Can I keep it??

I've been trying not to complain, because nobody likes a whiner... but I just can't stand it anymore.

It's hot. Really, really hot.

Truly, I blame my lack of activity here on the heat. I think my brain has melted into a puddle of mush, thus rendering me incapable of adult conversation.

Anyway, I do have to share what I had removed from my tire yesterday:

The real kicker? It's been there well over a week now... because I thought it was a rock. Oh--I looked for something, but never found it. Ryan too.

Even better? We drove about 75 miles North to meet the new baby on Sunday... and, yep, 75 miles back. With that thing in my tire.

You should've seen the look on the tire man's face yesterday when I asked if I could keep it. It was priceless.

P.S., wondering what IT is? A bolt... only it was stuck in my tire long enough to wear off the entire head. All you could see was the washer and the worn down end.

...and then the cops came.

Ok--not really on the cops, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind. I locked myself out yesterday.

Not a big deal--go get the extra key from the fake rock or the gutter or wherever, right?

Yea. There's a problem with that theory. There are no keys.

You see, before the gapartment was the gapartment, it was a garage. On the outside of the garage is a key-pad we used to open the garage door, through which we entered the house. When we took the mechanisms down and dry-walled over the inside of the garage door, our entrance points changed drastically.

We use the 'side' door now, which is over on the (duh) side of the garage... er--gapartment. My parents now use their front door.

Two keys exist for the front door. They reside on their respective key rings with my parents. No keys exist for the gapartment door. Instead, we use yet another key-pad installed IN the door to control the dead bolt. We're just always really careful not to lock the door handle. Always being usually, in this situation.

My parents are across the country on a trip.

You see where this is going, don't you??

So, by an unfortunate chain of events, the door wound up being locked when I closed it.

(this is where I should inform you I was wearing a dress)

(why do these things always happen when I wear dresses?)

I went about my day and figured I'd fix it when we got home. Fix it being to crawl through one of the only two windows I'd left unlocked that morning. The windows that are, oh, about five feet off the ground?

Fast forward a few hours to the middle of the afternoon. It's 85 degrees outside and we're home. Baby and mama--no one else with us.

(this is where I should inform you I'm terrified of bees)

I chose the side behind the gate, where I figured I was less likely to offend a neighbor via flashing or to be caught 'breaking in' to my own house.

Precariously perched on top of the fire pit, other foot up on our patio table, I had finally removed the screen and was trying to put the blinds up from the wrong angle (no easy task, let me tell you) when a BEE flew into my HAIR.

I lept from my perch and started screeching, running and swatting. Yes, I know these are all things *not* to do when in a confrontation with a bee, but I was panicked. (Does this remind you of anything?)

Once I was sure the bee had successfully left the building--er--hair, I moved on to a different window. As it turns out, there's a wasp nest somewhere up there near that window.

So, start over:

• Pry the screen loose. (When I was pregnant and they all made fun of me for installing the screens with the tabs facing out, I should've just left them. It's now clear that I was merely planning for my future.)
• Slide the window open.
  
• Realize I'm too short and lack the fire pit and table.
• Remember the folding chair in the back of my car.
• Climb up on the chair and ward off curious kitties.
• Attempt blind levitation.
• Climb through the window. In a dress.
  
• ...and don't knock down the fancy orchid on the window ledge.
• ...or the antique covered dish.
• ...and careful! don't get dirt on the white ottoman inside the window!

I got in, and then I had to dart back out and around the house to retrieve my (very) impatient tot from his car seat. Should it come as any surprise that I darn near forgot to unlock the door before I went out it again?

...and would you believe I actually paused to scan the neighborhood to make sure I wasn't being watched? right before I flashed my bright green undies at the world. again. different pair.

The moral of the story?

Don't lock yourself out. If you do lock yourself out, make sure the manly, husbandly type isn't at work 35 minutes away. And don't wear a dress. And stop buying green undies.

I have a problem...

You're all nodding your heads, aren't you? I don't mean issues, I mean a problem.

Standing in Target the other day, I found myself compelled to share my opinion. There was a new mom, her tiny baby and baby's grandma... trying to decide which diaper wipes to buy.

"There are a bunch of clearanced wipes over there on a shelf," I directed. They happily went over to check out the wipes, so, mission accomplished.

But why? Why do I have to interject?? I did it last week too. As I steered my cart down the baby aisle at Albertson's, I spotted a man agonizing over the diaper rash remedies. He was holding two different tubes of A&D.

Before I could stop myself, I was next to him holding a tube of Boudreaux's Butt Paste and singing its praises. Unlike the nice ladies at Target, he wasn't quite so receptive. He felt compelled to tell me he had been sent for something specific, and with that, he would leave. Probably he thought his hormonally driven wife would have 'accidentally' hit him over the head with a frying pan if he returned with the wrong product. But even that guy left with the Butt Paste in hand...

I don't get it! Where did this side of me come from? Where has it been hiding??

It's like some sort of new mommy syndrome... and I could swear it only compells me to give unsolicited advice on baby goods.

Does anyone else suffer this, ehem, issue??

...or am I just swan-diving into the shallow end of the pool again?

Did you know...?

...that peas, when consumed by an infant and consequently rubbed into every orifice on the face, will create little green pea-boogers?

...that once a baby learns to roll from his back to his tummy, he forgets how to roll from his tummy to his back? This results in one *very* disgruntled baby when mommy is in the shower and cannot rush over to assist.

...that a teething four-and-a-half month baby is capable of producing more drool than a St. Bernard?

...that baby feet are apparently too chubby for Old Navy baby flip-flops?

...that once you have a baby, your life will never, ever go according to plan? Sure, you'll think you're going to go to Old Navy and return those shoes--and to the GAP to buy replacement shoes, and you'll certainly make it to Home Depot, right? Wrong, girlfriend... so.very.wrong.


What about you? What do you know??

Oy.

Today, I feel like this woman. Let's call her Frazzled Mom.

My car is a mess, as is our precious (scant) living space. Laundry coming out my ears, dirty dishes in the sink, an empty fridge, a full trash can... need I go on??

Looking ahead, I never would have guessed this would be me. I would have denied, to the death, that I'd ever become completely over-run by my Mommy Brain. My eyes would have rolled back in my head if you had suggested, even mere months ago, that I would consistently let my gas tank drop to dangerous lows... or that I'd develop a (scary) habit of inhaling my food--insurance that my plate is clean before the baby has a chance to cry. Do you have any idea what that has the potential to do to your waistline?!

I cannot tell you exactly how, or when, I became this person. Logic tells me it happened somewhere between November 29th and, well, now? But I certainly haven't a clue when it really took place. This... this... transformation.

Never, in a million years, did I think the force would overtake me. You know the one, ladies--the overwhelming lack of ability to complete anything on time. Ever again. Even if your life depends on it. Hey, preggie friends, have I scared the bajeebers out of you yet? Sorry. Sort of.

Tell me, does it get better? Am I doomed to feel like FM for the rest of my life? Heaven help us all if I'm stuck like this forever. Heaven help Ryan, especially, who probably doesn't let a day slip by that he doesn't wonder what happened to his wife. The organized one, anyway.

The Death of my Trusty Itzbeen...

If you know me "in real life," you probably know that I'm a little bit in love with my Itzbeen. Ok, fine, I sort of live and die by what the Itzbeen says. I've got major mommy brain, and I blame that for my unnatural compulsion. It's just so... organized! and cute! and I don't have to think! Anyway...

The other day, one of the buttons went a little haywire but I could still use little Itzy... until yesterday. I changed Camden's diaper and went to push the button and the button wouldn't push. I panicked. We're talking about a nervous breakdown here, people. Because if I can't PUSH a button that says when I last changed the baby, or when he last ate, how will I know when to do these things AGAIN? and no, I'm not truly this stupid, but a constant time keeper really does help when the neurons just aren't firing like they used to!

So we hopped in the car after nap time, little Itzy in tow, and headed north to Tacoma... the location of the nearest Babies'R'Us. Thank goodness, they were willing to exchange little Itzy for a new Itzbeen. All I had to do was go and grab one from the shelf. and then all hell broke loose.

First of all, I maintain that the BRU employees are unnaturally stupid. Seriously. I've not had a successful, pleasant shopping trip to their store in ages. That's another post for another day, though, so let's just leave it with the fact that there wasn't a single Itzbeen to be found. By anyone. Believe me when I say I recruited *many* helpers.

Somehow, while I was searching the store, my Itzy magically turned into a merchandise credit for a future purchase, which is so not what I wanted (idiots) because now I don't have an Itzbeen to my name. and I feel lost. and yea, that's probably pathetic.

...and they took my batteries too. grr.