Monday, January 30, 2012

your baby is nice

My sister is due next Tuesday with her 3rd baby. A girl. She's been pregnant a long time, most of the past 3 years really which is the gestational equivalent of your average pachyderm if we're looking for comparisons. Now, I love being pregnant. I really, genuinely do. After the first 10 weeks or so, I am golden until that kid comes screaming its way out of my tender nether regions. I knew it was time to have another baby after the Nub because I started looking at pregnant women all googly eyed and jealous and then approximately .04 seconds after discussing it with Paul I was pregnant too. I wanted more time to think about it, but apparently we are people of action.

Triple is approximately the same age the Nub was when I got pregnant. I keep waiting to feel that same urge, the green-eyed monster of the delightfully rotund and eat-what-you-want club. But thankfully, it has been noticeably absent. Several of my friends have had babies lately. These babies are nice. They smell good. They make those squeaky sounds that everyone likes, and we all know the Jedi mind tricks newborns play when they fall asleep on your chest. Rude. I like these babies a lot, but I am glad they are not coming home with me, that I do not have to offer my sad, ruined chest up for further terrorizing, that mostly the kids I already have will sleep when I want them to. I've even taught the Nub to scratch my back which is awesome on so many levels. Besides, Triple is a human wrecking ball and most of the babies he's been around lately he's tried to club to death like a baby seal. I assume he was hungry in all instances, so watch your back babies, I can't control that beast.

I've always though I wanted at least 3 kids, probably 4. But for now, and into the indefinite future, 2 is treating me just fine.

In the interim, if you need swaddling lessons or want me to come sniff your baby I am happy to oblige. As long as you use your own babyfeeders and I can leave when they want to do anything other than sleep and plot revenge on the night.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

me likey

I am still really into this nude sweater I snatched for $16 at the Rack. Please note my shocking lack of accessories. I'd maybe throw a scarf on this, a gray one likely. Accessories just mean more things for my kids to pull on and break. I hate bracelets, most necklaces, and dangly earrings are just asking for it.

Got these at TJ Maxx. I'm approximately 6'3" in them which effectively qualifies me as enormous.
I like it!

all of season 2 watched? done

 part polygamist, part "not just another ponytail". I'm in.

I actually got dressed one day. Here's proof plus a good shot of those generous and supple thighs, and a toddler photobomb. Also, my birthday boots are already coming apart at the sole. I'm rather pissed because now I have to find all new boots. It's not cool.

seacrest out

Monday, January 23, 2012

just jump

Meeting with the mortgage guy wasn't that scary. Turns out, they really do want to give you the money. Because that means they get money. There's just so much money flying around, it's like one of those glass boxes where they blow it everywhere and you have to catch it in your shirt! Or not. We just have a couple of hoops to jump through and then our very first home loan should get pre-approved barring some random act of nature or the cosmos getting in our way. YOU CAN'T STOP ME FROM BUYING A HOUSE UTAH LAKE TSUNAMI, I'M WATCHING YOU!

Houses are expensive, even when you get one for freaking cheap in this down market or whatever. There are all these things like down payments and closing costs and random small print fees that I assume go towards training future lenders and realtors into how to confuse future home buyers when it comes to this whole process. So that the legacy may continue and all. I even stumbled on a house I might really like today. So much that I spent the whole day obsessing about it and emailing people and contemplated prostituting myself out just so we could raise the funds for the down payment faster. I haven't even seen it in person, but the pictures look nice. And, it has a master bath so I can lock the door and hide in the sanctitude of my own commode rather than share it with the other 3 toilet missing target shooters in my life. I would feel remiss if I didn't mention the fenced awesome yard to contain the dog and childrens and the fact that a swingset is included. People, pray to the god of whoever is in charge of this sort of thing that this particular house is as good as it seems and that maybe, just maybe it might be meant for us.

In other news, I got to go to a Sundance showing of Robot and Frank on Saturday with my homies over at Today's Mama. Robot and Frank was, endearing, in a word. The drive up and down Parley's Canyon was laughable along with a few more choice words, but winning two tickets anywhere Southwest flies and a night out with some of my favorites made it totally WORTH IT. Guys, I'm on a dang roll with the winning of sweet prizes lately, I think I need to hit Vegas with all of the monies the mortgage guy is going to give us. DOUBLE OR NOTHING. My confidence level is high.

When I come "up North" as it has been phrased, the kids and I invade on the good graces of Paul's parents. He and I are relegated to a full bed in the basement boudoir while one child sleeps in a pack and play in the upstairs spare bedroom, and the other child on a crib mattress in the master closet. Sticking kids in the closet to sleep has been the best discovery since sleeping my baby in a hotel bathtub during the Superbowl last year.  Dark and quiet. You should try it next time you're not sleeping at home. Anyway, let's just say that people like Paul and I (see photo):

in my defense I am wearing very tall shoes, and no bra

should not be sleeping in full beds and if I accidentally get pregnant it's most likely because there was no room to hide from any one's advancing extremities. Let's hope it does not come to this. Also, why cohabiting people sleep in anything less than a king by choice is far beyond my sphere of understanding.

It's only taken me 3 hours to write this post.

Monday, January 16, 2012

High Life

Everything moves slower down here, and I'm not just waxing poetic; this is purely observational. Even the cashiers at the local Wal-Mart seem to have the same problem. Like the one who forgot to scan my 75 cent coupon for almond milk today and then simply said "sorry" and handed it back to me. I could go to the service desk and retrieve my 75 cents she said.   I held my laugh until I got to the car and then drove the 20 minutes back home thinking about how Wal-Mart has ruined everything good in the world, even coupons.

On occasion I find myself without anything to do. You see, Connie runs a tight ship. Things are generally neat and orderly and we managed to keep the items we brought with us to a relative minimum, thus eliminating any extra up-keep on my part. Not that I don't help my mom, I do, but that whole process is really streamlined. Turns out not having your own house to clean and often having an extra set of hands to help with children suddenly means I've got some extra time. What have I been doing with it? Other then changing 5 billion diapers thanks to a case of chronic diarrhea for Triple, last night I stayed up until 1 am watching past episodes of "New Girl" and laughing out loud to myself. The episode where she can't say "penis"? Oh glory. You should be watching that business. We got rid of our DISH in the move. My beloved dvr went with it, and I have since signed up for Hulu Plus and Netflix thanks to the wireless enabled blu-ray player Paul's parents so generously gifted us for Christmas. Hulu-Plus is like the best thing since sliced bread you guys. And I really like sliced bread. Also I've been watching, Downton Abbey along with everyone else and their dog. Except for Paul who seriously hates period dramas, a terrible misfortune if you ask me. Young Victoria? Pride and Prejudice? Clueless? He is missing out.

I've also been taking pictures of my flat, saggy, bra less chest (with my shirt on you sickos) and sending them to my friends via text message "SEE HOW WRECKED THEY ARE?". Everyone concurs and then we compete for who has the ugliest boobs. Too big, too saggly, too-in-your-face? There are many categories, and I think really, we're all winners.

Paul and I are meeting with a mortgage lender on Friday and I've already started developing anxiety sweats over the whole thing. Sure, it's just a non-committal, how do you do, here are my tax returns, pay stubs, and inept records of financial stewardship will you consider giving us 100k+ dollars sort of meeting, NO BIG DEAL. You people who have bought multiple houses, I don't know how you do it. This shizz is stressful and we haven't even started yet. The good news is that there are a crap load of houses out there for us to choose from, most all of them featuring 4+ bedrooms, a basement, multiple bathrooms, and a FENCED YARD! Lord bless this buyer's market, and bless that we find a house and live there forever because I'm pretty much over moving yo. My kids basically think we're homeless and the Nub keeps asking when we get to move into our new house. Kid, you will cry for the days when you used to get as much attention as you're getting right now. You are living the high life and you don't even know it. Then again, maybe I am too.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Making Lady Friends

My friend Vanessa over at I Never Grew Up asked me and a few other smart ladies to write about how to make friends as a grown woman. If you want some sage friendship advice with minimal crudity (I like to keep it classy for guest posts) here's the link to my contribution.

kthanks byeeeee

Thursday, January 12, 2012

if you're happy and you know it clap your hands

I'm glad I'm tall. I can reach things on the top shelf, sit comfortably in chairs, etc. Also, pregnancy looks really uncomfortable for short people. It's not that bad for me, I rather enjoyed it, until the end when everyone hates it.

I'm glad my kids are cute. Let's be honest, some aren't.

I'm glad that if push came to shove, I could defend myself in a street fight. Thank you abusive older brothers, team sports, and years of pent up rage.

I'm glad I'm not a picky eater. Yes, I have texture issues (seafood, raisins), but I like all vegetables and fruits. I am not liking meat so much these days that is true, but I can hardly ever see myself turning down a juicy steak if it were on the table.

I'm glad I know how to clean. Not that my house, when I had a house, was spotless, but it looked like a sparkly Taj Majal compared to some dwellings. Cleanliness issues that gross me out (and that I have been privvy to on occasion): dirty bathrooms with bodily fluids visible on the toilet and floor, toothpaste in sinks, dust/film/buildup on kitchen and sink counters-the corners in particular, laundry on floors and not in laundry baskets where they belong (Paul), dishes with crusty food in the sink (guilty even though I hate it), animal hair, rooms that smell like poop, kitchen dish rags that smell like mold, sticky floors, fridge leftovers, garbage cans that clearly need to be taken out. The Nub is almost old enough to start chores. I, for one, can't wait. Also, this list makes me seem a little pedantic which is probably true.

I'm glad for my frame. Need to move a couch? I'm your girl. Heft around your giant baby/now toddler? Got it. Hard labor in the garden/yard, sign me up.

On a related note, I'm glad my parents taught me how to work. This is self-explanatory.

I'm glad I have green eyes, long eye lashes, and freckles.

I'm glad I exercise.

I'm glad my parents cared enough to put me in braces and shell out thousands for jaw surgery. Thanks parents.

I'm glad my car is almost paid off. Let's hear it for Blazey!

I'm glad for my sister, my brothers, my parents and my in-laws. They're all pretty great.

I'm glad I grew up on a farm and know how to ride a horse.

I'm thankful for my iphone.

I'm grateful for Gus. He's a good dog, even though I hate picking up dog poop and animal hair in general (see above).

I'm grateful we are both employed and have insurance, even if it is completely ridiculous. Are your prescriptions cheaper out of pocket? Because mine are.

Mostly I'm just glad I have clothes on my back, food on my table, and that I don't have to sleep on the streets. Being homeless isn't nearly as bad as those guys with cardboard signs say it is.


Wednesday, January 11, 2012

pack it up, again

Well, well... clearly it's been a little bananas around here.

First of all, we moved. Into a storage unit. Don't be jealous.

It's kind of a long story, but the lesson to be learned is that there are many fish-houses in the house-sea and by jingo we will find one meant just for us. In the meantime, our stuff is warm and snug in storage unit de Verbie, the childrens and I (and Gus) have infringed on the good graces of my parents, while Paul works during the week and crashes with his parents, and then we are reunited on the weekends and it feels so good.

A little unconventional, yes, and truthfully I don't know how it's all going to shake out because we've only been here for 2 days. So please bless that the bank wants to give us a loan and that we find a nice little house with our name on it for the right price, so that Lane and Connie still like us while we occupy Sanpete (i.e. their basement).

In the meantime, I miss my friends, and a grocery store that is less than 7 miles away. And Paul. And my king size bed. However, I do have Connie 24/7 and that is a holy blessing I wish you could all experience. Also, when it's really cold outside the delicious Coca-Cola in my parents' garage gets a little bit slushy. Que bien!