Let's get down to it

Ok – lets talk turkey. Well, not turkey in a literal sense. That topic is SO 6 weeks ago.

 

Let me re-phrase: Lets have a down and possibly dirty conversation. And yes – if you are my parent or in any way or shape possibly offended, disgusted, embarrassed or otherwise made uncomfortable by a candid conversation about sex then STOP READING NOW.

 

Alright. Now that we have the squeamish taken care of, lets get down to business. I feel like at this point I should have the ability to talk in a public forum about this stuff. I am 35 years old, married with 2 children. So, yes. I have had sex. More than once in fact. Hell, even more than twice. And as evidenced by the two little mini-Joe’s running around, I had it before I was married. Shame, shame, shame. But I digress.

 

I really like sex. A lot. In a perfect world – I would have it daily. But this entry isn’t about a perfect world. Far from it. This entry is about the less-than-perfect; 15 lbs heavier than you want to be; slightly lumpy and stressful world that some of us call reality.

 

There is this prevailing thought that I believe most first time parents have. It goes something roughly like this “My life isn’t going to change. I am going to be the same person, do the same things and live like I always had. I will just have this precious, well-behaved little person with us.” And they genuinely do believe that to be the reality that faces them. My guess is (and I base this on my own mental state at the time) that many of them extend that thought into the bedroom. It just sounds more like this “We will still have sex whenever and wherever we want to. As loud as we want and with the total monkey-abandon that we have always enjoyed. We are keeping the sex-swing and nothing will convince me otherwise!” – and for the record, I don’t have a sex swing. Its creative license people. Reads better, trust me.

 

To that I say --- pppsssshhht. What-evah!!

 

Here is the slow evolution of your sex life once you have kids. Actually – from right before you have your first one. You are overdue. You are trying anything and everything to get the kid out of you. Power washing your house while drinking pineapple juice and doing jumping jacks? Check. Walking the length of the mall and back again? Check. Attempting head stands and well balanced tree-poses from your prenatal yoga DVD? Check. And the sex. Everyone tells you to try sex. Here is what they don’t tell you about this glorious, life-affirming, embrace your womanhood part of your life. You are the size of a double-wide. Just getting out of a chair is a 12 step process. And you want to throw SEX on top of that? Yeah. It’s the sort of balancing act that you never imagined yourself to be in, prenatal yoga DVD be damned. Much less willingly doing. And for the record, I don’t think it works.

 

You get home with your new precious bundle of joy and the idea of sex is somewhere in the outer stratosphere of your existence. Your v-jay is like, down to your knees and is weighing in at 30 lbs. You just squeezed a living being out of the nether regions. You are affixing a “Dead End” sign at your ankles and nothing is getting past it. All your partner or husband heard when you left the hospital was “no sex for 6 weeks”. In his mind, the clock is ticking, down to the second and never in your whole existence has he been more interested in a doctors appointment. So you go to the appointment. And you get the all clear. And the reality of things is this –

 

• The only person making as much noise in the middle of the night in the house that they want is your newborn howling their head off .
• The room that housed the sex-swing is now a laundry sorting facility and the swing itself is now buried under 18 receiving blankets and the 13 of the 42 outfits that your bundle of joy has gone through in a day.
• You haven’t showered in 4 days.
• You haven’t shaved since, well, god only knows when. Probably in the last 6 months as that was the last time you saw your bellybutton. -
• Your hair is perma-stuck in a ponytail shape as that is the only hairstyle you are now familiar with. You might have dried up throw-up in your hair. You are not sure.
• Your super cute, vintage tops and designer jeans are still in a tub marked “my old life” and have been replaced with your husbands ratty college fraternity t-shirts, that now sport two rings of dried boob-milk stains where you have leaked on them, yoga pants and of course, flip flops. And possibly more throw-up. Again, you are not sure.

 

And you think to yourself, if ANYONE can find this attractive (you motion to your whole self) then sure, I will give it a whirl. And low and behold, your dear husband sees past all of this and thinks… “Sweet Jesus, it has been at least 6 weeks, if not longer. If I don’t have sex soon, I will explode” So you do it. And it sorta isn’t fun. Not like the first time suckiness, but not really how you remembered it.

 

And over time, as you get used to this new reality, you begin to shower. Hell, you might even begin to shave. You start to fit into some of those old clothes. Although, they never really fit right again. Even after you lose the weight. And sex starts to be something that you might, maybe, want to consider having again on a regular basis.

 

And here is the new challenge. You now have something of a routine working out. You are starting to feel human again. But now you have a kid. A kid that at some point becomes mobile. A kid that while they sleep through the night, is still prone to waking up whenever. So you sneak around. You go for just doing it, rather than doing it well. Foreplay has become urban legend. Not that it matters anyway, ever since the baby your boobs are a no-fly zone. Somehow the idea of them as a food source and a sex object is just too much to process. The areas that you tended to for years with waxing, shaving, sculpting and lord knows what else, now look like some sort of 70’s porn bush. You would love someone to spend some quality time down there, however you feel bad about even bringing it up due to the aforementioned lack of grooming. But who has 20 extra minutes in the shower? All the extra time and money for trips to the salon now that all your extra time and money go to the money suck that is children?? Because, I certainly don’t. I am however, open to suggestions if anyone has them. Bottom line, you could double in a National Geographic special where the indigenous tribes run around naked without a grooming care in the world

 

And if you manage to do the deed once a week, you feel pretty darn good about it. You think you are getting the hang of this new sexual reality. You are having fun, you are in the mood, he is in the mood, You are really getting into it, when you hear a cry from another room. He says “just let them cry, it won’t hurt them for 20 minutes”. And who are we kidding, 20 minutes is about all it takes given the current environment. Maybe a guy can do that – but all I hear is a crying kid. And if I am not in the moment, I don’t care how much fun it would be, I am not going to enjoy myself. So you get to be the bad guy, stop what is shaping up (literally and figuratively) to be a good time and tend to the demanding voice from the other room. It doesn’t seem fair, you think as you are scrambling to find your underwear before you go into their room , and flip the switch from lover to mother …. why should you have to pick between these two things that you love – and yet are constantly at odds with one and other? And you are crossing your fingers that when you return to your bed, you can resume where you left off, knowing full well that you have a 50/50 shot at best that he is still awake.

 

So this is my reality today. If you can get me to not fall asleep on the couch somewhere between the Daily Show and the Colbert Report , you are making progress. If you can find 20 minutes of uninterrupted time to charm me out of my pants, you have a pretty good shot of clearing the goal line. Odds are, I will be more than agreeable to a good time. But lets be honest here, if you do charm my pants off, be prepared for the cotton granny panties. The lacy bits and thongs of yesterday are buried in the back of the underwear drawer. One day I will bring them out again. I promise. After I get caught up on 2.5 years of sleepless nights, find my waistline, and get that grooming thing back in check.

 

Now Listening: Lungs by Florence + the Machine

Tis' The Season

A Heavy Heart

I had a really snarky post all planed for today. And I still will get it out there. Not to mention the "guest post" listed below from my beloved husband.
I **had** planned on those things.
And then I saw the news today about Elizabeth Edwards. Quite frankly, I was quite surprised that it affected me so much.
Chalking up the fact that she passed away from the same thing that my mom did. She was 2 years older than my mother and fought her battle for a little less (one year) than my mom.
So why it hit so close to home shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. My heart hurts for her family.
It is no secret that people pass away every day. And people pass away every day from cancer. What this has done is publicly shed a light on something that families are faced with each and every minute of every day.
Cancer is brutal.It is more than a colored ribbon. Its cures are more often than not, worse than the disease. It strikes without prejudice, cause or care. It changes and morphs so that just when we are on the cusp of getting over the "cure" line, it throws a detour in our way. It touches every member of its patients families. It puts caregivers into situations they never would have imagined.
It does something else - it makes you say the things that you should say to your loved ones. It tests your strength and pushes you to personal limits that you didn't think you were capable of handling. It throws into very clear light those things that are relevant, important and that really matter.

So on a day where accolades will be public, the outpouring of sympathy very real and for a moment, this cause of cancer will be in the forefront again...I hope that the Edwards family and everyone that lost a family member today finds solace in their faith, the knowledge that tomorrow will in fact, be another day and that no one and no disease can take away the memories that each of us have. That is one thing that cancer cannot take away.

The Greatest Man in the World

 My husband is the greatest man ever born. He is so sexy it hurts. I wake every morning thanking God He chose me to give life to Joe's seed. He is so hot I often see women drooling as they walk by. You may not know this but he actually turns down People magazine to be on the 50 most beautiful people list. This shows his down to earth attitude.
   Joe isn't just a Prime USDA piece of meat he is also intelligent. You may not know this but he recently had his IQ tested out at 167. This qualifies him as a genius but he wouldn't let you know because he wants people to be as comfortable around him as possible. Joe understands that everyone he meets immediately has an inferiority complex and with good reason. For if Joe is the absolute best at everything. To be in his life is truly to be graced by God.
   So before you go to sleep and after you hit that alarm in the morning, thank the Big Man in the sky for blessing the Earth with Joe. Every woman wants him and every man wants to be him. He is truly an example of perfection.

Mrs. Joseph McConville

Gobble, Gobble

I -- of course -- haven't been as good about my grand return to the blogging world. Regardless, I am here with the best of intentions.
I think back on the many (and the "many" is getting exponentially bigger with each year) Thanksgiving's past. Back to the hand print turkey's that we all did in school. The Pilgrim outfits that each of you wore at some point in your fall presentations. The dioramas of the landing of the Mayflower -- and trust me, never a more sea-worthy boat was crafted than the Popsicle stick creation that I spent hours over in 3rd or 4th grade. All the way through the night-before-bar-hopping insanity that each of us enjoyed (in excess) the night before Turkey day and creating some seriously hung-over Thanksgiving mornings.
My watching of the Macy's parade while knocking out apple pies -- killer apple pies I might add -- and its my blog, so I will add.

And then of course, the exercise of what we are "thankful" for. When you are little its the simple things..
I am thankful that I have my own room
I am thankful that I don't have to walk my sister to school anymore
I am thankful my parents didn't know that we cut my friends hair behind the house
You get the idea.

And then you come around to playing like an adult. And doing all the things that you  **thought** would be cool. Like your own place (and paying rent and utilities), staying out as late as you want (and paying for a night out), wearing whatever you want (and paying for all your own clothes) and eating whenever and whatever you want (and realizing that ramen at $2.00 a pack is a heck of a deal).

Now - I am wiser, a few pounds heavier, bank account a little more stable and still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. And here is what I am thankful for this year...and there has been a lot in the last few years.
My beautiful children. I can't imagine a world that they are not a part of. And as crazy as they make me some days -- and they can push me to the teetering, edge of sanity -- my days are better with them in them.
My amazing husband (and yes, its still weird to type that). We have had our fair share of ups and downs. But I am so proud of the man he has become and the goals he is working every day to achieve. He makes me laugh, balances my type-A tendencies and keeps me sane.
My family -- the immediate and extended. Your willingness to stay on this crazy roller coaster ride we call life has been amazing. Your generosity is overwhelming, as is your invaluable support.
Our friends - we have a large and spread out group that supports us every day. Blessed. That is the only word.

And for those of us that are not here anymore -- the list grows sadly longer with the passing years. But the traditions and examples you have set continue each year and we relish the opportunity to pass them on to future generations.
I didn't think it was possible to miss my mom more than when she passed away - but I do. Now having a family of my own, there are so many conversations I always envisioned having with her. The advice that she should be able to give me when the two year old throws a fit because he can't take his fruit snacks into the bathtub with him.
And lets not kid ourselves, the buttons that she always managed to push. She was great at that too.

So make sure to take a few minutes today in the flurry of driving over the river and through the woods. As you sit across the table for what may be your 2nd or 3rd dinner, contemplating where in your stomach you are going to find room. And enjoy the moment. That is what today is all about.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Parental Physics

I am not a science person. Never have been. I mean, I have a history degree with an English minor, so that should tell you something about where my strengths lie.
So it comes as little to no surprise, that I am struggling these days to understand some pretty basic concepts.
Key among them -- time.
I mean, I am not a total momo -
60 seconds in a minute
60 minutes in an hour
24 hours in a day

I get these concepts.
But here is where my knowledge of time is being challenged lately. I mean, I used to think that time was funky - I had days at work when I swore the sun was moving backwards a day would move so slow. But now its these sorts of things...
A child screaming for only 10 minutes will feel like 10 hours
A quick 15 minute trip to the store now takes an hour with two kids and requires you to be able to dead-lift like, 100 pounds with all the crap of theirs that you have to cart around.
The hour between you getting out the shower and getting out of the door is something akin to about 5 minutes when you think about it.

And yet - through all of this, the lump sum total of these time oddities is that overall, time is moving at such an accelerated pace that yesterday it was Christmas. Today is Thanksgiving and tomorrow your kids will be celebrating their 18th birthday.
I don't get how time works.
Like, I need to call on Stephen Hawkins to explain it. Yep - in a conversation with the pre-eminent astro-physicist of the last 2 or 3 generations, it would go something like this....
"Professor Hawkins, can you explain to me why when it comes to my children small segments of time seem to move at exponential slower time frames, yet the overall time period moves faster than anything I have ever experienced?"
And he would respond with something like
"In the atomic nature of the speed of light, the time and space continuum progresses exponentially faster than a single nuclear molecule in orbit "
And what I would hear would be "blah, science, science, blah, science"
And my response would be "In all fairness Professor Hawkins, I have no idea what you just said. If you ever should want to know how to change a diaper while simultaneously breastfeeding, talking on the cell phone and making a nutritional dinner of macaroni and cheese in the microwave - then I am your girl. However, your explanation made less sense to me than my 21 month old talking to our cat."

And that is how I see any one on one time with one of the greatest minds of our times going.
This means, clearly, I have lost perspective. And with it, all sense of time.

Now Watching: Game 5 of the World Series.

Mom Cow

So this one is gonna be pretty mom-centric.
Check that, this one is gonna be pretty boob centric. The mom part is actually secondary to my afternoon.
Yesterday at the end of the day I headed toward the mall. My wedding ring and engagement ring were ready at the jewelers Got them sodered (sp?) together and they look great. Right across from the jewelery store is a Motherhood Maternity store.
Now - nothing like taking a short walk from all the glitz and glamour of the blingy-ness of Josephs (the store, not the husband) to the elastic-y, over sized delight that is a maternity store.
The reason for said detour ..
and for the love of all that is holy, NO
NO
and
HELLS TO THE NO.

Needed a new nursing bra and there are few in town that sell them for anything resembling a reasonable price.
Let me offer up a few observations here.
I am, shall we say -- a healthy woman. Have been for some time. Ever since I put on that Freshman 15 (or 25), I have been well endowed in the "girls" department.
And I recognize that this is one of those things that is going to send you one way or the other. The bigger girls rarely want to be bigger. Nothing like never being able to buy a button-up shirt. Or having to get all your dresses altered so that you can get one that fits your chest and doesn't leave you swimming everywhere else.
The only exception to this rule, are the people that PAY for their boobs to be that big.
And for the women that are smaller - its the opposite. They all want what they don't have.
For the record, I would give it up in a heartbeat.

Now - take that large proportion and throw two pregnancies on there,
Yeah.
Exactly.

A few weeks ago, I actually went and got measured so I knew how big I was. And it wasn't horrible.
Back to the maternity store.
I went in yesterday, grabbed my size, paid and out the door I went.
Went home and promptly put all my bras in the wash - because well, I had a new, clean one.
Fast forward  to this morning. Or is it rewind at this point.
Dunno - space/time continuum was never my thing.

This morning - running around like a chicken with her proverbial head cut off. We still haven't mastered the art of getting everyone out the door in a timely fashion. With me being the worst offender in that pool.
So there I was - pants on, no make-up, hair wet, one kid dressed, the other running around yelling "Big Truck" at the top of his lungs {toddler translation: Mom, I want to watch 'Cars'}, Joe watching the re-cap of the Giants World Series game on SportsCenter - even though he had watched the whole game the night before and I grab my new, not-so-small bra.
And viola - was I looking at a great silhouette with ever so perky, upright and contained boobs??
No - my boobs were somewhat contained, but mostly spilling out the bottom and the top of the bra.
And all my other bras - drying on the rack, but decidely wet.
Which meant that the two times today that I needed to pump at work (in the health room, not at my desk -- even I have standards) I had to fully take off my top and bra and then re-work the whole thing.

Which brings me BACK to the maternity store over lunch. Bra in hand, I tell her - listen this is my size, but in no universe I know of is this a (insert bra size here). She then offers up to re-measure me. And what do you know, she comes up with the same size that I was measuring 3 weeks ago.
Big surprise.
"Well" says the sales clerk - "sometimes maternity bras run a little different from regular bras"
Like, maybe they have figured out the time/space continum and inches in this world are different than inches in maternity world.
Or maybe she is full of it.
All I know is that after all of that, I tried on the bras before I left with a new one and ended up with one that was 2 sizes bigger in inches and 2 cup sizes bigger.
Like I didn't feel big enough before - now I am in like, no-mans land for bra sizes. Had I gone one more cup size up, I would have been sent to a speciality store - as they don't carry anything beyond that size.
That will always help the old ego...
Like the pump doesn't make you feel mom-cow enough, add to it the gi-normous bra size.
Preeeety.
Or not.

Now Watching: Game 2 of the World Series.

The Re-Birth of Slick

Yeah. Hi.
It's Meghan here.
Not the Meghan of old. Alas, my reader (if there is a single one left), my swinging, rock-star, devil-may-care, snark-a-licious single days are now "officially" behind me. And therefore, I present to you RedHead Ramblings - the re-launch.

I am now a a little older, a little heavier around the middle than I care to admit, a  married woman (details later) and mother of two. This has changed the game a little bit.
What it has not changed is my snark-a-licious ways, biting wit and general need to provide a running commentary on all that I see in my little corner of the world. Oh, and with some help from the hairdresser -- still very much a redhead, and all that comes with it.
I have missed my ramblings. Too much bouncing around in my noggin to not get it out somewhere.
Not that I have been resting on my laurels, eating bon-bons and watching soap operas. A brief breakdown of the last 8-10 months:
Having a baby - check
Planning a wedding - check
Actually going through it and getting married - check
Chasing a toddler with two speeds (on/off) around - check
Working a full time job - check

Decided that since I had all that done, it was time to get back on the blogosphere horse.
Not sure exactly where this new path is going to take me. I am sure there are better ways for me to be spending my time - see the mountain of laundry and utter chaos that is my house. But here I am anyway. New angle on the world - like how you can love a child practically to tears one minute, and want to turf them out to the first stranger you see on the street the next. Same with your husband.
So dear reader (whomever of you are still around) - stay patient. Like riding a bike, it will all come back to me. Today is the first step.


Now Listening: Cease to Begin by Band of Horses

And the Oscar goes to....

AP News, Hollywood, California:

This news just in, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has added a late breaking Oscar to the already announced winners from the award show last Sunday.

Meghan Smith, has been awarded the Oscar for the "Best Performance by an Exhausted Middle-Class Mother"

Said a representative from the Academy

After long consideration, the Academy felt it was time to right the wrong that
was so obvious to the viewing members of the public. In the last week, Ms. Smith
has shown incredible range in pulling off this role and we felt that the
oversight in not giving this award was tantamount to a creative slap in the
face.

Ms. Smith, who did not attend Sunday's award ceremony did make a statement through her agent:

I am deeply honored by this recognition on behalf of the Academy. There are
a few people that I do need to thank publicly for without them, this wouldn't
have been possible. First, my special effects team -- the one person department
of L'Oreal. I know that women have strived for years to accomplish that beaten
down, worn look -- without your help, I couldn't have gained that look of a
woman whose bags under her eyes have reached mammoth proportions and then tried
to cover it up with make-up.

See pictures of Ms. Smith before and after:

Ms. Smith at a 2010 engagement

Ms. Smith on-set for her award winning performance:



She went on to say,

while there is a whole crew of people behind me that have made this possible, I do need to specifically thank two individuals. To Joe, my fiancee and love of my life, your commitment to my success has always been a stronghold of support. Your ability to sleep through anything, take over the middle half of the bed and snore like a logger on a warm day, truly made this performance possible. And to our son, Finn; your undying devotion to me and my work has been a joy to behold. The fact that you would be willing to get up 5 days in row between the hours of 3-4:30 AM to ensure that I did achieve the look of a haggard working mom is nothing short of personal sacrifice. Especially from a 13 month old.

(ed. note: agents for Finn McConville have made it know that he no longer is going by his given birth name, and would like to be referred to by his new stage name, FJ Crusier. )

Ms Smith continued in her accolades only to be played off by the band

There had been some criticism in recent weeks about the authenticity of her performance. This controversy stemmed from her apparent lack of commitment to her role when she dyed her hair 2 weeks ago. At the time of the event, Ms. Smith had gone on record with the following statement,

hours of research with working, middle-class moms indicated that every one of them had at one point, attempted to mask the colony of gray hairs with a trip to the salon. All of the women I have met with had indicated that they had gone as long as 6-8 months in between trips to the hair-dresser. I went 4 months. Even for my craft, there is only so much a person can take. Method acting or not.

The Academy has indicated that this category of award will not be allowed in each years awards.

is there a timeline for compability?

In case you missed the memo, I am getting married.
You didn't know that? Really?
Surprise, surprise.
But we are. And of course, we are having a big, fat, Irish, catholic wedding.
Which means we had to meet with the priest before they would commit the date to us. So we did. Now - let me lay this out for you.
Catholic = old school.
Catholic = guilt laden.
Catholic does NOT = living together with your one year old and another kid on the way.
All those things aside, we still wanted to get married in a church because its a big deal. And our parents would collectively go ballistic if we didn't.
So here we were, meeting with the priest, getting this whole Sunday school lesson on how we should be focused on bringing God into our lives. Meanwhile you know that he was just thinking in his celibate, theological noggin what huge sinners we are.
The last part of the encounter is our "compatibility" test. 80+ questions with only three answers:
Agree
Disagree
Undecided

With questions like
"the idea of seeing my partner naked makes me uncomfortable"
"I struggle with the idea of my partner working outside the home"
and my personal favorite:
"I understand the Catholic Churches stance on why couples shouldn't live together prior to entering the sacrament of marriage"

Then after answering all these questions, the results are scored and there is a group of married couples that will serve as sponsor couples. Between now and the time of the wedding we have to meet with the sponsor couple 4-5 times. They will then make a recommendation to the priest as to whether or not we are suitable for each other.
Keeping in mind, all this happened like a month ago.
We still haven't heard back from the church.
Did they have to go the Vatican to find a couple for us? Perhaps a papal decree absolving us from our sins? Maybe the Pope has God on 1-800-Save-the-Sinner speed-dial to confirm with the man upstairs and St. Peter that in fact we are good for each other?
I know, I know -- probably not that big of a deal. But it just strikes me as odd.
Stay tuned. Hopefully there is a couple out there that can give us the green light.

Now Watching: "24" on the dvr.

Another goodbye

We had to put Boris to sleep tonight.


My transgendered, confused, overweight, feisty, and hilarious little munchkin.
She just got really sick, really fast and it was really the only choice.

She will be missed.

the second time around

I had one of those moments this week that I think is only possible after your first pregnancy.
I was very lucky last go around to get a huge amount of clothes from friends to help off-set the cost of maternity wear. Now -- I still have some, but with other people having babies in the interim, the bulk of the donated stuff has managed to find its way into new hands.
So - on a daily basis I struggle with what to wear to work.
This week we had a less-than-stylish day on Wednesday.
I mean that in a relative term -- most days when you are 6+ months pregnant are less-than-stylish. Comes down to two factors .... is it clean and does it fit?
So I threw on something that would pass for work clothes and off I went. My first of 26 trips to the bathroom during the day revealed what I knew in my heart of hearts to be true.
I looked like a big square house. The clothes I was wearing were too big. And when you are already the size of a duplex moving to the size of a 5 bedroom colonial in the burbs, clothes that are bigger than needed don't really help out in the self-confidence category.

Up to this point, this is an experience that your average pregnant woman is going to have - first baby or not
The complete and utter downer comes when its your second pregnancy and you are not only faced with the realization that in fact, you DO look like a house in too big clothes.
But -- and this is the kick in the ass -- you know that in 10 weeks the clothes that you are currently swimming in will be too small.
All of this takes place in the minute or so that you are looking at yourself in the mirror while washing your hands.
Yep - good times.

What else?
Wedding planning is progressing Got a cake guy - aka baker -- and the florist locked in this week.
And per the trend, our estimated costs were not even close. I swear, I am gonna have to sell my kid to pay for this damn thing. And no matter what article I read about how to handle a budget -- none of them have rules for how to have a budget wedding with 300 freakin' people.
Because - it doesn't exist.

Ok - off to watch something on the Olympics and get to that next load of laundry.
Whee. I love weekends.

This is not an endorsement

I don't believe it is any big secret that I have a serious issue with mini-vans. I don't say this to alienate anyone with one. Its just like the biggest, most obvious cashing in of your youth, freedom and lets be honest -- any and all sense (real or perceived) of cool.
It is practical, affordable and family-oriented. And having lugged kid and piles of kid crap in and out of them, I can see some ever-so-slight advantage to ownership. Emphasis added on SLIGHT.
But I am not there. Not by a long shot.
So when I saw this:

I had to laugh.

And I am not sure if I was laughing because it was really that funny or because it was just hitting a little too close to home. Like I could see us coming up with something like the "swagger wagon" to convince ourselves that we hadn't lost the last shred of cool clinging to the bottom of my socks just because I hadn't worn them in awhile.
Well, and because we would be winning in the parenting game. Frankly, I think we are kicking their ass.

Another totally unrelated car issue today. And I am not sure if the following is an Iowa thing or this is something that is happening around the country.
Cars are many things. Transportation, a statement, status -- necessity.
You see stickers that convey political affiliation, musical taste, family size, honor student status, canine preference, patriotism, sarcasm and geekdom. To name a few.
Well, around these parts your car has taken on one more role.... memorial/gravestone.
Maybe you have seen them -- the "In Memoriam" and the name and dates of said love one.
Now -- don't get me wrong, I have lost people in my life. More than I care to really think about. But somehow I don't see a lasting tribute to those people as a static sticker on my rear windshield.
Perhaps this makes me the bitch of the week -- but I just don't get it.

On to other areas.
Work = loco.
Wedding planning = continued and constant depletion of our bank account.
Pregnancy = still pregnant. Little Miss is doing well, and starting to make her presence known.

Now watching: American Idol on the DVR. Don't judge me.

Balance...its in style!

I don't want to shock anyone, but this is my second post in one week.
Yes, calm down. I know that this could be some sort of medical condition inducing post, but I said I was going to try and post more often.

So I am working from home today -- clearly, working being the subjective team. We are getting more snow (shocker), Joe ended up getting sick last night and Finn was up from 3-5:50 AM. Those last two factors resulted in Meghan getting little to no sleep. And of course, I set my alarm for 6:00 PM, not AM -- and therefore, overslept on top of it all. The 3+ inches of new snow on the ground made the "stay at home" decision really easy. And its still snowing. We are supposed to be getting another 6-10" before it all ends tomorrow morning.
Suffice it to say, I am totally over winter. In all its incarnations.

So while I was eating lunch, I was doing a little online shopping -- well, online browsing. As given the financial obligations I have in the upcoming month, shopping for anything other than necessities is pretty much verboten. Looking through maternity web sites trying to find some work clothes -- I found these pants.
A few things immediately come to mind.
1. Please note the size. They only go up to a 30'. Which in pre-pregnancy sizing, which is what they tell you to base your sizing on, is like -- a 6? 8? I don't know as I haven't been close to a 30 in a LONG time. So they are pretty much saying unless you were a stick when you got pregnant, don't bother.
2. Um, hello $225.00 for a pair of maternity pants? Now, I will admit, once upon a time.. many, many moons ago, I would have considered spending that on a pair of pants. Please note -- consider. And that would have been for a pair of pants that I could have worn for more than 4-5 months.
3. This is the big one.... the FOUR INCH STILETTOS'. For starters, I don't think on a good day I could make those work. Two, there is no way on this green earth that any woman who is that pregnant could pull those off. Not only is your balance off, you are totally front loaded and frankly, being that pregnant and wearing those shoes is just.... not right. Now, I will wear heels. I will wear them for another 6-8 weeks depending on weight gain. But they are capping out at 2" tops. Of course, this could mean that I have just lost my edge, am getting old and crusty and need to officially check in the cool-card. This is a reality I am not willing to accept at this point.

I think it is fair to say, that I didn't buy the pants. Or any pants for that matter.
OK - I should be off, I have a conference call I need to get dialed-into.

New Years Resolutions

New Years Resolution:

1. Remember you have a blog.


2. Update said blog - clearly already dropped the ball on that one as its Feb 4th & its the first time I have updates.


3. Not to be pregnant again in 2010. I have been pregnant in 2008 & 2009. That's enough for right now, thanks.

So boys and girls, the bitch is back. We have LOADS to talk about, so lets not waste anymore time.

Mom-ville.

Momville is my new home. Its where I live, breath and exist. There is no leaving Momville. Not even with a week-end pass. People can visit in Momville, but rarely do they stay too long. Until they become residents of Momville, but that is a whole other process. Now - there are perks to Momville. Lets list them shall we.... oh, wait. Snotty noses, dirty diapers, less than adequate sleep, whining, and chasing a kid around when all you want to do is just spend 42 minutes watching Project Runway on the DVR, doesn't qualify as a "perk" in most peoples vernacular. I do however, get toothy smiles, hugs on demand (even if they leave snot on your shoulder), someone who RUSHES to the door every night when he sees me and the joy of watching a little person discovery the world, one day at a time. So are there trade-offs? You bet. Loads of them. But on the whole, Momville is a pretty ok place to be. Unless Project Runway is on.
I kid.

In other big news ... well, I sorta, kinda, maybe got engaged over the holidays. Ok - so that is HUGE in the grand scale of things. It was a TOTAL surprise, a bit emotional and so very cool. So now -- we have entered the "Wedding Zone". Much like Momville, the wedding zone is one most people enter wide-eyed, optimistic, and full of good intention. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will leave the wedding zone somewhat bitter, caustic and dirt-ass poor. Not that I had a lot of cash to just throw around in the first place. For the record, weddings = the biggest racket going. People hear wedding and they automatically jack their prices like, 75%. And then you find yourself getting obsessed over the tiniest shit. Its insane. Especially when you consider that this is ONE DAY OF YOUR LIFE.

ONE DAY.

UNO.

24 HOURS.

And then you come home and find your fiancee watching a "Bridezillas" marathon on We or Lifetime or whatever channel that is and realize that you are no longer on the brink... oh no, you have just gone head first over the edge. And there is no turning back from that fall. And did I mention that it is expensive? Because it is. In ways you hadn't really considered. Ok - so enough of the bitter bride... lets talk wide-eyed and optimistic. In little over a month (we got engaged on Christmas morning) we have booked the church, booked the reception hall, locked in our photographer (Paige, who else?), lined up a caterer, bought a wedding dress and I think picked a place for our rehearsal dinner. Oh -- and the bridal party. The gi-normous wedding party. Joe says to me about a week after we got engaged, "I think I have my groomsmen figured out" So, I casually respond "great, who you thinking about?" He then proceeds to rattle off a list of names that starts to sound more like the amount of guys you would need on a football field, not an altar. I stop him -- "exactly how MANY do you have?" He responds quite calmly ''NINE". Yep - Nine. Nine times. So boys and girls brace yourselves. Ms. I-don't-need-a-man-in-her-life-not-going-to-have-a-traditional-wedding-buck-the-establishment me is not only having a wedding in a church but we are going to have EIGHTEEN freakin' people in our wedding party. PLUS 4 flower girls and two ring bearers. Sweet jeebus. Our wedding pictures are going to look like something out of the Godfather. And did I mention that our first swag at a guest list has us at something like 400 guests? Oh, I didn't. Silly me -- So this isn't going to be some small, intimate event. Nope, this one is full-blown 3-ring circus. I am just not sure who is wearing the ringmaster hat in the middle.

Suffice it to say, we have found ourselves rather busy in the ensuing months since last we chatted. And the upcoming ones are looking much slower. I got a promotion at work -- which is great. However, I am working harder than ever and never seem to get anywhere. Also, I am still doing my old job as well -- so until we get totally back filled at work, I am doing two jobs piss-poorly. Which leaves me with a warm and fuzzy feeling all over. And here are the things we are trying to/planning to do between now and October of this year

(commence drumroll)

1. Have a baby. Oh yeah - if you missed that announcement, I am also 5 months pregnant. WHOLE other story. Not planned, at all, a smidge or in the least little bit. And yes -- that will put the two of them about 16 months apart.
2. Buy a house. This is directly relational to the above comment. Downsizing of house was great to save money, not great when you add another person to the mix. Even a small one.
3. Get married.
4. Open a small business. Joe is looking into a super exciting business opportunity that would make him a partner in a restaurant. This is unbelievably cool for him. The timing however sucks royally given the above list.

Now, I maintain that for the average person any ONE of those things in a given year is enough to keep someone on their toes. Not us over-achievers. Nope, we need them all in a 10 month time frame. Suicidal? You bet. Coupled with all that is the small financial miracle we are going to need to pull all this off. As the money tree is buried under 18 feet of snow, I have begun the sound financial practice of buying a lottery ticket a few times a month. So far, no luck, but I think we will get there from here.

Suffice it to say, things are a little busy in our neck of the woods. I am planning on being better at all of this. Not withstanding all the other things I am trying to keep tabs on, but I have missed our little chats. I routinely find myself creating an entry in my head (normally right after some stupid thing has happened) but by the time I get around to booting up the computer and putting fingers to keyboard, my brain is seeping out of my ears and I can barely have a conversation with my one year old, much less delve that deep for the snark and wit you have grown accustomed to over the years.

But fear not intrepid reader -- I am committed. Or should be committed. Again, another story for another day. So stop by from time to time. I promise we will have more to talk about.

Now listening to nothing. And its pretty nice. Which means, I can got watch not one but TWO back episodes of Project Runway. Its sad how easily I am entertained these days.