Holiday Update 1.0

I want to preface all of this by saying I usually never have my shit together.  Like, in general...ever.  I'm one of those people who prefer to fly by the seat of their pants and claim to do my best work under pressure.  Around the holidays, I like to have things done earlier than the norm, but I have never been this close to being done by Thanksgiving.  So needless to say, part of me is bragging and the other part of me is just freaked the hell out. 

• Our holiday portraits have been taken and ordered and will be ready to be picked up by Wednesday.
• Our holiday cards have been created and sent to the printer and should arrive by next week some time.
• Santa has been visited and informed; photo was taken.
• I am 90% finished with my holiday shopping.  Gifts have been wrapped AND hidden.
• I'm putting up my Christmas tree tomorrow.

I am genuinely surprised at my efficiency.  I don't know where this motivation is coming from, especially when I am the size of Santa Claus (possibly larger) and have a very crazy toddler, a needy dog, and a crazy, needy husband at home.  Part of me wonders if it's somehow being driven by my subconscious feeling that Baby 2.0 isn't going to stay in for as long as the docs are saying.  Maybe a freakish mommy part of me knows that I need to get this shit done and is giving me the willpower, energy, whatever to do it.  I wish that same drive would tell me to put my laundry away, but that's here nor there. 

Along with the holiday cheer, I have to share our experience with Santa this year.  We had a deal from Sears that for $10 you get to take the picture with Santa and get a few sheets of photos.  You also have an appointment time!  In the past we've just tried to show up at the mall when we thought no one would be there.  Typically we had to wait in line for way too long and then they murder you (with holiday cheer, of course) with the cost of the photos they take.  I recall in the past it was upwards of $30++ and you get like, two 5x7's.  They even choose which pose they think is best and generally (in my experience) don't even show you what the other options were.  I was delighted at this Sears offer and wondered if there was a catch.

The catch?  None.  Aside from the fact Santa was a little bit weird and kept saying "Ho, ho, ho! Santa needs some Starbucks!"  He was a pretty legit looking Santa.  Child 1.0 did not appreciate how real he looked.  As soon as we walked in to the little studio, he shut down.  He sat on Santa's lap and with a terrified, forced smile, took a picture.  Luckily the picture popped up on the screen and I immediately told the lady we were going to need some time.  I didn't know that time was going to be forty-five minutes.  Child 1.0 had a few breakdowns (he was really freaked out by this Santa guy) and a lot of arguing, claiming he didn't want any presents and just wanted to go home.  We have been making our "list" for weeks now and he's been reciting it pretty consistently.  He even pretends to call Santa on his fake cell phone and talks to him.  We walked around Sears trying to get him to a happy place and finally I had enough.  I decided I was going all or nothing and taking him back to that studio whether he liked it or not.  I was even willing to put him onto Santa screaming and crying and get that picture.  All of Child 1.0's pictures with Santa are of him happy as can be but go figure that by Christmas #4 he wasn't cooperating.  I march his ass back to the studio and we were able to walk right back in immediately.  Child 1.0 bounces up in Santa's face and yells, "MERRR!!!"  I don't know what merrr is, but it is a loud, sudden sound that makes most people jolt---including Santa.  Child 1.0 was laughing hysterically at his success at scaring Santa, and jumped right in his lap and was cheesing like nothing had even occurred.  He started rattling off the most random "want list" ever, including things like t-shirts, new shoes, and hats (which I worried made us look like we needed DCFS to come down the chimney instead).  When he was done, he told me he was ready for his "treat."  In the heat of his meltdown, I may or may not have bribed him with a toy.  I figured he was shouting so loudly that he didn't hear me say, "Just take a good picture and you can go into the Disney Store and pick WHATEVER you want---ANYTHING!!!!"

He heard it.  He happily bounced into the store, and what seemed to be intentional, took his sweet ass time looking at every.damn.thing. in the store.  Luckily he has cheap taste because this venture only came to be $4.97.  When factored in to the cost of the portrait package, it was still half the cost of what we would have paid the usual mall Santa PLUS we get more prints, so it's hard to even put a price on it.  Hell yeah.

Ho, ho, ho!  Mommy needs some Starbucks!

When Your Good Intentions Don't Mean a Damn Thing

Ain't that the truth...

Today I learned something terrible: No matter how nice your intentions may be, shit can still go terribly wrong.  See this quote from my least favorite Jurassic Park movie:

Billy Brennan: You have to believe me, this was a stupid decision but I did it with the best intentions.
Dr. Grant: With the best intentions? Some of the worst things imaginable have been done with the best intentions.

It all started with my dog, Dex.  I was so excited to have my first adorable wittle puppy that I didn't put much thought into where to store his crate.  It seemed like the main hub of our house is either the kitchen or the living room, so I plopped the crate in the corner of the kitchen and that is where it has been for the last six months.  Since then, we've gotten a new kitchen table that doesn't quite fit (aesthetically speaking) with the crate.  Grr.  Things like that eat at me, especially when I am super-neurotic and pregnant.

Skip over to our disaster of a laundry room.  It's a pretty damn big space, and I utilize that space by throwing everything in there and closing the door.  Voilà, problem solved.  When we first moved in, we put a mini-fridge in there and kept all of our (hubby and my) drinks in there (not just booze, asshole...mixers too.)  We also have a full-size fridge in our garage PLUS the one in the kitchen, so obviously we were NOT lacking in fridge space.  For about the last year though, the fridge in the laundry room has been empty.  It has also been plugged in.  Super efficient, right?  Exactly my thought a few months ago when I was in there staring at the pile of laundry that needed to be done.  I thought to myself, "Wow!  What a waste of money!  I am going to unplug that bad boy!"  So I did.  And I left it.  And because I don't do laundry too often, I don't go into the laundry room unless I have to.  

Skip back over to today.  With all the boys sleeping and me already on my third cup of coffee, I felt like reorganizing something.  Aha!  We'll move the damn dog crate into the laundry room.  It's like killing two birds with one stone or something....So first I emptied everything I could from the laundry room (which really reminded me that I needed to do a load or ten) and figured I'd move the fridge a little closer to the wall.  So with a mighty heave, I pushed the fridge and heard a terrible "swooshing" sound.  Shit.  Genius over here, (me, obvs.)  unplugged the fridge (that has that little freezer part at the top that had turned into a block of ice) and never did anything about draining it.  Dreadfully, I opened the door and although I'm not sure if it was the water pouring out or the dreadful smell, but it resulted in me screaming.  Not only was a shit-ton of water ALL OVER the floor, but the innards of the fridge were COVERED in a moldy/mildewy mess.  Shit.  It smelled awful.  I was embarrassed in my own lack of common sense and for the fact that nasty water was all over my feet and bottom of my pant legs (ew).  

Needless to say the project turned out to be a TON of more work than I had originally planned.  However, the dog crate has been moved into the laundry room, which I am sure it has NEVER been as clean as it is today.  Seriously.  Also, my kitchen table is now centered appropriately and it looks a lot better.  

Now let's hope my uppity dog doesn't have issues with his new sleeping arrangements or shit is gonna get real.

Morning of Failure; Commonly Known as NotChristmas

This morning I woke up laying crooked on the bed, with my head damn near hanging off the side of the bed where my belly is usually overhanging.  It was darker than usual in the room, and I couldn't get my bearings together quick enough to realize what the fuck was going on.  Where the hell was I?  I am such a creature of habit that something as simple as waking up looking at my room from a different perspective makes me wonder if somehow I was kidnapped or something (which I know is unlikely because that would mean someone would have to lift me up, and let's be real, that shit isn't happening without three large men).  After I snapped out of Sleepyland, I realized why I was laying where I was: A child had magically appeared in my bed.  And he was in my spot.  I sat up and looked at the clock: it was 5:00am.  Fuck.  I punched around hoping to locate some piece of hubby, but he had strategically placed himself on the opposite side of the bed.  It appeared he had relocated to accommodate our guest as well.  Child 1.0 has NEVER crept into our bed in the middle of the night.  If he wakes up in the middle of the night, he yells for us and we go in to his room and calm him down, and in extreme circumstances (see: I'm really fucking tired), we bring him into our bed.  This was not the case tonight.  He had somehow managed to get out of his bed, meander into ours, and take over my spot on the bed without waking either one of his parents.  Damn, he's good.  I stared at him for a few moments and contemplated taking him back to his bed.

...Nah.  I went back to sleep and at 6:00 he was breathing his hot breath in my face telling me it was time to wake up.  Not so fast, my friend.  I told him to go back to sleep or he was going to go back to his room.  He fought me on this for about two minutes before I attempted to sit up to whisk him back to his own domain.  He shot himself back down onto the pillow and shut the hell up.  I woke up at 7:00 and he was sleeping still.  Nice.  Back to sleep.  At about 8:00 I woke up to him silently rustling the covers and creeping out of the bed.  He took off running out to the front part of the house, leaving me confused.  Within moments, he was screaming and had entered Meltdown Mode.  Thinking he discovered a dead body (or the candy wrappers I had left on the coffee table), I had to run out to the living room as well (which I'm sure was a sight to see).  He was standing in the middle of the floor, crying, thrashing, and mumbling incoherent somethings.  When I finally got him to get it together, he told me that his presents didn't come.  What the fuck?  I had not had enough coffee to play "What the Fuck is Your Toddler Trying to Tell You" so I asked him to say it again:


"MY PRESENTS DIDN'T COME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

As patiently as possible, I told him I didn't understand.  He looked at me like I was crazy and proceeded to tell me that today was Christmas and that Santa did not come and that he didn't get any presents.  And for fuck's sake, he was pissed.  Part of me wanted to laugh and the other part of me wondered if my big pregnant ass forgot it was Christmas.  I had to exert my last few ounces of patience and explain to him that it wasn't Christmas.  It was hard.  He did not want to hear it.  He had been so exited for NotChristmas that he had been unable to sleep and came into our bed.  He had wanted to wake up earlier to open presents but "mommy made me go back to sleep" and he had waited "like a good boy."  It was awful.  He was distraught and outraged.  I needed coffee.  After a good half hour (which in Meltdown Mode equates to about three weeks), he was on the road to recovery.  Unfortunately, since we had spent so much time battling tears and angry voices, his whole day was gearing up to be whiny and pissed.  Nothing was good enough for him and EVERYTHING was an argument. 

I did what any decent parent would do and dumped him off at my mother in law's.  We couldn't both be in meltdown mode.  We are almost out of tissues as is.  Booyah.