Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Dear show, thank you for ruining my life

Dudes. I got nothin'.

My darling sister and Adventures in Cooking have both been breathing down my neck to write another entry, but the last couple of weeks were one long blur of suck and then busyness, and now more suck. It's like 800 degrees here with 146% humidity, and my brain feels like this looks, except half-melted:

Wedding shower on Saturday. I consumed more sugar in those two hours than I normally do in a year. Woke up with a headache on Sunday, and now it's sweltering, and there's no way I'm getting on the elliptical anytime this week. I feel gross and worthless. Maybe I will start jogging outside at night.

Wait, no. No, I won't.

2.0 is more like 2.0 x 108 (too bad I didn't name her 3.0 because then she'd be the speed of light, and I am such a dork). I'm obsessed with her weight and length because I have never seen a baby grow so fast. It's almost obscene. She's about 17 pounds and 26 inches now. As big as Grace was around 7 or 8 months. I do not feed her Sprite and doughnuts, I swear.

I watched the finale of Lost. Now, I figured it would be a letdown. A show that great just can't have a satisfying finale. It's pretty much impossible. But oh my gosh, people. I can't even tell you how irritating this was.

It was so schmaltzy and argh. And schmaltzy. Did I mention that? Because it was. I expect better from you, show.

For most of the episode, I was pretty sure we were looking at a Rambaldi device, which would have been annoying, but not as lame as what it really was, which I'm still not sure of. Have you ever been talking about something and suddenly realized you were running off at the mouth, and you let your sentence just trail off aimlessly because you didn't know where it was going anyway? That was the finale of Lost. I think the writers were all drunk and got tired.

And then the scene in the church at the end. Oh my gosh. What annoyed me the most--and I know this is stupid--was the stained-glass window. A cross, a moon and star, a star of David, and a bunch of other Major World Religion symbols. It was so ridiculously heavy-handed I wanted to barf.

So, we took our mower to the hardware store to get repaired. It's always been broken. One of the wheels likes to come off, and James has to stop and kick it back on. It adds more than a few minutes to the job.

It's now been a week and a half, and they're still not done with it. Meanwhile, our lawn looks like something out of Little House on the Prairie. I'm afraid to go play in the yard with Grace because I'm pretty sure I'd lose her. Soon, the neighbors will start complaining. Too bad Shirtless Yardwork Neighbor Man is no longer around to mow our lawn when it gets too long.

We need a new car seat. The Enormous One is not going to fit into hers much longer unless she stops eating (hah!). It needs to be a convertible, easy to install without LATCH, and rear-facing up to a pretty high weight. Also, it must not exceed the value of the child who will be sitting in it. Otherwise, I'll just sell her to the highest bidder and buy myself a cute little sports car.

I am running out of shows to watch on Netflix while I feed the rabid beast. I started Torchwood and was intrigued, but it's not really clicking with me. Any suggestions?

I would like to read while feeding the baby, but I find it difficult to hold her and a book at the same time.

We started weaning her from the swaddle tonight. It was so hot in her room. I left one arm out. Hopefully we don't wake at three in the morning to an enraged, naked baby. Few things are less pleasant.

Remember earlier how I talked about trailing off at the end of a sentence because you realize you're rambling on about nothing? Yeah, that's what I'm doing. So now I'll stop.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Next haircut will be The Schrute

I am dying. Of a cold. The Spawn had it for a day and are now just fine. Me, though, I feel like my face is about to come off. Even my teeth hurt.

The good news is that, since it hurts so much to chew, I've lost a little weight.

Speaking of The Spawn, The Child got a haircut a few days ago. The last one went really well, and she had the cutest little bob with bangs. She fussed and squirmed a little bit, but not enough to screw up the haircut.

Then it grew out. My sister pointed out the Lloyd Christmasness of it while she was here visiting last week. As hilarious as I think this is, I decided it was probably time to get another haircut. So Jeremy took her on Tuesday evening. By himself. I was not there.

(have I mentioned that she recently switched sides from Team Daddy to Team Mama?)

They were back much, much sooner than expected. And her hair... Oh, her hair. It's not really that bad, I suppose. Especially considering how three of the four haircuts I've given her have turned out. But her bangs are crooked, and instead of the little layered bob, she now has something close to a bowl cut. With little extra-long wisps behind the ears.

Totally not the stylist's fault, I should add (though we can take her back to get it fixed for free). James said Grace wouldn't hold still, and screamed, and tried to climb up his body, and chanted "donedonedonedonedonedonedone" the entire ten minutes. Next time we're both going.

So now she looks like Lloyd Christmas got caught in a combine.

My sister! Came to visit last weekend! And now I have nothing to live for!

Okay, that's not true. And I'm not just saying that because I know she reads this. But I need to find a new Big Thing to look forward to. I don't need much excitement in life, but I feel so aimless when there isn't a Big Thing off in the distance.

Anyway, she and my brother (both lunatics, if you ask me) ran a marathon. On purpose.

I might think they're lunatics, but I still think it's pretty awesome. Go siblings! I will cheer you from the comfy underachiever's chair over here.

James has been picking up the slack for the last day and half since I got sick. I get nasty colds, but they're not usually this bad. I think it's that I haven't been sleeping since Emmy got here.

It's not her fault. I won't tell you how well she sleeps, since all you other mothers will want to kill me, but it's long enough that I could get more than enough sleep every night. It's the same thing I did when Grace first arrived: spend all day paying attention to a needy human incapable of irrational thought, and after bedtime, there's not way you're wasting those precious hours by sleeping. Geez.

I always regret it the next morning. Especially when I wake up wishing to be decapitated. Like yesterday and today. No pseudoephedrine, since it can affect milk supply, so I'm left without any means of relief. Except for the neti pot that James got me a few months ago. The thing is amazing, people. Sure, it's only temporary relief, but it's wonderful. I could sleep with one of those glued to my face, except that I would probably drown. They need to make something that flushes your entire sinus system. It would be amazing.

I discovered that Netflix has the entire Office series on its website. Guess what I've been doing for the last day and a half while wishing to die. Yes, watching a lot of The Office. Also, I tend to have really, really weird dreams when I'm sick. You can perhaps imagine what kind of fresh new horrors my subconscious has invented that involve beets, Toby's dead eyes, and Dwight's cousin Mose.

On that note, I need to go back to sleep again. I'd like to be able to go to church tomorrow.