Thursday, July 31, 2008
2. Peanut butter on bread (too sticky or something - I've never really been able to pinpoint what I don't like about it)
3. As a kid, I loved swimming lessons but hated walking on the sopping wet tile, especially with the wet fuzz and mystery hairs that were rampant all over. I still get the heebies just thinking about it.
5. HATE.feet. I can barely stand to hear the word 'toenails'. It grosses me out just to type it. Eww.
6. There must NOT be errant hairs in the shower when I get in. This ties in with #4. Eww.
7. If I find my husband's body hair on my soap, I go ballistic. Especially when it's my favorite bar of Bliss soap. Note to self: get him his own soap for birthday. Actually, get him his own bathroom so he can drip pee on the floor and hair it up to his heart's content. Why do I have him around, anyway?
8. Men who have long fingernails.
9. Smoker fingernails. They're all thick and yellow and nasty. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
10. Chipped nail polish. JUST TAKE IT OFF ALREADY.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
1. On Friday night (rehearsal), the girl was WIRED. SIL actually had an idea that a 3 year old would be capable of standing at the altar for the duration of the 30 minute ceremony. Uh, yeah. The rehearsal cured that notion.
2. Friday night's activities included the rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, and "open house". All of them a requirement for husband and I. SIL gets tiny cake for husband's and my 10th anniversary. Woo hoo.
3. Saturday: I was able to get out for an AM hour of shopping at my favorite large health food grocery store, which we do not have in my new neck of the woods. I keep stalking their website and requesting a store, hopefully they'll listen one of these days.
4. "Bridal luncheon" at noon. Parmesan crusted whitefish. YUM. Tasted even better because I didn't have to pay for it.
5. Rush back to IL's house to get dressed. Pics for family at 3:30.
6. Rode with IL's to church rather than take two cars (they have a mini-van). This is significant later on.
7. Ceremony happens. Daughter walks down the aisle excellently, but instead of stopping where MIL and I are sitting, she goes up to the front to stand by daddy at the altar. Whoops. She gets tired after a few minutes, asks to be picked up. Husband holds her for a little bit, then sets her down and tells her to go sit by mommy. She does without talking loudly. Yay!
8. Everyone goes out to church steps for a picture of all guests. Swelter in humid, 80+ degree full late afternoon sun. Perhaps wearing black wasn't such a good idea. Sweat possibly starting to pool in Spanx. Husband's head looking shiny.
9. Tell FIL to get the van's air going full blast, we're going back inside to get bags, hangers, etc. Come back out to VAN NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. Walk around church in bewilderment. STILL NO IN-LAWS. Call MIL's cell phone. STRAIGHT TO VOICE MAIL. Yep. They left without us. WITHOUT THEIR SON, GRANDCHILD, AND red headed stepchild of a DAUGHTER IN LAW. Paid no attention to the kid's music blasting on the satellite radio, just got in the van and blindly headed to the reception.
10. Caught ride with groom's sister. No booster for the kid, but oh well. Husband sputtered the whole way about disowning his parents. I called my mom to tell her the ceremony went fine and that ILs left us at the church...she about peed herself for laughing. Molly got on the phone and said "daddy's distending grandpa".
11. MIL calls, apologizes profusely.
12. Get to reception, Molly walks up to ILs and announces "you left us on purpose!". She then proceeds to walk around telling everyone else that grandpa left us at the church.
13. Kid maintenance through dinner. Ewww. Hard to relax and enjoy when you're constantly worried about where your kid is.
14. Dancing starts. Child makes beeline for dance floor. Dances with everyone, even people she doesn't know. Does not leave floor the entire evening, EVEN FOR CAKE AND ICE CREAM. We finally peel her off the floor 2 hours past her bedtime.
15. Back at ILs, husband farts loudly. Molly stalks down the hall and announces, "daddy, I don't have time for this tooting!"
16. Blissful sleep.
17. Next morning, caterers arrive to set up for brunch. My god, will this weekend never end?
18. 6 hours later, the weekend as I know it ends. I start for home while husband downloads pictures and child takes nap before they leave for home.
I may do more of a narrative later, but these are the highlights (so to speak). As you might imagine, I'm still exhausted from it all. It's a lot of work acting smiley and happy when all you want to do is veg and sleep. Feel free to ask any burning questions about the festivities. ;)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
So I've already bitched about the wedding of the century this week. I get a call from the husband today explaining why he can't come home tomorrow after taking care of the yard at the old house (the neighbor kid who is supposed to be mowing and trimming weeds is doing a shit-ass job)...I wanted him to come home so we could take one car over. That reason would be the SIX.PAGE.ITINERARY. that details the WOTC. Starting tomorrow and ending on Sunday. I'm surprised they didn't schedule when people were supposed to be taking their daily crap. I'm practically breaking out in hives with this thing. I wasn't this keyed up about my own damn wedding!
And then tonight, I get this email from husband:
"Stop thinking you have it bad... I'd pay to trade spots with you. I'm sitting in the living room with Dad watching "So you think you can dance". It's blaring at 1,000,000 decibels, and he's also farting up a storm. My mom is also showing dad the beginnings of her "hammer toe". Maybe when you are here you can give your opinion of it."
Aaaah. Four days with the in-laws. I can't. f**king.wait.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
I am stressed out this week. SILs big hoodoo of a wedding is next Saturday. Husband is leaving tomorrow morning to work in the Ann Arbor area (again), which I suppose works out because he needs to get the final fitting on his tux ($140 to rent. TO RENT.) Which leaves me here to finish my last week of work for the summer stint, take care of my 3 year old, and clean house/pack/etc. to leave on Friday morning (my 10th anniversary, can't even do anything for it because of the hoodoo). Heaven forbid I forget anything. I've been snappish all day (Sunday) in anticipation. I'm tired. I don't want to work this week, but I can't get out of it and can't pass up the per diem $ I'm getting.
DAMMIT. GET ME THROUGH THIS WEEK.
I really think I've been dreading this almost all summer. Yeah, I know. Relax, it's just a wedding. Whatever. The annoyance started when they picked the day after husband's and my 10 year anniversary to get married, thus absolutely nixing any thoughts we might have had of getting away that weekend. Then they have to schedule 4 days of activities that we feel compelled to participate in since husband is her only sibling. I understand the wedding thing, but come on. Do you have to drag it out for so many damn days? People, my Myers-Briggs says I'm an ISFJ. The I in that means INTROVERT. That doesn't mean that I'm a total recluse, 'cause I'm not. But I do get very, very tired when I have to exert the effort to be pleasantly social for long periods of time. I need to recharge myself by getting away from people. Sometimes ALL people, including my husband and daughter. If I didn't have that opportunity on occasion, I would go batsh*t crazy. So the fact that I have to spend 4 days with many people, acting happy all the time, stresses me out to no end. So I'm cranky. Very, very, cranky. Andy Rooney cranky. Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men cranky, only without the funny.
Wow. How did I get from bitching about the price of Wisconsin hotels to the dreadding on Saturday? Must be I needed to vent. And rant. And bitch. Good thing the name of this is Bitchy and Ranty, huh? Thank you, bloggy peeps, for reading. And being there. And leaving me comments. You have no idea how much they make my day...or maybe you do.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
My daughter has been really, r-e-a-l-l-y hard to put to bed lately. We typically (try to) put her down for the night between 7:30 and 8:00. Since she was 5 months old, she has been an excellent sleeper. Once we put her in bed, she'd stay there. After the transition to the big bed, there were a few weeks that were...trying - she'd get out of bed, come downstairs, and wonder what we were doing. Even that resolved, eventually.
I'm not even sure how many nights we've had lately, where she gets out of bed anywhere from 5 to 15 times before finally going to sleep. With husband being out of town (again), I have had yet another evening where I can't relax because I'm running interference with her GOING TO F*ING SLEEP ALREADY.
The first 5 times tonight, I put her back in bed a la Supernanny: you know, don't talk, just put them down and walk out of the room. And each time I did, I grew more and more angry. I seriously had to count to 10 so that I wouldn't spank her...I knew that wouldn't make me feel any better and would do the opposite of calming her down for sleep. Finally, after hearing her bang around yet again, I walked into her room, put her back in bed, then proceeded to empty her bookcase. She started to cry when she realized what I was doing, wailing "Mommy, don't take my books away!". I continued with cold anger, and after cleaning out her books, I cleaned off the top of her dresser, clearing any accessible toys or clothing items.
Then I told her if she got out of bed again tonight, her movies were next. I told her she would have to earn her books back by staying in bed. I left the room.
And I came downstairs and cried. Hard.
Husband called, wanting to know how she did going to bed. My voice gave him the answer. Then he wanted to talk about next week...about how he could take the train to Ann Arbor so that we didn't have to have two cars there for the wedding next weekend.
Out of town again next week. Leaving me to work during the day (with preschoolers and toddlers, mind you), then come home to my own needy girl. And next week, I have to get us both packed and drive to Ann Arbor so that Molly can be a flower girl in her aunt's wedding. Alone. My husband? All he'll need to worry about is getting his tux.
I suppose much of this is displaced anger; anger that husband has had to work out of town so much lately, leaving me to be the single parent. And I know that I'm whining. I work with families who have just one parent all the time, many times with several children in a small home. Single parents who have to work crappy jobs just to make ends sort of meet. Children who have delays or needs that call for me to be in their home. Children who may very well make the same choices their parent did when they grow up.
But I made choices so that I wouldn't have to live that life. And one of those choices was waiting to have a child until I had a husband, a career and a stable job. All I want is to be a good, loving mom.
But I had to close the door angry tonight. And now I'm so, so sad.
I feel cleansed. Thanks for listening.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Oh, how I wish I had a way cooler first concert, but alas, no. It was none other than Dick Marx. And not only that, I went with a friend and her dad. Don't tell me what a dork I was, I already know. Thanks.
emember how you used to fantasize about that cute upperclassman who would never give you the time of day normally? That fateful dance where you wished he would catch your eye when "You're the Inspiration" or "Hard Habit to Break" would start to play? You know you did. Well, I saw these guys in the flesh from the 10th row, dammit. And they were FANTASTIC. I know they're old, but they can actually play instruments, which is a talent sadly lacking in modern musicians.
Yep! Damn Yankees. The band that opened for them? Jackyl. Anyone familiar with Jesse James Dupree and Jackyl? Anyway, I went with a friend of mine who was experiencing a slight identity crisis. She had a short, bilevel hairdo and wore Nike tracksuits a lot. As a matter of fact, she wore one to this very concert. Didn't fit in well with the big hair, skintight ripped acid washed jeans, and flannel shirts. She had one thing in common with the other concertgoers, though: a tacky tattoo. Me? I probably wore my standard preppy looking outfit with socks that matched my shirt. Probably. I don't remember though.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
What can I say? I'm delighted. And humbled. And blushing.
I first saw Kat's blog after seeing comments on mutually visited blogs and, after snooping through some older posts, saw this one about her dad. Commonalities stood out to me - she was about my age (a little younger according to her profile), her dad is a year younger than mine, and she is also dealing with some very painful, harsh medical issues with him.
For some reason, I feel a bond with people who also have older parents: I had times as a kid where I would've given anything to have parents who were more with it. You know in kindergarten, when you boast "my dad can beat up your dad"? Yeah. I was more like "my brother can beat up your dad". (Although in his day, my dad probably could've kicked serious ass. He was a logger, which is one of the most dangerous jobs - if you didn't already know that.) I was defensive to people who assumed that my parents were actually my grandparents. So when I find someone else who shares that, I naturally gravitate. Reading Kat's beautiful, heartfelt posts about her father (who has Alzheimer's) helped me see that I am not alone in dealing with the pain of illness. My dad was recently diagnosed with esophageal cancer, which is not one of the prettier cancers to have, especially when you have 3 stents placed in your heart two weeks before the big C diagnosis. After that, it was all I could do to get dressed and go to work. I didn't know how to deal with it. I mean, my dad is Old Faithful. You could set your watch to his schedule. He was, I thought, invincible.
I learned the hard way that he is not. I can say that he is doing pretty well right now. His heart is stronger, so his energy level is better...and he tolerates the chemo very well for a crusty 77 (oops, 78 now) year old man. My opinion is that the crust helps keep him safe ;).
So Kat, thanks a million...in more ways than one. I don't think I've ever let on to her in comments why I initially started
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
2. I hate noise.
3. Teenagers annoy the sh*t out of me.
4. My favorite music is starting to get played on the "easy listening" stations...either that or it's the "retro lunch hour".
5. I'm cranky if I don't/can't poop.
6. I am beginning to covet the craftsmatic adjustable bed.
7. I own a pill organizer (mainly for my vitamins, but still! I OWN A PILL ORGANIZER)
8. I can appreciate antiques.
9. I bitch about the prices of gas and food.
10. Having a good stockpile of the right kind of toilet paper is extremely important to me.
11. I listen to NPR.
12. No more Limited, Abercrombie, or Express. Bring on Eddie Bauer, jjill, and LL Bean.
13. I love the Golden Girls (but COME ON, who doesn't!?!)
14. I have no idea what the allure of texting is.
15. I am not on Facebook or MySpace and couldn't care less about it.
Admit it! You know you're with me. How are you O-L-D?
Monday, July 7, 2008
This is the truck that the fire department named after my uncle. His name is on both doors as well as the front. He was on the department for many years and also took a stint as the fire chief before his retirement. A new department was actually built on the land next to his house (coincidentally), and he spent many a morning walking on the path through the raspberry bushes to the fire hall. Usually he would get a pot of coffee going for the guys. He still listened to the scanner, almost too much, to my aunt's annoyance. Like his little brother, who is my father, he loved to talk. Loved. it. I spent many days at my aunt and uncle's house as a child, and in my mind can still hear him say, "How do?" or "How are ya, tweetie?". As kids, my cousins and I made a list of how very much alike my uncles and my father were - in some ways almost like multiples, even though they were quite a few years apart in age.
My uncle was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer in 2002. He died in January 2003, just a few days shy of his 80th birthday. This new truck was ordered the summer before, and it was unanimously decided by the guys that his name should be put on it. My uncle was not told about that decision beforehand. He was called over to the hall the day it was delivered, and he happily traipsed over there to see the new piece of big machinery. He did not notice his name at first and was absolutely beside himself when it was pointed out. I have a picture of him the day he first saw "his" truck, and he is beaming.
He died while in Florida for the winter. We knew he wasn't doing well, and I told my father that I would take off school (I was in an internship at the time) and drive him down to Florida. After all, this was his last living sibling and the one he was closest to. We never had a chance to get there.
He had an official funeral, complete with "Last Call". I still, five years later, can't tell the story of "Last Call" without tears running down my face. My dad, one of the generation who does not cry, had tears in his eyes. The procession to the cemetery was one that my uncle would have grinned about...it was absolutely, massively, hugely long. The fire truck above led the way.
Seeing that truck brings back those memories, both good and bad. I guess now they could be called bittersweet. I never meant to post about all this, but I feel better in a way. Like at least a part of his story is out there.
I miss him. RIP, Uncle Sherm.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
- They put them up in way nice housing...I mean, the couples are in duplexes on a cul-de-sac, so they all live in the same area. Nice furniture, nice kitchens, brand new baby furniture and supplies, brand new vehicle, etc. Uh, hello...NBC? Do you reeeeeally think that teenage parents have this sh*t available? Let's make it more realistic. Put them in single wide trailers with garage sale furniture, 20 year old car (with a $1000 sound system, of course), dead end job.
- One chick in particular is SUCH. AN. ANCHOR. She made the guy do everything, she went to work and bitched about the job the whole time. I'd have fired her lazy ass. Boyfriend? Wake the hell up, dude...dump her before she gets herself preggers.
- Where are these kids coming from? What has changed in the mindset of the teenager? There is no damn way I was going to let myself get pregnant before the age of...I don't know...30??? I waited until I was done with grad school, done with my clinical internship, and had enough time in at my job to have a good amount of paid maternity leave.
- Part of this animosity comes from the fact that I have a niece who had a child before I had my own. This girl is 12 years younger than me, not in college, doesn't look like she will ever attend college or any higher education whatsoever, and decides to have not just one baby, but TWO. And I don't think she's done. She wants a girl. I was utterly, unbelievably furious when I found out that she was having a baby. She was not raised this way, although my husband's opinion is that my sister had "too short a leash" on her and her brother growing up. I honestly don't know what the problem is, but I do know my sister is being an enabler right now. I know too many couples - educated, gainfully employed, who have to resort to medical science to have even one baby. Why is it that these guys can have one whenever the f**k they feel like it? And this girl's brother, seeing how angry I was when she was pregnant the first time? Actually said, "Don't worry, I won't be that stupid". Um, yeah. Dumbass was that stupid. His girlfriend popped out a kid last year. Honestly? I don't really want my kid to be around that kind of thinking.
- In brighter news, my oldest nephew (he is 9 years younger than me) and his wife are going to have a baby. My brother is going to go totally overboard with this kid. He loves Molly to pieces...she brings him book after book to read to her when she sees him, which is cute. He's this burly truck driver looking guy, works construction, reading to this 3 year old.
*Sigh.* Namaste. I'm a smidge calmer now. Maybe I should take Baby Borrowers off the DVR season pass. I might have a coronary if I watch it again.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
This house and the fact that we own two is the source of pretty much all my stress since fall. Constant second-guessing of "did we do the right thing by moving?", that sort of thinking. I'm sure at some point I'll post a rant about the whole thing. Anyway, here it is.