Well, here we go again. Six weeks pregnant. I forgot how much fun it is to be exhausted and perpetually nauseated. Last time I waited until I was into my second trimester before publicly announcing the news. This time the announcement comes much sooner.
I went to the doctor's office and had my pregnancy confirmed just a few days shy of six weeks, and I decided to go ahead and alert the media at work as to my "condition." My bosses took the news somewhat better than the first time around, which is saying something.
**I should explain that when I started my current job over two years ago, I was currently pregnant with my first child. It didn't happen that way on purpose--it was one of those annoyingly long interview processes where it was a good month between my initial application and the first interview, and then almost another month before I sat for another two interviews before they offered me the job.**
Between both of my pregnancy announcements at work, I could compile a pretty dandy HR "What Not To Do" presentation. I've had bosses ask me: "Was it planned?" "You sure don't look like you're pregnant." "Does this mean that you're going to quit in nine months?" And I've also received comments such as: "Wow. That's early..." "Thanks for telling me, but it really doesn't affect me unless this is your way of telling me that you're going to quit."
I've had good comments as well, but you would think that given what these people do for a living, they would be more P.C. about the subject.
Anyway, we have tried to prepare our first born for what's to come, but he's still a bit young to fully grasp the concept. We did get a pretty good preview of how he's going to handle "sharing Mommy" when our friends brought over their six week old to visit. When he walked into the room and saw me cradling that little bundle, he lost it. Big, fat tears rolling down his tomato-red face and sobs so franctic he could barely catch his breath. It helped somewhat when I pulled him onto one side of my lap with the baby on the other, but his crying started a chain reaction which ended the experiment. At least we have another eight months to get him used to the idea.
I apologize now for the fact that my pregnancy will likely take over my blog for at least the next eight months, but a pregnant woman's life with a toddler in tow has got to make for good reading, right?
Monday, October 21, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Ode to The Missing Wallet
Nothing is so instantly terrifying and humbling than losing your wallet, cell phone, or keys. You don't realize how vulnerable a person can be until you are deprived of one of these.
Where was the last time you saw it? When was the last time you used it? Why in the world would you ever take your wallet out of your purse? What do you mean it could have fallen out the car window when you purchased that caramel macciato at Starbucks???
Did you look in your briefcase? Did you look under the car seats? What about in your office? Did the cleaning lady find it and then decide to keep it? Is it under the conference table where you took the depositions yesterday?
Why would someone want my wallet? There was exactly one dollar cash in it, one drivers license, a Commerce debit card, a Target red card, a MasterCard, a MYPanera Rewards card, a Starbucks Gold Rewards card (yeah, I'm kind of a big deal there), my Missouri and Illinois bar cards, and my library card. There were also a few little business-card sized inspirational messages from The Gathering--my church. So, if someone wants to pretend to be a nearly-30-something attorney who has good credit, a reputation at Starbucks, and is in need of some churchin', be my guest. But you should know that I've already put holds on the credit card, both debit cards, and the Starbucks card. But feel free to rack up rewards points for me on my Panera card. Oh, and you can play attorney for me for awhile--good luck trying to maintain your sanity and sense of humanity--oh wait--you obviously lost those a long time ago, otherwise, you'd bring my wallet back.
If no one in fact swiped my wallet, and it is actually hiding from me, shame on you wallet! I've treated you well for a long time. I thought we were closer than that. But if you are tired of proving your point, I will welcome you home with open arms. Just do me a favor and give me a hint as to where you're hiding. In the meantime, I'll be heading down to the DMV to try and get a replacement drivers license without "another form of photo I.D." I guess I could use my passport, but that requires a trip to the bank to get it out of my safe deposit box, which I'm pretty sure requires that you present your photo I.D. before entry! Ha! Isn't it ironic?
Where was the last time you saw it? When was the last time you used it? Why in the world would you ever take your wallet out of your purse? What do you mean it could have fallen out the car window when you purchased that caramel macciato at Starbucks???
Did you look in your briefcase? Did you look under the car seats? What about in your office? Did the cleaning lady find it and then decide to keep it? Is it under the conference table where you took the depositions yesterday?
Why would someone want my wallet? There was exactly one dollar cash in it, one drivers license, a Commerce debit card, a Target red card, a MasterCard, a MYPanera Rewards card, a Starbucks Gold Rewards card (yeah, I'm kind of a big deal there), my Missouri and Illinois bar cards, and my library card. There were also a few little business-card sized inspirational messages from The Gathering--my church. So, if someone wants to pretend to be a nearly-30-something attorney who has good credit, a reputation at Starbucks, and is in need of some churchin', be my guest. But you should know that I've already put holds on the credit card, both debit cards, and the Starbucks card. But feel free to rack up rewards points for me on my Panera card. Oh, and you can play attorney for me for awhile--good luck trying to maintain your sanity and sense of humanity--oh wait--you obviously lost those a long time ago, otherwise, you'd bring my wallet back.
If no one in fact swiped my wallet, and it is actually hiding from me, shame on you wallet! I've treated you well for a long time. I thought we were closer than that. But if you are tired of proving your point, I will welcome you home with open arms. Just do me a favor and give me a hint as to where you're hiding. In the meantime, I'll be heading down to the DMV to try and get a replacement drivers license without "another form of photo I.D." I guess I could use my passport, but that requires a trip to the bank to get it out of my safe deposit box, which I'm pretty sure requires that you present your photo I.D. before entry! Ha! Isn't it ironic?
Monday, September 16, 2013
The Color Run
About two months ago, I read online that The Color Run was coming back to St. Louis. I generally like doing 5k's and thought this might be a fun one to do with my husband. So, we signed up and didn't think about it again until the Thursday before the race (which was on Sunday morning). As soon as we signed up, we discussed what to do with our toddler, and we decided we would ask Steve's parents to watch him while we ran. My husband agreed to ask them, and we began to look forward to a "date race." Fast forward to last Thursday, when we realized/remembered that his parents were going to be out-of-town that weekend, and "Poof!" date race became "family bonding time." After deliberating for an afternoon about whether we could realistically find a babysitter to come to our house at 8am on a Sunday, we decided that we would just bring him along. Then, we quickly realized the implications of bringing a toddler in a jogging stroller to The Color Run.
I like to think that I'm as fun as the next gal, but I was not about to trash my adored BOB jogging stroller for the sake of a fun run. So, we sprung for the all-weather BOB stroller protector with overnight shipping and decided he could ride out the event from within the confines of a plastic cocoon. With his asthma, the colored cornstarch powder flying through the air wouldn't have been the best idea anyway, so we get points for being health-conscious parents, too, right?
So, fast forward to race day. Everyone is up and ready on time, and we even had time to pose for this cute Daddy-and-Me photo:
We arrive downtown half an hour before The Color Run is scheduled to start, which is what I consider to be early enough to get ready to run without having to stand around and wait forever. We patted ourselves on the back for finding free metered parking on a nearby street while scoffing at the hoards of people paying upwards of $20 for parking in the closest lot. We walked towards the starting line and stopped to take the requisite "before" picture which shows off the nice, clean white t-shirt:
Then, we headed to the starting line and began the nightmare that was to be "waiting for the chance to get to start The Color Run." I should have known it was going to be awhile when the official race guide stated that the start WINDOW was from 9am to 10am. Because we had a jogging stroller and had not arrived hours before the race, we took our places towards the back of the crowd. We then proceeded to wait 45 minutes before we ever actually crossed the official starting line. Unbeknownst to us, the race is actually ran in "flights," which are staggered a few minutes apart. So, we had the pleasure of entertaining a toddler who's strapped inside a jogging stroller (that is not moving) and completely encompassed in clear plastic for 45 minutes. Those of you with children should be impressed. Those of you without children know nothing of the patience that's required for children to remain in that situation for more than 3 minutes. Why didn't you take off the plastic cover at least until you started running, you might be asking. Why? Because the thousands of people waiting in line around us were entertaining themselves by throwing their "post-race celebration" bags of colored powder up in the air, at each other, and occasionally at complete strangers. Here was our view for approximately one hour:
At exactly 9:45, we finally took off and began running. We didn't make it far until we quickly realized that 95% of the people participating had no intentions of ever going faster than a walk. Which is fine. Really. Except that 94% of those walkers did not follow the cardinal rule of fun run/walks: walkers to the right, runners/joggers to the left. So, we had to weave, dodge, cut across, stop, wait, restart, zig-zag, and painfully maneuver through the next 3.1 miles. And for those of you who aren't familiar with jogging strollers, contrary to popular belief--they don't have brakes! So, when you cut in front of a person who's running with a jogging stroller, or worse--when you cut in front of a person who's running with a jogging stroller and come to a complete stop--please be aware that the only thing keeping me from running into the back of you with the stroller is my ability to simultaneously stop running and to pull the jogging stroller back in time to avoid you. By the time we crossed the finish line, my final count was Me/Jogging Stroller: 5, oblivious Color Run walkers: 0.
The Color Run is set up to be a 5K course with "color stations" at every kilometer. Everyone starts out with a nice, clean white t-shirt. At each station, there are people waiting with squirt bottles full of brightly colored powder who will bombard you in the hair, face, body--or in our case, stroller. Here's a picture of the blue color station from a distance (from a distance, because apparently the powder will cause instant death to your smart phone if it gets inside, so ours were safely wrapped in plastic baggies in the zippered compartment of the jogging stroller):
Each station is a different color, so in theory, by the end of the race, you are covered in all different colors. My husband and I attempted to navigate each station in such a way as to get some color without going overboard. For the most part, we succeeded. Here are our obligatory "after" pictures:
Despite the slow maneuvering throughout the course, we finished in around 32 minutes, which if I'm doing my math correctly, means our average pace was somewhere between a 10 and a 10 1/2 minute mile. Not too shabby for crowd-dodging while pushing a jogging stroller.
I was terrified by the thought of the colored powder semi-permanently dying my hair and skin neon shades of blue, pink, orange, and yellow, but thanks to my extensive Google searches of "Color Run Tips" before the race, we came prepared with old beach towels, trash bags, and baby wipes to get ourselves cleaned up enough to get home without turning the inside of our car into rainbow-land.
So in conclusion, kudos to the parents who ran with their children fully exposed to the colored powder. I'm sure they had fun. As for us, I think I can say with almost full certainty that it was to be our first and last Color Run as a family.
I like to think that I'm as fun as the next gal, but I was not about to trash my adored BOB jogging stroller for the sake of a fun run. So, we sprung for the all-weather BOB stroller protector with overnight shipping and decided he could ride out the event from within the confines of a plastic cocoon. With his asthma, the colored cornstarch powder flying through the air wouldn't have been the best idea anyway, so we get points for being health-conscious parents, too, right?
So, fast forward to race day. Everyone is up and ready on time, and we even had time to pose for this cute Daddy-and-Me photo:
We arrive downtown half an hour before The Color Run is scheduled to start, which is what I consider to be early enough to get ready to run without having to stand around and wait forever. We patted ourselves on the back for finding free metered parking on a nearby street while scoffing at the hoards of people paying upwards of $20 for parking in the closest lot. We walked towards the starting line and stopped to take the requisite "before" picture which shows off the nice, clean white t-shirt:
Then, we headed to the starting line and began the nightmare that was to be "waiting for the chance to get to start The Color Run." I should have known it was going to be awhile when the official race guide stated that the start WINDOW was from 9am to 10am. Because we had a jogging stroller and had not arrived hours before the race, we took our places towards the back of the crowd. We then proceeded to wait 45 minutes before we ever actually crossed the official starting line. Unbeknownst to us, the race is actually ran in "flights," which are staggered a few minutes apart. So, we had the pleasure of entertaining a toddler who's strapped inside a jogging stroller (that is not moving) and completely encompassed in clear plastic for 45 minutes. Those of you with children should be impressed. Those of you without children know nothing of the patience that's required for children to remain in that situation for more than 3 minutes. Why didn't you take off the plastic cover at least until you started running, you might be asking. Why? Because the thousands of people waiting in line around us were entertaining themselves by throwing their "post-race celebration" bags of colored powder up in the air, at each other, and occasionally at complete strangers. Here was our view for approximately one hour:
At exactly 9:45, we finally took off and began running. We didn't make it far until we quickly realized that 95% of the people participating had no intentions of ever going faster than a walk. Which is fine. Really. Except that 94% of those walkers did not follow the cardinal rule of fun run/walks: walkers to the right, runners/joggers to the left. So, we had to weave, dodge, cut across, stop, wait, restart, zig-zag, and painfully maneuver through the next 3.1 miles. And for those of you who aren't familiar with jogging strollers, contrary to popular belief--they don't have brakes! So, when you cut in front of a person who's running with a jogging stroller, or worse--when you cut in front of a person who's running with a jogging stroller and come to a complete stop--please be aware that the only thing keeping me from running into the back of you with the stroller is my ability to simultaneously stop running and to pull the jogging stroller back in time to avoid you. By the time we crossed the finish line, my final count was Me/Jogging Stroller: 5, oblivious Color Run walkers: 0.
The Color Run is set up to be a 5K course with "color stations" at every kilometer. Everyone starts out with a nice, clean white t-shirt. At each station, there are people waiting with squirt bottles full of brightly colored powder who will bombard you in the hair, face, body--or in our case, stroller. Here's a picture of the blue color station from a distance (from a distance, because apparently the powder will cause instant death to your smart phone if it gets inside, so ours were safely wrapped in plastic baggies in the zippered compartment of the jogging stroller):
Each station is a different color, so in theory, by the end of the race, you are covered in all different colors. My husband and I attempted to navigate each station in such a way as to get some color without going overboard. For the most part, we succeeded. Here are our obligatory "after" pictures:
The above picture is deceiving--the orange powder is only covering the outside of the clear protector--Forrest remained clean.
Despite the slow maneuvering throughout the course, we finished in around 32 minutes, which if I'm doing my math correctly, means our average pace was somewhere between a 10 and a 10 1/2 minute mile. Not too shabby for crowd-dodging while pushing a jogging stroller.
I was terrified by the thought of the colored powder semi-permanently dying my hair and skin neon shades of blue, pink, orange, and yellow, but thanks to my extensive Google searches of "Color Run Tips" before the race, we came prepared with old beach towels, trash bags, and baby wipes to get ourselves cleaned up enough to get home without turning the inside of our car into rainbow-land.
So in conclusion, kudos to the parents who ran with their children fully exposed to the colored powder. I'm sure they had fun. As for us, I think I can say with almost full certainty that it was to be our first and last Color Run as a family.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Out of Order
Today I had my first small claims experience as an attorney.
For those of you who don't know, small claims is for people who don't want to hire an attorney to sue someone, so they represent themselves, and the amount of money they are asking for is less than $5,000. I've never represented anyone in small claims trials before, because usually your insurance company only sends in an attorney to represent you when there is much more at stake (the big boys and girls lawsuits).
Except for my opponent. He was there, ready and waiting. He had a stack of crumpled documents and sat quietly, waiting for his turn. I almost felt sorry for him, as I sat next to my client with my briefcase, in my suit. This should be easy. The facts weren't all in our favor, but I had hard evidence to point to, contracts that were signed, numbers and figures to quote, and caselaw if needed.
I grew impatient as I listened to the plaintiff begin to tell his story--he started somewhere in the middle, had to back up to explain why we were there, skipped over some of the important parts, and kept on ramblin'. He was going with the "it ain't right" theory.
Finally, it was my turn. I followed my outline, hit all my points, admitted all my exhibits into evidence, and summed up our position in a clean and concise ten minutes.
It wasn't until I heard the judge ask the plaintiff how he should calculate the damages that I realized "this isn't going well." I had prepared for such an outcome, and I pulled out my printout of the Kelley Blue Book value for the plaintiff's vehicle and started to quote the numbers, right down to the dollars and cents, for the judge. It wasn't until I heard the judge ask the plaintiff what HE figured his car was worth and then wrote down in his notepad the "guesstimate" the plaintiff came up with that I realized "this REALLY isn't going well."
So the guy without an attorney, with a wadded up pile of papers, and an estimate of damages that he determined after a less-than-extensive Craigslist search won. At least the judge did me the favor of not issuing his judgment right away in open court--he waited about half an hour before sending an electronic notice. Too bad the electronic notice gave me a small heart attack and sent me into shock because it read: "judgment entered in favor of plaintiff in the amount of $10,000." (Remember what I said before: the limit in small claims court is $5,000). I immediately emailed the partner on the file assuring him that "there must have been a mistake."
The good news is, it was. One extra zero and suddenly things get REAL. If you've ever fantasized about how and when your boss is finally going to realize that you have no idea what you're doing and kick you to the curb, then you get it.
Small claims court = 1
Amy = 0
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Baby Speedos
Is there anything more adorable than toddlers running around in swimsuits?
No, of course not.
But I ask you, is there anything more disgusting than cleaning up a toddler with a poopy swim diaper? I'm not talking about those disposable Finding Nemo Huggies swim diapers that are designed for you to peel off VERY CAREFULLY and throw straight into the trash. I'm talking about the baby speedos that are made of non-absorbent swimsuit material that they wear underneath their swimtrunks. These are basically designed to "trap" the "solids" until you have a chance to dispose of them...ew. Here is a particularly handsome model showing off his speedo:
By way of background explanation, my son's "swim school" is far from what I remember from swim lessons. They swim indoors in a 90 degree heated salt water pool (which the hippies tell me is "safer" and "more natural" than using chlorine and other skin-peeling chemicals), and disposable swim diapers are NOT ALLOWED at the facility. Again, the hippies tell me that the aforementioned baby speedos are "safer" and "better for the environment" than the disposable ones. They also conveniently hock the baby speedos at the front door when you first check in for $12 a pop.
It's all good and "environmentally friendly" until you have to peel one of those babies off and find to your complete surprise that there is a soggy mess awaiting you. I will admit that there were times when I seriously considered just dropping those bad boys straight into the garbage and forking over another $12 just to avoid having to deal with the mess. Don't judge me.
Kuddos to all those that do the cloth diaper thing. You are saving the environment one Diaper Genie at a time. For me, I'll just focus on recycling my paper and plastic and buying organic produce every once in awhile. And word to the wise--even if your child's swimming pool is run by hippies, don't drink the water. Even baby speedos have their limits.
No, of course not.
But I ask you, is there anything more disgusting than cleaning up a toddler with a poopy swim diaper? I'm not talking about those disposable Finding Nemo Huggies swim diapers that are designed for you to peel off VERY CAREFULLY and throw straight into the trash. I'm talking about the baby speedos that are made of non-absorbent swimsuit material that they wear underneath their swimtrunks. These are basically designed to "trap" the "solids" until you have a chance to dispose of them...ew. Here is a particularly handsome model showing off his speedo:
By way of background explanation, my son's "swim school" is far from what I remember from swim lessons. They swim indoors in a 90 degree heated salt water pool (which the hippies tell me is "safer" and "more natural" than using chlorine and other skin-peeling chemicals), and disposable swim diapers are NOT ALLOWED at the facility. Again, the hippies tell me that the aforementioned baby speedos are "safer" and "better for the environment" than the disposable ones. They also conveniently hock the baby speedos at the front door when you first check in for $12 a pop.
It's all good and "environmentally friendly" until you have to peel one of those babies off and find to your complete surprise that there is a soggy mess awaiting you. I will admit that there were times when I seriously considered just dropping those bad boys straight into the garbage and forking over another $12 just to avoid having to deal with the mess. Don't judge me.
Kuddos to all those that do the cloth diaper thing. You are saving the environment one Diaper Genie at a time. For me, I'll just focus on recycling my paper and plastic and buying organic produce every once in awhile. And word to the wise--even if your child's swimming pool is run by hippies, don't drink the water. Even baby speedos have their limits.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
All Good Dogs Go to Heaven
My parents recently lost their dog, Stewart, after he ran off and got hit by a car along the highway. I will spare you my rage and incredulity (big emotions call for fancy words) about the driver who so thoughtlessly drove on and prolonged the suffering of those who were looking for him for days. But I would be doing Stewart an injustice if I focused on the negative, so I'll move on.
Stewart never met a stranger and was loved instantly by those who met him. He was a good dog and a member of our family in every way that matters. I can still remember going with my parents to the Humane Society and waiting, and waiting, and waiting until the powers-at-be allowed us to meet him. He had issues to say the least. He was so shaggy that they couldn't really accurately identify his breed, he was covered with mats, he had a puncture wound on his hip, and as a result had to wear one of those satellite-dish looking cones until it healed. And it quickly became evident that he had been abused. He had a loud, piercing bark that could scare away would-be burglars and strangers, but he never used it, because he loved everybody. He loved squeak toys, treats, and naps in the sun. He hated thunderstorms and being left alone (who can blame him for that?).
For my family, and I assume that any other dog-lover would agree, we can take comfort in knowing that we will see him again someday, because we are ardent believers that all good dogs go to heaven. I'm not interested in engaging in any theological debate over whether that is true, and you can keep your opinions on that subject to yourself. I don't believe that the same God who put such time, energy, and effort into creating those wonderful creatures who so perfectly mirror our Savior's unconditional love for us would pass up the opportunity to enjoy that love in the afterlife. So, Stewart, enjoy your naps with the angels and do us a favor and look up a spunky schnauzer by the name of Harry. I think you two have a lot in common.
Friday, July 26, 2013
A Rite of Passage
This morning as my husband and I were walking our toddler out to the car to go to daycare, our son ran so fast, he tripped over his own feet, fell down, and skinned his knee. It HURT. Not just him, but me. The wound was already raw and bleeding in the few seconds it took us to pick him up and examine it. And the tears came on just as quickly. We put down our purses, briefcases, and lunch bags and hurried back inside to administer first aid. He is a tough little bird, because he was already *poking* the raw rash and saying something akin to "ouch" in toddlerease before we could clean it up. A swipe of triple antibiotic ointment and a Big Bird bandaid later, and a smile had already returned to his face. I wish I could recover from skinned knees as quickly! I know that it wasn't his first skinned knee (we have quite the collection of "incident reports" from daycare thanks to state reporting requirements), but it was the first one that happened in my presence. In addition to the skinned knee rite of passage, we've already reached such other lofty milestones as the "first time he fell off of mommy and daddy's bed" and "brown recluse spider bite." Ah, parenthood.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Dancin' Queen and Peacocks
This title has you intrigued, doesn't it? Last Friday, my husband and I raced home from work to take our son to the St. Louis Zoo (one of our favorite places, especially now that we have a toddler) for the Friday night "Jungle Boogie." For those of you not in the know, it's basically a chance to walk around the zoo later than usual and listen to a live band. The weather was hot, but with a breeze, it was bearable.
You would think the highlight of the evening would have been our little animal-lover getting to touch the stingrays in Caribbean Cove. You would be wrong. $8 later, he spent five minutes splashing his hand around the water before giving us the baby sign for "all done" and running for the exit. Or you might think it was having the Butterfly Room all to ourselves. Except that the reason we were all alone in the exhibit was because we didn't know what apparently everyone else in the Zoo did--that the butterflies were all "asleep" except the one or two Monarch-looking types that were sort of bobbing around. I couldn't blame him for being skeptical about the wonders of the butterflies that time around.
The highlight of the night came as we were eating the deep-fried, over-priced zoo food (or I should say, as my husband and I were sharing the kids' meal corndog that our son refused to finish). The area directly around the live band was packed solid, so we settled for a set of tables just within hearing range by the sea lion exhibit. No one else was sitting there, probably because you couldn't see the band and could barely hear them, but with a toddler, sometimes isolation and seclusion is better. Even though our son could barely hear the music, as soon as the band's rendition of "Dancing Queen" came on, he threw down his half-eaten corndog and swayed out to the middle of the empty tables around us and began to dance. His dancing is a series of sways and dips, but hey--for an 18 month old, he's got moves. And in true toddler fashion, he realized that I was filming him with my IPhone, so he turned around and cheesed for the camera a bit. Sounds cute, right? Judge for yourself:
The second highlight of the night followed the dancing. As my full attention was paid to my 'lil dancer, my husband whispered to me, "Amy--don't move," which, by the way, is a horrible thing to say to someone without explaining further. One of the zoo's resident peacocks with an appetite for deep-fried, over-priced zoo food had come up behind our table and was sitting underneath my chair! It was a miracle that I didn't freak out and had the sense of mind to pick up the half-eaten corndog and leftover fries. I threw pieces of them down away from my chair, and she gulped them up in seconds. Once the threat of being pecked by a peacock had passed, it was kind of awesome to be that close to a peacock. Once we finished tossing her the deep-fried, over-priced zoo food leftovers, we moved onto my son's goldfish crackers. He even got to toss a few goldfish to the peacock.
So, the moral of the story is never underestimate how "up close and personal" things can get at the zoo, and always bring plenty of extra goldfish crackers.
You would think the highlight of the evening would have been our little animal-lover getting to touch the stingrays in Caribbean Cove. You would be wrong. $8 later, he spent five minutes splashing his hand around the water before giving us the baby sign for "all done" and running for the exit. Or you might think it was having the Butterfly Room all to ourselves. Except that the reason we were all alone in the exhibit was because we didn't know what apparently everyone else in the Zoo did--that the butterflies were all "asleep" except the one or two Monarch-looking types that were sort of bobbing around. I couldn't blame him for being skeptical about the wonders of the butterflies that time around.
The highlight of the night came as we were eating the deep-fried, over-priced zoo food (or I should say, as my husband and I were sharing the kids' meal corndog that our son refused to finish). The area directly around the live band was packed solid, so we settled for a set of tables just within hearing range by the sea lion exhibit. No one else was sitting there, probably because you couldn't see the band and could barely hear them, but with a toddler, sometimes isolation and seclusion is better. Even though our son could barely hear the music, as soon as the band's rendition of "Dancing Queen" came on, he threw down his half-eaten corndog and swayed out to the middle of the empty tables around us and began to dance. His dancing is a series of sways and dips, but hey--for an 18 month old, he's got moves. And in true toddler fashion, he realized that I was filming him with my IPhone, so he turned around and cheesed for the camera a bit. Sounds cute, right? Judge for yourself:
The second highlight of the night followed the dancing. As my full attention was paid to my 'lil dancer, my husband whispered to me, "Amy--don't move," which, by the way, is a horrible thing to say to someone without explaining further. One of the zoo's resident peacocks with an appetite for deep-fried, over-priced zoo food had come up behind our table and was sitting underneath my chair! It was a miracle that I didn't freak out and had the sense of mind to pick up the half-eaten corndog and leftover fries. I threw pieces of them down away from my chair, and she gulped them up in seconds. Once the threat of being pecked by a peacock had passed, it was kind of awesome to be that close to a peacock. Once we finished tossing her the deep-fried, over-priced zoo food leftovers, we moved onto my son's goldfish crackers. He even got to toss a few goldfish to the peacock.
So, the moral of the story is never underestimate how "up close and personal" things can get at the zoo, and always bring plenty of extra goldfish crackers.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Sand in My Swimsuit
Note to readers: I'm currently halfway through a beach vacation with my husband's family, so I thought I would take a few quiet(er) moments and dedicate this latest post to beach vacations everywhere.
I've always loved the beach--lounging in a beach chair, toes in the sand, peacefully listening to the sound of the waves crashing to the shore, with nothing to worry about except my tan lines (or burn lines as it happens to be in my case). Then, I went to the beach with my kid. Talk about a game changer...
Instead of applying Hawaiian Tropic, we're slathering on Water Babies like our skin has never seen the sun. And instead of toting one lone beach towel, a cold drink and a trashy beach read down to the beach, we're loaded like pack mules with snack bags, coolers, bags of beach toys, and five different kinds of sunscreen (just in case). The only ones snoozing in the sun are the toddlers, and that's only when they literally drop in their tracks from exhaustion. We build and smash sandcastles, hunt for seashells, chase crabs, and eat, eat, eat for an entire fifteen minutes before the first "can we go back up to the pool now?" But that's okay, given that we have taken to using the pool as a substitute for the outdoor shower as a means of eliminating the inevitable sand that accumulates in the crevices of our swimsuits (because of course they only fall down/stub their toe/lose their toy and want you to pick them up and hold them after they've rolled around in the sand for awhile).
Beaches with babies is more challenging in some ways, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Hearing that little shriek and giggle when we finally catch the crab and put him in the bucket is well worth the extra sand that ends up in my swimsuit. We'll just have to be sure and remember to tip the pool guy at the end of the week while we pretend not to notice the dunes that have accumulated at the bottom of the pool.
I've always loved the beach--lounging in a beach chair, toes in the sand, peacefully listening to the sound of the waves crashing to the shore, with nothing to worry about except my tan lines (or burn lines as it happens to be in my case). Then, I went to the beach with my kid. Talk about a game changer...
Instead of applying Hawaiian Tropic, we're slathering on Water Babies like our skin has never seen the sun. And instead of toting one lone beach towel, a cold drink and a trashy beach read down to the beach, we're loaded like pack mules with snack bags, coolers, bags of beach toys, and five different kinds of sunscreen (just in case). The only ones snoozing in the sun are the toddlers, and that's only when they literally drop in their tracks from exhaustion. We build and smash sandcastles, hunt for seashells, chase crabs, and eat, eat, eat for an entire fifteen minutes before the first "can we go back up to the pool now?" But that's okay, given that we have taken to using the pool as a substitute for the outdoor shower as a means of eliminating the inevitable sand that accumulates in the crevices of our swimsuits (because of course they only fall down/stub their toe/lose their toy and want you to pick them up and hold them after they've rolled around in the sand for awhile).
The highlight of the week so far (depending on which family members you ask) was the night we went hunting for crabs on the beach at dusk. We had six adults, two toddlers, two flashlights, one net, and one bucket. We found pint-sized crabs aplenty and soon grew tired of the ease of the hunt. But then out of the dunes we spotted him: a behemoth craggly fellow with pinchers the size of my thumbs (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but he was significantly larger than his brethren). We chased him across the sand and into the water, snagging him in the net only to have him climb right back out again. My son was fascinated by the crabs and showed no fear. He marched right up to the net to take a closer look at the beach monster, took a few steps closer in, and in a split second the captive jumped from the net, scurried across the sand and up my son's leg. To his credit, my son stood there calmly, without so much as a flinch, and looked down in wonder at his new multi-limbed friend. But the adults in the crowd screamed and jumped away from our catch, and a well-intentioned uncle ended up pushing my son down into the sand while attempting to save him from the ferocious pinchers. I'm sure that based upon the sounds emanating from our group, bystanders would have easily mistaken us for a group of middle school girls. Until the crying started, that is.
Beaches with babies is more challenging in some ways, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Hearing that little shriek and giggle when we finally catch the crab and put him in the bucket is well worth the extra sand that ends up in my swimsuit. We'll just have to be sure and remember to tip the pool guy at the end of the week while we pretend not to notice the dunes that have accumulated at the bottom of the pool.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Adventures in (Temporary) Single Parenting
Inspired by my preggo friend Jill who recently started her own blog, I am finally diving into the world of blogging. I might not have anything interesting to say, and maybe no one will ever read my blogs, but I owe it to the English major inside of me to give it a try. The name "Running on Sanders Time" is a nod to my husband's family and its fast and loose treatment of punctuality (love you all, I swear! and the phrase was coined long before I came onto the scene). Anyway, here goes nothing:
First, let me start out by singing the praises of any truly single parent out there who day-in/day-out tirelessly cares for their child(ren) without the aid of a spouse/significant other/family member/friend. You are a super hero, rock star, and saint for doing what you do. That being said...I couldn't do it. I need my husband. Steve, not that I think you are plotting anything, but if you ever try to leave me...I will come with you.
My husband has been traveling for work on a nearly weekly basis this past month, and things just aren't quite the same without him at home. Don't get me wrong--I love having the one-on-one time with Forrest, but Mommy can't make the sound that an elephant makes, and Mommy hates having to take the trash out in the rain. But despite the shortage of "Da-Da" around here, we've survived and aren't any worse for the wear because of it.
Now that Da-Da has an Iphone, we are able to Facetime with him, which is quite the event. Forrest seems to have finally grasped the concept of the remote video feed and figured out that the talking head on the screen that looks like Da-Da is "Da-Da!" So he's moved onto waving at the screen and saying "hi-ya," and kissing the screen (so cute it melts your heart!). Although, he still hasn't figured out that pushing the "end" button will, in fact, end the call, thus, each session is conducted in multiple acts.
Who knows? Maybe Forrest prefers life with Mommy: last night he ate half a bag of SmartPop and a few bites of frozen lasagna for dinner, watched the end of Pitch Perfect and half an episode of Family Guy while Mommy inhaled her lasagna, got to stay up almost an hour past his usual bedtime, and went to sleep with no less than five blankies, one bear, and a monkey. He did sleep 10 1/2 hours without a peep and woke up with a huge grin on his face, so you be the judge.
Gee, the only thing that this blog entry is missing is some ridiculously cute "Mommy and Me" picture or a picture of some fiasco or chaos that has ensued while Daddy is away...do I even need to explain that I didn't have the time or the presence of mind to capture one? So instead I will leave you with this:
The Most Interesting Men in the World
First, let me start out by singing the praises of any truly single parent out there who day-in/day-out tirelessly cares for their child(ren) without the aid of a spouse/significant other/family member/friend. You are a super hero, rock star, and saint for doing what you do. That being said...I couldn't do it. I need my husband. Steve, not that I think you are plotting anything, but if you ever try to leave me...I will come with you.
My husband has been traveling for work on a nearly weekly basis this past month, and things just aren't quite the same without him at home. Don't get me wrong--I love having the one-on-one time with Forrest, but Mommy can't make the sound that an elephant makes, and Mommy hates having to take the trash out in the rain. But despite the shortage of "Da-Da" around here, we've survived and aren't any worse for the wear because of it.
Now that Da-Da has an Iphone, we are able to Facetime with him, which is quite the event. Forrest seems to have finally grasped the concept of the remote video feed and figured out that the talking head on the screen that looks like Da-Da is "Da-Da!" So he's moved onto waving at the screen and saying "hi-ya," and kissing the screen (so cute it melts your heart!). Although, he still hasn't figured out that pushing the "end" button will, in fact, end the call, thus, each session is conducted in multiple acts.
Who knows? Maybe Forrest prefers life with Mommy: last night he ate half a bag of SmartPop and a few bites of frozen lasagna for dinner, watched the end of Pitch Perfect and half an episode of Family Guy while Mommy inhaled her lasagna, got to stay up almost an hour past his usual bedtime, and went to sleep with no less than five blankies, one bear, and a monkey. He did sleep 10 1/2 hours without a peep and woke up with a huge grin on his face, so you be the judge.
Gee, the only thing that this blog entry is missing is some ridiculously cute "Mommy and Me" picture or a picture of some fiasco or chaos that has ensued while Daddy is away...do I even need to explain that I didn't have the time or the presence of mind to capture one? So instead I will leave you with this:
The Most Interesting Men in the World
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