Moving sucks

Moved yesterday.
I hate moving.
let me repeat, I hate moving.

And I grew up moving every 4 years of my life (if not more) so the logical theory would be that I could handle this. And then it dawned on me, when I was moving all those times, 1) I wasn't really moving because how much can you expect a 6 year old to pack? and 2) we had movers. And not just movers, but packers as well.
And that kids is what makes it all bearable.

In fact I hate it so much, that I got not one but two cold sores yesterday. Just in time for a bunch of family photos at my cousins wedding yesterday.
Good times. Good face fungus, I-am-so-pretty-times.l


So playing house day one has had it challenges.
The least of which is the mass chaos of boxes.
The outlet for the dryer doesn't match, so we will need to get an electrician in here to change that out and really culminated Thursday night about 1 AM.

We had a bat.
It was one of those nights where you are so tired that you can't actually get to sleep.
So, I headed downstairs to watch some TV -- and swooping around in the living room, said flying rodent.
Made a mad dash back upstairs and called Joe - who was at his place doing some late, last minute packing. He says I'll be back in a few. As I am hanging up the phone, the bat found my room.
Let me get something clear
I can handle spiders, mice, even small snakes, but bats -- freak my shit out. I mean, they fly. And swoop. And are rabid and gross.
So it swooped out of the room. And at that I point I realized that I didn't know where all the cats were. Cats that are not exactly current on the rabies shots.
I know, bad mom.
So I am going through the house trying to see if I can trap the bat in one room and as I am going through turning on all the lights, realize that I can't find the damn thing.
No, the house isn't THAT big. So I am thinking that it has found someplace that it really likes in the house, but I can't find that spot. So right as the missing bat is no where to be found, Joe walks in. I am thinking, great, he probably thinks that I am totally off my rocker and making this all up.
So we are walking through the house trying to find this thing when I made the comment that I haven't looked in the basement.
This house is 100 years old. So the basement is well, 100 years old. With nooks and crannies ALL over the place. As we are walking down the steps, Joe is like, finding this damn thing down here is sorta like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Oh, and Joe was armed with a broom.
We turn into the first room, flick on the light and in like less than a second that bat was swooping down on both of us.
I freaked, ran for the stairs, and Joe started swinging the broom like it was the bottom of the 9th in the World Series with the scoring run on 3rd.
4 or 5 good smacks later, the bat was no more to this world.

Nothing like a good welcome to the house bat experience.
And that is how I spent the first night in our new house.

I am sure there will be much, much more to report.
Stay tuned.

Now Watching: Something on TV that is more background noise than anything.

Barak's Booty Call

That got your attention didn't it??!!?
Yeah - that's what I thought.
And no, this isn't some Monica Lewinski type thing. For one, I am not an intern and for two -- well, the whole idea is just too far out there.
The scoop on said booty call --- if you can actually call it that.
And I did mean to get this out over the weekend, but as packing and the Olympics dominated my weekend just never really got around to it.

As you may be aware, prior to the VP announcement by the Obama campaign they were allowing people to get registered to get a text message with the VP selection in advance of notifying the press. Sorta a insider-tip for the faithful to get. So I signed up. We all know that I am a rabid text messenger anyway - you have a way better chance of getting hold of me that way.

So the press is abuzz about the whole selection process late last week. Who is going to be? What will the selection process be like? Will this be the ticket of the ages?
I could go on, but I will leave the exaggeration and rhetorical questions to the pundits.
Friday night, or more technically, Saturday morning at 2:41 AM -- yes, 2:41 AM my phone rings with the text message ringer.
Now, 3 AM text messages are not exactly a new thing for me. They have historically come from one baby daddy in various forms of inebriation - which for the record has been curbed, progress in my mind. So, my first thought was crap -- what is up now?
Grabbed the phone, and rather blurry-ly glanced at the message.
Barak has chosen Sen. Joe Biden as his VP nominee.
Blah, blah and then it closes with this nugget:
Spread the word!!

A few things here. One, there was no disclaimer that I saw when signing up for the message that indicated it would be at O'dark-thirty in the morning.
Two - spread the word? At 3 AM? Like I have a phone tree of people that I needed to call right then and there? Answer: NO.

I dunno. Maybe they thought the only people that really wanted the message either didn't care what time it was sent or are so young and ready for change that they are up all night long dreaming of ways to change the world for the better.
I was neither of those people.
I can only surmise that they wanted to get the message out in advance of the Saturday morning papers.
I can honestly say that is the only time that politics has kept me up at night.
So there you go - the only time in my mind the phone rings at 3 AM is one of the following:
1) emergency
2) booty call
3) or every 4 years, the possibility of a VP announcement.

What else is new?
I hate packing.
A lot.
My house is a maze of boxes and piles of crap.
The movers come on Thursday morning. Frankly, I just want to get this done and over with.
Get settled and get the new place set up.

Oh, and I have popped. I have a tummy. Which now lends itself to more touching and discussion about said tummy.
Ah, the joys of pregnancy.
Well, we are at 20 weeks this week, so half way there. Lets just hope for everyones sake, that I don't lose it in the next 4.5 months.

And I have replaced my addictive Olympic watching with a new addiction: the Democratic Convention.
For the record, the closing ceremony's of the Olympics about brought me to tears. Not because of the poignant personal stories, the medal count or the sheer artistic beauty that only a Communist nation can provide -- No, it was the fact that I was going to have to go back to the bleak, barren world of summer programming on TV.
Which, is still a bit of an issue. While the convention is interesting, I can't do a straight marathon of watching the way I could with sports. So I still need something to bounce between.

Move is t-minus two days and counting. Followed by a family wedding in Omaha and then back to town for cleaning old place and getting new place set up.
Oh, and dealing with 3 cats that handle change REALLY well.
Yeah. Really well.

Could be a whirlwind few days.
Can't wait.

Now Listening: The Charlies' Angels Soundtrack -- hey, its on shuffle, I can't complain.

The Utterly Sublime

Its a rainy, cool day here in cow country. The cool part I am totally down with. The rainy part not so much, but hey, you do what you can.
A couple of things to get the screaming masses caught up on Meghan's world.
I did manage to get to the Iowa State Fair last weekend with my sister and one of her friends. We had fun. Saw the butter Shawn Johnson -- with no medal, which seemed wrong.
For the record, didn't really look like her. But had to be a life size replica as it was very tiny.
Ate some fried foods, got a milkshake straight from the dairy barn.
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard....
Had to go there.
Saw all the requisite award-winning barn animals (And in some cases, their ridiculous genitalia).
And topped it all of with some people watching that is frankly, second to none.

Working on getting the house packed up. Movers come a week from today. Eek.
I am in no way, shape or form ready for that. Which means the next few days -- and especially the weekend need to be like super productive. Which sucks, but thems are the breaks.

I have been totally addicted to the Olympics this year. And so in true Olympic fashion, I went for a personal record the other night. I was at home, the fridge is looking pretty bare these days. For good reason, I hate moving food -- so trying to keep that stock down low. I ended up settling on pancakes for dinner.
Hey - when you were a kid you thought that was cool, NOT pathetic.
So I made my pancakes, got them all prepped with butter and syrup and then plopped down in front of the TV to watch athletes who haven't had a pancake in like, 8 years.
I then proceeded to set a personal record in pancake consumption as I watched the aforementioned athletes.
And they were good.
And I am not ashamed.

So then today, I get this email.
I should qualify. I get a lot of emails in a day. Work, personal, Spam, you name it.
But this one bordered on the utterly insane.
I have subscribed to a few baby/pregnancy sites since I found out I was pregnant. Most of them are pretty cool. What is happening this week, that sort of thing. Well, one of them sends an email that is intended to be passed on to the Dad-to-be.
Conceptually, a good thing. Dads should be actively involved with this. And I know that Joe had already subscribed to one of the sites as well, so he is getting the same info as I am.
Here is the text of this one:

By now you're no doubt a little curious about what this labor thing that
everybody's been talking about will look like — and how you'll get through it.
Like the good Boy Scout you are, be prepared. Though you probably won't be
signing up for childbirth classes yet, it isn't too early to start your
childbirth preparation — and satisfy your curiosity. Your partner may be as
curious as you are, so watch a video of an actual labor and delivery together —
you'll definitely score points by initiating the screening. (Or she may not be
ready to face that particular fear, so ask before you pop in the video.) Your
hospital or birthing center may have one to lend you, or search online for a
greater variety of delivery types.

Um. WTF?!?!
Yes, honey, I have a great idea for date night, lets get some delivery and pop in this movie I picked up called "How your V-jayjay will never be the same again"
Sounds awesome.
I can't think of a better way to spend a few quality hours.
You want an idea of labor, watch "Knocked Up"

Lets get some perspective on this situation. No, I am not "a little curious" about this labor thing. I am freaking the hell out about this labor thing and it is 4.5 months away. Plus, I still have people telling me I am not looking pregnant -- and while this is clearly an issue for me (see previous post) the idea of hunkering down with a National Geographic special on birth seems a TAD premature at this point.
And PS - should you suggest this to me, you will NOT in fact score points with me. Odds are good that you will in fact, kill all sex credits for the next 5 years.
So there you go.
A little glimpse into the current insanity of my life.

Now Listening: Icky Thump by The White Stripes

Hormones on fire...

I am amazed how the hormones currently coursing through my body can turn me into a she-beast at a moments notice.
Today is one of those days.
No reason in particular. Nothing really triggered it, just overall crab-ass.

Which leads me to the following bitch (rant, complaint, vent -- call it what you will)
I will caveat all of this with -- I know this is old territory for anyone that has had a kid and I know that this is not the least of the annoying things that people will do in the next 5 months, however, it is bugging the crap out of me today and I need to get it out of the noggin lest I go nutty.
Hold on to your hats kids, the ride is about to start.

Don't call me "Momma". Especially in a a group of people. 1) I am not your momma. 2) I am not technically a mother yet. 3) I don't want my own kid calling me momma. Not to mention it brings to mind these images of an old, overweight couple sitting on their front porch, in their overalls calling each "Mother" and "Father". Um. No. Hells no.

There is no need at all to remind me that I am "eating for two". No shit. Technically, eating for two is old wives tale. See, I talked to the doctor and I only actually need an extra 200-300 calories a day. Not an extra 2,000. And when I say I am going to get something to eat, don't make some stupid comment about pickles and ice cream. I get it. You know pregnant women have cravings. However, lunch does not constitute a craving. And of course, the people that like to broach the eating for two myth are the same people that will do one of two things -- 1) remind me not to gain to much weight -- gosh thanks. Or 2) tell me that during their pregnancy they only gained 12 lbs. Or something like that. Again, thanks. Tell it to someone who cares.

Unsolicited advice. Now, I know that this one is loaded. As it has only just begun. But I feel that I am in a unique place (and probably not really, but that is how I feel) in that I work with a ton of nurses. Now, they are not currently practicing nurses, but all keep their RN status current, etc. AND most of them have been out of active practice for going on 10+ years, if not more. So, according to them, I can't drink coffee, dye my hair, eat too much, be out in the sun too long, can't use bug spray, am going to get huge, etc, etc, etc.... You see where this is going. Newsflash: you are not my doctor. I did not ask for your advice. I am a smart person, should I be concerned about ANY of the above issues I would ask MY DOCTOR. The one that I see once a month. The one that specializes in bringing kids into the world, the one that is current on my medical history and what I can and can't do.
And no, you can't touch my stomach. Do I ask to touch yours? Exactly.
The worst offenders of this bunch -- MEN. Yeah, Dr. Spock, tell me what I can and can't do. That's just great. Is that advice from when you where pregnant? No? Then cram it.

And the last one of the day -- the whole "you don't look pregnant" brigade. These people have led me to one of two conclusions. Either people I consider friends (or at least acquaintances) are lying to me or two, I was way fatter than I thought I was pre-pregnancy. Because I assure you. I look like something is going on. Failure to admit that I at least look like I have put on a few pounds around the middle is just stupid. And frankly, telling me that I look a little pregnant is WAY better than people saying that I don't look it because trust me -- I feel it.

Whew. I feel somewhat better. Not great, but better.
Bottom line, if you read this today -- don't do any of the above and yes, you might want to just steer clear of me.

Now Listening: Little Plastic Castles by Ani DiFranco