I Wanna Win!!

I am not a winner. Traditionally speaking. The sports teams that I was on never won any championships, when I enter raffles, I don’t win, and the most I’ve ever won on a scratch-off ticket is $2. Not exactly a windfall. So I really am not getting my hopes up on this one, but I’m giving it a shot.

My friend Pamela in Florida is hosting a give-a-way on her blog. It’s for one of those adorable little pup tents for little kids to play in.

How fun is that?? I recently bought this at Target for around $15. I think I actually stole it, because their website says it is supposed to be $29.99.

And Sam LOVES it. She crawls through it and giggles and rolls around and generally has a lovely time. So go to Pamela’s blog, enter to win, and if you win, you can give it to me. (this is the last day to enter, so if you want to, GET ON IT!) Or, I guess, you could keep it for yourself. If you want to be selfish like that.

I'm a Mom!

It’s happened. It’s true. I am a typical parent. Sigh. I just didn’t think it would happen this soon. (Yes, Sam is 14 months old and I am 17 weeks along with our second. But still.)

When I was pregnant the first time around, and we realized that not only did we need a bigger car, but needed a minivan, Workaholic would always tease me that I would be the soccer mom with French fries under the seat. And that the car would smell funny. I vehemently denied that this would be me, and the first time we ate McDonalds on the way to the lake, he dropped a fry and I went all bug-eyed Psycho crazy on him. So imagine my horror when, yesterday, he pulled forward the middle seat so our friend could get in the back, and there was a baby bottle underneath. Not just any bottle, but a half-full bottle of milk. That had curdled!! Eww!!!

Oh the embarrassment!! And to happen in front of friends too!! Who will just mock me relentlessly for the next year!! I now want to take all the seats out of the van and vacuum it and clean the carpets. We did get those Weather Tech floor mats, (which were a savior BTW), so really, the only part of the carpet that needs to be cleaned is the spots under the seat, where I spilled curdled milk.

Since I am now a typical mom, I’ll give you a Samantha update: She was 19lbs, 12 oz (nope…not yet 20lbs!) at her last appointment a couple of weeks ago, which was for a double ear infection. She was pulling at her ear yesterday, which means absolutely nothing because she has never once done that when she actually had an ear infection. The signs last time? She slept for 19 hours straight and just didn’t seem like herself. No fever. No ear pulling. No head tilt or other various ticks. She had a runny nose, if that even counts for a child that goes to daycare. The only reason we got in to see the doctor as quick as we did is because Workaholic lied to the nurse on the phone and said that she’d had a fever for a couple of days. Hey, it worked!

She now knows how to run, and walk backwards. That is her newest trick that she likes to show off. She also has the first half of blowing kisses down. And, the best part, she is finally showing an interest in Fonz. She’ll randomly walk up to him and pet him, and look at us and smile real big, since she is “being nice.” She also tries to throw his toys for him, she knows which ones are his, and will pick one up and drop it in front of her. (For his part, he typically ignores this, because really? That just isn’t exciting enough for him.) For a child who will whip anything across the room from her high chair, I know she can do better, so we’re working on it. We decided that Fonz is roughly the size of a horse compared to her, so when she occasionally covers her face or goes running when he comes near, we sort of understand. She’s been knocked on her ass a fair number of times.

That’s about all I know. Oh wait…we did have an open house yesterday, a couple of people seemed interested, so we’ll see if that goes anywhere. Again, not getting my hopes up, except I am. I think I am going to spend the rest of my day debating whether to eat the Fannie May candy bars (yes, plural) I just bought, or the peanut butter cup cupcake my friend brought me. Pretty sure the cupcake will win out.

11 Years Young

Everyone who knows me knows that I am a dog person. I like all animals, (maybe with the exception of amphibians and rodents) but particularly dogs. And I especially like MY dog. All my neighbors know him, even the Muslim kids who live down the street and are taught that it is against God’s will to have dogs in the house, even they love my dog. When you walk into my garage, to the right of the door that leads into the house hangs 3-4 leashes, of various lengths and colors. In my car, there is usually 1 or 2 more leashes, depending on the day and the need. And when you walk into the house, there is a 6-pronged, wrought iron Golden Retriever hanging on the wall behind the door with about 10 more leashes and collars and doggie seatbelts hanging. Just waiting to be used. Begging to be used.

Workaholic hasn’t been working full-time lately, and has been spending his days with Sam and the Fonz. So I thought nothing of it when I made a grooming appointment for Fonz and told Workaholic that it was his responsibility to drop him off and pick him up. I guess this is how it went down…

Workaholic realizes that he has exactly 20 minutes to get the girl up, feed her, change her, dress her, and get her out the door. She was going to baby school while Workaholic spent time in his company’s warehouse. Cleaning. And organizing. Which doesn’t happen very often at home. (although ironically, it did this morning!) So he is running around, much like a chicken with his head cut off, and opens the door and asks Fonz, “Wanna go for a ride in the car?” That’s all you have to say, and Fonz leaps into the car, without regard for the fact that he isn’t wearing a collar. (doesn’t he know better??) And Workaholic throws Sam in the car seat and zooms to the groomers.

As he pulls in, he realizes that shit, he has no leash. And the dog is not even wearing a collar. So he uses his CELL PHONE CHARGER to get Fonz into the building. You know, that plastic, curly-Q’d wire thingy? Just wrapped it around his neck and told him to behave. Not quite sure how many odd looks he got, but he DID realize that he wasn’t going home, and would need something to use when he picked up the dog a few hours later. So he proceeds to spend $20 on a nice, long black leather leash. Because I have a nice long BROWN leather leash, but not a black one. At least he tries not to duplicate.

When he goes to pick Fonz up a few hours later, he asks the receptionist how well-behaved Fonz was. Because, he told her, “He can get a little excited and wound up, and you can’t calm him down.” (OK, WE can, but most people just do things to get him even more excited, like talk to him IN A REALLY LOUD HIGH-PITCHED SQUEAKY VOICE LIKE HE IS A BABY. By the way…that doesn’t work.) She says, and I quote, “Well that’s quite understandable for a puppy.” HA! A puppy?? He’s 10 years old!! Workaholic just looked at her, and smiled and said, “Yes, that is understandable for a puppy, but he is 11 years old.” (OK, to be fair, he isn’t 11 yet, he will be in September. But 11 is much closer to 10 ½ than a puppy.) Needless to say, she didn’t believe him, even as he was walking out the door. Oh well. That makes me feel good. Six years of fish oil pills and glucosamine/chondroitin/MSM supplements are starting to pay off. Even if Fonz does have a pink nose and completely white face, and stained, yellow teeth.

When Fonz was younger, and I would leave him with my in-laws or my parents for a weekend or longer while we went on vacation, I got sighs and looks of “Are you insane?” when I would describe the feeding ritual to them. They laughed at me, and said that I was babying him and pampering him. They said that he was treated better than they were. But now I have this beautiful, healthy, vibrant, 10 ½ year old Golden, and they are eating their words. Ha! (We are going to ignore the fact that good genes probably play a pretty big role in all of this, I just like to be right.)

Entertain Me, Damnit!

Dear internet,

I’m sorry to report that I have come to your end. I just can’t find anything else interesting to look at. I mean, I have my blogs I check every day, and I click on the animal rescue site and the breast cancer research site every day to help feed animals and fund mammograms. I check the weather, and the news, and my e-mail. I peruse petfinder and various rescue websites. If I am really desperate, I’ll look for breeders for Golden Retrievers and Flat-Coat Retrievers. (Which, BTW, there are NO flat-coat breeders close to me…can you do anything about that?) I occasionally look for recipes, and look at the caffeine content of my drinks and shop for clothes online. I balance my checkbook and stalk the Bank of America website to see how much Workaholic has spent at The Home Depot today. Isn’t there anything else you can offer me, internet? I am bored.

Love,Gail

Post-It Tuesday...Tough Life Lessons

Working on It

So on paper, I’m not exactly anything special…I work full-time, not too far from home, my husband works full-time, (sort of) and I have a kid and a dog. We own our own house in a great, if not in an expensive-to-live-in neighborhood; we have a car payment and bills just like everyone else. I don’t have money troubles because one or both of us has been laid off, my kid is perfect and healthy, the dog is the easiest in the world to take care of, and my husband and I have a great marriage. We communicate well, and I think that helps to make everything so. much. easier.

Like many other working moms, I have a laundry list of things that I want to accomplish. It includes things like laundry and making dinner, to cleaning out closets and packing away clothes that won’t ever fit me again, to updating my blog and making it pretty and more user-friendly. One would think with the amount of time I spend in front of a computer at work I’d be able to figure out the blog thing, but it’s just past me right now. In fact, most of my duties are past me right now. Which is weird to me, because, on paper, I am nothing special. There is absolutely no reason I should be feeling down, or sad, or frustrated and angry…I am just like everyone else out there.

All day, as I sit at work, I stew over what I could be doing at home. I talk with the other moms of little kids, and they talk about what their kids are learning and what they are teaching them and how. And I think, “If I had more time.” (and I only have 1 kid…my sisters each have 4!) It’s the little things and the small bits of time that you spend with your child, I know…while teaching puppy kindergarten we would explain to people that 10 minutes of training a day is all it takes. And it is all they can handle. Kids are a lot like puppies that way. But I struggle to spend that little bit of time.

Workaholic thinks that I have S.A.D., or Seasonal Affective Disorder. It’s when the winter blues really get you down. I try to explain to him that I am depressed in the summer too…so I don’t think it is just S.A.D. I don’t make a secret of my belief in medication or talk therapy to help get people through the hard times. Let’s just say that Workaholic wishes I wasn’t so vocal about it. He thinks my business is our business…not everyone else’s. Which I guess makes sense…but if one person opens their mind a little bit more to meds and therapy and it helps, and it is because of me…well, that would make me feel good. (He also thinks it's worse in my head than in real like...which is funny, because isn't it all in my head??)

So let’s just say that I’ve been having a bit of a hard time lately. Getting even the simplest of tasks done wipes me out, and tackling the bigger ones is just beyond what I am able to handle at this moment. UNLESS I am given a deadline. It’s like when you are in college and your boyfriend breaks up with you and you just want to lay down in bed and cry…but you have a psyche paper due. And if you don’t turn in said psyche paper, you will get kicked out of your major, or out of school. I need a deadline like that. I was really hoping that we’d sell our house and that would be the needed kick in the pants, but so far, that hasn’t happened. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing and dreaming.

I wish I was that person who rolled out of bed and jumped up and said “HELLO DAY!” But I’m not. I wish I was that person who smiled at everyone in the hallway, even when crying inside. But I’m not. I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, unless it is for a short enough amount of time I can act my way through it. So, those of you in my real life, if I haven’t talked to you in a while, I’m just tired. So, so tired. And I’m just trying to figure out how to get out of this funk. The guilt that I haven’t talked to anyone, really, outside of work kills me sometimes. So I need to get over that, because that just makes things worse. But I’m working on it…I’m working on getting better. And for Workaholic’s sake, I’ll just leave it at that

Random Post It Tuesday