Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Little Helper

This morning, Husband was otherwise occupied as Head Election Judge for a local polling place. (No, he’s not retired and yes, he is the youngest person working there.  Nerd alert!)   Therefore, his exit of our home coincided with squeals from our daughter, only an hour ahead of schedule. 

Once I pried myself from the warmth of my bed and extracted her from her crib, our first task was obtaining an array of beverages.  At her direction with, water, juice and milk and a granola bar in hand we set about our morning. 

I am so lucky to have a child who is willing to help no matter what the cost to her playtime.  She checked on me often as I showered by opening the shower curtain and babbling in at me.  She expressed concern over the water that sprayed on her shirt and floor but took it in stride as she focused on the task of checking every eight seconds to make sure I was still alive.

My little helper even opened up the bathroom doors I had shut in attempt to contain her.  I couldn’t be mad.  She was only concerned that the appropriate amount of artic air be allowed to enter the room to counteract the warmth of the shower’s steam. I begged her to close the doors to preserve the warmth only to be met with a firm scolding about the amount of time I was talking to wash my face.

She only took a brief break in her shower curtain check-ins in order to rid the Kleenex box of its contents.  Garbage belongs in the garbage, after all. I should know better.  She removed handful after handful of Kleenexes from the box using them to wiper her face or the floor and deposited them directly into the trash can.  It is my own fault for teaching the girl to blow her own nose.

Her final task was to remind me we needed to keep on schedule.  So important was our timeline that she felt the need to request to go “downstays” every 12 seconds in order to put “shoes on.”  I don’t know how it is possible that I make it through every morning managing to shower, dress and, indeed, put my shoes on, without her assistance.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Mission: Impossible

Early this morning I was awoken at 5 a.m. by the sound of a dying smoke detector.  These things never happen at a convenient hour.  There are four smoke detectors in just the second level of our small home.  Husband vacates the comfort of our bed – after a few well-placed jabs and some significant whining on my part – to investigate.

I hear him enter our closet to retrieve the step-ladder and set out on his business.  He meanders through the hallway and into the office listening for the “beep-beep.”  It can be heard clearly from both open bedrooms and in the hallway and yet, the culprit cannot be located.  He comes back into our room and admits his defeat.  I sit up briefly and panic.  The only room he hasn’t checked is Punkin Pie’s.  Sure enough, the next “beep-beep” sends the baby-monitor’s warning lights to red.  This explains being able to hear the noise from every room because there are monitors in the office and our room that are both on and the hallway smoke detector is right by her bedroom door. 

Now the real dilemma:  Fix it, or no? 

Do we risk waking the baby up just to get another hour of uninterrupted sleep?  We could turn off the monitors but then if it does wake her up, will we hear her?  So far, she’s not affected by the obnoxious beeping that now has every other member of the household on edge.  The poor dog is whimpering and pacing due to the piercing noise and shoving his nose into my leg begging me to give him relief.  I suggest that he escape downstairs and he comes back up minutes later and I remember the baby-monitor downstairs. 

Husband decides he’s going for it.  He stealthily maneuvers himself and the step-ladder into the doorway of her room and changes the battery.  He manages to extract both himself and the clanking metal ladder unseen and unheard.  He reenters our room and just as he is breathing a sigh of relief, we hear “beep-beep.” He used a battery from the “battery box” that must not have been to this finicky smoke detector’s liking.  After a second successful attempt we retire to our respective pillows and enjoy and quiet hour of blissfully quiet sleep.

Miss Punkin Pie woke up this morning totally unaware of the drama that went on practically right under her nose.  Husband should get a job defusing bombs.  Or playing the Operation game.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Getaway from My Getaway

This week, amidst the amazing thunder, I dreamt…

I was heading off to an island getaway with a friend. We had packed our bags and headed for a tropical destination. Of course, an island, or series of islands, only accessible by boat. We arrived to check in amidst chaos of spring breakers and honeymooners and were assigned a guide who would take us to our rental house via jet ski. I rode behind our guide and my companion behind me.

We skimmed the water with the open ocean to our right and a row of modest-looking vacation homes to our left. We saw people playing sand-volleyball and Frisbee along the edge of each of the properties. The houses and their small yards were on an island that did not have a beach, only a sharp drop-off into deep ocean waters. The first few sea creatures we saw swimming below us were beautiful. We zoomed over schools of rainbow colored fish to our destination. I saw a dorsal fin between us and the land and began to bounce with excitement thinking it was a dolphin before I saw the hard edge to the back of it and the immense size of the monster. Shark.

I didn’t panic, only because I was afraid we would all end up in the water with it. We were close enough to glide our feet over its slimy back. We passed two more on our left before I heard my girlfriend squeak behind me. I looked to my right and an orca was following alongside of the jet ski jumping in and out of the water darting from side to side like my dog does when he thinks he’s going for a walk. She was toying with us.

I heard our guide say our house was the next one just as I felt the killer whale’s teeth sink into my foot. She let go right away and I made off with only a scratch but was terrified to be near the water where I could see her head bob in and out of the waves as though she were waiting for me.
We walked through the open glass French doors of the house, closed them behind us and the tide came in. The water reached halfway up the doors and my new friend’s face was pressed up to the glass of the door. I felt like a chew toy she was ready to make squeak and that was the feeling I was left with when yet another roll of thunder woke me up.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Orange juice is better than shit.

It might sound obvious to you.  Orange juice is better than shit.

Today I learned yet another of the lessons that other parents just don't tell you. They let you find it out on your own. Sadistic bastards.

I was preparing Miss Punkin Pie for her nap, changing her diaper.  She had spilled orange juice on the onesie she was wearing so I opted to remove the onesie before her pre-nap snack.  She looked so sweet and baby-like in her diaper and little flowered socks.  She sweetly consumed her fruit, cheese and crackers and drank up her milk making yummy noises all the while.

When she finished I scooped her up and she nuzzled into the crook of her neck folder her blanket between us.  I kissed her and laid her in her crib.

Three hours later, she began making sweet baby noises alerting me that she was awake. I opened the door and threw up.

Now, Husband had warned me this happened once before. He said he thought she had chocolate on her face. Two little smears.  This was different.

I opened the door just in time to see her throwing pieces of shit over the edge of the crib.  There were pieces of various sizes I could see strewn across the floor.  Her stomach and legs were smeared with shit and her fingers were encrusted with brown of varying shades.  There were pieces of it over every inch of the crib, the slats of the crib, the three blankets she was sleeping with... you get it. Shit. Everywhere.

Parents: Heed this warning.  Orange juice is better than shit.  Keep that onesie on.  A little wetness is nothing compared to the horror that will ensue once she figures out she has access to all of the treasures in her diaper.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Random Maneurysm

Was looking over Husband's shoulder when he read a random facebook comment explaining that someone was charged with a mistermeaner.

I laughed till I cried.

Twice.

At least it wasn't a fellaknee.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

The Many Faces of Miss Loralei Jean


 RawR, Lorazilla is on the prowl! 
 Thank goodness for this padding!
 Work it!
 How many times do I have to tell you. No photos before nap!
 The paparazzi are relentless today!
 Dear Titi, Send cash, more toys, some chapstick, another basket to sit in...
 Destruction imminent. Hide all valuables and let the animals in their safe places.
Shucks. Ya caught me bein sweet.

Friday, December 30, 2011

Vegas: The Adventures of Kelsey and kate

Here is just some of the fabulosity that was November's Mother-Daughter-Sister-Golden Birthday Trip.  After all, if I show and tell everything I will brake the what-happens-in-Vegas rule. I'll drop some teasers just to inspire jealousy before sharing just a few photos.
  • room service
  • spa
    • massage
    • hot tubs
    • sliced cucumbers
  • wine
  • Peep Show!
  • serendipity = desserts
  • shopping!
If you need tips for doing Vegas luxuriously, contact me!

 Starting Vegas out the right way with a cocktail and Starbucks.
 I introduce you to kate. She's in the bag. A kate spade bag in a kate spade bag. 
She is beautiful, but apparently camera shy.
Jamers and I. Happy golden birthday celebration to us!
She was 22 weeks pregnant when we were there.  She was excited to go to Kardashian Khaos. 
They were so super nice to her, Love them for it!