You See Your Gypsy: Lace and Paper Flowers Not Included

Hi, friends! It's been a while, yes? I had to actually take a peek at my blog to see where I left off. A lot has happened since my last post...

We sold our house

Goodbye House! In my grand tradition, I made a Shutterfly book to remember it by.

As I was driving around with my Two Mutts and a Tot while Real Estate Agents showed my house to potential buyers, I had all sorts of blog inspiration to write about my experiences selling my home. I may go back and post later on, maybe not. I had the good fortune of getting my house under contract in a mere eight days, and was given 26 days for my home inspection, appraisal, making requested home repairs, packing, securing temporary apartment housing...it was a whirlwind of planning and activity that left me too preoccupied to blog!

We were homeless...for seven days

All of this change has been rough on Robinson

Big thanks to our friends and family who graciously welcomed us into their homes during the week between vacating our old house and taking possession of our temporary apartment! It turns out that there is a difference between sleeping in someone else's home because you're on vacation and sleeping in someone else's home because you have no home. We're lucky to have good friends and family to help make the transition as smooth and comfortable as possible.

My brother got married!

The Happy Couple

In 2000, I was working as a hostess at J. Alexander's with this fabulous girl named Kelly. We soon became friends, and, as friends often do, we went to parties together! It was at one of these parties at Steve's apartment that I introduced her to my brother. The events that unfolded, and the ways our lives intersected over the eleven years that followed is the stuff of romantic comedies. Like all romantic comedies, this story has a happy ending: a wedding! I am so happy, and I have to tell you--their wedding was so fun! Like, so fun that I want to do it again. I wish I had a wedding photo to share, but maybe later I can update.

Photos by Steel Photography

Two Adults, Two Mutts, and a Tot in 600 Square Feet

I slept here ^

"It's only six weeks, let's move in with the least amount of stuff possible..." Yeah. So, the mattress is on the floor, the clothes are in suitcases, and the food is of the microwaveable-comes-in-its-own-bowl variety. If you want to look at our living situation as "camping", I'd say it's a pretty sweet set-up. We have electricity, cable, and indoor plumbing. The only downside is the dogs have wicked separation anxiety since I picked them up from vet boarding after nine days. Laney acts like she just graduated from a Scared Straight program. She has barely so much as grumbled at Rob since returning to us. It's as if she believes she was sent to the kennel for being aggressive towards my son. Their anxiety has reached such a fever pitch that they cannot be left alone, for fear that their incessant barking would lead to our eviction--and as I've covered previously: homelessness < not being homeless. I imagined these six weeks would fly by, enjoying the outdoors with Robinson, running errands, picking out paint and fabric for the new house...if I want to do any of those things, I have to load up the dogs and take them to Steve at work. You see, when disclosing my pet information to the apartment leasing manager, I sort of fudged on Laney's size...and neglected to mention Libby altogether. You can probably understand why I'm trying to keep a low profile. So, that's the story of why we are hunkered down in this campsite like gypsies. Today is day 15 out of 42. Sigh.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, Two Mutts and a Tot outdoors together = Mama tangled up in leashes, skittish mutts and screaming Tot.

We Are Getting A New Home for Christmas!

We're so excited, we can hardly stand the wait, but it will be oh-so-worth it!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! Our family is extra thankful this year! xoxo

New Layout. New Outlook.

Do we like the new blog layout? I think the design suits my personality and the tone of my blog better than the precious shabby chic layout previously did. It was much sweeter than I am. Plus, peacocks are kinda muh thang.

I am not sold on the font, but that's ok. I changed a lot in one day. Thanks for fabulous free layouts at The Cutest Blog on the Block! I don't know why I'm making a plug. I don't get paid to promote anything on my blog. But a little gratitude is always nice; it's a nice break from the typical snark I sling around here.

Speaking of snark, thank you for letting me get the rest of my Casey Anthony hostility out of my system! After seeing her in court today, the day she clearly thought she'd be released--note the Snooki pouf she's sporting--

It's like Elvira-meets-Snooki-meets-Amy Winehouse with a shit-eating grin and a cable knit sweater (as you wear in Orlando in July). Some reporters were sitting in front of George and Cindy Anthony during today's proceedings and they had the opportunity to overhear their chit-chat. George and Cindy were going on about how long Casey's hair has gotten, and how pretty she looks. 

That's it. I'm done. She's a baby killer. She got away with murder. She has a wacked-out family. They can have each other. Would you like to know what I've been accomplishing--and what I should have been accomplishing--in the time I've wasted watching this stupid trial?

1. I finished reading Bossypants by Tina Fey. Loved it.
2. I purchased new sheets. Restoration Hardware was having a sale. 
3. I ordered the invitations for Robinson's birthday party
4. I redesigned my blog
5. I wrote about 7 blog posts
6. I cooked dinner for my family
7. I watched a movie with Robinson. Or tried. He's pretty squirmy.
8. I resumed logging my daily food intake on MyFitnessPal.com. And not a moment too soon. I was unknowingly eating about 2,500 calories a day! Body by Sargento.
9. I worked on Robinson's Shutterfly baby book. 

That's kind of it so far. But I need to work out and finish planning Rob's party. And for Heaven's sake, step away from the dairy products!

Robinson is Ten Months Old!

Our little boo is ten months old! He more resembles a toddler at this point. He isn't walking yet, but he is boldly pulling up on furniture and exploring the world around him. He gets a little ahead of himself sometimes when he's trying to move from reaching to crawling to standing, so he gets tangled up in his own arms and legs like a game of Twister for one. 

This has caused a couple of falls, a bump and a fat lip, but he's a resilient little fella.

Sidenote: I don't recommend Google Image searching the term "playing Twister". People sure know how to take something that is supposed to be wholesome fun for the whole family and turn it into something dirty. 

His preference for toys is still pretty basic. He's still having so much fun with my cell phone, the Jumperoo, the walker, the stackable rings, Jerry the Giraffe, and the stackable cups. He joyfully crawls around the kitchen floor while clutching these plastic toys in his hand. Banging the plastic shapes and cups on the tile is a favorite pastime. Last weekend when Robinson was visited by his Poppa, Uncle Jay and Aunt Kelly, he was so excited that he was crawling around the kitchen with one of the plastic shapes in his right hand, and one of the stackable cups in his left, joyfully smacking them on the tile.

Quote of the weekend, courtesy of yours truly: He can't decide which one he likes best, so he's banging them both.

Seriously, Jerry the Giraffe and the stackable cups are the most fun you can have with your clothes on.

Oh, and did I mention that Robinson likes to eat?

And eat...

 ...and eat...

 

 The boy has a healthy appetite...

 And be forewarned: if you are ever eating in Robinson's presence, he expects you to share with him.

...the penalty for not sharing your snack and your supper with Robinson is an epic fit.

I know, it's hard to believe that this angel ever throws a fit

Conversations About Nothing

Seriously, if the lives of Steve, Robinson and me were a television show, it would be a show about nothing. So it would be either a quirky and loveable smash like Seinfeld...

...or it would be dreadfully tedious like The Real World: London. "This week, Jacinda buys a puppy. She names him "Legend". He pee-pee'd in their flat" [a bored-to-tears thirteen-year-old Samantha turns to ten-year-old Jarred and says "Please stab me."]

So here's a scene from last night in our house: Steve is on the patio, grilling steak, and I am cooking on the stove. Robinson is sitting in his high chair watching me. He's taking those Gerber Lil Crunchies (they're like cheesy poofs for babies), stuffing them in his mouth two at a time, and then spitting them out all over the place once they are a nasty, gummy mess. I have no time for that at the moment though, because I'm cooking potatoes and having this totally necessary conversation with Steve.

Ok, so when you read this, just imagine all 6-foot-2-inches of Steve bouncing around the kitchen all wound up like Tigger, and I am completely calm and expressionless and never bother to look up from what I'm doing.

Steve: Do we have a spray bottle?! For water?!
Me: Yes.
Steve: We have a spray bottle?
Me: Yes.
Steve: --For water?!
Me: Yes.
Steve: We have a spray bottle for water?!
Me: Yes.
[I reach into the cabinet under the sink for the spray bottle, and pass it over the counter to Steve, who cradles the spray bottle in hands like it's a gold chalice]

Steve: Why--do we have a spray bottle? For water?
Me: To mist my house plants.
Steve: Really? [we both glance at the house plant in question]

Regular misting is what makes it so...crispy. Oh, and while you're here, can somebody call "Time of Death" on this ivy? I can't do it. I'm not a doctor, I'm just an intern.

Steve runs back to the grill. I hear the sounds of vigorous spritzing, and then the air surrounding Steve turns steamy/smoky. So yeah, I think he was extinguishing a small fire. I guess that explains the urgency.

You're out of the woods, You're out of the dark, You're out of the night

My blogging activity has experienced a steep decline in the past couple weeks. I tend to write about marriage, motherhood, friendship, light-hearted observations, pop culture. I'll write about any little thought that crosses my mind, but I keep it upbeat. The past couple of weeks I have been met with an onslaught of sad events, and while I wouldn't say that I'm overly affected, I would say that my blogging inspiration has been temporarily extinguished. I mean, really, how could I joke about dogs humping babies and adventures in Netflix at a time like this? I'll return to blogging, just as Dorothy returned to Kansas, but consider this my attempt at a graceful segue: Things that happened while I wasn't blogging, that kind of made me feel like I have nothing to blog about.

North Texas is spellbound over case of missing woman: for the local reader, I could sum this up by simply saying the name "Susan Loper", but I'll recap for my non-Dallas readers:

A beautiful mother and local fitness instructor is kidnapped in the early morning hours from the local country club where she teaches Pilates, leaving behind only her phone, her purse, and signs of a violent struggle. A touch of irony: this was to be her last day of work at this country club before realizing her dream of opening her own Pilates studio. She is found a day later, brutally murdered, in an open field off a major road that I drive every day. Adding to the tragedy: she has an eight-year-old autistic son. As our peaceful suburb comes to terms with this shocking tragedy, police finally name a suspect. News outlets show his photo and photos of his home...and he lives across the road from me.  Authorities announce that they have located him. In the Grand Canyon. After he jumped into it. And lived. It's just awful, piled on top of tragic, smothered in horror and sprinkled with bizarre. Family and friends of Susan Loper are asking donations be made to help secure her 8-year-old son's future. You can assist by sending donations to

Jake Loper Trust
c/o Ferguson Law Group
2500 Dallas Parkway, Suite 260
Plano, TX 75093

Make checks payable to Jake Loper Trust


Tornado devastates Tuscaloosa: The level of devastation throughout the state of Alabama following this tornado is really beyond comprehension and I'm deeply saddened by it. At the same time, I feel kind of disconnected because I am all the way in Texas. We don't have to be in Tuscaloosa to help, though. Anybody can make a donation (every dollar helps) to the American Red Cross.

This picture touches me because those kids look just like my friends and I did when we were in college. I'm so sad for them over what has happened to their college town.

The Royal Wedding Happened: The coverage began around 3:00AM, as did my dutiful DVR, but I didn't press "start" until about 9:00AM. My mom's house was without power, so, being the good daughter that I am, I took photos of the television screen with my camera phone and sent picture messages of Kate's wedding dress, and I downloaded photos from online gossip sites and texted those to her, so we could discuss the hideousness that was Princess Beatrice's Fascinator (also, I'm proud to have learned the difference between a hat and a fascinator), and debate just how little effort we believed Chelsy Davy put into primping for the day.

It's my personal belief that her messy updo was the product of an all-night bender with the boys, and that her hangover hadn't even kicked in yet. Takes one to know one. Not for nothing, the girl's as cute as a button and would look good in a paper sack, so I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just sayin'. Also, if there had been a betting pool for being able to best predict Kate's wedding gown description, my mom would have a fistful of cash right now. The day before the wedding, since she was bored and without power, I indulged her in a little game of "What do you think Kate's dress is going to look like?" Her prediction: full skirt, strapless bodice, long lace sleeves, plunging v-neck, "very similar neckline to the blue dress she wore to announce her engagement". Well, how do you think my mom did?

Special thanks to Pippa Middleton for setting the bar for aspiring foxy bridesmaids everywhere. I have my work cut out for me if I want a chance to compete for the title of Hottest Bridesmaid 2011

Osama bin Laden was killed: Steve and I are watching TV in bed and simultaneously surfing the Internet on our respective phones. I know, it's good, quality time spent together, right? Steve catches a whiff of something on the Internet about an important announcement from Obama that will be taking place in moments. Of course we now know what that announcement is, and that we were kept waiting for over an hour to hear the announcement. Steve turns the channel to CNN, where the journalists, stalling as the press conference is pushed further and further back, repeat that they refuse to speculate as to what the announcement may be. Steve is all up in arms over this, but I'm all like, "Pfft, Barack Obama schedules press conferences more often than I schedule pedicures. He probably just wants to tell us that he saved a lot of money on car insurance by switching to Geico...or something." Steve insists, along with the news anchors, that this announcement is going to be major. Well, if this announcement is so major, where is my silver fox, Anderson Cooper? Steve gets bored with CNN and their refusal to speculate, so he changes the channel to Geraldo Rivera. I know, I know. Geraldo is so amped up, his voice has gone up a couple of octaves. He, of course, is not above speculation. He keeps shouting in a high-pitched voice that this announcement is going to be earth-shattering, etc. Not even looking up from my celebrity gossip, I nonchalantly mumble to Steve "The only way this is going to live up to the hype is if Obama is announcing that they've killed bin Laden." Steve gasps, "You think?! That could be it! You could be right!" "I've been right before," I say with a shrug. Moments later, Geraldo rips a printed email out of the hands of somebody off-camera and excitedly reads aloud on-air that Osama bin Laden is dead. This news comes as a relief, but I'm always going to kind of hate that Geraldo Rivera is the person who told me. I wish it had been the President. Or Anderson Cooper. Or Hugh Jackman.

So, throughout this flurry of events, my mom is living for six days like a pioneer woman--without power. This of course, is due to the aforementioned massive tornado. She calls me on the morning after her power is restored.

Mom: Well, I turned on the TV for the first time in nearly a week. I'm finally seeing footage of the tornado that has ravaged our state and only missed my house by about ten miles. Charlie Sheen is visiting Tuscaloosa to assess the damage. There was a Royal Wedding. Osama bin Laden is dead...

...My lights are back on, and it's a dramatically different world than when the lights went off.

Me: It's frickin' trippy, right? Did The Lollipop Guild greet you outside?

Mom: Pretty much.

Building a Mystery: My New Obsession with Ancestry.com

I have fallen into the rabbit hole that is Ancestry.com. What I have uncovered in just a few days has been illuminating. Most ancestry research findings wouldn't interest anybody outside of that family, but I'll share with you some general, interesting discoveries. It has to be more interesting than the post I wrote about baby bibs. I'll need to separate it into a few posts, and this post explains my motivation for doing this in the first place. If the mention of geneology is making you doze off on your keyboard, at least skip ahead and read Reason 3.

I broke down and signed up for three reasons:

1. The damn commercials got to me. You know the ones, they start out looking like eHarmony ads, but instead of meeting a real person who found their soulmate online, we meet people who discovered extraordinary facts about their ancestors. I wonder what my family tree will reveal? Whatever it is, it has to be more interesting than whatever Khloe and Lamar are doing.

2. While you're drinking appletinis at the club on Friday night (or whatever it is you hip, single people do) I'm sitting on my couch watching TV. Who Do You Think You Are?, the show where famous people unlock family secrets, has captivated me. It's amazing what you can learn about family members who have been dead a hundred years. Sometimes I sip on a glass of chardonnay while I watch it. It is the weekend, afterall!

3. My son. When I evolved from daughter to mother, my perception of previous generations also evolved. People I once viewed only as parents or grandparents now appear as more dynamic figures with complex histories. I suspected all along that the people I know as Mom, Dad, Nannie and Bobby had lives and stories that stretched beyond parenthood. I've seen the photos of the leggy blonde in hot pants (Mom). I've read the yearbook inscriptions of a precocious teenager (Nannie). I've seen the tattoos (Bobbie). I guess in my new role as mother, I have a new awareness that I don't know the whole story. 

Becoming a parent in and of itself isn't the only factor driving my curiosity. I named my son Robinson Reid after my maternal grandfather who died when I was ten, who I've always called Bobby. This shared name has caused me to think of my grandfather a lot. That entire limb of my family tree is nothing but ghosts whose names I don't know. I didn't ask many questions as a little girl, but I knew a few facts:

1. Bobby was raised in Ohio, and represents the only segment of my family that isn't southern.
2. Bobby lost his father before he reached adulthood. His mother died from childbirth--his birth. His brother died when my mom was a kid.
3. Bobby lived in military boarding school from the age of seven.

Perhaps understandably, I didn't push the issue. In the absence of information, I drew my own conclusions. Whether accurate or not, I always felt sadness over what must have been a lonely childhood for Bobby. I'm sure a shrink would want to explore the symbolism surrounding my decision to name my son after a motherless child.

My Robinson's birth ushered in a new generation, which forced me to acknowledge my previous generations in a more meaningful way. I know virtually nothing about a major part of my heritage. Realizing that many of the answers are at my fingertips has proven too tempting, so I'm just diving into it.

Two Mutts and a Baby

Thanks to my monthly "Robinson and Laney" photo session, history will remember Laney and Robinson as best buddies. This is the untold story.

Libby thinks she is Robinson's nanny. She sits nearby and watches over him as he plays. She gamely allows him to tug her hair and pat her on the head. If Robinson spits up, Libby is cleaning him up faster than I am. It's gross. If he cries, she gives him kisses to comfort him. When that doesn't work, she finds me, to make sure I'm doing something about it.

Libby is either on the run from the law, or she's embarrassed to be seen with a baby, because she refuses to allow her photo to be taken with Robinson. I'm determined to capture at least one image of Robinson and Libby playing together for his baby book. She's making my job tough.

Libby just told Robinson a funny joke

He's laughing hysterically, but she's gone in an instant

 

Playing together

Guarding him to ensure his safety at all times

 They were playing until she saw the camera. She quickly moved to distance herself.

Libby just gave Robinson kisses 

Laney's attitude towards Robinson is...different. Laney is eight. She's been treated like a person her entire life. She's smart enough to recognize that Robinson's arrival has bumped her down a notch in the family pecking order. And what's so great about a stinky ol' baby anyway?

Laney cooperates with this monthly photo session for two reasons: 1. She enjoys having her picture taken. 2. She loves attention. She has come to resent her role as photo prop, but she begrudgingly complies.

Laney feels the same way about Robinson that The Office's Michael Scott feels about Toby Flenderson.

I'm sitting on the couch beside Laney, with Robinson in my lap. He reaches out and begins patting Laney's head and tugging her hair. She glares at him. I'm working to free her ear fur from his tightly clenched baby fists. He does it again. She grumbles. Rob waves his hand in the air. She takes his hand in her mouth and just holds it there. She looks me in the eye as if to say "Do you see what I could do to him?" Duly noted. I banish her from the couch and give her the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. I've learned through the years that Laney views being shunned as the worst punishment.

A couple days later, I'm sitting in the floor with Robinson and Libby. We're all playing together, and I'm praising Libby and giving her hugs for being so sweet to Robinson. Laney is watching us from across the room, seething. She gets up, walks over to us, sits up straight and tall with her head held high, and then--with as much affection as she can muster--she gently rests one paw on top of Robinson's head. Then she looks at me. It's as if Laney is saying to me (in Janeane Garofalo's emotionless monotone voice):

"Boy, I tell you what. I've never considered myself a 'baby' person, but with one as adorable as little Robert here, I can't help but love him. It must melt your heart to witness this tender moment between a boy and his dog. I bet it makes you want to cook me an omelet. Maybe take me for a walk."

Thursday Morning with my Boys

Is it nap time yet? I'm totally spent, and the fourth hour of Today with Kathie Lee and Hoda hasn't even started. Somebody save me!

Steve: [calling from work, duh] Where do you buy a Neti Pot?
Me: At the pharmacy or grocery store. You'll find it in the cold/allergy relief section.
Steve: How much do they cost?
Me: Umm...can't remember really. Not too much.
Steve: Like, $8? $10?
Me: That sounds about right.

[Steve repeats all of this to somebody. That person presumably leaves to buy a Neti Pot]

Steve: How's it going with Little Poot?
Me: Argh, I'm exhausted! He's not having it today. He's sobbing crying unless I'm singing, dancing, juggling, tossing him up in the air, tickling him. [Robinson begins to sob loudly] I'm about to throw a parade in his honor. Maybe that will make him happy.
Steve: Wha--
Me: [singing loudly to a crying Robinson and bouncing him on my lap to the beat] I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine, I got a love and I know that it's all mine, oh, oh oh oh, Do what you want but you're never gonna break me, Sticks and stones are never gonna shake me, oh, oh oh oh
Steve: Uh--
Me: [Rob is laughing hysterically] TAKE ME AWAY! A SECRET PLACE! A SWEET ESCAPE! TAKE ME AWAY! [breathless, to Steve] You wanna come take a shift?
Steve: NoI'mGoodHaveAGoodDayLoveYou [hangs up]





If you're wondering how I went from contemplating staging a one-woman production of Hello, Dolly! in my living room to entertain my fussy baby, to blogging about it five minutes later, it's because I tried giving him a change of scenery and carried him to our computer room and set him down on the floor. He's happily making shadow puppets and blowing spit bubbles and yelling just to hear the sound of his voice. That is all. Good day to you.

Celebrating Five Years of Marriage!

Five years ago today, I became "Mrs. Steve". This is the point in a traditional blog where I gush about how Steve is the best husband, and I'm the luckiest woman, and on, and on. But this isn't that type of blog, and I'm not that type of girl. I'm not gonna ramble on about how my husband is better than your husband. Plus, I think it would embarrass Steve. Or he'd be flattered. See? After all these years, he still keeps me guessing. Instead of simply lavishing Steve with praise (it would just go to his head), I'll describe our marriage in a nutshell; in case you were curious.  

I'm genuinely very fond of Steve. That sounds like I'm stating the obvious, but when cohabitating and merging finances, liking your spouse is key. The dynamics of marriage are complicated. Shit gets real, and when one of you can't balance her checkbook and repeatedly adopts puppies without discussing it first, and the other clips his toenails in the bed and leaves his dirty clothes all over the house, it helps if you can make each other laugh. Also, I highly recommend marrying somebody whose neuroses and idiosyncrasies are in proportion to your own. It reduces your chances of annoying the hell out of your spouse. Steve and I are equal parts OCD and ADD, and it works.

Five years of marriage feels surprisingly refreshing. That sounds like I'm describing Sprite, but I'm not going to edit. As I was saying, we're really comfortable, yet we're not bored with each other. I'm still excited when I see his name on my Caller ID. And we laugh at each other's jokes. Laughter seems to be a key element to a happy marriage. Steve has made me so happy, and I love the life we've made together in Texas. I'm really excited about what the future holds!