Mandajuice

Photos!

Here is Senor Pantalones having a bottle right after his nap.  I was using his blanket to keep the gate open and he walked right up and started nuggling it.

Then we arrived at Happy Hollow with the happiest of fellows:

And went on the Merry-go-round:

And here are the cousins, looking cute as can be:

And we all went on Danny the Dragon:

And the boys shared some crackers:

And they enjoyed the model train display "choo choo":

And only freaked out a little at the giant rodents (Capybara):

And petted the Llamas with Dad:

And reminded mom why she so badly needs to lose some poundage:

And fed the goats:

And decided 1) that Jody must've stolen one of my eggs (the hair!) and 2) that having a girl would be okay with us as long as she's just like Erica:

And Jack ain't so bad himself:

And here's Alex with his Uncle Johnny:

A few words about my jugs

My right boob has completely dried up at this point.  Try as he might, the little suckerfish can only get about a tablespoon of milk before he looks up at me and requests "more! more!".  In a way, it's sad.  It's the end of a boobie era.  Althought the left one is still fully functional, if only once or twice a day.

And Dave has asked me every day for at least a week when I plan to stop nursing.  And I have no. idea.  Certainly before he's ten.  How's that for an answer?  As anyone who's ever met me already knows., I really, truly love nursing. I can't think of a real reason to stop.  The best reason Dave can come up with is that by a certain age, it's weird.

The reasons to continue are many: 

• First off, he ASKS for it.  And who am I to refuse my sweet baby? 
• It's sappy, but it makes me feel like his mother when I often otherwise don't.
• It's pretty much the only time I can get him to sit still all day.
• It burns calories.
• Even if it's only for 6 minutes a day, I get to delusionally pretend he's still a baby.
• Lately? Every time he nurses, he reaches for my hair and then proceeds to rub it all over his face.  If I'm rude enough to even think about wearing a pony tail, it must be removed immediately so that the follicle fondling can commence.
• Every time he sees me naked, he gets this wide-eyed grin on his face.
• He tries to nurse almost every time we're in the shower.  How cute is that?
• He still pokes me in the nipple and says "boop" like his father taught him.

I do still plan to have at least one more child, so it's not like I'll never get to nurse again.  But I am just not ready yet.  That's the main reason I can think of.  It just doesn't feel right to stop now. 

But honestly?  How old is too old for him to still be nursing?

Best. Weekend. Evar.

Aside from all the rampant last-minute house-cleaning I did (which is no one's fault by my very own anal-retentive self's), this weekend was an absolute fecking blast.  I'm seriously sitting here with a question mark hovering over my little brain and I can't remember ever having a better time.  It was THAT fun.

Friday night we had Jamie, Adeeb and Alex's buddy Joe over for dinner.  Every time we see them I'm reminded of that Seinfeld episode where Jerry finds the bizarro friends who are EXACTLY like George, Elaine and Kramer.  Except these friends are EXACTLY like US in every way.  Jamie and I are quitting our jobs within two weeks of eachother and will undoubtedly be taking on stay-at-home motherhood with the same brand of nervous anticipation.  I'm looking forward to future nights of chasing toddlers around with our (hopefully) pregnant bellies whilst our men hide out in the garage discussing ammunition velocity and playing video games.   We're all like a match made in heaven. 

Even Harry, our belovedly horny dog, loves them.  In fact, he loved Jamie in a way only male dogs can.  Her leg?  Her shoulder?  Her lap?  None of them were safe from the gyrating hips and the come-hither panting.  I've honestly never witnessed him doing that to a human before.  And I can only remember a handful of lady dogs that have ever managed to catch his fancy.  Jamie was nice about it, of course, but he is one dirty, dirty little dog (with obviously stellar taste in women).

Saturday, Dave's long lost cousins came all the way from Mariposa to hang out.  Our kids romped and roamed and screetched all over Happy Hollow, after which we returned to our (clean!) condo for dinner.  John, Lynne, Christopher, Big Tony and Little Tony all joined us too. 

Yes.  You read that right.  That's my tiny condo + 7 adults + 2 largish children + 3 smallish children + one horny dog + two homemade lasagnes = total WOP dinner heaven.  I wish we could do this every week (and I wish Lynne could always bring the Lasagne!!).  There is something so wonderful about close family.  Something that allows you to be your "you" self.  That "you" who farts and burps and says impossibly rude things and laughs with that full-body roarious laughter that makes your stomach cramp up and your eyes water.  And watching your kid play with the kids of people you used to play with when you were a kid makes you want to stop time and live the rest of your life in that. exact. moment.

The best part, though, is watching Dave with his family.  Every molecule of him acts like the him that I love and not that un-funny creep he becomes when he's uncomfortable.  It makes me want to marry him all over again.  (Although that's a feeling I generally get when I've had one too many vodka cranberries.)

Anyway.  A tiny part of me wanted to weep when everyone left on Saturday.  I just wasn't ready for the party to be over.

And, oh my god, was the party over!  We woke up on Sunday feeling a bit miserable.  Dave from eating too much lasagne and me from too much drunken debauchery.  I suddenly remembered around 3:00 in the afternoon that maybe the reason my stomach was trying to kill me wasn't all the food so much, but all the drinking I'd done.  My tender little tummy HATES me when I drink.  I popped a few tylenol, though, and was finally able to peel my ass off the couch and take the boy out for a walk, just before dark.  He zonked out (with TWO giant knots on his head, one from each party) by 7:30 and slept almost 12 hours.

This morning I woke up as Mrs. Plumpy McWide-Ass from Fattytown.  I am precisely one pound away from needing all new clothes.  And I'm just not going there, so it's back on the wagon for me.  I haven't decided my exact (non-diet) plan yet, but I've started with the promise of a daily breakfast protein shake and to stop, as best as I can, with all-the-damned-sugar-all-the-damned-time.  I'm thinking of either posting what I eat or what I weigh here every day as a way of keeping myself accountable. 

This morning I weighed 174.5 lbs. (AAAACKK!!) Up 9.5 pounds from my summertime low of 165.  So far I've had a protein shake, 3 cups of coffee, a morsel of soggy alex-cracker, a veggie burger, two slices of american cheese, a salad with ranch dressing and a diet coke.  My plan is to not eat anything that weightwatchers would classify as a "bread" until I've ingested 65 grams of protein.  Then I can eat whatever I want (except sugar).

Oh.  And I'm going to start eating a baked potato every night before bed. 

I could only find one actual puddle.

Last night I chatted for 20 minutes with my seestor.  I'm glad she called!  Today I'm obliging her request for MORE. PHOTOS. OF. ALEX. NOW. BIZZITCH.

My boys had a puddle stomping good time before our bath this morning:

"Make a funny face"

Here's the aftermath:

His shoes are clanking around in the dryer as we speak.  I'm really hoping they come clean!

Cement floors are cold

Alex is in the other room pitching a fit because he just hit Dave in the face and, gee, whadd'ya know??  Dad yelled at him!  Learning to understand consequences sucks when you're wee.

So I'm hiding out here in the garage, which doubles as our office, and our pantry, and our my laundry room, and our storage area.  It's lovely.  Really.  Especially since Dave has decided to build a fortress out of empty diet pepsi cans all around our computer.  I can count at least a twelve pack in plain view.

I was so happy as I was leaving work today.  For once, it seemed, I'd really managed to get a lot done.  As I was saying goodnight to my boss, she asked me if I'd e-mailed revisions to one of our clients, which was, of course, the ONLY thing on my to do list that I didn't have time for today.  What a killjoy.

"Winter"

It finally began to rain last night just as I started my (60 minute) commute home.  But now the sun is creeping in through my new! office! window!s and I wish it would go away.  In January, I prefer it to ACT like January.  We leftcoastlings get few enough seasons as it is.

I am really looking forward to this weekend.  We'll be boozin' it up with good friends and I can't wait.  Mr. Pants will be happy to see his buddy Joe and we've got plans with his cousins to keep him busy on Saturday.  I'm also crossing my fingers for Friday rain so we can go stomp in some puddles.  He hasn't had nearly enough exposure to street juice yet.

Writer's deluge

I have the opposite of writer's block.  And that term always reminds me of dams.  Which is no big deal except that I've always had an irrational fear of dams.  So, whatever, I have lots to say and no real time to write about it thoughtfully.  Instead, I'll write about it without actually thinking and this is what you'll get:

• The new mustangs get me all hot and bothered.  I'm just saying.
• I was really looking forward to the fore-casted rain today and so far it's been nothing but sun.  But they are washing the windows of our office building right now and the irony is helping assuage the disappointment.
• My anxiety-induced inability to breathe has returned to it's regular 9PM time slot.  And, as usual, I can't pinpoint it's exact cause, but I have plenty to pick from:  weight gain, job to do list stuff that I'm slacking on, people I need to call, things I needed to remember yesterday and lest we forget, good old fashioned motherly guilt.
• I've been pondering how to approach a healthy stay-at-home-mom schedule once the big transition is here.  I'm worried I'll sit on my lazybuns too much and feel even guiltier than I already do.  I started foaming at the mouth this morning when I realized it was a good excuse to make another spreadsheet!  Apparently you can take the financial planner away from the job, but not the job away from the financial planner.  That makes no fecking sense whatsoever, does it?  What I'm saying is if anyone ever erases Excel from my computer, they can expect to be beaten to death with my calculator.  A painfully geeky way to die.
• We both thought Meet the Fockers was focking hilarious.  I can't remember ever laughing so much at a movie.  (I should've premised this by mentioning that the only other movie we've seen (at the theater) in the last year was Passion of the Christ.)
• Where might I find a running coach?  Finally achieving my lifelong goal of running an 8 minute mile could be a fun addition to my HOME.xls spreadsheet.
• It's starting to stay light long enough for me to get home before it's pitch black.  No real thoughts on this except that I noticed it last night and wrote it down.
• I wonder if my hives will go away after I quit my job. 
• It seems like I could insert "when I quit my job" into just about every slot that "when I lose weight" used to occupy.  Both are a glamorized fiction of my imagination that keep me from feeling fulfilled in the present tense.  I'm just saying.
• I really HOPE my hives go away when I quit working.  Because the allergist made it clear that my magical Zyrtec pill is absolutely NOT a side dish to a bun in the oven.
• I also need to seriously get that lab work done. 
• Why am I thinking about getting pregnant so much these days?  Because I feel fat and need a reason for it to be okay.  When it is clearly NOT.
• I completely forgot to mention here that some nimrod hit me with his suburban in the PW parking lot early Saturday morning.  He broke my taillight.  When I kindly agreed not to call his insurance company and trustingly send him a bill instead, his bitch wife got out of their giant truck and pointed out all the existing dings and bumps in my dinky old car.  "Just to be safe."  I can't wait for Dave to send them my bill on his law firm's stationary, you know, "just to be safe."
• The actress who plays the lead on the very lame new show "Committed" looks exactly like Amy.  EXACTLY.
• I've decided that friendly-gift-giving is an impossible art-form.  We generally try to give modest gifts to our various friends, especially those who always, always bitch and moan about their finances.  We don't want to make anyone feel bad by over-doing it.  But then?  Then some friends buy us WAY TOO NICE gifts and then WE end up feeling really bad when all we were trying to do was to keep it low-key and budget-friendly.  We can't win for losing. 
• Alex had a whole entire hour of buttassnekkid time last night.  It basically consisted of him molestering all of his toys and then looking up at me with this big "wangs are FUN!" grin on his face.  I laughed so hard it took years off my life.
• He is also saying "there you go" and wiping his forehead with an emphatic "phew" these days.
• Small print in an ad I saw recently read "We offer complimentary self-parking."  It struck me as hilarious.  Especially since they probably spent $100 per letter for the space.
• I am sitting here eating a mini Butterfinger bar at my desk and just noticed that some itty bitty chunks of chocolatety goodness have formed a melty pool of ick on my pants - right between my legs.  That just screams sexy, right?  (Am in denial about fatness.  shut up.)
• I will have to completely rethink my purse size once I'm no longer working.
• I just recently noticed one of these on my daily commute.  I wonder how long I actually drove past it thinking it was a tree.
• There is a billboard, I shit you not, for "Caskets 'R Us" on 101 South.  I'm just saying.
• I would like to option a boxing match between the little old lady who puts beanie babies in the back window of her car and the creepy asian dude with the hand-sewn curtains in his mini-van.
• On my drive home last Thursday, a man in a silver Audi TT made a hand gesture that instantly reminded me of one of my old high school boyfriends.  Casey.  Casey whose last name I can't remember or I'd google him and track him down.  Casey who broke up with me when he decided he was, in fact, gay.  Let's just say I was his Grace - that final girlfriend who broke the mold.  He moved away during my sophomore year and we lost touch.  Funny how a single hand movement could bring back such a strong memory of a long-forgotten friend.

Another list

1. As either a natural progression of gastric bypass post-operative-lazy-ass-ed-ness or as a result of only manufacturing a miniscule amount of breast milk these days, I’ve officially entered the phase of denial called “re-gain.”  Nine pounds people.  Five of which I gained months ago and four that decided to join the party around my waistline during the past two weeks.  This is a problem.  I feel like a giant flabby tub of blubber.
2. Work is weird.  Firstly, there’s the whole new-office adjustment taking place, which makes everyone feel off and out of their rhythms while wandering around searching for the envelopes and the plastic forks and wondering where everything is.  But there’s also the fact that I quit, like, two weeks ago.  And everyone (except the clients) knows, but not much else has been said about it.  I feel like I’m on death row or something.  It’s going to be an interesting month.
3. Which also means that the idea of even beginning to address item number one with a reasonable plan of attack is overly ambitious.  The next several weeks are going to be stressful.  There’s just no way around it.  For now, I plan to stay in denial about the number on the scale and make a modest attempt to keep it from getting any larger.  I did eat an entire box of Mike ‘n Ike’s the other day, all 1,000 calories of which didn’t help matters.  Today I hope to only eat half the box.  No promises.
4. Not a single fiber of my entire being feels like doing any actual work today.  Which sucks because the list is long.  I promise to start.  Soon.
5. I did clean the ENTIRE house on Saturday.  We’re talking window washing, vacuuming upstairs, and even scrubbing the kitchen floor.  So I’m not ALL lazy.  It was weird to wake up on Sunday morning in a clean house.  I kept feeling like I was supposed to be doing something, but couldn’t remember what.  It was nice!

In which I say Dude! And for which I apologize profusely, with PHOTOS!

I know.  It's been forever since I last posted.  Mom wasn't able to watch Alex on Thursday (she's feeling better, but wasn't able to bend over without getting sick), so it feels like I haven't had two minutes to sit down since then.  It's been a glimpse into my future.

Watching Alex play with his father on Thursday night, it dawned on me.....he's a real boy.  Like, a person.  Dude!  I am responsible for the proper upbringing of a PERSON!!!  I've had these moments all along, but now that Alex is so verbal, it's getting much scarier. 

So I have to kiss him as much as possible before he figures out that I'm his MOM and all.

Alex agrees with me that the coffee pod machine is the best thing we've bought in YEARS.  He is particularly tickled by fondling the green "Skip the Buzz" pods.

Where's Lita??

He loaved this soap:

Here are my boys, earlier today, tromping around out front.

With his most favorite (and LOUDEST) toy (why do you think we're outside?)

He's being a stinker here and testing my limits.  NOT IN THE STREET does, in fact, mean NOT IN THE STREET!

But he's just so damned pretty when he's defiant!

I fall in love with him all over again every day.

How could I not?

Mother fracker!*

Mr. Pants and I arrived at my parents' this morning to find my mother with her head in a bucket.  Poor thing!  Her vertigo is back with a vengeance and she's feeling horrible.  I've never seen her so green.  To add insult to injury, my father is the only one who can administer the manuever and she's still not even talking to him. 

And? My sister went back to college on Sunday without even calling me to say goodbye.  I would go ahead and send her an instructional video on telephone use in the 21st century, but I've heard first-hand the way she calls her friend Cassie eleventy bazillion times a day from her cellphone, so I'm pretty sure technology can't be blamed for her lack of communication.  I need to invent a word that properly describes my angst over being the only responsible sibling in a family of adult children who refuse to grow up.  That way I can just mention the word and you'll all know exactly what I mean.  I won't have to trouble myself with all this superfluous bitching and moaning.  Siblangst?  Second child syndrome? Bitchsissiness?

Dave accused me of being too ashamed to post this next bit.  He thinks I'm embarassed to have become such a geek (which is entirely his fault, I'd never even seen an episode of Star Trek till he forced me), but I'm not.  While most of you were oogling the pretties on the Golden Globes Sunday night?  We watched FOUR HOURS of my new favorite show - BATTLESTAR GALLACTICA!  I swear I'm salivating right now just thinking about it.  The Cylons are back, baby!  SciFi is my new most favoritest channel and this is some top-notch televisioning.

*If you 'get' this title, god help you, you are a bonified geek.