« November 2007 | Main | January 2008 »
Since I was a good girl this year, I bought mee-self a blackberry for Christmas. I've had the thing for less than 72 hours and I am already hooked. Neville is threatening to flush it down the toilet.
My precious... Seriously, this shiny little phone is the gateway into a dark world.
12 times I used "better be a nice boy or Santa won't come bring any presents" to get Darius in line on Christmas Eve.
11 Christmas cards we received even though we sent out 50. Where's the love, people???
10 gift cards given. Partially because I was a lazy shopper and partially because D's school had a fundraiser with gift cards. If you ask, I'll deny the lazy part.
9 pictures taken on Christmas morning, beating my record for the last two years (which was zero).
8 hours of Christmas music on CD. If I could get away with it, we'd listen year round. Nothing makes me feel more festive that classic Christmas music.
7 days of eye drops for the entire family. We all got pink eye on Christmas day! Not exactly thoughtful gift giving from the kid that infected us.
6 presents left by Santa at our house. But wouldn't you know that Santa also visited every friend and family member too. I think Darius ended up with about 20 shiny wrapped presents (and we still have a visit to Nana's house on Saturday).
5 hours of sleep on Christmas Eve night.
4 cookies left for Santa (and later eaten by me)
3 people that didn't follow our "no toys" rule this year. Which means three toys that will be returned. I was serious when I said that we didn't want toys.
2 hours of Christmas clean-up. Yes, my house is already back to normal after having Christmas decorations up since Thanksgiving.
1 boy who found the magic of Christmas
Christmas is upon us. It is here. And I'm suddenly FREAKING OUT. My brother flies into tomorrow to visit for the first time since we bought our home and the place looks more like a loony bin of stuff than a home we live in 24/7. Dust bunnies are so large they can practically walk themselves to the waste bin. Thomas the train toys everywhere after a 3 month hiatus of playing with what was once the favorite toy. Laundry coming out of my ears. I swear I am this close to making a rule that we all have to wear the same clothes, including underwear, so that I don't have to do eight million loads of laundry a day.
Plus tonight we are baby-sitting for our good friends. They are bringing their adorable little 5-month old baby so they can go to a holiday party. If I don't get this house cleaned before they show, they will undoubtedly turn around and never ask us to babysit again. And since I am in that "my baby is all grown up so I should get preggers again" hormonal craziness, I need me a baby fix. Especially one that I get to snuggle with for a few hours and then give back at midnight.
Oh, and did I mention that we decided to actually celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. We are going to spend Christmas day (the 25th) with Neville's family. And since they don't celebrate Christmas, we decided to do it a day early. So tomorrow night (the 23rd), will actually be Christmas Eve. Cookies and milk will be left for Santa. On the morning of the 24th (Christmas Eve for the rest of world), we'll be celebrating Christmas day. We have a few gifts for Darius to open at our place and then we'll head over to my dad's to celebrate with him. When I agreed to this months ago, I didn't realize the insanity I would feel by getting jipped a day for Christmas readiness and planning.
My list of things to do is giant. I've got housecleaning which is going to take the better part of, oh, forever. I have cookie baking (there is a high probability that Santa will get store-bought cookies instead). I have laundry. And I have a little boy that is ready to rip through all of those shiny presents under the tree.
HELP!
A few weeks back, we headed up to the Randall Museum to take part in their holiday crafts event. We had a great time making beeswax candles. But the icing on the cake was making wooden candle holders. Darius used a real tool to cut out one from the wood. When I asked hime who he was planning on giving these to for Christmas, he very sweetly replied "To myself. These stay with me."
The candles will be our source of light at our table on Christmas Eve.
She's lifesize and has the giant head. And I really mean lifesize. She stands nearly three feet tall.
Boy I am glad that we never brought Dora into our house. Her giant head is already giving me nightmares.
I swear, if this toy was around in the 80s it would have replaced the uber-scary clown in Poltergeist.
It's the baby version of a baby grand piano. Who comes up with this stuff?
I suppose this is for the kid that has everything.
Why pay around thirty bucks for this kit when you can buy a bag of fifty 16 ounce plastic Solo cups for under $5.00 at Target. Somebody out there must be raking in quite a bit of money for this brilliant idea.
It's a Jesus doll. Now, I am a Christian and I still find this to be incredibly weird. The doll recites some of the more popular bible versus.
It's affordable (under $12), but seriously, what kid would ask for a Jesus doll for Christmas? The fact that something so pure and wonderful as Jesus Christ has now turned into a marketing ploy... well, that makes me sick to my stomach.
Basically, it's a shocking game. Each player holds on to a control and waits for the music/lights to stop. Whomever is the last to let go gets shocked. It's a game of reflexes. But to me mirrors some weird interrogation tactics. The weirdest part - the game is actually highly rated on Amazon.
With our litigious culture, you better have your friends sign a waiver before they pick up a control.
When I was pregnant with Darius, Neville and I had a battle royale over naming him. I wanted a Christian name. He wanted a Persian name. Why? That isn't the point. We both wanted what the other didn't and were prepared to name our child "Number One" than let the other person win. It wasn't a pretty time in our lives. We proved during those nine months that we are exceptionally selfish people. Maturity, it appears, isn't our strong suit.
Darius wasn't actually named until about 45 minutes before we were discharged from the hospital. The records lady had come by four times in twelve hours to find out if we had settled on a name. And it wasn't until she threatened to pull my discharge that we finally agreed.
Darius. As in dare-ree-us. It is a family name of Neville's. One diff. They pronounce it da-rye-us. I didn't care. Neville doesn't have that much family. I could tell people that was the ethnic pronounciation of the name (I know, I'm a terrible person). I figured that 10 people may call him Da-rye-us but the rest of the world would call him Dare-ree-us. And I would win. And frankly, winning was all that mattered. So I conceeded. And our baby boy became Darius.
For the last 3.5 years, Darius has remained Dare-ree-us. At doctor's visits. At school. With my family. With friends. Neville did his best to correct others to call him Da-rye-us. But alas I was always won. Darius. Dare-ree-us. Triumph. Sweet victory.
Yesterday, my precious boy told me that he wants to be called Da-rye-us. WHAT?? Uh. I never considered him wanting to go by his father's version. He's a momma's boy to the core. The whole frickin world except for those 10 people that insist on calling him by his ethnic name have it right. I had won, right?
So I did only what any hyper-competitive parent would do. I told my kid that Santa wouldn't come to Da-rye-us's house since daddy doesn't believe in Christmas. But Santa would come to Dare-ree-us's house since mommy believes. Can you believe it? Because I can barely look at myself today.
So, my little boy. When the psychotherapist questions you about your lack of self-identity, you have this confession from your mom to point to the root cause. You sold out your dad because of the promise of Christmas presents. If you turn out to be something less than stellar in life, you have me to blame.
And for the record, I'll be putting coal in my own stocking.
Have you ever known a person that you really respected? One that you thought was looking out for your best interest. That you believed to be a honest, intelligent, genuine person. When others would tell you bad things about this person, you chose not to believe it. Not to see that. It couldn't be true. Couldn't be. You knew this person. You knew they were good. You knew they couldn't be like what others were saying.
Have you ever felt like a fool after you found out that all those stories were in fact true. That this person is an imposter. That they are threatened and jealous of you. That they tried to poison others against you. That they never were looking out for your interests but used you to get themselves ahead.
Have you ever been so blind? Had the wool pulled over your eyes? Felt like an complete and utter idiot for ever believing in them in the first place?
Because I found out that I have been played. And I'd love to know right now that I am not alone.
Sunday used to be my favorite day. Neville and I would sleep in. When we woke up, there would always be lazy Sunday morning sex. I'd walk a block to Whole Foods and pick up groceries. When I got back, it would be time for a nap, or reading a good book, or watching a movie. It was a lazy Sunday. And I loved it.
Yeah, then I got knocked up. And lots of my favorite things got thrown out the window. Partying with girlfriends till the clubs closed. Buying impractical shoes. Working late until whatever time it was necessary to get the job done. And apparently sleeping in. And lazy Sundays. Good-bye lazy Sundays.
After 3.5 years of no lazy Sundays, I've decided to start a new tradition. When D woke up bright and early at 6:30am, we pulled him into bed with us. He laid between us without a peep for 45 minutes. Then I passed over some books and we all took turns reading. Darius sang a little song. Neville unsuccessfully tried to warm his feet on me.
We laid in bed for nearly 2 hours. And while it wasn't exactly the way that it was four years ago, I'm already loving today. As soon as Sesame Street is over, D and I are heading to the grocery store. I'm going to do my best to have a lazy Sunday.
Kayaking on the Pacific Ocean in Cabo San Lucas
Walking along the miles and miles of coastline
The power of one little pepper
Three friends taking a small vacation and making big memories.
The good:
The bad:
The ugly:
I'm headed out to Cabo San Lucas for five fun filled days of Mexican sun. I've packed the ultra-strong sun screen so that my terribly white Irish skin doesn't turn the color of a ripened tomato.
My girlfriends and I are going. Boys are staying home. This will be the first time ever that Neville has no help in caring for Darius. I asked his brother (who lives three blocks away from us) to stop by at least once to make sure that a) they are still alive, b) they are eating more than mini-mashmallows and hot dogs, and c) that they haven't turned into total savages.
My goals for the five days: little shopping, little dancing, finishing a book of short stories I started reading a year ago. Oh, and doing my best to forget that I will be coming home to Hurricane Darius and Hurricane Neville. Oh the house will be a disaster.
But right now, I am going to focus on the white beaches and magaritas in my future. Denial is my friend.
Darius, about 45 minutes old. We waited a long time for him. He was eight days late - which any pregnant woman knows feels like years instead of days. He was born after ten long hours of labor.
My little baby is now a very big three year old boy.
One tired mom after long nights of nursing, burping, changing, singing, rocking, and nursing again. It's amazing that this photo feels like such a long time ago. Having a little boy instead of a baby happens fast. Part of me longs for those infant days back. A really little part of me. Because I certainly do not miss those bags under my eyes.
I'm so excited to announce the launch of Who's the Boss? Reviews. True to form, this site is dedicated to reviews. I'll write about my experiences with products/books/food/clothes/whatever I want from my working momma perspective.
It'll be good times.
I'm under crazy deadlines this week. Partly from having WAY TOO MUCH on my plate. Partly because I have been having motivational issues due to fact that I'll be in Cabo San Lucas for 5 days - leaving on Saturday, thank you very much.
So while I work on whipping my own ass into shape before I am sitting on a beach drinking Sangria, please check out the best post ever that answers the question, "Can a woman be nice and still get ahead?"
I overslept this morning. And so I am driving in my car with my curlers still in my hair.
Good thing I didn't run into anyone in the parking lot or my reputation for having awesome hair would be ruined.
Photo taken en route to work when the freeway resembled more of a parking lot than a super highway.
I used Random.org once again to pick the lucky winners.
When I first graduated college, I had a contract job at a big semi-conductor company in Santa Clara. I worked in their Corporate University where internal employees would receive product training as well as basic computer skills and soft skills. My job was to run the back-office operations of our training group which delivered all the soft skills classes. It wasn't very fun but I really loved the people I worked with. And I felt all important. New college grad. Fancy shiny building. My first photo badge ID. I was totally cool.
But when the dot com bubble-burst in Valley and the company started lay-offs after two quarters of poor earnings, my job morphed as we lost our interns and catering staff. And I got relegated to coffee duty. Yes, the company paid me quite good money to walk around the training building three times a day to check the five coffee kiosks. I'd make sure the creamer packets were out. I'd refill the coffee carafes. And I'd pick up after the inconsiderate customers that could care just enough to leave their half-drunken cup 3 inches from the garbage, but not so much as to actually throw their own trash away.
After two weeks, I asked to be laid off.
Wouldn't you know, all these years later that those coffee skilz would come in handy. Because apparently the people work on this floor do not know how to operate the coffee machine and courteously refill it when they TAKE THE LAST FRICKIN' CUP. Every time I go to get a new cup of joe, the carafes are empty. And I'm sick of filling up those barren carafes.
Today, I caught one of the imbeciles take the last cup down to the last drop. Empty. Zip. Zero Zilch. She saw me prepping my cup for filling: a dash of the lovely generic powdered creamer we get here at this lovely little company and a dash of pink death sweeten low. And she didn't even say to me "Hey this one is empty." She just briskly walked off without taking the 26 seconds to put new grounds in the filter and hit the start button. I almost ran after her. I almost shouted "EXCUSE ME. IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU FILLED UP THE CARAFE WHEN YOU TAKE THE LAST CUP, BITCH."
Almost. She was lucky it wasn't my first cup of the day. Or there just may have been a cat-fight.
I'm participating in a new project - Playborhood.com which just launched a month ago. Founded by a Palo Alto dad, the goal is to reach out to people who seek better play-based communities and neighborhoods for their children.
So many families now have structured play all the time and neighborhoods where they don't feel safe letting their kids just go out and play. We've certainly done more of the structured play or organized "free play" dates than allowing our kid to hang out in the front yard. But I often think about how different my son's childhood experience will be without the fun, parent-free, neighborhood play I experienced in my youth. And I want to take steps as a community to change for the better.
Please check out my first article and stay over there a while to see what the site has to offer.
Recent Comments