Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday morning dreamin'....on such a winter's day
So I had a very vivid dream this morning that I was at Zumba class, and all of a sudden the instructor told us to pair up in partners. Well I get paired with none other than Amber Riley, (who plays Mercedes on Glee,) and I am then informed that we must perform an impromptu acapella version of MJ's "The Way you Make Me Feel." Clearly, I am confused because this is Zumba class, so why am I being asked to sing? I start to get very nervous and my palms get sweaty...
Luckily for me, I am awoken by Ava's voice in the distance.
"Mom...Mommm.....Mommmmy?? Are you awake?? Mommm?"
As I slowly wake up, I realize that she's not distant at all, she is right at my bedside.
"Can I come snuggle with you and Daddy?" she asks in a groggy, raspy, still 1/2 asleep state. Without my contacts in, I squint at the blurry red numbers on the alarm clock. Six-five-two. Ughhhhh, I think. Too early for a Saturday morning. But I answer my sweet girl with a smile and a:
"Sure honey, climb on in."
I haphazardly wrap my arms around her waist to give her a little boost up onto our bed (we have super-duper thick mattresses AND a platform bed, making "the mount" difficult for children), and plop her in her usual spot; in the middle, exactly between Jeff and I. Now normally, it takes her all of 5 seconds to ask for "some Saturday morning cartoon-ies, please?" But alas, silence.
Strange silence.
Eerie silence.
Unprecedented silence.
Maybe she fell asleep!! I imagine in my delirious state, soon realizing that the probability of this actually happening is less than 1 percent.
"Umm, Mommy?" she finally breaks the silence, which felt like an hour.
Mmmm-hmmmm?" I barely mumble, lips pressed against the pillow and eyes still sealed shut.
"Why are you and Daddy both naked?"
This is when I peer under the covers and realize that my pajama shirt is completely off of my torso, and is hanging onto my right wrist for dear life. (Believe it or not, this has been known to happen inadvertently in the middle of the night, if I am too hot under the blankets. Apparently, in an groggy, sleeping haze, I will just rip my entire pajama top off and fling it to the floor...and no matter how many times it's occurred, it is always a very bizarre phenomenon to wake up shirtless the next morning.) I also quickly notice that Jeff is only in boxer shorts...so in her eyes, and at first glance, it looks as though we are both in our birthday suits in bed.
Of course this immediately wakes a very freaked out Jeff out of a very sound sleep -
"We are NOT naked!!!!!" he exclaims, jumping out of bed and embarrassingly scrambling to find a shirt.
"Yes you guys were," she giggles, and proceeds to make up a little ditty about it:
"Mommy and Daddy, nak-ee in beddy, Mommy and Daddy, nak-ee in beddy..."
At the end of the day, all we can do is hope that this little "incident" doesn't surface to her conscious mind next week when she has the floor at preschool Show & Tell.
Happy Saturday morning, folks!
Luckily for me, I am awoken by Ava's voice in the distance.
"Mom...Mommm.....Mommmmy?? Are you awake?? Mommm?"
As I slowly wake up, I realize that she's not distant at all, she is right at my bedside.
"Can I come snuggle with you and Daddy?" she asks in a groggy, raspy, still 1/2 asleep state. Without my contacts in, I squint at the blurry red numbers on the alarm clock. Six-five-two. Ughhhhh, I think. Too early for a Saturday morning. But I answer my sweet girl with a smile and a:
"Sure honey, climb on in."
I haphazardly wrap my arms around her waist to give her a little boost up onto our bed (we have super-duper thick mattresses AND a platform bed, making "the mount" difficult for children), and plop her in her usual spot; in the middle, exactly between Jeff and I. Now normally, it takes her all of 5 seconds to ask for "some Saturday morning cartoon-ies, please?" But alas, silence.
Strange silence.
Eerie silence.
Unprecedented silence.
Maybe she fell asleep!! I imagine in my delirious state, soon realizing that the probability of this actually happening is less than 1 percent.
"Umm, Mommy?" she finally breaks the silence, which felt like an hour.
Mmmm-hmmmm?" I barely mumble, lips pressed against the pillow and eyes still sealed shut.
"Why are you and Daddy both naked?"
This is when I peer under the covers and realize that my pajama shirt is completely off of my torso, and is hanging onto my right wrist for dear life. (Believe it or not, this has been known to happen inadvertently in the middle of the night, if I am too hot under the blankets. Apparently, in an groggy, sleeping haze, I will just rip my entire pajama top off and fling it to the floor...and no matter how many times it's occurred, it is always a very bizarre phenomenon to wake up shirtless the next morning.) I also quickly notice that Jeff is only in boxer shorts...so in her eyes, and at first glance, it looks as though we are both in our birthday suits in bed.
Of course this immediately wakes a very freaked out Jeff out of a very sound sleep -
"We are NOT naked!!!!!" he exclaims, jumping out of bed and embarrassingly scrambling to find a shirt.
"Yes you guys were," she giggles, and proceeds to make up a little ditty about it:
"Mommy and Daddy, nak-ee in beddy, Mommy and Daddy, nak-ee in beddy..."
At the end of the day, all we can do is hope that this little "incident" doesn't surface to her conscious mind next week when she has the floor at preschool Show & Tell.
Happy Saturday morning, folks!
Friday, January 29, 2010
Adios Amana
So as it turns out, the yucky, brown, wet stuff that's been leaking from our fridge intermittently for the past 5 years is, in fact, freon. Oops, guess we shouldn't have let that go as long as we did, especially considering the health risks posed to children. (And especially since the whole bottom "grill" of the fridge broke off years ago, exposing all of that yucky gunk.)
Now for those of you who have never had the honor of meeting our fridge Amana 18, let me describe this 'beaut to you....Picture an almond colored refrigerator...now add WOOD paneling (yes, that's right, I said it- WOOD paneling....and as an aside, did Amana think they were manufacturing a station wagon? Really, who puts paneling on an appliance?? I digress...). Now add a conspicuous growling noise that comes and goes, a strange trash smell (despite boxes of Baking Soda & a neurotic housewife who disinfects the thing from top to bottom weekly), and a freezer that only freezes when it wants to. This, my friends, is what we've used for 6 years now, mostly because it came with the house and we couldn't justify purchasing a new one when this beast was still (sort of) running.
Well today was a very big turning point for the Amana & us. Jeff & I have had many lengthy conversations over the past few years about how old she might be, since we've had no actual way of knowing for sure. We always guessed maybe 12, 15, 17 years tops. We would share the obligatory Austin Powers moment, "Who has an 18 year old fridge- Honestly?!?" then chuckle about it and ultimately disregard it as "not the most pressing thing financially to deal with." Well today, after the 582nd time I incurred "wet sock" after stepping in a puddle of brown moisture at the base of the fridge, I decided to do something we haven't done in 6 years: Call the company.
So I call Amana (who incidentally is now owned by Whirlpool), and speak to a friendly guy with a Minn-eh-sew-ter accent named Larry, asking him if there is any way he can date a fridge for me. He replies that he only dates women, and we share a brief chuckle about this. He then tells me that indeed he can help me figure out the age of the fridge, and asks me to read him thr 12 digit serial number on the inside door. So I open her up (creeeeeeeeak), and proceed to tell Larry:
"AJ825..."
But he cuts me off abruptly.
"You must be looking at the wrong thing, the number I need is all numbers, no letters."
I politely explain that this it the ONLY thing written inside my fridge door.
"Oh, geez, really?" Larry asks... "Wow, that thing's gotta be atleast 15 years old then, since everything we manufactured after 1995 had a 12 digit serial number containing no letters...Let me go grab the binder."
So Larry puts me on hold, and when he picks the phone back up, I do hear an actual thud, confirming that he did indeed go someplace and retrieve this mystery binder.
"Okay," Larry says, "try that number code again. Sometimes, the real old ones are in here, since they never made it into our computer database."
I start to get a little nervous...
Once I read him the letter/number combination, he pauses for a good 15 seconds and says, "Wow, you are not going to believe this--that fridge was manufactured between June 1981 and July 1982!! That thing shoulda died back around 1996! I can't believe it's still running!"
"Well, now that you mention it," I embarrassingly remark, "...we've been having some leaking around the bottom-- mostly brownish stuff, do you know anything about that?"
"Oh no," Larry says, concerned. "That's probably the rotted remains of the freon line. Those lines, back then, were only built to last 15 years, 18 at the very most...you're gonna need to replace that fridge as soon as possible!"
Now on the one hand, this is music to my ears; I am instantly carried into a daydream involving a whole, 8-hour, child-less day of frolicking around Home Depot, Lowe's, and Sears...opening lots of variations of fridges, inhaling the "new fridge" smell, and finally deciding upon a beautiful, updated stainless steel one complete with French doors, an ice maker(!), in-door water accessibility, bottom freezer, and-- dare I say it- no paneling!
But the budget-conscious side of me quickly realizes that there actually could not be worse timing for this fridge-mergency, considering that on Christmas eve of this year, our hot water heater decided to call it a day, rendering us $1500 in the hole.
I thank Larry for his helpfulness, and before we part ways he gives me the website of the Dept. of Energy, who offers rebates towards the purchase of energy efficient appliances and free removal of old dinosaurs like Amana 18.
All in all, it certainly is a shock to find out that my fridge & I are the same exact age. Yikes!
Amana 18, you have been (sort of) good while you lasted, but it's time for you to go. You have officially lasted almost 2 decades past your life expectancy, so you should feel very proud of yourself. I might actually miss your annoying but familiar rumbles, creaks, and growls when you are replaced with a silent, efficient super-fridge. We wish you the best of luck in the future (which will undoubtedly be filled with recycling every square inch of your materials), and hope that you will someday understand that this decision wasn't a personal one at all; But when we are advised that rotting freon line is leaking and rising into the air where our children run & play, our hands are tied. Close your eyes, sweet girl, and go join your fellow 80's fridges in wood-paneled appliance heaven. They've only been waiting for you for, like, 16 years.
Now for those of you who have never had the honor of meeting our fridge Amana 18, let me describe this 'beaut to you....Picture an almond colored refrigerator...now add WOOD paneling (yes, that's right, I said it- WOOD paneling....and as an aside, did Amana think they were manufacturing a station wagon? Really, who puts paneling on an appliance?? I digress...). Now add a conspicuous growling noise that comes and goes, a strange trash smell (despite boxes of Baking Soda & a neurotic housewife who disinfects the thing from top to bottom weekly), and a freezer that only freezes when it wants to. This, my friends, is what we've used for 6 years now, mostly because it came with the house and we couldn't justify purchasing a new one when this beast was still (sort of) running.
Well today was a very big turning point for the Amana & us. Jeff & I have had many lengthy conversations over the past few years about how old she might be, since we've had no actual way of knowing for sure. We always guessed maybe 12, 15, 17 years tops. We would share the obligatory Austin Powers moment, "Who has an 18 year old fridge- Honestly?!?" then chuckle about it and ultimately disregard it as "not the most pressing thing financially to deal with." Well today, after the 582nd time I incurred "wet sock" after stepping in a puddle of brown moisture at the base of the fridge, I decided to do something we haven't done in 6 years: Call the company.
So I call Amana (who incidentally is now owned by Whirlpool), and speak to a friendly guy with a Minn-eh-sew-ter accent named Larry, asking him if there is any way he can date a fridge for me. He replies that he only dates women, and we share a brief chuckle about this. He then tells me that indeed he can help me figure out the age of the fridge, and asks me to read him thr 12 digit serial number on the inside door. So I open her up (creeeeeeeeak), and proceed to tell Larry:
"AJ825..."
But he cuts me off abruptly.
"You must be looking at the wrong thing, the number I need is all numbers, no letters."
I politely explain that this it the ONLY thing written inside my fridge door.
"Oh, geez, really?" Larry asks... "Wow, that thing's gotta be atleast 15 years old then, since everything we manufactured after 1995 had a 12 digit serial number containing no letters...Let me go grab the binder."
So Larry puts me on hold, and when he picks the phone back up, I do hear an actual thud, confirming that he did indeed go someplace and retrieve this mystery binder.
"Okay," Larry says, "try that number code again. Sometimes, the real old ones are in here, since they never made it into our computer database."
I start to get a little nervous...
Once I read him the letter/number combination, he pauses for a good 15 seconds and says, "Wow, you are not going to believe this--that fridge was manufactured between June 1981 and July 1982!! That thing shoulda died back around 1996! I can't believe it's still running!"
"Well, now that you mention it," I embarrassingly remark, "...we've been having some leaking around the bottom-- mostly brownish stuff, do you know anything about that?"
"Oh no," Larry says, concerned. "That's probably the rotted remains of the freon line. Those lines, back then, were only built to last 15 years, 18 at the very most...you're gonna need to replace that fridge as soon as possible!"
Now on the one hand, this is music to my ears; I am instantly carried into a daydream involving a whole, 8-hour, child-less day of frolicking around Home Depot, Lowe's, and Sears...opening lots of variations of fridges, inhaling the "new fridge" smell, and finally deciding upon a beautiful, updated stainless steel one complete with French doors, an ice maker(!), in-door water accessibility, bottom freezer, and-- dare I say it- no paneling!
But the budget-conscious side of me quickly realizes that there actually could not be worse timing for this fridge-mergency, considering that on Christmas eve of this year, our hot water heater decided to call it a day, rendering us $1500 in the hole.
I thank Larry for his helpfulness, and before we part ways he gives me the website of the Dept. of Energy, who offers rebates towards the purchase of energy efficient appliances and free removal of old dinosaurs like Amana 18.
All in all, it certainly is a shock to find out that my fridge & I are the same exact age. Yikes!
Amana 18, you have been (sort of) good while you lasted, but it's time for you to go. You have officially lasted almost 2 decades past your life expectancy, so you should feel very proud of yourself. I might actually miss your annoying but familiar rumbles, creaks, and growls when you are replaced with a silent, efficient super-fridge. We wish you the best of luck in the future (which will undoubtedly be filled with recycling every square inch of your materials), and hope that you will someday understand that this decision wasn't a personal one at all; But when we are advised that rotting freon line is leaking and rising into the air where our children run & play, our hands are tied. Close your eyes, sweet girl, and go join your fellow 80's fridges in wood-paneled appliance heaven. They've only been waiting for you for, like, 16 years.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Now THAT was Zumba....
Zumba, n; 1. A Colombian word meaning "to move fast and have fun."
Wow. Let me preface all of this with, you are all extremely lucky that I am alive & well enough to even be writing this. Seriously!
That said, I attended Zumba again tonight-- but at a different studio (this one is at my gym,) and with a different instructor from last week. Those of you from Bedford, picture 'Senorita' on crack...WAY more excited, WAY more energy (yes, it is possible), and WAY too happy and un-sweaty for my liking. Anyways, I can honestly say that never in my 29 years of existence, have I felt as close to death as I did between the hours of 6 & 7 pm this evening. But in order to get to that point, let's start at the beginning.
So I eagerly arrive to class a few minutes early, and imagine my surprise when everyone is wearing sports bras or tank-tops, tight black leggings, and these brilliantly colorful belly dancing get-ups adorned with clanking silver bead "coins." I think to myself, "Self, this is definitely different than the comfy Target yoga pants/big t-shirt costume that everyone wore at the other studio last week." Interesting. I also notice pretty immediately that the familiar pear-shaped, spare-tire figures with whom I was comfortable, have been replaced with high school, collegiate, and newly engaged hard bodies with body fat percentages of negative 7. "Shit," I think to myself. This is when my palms start to get sweaty, and I wonder if I should just sneak back out the door, drive to Barnes & Noble for an hour, read a few magazines, then douse myself in water to appear profusely sweaty before heading home. (Un)luckily for me, before I can finish contemplating my brilliant escape route, Senorita announces on her headset "Testing, testing?" and everyone in the class starts shouting almost Arabic sounding "Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay's" while excitedly clapping their hands above their heads and moving their hips seductively. (think Christina Aguilera's 'Genie in a Bottle' music video.)
The metal coins clank on their hip scarves, which intimidates me greatly, and before I can process any more, the music begins, and the door closes. "Yikes," I think to myself..."Apparently, I'm doing this."
The Zumba class that followed was unequivocally the most physically demanding, heart-beating-out-of-my-chest, I think I am going to pass out and/or die, hour of exercise I have ever endured. Period. (And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am out of shape; in my physical heyday, I experienced various dance classes, gymnastics, cardio-kickboxing, aerobics, etc... and I can honestly say that none even hold a match to this class.) Tonight made last week's "Fumba" class ("fake Zumba" class, as it shall be referred to from this point on,) seem like Friday night knitting club at the retirement home-- no exaggeration. By 6:05 I was already begging the clock to tick faster; by 6:10 I was (again) looking for a way to escape. At 6:15 I started to panic, scoping out the women around me, deciding who would call 911 when I collapsed on the ground in full cardiac arrest. By 6:19 I was hoping that someone knew CPR, and that the gym had defibrillation paddles on hand....(and that someone knew how to administer them!) I spent the next several minutes lamenting the idea that I had no life insurance policy, no will, no "goodbye" letters to my children. I thought about the Will party that the neighbors & I had talked about and was kicking myself at this exact moment for not planning it. Right around 6:37, I began to believe that I was actually in hell, and this was my eternal punishment for doing something very naughty in life on Earth. At 6:40ish, the instructor (who, interestingly, had not ONE drip of sweat on her body, wasn't out of breath whatsoever, and was still smiling while she happily shouted "Ay!!! Mas rapidos!!!!" into her headset microphone), was just making me angry. NO human being that has endured forty minutes of this torture-- much less taught it-- should be this excitable and happy, I thought. That's just obnoxious. By ten minutes of 7, I was hoping that Senorita had a date tonight and would release her Zumba prisoners a few minutes early, but alas we ended with the most difficult set of the night. By 7:02, Senorita spoke the sweetest seven words that had ever fallen on my ears: "Okay ladies, time to stretch it out." This was the point at which the anger, the frustration, the despair, and the inadequacy all began to dissolve and turn into something much better: Pride.
"Wow," I thought as I began to catch my breath, and stretched my arms with the group... "I am certainly one of the sweatiest people in here...the most out of breath....the most red in the face. I am a huffing, puffing, hot mess. My legs are physically trembling, my calves burn, my arms want to detach from my body and run away from me forever, and I still feel like I might thrown up in the parking lot-- But.... I did it... I. DID. IT! This body--which has been through 2 pregnancies, 2 rough c-section births, 1 impossible recovery, permanent back injuries, physical therapy, and a plethora of other adversities-- just successfully finished the whole hour of this class....Damn!"
Suddenly, the instructor didn't seem like the devil and I began to feel-- dare I say it, happy. I walked away from class tonight feeling so incredibly accomplished and proud; It would have been very easy to walk out halfway through the class and quit, but I stuck with it and I finished! Yes, it was physically torturous at some (most) points, but if I could do it tonight, then every night hereafter will only feel better and get easier. I feel so glad to have found the ass-kicking that I so desperately need, and in the fun form of traditional Latin dance moves paired with hardcore aerobic floor exercises. It certainly is a very intense hour of exercise, but I think it's exactly the change that's going to give me what I need: Results! I almost feel blessed in a way that I didn't just assume that last week's "Fumba" class was the be-all and end-all of Zumba, and that I ventured out on a limb and found a real Zumba class. It's going to be an uphill battle to master this class, but when that day comes, it will be amazing.
So... in conclusion, if any of you are as insane as me, and, even after reading this are interested in subjecting yourselves to a ridiculously torturous, fast-paced, energy-packed, Latin flavored hour of calorie-burning madness, I will be attending every Wednesday & Saturday, and every other Friday. I may bitch and moan on my way out the door, but I can promise you I'll be there. See you then :-)
Wow. Let me preface all of this with, you are all extremely lucky that I am alive & well enough to even be writing this. Seriously!
That said, I attended Zumba again tonight-- but at a different studio (this one is at my gym,) and with a different instructor from last week. Those of you from Bedford, picture 'Senorita' on crack...WAY more excited, WAY more energy (yes, it is possible), and WAY too happy and un-sweaty for my liking. Anyways, I can honestly say that never in my 29 years of existence, have I felt as close to death as I did between the hours of 6 & 7 pm this evening. But in order to get to that point, let's start at the beginning.
So I eagerly arrive to class a few minutes early, and imagine my surprise when everyone is wearing sports bras or tank-tops, tight black leggings, and these brilliantly colorful belly dancing get-ups adorned with clanking silver bead "coins." I think to myself, "Self, this is definitely different than the comfy Target yoga pants/big t-shirt costume that everyone wore at the other studio last week." Interesting. I also notice pretty immediately that the familiar pear-shaped, spare-tire figures with whom I was comfortable, have been replaced with high school, collegiate, and newly engaged hard bodies with body fat percentages of negative 7. "Shit," I think to myself. This is when my palms start to get sweaty, and I wonder if I should just sneak back out the door, drive to Barnes & Noble for an hour, read a few magazines, then douse myself in water to appear profusely sweaty before heading home. (Un)luckily for me, before I can finish contemplating my brilliant escape route, Senorita announces on her headset "Testing, testing?" and everyone in the class starts shouting almost Arabic sounding "Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay's" while excitedly clapping their hands above their heads and moving their hips seductively. (think Christina Aguilera's 'Genie in a Bottle' music video.)
The metal coins clank on their hip scarves, which intimidates me greatly, and before I can process any more, the music begins, and the door closes. "Yikes," I think to myself..."Apparently, I'm doing this."
The Zumba class that followed was unequivocally the most physically demanding, heart-beating-out-of-my-chest, I think I am going to pass out and/or die, hour of exercise I have ever endured. Period. (And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am out of shape; in my physical heyday, I experienced various dance classes, gymnastics, cardio-kickboxing, aerobics, etc... and I can honestly say that none even hold a match to this class.) Tonight made last week's "Fumba" class ("fake Zumba" class, as it shall be referred to from this point on,) seem like Friday night knitting club at the retirement home-- no exaggeration. By 6:05 I was already begging the clock to tick faster; by 6:10 I was (again) looking for a way to escape. At 6:15 I started to panic, scoping out the women around me, deciding who would call 911 when I collapsed on the ground in full cardiac arrest. By 6:19 I was hoping that someone knew CPR, and that the gym had defibrillation paddles on hand....(and that someone knew how to administer them!) I spent the next several minutes lamenting the idea that I had no life insurance policy, no will, no "goodbye" letters to my children. I thought about the Will party that the neighbors & I had talked about and was kicking myself at this exact moment for not planning it. Right around 6:37, I began to believe that I was actually in hell, and this was my eternal punishment for doing something very naughty in life on Earth. At 6:40ish, the instructor (who, interestingly, had not ONE drip of sweat on her body, wasn't out of breath whatsoever, and was still smiling while she happily shouted "Ay!!! Mas rapidos!!!!" into her headset microphone), was just making me angry. NO human being that has endured forty minutes of this torture-- much less taught it-- should be this excitable and happy, I thought. That's just obnoxious. By ten minutes of 7, I was hoping that Senorita had a date tonight and would release her Zumba prisoners a few minutes early, but alas we ended with the most difficult set of the night. By 7:02, Senorita spoke the sweetest seven words that had ever fallen on my ears: "Okay ladies, time to stretch it out." This was the point at which the anger, the frustration, the despair, and the inadequacy all began to dissolve and turn into something much better: Pride.
"Wow," I thought as I began to catch my breath, and stretched my arms with the group... "I am certainly one of the sweatiest people in here...the most out of breath....the most red in the face. I am a huffing, puffing, hot mess. My legs are physically trembling, my calves burn, my arms want to detach from my body and run away from me forever, and I still feel like I might thrown up in the parking lot-- But.... I did it... I. DID. IT! This body--which has been through 2 pregnancies, 2 rough c-section births, 1 impossible recovery, permanent back injuries, physical therapy, and a plethora of other adversities-- just successfully finished the whole hour of this class....Damn!"
Suddenly, the instructor didn't seem like the devil and I began to feel-- dare I say it, happy. I walked away from class tonight feeling so incredibly accomplished and proud; It would have been very easy to walk out halfway through the class and quit, but I stuck with it and I finished! Yes, it was physically torturous at some (most) points, but if I could do it tonight, then every night hereafter will only feel better and get easier. I feel so glad to have found the ass-kicking that I so desperately need, and in the fun form of traditional Latin dance moves paired with hardcore aerobic floor exercises. It certainly is a very intense hour of exercise, but I think it's exactly the change that's going to give me what I need: Results! I almost feel blessed in a way that I didn't just assume that last week's "Fumba" class was the be-all and end-all of Zumba, and that I ventured out on a limb and found a real Zumba class. It's going to be an uphill battle to master this class, but when that day comes, it will be amazing.
So... in conclusion, if any of you are as insane as me, and, even after reading this are interested in subjecting yourselves to a ridiculously torturous, fast-paced, energy-packed, Latin flavored hour of calorie-burning madness, I will be attending every Wednesday & Saturday, and every other Friday. I may bitch and moan on my way out the door, but I can promise you I'll be there. See you then :-)
The Hoo-lympics
The second we got in the car today she couldn't wait to tell me ALL about her day at school, and what she learned....you'll see why I had to capture this one on film!! ;-)
OK, so just a few random questions regarding this video...
1). Do I need to worry that Ava's teacher is, in fact, a Who from Whoville and all of this "Hoo-lympics" and "Hoo-nited Sates of Hue-merica" talk is a conspiracy?!
2). At what point does it become DSS report-able that your child has worn the SAME outfit to school for the past TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT??? (*sidenote, anyone who knows me knows that I am neurotically OCD and that obviously the outfit gets washed each time....but seriously, she is refusing to wear ANYTHING except this Big Sister shirt and polka dot pants these days...) Oh well, I must choose my battles these days and frankly as long as she's not showing up at school naked, I suppose I should be impressed.
OK, so just a few random questions regarding this video...
1). Do I need to worry that Ava's teacher is, in fact, a Who from Whoville and all of this "Hoo-lympics" and "Hoo-nited Sates of Hue-merica" talk is a conspiracy?!
2). At what point does it become DSS report-able that your child has worn the SAME outfit to school for the past TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT??? (*sidenote, anyone who knows me knows that I am neurotically OCD and that obviously the outfit gets washed each time....but seriously, she is refusing to wear ANYTHING except this Big Sister shirt and polka dot pants these days...) Oh well, I must choose my battles these days and frankly as long as she's not showing up at school naked, I suppose I should be impressed.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Today's lunchtime conversation, as verbatim as I could remember it:
A: "Mom, do you want to know all of the things that I'm scared of?"
Me: "Umm, sure. Go for it."
A: "Ok..." (looking up at the ceiling with her eyes, and using exaggerated, Italian hand gestures to count on her fingers...) "The big bad wolf, grumpy old trolls, werewolves, skeletons, wizards, giants, sharks, warlocks, the Wicked Witch, witches with black hats, howling wolves, crocodiles, bears with *thangs (*this is how she pronounces "fangs," haha!), Randall, but no other monsters at Monsters Inc. because the rest like Mike Wazowski are friendly, green eyes in my closet, monsters under my bed, and scary things on Halloween. That's all."
*I would like to thank Disney, Nickelodeon, Dora, Pixar, every fairy tale to ever have existed, and her fantastic imagination for the roles they played in the above.*
Me: "Umm, sure. Go for it."
A: "Ok..." (looking up at the ceiling with her eyes, and using exaggerated, Italian hand gestures to count on her fingers...) "The big bad wolf, grumpy old trolls, werewolves, skeletons, wizards, giants, sharks, warlocks, the Wicked Witch, witches with black hats, howling wolves, crocodiles, bears with *thangs (*this is how she pronounces "fangs," haha!), Randall, but no other monsters at Monsters Inc. because the rest like Mike Wazowski are friendly, green eyes in my closet, monsters under my bed, and scary things on Halloween. That's all."
*I would like to thank Disney, Nickelodeon, Dora, Pixar, every fairy tale to ever have existed, and her fantastic imagination for the roles they played in the above.*
Monday, January 25, 2010
Did everyone else miss the memo? Farts are HILARIOUS!
So let me start on a very positive note: As discussed last week, I have committed to a 3-day a week workout regimen, and today was a VERY successful day 1 of Yoga. (Wed. & Fri. will alternate between Zumba & Kickboxing classes, in case you were curious. Which clearly you are, otherwise you wouldn't be wasting your time on my blog.) Now please note that the weather in Boston today was miserable, dark, foggy, damp and raw....which constitute ideal "sit on the couch and watch TV all night" conditions. However my 3-day workout week doesn't allow for such trivial excuses, and so off to the gym I went. (Insert cheers & applause here).
I met Krista at the Yoga studio and, in the 5 minutes before class began, made my disclaimer that if anyone farted during this session, I would be overcome by uncontrollable laughter and to please avoid eye contact with me in any such event. (you should know that I have never actually attended a Yoga class before this, but have heard stories of Yoga-induced flatulence from others...) Krista assured me, "No, don't be silly. I'm sure most of these people have been coming for a while and can contain their gas!"
With that, we rolled out our mats and the class began. Dim lighting, obligatory instrumental versions of Enya songs as soundtrack, and everything seemed to be off to a great start. We did some pelvic tilts; some core strengthening exercises; some ankle, knee & hip rotations; some head and neck stress-releasing movements, and so fourth. (I apologize for not knowing all of the technical Yoga terms for these things yet.) Everything was going great, that was, until it was time for "The Frog." As SOON as the instructor told us, "Ok, now everyone relax your sphincters and squat slowly on the exhale," a middle-aged Asian woman 3 people to my right (and 2 people to Krista's right) let out a fart. Now this was not just your standard, everyday, run-of-the-mill fart. Because this fart occurred during a completely relaxed state, it was the perfect combination of bass & treble; it was the perfect pitch, the perfect density, the perfect volume, and the perfect blend of muffled hot air and highway rumble strips. It resonated in the massive studio, almost echoing in the exposed rafters 30 feet above. I was about to burst into hysterics....until I realized that EVERYONE ELSE in the studio was just going about their business as if nothing had happened. I gave it a few seconds, thinking that it would be a delayed reaction. But alas, silence. A bunch of yoga frogs sitting in their froggish, squatting pose, staring at their focal points completely unhindered by the PDF (Public Display of Flatulence) that had just occurred in this room. Even the farting culprit herself just carried on as if nothing had ever happened.
What kind of madness is this?! I wondered, feeling completely baffled by it all.
I don't care what kinds of holistic, earthy-crunchy, vegan yogis these folks may have evolved into over the past few decades....the truth is, they all started their lives as little children who laughed uncontrollably at farts in any capacity, I promise you this. And now, not ONE of the thirty-five people would share a chuckle with me over such hilarity? I was very put off by this, to say the least. All it would have taken was one person to look toward the farter with a wrinkled brow or disgusted look; just one brave soul to whisper a disgruntled "Uhhh, gross!" But alas, I was alone in my thoughts on the matter, and what good is something so funny if there's no one to share it with?!
So, that was turn-off number one for me this evening.
Number two: I can't tell you how many times the instructor said "sphincter" and "anus" and "buttock." (side-note, I loathe when people leave the "s" off of "buttocks." I feel like they think they are better than the rest of us or something..) Furthermore, as if the fart incident wasn't enough to fuel my inappropriate laughter, now I am stuck in a 1-hour long session with this instructor who feels the need to continuously use the phrases "loosen your sphincter" and "tighten up your buttock" -- and I'm not supposed to chuckle at this either?! (OK, in fairness, I did make eye contact with Krista during one of the aforementioned "sphincter" dialogues and she shared 1/2 a giggle with me.)
Number three: At one point, we had to extend our legs out at 45-degree angles, grab onto out ankles, and rock side to side. As if this "spread eagle" position on its own wasn't awkward enough, I had the pleasure of a 260 pound man in a way too tight vintage Budweiser t-shirt and short-shorts sitting directly across from me for the entire duration of this stretch. Lovely.
And last but not least, there was the ceiling incident. At the very end, we were all told to lay in "Corpse pose" and look up at the ceiling at a focal point, but to stay completely motionless & relaxed. Well leave it to me to focus in on an exposed pipe in the ceiling that perfectly resembles a 12-foot penis, complete with balls. Clearly, after the class that I've just endured, this is the straw that breaks the camel's back and I start silently laughing to myself, trying not to let the instructor see my chest rising and falling way faster than if I really were in the Savasan state that I am striving to achieve in this moment. My eyes fill with laughter-induced tears and I finally have to bite the inside of my cheek (practically off) to gain composure. Ultimately, I was finally able to achieve complete relaxation for about the last 45 seconds of class....and those 45 seconds actually, were very blissful indeed!
In conclusion, so long as I can learn to deal with the painfully boring, sense-of-humor-less bunch of folks with whom I will be sharing an hour of endless sphincter references, unadulterated flatulence, and gigantic pipe penises, I think this Yoga thing might just work out okay...we'll just have to wait and see :-)
I met Krista at the Yoga studio and, in the 5 minutes before class began, made my disclaimer that if anyone farted during this session, I would be overcome by uncontrollable laughter and to please avoid eye contact with me in any such event. (you should know that I have never actually attended a Yoga class before this, but have heard stories of Yoga-induced flatulence from others...) Krista assured me, "No, don't be silly. I'm sure most of these people have been coming for a while and can contain their gas!"
With that, we rolled out our mats and the class began. Dim lighting, obligatory instrumental versions of Enya songs as soundtrack, and everything seemed to be off to a great start. We did some pelvic tilts; some core strengthening exercises; some ankle, knee & hip rotations; some head and neck stress-releasing movements, and so fourth. (I apologize for not knowing all of the technical Yoga terms for these things yet.) Everything was going great, that was, until it was time for "The Frog." As SOON as the instructor told us, "Ok, now everyone relax your sphincters and squat slowly on the exhale," a middle-aged Asian woman 3 people to my right (and 2 people to Krista's right) let out a fart. Now this was not just your standard, everyday, run-of-the-mill fart. Because this fart occurred during a completely relaxed state, it was the perfect combination of bass & treble; it was the perfect pitch, the perfect density, the perfect volume, and the perfect blend of muffled hot air and highway rumble strips. It resonated in the massive studio, almost echoing in the exposed rafters 30 feet above. I was about to burst into hysterics....until I realized that EVERYONE ELSE in the studio was just going about their business as if nothing had happened. I gave it a few seconds, thinking that it would be a delayed reaction. But alas, silence. A bunch of yoga frogs sitting in their froggish, squatting pose, staring at their focal points completely unhindered by the PDF (Public Display of Flatulence) that had just occurred in this room. Even the farting culprit herself just carried on as if nothing had ever happened.
What kind of madness is this?! I wondered, feeling completely baffled by it all.
I don't care what kinds of holistic, earthy-crunchy, vegan yogis these folks may have evolved into over the past few decades....the truth is, they all started their lives as little children who laughed uncontrollably at farts in any capacity, I promise you this. And now, not ONE of the thirty-five people would share a chuckle with me over such hilarity? I was very put off by this, to say the least. All it would have taken was one person to look toward the farter with a wrinkled brow or disgusted look; just one brave soul to whisper a disgruntled "Uhhh, gross!" But alas, I was alone in my thoughts on the matter, and what good is something so funny if there's no one to share it with?!
So, that was turn-off number one for me this evening.
Number two: I can't tell you how many times the instructor said "sphincter" and "anus" and "buttock." (side-note, I loathe when people leave the "s" off of "buttocks." I feel like they think they are better than the rest of us or something..) Furthermore, as if the fart incident wasn't enough to fuel my inappropriate laughter, now I am stuck in a 1-hour long session with this instructor who feels the need to continuously use the phrases "loosen your sphincter" and "tighten up your buttock" -- and I'm not supposed to chuckle at this either?! (OK, in fairness, I did make eye contact with Krista during one of the aforementioned "sphincter" dialogues and she shared 1/2 a giggle with me.)
Number three: At one point, we had to extend our legs out at 45-degree angles, grab onto out ankles, and rock side to side. As if this "spread eagle" position on its own wasn't awkward enough, I had the pleasure of a 260 pound man in a way too tight vintage Budweiser t-shirt and short-shorts sitting directly across from me for the entire duration of this stretch. Lovely.
And last but not least, there was the ceiling incident. At the very end, we were all told to lay in "Corpse pose" and look up at the ceiling at a focal point, but to stay completely motionless & relaxed. Well leave it to me to focus in on an exposed pipe in the ceiling that perfectly resembles a 12-foot penis, complete with balls. Clearly, after the class that I've just endured, this is the straw that breaks the camel's back and I start silently laughing to myself, trying not to let the instructor see my chest rising and falling way faster than if I really were in the Savasan state that I am striving to achieve in this moment. My eyes fill with laughter-induced tears and I finally have to bite the inside of my cheek (practically off) to gain composure. Ultimately, I was finally able to achieve complete relaxation for about the last 45 seconds of class....and those 45 seconds actually, were very blissful indeed!
In conclusion, so long as I can learn to deal with the painfully boring, sense-of-humor-less bunch of folks with whom I will be sharing an hour of endless sphincter references, unadulterated flatulence, and gigantic pipe penises, I think this Yoga thing might just work out okay...we'll just have to wait and see :-)
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Dear Teething Gods:
SCREW YOU! You are completely inhumane and clearly have no regard for the (usually) happy, chubby, adorable, 6-month old boy, who you clearly find happiness in torturing. Poor Gavin's first bottom tooth broke through less than a week ago, (this following 3 weeks of sleepless nights, sad, whimpering cries, and aversion to eating...) and you decide that TODAY-- after he's had only a few days of respite-- is a good day for the second bottom tooth to start making its appearance?! Have you not heard of the "band-aid method" -- you know, the 'get it all done in one fell swoop' philosophy? Would it have killed you to let the poor little guy cut a FEW teeth all at once, so that his initial induction into the "teething bites!" club was as minimally painful and time-efficient as possible? I don't think this would have been too much to ask. Look at the poor little guy tonight, after a day of pain brought on by YOU and your shenanigans:
Do you see those sad eyes? Those wet, drooly lips? You should be ashamed of yourselves. In conclusion, Teething Gods, I find this behavior to be completely unacceptable. Please go sit on the naughty step and don't come off until you have thought long and hard about what you've done, and are ready to say sorry.
Regards,
Baby Gav's Momma
p.s. 1.5 teeth down...18.5 to go :-(
Do you see those sad eyes? Those wet, drooly lips? You should be ashamed of yourselves. In conclusion, Teething Gods, I find this behavior to be completely unacceptable. Please go sit on the naughty step and don't come off until you have thought long and hard about what you've done, and are ready to say sorry.
Regards,
Baby Gav's Momma
p.s. 1.5 teeth down...18.5 to go :-(
Friday, January 22, 2010
Jumping on the Zumba train!
So tonight, after weeks of persuasion from my Croatian-dwelling, Zumba-teaching sister Meri, (and the company of my neighbor Laura), I attempted a Zumba class. This was a huge milestone for me for a number of reasons:
1. It has now been 6 months since Gavin's birth and I am (finally) starting to feel up to working out. For those of you who have not had a C-section...much less one with lots and lots of long-term health complications, it is definitely not an overnight recovery, and has taken me this long to feel okay & brave enough to try. Kudos to me for this!
2. This is the part of mommyhood where the whole "new baby in the house" thing has begun to settle down a bit, and life is starting to turn into some resemblance of a routine...(we're all sleeping a little bit more around here, and I now feel completely fine about selfishly claiming 3-4 hours a week of some well-deserved, much needed "ME" time....yes, even if this means that Jeff is on his own for the dinner cleanup/tubby/getting into jammies part of the day!) Three 1-hour Zumba sessions where the music is loud, the lights are bright, and all I have to focus on is not srewing up the arm pump/Salsa feet combination (which, incidentally, is NOT as easy as it looks on So You Think You Can Dance) is exactly the kind of self-indulgent treat that I'm ready for.
3. I am done using the "I just had a baby" excuse as to why certain parts of me are jiggly & gross, and am taking the bull by the horns and doing something about it. Period.
Anywho, about the Zumba class-- it really was a blast!! Basically an intense combination of floor aerobics, cardio kickboxing, and Latin dance moves, all culminating in one very sweaty, heart-pounding hour of calorie burning fun. The music is awesome, and all of the Latin rhythm definitely gets the Cubana blood pulsating in my veins...(I'm sure Abuelo y Maria would be proud!) It quickly became apparent to me that some of the moves will take time to polish, and that in the meantime I am going to look like a Gringo white girl in a Salsa club tryng to keep up...but I'm okay with that for a little while ;-)
It's also a huge plus that most of the clientele are other moms with the same "my body is no longer a temple (since housing a few babies)" issues as me, and we're all in the same boat physically, so to speak. No one in the class resembles Jillian Michaels or Denise Austin, and the majority of us might need to stop a few (or, 10) times for water breaks. To me, this isn't disappointing or upsetting at all. Sure, when I was 18 and in the best shape of my life, I could knock out a field hockey practice, a 3 mile run, and a full cardio kickboxing class in a 3 hour timeframe....but the truth is, I am not 18, and my body has changed a LOT, especially since having kids. I'm okay with not being a size 4 anymore, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't strive to look and feel the best that I can today. And entering into this new exercise regimen with a very realistic mindset- that it is going to be hard, that the initial hump of the routine will take a while to become familiar to me, and that I will be sore for the first few weeks-- can only help me in the long run.
So, Zumba three times a week it will be, and I'm writing it here so that all of you can hold me accountable to this. And on the off-days, perhaps I should get some use out of the ridiculously expensive, self-powered recumbent bike (that's been collecting dust in our family room for over a year now) for something other than it's current role:
1. It has now been 6 months since Gavin's birth and I am (finally) starting to feel up to working out. For those of you who have not had a C-section...much less one with lots and lots of long-term health complications, it is definitely not an overnight recovery, and has taken me this long to feel okay & brave enough to try. Kudos to me for this!
2. This is the part of mommyhood where the whole "new baby in the house" thing has begun to settle down a bit, and life is starting to turn into some resemblance of a routine...(we're all sleeping a little bit more around here, and I now feel completely fine about selfishly claiming 3-4 hours a week of some well-deserved, much needed "ME" time....yes, even if this means that Jeff is on his own for the dinner cleanup/tubby/getting into jammies part of the day!) Three 1-hour Zumba sessions where the music is loud, the lights are bright, and all I have to focus on is not srewing up the arm pump/Salsa feet combination (which, incidentally, is NOT as easy as it looks on So You Think You Can Dance) is exactly the kind of self-indulgent treat that I'm ready for.
3. I am done using the "I just had a baby" excuse as to why certain parts of me are jiggly & gross, and am taking the bull by the horns and doing something about it. Period.
Anywho, about the Zumba class-- it really was a blast!! Basically an intense combination of floor aerobics, cardio kickboxing, and Latin dance moves, all culminating in one very sweaty, heart-pounding hour of calorie burning fun. The music is awesome, and all of the Latin rhythm definitely gets the Cubana blood pulsating in my veins...(I'm sure Abuelo y Maria would be proud!) It quickly became apparent to me that some of the moves will take time to polish, and that in the meantime I am going to look like a Gringo white girl in a Salsa club tryng to keep up...but I'm okay with that for a little while ;-)
It's also a huge plus that most of the clientele are other moms with the same "my body is no longer a temple (since housing a few babies)" issues as me, and we're all in the same boat physically, so to speak. No one in the class resembles Jillian Michaels or Denise Austin, and the majority of us might need to stop a few (or, 10) times for water breaks. To me, this isn't disappointing or upsetting at all. Sure, when I was 18 and in the best shape of my life, I could knock out a field hockey practice, a 3 mile run, and a full cardio kickboxing class in a 3 hour timeframe....but the truth is, I am not 18, and my body has changed a LOT, especially since having kids. I'm okay with not being a size 4 anymore, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't strive to look and feel the best that I can today. And entering into this new exercise regimen with a very realistic mindset- that it is going to be hard, that the initial hump of the routine will take a while to become familiar to me, and that I will be sore for the first few weeks-- can only help me in the long run.
So, Zumba three times a week it will be, and I'm writing it here so that all of you can hold me accountable to this. And on the off-days, perhaps I should get some use out of the ridiculously expensive, self-powered recumbent bike (that's been collecting dust in our family room for over a year now) for something other than it's current role:
Thursday, January 21, 2010
From princess to second baseman in 7 days flat!
As evident by last week's post, Ava really enjoys dressing up her baby brother these days, especially on lazy Thursdays at home when we don't have much else going on. Well today was no different, and she begged me again this morning,
"Momma can we PLEASE dress Gav up in a princess costume again and take pictures!? It'll be hilarious!!"
But being the thoughtful & considerate wife that I am, I decided that Jeff had experienced enough paternal emasculation and humiliation from last week's princess incident, and quickly averted the idea of Gav in a satin, lace-lined Belle dress again. So, I got creative about my approach.
"Yes, Aves, we absolutely can dress Gav up and take pictures-- but he can't be a princess every week, that would be so boring...let's dress him up in a different kind of costume this week, okay?"
Remarkably she agreed.... and we had a fun, 45-minute playroom photo session taking the following pictures of our little, dressed up "baseball player!" And in other news...Jeff won't hate me when he sees these ones. Enjoy :-)
"Momma can we PLEASE dress Gav up in a princess costume again and take pictures!? It'll be hilarious!!"
But being the thoughtful & considerate wife that I am, I decided that Jeff had experienced enough paternal emasculation and humiliation from last week's princess incident, and quickly averted the idea of Gav in a satin, lace-lined Belle dress again. So, I got creative about my approach.
"Yes, Aves, we absolutely can dress Gav up and take pictures-- but he can't be a princess every week, that would be so boring...let's dress him up in a different kind of costume this week, okay?"
Remarkably she agreed.... and we had a fun, 45-minute playroom photo session taking the following pictures of our little, dressed up "baseball player!" And in other news...Jeff won't hate me when he sees these ones. Enjoy :-)
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
"The early bird gets the worm." And this is what I get...
It all started this morning around 8:57 am, as my daughter enthusiastically informed me (as I zipped her coat to head out to the car for school,)
"Mommy, I really really would please like to try the 'stay for lunch' program at school today, okay?!"
(*please note that school drop-off is at 9:15 and our commute to get there is 15 minutes, assuming all green lights, and not being stuck behind a school bus and/or a 92-year-old man in a Lincoln Town car).
Mind you, I have been begging her to try the lunch program since, oh, October. So I'm thinking in my head,
"Are you kidding me, little girl- Why are you springing this on me now?! Your brother is all bundled up in his car-seat, your boots and hat are on, the car is already running in the driveway, and I don't have a lunch to send you with...!"
But before I can respond, I am suddenly overwhelmed by the glorious prospect of an extra hour-and-a-half of quality errand-running time with my little man, and I decide that I've got to just roll with it.
"That's great honey!" I reply. "Just give Mum a minute to make you a lunch and then we'll go."
I didn't even have time to think, and in a Tazmanian devil-like haze, the fastest lunch-making in the history of lunch-making began. To be honest, what ensued over the next 1 minute and 13 seconds still remains a mystery; but in the end, thin-and-trim oven roasted turkey, land-o-lakes American cheese, and Arnold's country white bread had miraculously transformed into something loosely resembling a sandwich. A small bag of Smartfood popcorn, 2 strawberry McNougall's (see older post), a Capri Sun juice pouch, and one teal Tinkerbell lunchbox later, and we were in business!
Ultimately, we made it to school by 9:17-- not bad considering the very last minute lunch-mergency. I walked her in, helped her take off her coat & boots and slip into her robe & slippers (it was pajama day, by the way), hugged her goodbye, and Gav & I headed back for the car.
Now those of you sans kiddos might not understand this, but an extra 90 minutes in Mommy time really equals like 5 hours in normal human time. Just the idea of this had me walking on air! (The only thing that could have elevated my mood at that moment was a little Jefferson Starship "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now!" in the background...but alas I settled for the first thing on the radio- LL Cool J's "Doin' It").
As I pulled out of my parking space, I knew exactly which errand trumped all other errands, and would dominate today's agenda: THE CALENDAR QUEST. Now until this past few weeks, I never relized this, but if you don't purchase a wall calendar by like the middle of December, buena suerte trying to find one. Over the past few weeks I have been everywhere searching for a calendar. CVS, Hallmark Store, Target, WalMart, KMart, Walgreens, just to name a few. The response from token unenthusiastic Emo retail clerk is eerily the same:
"Uhh, no, we've been sold out of those for, like, a wicked long time now."
(mind you, I began my quest around the first week of January...how it is that every major calendar retailer in the state of Massacshuetts is sold out by then is beyond me...but I digress...)
Anywho, I decide that this will be the day, and that with our extra 90 minutes,Gav & I will find a calendar.
So off we drive to the Burlington Mall. During the drive there, I am picturing a kiosk and a bright red "Everything must go! 75% off all calendars" sign and a sketchy kiosk-guy doused in way too much Eternity. I decide that, at this discount, it will be such a fantastic deal that I'll also buy one for Ava's room, and one for the playroom. Maybe even one for Jeff's office too?? Whoa, whoa. Let's not get too crazy, I tell myself.
So I continue to visualize this kiosk. It lives right outside of the Cheesecake factory entrance, and decide that this is where I'll park today. And since we're nice and early, we find a prime spot about 12 feet from the door (score!) and in we walk. The mall is just opening at this hour, and the kiosk workers are just now beginning to unroll their overnight canvas tarps and unveil their treasures. However, as I stroll up and down kiosk-Lane, I am not seeing a calendar one. Pro-Activ, Japanese hair threading (!?), pillow pets, the Italian ceramic hair curler/straightener, electric smokeless cigarettes, and Bear Paw boots....but no calendars. After a few trips up and down, the main drag, the tall Israeli woman at the hair curler/straightener booth asks me what I am looking for.
"Calendars?"
"Oh, no honey, no more calendars. They gone day after Christmas. But you do have beautiful hair, may I straighten for you?"
I pretend not to have heard the latter part of the statement and cut her off with an abrupt
"Oh, bummer, thanks bye!" (quick back story- one night several months ago, she came chasing after Ava & I with aforementioned ceramic straightener/curler and conned me into letting Ava sit at her booth for 50 minutes (!) while she turned my little girl into Shirley Temple's hair double, and then tried to "persuade" (harass) me into purchasing said straightener for $220.)
After narrowly escaping Kiosk Lane, Gav & I head up the elevator and I am filled with excitement as I remember Walden Books, the bookstore upstairs. Yes! They'll definitely have some, I think to myself, and smile. It wasn't long before we got upstairs and were quickly reminded that the bookstore was replaced with a Lucky Brand Jeans and another Dellaria spa last fall. Grrr! This is the point at which I realize we must take our quest elsewhere, since everything else in this mall sells strictly clothing or food. No calendar luck here.
On the way back out to the car, I brilliantly remember that Barnes & Noble is across the street and they MUST have a plethora of calendars! I feel kind of sheepish for not thinking of them sooner, but am once again excited about what I'll find. So back into the car we go, drive the 3 minutes across the street, and are soon inside the 20,000 square-foot book warehouse that is B & N. I walk right up to the information desk.
"Hi, could you please point me in the direction of wall calendars?"
The 82-year old, white- haired woman behind the desk (who looks freakishly identical to Estelle Getty, only a little taller,) smiles hesitantly and begins to shake her head. "Oh, we only have very few left, if any. We've been outta those for a while now. But follow me, I'll show you where they would be..."
We make our way to a very sad little aisle end-cap, and we both squat down to examine the leftovers. Words truly can't do justice for the awkwardness that ensues, as Estelle picks up the few stray calendars, shimmies her thick reading glasses up to her eyes, and embarrassingly realizes that 3 of the 5 titles are:
"Porn for Women 2010"
"2010 Playboy"
and
"Girls of Brazil 2010"
Estelle turns beet red and stands up immediately, "You know what they say dear, the early bird gets the worm-- you should have looked sooner!" She scurries away faster than I would have assumed her legs were capable of moving, and I am left there with the 3 choices listed above, as well as:
"Bible Verses"
and
"Wolverine:3D"
Needless to say, none of these options seemed viable for my cozy, contemporary, Martha Stewarty kitchen wall, and so we left calendar-less and defeated.
The moral of the story? Apparently, when it comes to wall calendars, the early bird really does get the pick of the litter. And the late worms, like myself, get nude Brazilian models, Biblical passages, and a Marvel Comics Wolf as options. Looks like next year I'll be doing my calendar shopping in October.
"Mommy, I really really would please like to try the 'stay for lunch' program at school today, okay?!"
(*please note that school drop-off is at 9:15 and our commute to get there is 15 minutes, assuming all green lights, and not being stuck behind a school bus and/or a 92-year-old man in a Lincoln Town car).
Mind you, I have been begging her to try the lunch program since, oh, October. So I'm thinking in my head,
"Are you kidding me, little girl- Why are you springing this on me now?! Your brother is all bundled up in his car-seat, your boots and hat are on, the car is already running in the driveway, and I don't have a lunch to send you with...!"
But before I can respond, I am suddenly overwhelmed by the glorious prospect of an extra hour-and-a-half of quality errand-running time with my little man, and I decide that I've got to just roll with it.
"That's great honey!" I reply. "Just give Mum a minute to make you a lunch and then we'll go."
I didn't even have time to think, and in a Tazmanian devil-like haze, the fastest lunch-making in the history of lunch-making began. To be honest, what ensued over the next 1 minute and 13 seconds still remains a mystery; but in the end, thin-and-trim oven roasted turkey, land-o-lakes American cheese, and Arnold's country white bread had miraculously transformed into something loosely resembling a sandwich. A small bag of Smartfood popcorn, 2 strawberry McNougall's (see older post), a Capri Sun juice pouch, and one teal Tinkerbell lunchbox later, and we were in business!
Ultimately, we made it to school by 9:17-- not bad considering the very last minute lunch-mergency. I walked her in, helped her take off her coat & boots and slip into her robe & slippers (it was pajama day, by the way), hugged her goodbye, and Gav & I headed back for the car.
Now those of you sans kiddos might not understand this, but an extra 90 minutes in Mommy time really equals like 5 hours in normal human time. Just the idea of this had me walking on air! (The only thing that could have elevated my mood at that moment was a little Jefferson Starship "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now!" in the background...but alas I settled for the first thing on the radio- LL Cool J's "Doin' It").
As I pulled out of my parking space, I knew exactly which errand trumped all other errands, and would dominate today's agenda: THE CALENDAR QUEST. Now until this past few weeks, I never relized this, but if you don't purchase a wall calendar by like the middle of December, buena suerte trying to find one. Over the past few weeks I have been everywhere searching for a calendar. CVS, Hallmark Store, Target, WalMart, KMart, Walgreens, just to name a few. The response from token unenthusiastic Emo retail clerk is eerily the same:
"Uhh, no, we've been sold out of those for, like, a wicked long time now."
(mind you, I began my quest around the first week of January...how it is that every major calendar retailer in the state of Massacshuetts is sold out by then is beyond me...but I digress...)
Anywho, I decide that this will be the day, and that with our extra 90 minutes,Gav & I will find a calendar.
So off we drive to the Burlington Mall. During the drive there, I am picturing a kiosk and a bright red "Everything must go! 75% off all calendars" sign and a sketchy kiosk-guy doused in way too much Eternity. I decide that, at this discount, it will be such a fantastic deal that I'll also buy one for Ava's room, and one for the playroom. Maybe even one for Jeff's office too?? Whoa, whoa. Let's not get too crazy, I tell myself.
So I continue to visualize this kiosk. It lives right outside of the Cheesecake factory entrance, and decide that this is where I'll park today. And since we're nice and early, we find a prime spot about 12 feet from the door (score!) and in we walk. The mall is just opening at this hour, and the kiosk workers are just now beginning to unroll their overnight canvas tarps and unveil their treasures. However, as I stroll up and down kiosk-Lane, I am not seeing a calendar one. Pro-Activ, Japanese hair threading (!?), pillow pets, the Italian ceramic hair curler/straightener, electric smokeless cigarettes, and Bear Paw boots....but no calendars. After a few trips up and down, the main drag, the tall Israeli woman at the hair curler/straightener booth asks me what I am looking for.
"Calendars?"
"Oh, no honey, no more calendars. They gone day after Christmas. But you do have beautiful hair, may I straighten for you?"
I pretend not to have heard the latter part of the statement and cut her off with an abrupt
"Oh, bummer, thanks bye!" (quick back story- one night several months ago, she came chasing after Ava & I with aforementioned ceramic straightener/curler and conned me into letting Ava sit at her booth for 50 minutes (!) while she turned my little girl into Shirley Temple's hair double, and then tried to "persuade" (harass) me into purchasing said straightener for $220.)
After narrowly escaping Kiosk Lane, Gav & I head up the elevator and I am filled with excitement as I remember Walden Books, the bookstore upstairs. Yes! They'll definitely have some, I think to myself, and smile. It wasn't long before we got upstairs and were quickly reminded that the bookstore was replaced with a Lucky Brand Jeans and another Dellaria spa last fall. Grrr! This is the point at which I realize we must take our quest elsewhere, since everything else in this mall sells strictly clothing or food. No calendar luck here.
On the way back out to the car, I brilliantly remember that Barnes & Noble is across the street and they MUST have a plethora of calendars! I feel kind of sheepish for not thinking of them sooner, but am once again excited about what I'll find. So back into the car we go, drive the 3 minutes across the street, and are soon inside the 20,000 square-foot book warehouse that is B & N. I walk right up to the information desk.
"Hi, could you please point me in the direction of wall calendars?"
The 82-year old, white- haired woman behind the desk (who looks freakishly identical to Estelle Getty, only a little taller,) smiles hesitantly and begins to shake her head. "Oh, we only have very few left, if any. We've been outta those for a while now. But follow me, I'll show you where they would be..."
We make our way to a very sad little aisle end-cap, and we both squat down to examine the leftovers. Words truly can't do justice for the awkwardness that ensues, as Estelle picks up the few stray calendars, shimmies her thick reading glasses up to her eyes, and embarrassingly realizes that 3 of the 5 titles are:
"Porn for Women 2010"
"2010 Playboy"
and
"Girls of Brazil 2010"
Estelle turns beet red and stands up immediately, "You know what they say dear, the early bird gets the worm-- you should have looked sooner!" She scurries away faster than I would have assumed her legs were capable of moving, and I am left there with the 3 choices listed above, as well as:
"Bible Verses"
and
"Wolverine:3D"
Needless to say, none of these options seemed viable for my cozy, contemporary, Martha Stewarty kitchen wall, and so we left calendar-less and defeated.
The moral of the story? Apparently, when it comes to wall calendars, the early bird really does get the pick of the litter. And the late worms, like myself, get nude Brazilian models, Biblical passages, and a Marvel Comics Wolf as options. Looks like next year I'll be doing my calendar shopping in October.
Hmm, maybe she should stay for lunch EVERY day?!
It seems like Ava's first day of "Stay-for-lunch" at Preschool was successful! She was completely pooped when I picked her up...fell asleep in the car on the way home, and even let me carry her in and lay her on the couch-- where she continued to sleep for almost 2 hours!! Considering this is the first time she's napped in almost a year, I'll take it! :-)
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Ladies & Gentlemen....we've got a TOOTH!!!!
So after a few weeks now of Gav being a little irritable at nighttime, waking up a bunch after bedtime, not wanting to nap, and just not acting quite like himself, it appears that his first tooth was the culprit. (I found this out the painful way today as I gave him my pinky to suck on and immediately discovered razor-sharp, jagged edge sticking out of his bottom gum!)
Hooray Gav! You are now officially one step closer to the finer things in life like filet mignon, grilled cheeses, and Dove chocolate bars :)
p.s. Amazingly, Gav's rendition of "I'm getting a tooth, don't feel good, and am having trouble falling asleep" is pictured below... These were taken around midnight last night when we brought him out to the living room after he was fussy for a while in his crib. Would you EVER look at this baby and think he was cutting his first tooth?! Pretty *unhappy* child we have ;-)
"Hey guys, anything good on? Where's the popcorn?"
Hooray Gav! You are now officially one step closer to the finer things in life like filet mignon, grilled cheeses, and Dove chocolate bars :)
p.s. Amazingly, Gav's rendition of "I'm getting a tooth, don't feel good, and am having trouble falling asleep" is pictured below... These were taken around midnight last night when we brought him out to the living room after he was fussy for a while in his crib. Would you EVER look at this baby and think he was cutting his first tooth?! Pretty *unhappy* child we have ;-)
"Hey guys, anything good on? Where's the popcorn?"
Monday, January 18, 2010
I'm Mr. Snowmiser...
So Ava's mid-year winter dance recital-- (which was supposed to take place on December 20th, and had since been rescheduled twice due to snow) --finally happened tonight. (Yay!) Her class danced to "Mr. Snowmiser," from one of those old-school 1970's claymation Christmas movies. Actually, it was a super cute song and dance too! Per usual, our little ballerina-diva did fantastic. She is unequivocally one of those kids that thrives on attention and loves being onstage, all eyes watching her. She had the biggest smile of all the ballerinas in her ensemble, and once again she knew every single step without fail. Add a beautiful bouquet of pink flowers from Daddy, the perfect ballerina bun (complete with silver glittery hairspray), and a post-performance celebratory dinner at Friendly's, and the night was pure magic for her. Congratulations Aves, you made Mommy & Daddy so proud...again :-)
Talk about wanting to look your best...
Just wanted to share a quick anecdote of my day today. While I sat in the waiting room of the Dermatologist this morning, a VERY old -- borderline ancient-- woman sauntered in, cane and all, and proceeded to the check-in window.
"Hi, I am here for a 10:45 appointment with Dr. Ellerin," she stated in an upbeat tone.
The receptionist asked for her name and date of birth to check her in, and the woman replied Cynthia something, and that her date of birth was
"One - twenty two - fifteen."
It's not too often these days that you hear someone's birth year as being "fifteen" -- and so of course I immediately begin doing the math in my head, with the subtle assistance of my fingers as I counted the decades...fifteen, twenty-five, thirty-five...
"OH MY GOD! This woman is NINETY FIVE years old!!!" I quickly realized, and then hoped to God that I hadn't announced my discovery out loud.
Cynthia proceeded to tell the receptionist that she was here for her 2nd of a 4-part laser skin rejuvenation session.
Wow, I thought to myself....Good for her. Almost a century old and still taking pride in her skin!!
I can only hope that at her age, I'm still vain enough to be driving myself to my skin rejuvenation appointments...in the middle of a blizzard!
"Hi, I am here for a 10:45 appointment with Dr. Ellerin," she stated in an upbeat tone.
The receptionist asked for her name and date of birth to check her in, and the woman replied Cynthia something, and that her date of birth was
"One - twenty two - fifteen."
It's not too often these days that you hear someone's birth year as being "fifteen" -- and so of course I immediately begin doing the math in my head, with the subtle assistance of my fingers as I counted the decades...fifteen, twenty-five, thirty-five...
"OH MY GOD! This woman is NINETY FIVE years old!!!" I quickly realized, and then hoped to God that I hadn't announced my discovery out loud.
Cynthia proceeded to tell the receptionist that she was here for her 2nd of a 4-part laser skin rejuvenation session.
Wow, I thought to myself....Good for her. Almost a century old and still taking pride in her skin!!
I can only hope that at her age, I'm still vain enough to be driving myself to my skin rejuvenation appointments...in the middle of a blizzard!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Mmmm, whatcha say?
Daddy & Aves take on one of the latest big hits-- Jason Derulo (featuring Imogen Heap's) Whatcha Say. Once again, please disregard the playroom mess in the background - par for the course when these music videos depend on instantly dropping everything you are doing when a four year old suddenly feels inspired. Also please note the "costumes" that she picked out for both her and Jeff; "Daddy, we need to wear matching white shirts and sideways hats for the show!"
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Dear Daddy-- MAYDAY! MAYDAY! Come home from work NOW and save me from this estrogen-fueled nonsense!!!! Love, Gav
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Isn't 4 a little young to petition for name change?
Out of the blue, my daughter very bluntly informed me on the way to school this morning that,
"When we are in the car, I shall be called Emily. My name is never again Ava while I am in this carseat, so please don't call me that. Got it?"
I contemplated responding with something like:
"Ok, well if that is the case, then anytime between Fridays at 5pm and Monday mornings, I shall not answer to 'Mommy' nor any requests to wipe a runny nose, cut up a piece of chicken at dinner, bring a cup of water at bedtime, help tie shoes, change poopy diapers, put band-aids on boo-boos, be the time-out police, or wipe a bum. Also, no laundry, cleaning, cooking, household errands, vacuuming, dusting, dishes, or making beds during this time-frame. Got it?"
Lucky for 'Emily,' I am a level-headed Mommy and simply responded with a smile and a nod:
"Of course, Emily. You got it!"
"When we are in the car, I shall be called Emily. My name is never again Ava while I am in this carseat, so please don't call me that. Got it?"
I contemplated responding with something like:
"Ok, well if that is the case, then anytime between Fridays at 5pm and Monday mornings, I shall not answer to 'Mommy' nor any requests to wipe a runny nose, cut up a piece of chicken at dinner, bring a cup of water at bedtime, help tie shoes, change poopy diapers, put band-aids on boo-boos, be the time-out police, or wipe a bum. Also, no laundry, cleaning, cooking, household errands, vacuuming, dusting, dishes, or making beds during this time-frame. Got it?"
Lucky for 'Emily,' I am a level-headed Mommy and simply responded with a smile and a nod:
"Of course, Emily. You got it!"
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Endearing nicknames for baby brother hits all-time high today:
"Hi Gavvey, my little mister naked nipple boy penis face!"
Monday, January 11, 2010
Cornea takes the Gold!
So this past Saturday morning, Gav was in his swing and started crying out of the blue. Upon picking him up & examining him, we immediately noticed that his poor little right eye looked very raw, red, and swollen. He kept whimpering in pain and it soon became obvious to us that he might have accidentally scratched himself in the eye while in his swing. We immediately brought him to be seen by the on-call Dr. She did this diagnostic test where yellow dye is dropped in the affected eye, and then a blacklight is used to examine it. When she did this, my heart broke into a million pieces and I wanted to cry; The Dr. didn't even have to point out the obvious, 1/2 of an M & M sized sliver of bright yellow dye in the center of his eye, signifying a large tear. Even the Dr. said that this was a pretty "big gouge" and that we may have to see a Pediatric Opthamologist. She sent us home with antibiotic ointment and told us to give the little guy Tylenol as needed since this was "definitely extremely painful."
I felt so helpless, so sick for him. Definitely ranked on the very top of the "I would give anything to switch places with my child and take all of their pain away" list.
Anywho, Saturday & Sunday were pretty rough days, as he was still in tons of pain, his eye was watering profusely, and he winced in pain any time he attempted to open it past a squint.
Well, this morning we had our follow-up with the Dr. and were definitely expecting the worst-- to be referred over to the Opthamologist for further evaluation of this "massive gouge."
So, same thing again....yellow dye, blacklight, and...
"Where's the spot?" I quickly asked the Dr.
She, too, saw nothing at all and quickly determined that she had not used enough dye. So, blacklight off, more yellow dye, blacklight back on, and take two...But still, nothing.
"Wow," the Dr. said to me as we stared into Gavin's eyes in the blacklight. "Unbelievable. It's gone-- completely healed. His little body knew to produce another cornea in less than 48 hours-- how amazing is that!"
"Amazing," I parroted, entranced by the electric blue that illuminated Gavin's eyes in front of me.
She switched the lights back on and my heart instantly melted in the realization that we wouldn't have to go see a specialist, that my little trooper was no longer in pain, and that his tiny little eye healed perfectly fine on his own.
As the Dr. was leaving the room, she said to me, "Just so you know, I certainly wasn't expecting today's visit to go this well-- especially considering the size of the abrasion 2 days ago. It was one of the biggest I've seen in a baby his size. You have one strong little boy on your hands!"
With that, I picked up my little boy, smothered him with kisses & tickles until he giggled his contagious belly laugh, and we headed home.
In conclusion, I'd like to make a quick little shout-out: Cornea,you have officially amazed me, and you pretty much rock for knowing how to regenerate like that. (Well, you and the Starfish.)
I felt so helpless, so sick for him. Definitely ranked on the very top of the "I would give anything to switch places with my child and take all of their pain away" list.
Anywho, Saturday & Sunday were pretty rough days, as he was still in tons of pain, his eye was watering profusely, and he winced in pain any time he attempted to open it past a squint.
Well, this morning we had our follow-up with the Dr. and were definitely expecting the worst-- to be referred over to the Opthamologist for further evaluation of this "massive gouge."
So, same thing again....yellow dye, blacklight, and...
"Where's the spot?" I quickly asked the Dr.
She, too, saw nothing at all and quickly determined that she had not used enough dye. So, blacklight off, more yellow dye, blacklight back on, and take two...But still, nothing.
"Wow," the Dr. said to me as we stared into Gavin's eyes in the blacklight. "Unbelievable. It's gone-- completely healed. His little body knew to produce another cornea in less than 48 hours-- how amazing is that!"
"Amazing," I parroted, entranced by the electric blue that illuminated Gavin's eyes in front of me.
She switched the lights back on and my heart instantly melted in the realization that we wouldn't have to go see a specialist, that my little trooper was no longer in pain, and that his tiny little eye healed perfectly fine on his own.
As the Dr. was leaving the room, she said to me, "Just so you know, I certainly wasn't expecting today's visit to go this well-- especially considering the size of the abrasion 2 days ago. It was one of the biggest I've seen in a baby his size. You have one strong little boy on your hands!"
With that, I picked up my little boy, smothered him with kisses & tickles until he giggled his contagious belly laugh, and we headed home.
In conclusion, I'd like to make a quick little shout-out: Cornea,you have officially amazed me, and you pretty much rock for knowing how to regenerate like that. (Well, you and the Starfish.)
Ava's random thought of the day
(while driving home from Preschool)
A: "I'd really like a brother, Momma."
Me: "Ummm, do you not see that adorable bundle of brother sitting in the car-seat next to you?!"
A: "No Momma, I mean like a BIG brother. And his name would be something like Billy, and he would be thirteen and a half, and he'd do things like make me grilled cheeses and throw snowballs at me. Wouldn't that be cool?"
A: "I'd really like a brother, Momma."
Me: "Ummm, do you not see that adorable bundle of brother sitting in the car-seat next to you?!"
A: "No Momma, I mean like a BIG brother. And his name would be something like Billy, and he would be thirteen and a half, and he'd do things like make me grilled cheeses and throw snowballs at me. Wouldn't that be cool?"
Friday, January 8, 2010
Hip (ultrasounds) don't lie!
Voicemail I came home to today-
"Hi, this is a message for Gavin's mom, it's the nurse calling back. Just wanted to let you know that Gavin's hip ultrasounds both came back COMPLETELY normal. Everything is just where it should be, growing in the right spot, looks perfect. Turns out your little guy just has extra chubby, munch-able thighs. Enjoy them!"
...and enjoy them I certainly will :)
(*this was in response to a concern his pediatrician had on Monday at his 6-month checkup...there were some extra fat roll creases in the backs of his legs, and apparently this can be attributed to a condition called hip dysplasia. Needless to say, we spent the entire week worrying about the possibility of him having to be in a cast or apparatus for the next several months to alleviate the condition-- so when this was the voice-mail we received after his ultrasound, we were beyond grateful & ecstatic!)
"Hi, this is a message for Gavin's mom, it's the nurse calling back. Just wanted to let you know that Gavin's hip ultrasounds both came back COMPLETELY normal. Everything is just where it should be, growing in the right spot, looks perfect. Turns out your little guy just has extra chubby, munch-able thighs. Enjoy them!"
...and enjoy them I certainly will :)
(*this was in response to a concern his pediatrician had on Monday at his 6-month checkup...there were some extra fat roll creases in the backs of his legs, and apparently this can be attributed to a condition called hip dysplasia. Needless to say, we spent the entire week worrying about the possibility of him having to be in a cast or apparatus for the next several months to alleviate the condition-- so when this was the voice-mail we received after his ultrasound, we were beyond grateful & ecstatic!)
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Good morning, sunshines!
This is what I get to wake up to every morning-- not such a shabby way to start the day :-)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Compliments to the chef
Last night as we finished dinner, Ava rubbed her belly and said to me in the most serious tone ever,
"Momma, that was the most delectable dinner I have EVER had. Seriously. It was feeeeeeee-nominal."
*Please note that we had Perdue chicken nuggets, steam-fresh peas, and butter noodles.
You better watch out Rachel Ray-- there's a new chef in town and she knows how to heat up nuggets...
"Momma, that was the most delectable dinner I have EVER had. Seriously. It was feeeeeeee-nominal."
*Please note that we had Perdue chicken nuggets, steam-fresh peas, and butter noodles.
You better watch out Rachel Ray-- there's a new chef in town and she knows how to heat up nuggets...
Sunday, January 3, 2010
What better way to ring in the last year of your twenties than...
1. Waking up to a beautiful, massive snowstorm and chocolate chip pancakes- Heaven!
2. A yummy family dinner out at Bugaboo Creek, (complete with VIP seating right next to the big cozy fireplace, and directly beneath the massive taxidermy Buffalo head AND squirrel swinging on a lantern). OH, and of course the stuffed mallards. Can't forget those.
3. Mommy-daughter pedicures! (Of course Ava persuaded the very nice Vietnamese nail technician to also please do her "regular hand nails" too, so she ended up with a full mani-pedi.)We had a blast and it was excellent and much needed girlie time, just the two of us :)
4. A truly one-of-a-kind, HOMEMADE cake from your 4 year old daughter!
Me: "Wow Aves, this is amazing! Did you make this yourself?"
A: "Yup, me and Daddy went to the supermarket and I chose ALL the ingredients all by myself! I chose pink cake mix, and then I put in: raspberries, strawberries, watermelon, chocolate ice cream, frosting, whipped cream, and cream cheese."
Here is my proud little chef with her first culinary masterpiece:
...And to be honest, it was actually super yummy!
So as the day comes to a close, I feel blessed to have spent my 29th birthday with my cozy little family on a snowy January day. Here's to the last year of my twenties; hoping it is a year full of health, happiness, and lots of laughter. Happy Birthday, me!
2. A yummy family dinner out at Bugaboo Creek, (complete with VIP seating right next to the big cozy fireplace, and directly beneath the massive taxidermy Buffalo head AND squirrel swinging on a lantern). OH, and of course the stuffed mallards. Can't forget those.
3. Mommy-daughter pedicures! (Of course Ava persuaded the very nice Vietnamese nail technician to also please do her "regular hand nails" too, so she ended up with a full mani-pedi.)We had a blast and it was excellent and much needed girlie time, just the two of us :)
4. A truly one-of-a-kind, HOMEMADE cake from your 4 year old daughter!
Me: "Wow Aves, this is amazing! Did you make this yourself?"
A: "Yup, me and Daddy went to the supermarket and I chose ALL the ingredients all by myself! I chose pink cake mix, and then I put in: raspberries, strawberries, watermelon, chocolate ice cream, frosting, whipped cream, and cream cheese."
Here is my proud little chef with her first culinary masterpiece:
...And to be honest, it was actually super yummy!
So as the day comes to a close, I feel blessed to have spent my 29th birthday with my cozy little family on a snowy January day. Here's to the last year of my twenties; hoping it is a year full of health, happiness, and lots of laughter. Happy Birthday, me!
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