PBBBBLT

So this is my first week of being stay at home, and I'm doing exciting things like laundry, grocery shopping, and lawn mowing. To balance that out, I've been working on Luke's room like crazy - the walls are all painted (six coats of paint on the bottom half (red), four on the top (cream)), the bed is together, the border is up, and the trains are hung. I wish I were a little boy obsessed with trains, planes, and cars, I think this roo mis so cool. So I thought I'd take some pictures.

Which is when I found out our camera is dead. GAR!!

And my place of employment? Tried to pay me $17,642 last Friday and then promptly took it back. Man, I can't even get a days interest from it.

Girl, You'll be a Woman Soon

By all accounts, I qualify as a 'woman'. I'm well beyond the drinking age, married, house, kid (+ in utero), resposible contributing member of society. A woman.

But I have a hard time being a 'woman'. I don't even know if I think of my mother as a 'woman'. And yet, when I see reference to 'girls nights' I don't feel quite like that anymore, either. I would say well up until a couple years ago, I freely used 'girl', but it no longer seems to apply. I'm too crotchety to be a girl, I have too much responsibility, and dang it, it's about time I got a more effective moniker.

Men have it easier. They can be 'guys' forever. It's not weird to call a 50 year old man a guy. 'Guy' is non-age descriptive. 'Gal' should be my new descriptor, but who the hell wants to be a 'gal'?

And we all know I ain't no lady.

MONEY!

Toddlerese is a pretty rough language to translate. And don't even get me started on the dialects!! Luke's been saying 'Dada' for a long while, because the 'd' sound is an easy one to make, and we (Luke and I) talk about 'Dada' a lot. (Dada's a big jerk, isn't he? Dada smells bad. Dada needs a shower.) I'd be jealous, but then I asked Luke if he wanted to go home and see Dada last night. He was indifferent. I asked him if he wanted to go ride in Dada's truck. He ran to me excitedly shouting Dada's truck! Dada's truck! So it's not so much DADA as it is his TRUCK.

But now Luke does have a name for me. He calls me Mommy. Sort of. It comes out as ma-nee, like money with a strange little accent. ME! ME! I say to him. ME! ME! he shouts back.

Ma-MEE! I say.

MANEE! he quickly responds.

I look rich, eh?

Aptitude

I just wanted to let you know, that even if you score well on standardized testing all through school, and get good grades and are generally respected for your work, it means nothing when you sit down on your new potty to take it for a test run and realize as soon as your tushie hits the seat that you didn't bring any toilet paper in the unfinished bathroom.

Curses, Foiled Again!

We've been remodeling our master bathroom since about a week or two after Luke was born, when I got bored on maternity leave and started ripping things out. Luke is now 19 months old. Do a little quick math there and you'll realize that we've been working on this bathroom WAY TOO FREAKING LONG.

The problem is, of course, that we can use the bathroom down the hall and only having two bathrooms in the house hardly affects us since there are only two people in the house that use the toilet for, uh, you know, toilet purposes. Luke likes the toilet for flushing and splashing. We strongly discourage the splashing, but you know, he figured out the lid, and maybe we should babyproof or something??

Anyway, we got the vanity and sink in, we got the shower base in, and today, after much frustration and Esposo-smacking on my part, which I refuse to allow to be called nagging because DUDE, EIGHTEEN MONTHS, Esposo put in the toilet. He headed off to Home Depot to pick up the toilet seat, and came back with the wrong size. Not his fault - we got an elongated bowl that uses a standard seat. Huh? He bought an elongated seat.

So he headed back to Home Depot, as no project is possible without multiple Home Depot trips. They were OUT of standard bone seats.

Sometimes, I feel like the universe is laughing at me.

Suggestible

I have now fully entered the second trimester of pregnancy, and while I'm still mildly queasy, this is a queasy I can manage by eating. If I keep my stomach full enough everything will be fine, just keep your hands and feet away from my mouth.

Unfortunately, I am also incredibly stupid when it comes to "listening to my body" about how much I want to eat. If you have not been pregnant and experienced sudden, ravenous hunger, you may not understand. But basically I will be going about my business in a normal fashion and hunger pangs will come on indicating that I haven't eaten in twelve hours. In a normal person these grow progressively worse over time in a relational fashion - the longer you haven't eaten, the worse the hunger pangs. In my pregnant body I go from zero to starving in 4.2 seconds.

The problem being that I am not actually starving, and a granola bar or two could probably settle the issue, but here's where I'm stupid (and trying to get smarter). Rather then eat a granola bar, I'll eat half a pizza. Because that's how hungry I *thought* I was.

And surprisingly, 50 pounds last time.

The other challenge with the sudden hunger onset is that I am incredibly susceptible to random food commentary. Someone talks about pizza and I suddenly crave it beyond all reasonable craving. Dear God, I MUST HAVE THE PIZZA. Today, someone mentioned Chipotle in a blog, and I immediately thought YUM YUM!! Even though I have early onset heartburn. But mmmm, burrito.

Polite

My phone at work sucks (number 143 on the list of things I will not miss, which also includes peeing in a stall, scratchy paper towels, being threatened by forklifts, setting goals, talking to people about topics I don't give a rat's ass about, and eating crappy cafeteria food) ... uh, what? Oh, phone sucks. When people call me from outside the plant, I can hardly hear them. I typically explain this to them so they can spend the entire conversation shouting (this is a good method for keeping phone calls short). This morning I got a call, and I barely heard the caller say, "Good morning, this is ...., how are you?" and I said "I'm sorry..." (intended to be followed with, "I can't hear you very well.") And she said "Good! ...."

Huh. Good phone technique.

Defined

Esposo has finally given a name the child in utero, he dubbed it C2, as in Child #2.

My initial response to this nickname was that it wasn't fair to this little fetus. After all, C2 is already overshadowed by Luke. I don't spend hours searching out boy and girl names for C2, and I don't wander around in a glassy-eyed daze thinking "OMIGOSH! He's three inches long now!" I still get my developmental updates via email, but I don't spend the days between emails scouring the internet and books for MORE INFORMATION about what the wee precious life in me is up to.

It's been done, you know.

C2 is even inheriting a bedroom, rather than getting it's own. Luke is moving up to a new transportation bedroom, and C2 gets a hand me down jungle. Life is cruel. It bothered me at first, this poor neglected C2, now being defined in nickname as C2, rather than getting it's own unique moniker, like Blasty.

But then I thought that we're all defined by our relationships anyway. When Luke was conceived he was immediately a son, grandson, and nephew. This child, C2, was immediately a son/daughter, grandson/graddaughter, nephew/niece, AND brother/sister. C2 will always be defined as being a sibling, while Luke is adding it this next year.

I'm a second child, and Esposo is the third in his family. We're no strangers to C2's impending fate of being the 'younger sibling', but neither of us has ever been upset at our place in the birth order. I hope that C2 similarly relishes it's role in life as a sibling, a tormentor, a confidante, and a playmate. We may not spend hours at night fighting about your name (yet), but we've got a buddy waiting for you, little one.

A Stupid One

We heard about a dog from a friend, a dog that had been purchased by a golf course to chase geese but didn't chase geese. She was, purportedly, a great dog! Smart! Housebroken! Great with kids! Well, one outta three ain't bad, she is great with Luke.

As for the the smart assertation? We've been trying to teach this dog 'lay down' for the last week. She's not getting it. When I shoved her out the back sliding glass door yesterday and shut it behind her, she turned around and smacked right into it.

And housebroken? Well, the dog has issues, apparently, with where it goes to the bathroom. As in it's picky. And so far, it seems that our backyard does not meet it's high standards. And on walks? She's too jumpy from the cars and the people and the squirrels to even think about going to the bathroom. She's had an accident each morning, this morning she actually started to poop RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME in my living room. I hauled her outside, but of course she had hit the off poop button.

Ah

I don't think my three days at work would seem quite so relaxing if on my days off i didn't insist on at least one major event. Yesterday I had a doctor's appointment at 9:30, so Luke and I were off at 9 AM after I had done several loads of laundry and attempted to bring some sort of order to the house for a couple hours. Mission: Failed.

This was my first time going to the doctor with a toddler in tow, and I was rather dreading the whole thing. How could this be good? We go there at 9:25, which I think is a rather ideal time for a 9:30 AM Monday morning appointment, and then we had to wait for 15 minutes. How are you already running behind at 9:30 on a Monday? Don't you open at 9???

Another more pregnant mom came in with her toddler in tow, and we exchanged the age info on the boys, and she commented that Luke was big. I resisted the urge to say, no, you're kid's just a weenie little thing!! The boys were doing okay playing together, though Luke was putting his trains behind his back and yelling "MINE!" because, apparently, the other child looked in their general direction or sent little baby brain waves about how he was going to steal Luke's trains. My kid shares! But seriously, I didn't tell him no, because I don't really want him sharing with random children in doctor's waiting rooms, you know?

The first thing you have to do whenever you visit the doctor and you are pregnant is pee in a cup. So Luke and I trucked off to the bathroom and I wrote my name on the cup. I envy men on this because I don't know about the rest of you women, but unless I have to REALLY go, my stream isn't predictable. I successfully pee in the cup, and place it on the only available spot - the top of the toilet paper dispenser. As I go to grab some TP, the front of the dispenser flops open and sends my pee cup flying, with pee landing on my nearby jacket.

I spent the next few minutes trying to clean up the pee while Luke flushed the toilet 47 times. WHOOOSH!

The next activity on our agenda was driving an hour to pick up the bed I had bought on Ebay. Luke fell asleep for twenty or thirty minutes on the way out, ruining his napping for the rest of the day.

Then I ran to the store, cooked dinner, and did more laundry. Fun day. Fun fun fun.

AGH AGH CREEPY!!

I was looking at my hand when I stretched out my fingers and I just happened to notice that when I open and close my hand? I can see this big blue vein (I'm pretty dang white) sliding from side to side under my skin. GAG GAG!!

I'm not dead yet!

I now, very temporarily, for six more days of waking up and coming here, have three co-workers who all have the same job title that I do. I went to ask NC if she wanted to go take a look at something and they were all gone. I figured OC (Old Chickie) was just touring NG and NC or something. But it turns out that they were all at a meeting discussing the project with our boss.

“I feel fine!”

Our little group eats lunch at 11 AM. When you start at 7AM, 11AM is exactly halfway through the day. Besides having trained our stomachs to be hungry at that time, by four hours into the day, we need an extended break. Typically we stop by each other’s desks and announce that we’re heading down, and we can choose to go or wait, depending on the day. At 11:15 yesterday, my coworkers called me from the cafeteria because they had forgotten me!

“I’ll get better!”

Now, logically, I know I’m leaving and they all know I’m leaving and why not phase me out of projects. But the lunch thing? Dude! Logic aside, it still feels weird to be left out of everything when you are still working for the company. I can guarantee that I won’t be getting a ‘goodbye lunch’. Jerks.

Updated

Okay, I finally updated my links to reflect more of the blogs I read. I kept forgetting about blogs and then having epiphanies when I was staring blankly at my computer about 'Oh! Go read ... !" This works well for work, but when my internet time gets cut down, I need to be all efficient-like.

And yeah, I cut out people who were not updating. Pblt.

And now I corrected the spelling error and the new links should work. DON'T JUDGE ME.

Design Monies

I am in the process of decorating the guest room to be Luke’s room so we can move him in seamlessly from the baby room. Luke’s room is of the theme Trains, Planes, and Automobiles, because he’s a little tiny walking stereotype. DIVERSIFY KID, DIVERSIFY.

Ahem.

So, I have been on the quest to create this bedroom o’ whimsy on the smallest budget possible, even though I had no real number for the budget. Small.

Thus far we are at $436.

An itemized list (more for my info than yours)
Car sheets - $24.99 (Marshall’s)
Border/Comforter/Sham/Car Pillow - $76 (Ebay)
Little Tikes Blue Race Car Bed - $150 (Ebay)
Paint (Red) - $22 (Home Depot)
Road Map Rug - $10 (Ikea)
Pictures – $23 (Michaels)
Tracks to hang model trains - $55 (Ebay)
Storage Unit - $60 (Target)
Model Plane - $11 (Michaels)
Firetruck Piggy Bank - $4 (Garage Sale)

We need curtains, a small dresser, and to frame the pictures, and then I think we’re done. Buying stuff, anyway, we still have to get it all together.

Career Option Explored

I have been giving a lot of thought to want I really want to do with my life because, dur, working in the corporate manufacturing world didn’t float my boat or swing my tire (?) so I’m going to have to find something else. Yes, I realize I should just take some time to be home and love my child and a half because why the hell not? But that’s not how I operate, I prefer to plan eight years in advance. Which is utterly impossible.

So, I having been giving thought. That “a lot” phrase I used earlier? Way overboard. Giving thought is more apt. Or maybe allotting passing seconds to thinking about thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life?

So far my thoughts go like this: I kinda would like to do something that wasn’t focused on making money (ie, not in the corporate world). Not that I think I have to join the Peace Corps and take my family to Africa – Esposo would be really pissed when he couldn’t listen to MP3s, play Civilization, AND play his car game all at the same time. But something that’s sort of got some altruistic aspect to it would be nice.

I like the environment.

I like animals. Not in that way, sicko.

And I started thinking about this second thing and I know I don’t have the heart to go into animal anything. Because animals die and have to be put to sleep all the time, and I would be crying non-stop. Plus, I’d have to deal with stupid people non-stop.

I’m not an animal behaviorist, I’m an engineer. But it still seems obvious to me that cats are cats and dogs are dogs and once you expect them to behave in ways other than cats, dogs, or whatever animal we’re speaking about here, then you head into trouble.

I hate that so many people hate cats with outright nastiness. Because they don’t understand how cats think, or care to respect them for what they are, which is individuals. Cats hunt alone, and therefore they never had to care what other cats thought of them. All their relationships are OPTIONAL. Dogs hunt in packs, and if they screw up the hunt, they have a pack of pissed off dogs. All their relationships are OBLIGATORY. So it’s a much greater compliment, in my opinion, if a cat likes you.

The reason I started thinking on this line is that I read a comment in one of my regular blogs that “Cats and babies are a no-no” and I felt like reaching out and shaking that person. People hold onto really stupid ideas about animals without bothering to learn the facts. And that annoys me. Which is why I think I’d have a problem working in the animal field.

Smokey Dog Boobs

I ran into the wall when I was turning the corner the other day. This is actually kind of normal for me, I smack my shoulders on walls regularly because I am in my own world. This time was different, though, because I smacked my boob on the wall. And my boobs, they are really sensitive right now. And apparently, unwieldy.

The second pregnancy is easier in a lot of ways, the biggest being that I’ve already come to terms with having no control over my body. And the things that happen in pregnancy always seem to be a bit WTF? We seem to have passed the queasiness of the first trimester, and now we’re heading into heartburn land. Last night I had my first Tums since the last pregnancy, and they still taste chalky and gross and do an effective job of halting the acid from creeping up your throat.

We have potentially exciting news in that we are taking home a dog for a trial weekend. We met her on Monday and she was sweet, but may try to hurt the cats. She stared at them intently, but didn’t snap, so we just don’t know. I think she’s smart enough to learn that they are pets, too. At one point she had her nose in Moxy’s face, and Moxy being Moxy, he merely puffed up his tail to emphasize his size (you’re 18 pounds, cat, the tail puff is overdoing it a tad) and stood there looking somewhat uncomfortable. Simba, meanwhile, found spots to sit and stare at the interloper from all angles.

Segue. Well, imagine one here, anyway.

This morning The Consultant arrived, as usual, at 8 AM, and took his seat, which is about four feet from me. This was after he rolled in cigarette ashes and then sat in a steam room (AKA his car) full of smoke, because the man REEKED of it. Smoking is something I really don’t get. I admit to having smoked about ten times when drunk. However, there are plenty of things I won’t admit to doing while drunk, so if you’re thinking I’m so awful by smoking after having knocked back a few, you should get back to the cloister because it’s prayer time.

I get that it’s addictive. But I don’t see what the motivation is to START. Especially now, when we know so much about how bad it is for your health. Especially if you’ve ever been around someone who reeked of smoke. The vast majority of people in my age bracket that are my acquaintances do not smoke, and each time I find out someone does I have a mental shock. Because I think they’re stupider than previously assessed.

Baby on Crack

I picked Luke up, as usual, from daycare yesterday. They had already moved outside for afternoon playtime, which is Luke's favoritest place to be - OUTSIDE! When I asked him if he wanted to go home - No. Do you want to go to the park - No. Do you want to watch the Choo Choo Show (this is the big guns here) - No. Since I don't really have anywhere to be, I take the pick up from daycare pretty slow, apparently too slow for the daycare people, because they convinced Luke to leave. Hm.

They also apparently put some crack in his sippy because Oh. My. God.

Yesterday was a day when I just didn't know what to do with Luke. Not because he was upset, he was INSANELY active. He ran through the house, he yelled, he would climb up me and stick his face in mine "HI!". He does usually do these things, but last night it was frenzied. In the tub he splashed and flipped and pushed his legs back and forth to make a wave pool.

When I fed him I was kinda afraid he was going to bite my finger off.

Growing Up and Making Friends

All mothers know that toddlers don't play together. They're not interested in each other and human beings, and they quickly recognize that other toddlers can't get them food, pick them up and comfort them, or fix things when they break. They also recognize that other toddlers take THEIR toys.

I started hostng and attending playgroups with Luke when he was about a year old. Playgroups typically involved a lot of mediating and trying to convince Luke not to rip toys from all his "friends" hands, or not to shove them off the ride on toys. Every playgroup involved tears and tantrums, and I was often left wondering if I had birthed an antisocial demon.

This past weekend, Luke spent Thursday, Friday, Sunday, and Monday around children he knows. They weren't all playgroups, but in effect, it was all social practice for Luke. And on Monday morning, when I was exhausted and ready to vegetate in a silent room, Luke had the best day of the weekend. He grinned from ear to ear when his friends showed up and shared tremendously well for an 18 month old. It was a moment that I could look at and see how he had changed and grown. And when his last friend left, he was completely heartbroken to see her go.

My little ankle biter has feelings and likes people! Maybe he won't be shooting people from the clock tower after all...