

Dennis: Why is it called "Sit n' Sleep"? Shouldn't it be called "Lay and Sleep"?
Heather: I think maybe the store sells chairs and beds.
Dennis: Oh, I see. I assumed it was just a bed store. Are you sure they sell chairs?

Dennis: ♪ Oye como va, give me taco sauce for my burrito ♪ How come they have taco sauce? They don't have burrito sauce. Can you put taco sauce on a burrito? It's not the same.

Heather: They should have a computer type place and call it "Nerdstroms".
Dennis: I like that.

Heather: Does laying pipe mean pooping or having sex.
Dennis: I thought it meant having sex. Are you going to record that?

Why yes, yes I am.

What was that song called?

Joe's been acting up around dinner time lately. He flat out refuses to dine with us and bounces around the kitchen asking for food items he knows he won't be getting. "Blueberry lollipop" is his new mantra. Do blueberry lollipops even exist?

Tonight one thing led to another and Joe found himself in a two minute time out. After I sprung him, having been unsuccessful in my attempt to procure an apology, I capped things off with a fruitless round of reasoning.

Me: Some things are for sharing, but some things are not for sharing. Mommy's writing things...

Dennis: ...and Mommy's sex drawer.

Me: (Background: Last week Joe found something he was never meant to and ran around the house with it as I stood transfixed and horrified.)

Dennis (casually washing a plate now): Is that what that song is about? Sex Drawer?

Me: Do you mean Sex Dwarf?

Dennis: Yeah. *snicker*

Me: Did you know it was called Sex Dwarf, or did you really think it was called Sex Drawer?

Dennis: It's great when your wife thinks you're so stupid that you think Sex Dwarf is called Sex Drawer. *rolls eyes so far back into his head they never quite returned all the way*

Me: Well, how would you know that song? You weren't a mod. You didn't go out dancing. That song is from my day.

Dennis: No it isn't. It's from the seventies. For a period of time they played it all the time. How does it go?

Me: Something, something, and the dumb chauffeur.

Dennis: Isn't it nice? Luring disco dollies to a life of vice?

Me: Yeah, that's it.

Now I can't get the song out of my head. What was it called again?

Nuts and a Diet Coke

Image via Wikipedia

Saturday, from the master bathroom...
Dennis: It's like I opened the door and stuck my head inside your butt!
Me:
Dennis: Shouldn't it be gone by now? I've been waiting to come in here.
Me: I'm sure it wasn't as bad as...
Dennis: Baby. No, it was worse. Stink molecules are still in my nose.
*****************************
Holding up remnants on a plate...

Me: What's this?
Dennis: It's my breakfast — nuts and a Diet Coke.
Me: You are what you eat!

Do you Write or are you Written?

I know I don't post as often as I should. I don't do anything as often as I should. I do things I shouldn't do more often than I should. It's not my fault. You see, I don't write. The reasonably good posts that is. I am written. I sit here sometimes for five minutes staring blankly at the monitor. Eventually my mind goes numb and my fingers spring into action and words appear on the screen. When I look back on some of these posts I chuckle to myself and think... If I had sat down with the intent to write that the words would not have come. I could not have done it. The words have nothing and everything to do with me. They are entities in and of themselves.

Sometimes I wonder if a little person exists inside my head driving me like that little alien in Men in Black drove Vincent D'onofrio. Now see I stopped to find a picture of said little alien and I lost my train of thought. Then again I didn't so much lose it as it turned into an ant of thought.

[ETA my husband just encouraged me by saying 1) "Your blog was good baby, but it wasn't Vincent D'onofrio being driven by the little alien, it was the old man. He got driven into the morgue and they pulled his ear and his face opened up.", and 2) "Don't let the facts get in the way of your creativity!".]

Trouble With Bug Tape

My husband looked me square in the eye last night and said, "I've got a Dennisism to share with you". As you can imagine, I was both excited and a little fearful. Here is my account of his recollection:

[At work the exterminator puts in bug plates on the floor]...So one of those bug plates that the exterminators put in there that has the sticky stuff to catch the bugs..? It had flipped over and somebody had walked on it and it got stuck to the carpet. So I see it there and try to peel it off and as I'm trying to peel it of it's very difficult but it's still...it's coming off a little bit but it's sticking to my hand. So at some point I don't even have my fingers free anymore because they're covered with this bug stuff.

So I start to pull it off and stuff like that and whatever I pull off of one hand sticks to the other hand and so I go into the restroom thinking hot water will help and I'm rubbing it on the plastic inside the liner of the trash can to get it to stick. I get some of it off there. I stick my hands under hot water to try to wash it off. So some of the paper is coming off a little bit so I do what I can and turn the water off and I grab a paper towel and then I realize that I'm drying my hands on the paper towel and the paper towels are sticking to my hand so all the paper's back on my fingers again. So at this point I'm like well okay I'll wash it off again and this time I'll let my hands dry—just air dry, you know? So I wash my hands and get as much paper as I can off of there and I stand there in the bathroom with my hands in the air trying to get them dry. I also have to go somewhere in my car and I have to get going so I can't have sticky hands.

So anyway that's what's going on and I'm getting stressed and I get the poops and I realize I have to sit down and...you know...go to the bathroom. So I sit down and come time to wipe and I grab the toilet paper and wipe and I realize I can't get the toilet paper off my fingers—it's stuck! So then I have to grab another piece of toilet paper with my other hand and try to grab the other paper so it doesn't stick and it literally is just... So through trial and error and thousands of rolls of toilet paper I finally get myself to where I want to be and I flush the toilet and get up and I've got to wash my hands again and get a bunch of paper off of there and stuff like that. So I get the paper off as much as I can but the sticky stuff is still on my fingers. I have to get in the car so I put gloves on and just hope my hands will sweat and the sticky stuff will come off so I wore gloves there and back. Even when I got back my hands still had paper stuck to them. That's my story.

Me: Baby! How did that make you feel?
Dennis: Like a character in a Jim Carrey movie.

One for My Guy

My husband married a fun, spontaneous, one might even argue sexy on a good day party girl and ended up with... wait for it... Mommy.

It's true. I almost feel sorry for the guy. It all happened so quickly. We met in 2003, married in 2005, and by the time I had Joe Joe in 2006 I'd gained 70+ pounds from pregnancy-induced hypothyroidism and had stopped doing my roots. I was so tired all the time. It was a huge effort just to do one load of laundry. I cried daily. I was fearful to take my son to the store lest a car should swipe him in the parking lot. I hovered like a bear. I eyed our dogs with steely suspicion. I felt immense pressure to make every moment magical. I thought I should be cataloging his every breath with photographs, baby book entries and emails. I felt guilty for staying at home and racked my brain 24/7 for a way I could be at home with my boy, my heart, and still contribute to our household. Yes, I thought that being a stay at home Mom meant that I wasn't contributing. I had to find a way to justify my very existence. I tried lots of things only to find that it was my son of the thing. The thing always lost out. I failed. Miserably. And often.

Hypothyroidism slows down your body functions, including your metabolism and thought processes, and basically slowly drives you insane. For real. I could barely hold my son up at six months, or walk twenty feet down the street without panting for breath. I was fearful all the time. When asked my middle name I sometimes could not remember. To make matters worse I turned to food for comfort and to quell the anxiety I was feeling.

Then, when Joe was nine months old, I was able to become pregnant with Lily. That was the plan. I We wanted anther child, and at the age of 37 the advice was to start trying when your baby is nine months old. What can I say, we got lucky or blessed or both. Standard pregnancy blood tests ensued, and miracle of miracles one day my doctor sat across from me wide-eyed with disbelief as he read me a three digit TSH number. Vindication was mine! I'd been complaining for months that I was dieting but still gaining weight and he always gave me the "Uh-huh, sneak another cookie while you're at it" look. Shortly thereafter Levothyroid became my new best friend.

It's been a long process but I'm slowly becoming me again. I want the time back with my son. I want to run with him and play and sing to him without a voice tinged with love but also sadness and desperation. We don't always get what we want.

I've decided to stop beating myself up for having been sick and tired and to start living with vitality. I tossed out a hook and snagged myself and started reeling me in. For a long time I thought that any time spent on myself was time stolen from my children. I'm beginning to realize that time spent on myself is a gift to my children. I'm taking morning walks and eating better. I'm wearing makeup. I'm brushing my hair.

Time spent on me is a gift to my husband as well. What? I have a husband? Oh, that's right! When I became a Mom I grew so focused on my children that I forgot to be fun. I was a good Mom, but a lackluster wife and partner. You see, any time spend on my husband was time stolen from my children. Little did I know that time spent on my husband was one of the greatest gifts I could give my children.

It has been said that the greatest gift you can give your children is to love their mother. Isn't the same true of ne'er oft thought of dear old Dad?

Last night Mom watched the kiddos while my husband Dennis and I went out for margaritas and tacos. We talked. About the kids. And then a miracle happened. We started talking about him. As he began to share with me his hopes for the future I saw him come to life. It was like watching a train huff and puff and rattle and screech, eventually working up to a smooth and proud glide. It was beautiful.

We finished our food and checked his watch and determined that if we were to head home right then and there we would arrive just as Mom was putting the kids down. That's a big no-no. The distraction would have them in a frenzy and they wouldn't be able to go down for hours. So we did what any couple would do. We went to Target and picked up a t-ball stand and a twelve pack of beer. As we got back in the car and realized that we had failed to kill enough time for an uneventful re-entry we decided to stop by the driving range just down the street from our house and have a beer. Dare we? We dared. I asked Dennis what might happen if a policeman discovered our folly. He said, "You're right, officer. You got us. Two middle-aged people sitting in a parking lot at a driving range on a date night having a beer." I giggled. We hadn't done this since we were teenagers. He began detailing some teenage exploits of yore. A friend had scaled a fence and stolen a keg. Another had punched his cousin in the face. I asked if these friends were on Facebook so I could tease them. We smiled and laughed. And it was good.

As Father's Day approaches, I'm going to make a point to remember my husband more often. Not as a partner in parenting, we've got that one nailed, but as a partner in his dreams and in fun.

I love you Mr. Snugglepants.


Photo credit: hhttp://www.retroland.com/retrotalk/userfiles/10081561_gal.jpg

Poop and BBQ Potato Chips = Man Heaven!

Need I say more?

Wolf Cat

While eating dinner last night, my husband Dennis grabbed a pen and began to entertain our son Joe via his artwork in an attempt to distract him from destroying my laptop.




And thus, Wolf Cat was born...



I could tell that Dennis was proud of this one, so I began to gush, "Oh, it's so cuuuuuute just look at his skinny leg!"

Dennis put on a face that was a strange mixture of pride, shock and hurt and said, "I was entertaining our son!"

Me:


Dennis: I was saying that it wasn't my best work. I was just in a hurry to draw a picture.

Me: Okay then, what's your best work? Show me your best work.

Dennis: I'm busy.

Me: Okay well, when you're done...I want to compare them. *smirk*

Dennis: If I look at something I can draw, but I can't do it from memory.

Joe:

I Joe

I still haven't finished setting up Joe Joe's room. There are baskets and baskets of toys sitting around just waiting to be sorted. Yes, I should have done this before the move. No, I did not. Joe just found his big bother Dennie's old GI Joe doll action figure and fell in love with it. He calls it "I Joe". I asked Dennis to come in and give me an opinion regarding placement of the toy credenza and this is what I got instead.




Sigh.

Rest Assured

You should have been here last night. My husband Dennis tossed a bite of guacamole into his mouth, lit up like a glowfish, then dashed over to his work bag and returned with an etching. I'd seen this wide-eyed look before. It was the one he gets when he's about to flip out over something ridiculously small and unimportant (to me). Don't get me wrong. My husband is a rock. He can and does handle the middle and big things, and most small things, with steely nerves and the grace of a nobleman. But every few days or so his sanity consciousness wavers, he senses foul play where none exists and becomes irate about something most people wouldn't be able to fathom.

This time it was the Rest Assured toilet seat covers in his bathroom at work.





Dennis: This is my mission in life. Everybody else would ignore this.

Heather:

Dennis: It could be called "Pleasant Days" or "Good Answers" or "Fishers" or "Baldwin Supplies", but it's called Rest ASS sured.

Heather:

Dennis: Don't make me think I'm insane. If there's no way to convey it without sounding insane does that mean I shouldn't say it?

Heather:

Dennis: Baby! That smug look on your face when you're typing. You think you're better than me. You'll do something tonight. You'll s%*t your pants. You've sharted before. See the R Trademark? They're not making a comment, that's their company. I mean, they thought long and hard about the name of their company. It's called rest ass sured. Those esses are in a different font almost. They paid a lot of money to some company to make those esses stand out. I was going to tape over the ured but then I thought "This is bigger than that!". I'm going to take it home and share it. I'm like Columbus. I've made a discovery!

Heather:

Dennis: It's almost like rest ass you red. Rest your ass or you'll get red. You're not writing down what I'm saying are you because some of it's jibberish. You're like "Some of it? All of it". *laughs*

Dennis: (Looks at the tv and says...) Pinot grigio.

So I decide to Google 'Rest Assured'. Not unlike a saint, I concede that in this version of the logo the word "Ass" does in fact appear to be highlighted to make a point.

What do you think?

Our Afternoon

Ah, yes. My husband just emerged from working out in the garage singing "I'm a steel cowboy...". For those of you not acquainted with Bon Jovi who, for me, is sort of like white bread, those lyrics are a bastardization of his song 'Wanted Dead or Alive'. "I don't know how that man has a career", he continues with a snarled lip and stiff back.

I hightail it into the office as we've been in the Bon Jovi zone many times before and I knew this tirade wasn't about to end any time soon. I am not alone. I am fervently clutching in my right hand a torn piece of a Diet Coke box containing a code worth 10 My Coke Rewards points. My eyes are bulging. My tongue is flicking like a snake. I've been waiting for the Heather equivalent of a year, a week, for the final 9 points required to net me a subscription to Country Home—my latest obsession.



Along with other fans of the time-worn paint trick, I too will be living it up in "unfussy elegance" in 4-6 weeks. I'm giddy with anticipation. I'm smiling like The Grinch before the Yahooo Doooreeesss scene. I want it so bad I can taste it.