Monday, March 3, 2014

My 3 year old...

My husband and I were starting to plan a romantic weekend away to celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary this fall.  We have two free airline tickets and have been saving for a getaway.  I had decided a weekend in Boston with a stop in Martha's Vineyard  would be oh sooo romantic (Chris was only interested in Fenway Park but I'll still count it).

My brother proposed we join them in Hawaii instead.  He was getting a killer deal at the Aulani Disney resort and thought we should cancel our romantic weekend alone and take the kids with us on a family trip to Hawaii.

I imagined our sweet family of 4 running across the beaches in slow motion, our children squealing with glee as they swam in the children's pool, shaking Mickey's hands.  Cue cheesy Hallmark music.

But a 5+ hour flight with a 3 year old and a 1 year old? Um. Gulp.  I'd rather have a root canal.

Maybe my child would magically turn into a sweetheart after his third birthday? 

I've been struggling for a few weeks now, giving my brother a non-committal 'Uh, still thinking about it' reply whenever he asks until I spoke with my co-worker today whose son is three...

We were both making a cup of tea in the break room when she said, "I read this hilarious article called 'My three year old is an asshole', you've got to read it.  It's on the Huffington Post today. It's so true.  Three year olds are really...really...really hard. You should prepare yourself."

I ran to my desk, pulling up the Huffington Post website but was unable to find the article.  I typed, "my 3 year old is..."

Google finished for me...

...Mean
...A Brat
...Driving me crazy

My hallmark dreams faded into a horror film.


Helloooooooo Martha's Vinyard.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Why is it available?

I was able to switch my Alaskan training to a far more friendly climate in Washington.  I love, love, love Washington.  I'm just a rainy dreary sort of girl.

The training was absolutely fascinating, by far one of my favorites - very helpful.  The feds put on the class and since they like to recruit from their current staff pool, they shared two investigative positions available. The trainer spent nearly 30 minutes talking about the positions and I was sold.  One of them had my name all over it.  My absolute dream job.  Finally.  Completely within my grasp.

I went back to the hotel and talked to Chris about it.  He was open to me applying for the position if I felt so strongly about it.

"That's weird" he said, "That two positions became available in the same area at the same time.  Two old dudes retire?"

"Uhhhh. Not exactly..." I stammered.

"Quit?!!  You want to move and jump into a job someone QUIT?!?!?" he said.

"Um. No. They didn't quit... they were sort of... murdered.  Their investigation led them to a not so nice group of folks...uh...who had them murdered."

Chris stares at me... then walks out.

I guess that means no.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Packing a Parka...

I'm on a rotating schedule for work travel.  When my turn comes up, I can go, or decline and hope the next city is better.  We get a limited number of declines on each rotation so it's a gamble.

I declined Indiana because... it's Indiana.

The new cycle was just announced...

Anckorage Alaska

In January


I  might die.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Awesome Filth...

My mom has always stressed the importance of spending a little more money to buy quality items.  She'd rather spend $80 on a nice skirt than have eight $10 ones that fall apart quickly.

I drive a Kia and 90% of my wardrobe is from Target.

I'm not a good listener.

Naturally, my decision when purchasing a vacuum was no exception.  I started off the right place.  I asked her for advice on where to buy a fancy machine but as soon as I saw the $600 price tag, I reverted to my old cheap ways.

She also said, "Under NO circumstances should you buy a bagless vacuum.  They're terrible!!"

I brought home a $140 bagless vacuum.

My mom would be so proud.

I pulled my plastic sensation out of the box and started vacuuming, fully expecting the thing to start smoking.  Off it went, working my carpet into a tizzy, filling the clear plastic bin with dirt... and filling... and filling.. and filling.  Geez!  How filthy are my floors!?!?

I finally finished, the dirt and hair well above the 'MAX FILL LINE', and opened the container to put it into the trash. There was so much dirt packed in the container, I had to pull it out with my hands.  This was....

AWESOME!

Bagless versions are the Biore Pore Strips of vacuum cleaners.

Being Obsessive Compusive, I haven't felt this satisfied after vacuuming since I figured out how to make checkerboard patterns on the carpet like an MLB groundskeeper.

Well mom, I'm sorry, but you're wrong.  I can support your $200 purses but you've got vacuum cleaners all wrong.  I've got quite the love affair with my $140 vacuum...

even if I have to replace it 4 times in the next six months.

Friday, November 1, 2013

I've made the switch...

There's a time in all our lives when we move from dressing like the cool hip young adults we were to...dressing like uncool moms.  Sure, there are exceptions like my sisters (ugh. I hate them) but most of us?  Yeah.  We make the switch.

It doesn't happen overnight.  It takes years.  But you realize it's happening the moment you walk into the Juniors department at Macy's (or the rich folks who shop in Brass Plum at Nordy's) and think most of the clothes are ugly.  Then, trying to force yourself into being cool, you try on the clothes anyway and can't get them to fit because 'mom' shaped bodies can't squish into those skinny jeans.

And to all those stupid pictures on Facebook of half dressed moms with the byline, "I've had 8 kids and I'm a size 2!", I'd like to actually meet those women...

so I could punch them in the face.

Yes, I too weigh exactly what I did before my boys were born but you don't see me posting those photos.  Mostly because I can't get my flap of saggy stomach skin or my boobs, now located at my waist, to smile for the camera.

Chris and I wanted to have professional photos done for our Christmas cards this year and I was desperate to find an outfit.  This was made difficult because a) I have a disease called 'mom body' and b) I have $16 in my checking account.

I figured I'd find something in Forever 21 because a) from what I recall from shopping there prior to baby no. 1, they have cute clothes and b) because they have shirts for less than $16.

There is nothing cute in Forever 21.

I am so uncool.

I nearly went to the checkout, begged for mercy, and asked them to dress me.  I had two choices: a) ask an 18 year old with piercings to dress me or b)  spend 5 bucks at Rubio's on a burrito, breathing in the precious few child free minutes, and digging a 10 year old dress out of my closet.

The burrito was delicious.

I've totally turned into my mom.

Screw it.  I'm pulling out a glittered, puffy painted christmas sweater and calling it a day.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

The Guatemalan...

I didn't get a Guatemalan nanny like I had hoped. My sister took the job as caretaker to my two little ones.

It seemed like a good idea.

Seemed.

The problem? There's nothing as good as reliable family watching your kids.  Especially when they both love and adore her.  BUT, now all I worry about is her quitting - leaving to work another job to make the money she deserves rather than the limited funds I can afford to pay her.

She took the boys to the zoo last week and said she needed to leave at 11:30.  "Why?" I asked.

"I need to prepare the boys for nap time at noon.  We can only do trips out of the house between 9AM and 11AM.  I have them on a schedule."

The only schedule I could manage was a nap sometime between 9 am and 4 pm.

On weekends, at precisely noon, both boys fall asleep wherever they are.  It's like a little timer goes off in their brains and out they go.  Even when she's not here, it's easier since they run like a well oiled ship...or however the saying goes.


I tried to tell her where the ‘timeout’ corner was.  “I don’t need a timeout corner” she said. At first I was flattered, thinking my boys must be magically well behaved while I’m not home, then she finished, “Because I can put the fear of God into them with one look."

Cash was throwing a ball in the house and she said, "Stop" and shot the look.  He dropped the ball and walked away.

Must. Master. That. Look.

In my world, I have to say stop 47 times, beg, plead, resort to time outs, then finally just ignore the fact that he's still throwing the ball.


Let's not even talk about the fact that Declan slept through the night on his first try and has never woken up during the night since.  I think she sprinkles fairy dust in his room.


Sooooo.  Like I said.  It's not so great.  It’s like dating a really hot guy when you are 40 pounds overweight with acne scars and frizzy hair.  You enjoy the relationship but you’re always worried he’ll leave you for Kate Upton.

So do me a favor.  Don’t tell my sister how awesome she is.  I don’t want her to know.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Halloween Woes...

Chris has been asking to do Star Wars themed costumes for three years now.  Cash would be Yoda, Chris would be Hans Solo, and I would be...

Princess Leia.

Ugh.

While I've been able to fight off his idea for quite some time, my brother is having a party this year and has asked if Declan can come as...

Yoda.

Ugh.

Off I go to Amazon.

Hans Solo costume.  Check.

Princess Leia costume.  Check. (And no, not the Princess Leia Jabba the Hut Slave one you pervs.  I just had a kid.  I'd look like Jabba the Hut who ATE Princess Leia)

Ewok costume.  Check.

Yoda.  Check.

Check Out.  Click.

Chris leans over my shoulder. "Where's my gun?  My costume comes with a gun right?"

"The gun is $13.  Can't you go without it?" I ask.

Chris looks at me like I just asked Michael Knight to show up without Kitt.

Gun.  Check.

"And my holster.  Where is the holster?" he asks.

"Do you really need the holster?!?!"

"No.  I could hold my beer in one hand and the gun in the other buuuuut, that limits the amount of help I can be with the kids if both my hands are full."

Holster.  Check.

"Honey, those stupid accessories pushed your stupid costume to $60.  That's outrageous!  We can't afford that much!"  I griped.

"Sweet!  Looks like we have an excuse to be the Star Wars family for the next THREE years!!" he said with a grin.


I hate Star Wars.  I really HATE Star Wars.