blogger ate my homework

What up, peeps? Well, earlier in the week I wrote a particularly awesome entry, which Blogger subsequently ate. I hit “publish,” and it published the first three lines and the rest went poof. It was such an awesome entry that I felt that I needed to recreate it. So I did. Then Blogger did the EXACT SAME FREAKING THING again so I was forced to give Blogger the cold shoulder all week.

But I couldn’t neglect you for long. Hi! However, because the universe (also known as Blogger) clearly doesn’t want me to tell you all about how we rented a Duffy boat on Monday night with our friends, and how Evan fell asleep thereby enabling us to have a grand old time with said friends eating pizza and drinking wine, and how I have bought all my Christmas gifts either online or at Costco (um, what? You don’t call it an awesome entry? Whatever.), I am going to go another way with this post.

Instead, I will focus on how we’re going to get a Christmas tree this weekend. And how I am wearing a headband today. And how cute it is when Evan says “Bye Mommy” when I drop him off at daycare. And perhaps, how I intended to get regular Cheetos at lunch today but accidentally ended up with Flaming Hot Cheetos instead, which are evil and must be destroyed.

Consider yourselves up to date on my life.

VIP

I’m happy to report that our LA adventure was a great success. We had an awesome time, and get this:

I saw Paris Hilton.

Swear! I could hardly believe it myself. Also sighted: Nancy O’Dell from Entertainment Tonight, who was very tall and pretty in real life.

And the hotel we stayed in was uber-swanky. So swanky that it was like a cave with suede covered walls and hardly any lighting. It had the best hotel toiletries I’ve ever experienced. It had a lovely and minimalistic flat-panel TV. It had a hip yet comfortable platform bed that reminded me of an extra-fancy futon. It did not, however, have a hairdryer. I guess people who are of this hotel’s caliber simply do not require hairdryers. As befitting the VIPs we are, we got upgraded to a cabana room*. Apparently people who typically stay in these cabanas have oodles of time to allow their hair to dry naturally while enjoying a sun-soaked breakfast with mimosas by the pool. We, on the other hand, woke up late, ran out the door and ate Jack in the Box on the way home.

But hairdryer or no, we had a fantastic time. We bowled, we people-watched, we drank martinis. And did I mention Paris Hilton?

*What actually happened is that our room wasn’t ready when we arrived. So they gave us a better one. Awesome!

why i love today, by bearca.

It’s Friday.
I’m taking a half day (to go shopping and get my hair highlighted!)
Evan is finally getting a couple of new teeth that’s he’s been working on all week.
Tomorrow, I will be blissfully enjoying a night away from Teething Tantrum Boy.
Which means, on Sunday morning I may even get to sleep slightly longer than 6:00 a.m.

People: it’s all just so exciting. Happy weekend to you.

picture of sisterly love

Yes, that's right: here is a pic of me and Poka Bean enjoying some Thanksgiving family togetherness. In this photo, we are snapping the ends off some grean beans while posing for our camera-happy father. She looks normal, but what is up with my weird head tilt?!? I appear to be about to tip over.

it's a bad day when...

At 3:16 pm on a Wednesday, you develop an intense craving for a Snickers bar, which you fight as long as possible, which turns out to be approximately 30 minutes, and then you finally give in and drag your lazy behind out of your desk chair to go up two floors to the ONLY vending machines in this building, and then find yourself standing in front of a sign that says "Out of Order."

what's for dinner?

I have so many things swirling around in my head right now that I’m finding it hard to formulate a cohesive post. Work: crazy. Holiday planning: crazy. Toddler who refuses at all costs to be strapped into a stroller: crazy.

Also, that hour and a half between arriving home after work and when Evan goes to bed: crazy. There is mail-opening, dinner-making, bath-giving, book-reading and more all before we collapse like zombies on the couch to watch whatever drama Fox has to offer. (seriously, did you watch Prison Break last night? Way to redeem a sub-par season with a decent ending.)

But back to the original point… anyone out there with the same problem? And what do you make for dinner that can take less than 30 minutes?

beware, we won't be solving world hunger with the contents of this post.

After reading your comments and taking a comprehensive tour through my closet last night, I have settled on a Uniform outfit: jeans and a sassy black top. I was going to take Whoorl’s advice and do a photo collage of my potential sassy tops, but I was launched into a shame spiral of epic proportions when I attempted it. I think the problem could have been any of a number of factors: a) the fact that I was wearing a sloppy ponytail and sweats, which made every top look ridiculous, b) the incredible messiness of my closet, or c) the realization that I have a boatload of clothes but all of them are either work- or weekend-appropriate. I am lacking in sassy going-out attire appropriate for martini drinking. Which makes sense given, shall we say, my home-centric social life?

Nevertheless: shame spiral.

But peeps! I now feel just fine about it. I mean, jeans and a black top may not be the most inventive choice, but damn if I’m not gonna work it. I will accessorize and wear awesome lip gloss. Because that is how I roll! And because I was terrified of UC’s suggestion for leggings. Leggings! Let’s not forget that I lived through the 80’s when they actually happened and therefore, unlike the youth of today (kids these days!) I cannot in good conscience go back.

Now, stepping off soapbox…

What are you all doing for Thanksgiving? I will be eating two Thanksgiving dinners, one on Thursday and one on Friday. I will likely be gaining several pounds, possibly rendering my safe and boring Sassy Uniform ill-fitting.

Can you say shame spiral?!?

in which I beg desperately for your help

If one is invited to a surprise birthday party for one’s friend, that involves an overnight babysitter, staying at a schwanky hotel in Los Angeles and possibly the consumption of multiple expensive martinis, what should one wear? I should mention that bowling will also be involved.

I’m confused!

My current vote is for The Uniform, aka cute jeans and a sassy top. But which sassy top? Do I even own the perfect one?

This is what happens when your social life begins revolving around a child’s bedtime and DVR. Help me.

open letter

Dear 3 faithful readers:

For some reason, I appear to be doing some sort of NaBloPoMo in reverse. NaNoBloPoMo: it’s the Bearca way of life! This could be because of any or all of the following factors:

1. I have been traveling for work WAY more than I’d like to. My recent destinations have included such glamorous destinations as Rockville, MD; Columbus, OH; and Ottawa (ooh, international!).
2. I recently got a promotion (yay me!), which has kept me busier at work than usual.
3. I participated in a 1 mile ocean swim recently which rendered me too sore to effectively manipulate my keyboard.
4. I have been home, desperately want to write to you, but have been trapped under something heavy*.

Well, regardless, I will be back to regularly scheduled programming shortly. I promise!

Love, Bearca

*please tell me you recognize this reference.

come on now, OF COURSE he was a Wiggle for Halloween...

time change, schmime change

The baby sleep book that we read has advice on everything: getting your child to sleep, keeping them asleep, even how to handle the time change. Their helpful advice for ending Daylight Savings Time? Simply ignore the time change and your child will adjust automatically.

Ha!

Ignore the time change, my arse.

IGNORE IT AT YOUR OWN PERIL.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about having kids, it’s that they always do exactly the opposite of what you want them to do. If they sleep until 7:30 a.m. on Friday, whatever you do, don’t start hoping that the same thing will happen when Saturday morning rolls around. In fact, if experience is any guide, you should assume that the child will actually wake up several hours earlier just to spite you. Toddlers are sneaky like that.

So as I reset my clock on Saturday night, I went to bed thinking that Evan had been sleeping until 7 am pretty well for the last couple of weeks so maybe we’d hear from him around 6:00. In my dreams!

Instead, I was awakened at 4:30 a.m. Sunday morning to the sounds of Evan happily talking about what he wanted to do that day.

“Go walk” he said clearly, over and over.
“Go walk!”

He also threw in some discussion of Elmo (“Melmo”).

After ignoring him for an hour we were finally forced to get up and mainline coffee until the bleary-eyed state cleared up at, oh, about 3 pm.

Grrrr.

welcome to the linguistic parking lot

My hub forwarded this to me and I almost died laughing. Below is an email he received with "helpful stock tips" (aka spam) that was a tad heavy on the spam filter avoidance language. Enjoy…

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

Most people believe that a satellite falls in love with a loyal tape recorder, but they need to remember how ostensibly a load bearing burglar wakes up. The inferiority complex thoroughly secretly admires the power drill. A frustrating briar patch satiates a boiled recliner. An overripe blithe spirit is muddy.

Most people believe that a chess board seeks a bartender about a cowboy, but they need to remember how almost a particle accelerator goes to sleep. A skyscraper finds subtle faults with the food stamp. Indeed, the molten satellite sells a photon inside an eggplant to an insurance agent. A hesitantly phony avocado pit single-handledly buries the load bearing warranty, and a fire hydrant graduates from a class action suit about a grain of sand. Furthermore, the fractured tuba player earns frequent flier miles, and an insurance agent toward a line dancer lazily finds lice on the inexorably imaginative movie theater. Now and then, a stoic bullfrog conquers a most difficult cheese wheel. A load bearing plaintiff sweeps the floor, because a cargo bay recognizes a cashier. Furthermore, the class action suit related to a microscope hesitates, and the familiar senator accidentally negotiates a prenuptial agreement with an avocado pit. Most people believe that a chess board seeks a bartender about a cowboy, but they need to remember how almost a particle accelerator goes to sleep. A skyscraper finds subtle faults with the food stamp. Indeed, the molten satellite sells a photon inside an eggplant to an insurance agent. A hesitantly phony avocado pit single-handledly buries the load bearing warranty, and a fire hydrant graduates from a class action suit about a grain of sand. A spider over the cashier organizes the girl scout. If a non-chalantly incinerated insurance agent plays pinochle with an often fat tornado, then a scythe inside a dolphin gets stinking drunk. Furthermore, a wrinkled polar bear feels nagging remorse, and an overwhelmingly highly paid umbrella dances with the cashier. Any tape recorder can recognize an avocado pit, but it takes a real blithe spirit to plan an escape from a linguistic parking lot some buzzard toward a pig pen. The surly cargo bay requires assistance from a spider.

one crazy roommate

It happened to coincide almost exactly with turning 18 months old: my child may now be certifiably insane. One minute he’s happily playing with his toys and the next he is HOWLING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS because we won’t let him hold a pumpkin while he gets his diaper changed. Or, we leave for the park without his balloon and ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.

Those things actually happened last weekend. It’s actually kind of funny how the slightest thing will set him off. Take for example the Pumpkin Incident.

We had just arrived home from some errand. Evan was reaching for the pumpkins that were sitting on our kitchen island, so I handed him a miniature one. He kept repeating his word for pumpkin (which happens to be “maniss” for reasons I don’t begin to comprehend) and a few minutes later we needed to take him upstairs to change him. I took the pumpkin and put it back on the table (a critical error) and my husband took him upstairs. He started crying on the way up the stairs and the tantrum escalated sharply upon realizing that the pumpkin was not accompanying him. “MANISS” he yells in between sobs, “MANISSSSSS!!!!” Dave laid him down amid much writhing and screaming. After a couple of minutes he realized it was a losing battle and said “Get the pumpkin! Get the pumpkin!” I ran downstairs, retrieved the pumpkin, then ran back up and handed it to Evan. He started smiling through his tears and saying “maniss” in this soft happy voice. From then on? He was absolutely fine. Until the next day, when we tried to get him in the car without his balloon and endured 15 minutes of screaming in the car. Good times.

I mean, I knew toddlers weren’t reasonable, but the violent reaction to things that aren’t that big a deal has surprised me. And maybe taken a year or two off my life.

opposite

Ahhhh… the weekend. What a relief! I will be engaging in activities such as getting the baby a haircut and going to the park. Not sleeping in, because although Evan has been sleeping until 7 am lately, tomorrow is Saturday and therefore he will wake up at 5:30 am. In fact, he often enjoys doing the opposite of what I think he should do. Like instead of eating his green beans, he throws them on the ground. And when I give him a spoon for his applesauce, he promptly turns it upside down and dips the handle in instead.

However, he has picked up a helpful habit recently. At night before it’s time for his bath, we say “time to clean up!” and he starts rushing around picking up his toys and putting them away. He’s very focused on it and it’s absolutely hilarious.

If only I could say “make mommy some coffee” and he would obey. I guess he’s still a bit young to be operating the grinder. I’ll give him another year or two on that.

morning of chaos

Some days, going to work feels like a vacation. Today was one of those days. Case in point:

4:15 a.m. – I hear Evan crying on the monitor. He quickly stops crying but then starts talking. I hear words like “Momo” (which means “Elmo”) and “nose.” (yes, it’s random, but he has recently learned those words).

4:20 – He’s back to sleep.

5:30 – More crying. More talking. Elmo and nose again bandied about.

5:35 – Back to sleep.

6:40 – I get up, shower, get ready for work, wait for Evan to wake up for good.

7:30 – He’s still sleeping.

7:45 – Mr. Crankypants wakes up on the wrong side of the crib. Fusses. I change his diaper and get him dressed amid protests.

**Then, I make the critical decision. Since he woke up so late, do I feed him at home or take him to daycare and let them feed him? I decide in favor of the former because it allows me to spend a few more minutes with him.**

7:50 – we go downstairs and I attempt to get him settled in his high chair. In the process, I accidentally pinch his finger sliding the tray. Screaming ensues. I spend the next 10 minutes soothing and patting. Finally he calms down once I promise him a banana (“m’nana”).

8:05 – He is happily eating his m’nana and some Fruity Cheerios. We’re out of milk.

8:20 – He appears to be done eating so I start cleaning him up. I put him down and he stands in front of the TV watching Curious George while I wash his high chair tray. Finally, I’m ready to go and go over to pick him up. However, he is standing in a suspicious position, sort of a slight crouch. I do a quick check and sure enough… diaper is dirty. He helpfully says “poo-poo!” and I haul him upstairs to change the diaper amid much kicking and screaming.

8:30 – we are finally clean-diapered, fully dressed and ready to go. We say bye-bye to Daddy, then I strap him in the car, at which point it occurs to him that Daddy is leaving, so more tears ensue. We drive away, he calms down and talks my ear off all the way to daycare.

8:40 – I drop him off and proceed, exhausted, directly to the coffeemaker at my workplace.

o canada

I just got back from a business trip to Ottawa. It was my third trip to Canada and also my third work-related trip to Canada. Which means, although I have been there three times, I have yet to do any meaningful sight-seeing. In fact, I might as well have been in Chicago, or Dallas, or San Francisco, save for the fact that I had to show my passport.

It was cold, though. Canada's definitely got that going for it.

it's monday, all right

My baby is full of snot.

My house is full of ants.

My inbox is full of work-related emails that I can't answer (see "my baby is full of snot" above).

And this is why I felt completely justified in eating cookies for breakfast today.

and the hits just keep on coming

It must be the Weekend of Overhearing Ridiculous Things. Yesterday I was stepping off the escalator in Nordstrom and saw a woman holding a small dog wearing a sweater over its pink fur. This woman had run into an acquaintance and greeted her, then said "And this is my son, Playboy!" while holding up the pink-furred, sweatered dog for her to see.

I did a double-take to ascertain: was she actually talking about the dog? And since I couldn't see any other person who she could possibly be referring to when mentioning her "son," I had to draw the conclusion that she was.

Hmmm. Whatever.

reason #1 why evan will NEVER AGAIN go to a birthday party or grace the seat of an unprotected shopping cart

The scene: Target, Friday evening at approximately 5:30 p.m.

The players: One (1) annoying lady with two (2) small children sitting in a shopping cart five feet away from us.

What went down: With my back turned I hear a disturbing noise, then the woman's voice saying "In the bag! In the bag! In the FRICKIN bag!" We turn around to see the older kid hurling violently into a Target bag.

We quickly turn back in horror (nothing makes me nauseous faster than hearing or seeing someone throwing up) only to hear her then say, "You can't go to a birthday party covered in throw-up!"

Um, excuse me? How about now that you're throwing up you might want to SKIP THE BIRTHDAY PARTY????? Help a mother out over here.

Oh, and by the way, this kid then proceeded to fill at least two (2) bags with his puke.

It's times like this that I wish Target featured a handy haz-mat decon chamber at the door. Yuck.

plum plum

I just got back from a quick trip to Kansas for my husband’s grandfather’s funeral. I guess it went as well as a trip to Kansas for a funeral could go, but I just want to say, if any of you out there have an almost 18 month old and want to take him on a two-hour flight followed up by a four-and-a-half hour drive: don’t. But if you do, rent a car with a DVD player so you can keep said almost 18 month old quiet with four and a half hours of the Wiggles. Then, by the end of the trip, your sister-in-law, who allegedly hates the Wiggles, will be singing the Wiggles songs nonstop even after you have exited the car (“and she looks like a sugar and a plum PLUM PLUM!!!”).

And to think I used to think DVD players in cars were a bad idea.