Through a child's eyes

Well, another "not pregnant" on the EPT and a visit from Aunt Flo confirmed that we are not having a baby. It's not the right time for it, but all the while I can't help but wish the stick said something different. I even left it out for the day hoping that maybe it'd change it's mind. But it was pretty firm in its announcement. NOT PREGNANT from the tiny digital screen glared at me all day.

I was more upset about that little screen than I thought I'd be. I think part of it was hormonal it being that time of the month.

But part of it is I didn't realize how much I wanted it. I love my step daughter, and it's nice to be a part of her life. I just don't see her that much and I don't really get the opportunity to parent her. This isn't Jeff's fault at all, because he sees her less than I do. It's just how it's working out. (I'm going to refrain from any editorial comments, but it's not Jeff's fault, at all, eh hem.)

And it's wonderful to be a part of my nephews' lives. Seeing one from a baby to walking is awesome. I remember when he took his first steps for me I was in utter amazement. And as I squealed with delight you could see how proud he was at impressing his auntie. And hearing the three year old spell his name for us is utter bliss. He's so darn smart I can hardly stand it. I'm blessed to be a part of their lives.

It's nice to see all the wonder the holidays hold for my step daughter and nephews. A friend of mine asked me today "Did the Easter bunny hide colored eggs for you?" And I told her no, but he did hide chocolate eggs. And I immediately took a trip down memory lane, in the eyes of a five year old.

I remember coming down the stairs from my bedroom and seeing all the foiled, covered eggs, in their metallic wrappers, hidden all over the house. From on top of the buttons on our eight-track stereo to the higher hiding places, like on the shadow box, next to my mother's Hummels. It was so much fun discovering where he'd put them. I can just imagine my parents' waiting for us to go to sleep and then hiding the chocolates for us. What fun!

A few days before Easter my Mom would get out to Paas kit and the house smelled of vinegar. Dad would measure it with the water and we'd drop the color tabs. It seems like an eternity before the little cups were ready to drop the eggs in. I loved using the clear crayon to write on the eggs before we dropped them in the water. Every member of the family would get one, even the cat and dog! But of course, my sister and I would eat theirs for them.

And the night before we'd put our Easter baskets out, complete with new grass, for the bunny to fill. We'd also leave him a carrot to snack on during his many trips. He'd always give me a Cadbury cream egg and the mini chocolate eggs. And there would be toys, like bracelets for a necklace. Then my dad would make us breakfast and we'd put on our Easter best and head to church. My mom and grandmother would make us matching ones each year. My favorite part was the white shawl with fringe with the little slits in the sides for our glove-covered hands to poke through.

The church smelled of fragrant lilies, tulips and other Easter flowers, all arranged perfectly on the alter. We'd get there early because on Easter it was always packed. We'd wait for the priest to bless us with holy water and we'd wait for the best part, at least I thought it was, shaking hands with people all around us.

After church we'd head to my grandma and grandpa's house where the Easter bunny stopped once again! Our cousins would be there and it'd be a full house. And my grandmother would cook a ham dinner. I wasn't too keen on the ham but I loved having everyone around. We'd stay until the evening and then my parents would pack us back into the car. It was always a full day and a fun one.
 
Looking back on these days, I just can't help but wish that God has it in his plans for Jeff and I to have a little boy or girl to start our own traditions and share our own memories with. And looking around at all the new babies at work and at church makes the holidays a little bitter sweet

The soundtrack of my life

Let me preface this by saying that all of my friends know I'm a little weird, but in a sweet, funny way, not in a stalker or cabin in the woods kind of way. They appreciate my funny quirks or even my savant-like ability to quote from movies after just seeing them once. (If only I could use this power for good instead of nonsense!)

So yesterday I revealed to my husband and to my friend, that I have certain soundtracks that go on in my brain at certain times. For example, I work with a manger one some cases whose name is Diana. Whenever I see her name on IM or I have to call her or even see that I'm on a new case with her, immediately, Michael Jackson's "Dirty Diana" turns on in my brain.

And when I hear that another coworker, like yesterday, has gotten a job in another department, immediately Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" is blaring. 

I can't help it, it just happens. Every instance has a theme song. Like when I think about Jeff and my marriage and our life together, Jennifer Hudson's "All Dress Up In Love" comes on. And when Jeff started talking about our pug's "dribbly nose" last night, that stupid song, "How Much Is That Hound Dog In The Window?" played (over and over and over!). But when I think of our other pug, "The Wild Colonial Boy" by the Clancy Brothers plays. (Only when it plays in my head, it's "Wild Colonial Pug" - Jeff's rendition.)

I even had some songs in my head for when I was dating. They mostly consisted of angry chick music, but they were still part of my soundtrack. When Jeff and I got engaged, it was "All the Single Ladies" by Beyonce. LOL 

It's just one of my many quirks that either entertain or annoy. Jeff and my friend seemed pretty entertained at this quirk. I'm not sure Jeff was as equally thrilled when I called him "Jeff-fa-fa" for a week after watching Jeff Dunham's new act. It pissed him off-fa-fa. Tee hee hee..... 

If you don't laugh, you'll cry! So giggle it up!

wandering down the road: Not too aimlessly

I spent the weekend in Cape Cod with my mom, sister and some friends. And then Jeff and I had two days together to make up for being apart for three days. We went out for a bite, shopped for Easter, visited with the nephews, took a pregnancy test, hung out with the pugs and just had some us time.

No, you didn't read part of that wrong. We did in fact take a pregnancy test. Or at least I did. I was having some symptoms and since I was on antibiotics last month and I also missed a pill after throwing it up with the stomach bug, it was a distinct possibility. So Monday morning I got up and got the three-pack from EPT. It turned out negative. Now, this could mean we're not pregnant or it could mean I took it too early. I'm due for my period on Monday. So, I can take another one then.
 
Jeff said he'd be thrilled if we were. He loves children. He's awesome with our nephews. And he LOVES babies. He and his dad are baby connoisseurs. And he has a daughter. So while it's not practical right now, he wouldn't freak out. So this got us to thinking that I'm not getting any younger and chances of conceiving after the age of 35 are diminished. And it could take me a while.

As usual, I've been scouring the baby boards and web sites in search of information. And every symptom I have, cramps, spotting, heartburn and even my bout of bus sickness on the way to work indicates a possible pregnancy. These symptoms can also indicate a myriad of other conditions or they could be coincidence. But with my over active imagination and tendency to be a hypochondriac, you know where my mind is wandering. (It's thinking cravings, maternity jeans, prenatal vitamins, mood swings, cute baby clothes, strollers, and another shower!) Of course I'd love a baby. I've love a mini me/Jeff. I'd love to have someone other than Jeff and the pugs to hover over. And despite the midnight feedings, teething, temper tantrums and the teenage years, I'd cherish all of it. While I try not to pressure myself, I do hear the clock ticking just a little bit. And I see everyone around me with children. And I joke "I'm not drinking that water," deep down I just want to take a little sip!

So why not try now? It's not like Jeff and I are teenagers. We're married. We have good jobs. Sure, we have a one-bedroom condo, but we've been talking about selling. This will only motivate us to fix it up and sell it quicker. But since we're not teenagers and fairly level-headed adults, we're also thinking, why should we try now. We have a good life. We're not starving or poor. And while things can be a struggle at times, we have it mostly together. And we love our lifestyle. We have Cella every other weekend an
d aside from that, we're pretty flexible. I can take a day off in the middle of the week and we can take a day trip to Mystic. Or we can catch a late movie whenever we want. And we don't have to fight over Barney vs. an "R" rated movie on the t.v. And while we have the pugs are they require some supervision and work, we just found a great dog walker for times we do want to get away for the day, no strings. And as Jeff said, in eight years, after Cella is off to college and he's off the child support wagon, we'll have more money to travel and spend money on us.

But for S&Gs, ok, more than S&Gs since the baby thing is clearly weighing on our minds, we're make an appointment with my OB/GYN for a consult. It's just to talk about it. We're being very adult about it. We know we'd both like either outcome.
 
So we'll see where this road in our marriage takes us. And as Jeff said "If it's in God's plan, it'll happen." If not, we have another road to wander down.

So you've really been to Japan, have you?

First and foremost, happy St. Patrick's day everyone. Yes, the time stamp is correct on this blog. It's nearly 1 a.m. and technically the day after March 17. This means I just celebrated my first St. Patrick's day as a married woman.

After an hour at the bar with my sister and her friends, I'm extremely thankful to be married because if I had to play the stupid dating game I'd become a nun. (And I'm not even Catholic anymore!)

I feel like an outsider at the bar now. Not really in a bad way, but in a sort of anthropological way, observing the single folk. Case in point, a guy at the bar bought my sister a drink. This was a friend of a friend's boyfriend, so it wasn't really some random guy. But still, she had to go over, say hi, make nice and then listen to his story. While it was funny, I found several flaws in it and pointed them out. I got the "Oh Sam, stop!" from my sister as she giggled at said drink purchaser. I took a stop back. I remembered the giggle, the covering of the eyes. Even if a potential suitor wasn't anyone you'd ever dream of dating, you had to play the game. The "oh you're so funny and I'm so single and let's just see where this goes because it's part of the singles scene" game. While I was listening to his story for it's content, the single girls were listening for potential contact.

I took a step back. He's not very cute. And he's actually sort of a muscle head who exudes false confidence. He displays this by telling a tale about this friend, boyfriend of the coworker of my sister. His wing man. The wing man is suffering so he can be shown up and Mr. Muscle Head can be considered funny, charming, and all over smart. Which he's not. At all. Case in point is a story he's attempting to make funny. He makes his employees answer the phone 'Welcome to said establishment' and the wing man got it wrong at work.

Me: Why do you say welcome on the phone. They aren't walking in, they are calling.
Him: Yes, but we want them to feel welcome. It's more than a hello.
Me: Right, but you say that when they walk through the door.
Him: And we say that on the phone, too.
Another girl at the table, not single: But does that confuse them? Do they think "Wait, am I at the gym already? Did I work out already? Wow, I'm tired."
Me: Phew, time to hit the showers! And she and I collapse with real laughter at calling him out.
Him: No, but, that's just how we do things. It's policy. Like McDonald's all over the world, like in Japan, follow the same corporate procedures.
Me: You've been to a McDonald's in Japan?
Him (flashing his pearly whites at my sister): Yes, well, no, but I've been to one in the Soviet Union.
Me (thinking it's the former Soviet Union you moron, but I have another point to make): But not in Japan.
Him: No
Me: So you don't really know this to be true. You've never really been to Japan. They could do things totally different at the McDonald's in Japan.
Him: They don't. I know all about it. I read about it. I've done the research.
Me: Research on McDonalds? Oh, so do you have a bibliography to support this research? Names, authors, article titles. (Of course I'm enjoying myself.)
Him (clearly tired of this banter because a) I'm clearly smarter than him and b) there's no use in continuing because I'm married and he's not trying to hit on me so therefore he's wasting his time but he still has to play nice because he's trying to suck up to my sister): I'll get it to you. And he chuckles his "case closed I have move to make on your sister laugh. (Which didn't happen because she was done with the fake laughter and she thanked him for the drink and told him it was last call. Score one for the girl!)

The point is, I LOVED calling this guy on this game. I had NOTHING to lose because the love of my life was home and I'd be back with him soon. I'm out of the dating game and so damn happy to be out. I had a great time chatting with my sister's boss, her friends and even muscle head. And it was nice to feel so secure in myself. And I was especially happy knowing that I didn't have to play the bullshit games, toss my hair and let out a heinous giggle. I had my hair thrown up in a ponytail, jammed into Jeff's ball cap on, I was in my favorite pair of comfy, faded blue jeans and sneakers and the Smithwicks was damn good.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to brush my teeth, throw on an old tee-shirt of Jeff's and snuggle in with my hubby. It's a wonderful place to be both in life and in his arms.

In the "ink" crowd

For years I've been thinking about getting a tattoo. On my 30th birthday I even went to a tattoo parlor (are they even called that?) and talked to an artist. I wanted a quill pen with an ink bottle. The artist had never seen that done and was excited to do it. But when he even mentioned putting me in the appointment book, I had second thoughts. He assured me that he was marking my appointment in pencil and it was erasable, but even an appointment in pencil was too much for me. I told the guy I'd call and his tattoo groupie (again, I'm not up on the proper terms, but if there was a such thing as a tattoo groupie, he was one) said to me "you're not going to be back, are you?" I kind of smiled and my sister dragged me upstairs so she could get her tongue ring changed. She was mortified. I was feeling insecure, but happy I didn't rush into anything, like, an appointment I could change.

It's not that pain that deters me. It's the finality of it all. It's permanent. Ok, well, there is laser removal, but I hear it's expensive and painful. These are two words in my vocabulary that I try hard to avoid. I have nothing against tattoos. My sister-in-law got one yesterday. It's really neat. And it's meaningful. It's the eternity symbol and a shamrock in the center. It represents her love for her late husband and her family - each member is a leaf of the four-leafed clover. I watched her get it and I loved the experience.

I'd love to get one on my foot. This way, I can see it and I can cover it. I'd want it for me, not at s status symbol. But I can't seem to get my head around how permanent it is, which is why if and when I decided on one, it'd have to be something very personal. I love the idea of getting some paws, to represent my boys. But even that's not 100% set in my mind.

My mother-in-law said to me today, as SIL showed off her tattoo, "I hear you want one." Jeff piped up, "she's been talking about it for years." MIL said, "Yeah, right, we all know you. You'd never be able to sit through that." I told her not to make me prove her wrong and she said "I want to be there for that!" I told her if she was there she'd have to get one, too.

I hate being challenged to prove I'm tough, or in, or worthy, over something like a tattoo. Me not getting one isn't being a chicken, because I believe it's as personal a choice to me not to get one as it is for someone else to get one, if that makes any sense.

So here I am again, at the tattoo crossroads. Another friend got one, I love it, but now I feel the pressure I always do. I want one, but not because someone else did. I don't like that kind of pressure. I've never been someone who is a slave to fashion. I don't want to have things just because everyone else does. I like to be me, original, but not so much that I'm a freak. Does that even make sense? If and when I did get one, I'd go alone I think. And I'd try like hell not to even tell anyone. Expect Jeff maybe. And Dayna. But that's it. I don't even think I'd blog about it. But we'll see.

We'll see if I get one, and if I can keep it to myself.

Laying Low

So I'm glad to have this new blog to write on, while my other blog tries to find a new home. I haven't told anyone about this new blog, really. My told blog was read by so many people, and I liked that, but I never felt like I could truly express myself. I didn't want to offend anyone.

Now I can writer and be a little more honest. My husband knows about the new blog as does my friend Dayna. And now my friend Kathy knows, since I just posted a comment on her pug, Wilma's blog. (P.S. Check it out - www.wilmathepug.blogspot.com. Kathy is truly talented in the pug blogging arena. I love catching up on Wilma, Brigitte and Sluggo's adventures. They live quite the life!)

Anyway, I think I'm going to lay a little low with this blog. If work gets out that this whiney, 36-year old married broad is blogging again, so be it. But I'm certainly not going to be singing it from the roof tops. This way, I can blog how I want - whiney, crazy, happy, depressed, etc. And trust me, there will be lots of those days.

This week was a bit of a whiney week. Work's been crazy (aka HELL) and I was sick with the stomach bug for a day and a half. I actually called into work yesterday and didn't log on till noon. (Right, I know. Most people would do what was right and take care of themselves. But things are so busy at work and after sleeping in, I sucked it up and trudged over to the computer, Coke and saltines in hand. And you KNOW I'm sick when I'm drinking "real" Coke.

The good part about being sick was that Jeff walked the boys on their dinner and night walks. It was like a vacation, because I do the majority of their walks. This is mostly because I'm anal and I think I can walk them best. But this is also because I like the walks. It's theraputic, whether it's short or long. I enjoy the time I have with the boys. They don't don't ask for much expect to sniff a few trees, mark a few telephone poles and poop along the way if they're inclined. And I can wind down.

This is especially key on a Tuesday and Thursday, when I take the bus into work. I leave the house at 6:30 a.m. and I'm home about 6:15 p.m. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the bus, but it's a long day. And sometimes the ladies get chatty on the bus and it takes every ounce of self control not to stand up and say "SHUT UP! Some of us want peace and quiet on the way home!"

This is mostly due to this woman, "Alice" on the bus. She's sweet enough, but at 50-something years old, she's so naive and it drives me crazy. Alice has been taking the bus for years! She knows all the bus drivers - especially the ones who will drop her off at the top of the hill and those who refuse. And I've heard how the ten-trip passes are more economical for her than the monthly, because, well, she takes a day off every now and then.

On a good day I'd be able to take it, but after some days in the office, it grates on my nerves. She means well, but I just don't want to hear her blubber on about her coworker's trip to Aruba and how "they had to get up at 7 to put their towels on the lounge chairs or they wouldn't have a place to sit by the pool. And if they put the towels on before 7, security would take them away. Can you believe that? Every morning at 7 a.m....." Yes Alice, we got it. It's horrible to have to get up at 7 a.m. in paradise.

And her play by play of the winter Olympics was pretty hard to take, too. She was so tired from staying up until midnight to watch the figure skating. But she just HAD to watch it. Yadda, yadda, yadda.....

Her stories shouldn't bother me, but after a long day, they do. So I'm thankful that I have a new iPod shuffle to drown her out with (thanks hubby) and Blackberry messenger so I can bitch and moan to Dayna. It's the little things in life.

I do think the bus will make for good blogging fodder. I have a new Blackberry and the camera is much nicer. I take pictures and send them to Dayna with a play by play of the bus ride home - traffic, buildings, weirdos on the street. I even took a picture of Alice once, when she was messing with her cell phone. I'll have to be sure to bore my nonexistent readers with a few choice pictures from the bus.

Well, it's the end of the week, and I'm ready to turn in.

Goodnight, nobody.

California dreaming....

Ok, so I'm not dreaming of California, but I have that song in my head. I've been purusing reatlor.com ads and dreaming of houses in our area. It's really silly, since we won't be able to get a house until at least this time next year. But it's nice to see what's out there.

Jeff and I went to an open house on Sunday. It was a cute two-bedroom with potential for the attic to be a bedroom or two. It was definitely staged to sell, but it gave us something to think about. It gave us ideas for our condo, to get it ready to sell but it also tortured the heck out of me. I would LOVE a bigger place. This condo was perfect when it was just me, the cats and Murphy.

Well, that was more than two years ago. Now it's me, one cat, two pugs, a husband and a part-time daughter. It's CROWDED! It's especially crowded because now we have all of Jeff's stuff on top of mine. And I have a lot of junk. Yes, junk. I'm a supreme pack rat and it drives Jeff nuts. It drives me nuts but I keep collecting. I swear I have some sort of ADD or OCD. Is pack rat-itis a legitimate disease. If not, I have it. And I have it bad.

I finally organized all of my scarpbook stuff into neat containers that I got on clearance. Patterned paper, letters, stickers, embellishments and the rest are all organized and labeled accordingly. But it's ALL still out in the living room. Why? Because it's all in front of the closet doors and I can't get in it to put the stuff away. Even the carpet cleaner and vacuum are out in the living room and blocking the door. And it makes me antsy that I have it all out there, but that still hasn't motivated me to put it away.

And today, I found another bag of stuff that I hadn't gone through so I picked through it. Now the two scrapbook projects that were in that bag are sitting on our extra chair. When will it get put away? When Jeff gets tired of looking at it, he threatens to throw it out, I get defensive, we have a fight and make up and I decide that perhaps it's time to put it away. Or at least put some of it away. And then let my OCD/ADD kick in and let me get preoccupied with my beads, my crocheting, my reading or something else that takes up time, space and money.

It's a vicious circle that Jeff is trying to break. However, part of the problem is lack of space in thie 550-square foot home. And part of it is, again, that I have too much stuff.

So a bigger place with more storage would help. And then packing up to move to said house would help because it would force me to consolidate and throw stuff out. (Mostly because I don't want to pack it up and take it with us.)

But on a happy note, in my effort to discover the two projects sitting on the chair, I found the cards I needed to finally make out our thank you cards, now that I have our wedding wallets in that I'm sending to friends. And half of the thank you cards are done.

And the other half are spread out on my desk. In the living room. Blocking the closet.

Jeff must love me to put up with all of this.

How hard is it to find?

Well then. After playing around with this off and on for the last hour I finally figured out how to post from my Blackberry. I just couldn't bear to be without this outlet any longer. So while my permanent blogs are being moved to a new host (thanks Mike) I'll post here.

Life is pretty calm these days since the big event on Sept. 26, and now Jeff and I are trying to settle into married life. After two years of living together you'd think it would be easy but it has it challenges. We're one entity now. We pay bills together, juggle families during the holidays and we're learning to make decisions together. It's a whole new set of life's lessons.

We're doing pretty good but we are a work in progress. The most important thing is that we communicate. God knows you never have to wonder what's on my mind because I wear my heart on my sleeve, but Jeff is quieter. But he's honest and he knows he has fault just like I do. We're forging ahead, excited about what married life has in store.

We have immediate plans to get the condo "designed to sell" and get something a little bigger. Not huge, but something with more than 3 rooms! And hopefully a fenced in yard for the pugs and space for Cella to call her own.

It will definitely make for good blogging!