Can you say...obsession?

I am obsessed. No, not with Harry Potter, I am not that trendy. I am obsessed with the Sopranos. I know, I know, that's like so last year (and the year before, and year before that...) but I can't help it. It's my new drug of choice and Netflix is my dealer.

I have taken to planning our week so that I can maximize the amount of Sopranos episodes we can watch and minimize the wait time from Netflix. In fact, I even upgraded to the monthly package that allows us 2 movies at a time, and I have toyed with the idea of going to 3! But that might be overkill...I said might.

This is one of the greatest, if not THE greatest, shows ever. The cast is amazing and the acting is outstanding. It makes me wish I had had HBO those many years ago. Though I must say, Netflix rocks. I don't have to wait a week in between episodes and I don't have to make sure I am home on a given night. I can watch whenever I want and at the rate we are going I will have seen the entire series in 2 months. Cool!

OK, here's the problem though. I think I might be developing a crush on Tony. It's not that he's that good looking (Steve is far more attractive) it's more that he's dangerous and exciting and powerful. It doesn't hurt that he can hand his wife $5000 in cash without blinking either. But really, their wealth is not that important. I think it's his anger and temper. I don't know, but it's something. It's like, psychologically speaking, he lacks ego/superego and is all ID. Because we "normal" people must control ourselves to get along in this world, we have control over our ID. But, and let's be honest here, wouldn't you love to just kick the shit out of certain people? Not that I would, but I certainly fantasize about it when a masshole driver gets in my way!

Anyway...I am sitting here tonight updating my blog because my next fix won't be in until tomorrow. It's a really good thing I have "Hell's Kitchen" to watch tonight or I'd be here prattling on and on. Good news though- I think I have figured a way to time the rotation of my DVDs so that there is a continuous flow of Sopranos with no interruptions. Wish me luck, I am going to try it this week.

Did I mention what a great bonding experience it is for Steve and I? We finally watch something together during the off season (that would be when 24 isn't on) and have stuff to talk about, besides our children, during the week.

Ahhhh, t.v.! The great American pasttime.

What is that smell?

Something in our home has died. No, I don't mean figuratively or metaphorically, as in our love has died. No, I mean something has actually DIED in our house. As in climbed behind a wall, stopped breathing and ceased to exist. That kind of died. And whatever this something is, it left behind a really, really bad smell.


I can only imagine it's a mouse since about a month ago Stewie, one of our cats, was seen scampering away with something in his mouth. That was the first time since living here that we have seen any "nature" in our home. In fact, for country living we don't see much of anything around here. I know we get deer because we see their tracks in the winter, but I have yet to see one. I haven't even seen or smelled a skunk. Not that I am complaining, mind you.

So, I didn't think too much about the mouse incident-except for thinking it must have been a really stupid mouse to attempt to take up residence in a house with 3 cats-and figured it was a one time thing.

I guess I was wrong. Either that or something else got in behind a wall in the basement and DIED! Whatever, it stinks. I wish I could describe for you in words (as opposed to ...interpretive dance?) the horrendous stench a dead critter weighing no more than a couple of ounces can cause. But I am not sure you'd want to read that even if I was a talented enough writer to adequately convey such an odor.

Let's just say it smells pretty nasty and leave it at that.

So, you ask, what does one do about such a smell in their home? Good question. First, they argue with their husband over whose chore it is to call someone about the smell given the whole division of labor thing. I lost. Then, they speak to someone at pest control who advises...

"The smell will be gone in about a week,"


Yeah, but what about the critter that caused the smell?


"I know it's gross, but it will just go away."


Huh? You mean I should leave the mouse carcass in the wall? I shouldn't rip apart the house looking for said mouse carcass? Really, you want me to leave the mouse carcass in the wall?


"yes."


Wont bugs come?


"probably not. If they do, we will come out and spray."


Huh? But the smell is really bad.


"You can try spraying air freshener."


Yeah. Right. Umhuh. OK, thanks.



This is where it would be helpful to be one of those people who has a wonderfully descriptive vocabulary so that I could explain just how DISGUSTING the smell is. Either that, or it would be nice to have invented smellivision...or in this case smelliphone.

*sigh*

So, the pest control people will be out on Tuesday to set mouse baits. This wont kill them like a traditional mouse trap, instead they eat the bait and take it back to their nest to die. So, more questions...

What if they eat it and die in the house, wont I have more bad smells?


"Usually their nests are outside at this time of year and they come in to look for a food source."


OK, usually, but what if they die in the house or my cats eat them?


"Well, unfortunately at that point it's really out of our hands."


No shit! Now it's either in MY walls or in my cat's belly! Either way, not great for us.


But, what can you do? Play the odds and hope that the mouse takes the bait back to an outdoor nest.


Then I asked about the bait.


"It's animal and child friendly."


OK, but what if the cat eats it.


"There is no way for the cat to get the bait."


OK, but my cats will be tempted to eat the mouse. What if they eat the mouse AFTER the mouse has eaten the bait. Wont the bait then be ingested by the cat?


Brief silence. "Well yes, then the cat will get some and may be a little sick, but it's not deadly."


Great. Just great.


Again, though, what is one to do?

So, wish us luck as we ride out the smell for the next 5-7 days. Meanwhile, apparently I need to have a talk with our cats. Clearly, they are not doing their jobs!

A bit of spring cleaning in the summer

I've been gathering up Maya's clothes that no longer fit and packing them away. I started this project last year and have finally gotten around to actually sucking the air out of the space bags the clothes have been piling up in.


I am *almost* ashamed to admit that the motivating factor in the completion of said project was the realization that these space bags are KEWL! Have you ever used one of these nifty space savers? You suck the air out with a vacuum hose and they deflate to half their size. Honestly though, I am not sure they actually save all that much space. But, they are supposed to keep water, mold, mildew, bugs, etc., out. Not that it matters much since I also purchased a large military-issue looking plastic box to store the deflated bags in since I don't trust our furry feline friends not to rip the bags apart out of spite when Steve is 5 minutes late with their dinner.

You think I am kidding? I wish.


Anyway...Wouldn't ya know, only 2 or 3 of the bags actually fit in the box. Which of course begs the question, "how many clothes could one little 18 month-old have that are already too small?" Well to answer that... I *may* have been just a tad over enthusiastic about purchasing cute pink outfits during her first year or so of life, but I am not sure. Maybe I am just a lousy packer?


But seriously, does every mother start to hyperventilate when she packs up her firstborn's clothes and realizes that there must be over a thousand dollars worth of cute baby items (many that have only been worn once) and yet she hasn't had a decent new outfit in how long?



So I am a little sad about packing away her clothes. Not just because I see that I *might* have been foolish in the amount of money spent, but also because I may never get to use them again. I know I could donate them, and I imagine I will someday, but I would love to have another little girl to dress up.



Yes folks, I do want another baby. Little Eli is only 15 weeks old and yet the thought that I will never be pregnant or have another little newborn again makes me a smidge sniffly.



Now, l will be the first to admit that I HATED being pregnant. Oh man am I one kvetchy pregnant woman! The exhaustion, the insomnia, the weight gain, the weird (and in my case unhealthy) food cravings and frequent urination are still fresh in my mind. I could not wait to get my babies out of me! And yes, I am quite well aware that they are easier to take care of in utero than out, thank you very much!

But, there are a few things about pregnancy that I miss. For starters, I took better care of myself and my body. I ate better, drank less diet coke and exercised more. Also, I just loved rubbing my big belly. Finally, I think growing a life is pretty darn wonderful and amazing. I loved looking pregnant and would often stare at myself and my growing belly in any shiny mirror-like object I could find. Like, say, the oven, windows, sliding glass door...well, you get the picture.

And...I do so want another little girl (not that I wouldn't fall in love with another boy) because I really want Maya to have a sister. It's probably because I felt so left out and neglected by my sisters that I dream of having girls who love one another and who are best friends and actually stay in touch and get along. I don't want Maya to feel alone and bitter later in life when I am gone the way I have felt since my mom died. Sisters are important and I feel that I am somehow failing her by not providing her one.

***I don't know exactly why it is that I don't worry about Eli, maybe it's because I have this notion that boys don't care about brotherly relationships...I don't know, I guess I'll have to give it some thought.

Anyway, Steve feels our family is complete, but so far we haven't taken any measures to ensure that. However, given that we needed fertility drugs to conceive our two beauties, chances of me getting pregnant on my own (you KNOW what I mean) are pretty slim.

Though you never know, stranger things have happened.

Tempers flare at Walmart...more news at 11

So, for days I have been trying to post about our recent trip to Walmart and Maya's subsequent tantrum, but I couldn't think of a way to make it funny. That's when I realized...



IT'S NOT FUNNY!!!!!!!!



My sweet, angelic daughter has been struck by the terrible twos. As a parent, I have heard tell about the TTs (terrible twos) and all that goes along with them. But, no one told me that they actually start at 18 months! I assumed (yeah, yeah don't assume) that the terrible TWOS would start at, well, TWO! I am not ready for this, and I don't think I am handling it that well either.



Let me sum up for you our trip to hell Walmart. It was to be a quick in and out trip to purchase a sandbox. Yes, that was mistake number one. Who goes to buy a sandbox on the 3rd of July? Of course they didn't have any. This sandbox idea had been in my head since April. Why I didn't act on it then I'll never know.



Anyway, I digress...



In place of a sandbox I found a lovely blue bouncy ball on sale for $2.50! I grabbed one for Maya and the proverbial shit hit the fan. She wanted to hold it but kept dropping it. I put it in the basket and she screamed a scream to wake the dead. I gave it to her, she threw it. I put it back in the carriage (because apparently I hadn't learned my lesson) and she completely melted down. I suggested that we just leave, but we were looking to replace some lost pacifiers for Eli and a snack trap for Maya. I then had the bright idea to let her down to play with her new ball.



BIG MISTAKE!



Don't tell anyone, but I should have listened to Steve when he pointed out that letting her out of the carriage was a bad idea. She jumped on the ball, flipped over and hit her head on a rack. *sigh* More crying, screaming, seething, gnarling, etc., etc. until we made it to the check-out. That's when it happened. Maya's head rotated 360 degrees and she vomited pea soup.



Or at least it seemed that way.



Actually, I am not quite sure what happened. I looked at Steve and there was fear in his eyes. What the %$#& just happened to our child?



The nice man in front of us-who for some unknown reason was buying 7 loaves of Wonder bread-asked if we would like to go ahead of him. Feeling that we could handle our child and that this would be a good lesson for her that she cannot always have what she wants when she wants it, I thanked him but said we were OK.



OK? We were so far from OK. She was beyond hysterical. She was thrashing and screaming and crying real, huge tears. The entire store could hear the commotion in aisle 3.



Oh. My. Gawd!



The cashier was shaking. The man ahead of us was murmuring about how they should have more lines open. The other customers were just staring and I started to laugh. I just couldn't help it. There was nothing I could do. The cashier started panicking and telling us how she wished she was an octopus with 8 arms so she could move faster. In the commotion, she dropped our bag and I nearly fell over laughing. I had tears in my eyes from fits of hysterical laughter. I even got Steve smiling, who until now was looking rather peaked.



All over a stupid, blue ball.



Steve picked her up and threw her over his shoulder as we ran walked with heads held high out of Walmart.

Steve then proclaimed that he would never step foot in another Walmart. Ever. You see, according to Steve it was *karma* that caused our child's tantrum. Karma because we should have known better than to shop at "evil" Walmart.

But where else could I buy a big, blue bouncy ball made in China for only $2.50???

Oy, family! My family that is.

Actually, they didn't bother me too much tonight, I guess that's because I was too busy dealing with a cranky toddler and a screaming 3 month-old.

Tomorrow is my sister's 50th birthday, so someone had the idea to go out to dinner at the 99 to celebrate. Maybe it's just me, but if those closest to me took me to the 99 for my 50th birthday-any birthday for that matter-I'd be pissed. But, I am spoiled I guess. To me, the 99 is one and a half steps above McDonald's. However, it is kid friendly, or at least I thought it was.

OK, I could be a touch paranoid, but I swear the people in the booth across from us were glaring at me while Eli was screaming. They had 2 kids with them, probably 5 and 6 years-old and well behaved. Hmph, I guess they were never tired, cranky infants! I wanted to scream, "what the fuck are you looking at, haven't you ever seen a crying baby?" but I refrained and instead got all paranoid and uptight and stressed...AND there wasn't a decent wine on the list so I was going at this straight sober!

I vaguely remember eating. I guess it was alright, certainly no Capital Grille. Eli was practically inconsolable, which rarely happens, and Maya was just tired and demanding of attention. At least I didn't have to listen to anyone, and thus no one annoyed me. Although, I did hear my fair share of "Pugsley" thrown around. A pre-pubescent nickname I will, apparently, never live down.

I also fear we under paid our share of the bill, which just gives them something else to bitch about, as if they can't find plenty of other things wrong with me.

Maybe I am just being paranoid? Nah! After all, is it paranoia if people are actually talking about you?

It was one of those days

Ok, maybe I exaggerate a bit, but the day didn't go exactly as planned. Do they ever?

For some reason, Eli (our 3 month old baby boy) managed to unswaddle himself at 3:30AM, and continued to squirm, thus waking himself and me, until I brought him into bed with us. Steve, apparently unfazed, continued sleeping while I laid awake fearful of rolling over and squishing the little guy. I finally got up at 5:20. I did manage to get back to sleep around 7:00, which was pure bliss, until I woke up to Maya (our 18 month old daughter) crying and discovered that she had a fever.

Now, normally a rectal temperature of 100.9 isn't too much cause for concern, but Maya has vesico-ureteral reflux. Thus, when her temp is above 100.5, we must call the pediatrician. So, after a 2 hour unexpected visit to the doctor's office, we ruled out a UTI and discovered Coxsackie virus! Specifically, that Coxsackie virus had caused hand, foot and mouth disease. I don't know about you, but the name "hand, foot and mouth disease" conjures up some nasty images in my mind. For starters, it makes me think of livestock and tainted beef.

She was pretty cranky, but some Motrin and a nice long nap seemed to do the trick. Of course, we had to miss out on Wednesday playgroup. So, instead of hanging out with the other moms and chatting about life with babies, I sat in our family room watching boring t.v. with Eli. It wasn't so bad.

Then, the cleaning lady arrived 2 hours late, which meant she'd be here well past dinner and bedtime routine. In fact, it is 8:17 as I type this and she is still here! Yes, I know I shouldn't complain because I now have a clean house, but is it too much to ask that she come earlier in the day? Anyway...

I couldn't handle feeling like a prisoner in my own house while moving from room to room trying to get out of her way, so I suggested we go out to the local Chinese buffet for dinner. Steve reluctantly agreed and off we went. Per usual, Eli began his whining just seconds before my fork reached my lips, necessitating the holding of him in one arm while eating with the other. It never ceases to amaze me what I can accomplish one-handed these days.

Then, half way thru dinner it happened. That all too familiar feeling of warmth trickling down your neck and back that tells you that you have been spit-up on, and it wasn't minor! Yuck. The nice Chinese waiter came running over to help, while Steve handed me a cocktain napkin and continued to eat! Argh! A $%^&*(#* cocktail napkin, are you serious? "I've been puked on!" (said in Lucy from the Peanuts Gang voice) "Yuck, yuck dog germs!"

Sigh

We arrived home with a screeching infant in tow and a toddler ready for bed. The cleaning lady was still here, I hadn't accomplish anything all day and did I mention is was near 100 degrees?

Oh well, at least I have a clean house and an updated new blog! Life isn't so bad.

In the beginning...

Welcome to my blog! There, I typed it thus it must be so. Yes, I have a blog! I bet you are having difficulty containing your enthusiasm, I know I am.



Thinking of a blog name was no easy task. I was going to go with "don't be a Sara Bernhardt" but decided against it. After all, how many people would get the reference? Did your mother say to you, "oh now stop being a Sara Bernhardt" every time you cried? I didn't think so. By the way, who was Sara Bernhardt?



So, why is this blog different from all others? (Yes, yes, that was a bit of Jewish humor and a Pesach reference, so sue me!) Well...nothing. I am going to yap about my family, kvell over my children and post silly stories and pictures. I'll probably also do my fair share of bitchin', you might as well know up front.



In the words of Hyman Roth (from The Godfather) "So, enjoy!"