Category: Uncategorized

Today was one of those “What happened?” kind of days. Here it is, after 11, and I don’t know where the time went. We did the play group thing, we did the lunch at the Bread Co. thing (I won’t mention Auggie’s unfortunate unseating of my Diet Pepsi all over the floor, of course), we did the Pier One thing (votive holders and votives for $3.50? I feel like I’ve died and gone to IKEA!), we did the home thing, I did the work on my publication thing while Auggie did his turn the house inside-out thing and suddenly, Tim was home!

Of course, since we had such a lovely time with the play group this morning at the Science Center, Auggie started rubbing his ears this afternoon, assuring my swift, but fair, expulsion from said play group. He was pretty out-of-sorts for the rest of the day.

Now, we’re supposed to get some amount of snow (the projections vary in doom from station to station) and I’m supposed to pick up my brother and sister-in-law from the airport tomorrow afternoon. Oh, and my son has a probable ear infection, so we need to fit in a visit to Dr. Scott somewhere in there. Yippee.

I’m never going to find the time to replace my tres expensive face lotion, am I? Here the air is, drier than a crouton at the Old Country Buffet, and my face is completely unprotected! The humanity.

I’m sure that the Apple Store will call tomorrow with the replacement for my rapidly ailing battery. I’ve contacted Battery Hospice and they’ve started the morphine. Just hold on till Auntie Blog gets here, baby.

Did I mention that I’m a wee bit tired? I apologize for my increasingly esoteric ramblings. And does anyone really know what “incandescent” means? I’m off to Webster’s to find out!

So today I went a little crazy at the yarn store for the very first time — the first time of many, I’m sure. I bought two skeins of beautiful, hand-painted wool yarn for a hat I want to knit, and maybe a bag that I saw in the book that I bought, Vogue Knitting: Bags and Backpacks. Wait. Do you smell that? Could it be… Christmas presents?

God, I’m such a nerd.

But I’m a nerd that weighs 28 pounds less than she used to! Woo hoo!

Ah, flannel sheets. The ole flannels are getting a late start this season, as they were temporarily “lost” amid the miasma of items still in the garage since the Great Floor Refinishing of 2002. As those items are slowly making their way back upstairs, we’re rediscovering some things that we were missing, and things that we haven’t really missed at all.

It’s those things that we really haven’t missed that I’m having the hardest time with. Do we really need those things, if we haven’t noticed they were gone for the last three months? Flylady would say no. But then the question becomes how to get rid of them.

Several of the items are pieces of furniture, replaced by our big IKEA excursion. We’re giving away the old computer desk to Tim’s parents, but we can’t find anyone who wants a matching bedroom dresser and night stand, or a china cabinet. What to do?

We’ll probably just try our luck with selling them in the Bargain Bin in the paper.

It’s been really nice, actually, bringing things back up slowly. We’re definitely more reluctant to add more “stuff” to the mix. Especially considering how much Auggie loves to get into everything, climb on everything and generally tear everything apart with his teeth like the small, badger-like creature that he is.

So that’s that in the world of us. Less stuff, more love. All right.

Good weekend, overall. Very low-key.

I even got to go to the Apple store, which is always exciting. I’m having problems with my battery in my iBook, so I paid the Mac Geniuses a visit. The problem is not very sexy, so I’ll spare you the details. Suffice to say that Apple’s probably going to be forking over a new battery to me this week.

We finally had Christmas with my dad today. He went a little crazy and bought Auggie a tricycle. It’s got streamers and a bell and everything! Of course, Auggie won’t be able to ride it for another year or so, but he thinks it’s pretty cool anyway.

My dad and stepmother got us some really generous gifts too. My stepmother is very crafty and she reupholstered one of our chairs for us. It had been originally redone by Tim’s mom at some point, but the pink velvet had started to deteriorate with age. Margie (my stepmom) found this beautiful fabric that matches our living room set perfectly and restored it all by herself! I love people that can see the potential in things.

One thing that Auggie is doing right now is waving “bye-bye” to things as we go by. Today in the car, he was waving to all of the houses as they went by. Last week, we were sitting outside the coffeehouse and he was waving at all the cars going by. Too cute.

Why must I be a slave to the “acronym-as-title” method of naming a newsletter?? Why?

I suppose I should shut this down now, as Auggie is quite intent on licking the screen of this here iBook.

Yes, I did refer to my son as “pooper-scooper” today.

Working too hard to blog… My apologies…

Must sleep…

I feel like throwing myself in front of a truck. Warning: Extended gripe ahead.

Today was just the most insane day. It even started out crazy. I had this horrible nightmare about my upcoming high school reunion. It took place in a Paris train station (sounds cool, but it wasn’t, as the only other people that spoke English were my former classmates and all the toilets were stopped up) and it lasted several days, kind of like summer camp. The truly horrible part was that I got completely dissed by my high school sweetheart. He was all like, “I’m never going out with you again.” And I’m like, “Dude, I’m married. I don’t want to “go out” with you. I have a son.” But he was unconvinced and acted all smirky every time he walked by me. And throughout the entire dream, I was continually looking for the bathroom.

So then, Auggie wakes up at ungodly-6 in the morning. Tim, saint that he is, left me to sleep in and got up with the boy (just as he does every morning except the occasional Saturday when I’m feeling benevolent). I awoke at 7:30, ready to hit the phone and harass all of my contacts in Louisville, just as they were getting to work, booting up their computers and enjoying a quiet sip of coffee.

No one answered. Of course. No one ever answers their phone! I live in Voice Mail Purgatory, I swear.

So Tim heads off to work and Auggie and I settle in for some quality Sesame Street time. The phone rings. As I’m talking with contact #1, contact #2 beeps through. It went like this all day.

Today was supposed to be great. I was looking forward to getting together with the ole playgroup at the Zoo, enjoying the amazing weather and generally being at peace with all things. Instead, here is a scenario from this afternoon:

It’s 1:30. Auggie and I are supposed to be leaving for the Zoo, but instead I call fellow playgroup mommy to delay our meeting time by an hour to buy enough time for a shower. Auggie and I are still in our pajamas. We jump in the shower, jump out of the shower and are toweling off, just in time to hear elusive contact of the week leaving a message on the answering machine. $%^&! I run into the office, unsuccessfully try to catch him while he’s on the line and try to call him right back. Of course, he does not answer his phone. While I’m at the computer, I check my email. The phone rings. It’s him! The villagers rejoice! I’m interviewing him for an article, naked. Auggie comes tearing into the room, also naked. It’s at this point that I thank God that I am not on a reality TV series.

We ended up canceling the playgroup and Auggie and I took the dogs out for a walk instead.

The rest of the day was better, but I still have that rush-rush-rush feeling. I hate that feeling.

Of course the two coffees (lattes) I had this evening aren’t helping much.

So my latest assignment as freelancer-for-hire (is that redundant?) is to come up with a new name for the publication that I write and design. I used to do this sort of thing quite a lot when I worked as a copywriter and I particularly loathe it.

I can remember coming up with pages upon pages of names for newsletters about everything from motor oil to domestic abuse prevention. And I don’t think that any of my suggestions were ever used. Sigh.

Oh, and I have to redesign the entire publication by Friday. Super! No problem!

Kicky colors? Well, sure, why not?

Funky graphics? The more, the merrier!

‘In case you couldn’t tell, I was being sarcastic.’

I didn’t even have a chance to knit today.

And I have consumption.

At least 24 was on again tonight. That David Palmer is one ugly crier.

Auggie said “please” today.

Let’s just note that one for the calendar, because, I hate to say it, but I’m totally afraid that we are going to raise an ill-mannered child. My reasoning for this seemingly unfounded worry is this: I’m a name-caller.

It’s not always a mean thing, either. Most of the time, I call people endearing names because they’re special to me. Sure, Auggie is referred to as “Stinky” multiple times a day, but I kid because I love! Note to future Auggie: Print this out and take it to your therapist. It will explain everything, I’m sure.

Of course, sometimes I do call people derogatory names. You see, I’m what people call an emotional driver. I’m much better than I used to be (thanks to age, having a child and a general mellowing-out about such things), but I still have my moments. At least the names aren’t as profanity-based as they used to be.

That’s a plus.

Tim and I call the dogs names all the time. (I won’t bore/frighten you with some examples.) Auggie probably has no idea what their actual names are.

This name calling got especially out of control on New Year’s Eve 1999/2000. We were in New Orleans with our friends Jennie and Chris (Hi, Jennie! Thanks for the great Christmas gift!) and, while it sounded like great fun in the planning stages, actually being in the French Quarter on New Year’s Eve at the end of the millennium was a little more complicated than we anticipated.

First of all, there were just thousands and thousands of people there, as you can imagine. This made getting a drink especially hard. (In New Orleans?! Is there no god??) Believe it or not, I think I had one daiquiri all night. Ahhh, N’Orleans, home of the drive-thru daiquiri…

But I digress. Anyway, midnight comes and goes, and we’re stone-cold sober in the French Quarter as the madness begins to die down. We end up on a bench in Jackson Square, blowing bubbles and people-watching. Eventually, we start yelling “Happy New Year!” to all the drunk people as they pass by, and this quickly degrades to us saying, “Happy New Year, [insert mildly insulting name here]!” Example: “Happy New Year, 80’s hair woman!” and “Happy New Year, Shiny Pants Man!”

We must’ve sat there for over an hour doing this. It is one of my fondest memories. That and the guy who threw up orange right on Saint Louis Cathedral.

So I guess I’m trying to say that if my son ever calls your child a name, please accept my apologies. It’s all my fault.