Tag Archives: family

May 27, 2013 · 10:12 am

Long weekend in the burbs; a brief synopsis.

Day1: a neighbor cat murdering bunnies in the back garden ; fighting the crowds fun in the sun at Boulder Creek Festival; “energy gummies” that came with a crash like the hangover of a frat boy’s graduation night bender, (this was a rookie mistake on my part, I am rusty with my Boulder rules- NEVER take anything a crunchy girl on the Pearl Street Mall gives you, even if she’s a legit vendor;) exploding mason jars of beer in the back seat of The Mr’s Jeep and some very unfortunately-placed wettness on my pants from said jars; assembly of a patio storage box that made putting the Cozy Coupe together seem like stacking Jr’s “1,2,3” blocks; “all natural mosquito repellent” that does NOT repel; and a carpet of dead/dying insects on the floor of our garage that can only properly be described as “of Biblical Proportions.” Off to quite a start.

Day 2: a morning greeting that included a monster toddler poo blow-out before my first cup of coffee even got cold waiting for me to drink it; a short trail hike to a favorite pizza joint, during which I discovered everyone thinks that even a hike on a joke of a trail in the foothills is “outside my comfort zone,” :::cough cough::: Colorado Native here :::::throat clear cough::::: ; a lounge singer version of 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop”; finding that the uber-sucky-to-assemble patio storage box has a faulty lid that I will have to replace (sigh); getting scraped on one of my extra large bug bites by Jr’s shoe, causing an explosion of itchtastic-ness that resulted in actual tears; and the errecting (giggle giggle, tee hee,) of a bug zapper on our property. (If that isn’t suburban, I don’t know what is.)

Day 3 is just starting, but it is going to include The Mr. using an electric hedge trimmer that is probably too much tool for a trimming newb perhaps overkill for the job at hand, (pray for my shrubbery.) Maybe we will make it to the overcrowded concrete swimming hole pool, maybe we will just keep doing what we are right now: running as fast as we can in circles screaming “I’M A DINOSAUR!!!!” (ok, that’s not really what I’m doing… but we can revisit that statement after a few long-weekend-bonus Mimosas.)

Happy Memorial Day, Suburbia.

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March 27, 2013 · 12:47 am

Don’t Blink

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As the Mr. is snoring away upstairs at the moment, I find myself much as I was 2 years ago at this time – reclining on the sofa, fuzzy-warm ball of pooch curled in the bend of my legs, snoozing quietly smushed against me. Only 2 years ago, as I drifted off, pleasantly full of Pasquinis, Pillow Pet wedged under my 37 weeks pregnant bump, supported and cradled by the sofa-back, I had no idea that my next trip to the loo would change everything. I thought that ‘pop’ was Jr giving me a little nudge from in there, objecting to my getting us up from our comfy spot.

Binky-the-wonder-dog barely blinked when I exclaimed “Oh!” I looked at him – “did my water just break?” He sighed and repositioned himself on his end of the sofa. I did what any reasonable, educated mother-to-be would do.
I googled “did my water just break?” Google- not as cute as my dog, but way more informative in this situation.
Then stuff and things happened: Blah, blah, hilarious drive to hospital with The Mr. running lights while I expressed pain in increasingly horrifying ways…. yadda yadda, crawling into L&D like Gollum across the floor, requiring mucho assistance from The Mr. to remove skinny maternity jeans while speaking in tongues….. bibbitty bobbity exorcist anesthesiologist arrives and I reclaim my composure through the magic of drugs and stop asking to be hit over the head with a frying pan; and 12 plus not short hours later, after just the smallest application of the glorified salad tongs, Tah-Dah -Jr.!!
And a minute later he came home, and the next hour he smiled, rolled over, sat up…. and the next morning he was eating puffs and had a mouthful of teeth, and that afternoon he went from doing his infamous bootie-scoot to a few steps and then a run. I turned away a second and he was 1 year old, and we were packing his things and moving from the cozy nursery in his first home and into The Casa, and now a few short days from then he is talking like he gets paid to do it and will be driving the car and leaving for college next week.

No? Ok- but that is how these past 2 years have felt. 2 years ago I was just as I am now, couch and dog and snoozing in front of the TV. Just a few hours away from absolutely everything.

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March 18, 2013 · 3:49 pm

Why I’m down with Barney.

I am SO not the “no more than 1/2 hour of TV a month for little Timmy,” kind of parent.    We are a TV loving family, and Jr is no exception.

When he was teeny tiny and sitting in his little buzzing seat on the table, he LOVED the theme songs for “King of the Hill” and “The Big Bang Theory,” (even when he got older – one of his first words was BANG! which he would yell at the end of the latter, before giggling his baby head off.)

On Sundays I would park his Rock and Play next to me in the main room of the Tree House and make an ass of myself interact as we watched Play With Me Sesame, and Elmo was his first baby love.

Now that he is older and more interactive (he will be two next week.  TWO!  Sob, stop time, stop – TOO FAST!) he sings and giggles and dances and repeats and generally woops it up in front of some Sprout/Disney Jr/Nick Jr programing.

I can’t say I will be losing any sleep over that, so whatever.

HOWEVER – pre-kiddo, I will say that I thought Barney would NEVER show his puffy purple kissser in my casa, no way, no how.

Um yeah.

Barney is awesome.  Barney could roll up in his Barney bus, unpack his Barney bags, and take up residence here and I would be totally down, (might need to tail-proof some things, but I will make it happen if needed.)

Who is NOT awesome?

Dora.  Dora is a  Shouty McShouterson.  Dora (and her cousin or brother or WHATEVER, Diego too,) needs to take it down about a bajillion notches.  Instead of that, however, Dora is constantly telling MY KID to say things louder.

“We need to call ice cream trucky  RIGHT NOW – will you help me?”

:::pause for kid to respond:::::

“LOUDER”

Hell no, not “louder” Dora – mommy no likey the screechy. Cierra la boca, por favor! (See, I did learn something other than how to ask for the bathroom pass in Spanish class – suck on that “Senora Tried-to-fail-me.”)

Who else is NOT awesome?

Cailou.  Did I spell that wrong?  I don’t care. Because I agree with his internet nickname “Cryou.”

What the hell did we do to you Canada, that you have sent us this whiner to infiltrate our TV time?  I am uber-ok with expressing our emotions, with showing images of boys who aren’t ashamed to cry, etc, but that Charlie Brown looking pre-schooler WHINES everything.

Growing up is not so tough, except when he’s had enough (always,) and then he whines like the whineiest whiner EVAH.

Stop.  No really.  I don’t actually want my kid to think that whining is an acceptable form of communication.

Zip It, baldy.  And your little cat, too.

Every time I hear him screeching, I hear the chorus of this gem from the South Park Movie

Here is the thing – Barney is nice.  Barney has a good message.  Barney makes my kid want to come give me “a great big hug and a kiss from me to you.”  Barney is anything but annoying.

Give me some Barney and plenty of Sesame Street (I mean really – Sesame Street, fun for kids, fun for adults, and the things my kid knows that have come from Sesame Street AMAZE me,) and we will be singing and dancing and giggling with glee – no shouting or  whining allowed.

Sunny dayyyyy, sweepin’ the clouds awayyyyyy……

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January 15, 2013 · 12:30 pm

Before we get TOO far here…

So if I want to be all, you know, “honest” and stuff, I know why we chose to live here and not smack in the middle of the city that single me swore she would never, ever abandon.

It  has NOTHING to do with all the typical “when you have kids you will feel differently” drivel that people spew as they shop for minivans to load their growing brood into on the way out of Urban forever.  Hell no.  People do a great job raising great kids in cities (WAY bigger than the one we left behind,) all over the world – that line is for chumps imo.

It is this – we are blessed to live in a beautiful state where city, prairie, and mountains all meet together, and growing up right here in this very town on the edge of all 3 of those things meant something to me.

It is the same reason why, though I LOATHE driving or riding in the mountains at this point in my spoiled Colorado native life, I will be refilling my Ativan script, dusting off and strapping on my Girl Scout Camper Smile, and riding off into them thar hills in the back seat of The Mr.’s Jeep next to Junior to share the joy of the purple mountains majesty with our son.  (Incidentally, if you have  ever ridden with a Texan in the Rockies, then you will understand why I might need TWO Ativan. And wine.  And prayer, lots of prayer. )

The city is where I am comfortable, it is my oldest, dearest sweater and I would be perfectly content to wrap it around me each day for the rest of my life.

The thing is – you can’t let yourself wear your comfy sweater every day – sometimes you need the Va-Va- Voom red dress, or the uber-trendy top that will only get one season of play.  You need adventure, even if you have to force it a bit.

I want Junior to know and to love it all – the city that is like a second-skin to mommy at this point in her life, but also the mountains that brought his daddy up from the Lone Star State to Vail, and eventually to me, and also the wide open prairies and small friendly towns that so influenced me when I was growing up.

It would be easy to just be a city family and stay cocooned in that environment, and if we lived in it I think that is what would happen.  So here we are at the crossroads of all of it – ready to let him eagerly explore wide open spaces and rocky trails and city streets alike.     If he is anything like his mother growing up here, he will love and loathe each one at different times, and, I hope, grow into a deep appreciation of each one.  Just maybe living here again will remind me that there were things I loved in each of them too.

(Or there could be if the damn Texan would let me drive when we go into the mountains.)

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January 7, 2013 · 8:45 am

There’s no good place to start all this.

6 months ago I sold my soul to the devil for a walk in closet.

Ok – that MIGHT be the tiniest bit of a less-than-totally-true version of the way it all went down.

The memory is clouded by months of jockeying for position in the toddler school parking lot, against mothers of 4 in mini vans with their “mom uniforms” of yoga pants and performance fleece and pony-tails sticking out of baseball caps; with perfectly lined eyes and bumper stickers proclaiming allegiance to their sons’ and daughters’ insanely competitive youth sports teams in their windows.

:::shudder:::

So I think maybe I kind of can’t remember now the entire series of events that led me to this point in time.

Maybe it isn’t really important – the how-in-the-hell-did-I-get-HERE of it all.

Doesn’t matter.

6 months ago, in an uncharatericistly cold June rain, I wedged the last thing (a half bottle of Vhino Verde that kept me company the night before,) into the last itty bit of space in the last SUV load of our lives and pulled out of the parking garage underneath the perfect treetop level city condo where we had spent the past 7 years, and pointed it toward a future in the suburbs.

Pausing please. Deep breath. Gulp of wine.

Heee Hee Hooooooo…… Hee Hee Hooooo.

(We took the one day “express” version of prepared childbirth before we had our son, because my birth plan was “whatever is in that syringe, please give me two, and a smack on the head with a frying pan,” so I didn’t really see the need for the breathing and concentrating and crap – but when I talk about how we ended up here, I find myself doing the “I’m in labor” breathing without really even thinking about it.)

However it happened, it happened.  We left the city.

Maybe it was inevitable, destined to be, but I prefer that theory least of all.

Because it isn’t just ANY ‘burb.  Oh no.

The awful truth is – I grew up here.

Quelle horreur.

(I  don’t speak French, by the way.  But sometimes English just leaves me needing more, so I long ago stole that little beauty from an Audrey Hepburn movie.)

The Mr. was oh-so-over the urban living,  and I prefer to think that I was under duress from months of barely saving my kid from smacking his giant Charlie Brown head against our beautiful, but VERY hard, stone floors.

However it happened, there was no looking back and 1,2,3, baby don’t think twice, just like that we had a brand new life.  (One, evidently, where I quote Keith Urban songs, incidentally.)

It has its perks.  There is that walk-in closet, to begin with.  My closet and I have a relationship that leaves people looking away so as not to blush as I caress it’s contents.  I do love that closet.

Oh, and the ample (and FREE) parking out here.  This place is just LOUSY with parking spots, everywhere you turn – right up next to places you actually want to go!  Seriously, we have been here months and I still feel like the Hamburgler having just rolled Grimace every time I come out of a place and there is no ticket on my car.  I just assume if a spot is that good, it can’t really be open.

Then there is the space.  LOADS of it.  Huge open areas where Junior and Binky-the-wonder-dog can run and run and run with no fear of cars or harried bicyclists or all the other crazy things that seem to come at you when you try to stake your claim on a little patch of green alongside the street in the city.

AndPlusAlso – my parents.  The parents whose wings I was (pretending) that I was SO ready to be out from under all those years ago when I packed up my old Cherokee and tore out of this little town?  Yeah, they are by far THE big positive about our temporary insanity decision to be out here.  Soaking up all of that glorious family time for my kiddo and for myself is huge.

HUGE.

But I feel I must explain something right now – to the minivan driving, fleece wearing, supahstar soccer mom giving my kid’s Ramones T-Shirt the side-eye, and the whole army of Stepford scaries coming at me everyday.

Know this now:

I will not be assimilated.

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