Interviews

Montessori has been quite the adjustment for us-- from dress codes, to the elimination of nap time, to schedule changes, social influences, and my (lack of) coping with the inability to control every detail of Toby's day. Needless to say, it has been an interesting couple of months.

Every night, Aaron and I interrogate Toby about his day. We get very little out of him and, when we do, it's usually just the very last thing he did at school, "I put my shoes on the right feet!" This can be incredibly frustrating because we want to know what he does, how he feels, and hear about his day. But, we got to a point where we realized we couldn't hound him with questions because it did nothing but get us a one-way ticket to irritation.

Today I tried something different and it ended up being a really cute activity that we both enjoyed. I decided to interview Toby. We sat across from each other at the dining room table and I explained what an interview was and I told him I was going to take notes. He was really excited to "play interview." It was pretty adorable.

Here are the results:

(He insisted I call him 'Mr. Toby' like the teachers at school.)

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something you noticed at school this week?"
Toby: "Ms. (Teacher's name) has sharp scissors."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what is something you learned about this week?"
Toby: "Skeletons and apples. AND OCTOBER!"

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what is something that made you happy this week?"
Toby: "Going caca in the potty all by myself."
Mama: "Excellent!"

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was your job at school this week?"
Toby: "Cleaning up at school was my job."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was fun at school this week?"
Toby: "Playing in the play yard. I had fun."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something you didn't like about school this week?"
Toby: "I don't like the toilet paper at school."
Mama: "Too soft?"
Toby: "Yeah."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something you ate at school this week?"
Toby: "A green colored pear. It was juicy and delightful."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something funny this week?"
Toby: "Ummmm, (therapy dog's name) wouldn't lay down. Because he's a working dog."

At this point I could tell he was losing steam so I suggested we end the interview. However, Toby said he wanted to interview me.

Toby: "Ms. Mama, what was your job at work this week?"
Mama: "Talking to people who don't feel well."

Toby: "Who people? Sick people?"
Mama: "Kind of like sick. They have boo-boos on their heart or in their head."
Toby: "Did you give them Band-Aids?"
Mama: "A special kind of Band-Aid."

Toby: "Ms. Mama, did you go potty by yourself?"
Mama: (laughing) "Yes, I did."
Toby: "Excellent job."
Mama: "Thank you."

Toby: "Ms. Mama, did you remember to wipe?"
Mama: (laughing)"Yes."
Toby: "Wipe good?"
Mama: "Sure did!"
Toby: "That's good."

Toby: "Ms. Mama, is it your job to eat ice cream too?"
Mama: (hahaha) "It probably seems that way, doesn't it?"

Toby: "Ms. Mama, did you miss me while I was gone?"
Mama: "Big much. I missed you great big much!"
Toby: "I missed you too. But I stay home with you today and tomorrow and the next day and the next day, right?"
Mama: "You're right, Bud."

His notes were a little more difficult to transcribe. Luckily, I took notes to his question/my answers too.

I love that kid. And I loved doing this. He never ceases to surprise me.

Aaron, the Disney expert

If you know me, at all, you know that I've never been a fan of Disney movies. I won't get into a long tirade about this but, it's true. There are a few really good ones that I appreciate (The Lion King, Mary Poppins, The Jungle Book, and a few others) but the list is short.

I'm just not a fan (mostly, I just detest animation.) When I was little (little being around 5-years-old) I would much rather have watched Sally Jesse Raphael, Geraldo or, my favorite, Quincy (imagine a 1980's show about a coroner. Yeah, that's what I would beg my mom to let me watch.) Alas, I digress. I was a weird kid. I'm a weird adult. We know this.

When I met Aaron he made some reference, quoting Dory (the fish.) When I looked at him sideways, he was floored to discover that I had never experienced Finding Nemo. I stopped watching Disney after The Lion King came out (that was the last of the best [IMHO.]) It was only about 2 years ago when I finally relented and watched it. I'd say, in this marriage, our (lack of) Disney knowledge is equally limited. I've seen a few movies that he hasn't and vice-versa. Neither of us are experts.

However, this afternoon, Aaron surpassed me. (Whether or not this is a "victory" is yet to be determined.)

Let me set the scene. We had just arrived home from attending a musical at a local theater. Aaron was making lunch while Toby was in his highchair waiting to eat. I had just come inside from walking the dogs and I interrupted Aaron belting out a song which was playing on Pandora.

A: (singing) "And I'll reread the books... If I have time to spareeeee. I'll paint the walls some more, I'm sure there's room somewhereeeee. And then I'll brush and brush, and brush and brush my hair..."
J: (interrupting) "Did you ever imagine, EVER, that you'd be making lunch for your kid, singing along to music from Brave??"
A: "Nope. Not in a million years. And actually, that song is from Tangled. Not Brave."

Um....

Baby Talk

 

 "TOBY! LOOK OUT! YOUR MOM IS GOING TO PUNCH YOU!!"

 

"Jeggings are so in right now. I have 5 pairs."
 

"Affirmative. 10-4. Over and out."

 "Mama, jig is up. We know that's not diet Sprite."

 

 "Right?"

 

"I'm a mouse, damn it! Bring me my cheese!"

 

"Wait. I don't get it. Who is Don King?"

 

"Mama, if you just bought Bounty I would only need one. How do you expect me to get any cleaning done with this cheap one-ply?"

"It's simple, Mom. This pound of chocolate for your car keys. A fair exchange. We'll call it even and I won't make a scene."

 

Poopsense (Not Poop Scents!)

When you're a mom you have what I call a poopsense. It's not part of the more well known senses; it's the seventh sense. It's usually immediately preceded by the sixth sense. The sense that says..."Oh, crap. My baby (just, is about to, needs to) poop!" I can usually predict when my son will poop (within a 20 minute window.) I call it my poopsense.

This morning something happened that, an hour later, I am still laughing about.

Let me set the scene: I was ironing my work clothes, Toby was playing like a jolly little boy in his exersaucer, and Aaron was in the bathroom getting ready for work. It was my sense of hearing that first picked up on a telltale grunt coming from the exersaucer. Then my sixth sense kicked in and I thought, "something is going to happen." That's when my poopsense became alert.

T: (grunting)
J: Are you pooping? Try to go poops!
A: (from the bathroom) NO (shocked and defensive) I'M JUST PEEING. I DON'T HAVE TO GO POOPS!


I couldn't stop laughing long enough to tell my husband that my poopsense doesn't work on adults.

Naughty or Nice

 

 

"Toby, you're on Santa's naughty list."

 

 

"WHAATTTTTTTT? NOOOOOOOO!"

"No, Mama is just kidding; You've been a VERY good boy this year."

 

"Whew! Yeah, I was gonna say... except for that time I pooped on Daddy, I thought I had done pretty well"

 

"Oh! I FORGOT to tell Santa about the time you pooped on Daddy!"

 

 

"Seriously?"

"I'm just kidding, Baby! Santa will be REALLY good to you this year!"

 

"He better be... or this sleeping through the night business will cease and desist, Ma"

Texts from the Stratosphere

No, the second layer of the Earth's atmosphere is not sending me messages. I thought I'd be clever with the title because my phone is a "Samsung Stratosphere."

I have amazing, intelligent and hilarious friends. Many people know my preferred method of communication is texting and I have a handful of people in my life that I text often. The other night I was bored so I started reading some of my old text messages as I was getting ready to delete them. Then I had the brilliant idea of publishing the random ones that made me laugh out loud. I think I may start a new "Texts from the Stratosphere" segment.

Below are verbatim texts I have taken from my inbox. To protect the innocent I have removed any identifying information. I'll use the initials FT= Funny Texter and FR= Funny Responder. In the below conversations I am either the Texter or the Responder.

*****

FT: "Do you ever smell the armpits of your clothes to see if it's time for a wash?"
FR: "Haha. Yes! All the time. or the ass of pants..."

*****

FT: "What lotion does ______ use for eczema? ______ feels like a fucking alligator."

*****

 

(After a friend signed up for Pinterest)
FT: "Dude. I'm like Charlie Sheen except I'm pinning!! haha"

*****

 

FT: "We are warm by the fire. shelling beans. the dry ones for baking."
(Wait, what?)

*****

 

FT: "... Me too except I forgot lettuce. I'll trade you a cuke and a large piece of chocolate cake with white coconut frosting for enough lettuce for a sandwich."
FR: "I think that sounds fair..."
(That doesn't sound anywhere near fair!)

*****

FT:"Thanks for leaving all that stuff in the trunk. and grapes are on sale."
FR: "No prob. And NO grapes!!" (FR saw a news article about black widow spiders hiding in grapes.)
FT: "I am watching some couple argue in Russian it's awesome,"
FR: "LOL. Don't forget candy."
FT: "Shit."
FR: "Don't come home without candy."

(I think it's pretty easy to figure out who was who in that one)

*****

 

FT: "Flax... you must shit like clockwork!"
FR: "Yep"

*****

FT: "I have some cigarette smelling dude giving me an estimate for carpet here now. Gag me."

FR: "LOL"
FT: "Ok, he's gone. And he didn't kill me."

*****

(A girlfriend and I discussing, via text, our poor body image and FUPAS after having children)

 

FT: "... My blubber belly is so unattractive"
FR: "Exactly. I used to be pristine and now (husband) comes home from work my hair is a mess, I probably haven't showered, the house is a wreck and I'm like (sexy voice) heyyyyy..."

*****

(Going back and forth between Facebook messaging and texting with one individual)

FT: "Ohhhh gotta see ... I was just FB messaging you about that."

FR: "Dude, we're working with too many different types of technology right now."

*****

(And then the winner for the most random/disgusting text goes to [drum roll......])

"Yeah. I vowed a while ago never to eat his food after he took a smelly shit and then made a salad without hand washing."

I cheat at breastfeeding, apparently

Not too long ago I ran into a friend of a friend at Babies R Us. She stopped to congratulate me and take a peek at Toby (who wouldn't want to?). I don't know her that well so it was one of those casual surface greetings where she asked all the usual questions. (I'll call her BRU just to make it simple.)

(We first exchanged pleasantries):
BRU: "How old is he?"
J: "9 weeks."
BRU: "He's so cute! How much did he weigh at birth?"
J: "6lbs 4oz.; just a peanut."
BRU: "How is he sleeping?"
J: "He sleeps great... 7-9 hours at night"
BRU: "Oh MY God?! 7-9 hours!!! You're kidding!"
J: "Nope, we're pretty lucky; he's a really good baby. He barely cries, too!"
BRU: "How on earth do you get him to sleep that long? My little girl wouldn't sleep for more than 3 hours! How does he go that long without nursing?! Do you have to get up and pump?"

PAUSE:

Okay, so let me stop there and explain something. It pisses me off, to NO END, when someone just assumes you breastfeed. Yes, I nurse. Yes, I know that it is proclaimed to be the very best thing for a baby and offers a bazillion health benefits. However, there are a lot of people I care about that didn't nurse or couldn't nurse either for personal, medical or other reasons. I DO NOT judge people who don't nurse and I have a serious issues with people who do.

REWIND: PLAY:

BRU: "How on earth do you get him to sleep that long? My little girl wouldn't sleep for more than 3 hours! How does he go that long without nursing?! Do you have to get up and pump?"
J: "Unfortunately, I can't produce enough milk for him so we supplement with formula. I give him about 3.5 ounces before he goes to bed and he sleeps right through. If I don't get up and pump it doesn't make a difference with my supply."
BRU: (Silent for a moment) "Oh, well then, with my next one maybe I'll just cheat too and stuff them with formula before they go to bed so I can get some sleep. I just couldn't bring myself to feed her formula!"

Then she giggled and shrugged her shoulders.
I wanted to punch her in the throat.
But, I took the high road:
J: "You're very lucky you didn't have to supplement with formula! Toby would starve if I didn't supplement. Good seeing you!"

Then I beat her to a pulp. No, I didn't... but, I wanted to.

Cheat? What the hell does that mean? What I wanted to say was:

"Oh, by cheat you mean the weeks I spent crying my eyes out because I didn't know what the hell was wrong with my supply? Or do you mean the 3+ cups of Mother's Milk Tea I drink on a daily basis (in 90 degree weather [!!!]) so I can produce a measly 3-5 ounces of breast milk per day? Or, I'm sorry, did you mean pumping 2-4 times per day on top of nursing 6-8 times per day? Or is it the Fenugreek herbs I take that make my piss and sweat smell like maple syrup that constitutes cheating? I know, it must be the 3-3 hour appointments I went to with lactation consultants while they watched me nurse and pump to rule out that I wasn't an idiot and it wasn't user error? Now back up and shut your pie-hole before I knock you out!"

11 years ago I had breast reduction. It was deemed medically necessary and my physician practically begged me to do it. I had terrible migraines and back and neck issues. I was warned, because they removed a significant amount of breast tissue, that my ability to nurse might be jeopardized. I was in my early 20's; the thought of having a baby (or nursing it) was so far off my radar.

I wouldn't go back and change it; I am so much happier with my body. I feel better physically and mentally. BUT, I won't lie, it does suck that I can't exclusively breastfeed my baby therefore, I could do without the judgements.

That said, it is really hard for me when I hear people say:

"Ugh, my freezer is so packed with breast milk, I can't fit anything in it."

• I have never been able to pump enough to store. I usually get about 20cc. (30cc = 1 ounce) I would give anything to produce enough to feed my son, let alone, freeze!

"Oh, my boobs are so sore because they are so full. I can't even stand it! You know what I mean?"

• No. I was never engorged. I have never had that "full feeling" Neither has Toby :(

"Oh, I forgot to wear a breast pads one day and boy, I was leaking everywhere!"

• Once, I got a small stain on my shirt about the size of a pencil eraser. I was so proud. I showed it to Aaron. We celebrated.

"Ugh, breastfeeding is just so much work! I wish I could just do formula, like you do."

• Formula is expensive. It's hard work washing and sterilizing bottles and always packing something for Toby to eat if we go anywhere. I don't have a drive-thru on my chest. I wish I did, like you do.

Still, I try. I nurse 6-10 times per day. I pump at least twice per day. I wear breast pads just in case I'm lucky enough to leak. I drink 2-3 cups of Mother's Milk tea. I take Fenugreek daily. I eat lactation promoting foods. I massage and use warm compresses.

Yeah, I totally cheat at breastfeeding.

Completely milk drunk

Overheard in our bedroom: "I got one"

You know how all couples have these weird things they say to each other or fun little games they play? Well, Aaron and I have one that we do at night, once we're in bed, when we're trying to go to sleep. (It's clean, people, get your minds out of the gutter.)

We play 20 questions.

What's noteworthy about this, you may ask? As one may not think playing 20 questions before you go to sleep, in the darkness of your bedroom, is the best use of time. Well, first off, we love it. We don't play every night and, as a matter of fact, Aaron started a game of it the other night after about 3 months of 20 question abstinence.

Once the lights are out one of us, out of the blue, will simply state, "I got one" which loosely translates to "game on!" It's so much fun! Usually the first few questions tease out whether it's a boy or a girl, someone famous, or someone we have contact with on a daily basis. Usually, for some odd reason, I *almost always* pick a boy; I don't know why, perhaps I have a gender bias ;)

Often times it's a person on one of the shows we watch, a dirty politician, the guy who served us dinner at a restaurant a while ago, or someone we've recently spent a good deal of time making fun of behind closed doors. Aaron usually guesses correctly. I suppose I pick people who are too obvious. I've actually used McPepe (Aaron's dad) so many times, that now he'll say:

A: Is it a boy?
J: Yes.
A: Is it someone we see, in person, on a regular basis?
J: Yes.
A: (sigh) Is it McPepe?
J: Yes.

There isn't a person alive that's off limits. We've guessed: Edward Scissorhands, Sally Jessy Raphael, Bing (our dog), Jesus, George W. Bush (of course I picked that one), Santa Claus, the Principal at Aaron's school, the caterer at our wedding, the woman who grooms our cats... really, the possibilities are endless.

So there you have it. A fun little game we play... from our bedroom to yours. Try it tonight; you won't be sorry.

Pride of ownership

I'm a stickler about keeping my things in good condition. I'll even go so far as to admit that I still have clothes/bags/shoes from high school. Granted, many do not fit me this very instant but, I've kept them in nice condition; I take care of my things.

I'm very frugal. Anyone who has gone shopping with me knows this. I do buy nicer quality items because I don't want to replace them often but, I save for these items. Nothing irritates me more than seeing people who don't value their things. We have become such a throw away society.

Being sleep deprived I carried this a bit too far with Aaron, recently. Let me set the scene:

It was early, Early, EARLY, in the morning . We were both awake because, naturally, we have an infant in the house who often gets hungry and doesn't give a rat's ass what time of the day/night it is. And us? Well, we are at his mercy; we worship the ground he walks on. Therefore, he is allowed to request his meals any time he wants... and we comply.

So, it was around 4:30-5:00 AM, I was nursing Mr. Mister and Aaron was making me a piece of peanut butter toast. (I eat a slice of toast every single morning and I like the toast evenly frosted with peanut butter.)

Aaron enters the living room; he's a complete zombie.
He hands me the toast, which I can see through half-closed-sleepy-eyes has peanut butter haphazardly smeared all over it.

J: (extremely bitchy tone) Aaron, look at this piece of toast.
A: Yeah?
J: Look at the way you just slapped the peanut butter all over it!
A: And?
J: Take pride in this piece of toast, Aaron. Take pride.
A: (speechless)

I am embarrassed to admit I said this. In my defense, I was tired... probably as tired as Aaron was when he made me my toast.

There are days I am at a loss as to why he adores me so much. He doesn't have to get up with me every single time Toby needs to be nursed, but he does.

Clearly, Aaron doesn't take pride in a piece of toast. I guess I'm okay with that because he certainly takes pride in being a husband and father.

Rod Stewart, a spider web in the face, and other arguments

Aaron and I have a saying/comparison we often use: "That's like a spider web in the face." This all started a while ago when we both figured out (after years together) that we are of the same opinion regarding one of the very worst things that can happen to a person.

Are you ready?

In our opinion among the worst is getting a spider web in the face. I know y'all know exactly what I'm talking about. It happens when you walk between two objects, like a tree and your car (usually first thing in the morning). You see, overnight a spider has worked its ass off building that invisible string; bridging the gap between the two objects. Then you come along, like a big dummy, blindly walking right through it getting the spider string across your face and neck.

And then you're not the same for the rest of the day.

The original conversation, in which we made this mutual discovery, went something like this:

Aaron: "How was your day?"
Jessi: "Eh, completely uneventful, except I got a spider web in the face."
A: "Huh?"
J: "I walked between your truck and my favorite tree and I got that stupid spider string across my face!"
A: "OH! I know what you mean. I hate that. It happens to me all the time when I ride my mountain bike in the woods. Spider strings are everywhere. That is the worst!"
J: "Isn't it?!"

Anyway...

I am super competitive. It's bad. I become a (playful/obnoxious) monster whenever I get the "game on" signal or, if I think I'm right.

Below, I've supplied some evidence:

This particular conversation happened a couple of years ago and we still talk about it often.

Aaron: (quoting the lyrics of a Rod Stewart song, but using an English accent.)
Jessi: "Why are you all English?"
A: "Rod Stewart is English."
J: "No he's not!"
A: "Yes he is."
J: "Um, no."
A:"Well, (in disbelief) where do you think he's from?"
J: (with a tone of absolute certainty) "Um, California."
A: "When we get home, we'll google it."
J: "Oh, yes we will!"

Okay, so it turns out Rod Stewart IS English! Did you know this? Dang. That's a spider web in the face if I've ever seen one!

Then, just a couple of days before I gave birth I told Aaron I needed him to get the purple storage bin out of the closet because I wanted to put a few gift bags in it (we store tissue paper and gift wrap/bags in this Tupperware.)

A: "It's not in the closet."
J: "Yes it is."
A: "No, it's not. I just cleaned that closet out."
J: "Yes, and I watched you slide it waaayyyyyy in the back corner. It's there."
A: "No, it's not."
J: "Okay, Aaron. It's not. It's gone. Lost forever."

So, I left the gift bags on my dresser for a few days because the Tupperware was M.I.A. Then, one night, I noticed they were gone and I panicked (I hoard gift bags and wrapping paper.)

J: (Slight worry in my tone) "Hey, where'd you put those gift bags?" (Hoping he didn't throw them away.)
A: "In the purple thing."
J: (Sigh of relief followed immediately by suspicion) "And where was it?"
A: (sheepishly) "In the back of the closet."
J: (grinning) "HA! I told you!" (then I strutted off like what I thought looked like a proud rooster.)
A: (playfully and laughing) You know, Babe, gloating about being right then waddling off massively pregnant isn't very effective to prove a point."
J: "Yeah, well.... Rod Stewart is English, you know!"

There's no point in arguing

My husband appreciates everything I do. Now that I'm pregnant he makes it a point to thank me for the little things I've always done that he never realized I did... until I got pregnant and he had to pick up some of the slack. Now, don't get me wrong, my husband is FAR from lazy. He does more than I can even imagine. We just have a different list of "chores" as I'm sure most couples do. For instance, I have absolutely no desire to mow the lawn as I'm sure he'd rather not clean toilets.

The other day, as we were getting ready to go out to dinner, (and I had been cleaning and doing laundry all day) he calls me into the bedroom where he's putting on his socks. This "conversation" takes place:

Aaron: "Hey, Babe? Can you c'mere for a second?"
Jessi: (in the bathroom, doing my hair) "Yep" (walking into the bedroom) "What?"
A: "See these two socks? See how they look exactly alike?"
J: (suspicious) "Yes...."
A: "Well, when you fold them down, one has an orange ring around the top... the other doesn't. See?"
J: (completely on to him now... but feigning as though I just figured out the million dollar question) "Ohhh, so the two that I matched up... they aren't the same!!!" (which I really didn't notice- he has SO MANY pairs of socks!)
A: "Right."
J: (Glaring)
A: (Suddenly fearing for his life) "Never mind. I'm being stupid. Forget I said anything! I'm sorry. Thank you so much for doing all that laundry today."
J: "No problem, Babe!" (smiling) "Glad we had this little talk."

Mr. Worry

Ever since I went and got myself knocked up (I know, I'm so crude) Aaron has become a worry-wart. I really didn't see that coming simply because he's usually the one to talk me off a ledge of anxiety about my worry-of-the-week! But, it seems the thought of being a Dad has scared the Bejesus out of him. The evidence? Keep reading.

***

A: "I want you to turn the heat up to 75 today."
J: "Why!?" (6 months ago this would probably have been music to my ears. Now, I'm overheated!)
A: "Because the wind is blowing really hard and it's possible we could lose power. I want there to be a good base of heat if that happens."
J: "Okay, fine."
A: "And, if the power goes out... who are you gonna call?"
J: "Ghost-bustersssss!!!" (thinking it would make him laugh)
A: (without cracking a smile) "No, PSNH. You call PSNH."

***

A: "I need a new vehicle."
J: "Well, that's probably not in the cards until next year."
A: "Well, then, I need to get the rust fixed. You could throw a baby through that rust hole!"
J: (speechless)

***

While shopping at Babies R' Us
J: "Do you like this one? The one with the owl for his "coming home" outfit?"
A: "Yes, but that's just a jumper. (It was a onesie) He'll need some pants."
J: "There aren't any matching pants."
A: "That doesn't matter. His little legs will get cold."
J: "Babe, it will be the beginning of June. We'll wrap him in a blanket."
A: "We're getting pants."

***

A: "Why are you using that water bottle?!"
J: "Because I'm thirsty."
A: "That water bottle contains BPA. Remember that article we read about BPA exposure linked to aggressive behaviors in adolescence? Use your pink water bottle. That's BPA free."

***

A: "You're 20 weeks today. You should get your line soon."
J: "My line? What line? My line of cocaine?"
A: "No, that pregnancy line that forms on your stomach."
J: "Oh, the linea nigra?"
A: "Yes."
J: "Oh... (confused) that doesn't happen to everyone... and how the hell did you know about that?"
A: "I have my sources."
(Later I discovered my What to Expect When You're Expecting book in his bathroom)

***

A: "I need to install new windows in the Baby's room."
J: "Why? I like the ones we have!"
A: "They are too close to the floor.'Baby's Name' could fall out of them."
J: "You mean 'Baby's Name' is going to climb out of his crib, unlock the window five feet off the floor, lift the window, pinch the springs to open the screen, lift the screen and fall to his death from the second story window?"
A: "Not if we get new windows."

***

A: "Be really careful out there if you walk the dogs this morning."
J: "Okay."
A: "No, really, it's slick."
J: "Gotcha."
A: "I salted... everything."

***

J: (showing him clothes I bought for Alien) "And this is the outfit he'll wear when we go to the Cape." (We rented a house on the Cape for a week this summer with Aaron's parents & brothers.)
A: "That doesn't cover a lot of skin."
J: "Well, it's going to be July, Babe."
A: "The sun coming off the ocean is brutal. He'll need a hat."
J: "Well, coincidentally, your Mom is making him one for the beach."
A: "Well, he's going to need sunscreen. Like SPF 1000."
J: "I don't think they make SPF 1000"
A: (Walking into another room... mumbles) "We'll paint him."

***

A: "I woke up last night and you were sleeping on your back."
J: "Yeah, I know."
A: "That's dangerous for you."
J: "Yeah, I need to get one of those maternity sleeping pillows at Motherhood."
(A few hours later... planning our errands)
A: "Well, we still need to go the mall."
J: "The mall?!! For what?"
A: "Motherhood. Your pillow!"

***

At Target, Aaron walks up to the Pharmacy. I'm looking at vitamins and overhear the conversation.
A: "Do you have any belly butter here? My wife's belly is *itchy."
(*Your belly gets itchy because the skin stretches)
Aaron walks over to me.
A: "They don't have any here. We should just go online."

***

A: "Have we looked into birthing classes yet?"
J: "No. I feel like it's too early."
A: "We need to look."

Seriously. These have been actual conversations over the past several months. I'm not even going to bother worrying anymore; he's doing it enough for the both of us.

Say What?

The other night we were sitting on the couch, looking at the Christmas tree and listening to Christmas music on one of the Comcast music channels (like nerds). Well, if you tune to channel 533 for "Sounds of the Season" not only does it offer a pretty good variety of Christmas music, it also has holiday related facts that pop up on the screen "The Babylonian New Year Celebration lasted 11 Days!"

One of the facts sparked a pretty hilarious conversation:

A: Oh, "in Guatemala, the Christ Child delivers the presents on Christmas Eve instead of Santa Claus."'
J: Baby Jesus does? Instead of Santa?
A: Looks that way.
J: Huh. That doesn't seem very safe.
A: What do you mean, "safe?"
J: Well, Baby Jesus slipping down the chimney in his diaper and all.
A: I don't think he wears a diaper and I'm pretty sure the chimney thing is just related to Santa so, "Baby Jesus doesn't slip down the chimney." It's Guatemala... I don't know if they even have chimneys; it's basically located on the equator.
J: So he apparates and disapparates? Like on Harry Potter?
A: Yeah, Babe. Exactly like Harry Potter.

Wednesday Oui: Alaskan Cheers

We are slowly making progess with getting our thoughts together enough to blog about our Alaskan Vacation. While I will say part of the lack of blogging has been laziness on my part, it is also extremely difficult to blog about this trip-- not for emotional reasons, but logistically. There is so much to document and so much to share. I had decided long ago that when we did blog about Alaska, Aaron would help me. Now, don't expect to hear from him via written word but, he is helping me to put our trip to paper. Like I've always said, as much as I appreciate people dropping by this blog, it's mostly a place for me to do my "record keeping" so I want to make sure, with this vacation above most, I don't miss a detail! Not an easy task!

Anyway, to dangle a tid-bit (and a few pictures) as a preview of what's to come... here's a Oui to get me started.

Many who know us well know that Aaron and I (more so me) are not big drinkers. This vacation was no exception. While we were away for almost 20 days we kept track of our spendings on alcohol-- in just under 20 days we spent a hair over $100 on drinks. Now, considering most drinks are $5-$7, that's really not a lot per day.

That said, when we did get a drink we relaxed with it and savored the experience. Whether it was on the deck of our ship, balcony of our hotel room, or in a five star restaurant, we took our time. One of the nights we were on our ship Aaron ordered me an Alaskan Mudslide, himself an Alaskan Amber Ale, and met me on a private section of the boat where we had spotted humpback whales earlier in the evening. While looking out into the ocean, our conversation went something like this.

Jessi: Ohh, this is perfect. How lucky are we?
Aaron: (sipping his beer) Pretty lucky, I'd say
J: Heyyyyyy!! (holding my gigantic mudslide in the air) You didn't cheers me!
A: Yeah? (playfully) Well, you never kiss me goodnight.
J: You really care that I don't kiss you goodnight? (somewhat surprised because I actually don't kiss him goodnight, it has never been my style yet, I never knew it bothered him.)
A: Of course it bothers me that you don't kiss me goodnight. I'm deprived of at least one kiss every day of my life. It's horrible.
J: Well, (baffled) okay. I didn't know it bothered you. I'm sorry, Babe. (pause) So, let's cheers then. We never cheers. What should we even cheers to?
A: Here's to kissing me goodnight!


And since then, we cheers and kiss goodnight. Sounds fair to me. Oui?

Excuse Me?

So, the other day Aaron and I were arguing (yes, we argue [but we don't yell]) about something or rather (it was stupid and I don't even remember what it was about) and part way through the argument he opened the door to the cellar to bring something downstairs. Our cat was sitting near the door blocking the stairs and Aaron said, "Pardon Me, Shredda." He said excuse me... to our cat! Immediately I was thrown back to when Aaron and I started dating; around the time I first heard him say "Pardon me"

Aaron is a gentleman. Yes he has his flaws and some days I want to kill him but, one thing I will give him is that he is incredibly polite. He's a gentleman in every sense of the word; he treats ladies like ladies (those of us who want to be treated like ladies). Where Aaron is concerned, chivalry is not dead. As independent as I am I love that about our relationship.

I've never met anyone before Aaron, nor have I met anyone since, who uses the expression "Pardon me." It's so old-fashioned and I find it completely endearing. So, at a moment when I was clearly irritated, this Grinch's heart grew a few sizes and I told him how much I loved it when he said "pardon me." I told him that I have always loved that expression and it makes me smile when he says it. I had never told him that before. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve but I know sometimes I need to. We didn't speak another irritated word at each other for the rest of the night. Sometimes getting off my pedestal is totally worth it ;)

Menu Monday: Chocolate? Chocolate?

I'm back, Baby, I'm back! While I have been managing this blog from afar, I've realized how much writing it actually contributes to my happiness. After pre-writing a few posts this weekend I got up from the computer feeling happier than I have in a long time. It brought to fruition the original reason I started this blog in the first place; to document the happy life I live (forcing me to actively think about the happiness which is liberally spread throughout my life-- instead of dwelling on the negative.)

Man, did I have a hair across my ass for a while there or what? Rest assured, I'm not one of those people who licks her wounds and does nothing about it. I am working to get a change of scenery where the job front is concerned (the hours I work are the main reason for my dissatisfaction [not the job.]) That said, I am going to try to be more deliberate about sitting down in the morning and getting something on "paper"; it just makes me feel better.

So, this picture has nothing to do with today's post but c'mon, he's tasty, isn't he? You have to admit that.

Anyway, I digress from Menu Monday, which isn't about food; it's just food-themed.

I am not the most finesse of people. To use my name and the word "gentle" in the same sentence is laughable. My mother refers to me as a "Bull in the China shop." My mouth isn't loud, I'm just a little clumsy and a loud walker. The same holds true with electronics-- I type loudly, I often drop cameras (and anything else of value) and I abuse my cell phone. I treat that thing terribly (which is why I will never buy an expensive phone). To help get the most life out of my cell phones, I buy covers for them.

Recently, I dropped my cell phone and broke the cover clean off. Aaron, knowing my phone was unprotected, took me to get a new cover this weekend. We walked into the cell phone store and while Aaron was perusing the shelves, I went to the counter to make my purchase. The following conversation ensued:

Creepy Clerk: Will this be all? Just this accessory?

Jessi: Yep, that's it. Can you put it on for me too?

CC: Absolutely. (ringing in the purchase) That'll be $19.99.

J: (Handing over debit card) Thank you.

CC: (Breathy whisper) Chocolate?

J: I'm sorry?

CC: Choc-o-late?

J: Um, yes please?

CC: No, YOU... smell like chocolate.

J: Oh, (completely creeped out) I do?

CC: (Grossly smelling the air) Mmmmm, yes you do!

Aaron: (who appeared at my side out of nowhere) Excuse me? Did I miss something?

J: Um, (so uncomfortable) well, he says I smell like chocolate.

A: Oh really? (slightly sarcastic and protective) Yes, my wife smells good doesn't she?

CC: (Hurried) Here's your receipt. Have a great night.

Hahahahahahaha. My husband the hero rescued me from Mr. Creeper.

Wednesday, Oui? My Nose is growing!

Having divorced parents is a challenge for a lot of obvious reasons, however, one small perk would definitely be celebrating holidays more than once. This year we celebrated Christmas multiple times! I love Christmas (but not as much as my sister does) and I love to spend time with my friends and family. That said, my favorite part of Christmas is spending time at home with my husband and "kids."

The first of our Christmas celebrations started in Maine with my mother and Dan, and Nicki, Rich, Xander and Sarah (her FIRST Christmas!)

I'm the cool I-ya who bought Banana a guitar!

On Christmas Eve we went to Aaron's parent's house so we could basically celebrate a

Christmas for dogs. Boy were they spoiled!

Once home, we sat in front of our tree enjoying the remainder of Christmas Eve. We didn't stay up too late waiting for Santa because we were heading off to Boston early in the morning to celebrate Christmas Day at Matt & Nelsons!

We unwrapped a few things before we left that morning and let the "kids" have their stockings.

Merry Christmas, Lewis!

The final celebration took place on New Year's Day in Portland. My Dad, his girlfriend, my sister and her family and my brother and his wife all met at a restaurant to enjoy food, fun and time with Pepe.

Xander selected cranberry sauce from the salad bar-- which he later discovered was a beet.

He wasn't pleased.

Sarah LOVES her uncle-- and now that she isn't a tiny infant, I think Uncle isn't so terrified of breaking her.

Amity and Wally

This year I was given many nice gifts. There are a few that I will probably blog about simply because they are so thoughtful but, for me, Christmas isn't about the gifts. I am so fortunate to be living the life I do. Every day is a gift and I have so much to be grateful for. However, my favorite gift this year was a very meaningful gift from Aaron.

In early November I went shopping with Hilary and spotted a Jim Shore item; I love and collect Jim Shore. One of the items I fell in love with was completely out of character for me simply because it wasn't something that would normally fall into my decorating taste... unless I was decorating a baby's room. Hold the phone, hopefuls, I *AM NOT* pregnant, nor do I plan to be in the next 6 months (think: Alaska) but that doesn't mean my biological clock isn't ticking so loudly that I can't hear myself think! I don't know what it was about this Pinocchio Marionette but I really wanted it. Luckily, my bestie, Hilary, (unbeknownst to me) texted Aaron with all the details. You would NEVER believe my surprise when I opened the box at Christmas to find Pinocchio was mine!

As I sat in awe of Aaron's thoughtfulness he said, "I know it's not something we can use right now but it will be really cute in the baby's room." Obviously it's not a toy but more of a decoration. I have yet to purchase anything for our would-be child with the exception of books; I've held out on clothes, furniture and decorations. I love that Aaron took the leap and the fact that he's counting the days as much as I am, and we're so in sync, is the BEST Christmas gift ever. Oui?

Say What? You have a girlfriend?!?

Aaron is a Saint-- Saint Aaron. He should be recognized by the dioceses. In order to understand why I say that you'd have to live with me for a terrifying twenty-four-hours-per-day-seven-days-per-week-three-hundred-sixty-five/six-days-per-year. And that, my friends, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I'm not at all spontaneous, I'm rigid, structured, demanding and a bit neurotic. I literally have instructions written out for every possible task on top of having insane rules: You can't write in the checkbook registry in anything but pencil, you have to make the bed a certain way, your keys go in a specific place, the gas gauge can't go below 1/4 tank, there always has to be three hand towels in the kitchen and they are coordinated by season, my coffee cup can only be filled to a certain point or you get "the look", and I must sweep the floor at least once per day. (I could go on and on and on) But, Aaron loves me. Better yet, he is obsessed, smitten and utterly enamoured with me. It sounds awful and conceited, but he LOVES me. Why? I have no idea. He's making up for sins in a past life I suppose.

Decorating for the Christmas season usually involves me trying out each and every decoration in at least 5 or 6 different places before I like where I put it. Aaron, bless his heart, always tries to help and usually ends up following me around so I can "check" the placement of each item with him:

J: "Do you like the nativity there, or in the place I had it before?"
A: "It looks great there, Babe."
J: (Squinting at it) "No, help me move it."

Or sometimes he'll put a decorative Santa on an end-table only to find it missing 5 minutes later because I've moved it to a more aesthetically pleasing area. My definition of him helping usually involves me making him go into the storage area, "bring this downstairs," "bring this upstairs", "look at the mess the glitter made --where's the dust-buster?" I don't know why he bothers sometimes.

Decorating for Christmas 2010 wasn't any better. While we do have amazing decorations a-plenty, it took us about 7 hours to put them all in their place (and we didn't even decorate the tree the same night.) So, as I sat on the floor debating where to move one of my nativity scenes (for the millionth time), a conversation between me and my wonderful husband went something like this:

A: (almost defeatedly grabbing his wallet and cell phone) "I'll be right back, I need to get something out of the truck."
J: (playfully) "Yeah, you need to go outside to call your girlfriend and tell her how awful I am."
A: "Oh, she already knows." (closes front door)

The house phone rings

J: Hello?
A: (in a secretive scheming whisper) "Hey, it's me. You'll never believe what the bitch is making me do tonight!!!"

That was all I needed from him to bring me back to the reality and fun of decorating the house instead of stressing over perfection. I don't know how he does it, or why he does it but, he does it for me. He's a Saint and he knows just how to handle this devil.

Say What?

Recently, I had two funny conversations with Aaron,

Early one morning over coffee:

J: Um, where is my Vera Bradley Fall catalog?
A: I was looking at it in the bathroom (??!!)
J: Why? Are you in the market for a new purse?
A: No but, you are so, I'm doing my homework.
J: Awe, are you planning to get one for me? (How sweet!)
A: Ah, no. I'm just studying the fall line so when you prance around with a new purse and I ask you about it you can't look at me and say "this old thing?"

Foiled. It's a good thing I ordered one from the summer line. I *should* be safe.

Later the same day:

J: Hey, we didn't get any mail today. (It wasn't a question, it was a statement. I was just surprised because we *always* get mail and I was expecting a pair of sandals.)
A: And how does that make you feel?

He, clearly, is married to a therapist.

****** The "Rest" of the Story ******

I interrupt your regularly scheduled reading to draw attention to a newly posted comment on the Shame(on)us blog. Please, dear readers, click here to find the post and scroll down to click on the comments. Here you'll find McPepe's editorial from his "version" of the "story." Nicely done, McPep.