Mandajuice

Skip to the bottom if you want to hear the poop story

It is an amazingly beautiful day out.  The kind of day that finds you scrounging around your glove box for the dusty sunglasses you haven't worn in months.  As much as I usually look forward to the first hot day of Spring, I'm quite melancholy about it today.  I feel like there are still puddles we haven't jumped in.

This weekend was busy:

• As impressed as everyone seems to be with Alex's toilet aptitude, I have to admit that we aren't actually potty training him yet.  We just noticed him grunting on Saturday and figured we'd ask him if he wanted to sit on his potty.  I happened to have his new favorite book, The Poop Book, that features illustrations of just about every living thing taking a crap, including a Daddy smoking a pipe on the toilet, a toddler on his potty and an infant with a full load in his diaper.  I simply showed Alex the picture of the toddler on his potty and asked if he wanted to sit on his.  It was PURE LUCK.  (Go buy the book, though, it's hilarious).  Actual potty training, without DIAPERS, will begin this summer when it will be warm enough for me to hose him off in the back yard. 
• I'm laughing now because I know you think I'm kidding about the hose.
• On Sunday, Carol brought over my early birthday present.  Now usually I don't encourage the giving (or receiving) of decorative gifts - everyone has their own style and generally prefers to chose their own home decor.  But the two lamps she bought for our living room were a standout exception.  We hadn't realized how dreadful our existing lamps were until we turned on the new ones.  These ones are gorgeous and make a huge difference - they really class up our living room and make it feel like a home. 
• But once the lamps were up and beautiful, they served to point out how HIDEOUS our tiny 19" television was.  I mean, we bought it TEN years ago and it was cheap then.  So, as a retirement gift to myself, we went out last night and bought a brand spankin' new 27" flat-screen TV for the living room. 
• Once we I got the TV set up, we noticed that the picture was crooked.  Dave freaked out since we'd had to break down the box and put the tv in the front seat of my car to get it home.  He was sure they'd charge a restocking fee when we returned it.  Fortunately, I convinced him that we should call Best Buy before driving it back to the store.  They informed me that all I had to do to fix it was to unscrew the satellite cord and re-screw it back on.  Picture perfect.  And I got to be RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT.  ha!
• I'm officially six loads behind in my laundry folding.  It's like the Trash Heap moved in to our bedroom.
• For the first time ever, I returned an item to the grocery store.  After a three day hunger strike, I gave up and took back the Safeway brand bag of food and bought him the Iams Mini Chunk for $4 more.  Spoiled little dog.
• Alex now says "HAAAARRRRYYYY" while chasing the dog around and smacking him on the back.
• Dave wants to start a blog.  He's thinking of registering www.captains-blog.com.  I LOVE the idea and I'm fully convinced that ALL husbands should blog.  Especially mine.
• On Sunday, we ventured out on a real-live DATE!!  The wait for a table at Maggiano's was one to two HOURS, so we went to the bookstore before enjoying our gift certificate dinner (from my mom and dad).  We bought these funny madlib-type books and spent the entire two hours filling them out to the delight of the restaurant staff. 
• Monday was the weekend highlight.   My "conference call" for which I was in DIRE NEED of last minute babysitting was really a rouse to get Jenna over to our place for her birthday party.  We had moms and dads and kids and Margarita's and even though Jenna was the first to arrive, she was still surprised!  Have I mentioned before how much I LOVE having people over to our place?  Good baby-proofing, I'm convinced, is the only thing keeping me sane.  We actually had ADULT CONVERSATIONS (even if they were all about our kids).  And did I mention the margaritas?  It was a blast.  I'm pretty sure Jenna had fun - she even taught us how to change the wax seal on our broken toilet!
• Yesterday morning I was rushing around getting ready for the party and I let Mr. Pants freeball it for a few minutes after we got out of the shower.  He disappeared into his room for a few minutes and when I went in to check on him, he said "PEE PEE", held his hand out to me and offered up two perfectly round balls of fresh poop.  Toddlers are such a delight.

(Extremely) Late Breaking News!

Good things are happening here at the Del Buono house.  Mark your calendars!!!  A certain somebody has managed two major accomplishments:

#1

AND!!!

#2

ON THE POTTY!!!!!

I feel bad, too, because we practically threw a poop party yesterday (which oddly enough was the first type of deposit he made into his talking bucket).  Matchbox cars were purchased, people, FIVE of them!  It was very exciting.  And then today?  I put him on the potty and he fidgeted all around for a few minutes and I didn't notice the PEE PEE until tonight when I went to clean the bathroom.

Bad Mommy.  We we'll have to do the PEE PEE dance tomorrow.

Clean!

Okay.  My housekeeping skills are usually HORRID.  Here is a before picture of my tidywork (click to enlarge - check out the carpet):

I rented one of those cheap rug doctor machines today and now look:

I feel so accomplished!!  And now I won't be so embarassed when my friend Jenna comes over Monday. 

Sad, sad, sad

Yesterday was sad.  Just really, really sad.  I spent 98% of the funeral out in front of the church with the other mothers chasing after our toddlers.  I guess it's a good thing that mothers of young children get to only partially partake of the real business of a funeral.  It's easier to distract yourself with your own needy child than to even begin to imagine what it would be like to experience a similar loss.  Every time I saw his wife with the baby, my eyes just bulged with tears.  I couldn't help it.  And seeing his parents, talking to his Dad, just killed me.  Parents are supposed to go first. 

Alex actually spent a good portion of the time playing with their son, also named Alex.  He's only three and fortunately had no clue what was going on.  The wife didn't appear to be distraught.  Yet.  I approached her, not having seen or spoken to her in over six years, and offered my condolences as well as any help with childcare that she may need.  She replied that she was still in shock and that none of it seemed real yet.  I plan to contact her again in a couple of weeks and make the offer again - next time I'll also let her know that I can help with any financial planning she needs done (Dave's idea).  (Isn't funny that I've done this type of work for seven years now and while I'm not quite an expert, I'm definitely experienced and yet the first thing I think to help with is babysitting?)

Mostly it was good to see the family.  It reminds us each time how sad it is that we only get together for weddings and funerals.  We really need to start up an annual family reunion, but no one ever takes the initiative.  Not even me.

What else?  I only caught the last five minutes of the service, but what I heard only served to renew my lack of interest in organized religion.  I mean, it's about the DECEASED, not about recruiting more believers for a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.  It was almost offensive, yada yada yada, at least the deceased was a highly devout man or he'd have been pissed.  It was actually great that he and his wife were so involved with the church.  They seem to have a real support network set up.  I hope it helps the widow feel less alone. 

When I was pregnant with Alex, I used to have the most violent nightmares about Dave dying in car wrecks.  I tried to write about this in that post I lost, and really barely even touched on it.  But having Alex, finding out I was pregnant, was really a turning point in our marriage.  Up until then I hadn't really felt like I NEEDED Dave.  I was the independent woman, the bread-winner, the responsible citizen.  Getting pregnant made me vulnerable for the first time.  It reminds me a bit of the fierce, angry love that all parents feel towards their children.  Like suddenly you need them to survive yourself.  I have no idea what I'd do if I ever lost Dave. 

Perfect sadness

My Mom forwarded me the Mommy Madness article from Newsweek, to which I reacted with both understanding and a little annoyance.  And I was going to deconstruct it a bit here and put in my two cents about how I think the real problem isn't middle class economic pressure and lack of childcare, but the evergrowing generational gap that seems to be leaving my peergroup to do everything all by themselves without the granparental wisdom that even their own mothers were able to take advantage of.  That was a long sentence.  I'll wait while you read it again. 

Anyways, I was going to make some arguments myself, but I won't for two reasons: 1) Chez Miscarriage did a far better job than I ever could've and 2) I just got news of a death in the family that has me not really caring at all what Judith Warner has to say.

One of Dave's cousins died of a heart attack this week.  He was only 28.  We attended their wedding shortly after our own and unfortunately never stayed in contact with them.  He left behind not only his wife, but two children: a 3 year old and an 8 week old.  I just can't believe it.  I can't even imagine it.

Dave's reaction upon reading the e-mail from his mom was immediately wanting to go pick up the boy and spend the day playing hookie with him.  That's not realistic for me given that I'll be taking the day off tomorrow to attend the funeral.  But it's just so sad.  I hate these kinds of reminders that time is slipping by so quickly.  People my age just aren't supposed to die.  Not yet.

Saddle up and order a short-stack for this one. You'll need something to soak up all the sap.

So, as my husband so eloquently pointed out in his comment, yesterday was Valentine's Day.  And I was (not particularly) surprised to find that Dave had indeed purchased me THREE full pounds of my favorite See's Candy.  I bought him a card and a can of his favorite beer and that was the sum total of our sentimentality.  Not that I'm ungrateful for the chocolate, because, aside from Dave, sugar is totally my best friend.  And if my monthly bill from the Kotex company hadn't come due yesterday, I would've really thanked him, if you know what I mean.  Unfortunately, his real gift will have to wait a few more days.  In the meantime, I plan to enjoy my butterscotch squares in quantities that only other hormonals can truly appreciate.

I had fully intended to take photos of the landmarks from our first date and post them here along with a sappy story yesterday.  But of course I waited till the last minute and ended up spending my entire Friday waiting for them to put the tires back on my car after a brake inspection.  Then it started to rain.  So?  No photos.  But here's the story anyways:

I was nineteen.  Dave was twenty-eight.  In an effort to encourage his cousin to get out there and date, they had each posted a personal ad in our local weekly classified mailer, Potpourri*.  I read Dave's ad about a hundred times before finally dialing the number to hear his pre-recorded message.  And as he spoke and I listened, I kept thinking he was too good to be true.  I left a nervously garbled message for him to contact me and then I waited for his call.  And waited.  And waited.

I had long dismissed him as not-interested-in-me when he finally called me two weeks later.  And even though he was in the midst of his last round of finals at Cal, we talked and talked into the wee hours of the night.  I kept telling him that if he didn't graduate, he could blame it entirely on me.  After that first conversation, we talked several times every day for almost two weeks before finally setting a date to meet in person.

Scattered throughout our exciting conversations were clues about Dave.  Clues that he. was. the. one.  I kept thinking I would find the hitch.  That I was only one question away from an answer that didn't fit.  But he never disappointed.  Favorite food? Cheeseburgers.  Number of kids you'd ideally have? Two.  Favorite activity? Time with family. 

I know every single woman out there has her list of must-have qualities.  And she carries that little list around, filed neatly in that part of her brain that is constantly on the prowl for Mr. Right.  During our hours and hours of conversations, that part of my brain was throwing a victory party complete with Champagne, streamers and a happy rendition of Auld Lang Syne.  He was perfect.

I know at this point you're probably thinking I'm about to drop the bomb, tell you how horrible our first date went and how it's a miracle we ever ended up together.  But I'm not.  Our first date was perfect.  I was working at a card store at the time and he met me there after my shift.  He walked in with flowers, all tall, dark and handsome and I was immediately smitten.  From his nervousness, I could tell he was too.

We had planned to go for coffee, just to be safe, and then go from there.  But the coffee became dinner and dinner became a movie and a movie became an entire night.  And on our way to dinner at Fresh Choice (the everlasting diet being one more thing we had in common), we turned off the highway towards the mall, and I remember thinking that I'd never felt so comfortable with another human being in my entire life.  I kept flashing back to that line from Sleepless in Seattle when Tom Hanks describes how he felt about his wife:

Doctor Marcia Fieldstone: Tell me what was so special about your wife?

Sam Baldwin: Well, how long is your program?

Well, it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were suppose to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic.

The funny thing is that much like how a smell can bring back a strong memory, every time I take that exit towards the mall, I remember the exact moment that I knew Dave was The One.  I decided right then and there, on our first date, that he was it.  It was like coming home.  The rest of the date was like a dream (for me, at least, Dave will probably tell you a different story).  We held hands over our salads and had our first kiss while waiting in line for the movie to start.  It's a night I'll never forget. 

And since that first date (December 18, 1995), I've not spent more than 48 hours away from Dave.  Through good and bad, he has remained my best friend.  He's the first person I want to talk every single day and the last thing I want to see every night.  I couldn't have found a better husband.  Fortunately for me, we ended up buying our first home together only two blocks from that mall where we shared our first meal.  And every night I drive home from work, pick up the boy, take the exit towards the mall and fondly remember the moment I first knew I loved him.

* For the life of me I can't find the clipping I saved of his original personal ad. Last week I went so far as to contact the company and see if they kept archives.  This would've been for a personal ad posted in December of 1995.  The woman laughed at me.  Out loud.  They only keep copies for 12 months, if that.  Disappointed much?

I still suck

Yesterday I spent a good portion of my lunchbreak working on a lovely piece  for Blogging for Books.  When I got home and tried to edit some of my verb-tense mistakes (I'm anal-retentive with the editing), I screwed up and lost the bulk of the entry.  I'm just geeky enough to be dangerous.  By the time I had exhausted my repertoire of swear words, I lacked the inclination to rewrite the whole thing.

So, yeah.  I still suck.  More later.

Crazy!

I've had the craziest day.  Back and forth (TWICE) with [first name] about whether to accept an offer on the home that's for sale and trying to train my replacement and generally running around like a lunatic at work.  And I've managed to get a whopping 30 mintues of face time with the baby all day, so I'm feeling like a peach of a mother as well.

My boss wasn't AT ALL upset about the name dropping sin and I was forgiven for my crappy writing project (pending further revisions) and I even scored major points with my other boss for using my giant mouth to cut through some internal red tape that had stumped her.  (like I said, it's an asset and a curse)  And I'm probably going to stay working part-time through March.  Which, as odd as it may sound, actually has me feeling better.  We plan to sort out the details on Monday. 

I've been dreading that we have to tell the clients that I'm leaving.  Which we haven't! done! yet!  And I'm supposed to be gone in two weeks!  And we have no real transition plan in place!  So, yeah, working 15 hours a week sounds a bit more relaxing than cramming all that into my remaining 8 work days.

What else?  I'm pretty sure the loony bin stopped it's truck three blocks from our house and let all the crazies loose.  While stopped at a red light, I saw at least three certifiables - one bearded guy so high his feet appeared to be made of jello, another yelling at his 7-11 cheeseburger and the last kneeling down in the middle of the street to bless the asphault.  I locked eyes with this poor woman stranded at the light with her infant in a jogging stroller.  She was just trying to cross the street to buy some shoes, but I swear she was telepathically willing me to call 911, just to be safe.  That's what we get for living at the intersection of Guitar Center, The Army Surplus Store, JJ's Blues and DSW.

Oh, the next one is for Dave.  A Jetta stopped in front of me had a vanity plate that read QTCAGAS.  Apparantly, the state of California has no problem with profanity, as long as it's in Spanish.

Too Many Hats

I've been beating myself up since yesterday about my stupid, stupid mouth.  I went to visit a client on Tuesday who just moved in to a new retirement home.  We did our paperwork and I left to return to the office.  On my way out, I happened to run into another one of our clients who also recently moved there.  We stopped and chatted, he wondered why I was there and, in passing, I mentioned I was here to visit [client's first name].  He then asked for her last name and I told him I couldn't tell him for confidentiality purposes, but that I'd be happy to ask her if it was okay and let him know.  It's a pretty big place and I figured he wouldn't be able to track her down just based on a first name (a pretty common one, too).

But, of course, I was wrong.  My boss and her husband have plans to join this client for dinner on Saturday.  When he called to confirm their dinner arrangements, he mentioned (on a voice mail to my BOSS) that he'd scoured through the resident directory and figured out who my client was, but not to worry, he wouldn't say anything to her.

And now I feel like such an ass.  It was a confidentiality breach.  Not a horrible one, mind you, since he knows nothing about this woman except her name and that she's a client, but it was a breach nonetheless.  And my boss knows about it.  She forwarded the message to me and asked me about it.  And we both know it's not the first time my mouth has caused me trouble.  Unfortunately, I know it won't be the last time either.  My mouth is my best asset and my worst enemy all wrapped into one.  I wish there was a Cipro for Foot-In-Mouth disease.

---------------------------------------------------

This morning I stopped to fill-up at 76 on my way to my mom's house.  Alex was happily humming to himself in his car seat when I was approached from the side by a seemingly innocent man who needed help with some directions to his doctor's office.  Apparently I seem approachable and he was lucky since I speak Spanish and was able to figure out his map.  I nervously (my Spanish is rusty) instructed him to anda a la derecha, yada yada yada, and the whole conversation took, at most, thirty seconds.  He thanked me, walked back to his truck and drove away with his wife. 

And suddenly my stomach jumped into my throat.

I hadn't thought about Alex or even glanced in his direction once during the entire distraction.  It was the PERFECT ploy for a kidnapper.  I was facing the pump with my back to my car.  My doors were obviously unlocked.  And I was taken off guard trying to summon up my rusty Spanish.  It wasn't until they were already driving away that I thought to check for the boy's blond curls in the backseat. 

Fortunately, Alex was still there, still singing to himself.  The man had indeed just been trying to find his way to a doctor's appointment.  But I'm only now beginning to breathe normally again.  I was lucky.  It could've been a different story.

-------------------------------------------------------

I just found a message on my voice mail, also from my boss, basically saying that a recent project I turned in (way past the deadline btw), isn't up to snuff.  He complained, "It doesn't really say anything."  And she's totally right.  I kept putting it off and putting it off because, frankly, I couldn't think of anything meaningful to write.  I'm also a lazy procrastinator and I couldn't motivate myself to DO IT ALREADY. 

So.  To summarize:  I keep promising my boss that I'm working diligently on this project.  I put it off to the very last minute.  Then I turn in a piece of useless crap that now has to be totally revised before the client can see it.  Go me!  Make sure the bosslady figures out that you've pretty much given up on trying to do a good job before leaving.  That's really how you go out with a bang!  Gah. 

Only 8 more days.

Valentine Gifts

Dave came home early yesterday and brought me some Cake.  I haven't listened to it yet, but I'm feeling better anyway.  He also fed the boy dinner, emptied the dishwasher and changed two diapers, so he's officially off my shitlist.  Just in time to be my Valentine.

A friend of mine just had a birthday and I commented to Dave how her husband had spoiled her rotten - new Ugg boots (yep, I'm talking about you!), and some Ugg slippers, and a new digital camera - the works.  Of course I am envious that her husband is so sweet to her, but mainly I was thinking that I would KILL Dave if he ever spent that much money on me.  With my BARE HANDS, people.  I'd wring his frickin' neck.  And not because we don't have the money - he actually wanted to use part of his bonus to upgrade my diamond ring ( n.o.) - it's just that I wouldn't want that much of it coming in my direction.  I would never be able to appreciate it.  At all.  I'd be too busy thinking about how I could've bought a new microwave or paid to have our carpets cleaned.  I realize this behavior is totally obnoxious and I've managed to zap every remaining romantic nerve in his body completely dead.  Poor guy.  This is what he gets for marrying a financial planner. 

I wonder what I get for marrying a lawyer? 

Anyhow.  This post is going to be disjointed.  Because now I'm going to write about another friend.  And how I've known her for almost three years and how she's been trying to get pregnant that entire time.  And how in the course of those years, I've gotten (accidentally) pregnant and she's had to witness, quite firsthand, my happy happy joy joy bliss over all of it.  She came to my baby shower and bought me my first breast pump and even came to the hospital and held Alex before he was 24 hours old.  (Her comment after holding him for 20 minutes: "my arm fell asleep!").   

So, on Sunday?  She had two healthy fertilized embryos implanted in her uterus (which her doctor keeps saying "looks great!") in an IVF procedure.  And I REALLY want them to stay there.  Both of them.  Really.  Really.  Really.  I want her to finally experience all the happy happy joy joy for herself.  She (and her sweet husband) deserve for it to finally happen already. 

Make it so, Number One.