The New Girl

Things.

Oh, hey! What's up with you? 

I've been thusly, for the better part of a month: sick, busy, stressed-slash-freaked the fuck out, sick again, relieved, visited by family, visited by a friend, visited by another friend and now? ALLERGIES.  I'm thinking that the two sicks were ALSO allergies of the seasonal variety, from which I suffer NEVER but I'm blaming the pregnancy because, WHAT THE FUCK?  Who gets seasonal allergies in their FORTIES, for fuck's sake?

Whatever.

There have been some big developments in the World of The New Girl and since I've been alternately glitching and busy, I haven't satisfactorily, er, documented them. (you: 'somehow, I never missed it.')  So, even though I could probably generate a post about each of these milestone-like parenting moments, I'm still short on time and so I'm [cramming them all into a long and boring-ass post] creating a literary montage.

*About a month ago, TLNG had her last Nini. (Cue mournful toddler music. You'll probably have to use your imagination there because I'm not sure they make any of that.) I seriously could/should write a thoughtful, serious post about this.  Maybe I will [stop yer chuckling].  It was an important part of my early motherhood and of our relationship and the ending was both bitter-sweet and anti-climactic, if that makes sense.  I was not so much ambivalent about ending it, as I was in a race to end it, both because of the [searing nipple pain that shot through my breast every time she latched on] sensitivity brought on by the pregnancy and the impending birth of another baby [and Oh, I'm not the Tandem Nursing Type.]  I prepared her for a week or so, by telling her that the nini was almost gone and with very little drama, that was it.

*Our basement is finished being finished.  It remains devoid of furniture, due to an incredible series of [fuck-ups] oversights that created a Taxation Situation.  [Aside: The Man likens this to people who buy more house than they can subsequently afford to furnish.  I disagree, as we paid cash for the basement and thus, incurred no debt from either big expense (i.e. basement, IRS gouging) and now we're in saving mode again.]  The kids don't seem to notice that there's no place to sit because, er, there's loads of room down there and tons of toys with and without wheels and so, who needs to sit?  Here's the weird thing, though: When TLNG asks to go down there, I still feel like it's a project.  Like we're going to the playground or something.  Why is that?

* There has been a shift in the interests of my toddler, yo. She has suddenly developed an interest in The Wonderpets.  I'm not entirely upset about this, as I can TOTALLY tolerate that show.  Even the one with the unfortunate speech impediment.  Seeweeously.  It's okay.  PLUS, my kid has yet to wear those dog-awful sandals that she weaseled me into buying and so, I say, BRING ON THE WONDERPETS and DELAY, DELAY, DELAY those princesses.

* Do you believe that I am planning a Two Year Old's birthday party?  No? ME NEITHER.  Well, planning insofar as I've [relented] determined that we are having a Sesame Street party.  TLNG says, 'Elmo, Big Bird, and Oscar,' so, good luck to me with that. I can't believe that she's going to be Two.  Should I cave and get the character to come?  Ahhh. Shoot me now.

*Lastly, we have started potty training [by total accident] in earnest.  One day, while my friend was here, TLNG went [nakey butt] pantsless and I offered her the potty every half-hour or so and she went.  After that, she got annoyed at the frequent offerings and so I stopped offering and told her to tell me when she has to go.  So far, I am AMAZED.  There was one unfortunate-but-could've-been-SO-much-worse #2 accident that traumatized her and one I'm-thankful-that-I-have-a-leathah-couch pee accident but other than that, it's been pretty good.  I still offer and put her on the pot pot (baby French, yo) if it's been a while but we've been catching poos and pees and frequently she's been telling me she has to go (which makes me incredulous, really) and well, here we are.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  And I'm pretty lackluster with the consistency when it comes to this kind of stuff but I'll say, it's kind of working for us.  At least, right now. 

The Next Top Remodel: Season Two

Here's what I've been doing all week:

.

.

I am nauseated, with a sore throat from the noxious adhesive that they use to attach the drywall.  But the upside is the FREE ENTERTAINMENT.  They bring a Satellite radio and the one guy sings at the TOP of his lungs, in the most HILARIOUS way possible.  And not like, you know, handsome, masculine carpenter songs.

Yesterday, the best one was An Eternal Flame.  By the BANGLES.

He belted out the high note, folks, and I about spit my tea through my nose. 

Another and even BIGGER upside, is the absolute ABSENCE OF SKEEVE.  These are guys who have a very small business, working for themselves, and I gotta tell you.  It's nice (for me, who has a phobia of workmen in the house.)  TLNG stands at the side door when they leave and waves and shouts, 'BYYYYE!' to them and they give her huge smiles and waves and it's just..well, it's great.

But it's been so noisy and stinky that we've been spending a lot of our time out, [sort-of] napping at The Little Sister's house and so, no posting.

Sorry aout that.

But listen!  Sam had her baby!  He's so suuuuper cute.

And The Little Sister is holding on.  But here's a picture of her from last week's yoga class:

I love this picture.  When she saw it, TLS said, 'It kind of looks like I have...like, two asses.'

Happy Weekend!

This Post Contains Both The Cause And The Effect (Re: The Fact That I Have No Content To Speak Of)

1)  There are people in my basement right now.  They are taking bucket after bucket of concrete out of my basement.  The concrete USED TO BE MY BASEMENT FLOOR.  They are waterproofing (not burying a body or anything exciting like that.)  But did you know that after they JACKHAMMER YOUR FLOOR and haul out all the concrete?  There's DIRT under there.  And then they dig GIANT, DEEP, HOLES (for the sump pumps) UNDERNEATH YOUR HOUSE.  I'm not sure why, but home improvements that require destruction always make me queasy.  [gag]

2)  The 'L' key on my computer is stuck.  Don't ask me why.  But every time I type a word containing an 'L' I have to press really hard.  I swear.  It's awfuy, incrediby, amost indescribaby irritating.  Reay.  Truy.

3)  My ittest New Gir (or the Littlest New Girl if I press really hard) has graduated to wanting only non-toy toys exclusively.  She searches them out, I swear.  She ooches right past all the REAL TOY toys and to something that isn't so much a toy.  She can't wait to get her little mitts on whatever it is.  Then, of course, she sticks it right into the pie-hole.  I just took ANOTHER *gently used* RAWHIDE away from her.  [gag]  I hesitate to put in photographic evidence of her love for non-toys (not the rawhide [gag] I took that right away from her) because I can easily imagine pictures of her with computer cords, breast-pump parts, shoes and bongos (don't ask) could have Child Protective Services ringing my bell.

4)  Since they've been JACKHAMMERING my house, I've camped out at The itte Sister's house (I'm through with that fucking L).  She's out of town for the week.  Thus, I've had to pack a MULTITUDE OF CRAP for the baby and me (including food).  Especially when I work.  I've been so scattered that it looks like someone's been jackhammering UPSTAIRS in my house.  I have to work again today and I have NOTHING prepared.

5)  My cell phone is dead.  And I think that baby spit killed it.

And All This Time I Thought Devil-Dogs Were Delicious Snack Cakes

They looked like this:

                              

But I was mistaken, friends.  For this is the true face of a Devil Dog:

                              

For the "Renovation Situation," my Little Father brought his [wildly insane canine monster] newly adopted, 2 year old, 'So-Called Lab Mix' dog with him.  I'll call her Crazy-Girl Dog.

Behold.

                              

My Wonderfully Behaved, Handsome-as-all-Get-Out, Boy Dog would be the one on the right.  Quietly smiling for the camera.  Knowing how to act.  The (deceptively) dimunitive, mini-me version on the left, barking at me like a maniac, would be Crazy-Girl Dog.  While she is undeniably cute (which is fortunate for her, as it's saved her hide on a number of occasions already) she has absolutely no manners.  As in, none whatsoever.

Shall I run down a list of complaints? 

She gets super excited and barks.  And barks.  And barks.  Every morning.  At 5:00 AM.  I'm not kidding.  You can set your clock by her (right before you shoot yourself in the head because it's 5:00 AM, for fuck's sake). 

She chases the cat.  She also made her way downstairs and somehow managed to procure both cat dishes, which were on top of a bar that's about 3.5 feet high, to eat the entire contents. 

She escapes.  My Little Father had her for a whole two weeks before she learned how to climb the fence.  Yes.  Climbed.  When he fixed the fences, she continually circled the yard, checking for various 'loop holes.'  Even though we live seven hours away from them, I made her a tag with our number on it as well, just in case.

When I give each dog a rawhide, she takes hers and my Boy's and sits on one while she chews the other. 

Did I mention that she weighs only 50 lbs. and is barely a foot and a half tall?  How about some photographic evidence?  We blocked off the kitchen when The Men started to lay the tile floor yesterday.  We were all out and when I came in, I couldn't find Crazy-Girl Dog.  I called her name and she came leaping out of the kitchen. 

Over this:

                              

I'm talking, she cleared it.  Like a friggin' gazelle.

So, naturally, I've been feeling a little bad for my own, sweet, obedient Boy Dog.  You know, on his behalf.  But it seems as if things have a way of working themselves out in nature.  I think after last night, Boy Dog might have some genuine fondness for this little [beast] wacky guest.

I can only hypothesize what happened, as I had to re-construct the scene of the crime well after the fact.  But this is what I surmise happened.  When all the human beings went to eat dinner at The Little Sister's house, The Dogs had a rip-roaring, good-time, fun-filled doggie party.  I believe that Crazy-Girl Dog got up onto the table and proceeded to knock down anything and everything edible.  All totalled, the two of them probably consumed roughly 30,000 calories a piece (all carbs) eating: a bag of soft pretzels, a couple bagels, a few pieces of bread that were left in a bag and an entire box of mini-chocolate glazed doughnuts.

It amuses me a little to picture the amazed, perhaps slightly guilty, glee that exploded within Boy Dog's heart as all those tasty goods hit the floor.

The Man and I leave food out in this fashion on the reg.  Boy Dog would n-e-v-e-r have done that on his own.  Of this, I am sure.  I'm not just a biased parent.  It's really true.  He was a total victim of peer pressure.

I'm sure it went down something like this:

CGD: [circling table, looking up]  "Hmmm.  I'm gonna get me some of them snacks up there.  They're riiiiight in reach.  Don't worry, Square Boy.  I'll share."

--jumps up onto table, knocks down box of doughnuts, bag of nice, big, soft pretzels, etc.--

BD:  "Oooooh.  We're not allowed to do this here.  Heh heh.  Maybe you shouldn't.  [Looks around.] We might get in trouble.  Heh heh."

CGD: "MMMPPHGLP.  MMAPHHHGLBPH.  MMPHLGOLMPH."

BD:  "You have a point, there.  Well, I suppose one or two pretzels couldn't hurt...I really do love them.  And I've never actually had a doughnut before.  Plus, it's not like they're going to stay mad at us forever..."

It's a really good thing that they're both so stinking cute.  Really, really.

Is There Such A Thing As Remodeling Anxiety?

Look at the old kitchen decor:

This is what it looked like when we bought the house.  I know, I know, that's a pretty fancy lamp, there.  It will be on Ebay if anyone wants to pay $1.65 for it.  And the wall paper is great, unless you look directly at it.  Then it gives you seizures.  We took that shit off right after we moved in and have been living with spackled walls for the better part of a year, waiting for the remodel.

Look at my old cabinets whence they were upon the walls:

      

Although that little movable flap is a great feature, we've decided to get cabinets that are...you know.  Made of wood.

Look at my new cabinets.  Here they are:

   

They are in my garage, right next to these:

      

These are my old top cabinets and the old floor--because everyone loves wood parquet flooring in the kitchen, what with those crevices that trap all the yummy bits that fall off of your counter and get ground in there.  Nice.

Somehow, though, for whatever reason--when I came home from New York to see this:

      

I admit that I became a little nostalgic for the sticky floors, the flapping cabinets and the seizure wall paper.

*Sigh*

Change is always challenging.