One-Car Household

That McDonald's commercial that says something like There's no such thing as a morning person, blah, blah, blah (I'm paraphrasing) is one of my favorite commercials.  They play it on the radio almost every morning, and it makes me feel slightly less guilty for having woken up like a grizzly bear that day...because odds are, I did.

There is nothing pleasant about waking up and realizing you're running late, and it puts even the most chipper person on edge. Take that feeling and multiply it by 50, and that is my attitude every morning.  It is only slightly less so if I'm actually on time or it's a weekend and I have nowhere to be.

Recently, we became a one-car household.  There are advantages to being a one-car household.  Like, Michael and I spend more time together, and well, that's all I can think of currently.  Thing is, I have never found the "right side of the bed," and since we've become a one-car household, I've noticed it more (because it has been pointed out more...like every time it happens...so, basically, every day).

Silas inherited the bulk of his personality from me.  Most days, we both wake up mad at the world.  When Michael left the house before us, my crappy attitude would take a backseat to Si's crappy attitude because I prefer happy Silas to grouchy Silas and would make myself play games and sing silly songs to cheer him up.  Then on days when Si woke up in a good mood, it cheered me up instantly.  No one was the wiser because no one was there to witness.

So, we co-existed beautifully in the mornings when it was just the two of us.  Now, Michael is thrown in the mix, and he generally wakes up in a pleasant mood and gets Silas ready while I run around looking for matching shoes.  So, I stay in a crappy mood until we're halfway to my job.  Then I feel like I have to be extra cheerful to make up for the fact that I've been a complete b---- since I opened my eyes.

This morning was particularly bear-ish, and I found myself praying most of the way to work, "Dear God, please help me get this ridiculous attitude in check and stop oversleeping.   In the alternative, please make us a two-car household once more."

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Panicky Parenting

My son cut his eyelid open last night.  I'm actually pretty proud of myself because I didn't get all freaked out and talk too fast and start breathing hard and almost faint when I saw the blood pouring out of his eye.  I remained relatively calm.

We took him to Care Now (which is an after hours clinic for anyone who does not know), but they took one look at him and told me to take him to Children's because they were fairly certain he would need sedation and stitches....and that's when I began to panic.  Perhaps your child has been sedated before and/or had stitches, but mine has not, and the very thought of it made me bawl like a baby.

So, we took him to Children's where everyone who saw him agreed that, yes, he would indeed need stitches, but we must first wait 4-6 hours so that his last meal did not mix with the anesthesia and cause him to get very ill.  So, we waited endlessly with our restless, bloody toddler (who thought running a muck in a waiting room was great fun) and many, many other miserable-looking children and exhausted parents (there were so many teeny, tiny infants in there just coughing and coughing...those parents and nurses were all so amazing).

After what felt like half the night, we got placed in a room, and Silas ran a muck some more while we waited for another forty-five minutes until a very nice doctor materialized and announced, "he does not need stitches."  Five minutes later, the paperwork guru (I'm not sure of her actual title) returned with my debit card (my bank account $100 lighter) and five minutes after that, we were told to try to keep the eye from getting infected and released to leave.

On the way to the car, I asked Michael if we were panicky parents, and he informed me that I am a panicky parent and he is just along for the ride.  That is probably true, but each time I go over it in my head, I still feel like I had no choice but to take Silas to have him looked at by someone who could tell me if his eye was cut or if he needed stitches.

What would you do?

Apparently, I'm rebelling

Purple.  That's what color my hair is in person, in the light. If I post the pictures I took to provide proof, you will think I'm lying.  My hair looks red in the pictures, which is likely why the lady on the color box looked like she had red hair.  Had I been at the photo shoot, I would have known her hair was purple and skipped this whole sixteen-year-old-rebelling-against-my-parents look.

So, if you'd like to giggle under your breath and talk about me behind my back, please make an impromptu visit and see my purple hair for yourself. 

Happy 2011

My son's New Year's Resolution is apparently to use the word "no" as often as he feels he can work it into a conversation.  His latest tantrum-that-caught-me-off-guard:

 

Because I adore my son and my son adores Elmo, I purchased two packages of Elmo's punch juice boxes.  Silas had one with lunch and one with dinner...and when the dinner juice box was empty, Silas insisted I get him another one, and I gave him his Elmo sippy cup full of milk instead (which is usually like his crack...he loves milk the way I love cake). 

What happened next was 25 minutes of Si crying and telling me "no" and pushing the sippy cup away or throwing it to the ground and generally being disagreeable.  Once my nerves were sufficiently frazzled and I could no longer handle having sippy cups launched at my head, I placed Silas in Michael's lap and went outside until the tantrum was over.  Team work.

We decided that maybe the babysitter's house is a good place for Elmo juice boxes... 

Happy New Year to you all!  May your children be as sweet as mine was at some point this past summer:

 

 

 

My favorite picture from 2010

:)

Happy New Year!

Loud and Clear

2011 has nearly arrived...I first noticed when I went to Wal-Mart two days after Christmas and was greeted with end caps packed full of Pilates DVDs and Yoga mats.  The sheer mass of work-out gear made me feel like I was being slapped repeatedly in the face.  It was there every time I turned a corner.

This morning, I had this exchange via text message:

          R: Do you want to go jogging with me tonight?

          Me: Sure don't

          R: Ok, lol

          Me: (after remembering I'm supposed to be trying to lose weight and feeling like a lard   ass): I'd be down to workout at the gym at my apartment if we can get the code to get in   the door

About fifteen minutes ago, I read another friend's blog, and she is getting healthier and has lost some weight and is making plans to lose more weight (BTW - I'm very proud of you and happy for you!)

As I began writing this blog, I got a text, "I just bought some fit and tone shoes."

Again, I feel like I'm being slapped repeatedly in the face every time I turn a corner and would like to now address the universe: I GET IT.  MESSAGE RECEIVED.

Vacation

World's greatest babysitter is out of town this week, so the mini and I are on vacation until Thursday (when the mini's Grammy will keep him, and I'll work for one day this week).

So far, I have unloaded the dishwasher and the mini has re-loaded it with mega blocks and race cars.  I have made lunch and the mini has eaten half of it and thrown the other half on the floor.  I have hung up clean laundry and the mini has run about the house dragging pajama pants and hangers in his wake.  I have put the mini down for a nap and he has mounted a fierce protest against naptime....and then fallen asleep.

That's where we currently are in our vacation.  The mini is napping, and I am writing a blog prior to laying on the couch and reading a book on the Kindle my mom got me for Christmas (charm someone into buying you one if you like to read...you can eat and read at the same time...two favorite things I was never able to comfortably combine before...my life will never be the same.)

Hope you had a Merry Christmas.  Perhaps I will write about ours when I don't want to read instead.