Just a Normal Day

Some days, most days, are completely uneventful. You wake up, you might get a tantrum or two from your toddler, a little squirreliness from your dogs, but otherwise things go off as planned. I usually don't mind these days but sometimes I just wish for a little excitement, ya know.

Today was just a normal Friday that started just like every other day. We got dressed, grabbed his stuffed Bolt puppy for Friday Show and Tell and headed out. I dropped Hudson off at daycare and went to work. No big surprise here. I get to work and, as planned, it was a slow day. I had one home visit which was fine, actually turned out just as I had predicted and some other little things here and there to do.

Afternoon rolls around and I head to my car to put away a Holiday gift I had rec'd that day. On the way back from my car, I head to the restroom on the lower level of our building and head into the large handicapped stall (no one ever uses that bathroom and the stalls are tiny, don't judge me.) and the second I step foot in there I gasp, there is a wad of cash on the floor. Not just like a $20 bill but a wad.of.cash. I pick it up, look around for like Punk'd Cameras or for Chris Hansen to pop out, shove the money in my jeans pocket, pee as planned, pull the wad out and count it ($245!) wash my hands and stand in the hallway. I think for a split second about keeping it and then I immediately start to sweat and feel shaky. I then think about some poor child who won't get a Christmas because I wanted to be selfish and add to our Hawaii vacation fund. I head down the hall with the cash in my pocket intent on giving it to our security guys but they must be out doing rounds because the office door is locked. I head back upstairs and I sit at my desk. I text my friends and ask what they think I should do since I can't reach security. As I'm texting my friends, and gchatting with them, a co-worker pops into my cube to talk about a client. I die. I absolutely flinch 10 feet from my chair and whip around to look at her. The money is burning a hole in my pocket and I'm feeling very uneasy. We chat quickly about our mutual client and discuss his care plan, all the while I'm thinking 'get.rid.of.the.cash.' We finish our conversation and I check into the office of our administrator thinking I can pass it to her and make it her problem, she surely can email building management and they can spread the word? Her office is empty. I think of the next in line but her office is empty too. My GOSH I couldn't seem to get rid of that money fast enough. I find a supervisor and ask her if she knows where building management is and luckily, she is able to direct me. I return the cash to building management and they are very grateful and surprised that I was so honest. After the cash was out of my hands I sat down and began thinking.

What if no one claimed it? Damn. I'd never see that money again, Merry Christmas Building Management. Then I thought, what if that cash belongs to some Thug who just sold some pot or crack cocaine or meth or something and I just returned their shady drug money. Shit. Then I told myself that it belonged to a single mom who worked several jobs to save up enough money to get her kids' gifts out of K-Mart layaway and she'd be very very thankful to have the money back.

The money fiasco took about an hour and before I knew it, it was time to go. I picked up Hudson and we headed home.

I'm home, relaxing in my bedroom w/Hudson watching Polar Express on tv and ordering Chinese for dinner (Cody was working late.) I looked over on my night stand and noticed that one of my diamond solitaire earrings was missing. I had traded them out that morning for a different pair and left them on my night stand with my watch near my jewelry holder. Hudson had been playing over there and been up and down/in and out of my bed while I used the computer to order our dinner. I promptly grabbed  Hudson's bed-side flashlight and drop to the floor. I frantically search my night stand nooks and crannies, drawers, the floor, under the bed, all over the room. I check where I think it could be, check it again, and check it a third time. I'm losing my mind. I start yelling at Hudson and telling him to stop touching my things. I feel my ears getting hot and my blood pressure rising. This goes on for a good 30 + minutes and just as I'm about to break a sweat, I stop and think, maybe I should ask Hudson if he knows where my earring is.

Sure enough, the kid walks to the other side of our king sized bed, lifts up his stuffed Rajah Tiger, and says 'Here Mommy! I found it!'

Thank. God.

Dinner arrives just as Diamond Gate 2013 ends and I think I've had enough excitement for the day. Hudson and I eat and wait for Cody to get home. Cody comes home, eats dinner, and plays with Hudson while I do some things around the house and prepare for the painters to come back for day three on the job tomorrow. Cody is getting Hudson ready for bed aka playing with him and being silly when I hear him kind of panic. I head into Hudson's room and there is blood everywhere. Blood GUSHING out of Hudson's nose, he's smearing it all over his face with the back of his hand then grabbing me and wiping it on me. I grab some tissues and pinch his nose and have him hold is head back. He's wiggling too bad and there is already way to much blood everywhere so I decide to take him into the bath tub, strip him, sit him in the tub and fill it up w/warm water while I pinch his nose and get the bloody nose under control. Crisis averted. We are fine and bathed.

The day ended with a ginormous cookie tin, a huge box of chocolates, a large bag of Peanut M&M's, diamond solitaire earrings safely clasped in my ears, no surprise cash in my wallet, blood everywhere, and Amber Portwood on Dr. Phil on the DVR.

I will never, ever take for granted a normal, uneventful day again. I will also not feel guilty about the gorgeous pair of Frye boots Cody bought me for Christmas, I'm considering them my 'Good Samaritan' gift for the good deed I performed today.

As far as the money goes, I'm going to keep telling myself that it was the lay-away money and not the drug money. I guess I'll never know.

Grandma's Red Blazer

We are hosting an ugly Xmas sweater/attire party here on Friday. Cody and I ventured off to Goodwill to see what we could find. We arrived and it was jam.packed. I wondered what was going on and noticed it was 50% off day. Jackpot. We parked across the street and crunched through the snow across the street to the store. It was busy, and to my dismay there wasn't a rack of ugly xmas sweaters with their built in bulbs twinkling or their ugly crochet patterns staring me in the face. I had to actually search through the racks and be creative. I wondered over to the women's sweaters and found my size. I started looking and noticed something that looked familiar. Yup, that was my sweater I donated a few weeks ago. It's so weird to see it hanging there anonymously, storyless, waiting to be taken home again. Then I found three lovely red options that weren't sweaters, but they were going to be perfect. I wondered over to Cody and helped him choose an ugly sweater that wasn't Christmas themed, but we could work with it. We wait in line at the check-out, pay for our stuff, and head out to run the rest of our errands.

A few hours later when we got home I decided to try my Goodwill gear on to make sure it fits and to show my mom what we'd purchased. I slip into the most perfect red blazer with huge shoulder pads and feel right at home. This bad boy was MADE for me. Other than the sleeves being a tad short it fit like a glove. I'm talking with my mom and Cody about the possibilities for this gem when I slip my hands in the pockets and feel slightly alarmed. I feel  in the perfectly placed front pockets, balled up, wadded tissues. I'm praying they're unused. I bring myself to wrap my hand around the entire contents of the pocket and slowly pull it out. I'm holding in my right hand a wad of those off white tissues (apparently never used), a cough drop, and a vitamin c drop. Then out of the other pocket I wrap my left hand around similar contents. More off white tissues, a peppermint, and a Ricola cough drop. I immediately start cracking up and then dread fills me. I'm all of a sudden positive this gorgeous red blazer with shoulder pads for days belongs to someone's deceased grandma.. I never gave it much thought before when I happily made my purchase but now seeing the contents of the pockets I felt a little bad. I felt kind of bad for mocking someone's dead granny who probably happily wore that blazer to Church every Sunday or out shopping or to the beauty shop to get her hair done. The grandma who always had a runny nose, and without fail, passed out peppermint candies.

Here's to Ugly Xmas sweater parties, red blazers, and honoring the poor granny (rest her soul) who allowed me to be on point for my paryt next weekend.

Finley

Hudson and I were at the mall playing in the play place on Friday when we met Finley. We had done a little shopping and then decided to hit his oh so favorite play place. I was sitting there keeping an eye on him and noticed he had gravitated towards a different part of the play area, so I grabbed all our bags and moved to sit closer to him. He was attempting a particularly risky maneuver on Yosemite Sam (it's Bugs Bunny themed) and I tell him to be careful. This little girl behind him says 'He did it before, I watched him and he was fine!' Then she takes her turn, and rather than climbing up and sliding down she stands up and jumps all the way down of Sam's head. I don't usually squirm or flinch but this one made me a little nervous. She stuck her landing but you could see she kind of tweaked her foot but was fine and kept playing. Hudson loved what she did and I could see in his eyes he wanted to attempt the same risky bizz she just tried. I let him climb up to see what he would do (I was sitting right there, a foot away) and he attempts to stand up on Yosemite Sam's head and he falls and slips off right on this back. He cries a blood curdling cry and I swoop him up and snuggle him. Cute curly headed girl is standing right there and trying to ask him if he's ok. He turns around and looks at her but doens't respond. She then begins talking to me.

The second she opened her mouth I grabbed by cell phone and began taking notes. Was this kid for real?

'My name is Finley and I'm 5. I like to hurt myself see, (bends wrist backwards). My favorite kind of hurt is a splinter. I LOVE when my mom takes the tweezers and pulls out a splinter, it feels sooo good.'

I said 'Oh yeah, it feels good when your mom gets it out and it's all better huh?'

'No, I like when she digs in with the tweezers and pulls it out. It's a good thing I like wood cuz I love splinters.'

(Not making ANY of this up folks)

Then she starts telling me about her dad, and her brother, his name is Talon, and how he has the same name as her daddy and she has the same name as her mommy etc. Then she sees my wedding ring and tells me her mom has one like mine and she never takes it off.

Finley's dad walks over with her brother Talon and says 'What are you ladies up to?'

Umm excuse me, I'm the only lady here, your daughter is 5 and she's creeping me out.

ANYWAYS

We make small talk for a few minutes and Talon is throwing a rip roaring tantrum so dad takes him and Finley out to get a drink at the water fountain.

Five minutes later Finley comes bounding back into the play place and right over to us. She and Hudson run off together and then she comes back, but I don't see him right away. Then I hear him, he's screaming again crying. Normally I'd assumed he tripped and fell but the demonic nature of this little girl has me terrified and convinced she pushed him or something. I brush it off and let them keep playing, but I keep a more watchful eye.

Then Finley comes up to me and says 'My daddy wants to know where Hudson goes to school?' and my immediate thought was you're NUTS child if you think I'm telling you this. Your whole family creeps me out.

So I said 'Oh he goes to a pre-school by our house.'  (Thinking that would be sufficient)

It wasn't.

'What's it called?' She asks me.

'Oh just a little daycare.'

'No, like the name of it?'

This girl is relentless. I tell her it's called like Kidz Zone (which it's not) but that at least satisfies her and she runs off.

Hudson and I leave to go have dinner but I can't stop thinking about the poor creepy children I just met. Maybe they're just fine and perfectly normal, maybe I shouldn't be judging a a 5 year old or a dad trying to juggle two intense kiddos. But I did.

Who's Grandpa?

It’s been a while, I know. I’m sorry. Life just isn’t always funny.

Hudson and I were running errands yesterday. All of a sudden this big huge silver Mercedes SUV w/an elderly man at the wheel took a quick left right in front of me and I had to slam on my breaks. I yelled ‘WATCH IT GRANDPA!’ and huffed and puffed and shook my head.  As soon as I settled Hudson said to me, ‘Who’s Grandpa? Me’s Grandpa?’ I had to stifle my chuckles and explain to him that mommy wasn’t referring to his Grandpa but to the old man who carelessly put our lives in danger. I then realized I need to watch my mouth.

Later that day, our last errand was to Victoria’s Secret (Contrary to these blog posts I don’t shop there all the time!) I was on the hunt for a purple Tunic Hoodie (they are to DIE FOR by the way) and the Stapleton Store had it in stock.  I told Hudson we were almost done running errands but that we had to run to one more store. He asked if there were toys for him there and I chucked and thought, well not right now but some day you may appreciate it this place more when you’re not shopping with your mom. HA. Anyways, when we got there he was looking around and I could tell his gears were turning.  He finally looked at me and said ‘Store for Girls Butts!’ I said yea Bud, this is a store where Mommies can buy underwear. I explained how he wears underwear and mommies do too and this is where theirs comes from. While we were in line checking out he told the lady in front of us that this is a ‘store for girls butts’ and she and everyone around of course lost it too. The kid’s observant, what can I say?

While I’m not participating in the 30 days of Thankfulness on Facebook I will say that I am thankful for his innocence and his uninhibited humor, the days would be much longer and less tolerable without it.

Red Flags and Sparkly Head Bands

So I’m enjoying the weather, windows are down, trendy framed Oakley sunglasses sitting on my nose, and Sexy Back is blaring on the radio.

I’m driving slowly (in traffic) past the high school in our neighborhood and I can sense the kids (when did they become KIDS? and not my peers? Oh dear god am I that old!?) glaring at me. Maybe they’re not glaring, but I feel like they are. It’s probably because I forgot my toddler is in the backseat. I should be listening to like Old McDonald or some other nursery rhyme and be more appropriate.  

I remembered a conversation I had with my friend who just turned 30. I asked her how her day was and she said she cleaned out her closet, felt she was ‘too old’ to wear American Eagle anymore. I told her NO WAY as long as it doesn’t say AE across her chest it’s probably save. Then I remember my other friend told me her sister just turned 30 or was about to and said ‘now I’m finally old enough to wear Burberry.’

Those two conversations had my wheels turning. I just turned 28. Are my youthful years of shopping at American Eagle over? Do I need to re-evaluate my wardrobe, too?

I then recalled a time a few years back when I was pregnant and had braces. I was wearing God knows what maternity wear and a gold, sparkly headband. We were at lunch at Chipotle and I was behind a long line of high schoolers. When I got to the register the cashier said ‘Honey, do you have your student ID? I can’t give you the discount without it?’ Rewind a week or two to the moment I BOUGHT said sparkly headband, I was at Claire’s with my mom (red flag number one), I had braces (red flag number two) and I purchased two sparkly headbands (red flag number three.) The cashier asked me ‘Oh, are these for prom? (red flag number four) Although I was pregnant and felt as if I looked over 17(after all I was 25!), the red flags were everywhere and I just shouldn’t have even purchased those sparkly headbands.

After that time in my life I made some changes. I ditched the sparkly head bands, and most head bands in general, and I got real with myself. I still felt that it was age appropriate to shop at AE and continued to do so. I bought skinny jeans in a variety of colors (which, based on my body shape/type probably was a poor choice in general but they make me feel good about myself so I go with it.)

Now that I turned 28 I am starting to panic. 30 is looming, and I don’t fear 30 itself as I’ve always vowed to be more fabulous turning 30 than I was turning 20, but I fear that I will have to find new places to shop.

Gap, which is my most favorite, will remain safe and age appropriate as 30 approaches. American Eagle? Thoughts? I still stand by the advice I gave my friend, stay away from large chest logos and you’re good.

I vow in year 28 to look for red flags, stay away from sparkly headbands, and stop blaring Sexy Back, at least while my kid’s in the car.

Who Knew I Married The President?

Today's blog was inspired because Cody is working from home. I noticed an email he was working on where he needed to answer these two questions for an article he's being 'featured' in. 

             1. What got you interested in ultraviolet technology?

2. What got you interested in Engineering? 

I laughed out loud and then proceeded to stare at him, asking him with my smirk how the hell he was going to answer those questions. 

It was about a year or two ago that I realized I was married to the President. Not the real, actual, President of the United States of America of course, just a guy who seems to be as busy as the President. No joke. My co-workers lovingly refer to Cody as 'Prez.' 'Who you calling, Prez?' Then they hear his cell voicemail pick up and they chuckle. It's no joke being married to someone who's so busy and hard to reach. 

What does he do all day, why is he so busy? This is beyond me. 

The other reason I like to refer to him as Mr. President is because the guy is in hot demand. He travels like none other. Texas, Las Vegas, Chicago, Texas again. That was just last month. He is an Engineer, I had no idea this required so much traveling.  He's constantly writing papers and having them published in these Engineering Magazines that I wouldn't dare read. Companies ask for him specifically sometimes. 

I like to keep his head out of the clouds and remind him he's not that awesome. That's the wife's job, right? To keep her husband humble. I like to ask him things like 'What do you even do all day?' 'Why do you need to fly to (insert some city here) again?' Can't you just video chat for that meeting?' 'You work with poop, you know that right?' 'Wait, the dorky Engineering Magazine is doing an article about YOU? Why?' 'Seriously, you're not THAT important.' 

In all honesty I am proud of him and all his accomplishments. I know that his hard work and these trips he takes and these articles he writes are getting him out there and getting him where he wants to be. I am very aware that it's his hard work and dedication to water and poop help us live a comfortable lifestyle. 

But seriously, he could at least answer my phone calls. I am apparently after all, the First Lady. 

Thanks JJ's

Today for my birthday we went out to lunch. We went to Jimmy Johns. The food is always amazing and I’m never disappointed. Today, today was special. We were sitting there enjoying some conversation and realized there were at least thirty-seven employees behind the counter. One in particular must have been parched from all his deliveries so he stepped to the drink fountain. We watched as he filled his cone-shaped paper cup with water, tilted back his head, and dumped the water in his wide open mouth at least three or four times.  This particularly thirsty Jimmy Johns driver then grabbed a bag and ran, I am not making this up, RAN to the back door to complete his delivery. While he was gone I noticed another employee with said cone-shaped paper cup step to the drink fountain and go through the same drinking escapades as previous dude.

I get it Jimmy Johns, subs so fast we freak.  I really appreciate your diligence but couldn’t you at least quench the thirst of your employees with a fancy BPA free bottle rather than a paper cone-shaped mini sized cup? If you’re going to demand such excellence I think official water bottles would be the least you could do.

Anyways, it’s my birthday. Thanks to my awesome Husband, family, friends, and co-workers for making today extra special. Tonight, I’ll skip dinner and indulge in lots and lots of ice cream.

Potty Training

As I mentioned before we are potty training. Oh boy. 

Let me start by saying when I was pregnant I wasn't scared about giving birth, but rather taking the screaming, pooping, needy infant home and knowing what the heck I was supposed to do to care for it. I was right about that, birth (for me) was a piece of cake. The days and weeks and months following were terrifyingly amazing. We sailed through our milestones and handled each one as it was thrown at us all the while in the back of my mind I was DREADING potty training. Nothing in the entire world terrified me more than potty training. I'm not sure why, really.

Here we are, in the thick of things and now I know why I was scared. First of all, he and I don't have the same parts, and learning how to situate him on a toilet while we're out sans potty seat so he doesn't pee down the front of the toilet and down on his pants was tricky, but that we've mastered. Then, the whole idea of accidents. Pee accidents, of course, are not a huge deal except for the big pee's where it's running down his leg, filling his shoe, dripping on the wood floors and he's screaming and embarrassed. The other accidents are just down right nasty and I will spare you the squishy details. And, lastly, if I wasn't already neurotic enough ('Hudson, no don't smell that candle while it's burning' 'Hudson don't punch the dog' 'Hudson, don't throw [insert any random item] down the stairs') NOW I get to add 'Hudson, do you have to go potty? Are you sure? Are you positive?' Every. Five.Seconds.

I'd like to add that I'm not complaining. I love my child. I'm so thankful for these years. I know time goes fast.

 

Still, I leave you with this.

Am I REALLY Doing this?

If I had a dollar for every time someone said ‘you should write a book’ I’d have like maybe $4.50. But in all seriousness, I’ve always wanted to write a book and also be a stand-up comedian. It’d take half a handle of vodka and probably some serious lapses in judgment for me to actually step foot onto a stage of any kind. Maybe trying my hand behind the keyboard is a better option, for now.

I wasn’t always funny, well, I didn’t always think I was funny. It wasn’t until college that I decided I thought I was funny. I lived with guys and they taught me to be quick witted. I have to thank them for helping me come out of my shell. It also wasn’t until I was an adult and felt like I could cuss around my parents without repercussion that I felt comfortable expressing my thoughts.

The honest to God truth is that I like to hide behind funny or else I’ll cry, and we’ll save the analytical bull for another day. I’m a mom, and plain and simple that means every single day is an absolute horror film. Not REALLY that bad, but somedays it's truly like I'm watching a horror flick on repeat. I like to post on facebook little blurbs about my day, and my goal is to make people laugh. If I can make you smile, or chuckle, I’ve done my job.

Being a mom is an insane thing that I won’t even begin to get into, so poking fun at myself and my ability or inability to parent helps me get through the day. I’m going to try to keep this up, I’m going to try to share my fortunes and misfortunes with everyone and hopefully, give you a laugh.

I’ll leave you with this. My husband travels for work and he was due back tonight. I was wearing my new Victoria Secret sweats that I got on clearance (holla!) not to be sexy, but to at least be in something clean. My newly potty trained son had just finished a particularly grueling poop and I asked him to bend down so I could wipe him. Rather than bending down, he sat down. His little un-wiped toosh landed on my clean, new, mint green Victoria’s Secret sweats. Welcome home honey. But seriously though, I did change back into my ‘already worn a few times’ other sweats that weren’t nearly as adorable, but less poopy. I don’t even think he’d have noticed, though.