Home Again, Home Again

Not only did we schlep tons of baby stuff with us when we went to my parents' house, oh no! I had to take a nasty cold along with me as well. There's nothing quite like being sick and miserable during the holidays--the good news is that I was home with the people I love all around me; the bad news is that I looked bad, felt worse, and worried constantly about Kates or someone else getting sick. Ahhh, yes, illness . . . the gift that keeps on giving and giving.

But now we are home again (my cold is almost gone!), and if I thought the car was full when we went down, it was overflowing when we came back up. Visibility was zero out the back window, the cords were straining on the car-top carrier, and we were wedged in amongst presents, bags, pillows, and all the other detritrus of travel. Kates did remarkably well though (thanks to sleeping most of the way)!

For the rest of this week it's picking up the pieces of regular life again--grocery shopping, figuring out menus, scaling mountain ranges of laundry--and beginning to plan for Christmas. But for the most part, I will turn Christmas over to my honey, who has been nagging me to let him put up the decorations for several months now. (I swear that eggnog flows in his veins and his heart beats to the tune of "Jingle Bells!") I love Christmas, but Steven LOVES Christmas!

Tomorrow he will have Kates for the day, and I've given him free rein to go Christmas crazy. Who knows what I will come home to? But hey, it's the coming home again that matters.

Schlepping

It's over several rivers, through the woods and down the interstate to Grandma's house we go, but I never realized how much stuff our wee one will make us lug:

a changing table pad, disinfectant wipes, diapers, wet wipes,
and a diaper champ (to deal with the diapers afterwards, you don't want to know!),
a pack-n-play, a bouncy seat/swing,
formula, gas drops, bottles, bottle brush, bottle drying rack

bathtub, towels, washcloths, body wash, shampoo, brush, lotion
toys, blankets, clothes, 2 diaper bags (!), monitors
stroller, car seat, lullaby cds, tummy-time mat, baby bjorn carrier
and probably a few other things that I've forgotten

For once I will not be the person who packs the most! Oh no, that honor will go to my daughter, who though she has not yet reached the advanced age of 6 months, has the power to take over our entire vehicle and necessitate our first car-top carrier.

It would just be easier to take her entire nursery with us; tear it off of the back of the house, put it on a trailer, and haul that sorry sucker everywhere we go for we are pretty darn close to that already.

The next thing you know, we will be moving into . . . minivan land!

Just so we can schlep more stuff.

Ranting Ahead

Oh the vexation of it all! If I had acted in such a fashion, if my mother would have let me live, I surely would have regretted my actions.

A patron snapped his fingers at me to get me to come over to his computer and reset his time. I couldn't believe it--he snapped his fingers at me like I was his dog or his slave or something!

Must not say something pithy & pointed or slap stupidity out of him, I thought. Would only end up hurting my hand for he is just a vaccuous git who is full of rudeness & little else.

Would it have killed him to drag his sorry self out of his chair and walk the two feet over to my station and ask for more time? I took a moment to calm down and asked him to not snap at me in the future as I found it to be rather rude. I pride myself on how I peacefully reset his computer and let it go. But . . . oh my, it's a good thing that I am not friends with any ninjas.

Whatever happened to people treating you the way they wish to be treated? Mean people suck, and stupid people should be kept on a short leash as they are a danger to themselves and others.

Many thanks to Gallery One for the fabulous copy of James C. Christensen's "Poofy Guy on a Short Leash!"

Thanks, I Think

When Kates was born neither Steven nor I could figure out whom she looked like. Our standard response when people asked us was, "She just looks like a baby." We had no clue! But of course it doesn't help when we are both tall, both have dark hair that tends to be wavy, both have big noses and even bigger smiles, both wear glasses, and both have hazel eyes. (When we were dating in college, some people thought we were brother and sister. Swell.)

But now, that she's almost 4 months old, people don't really hesitate anymore when saying that Kates looks like me. It's weird--part of me is flattered and part of me is frightened. When people suggested that she looked like Steven I was hurt, but now that they say almost unanimously that she looks like me I tend to think, Oh my poor child. How crazy is that?

But the worst thing is that my mother's curse has come true in mountain-loads full: "May you have a child just like you were!" Run away if your parent ever so dooms you by saying anything similar to that! Kates definitely has my personality/temperament; she is as sunny as a summer day is long in Alaska, but heavens above she can pitch a fit if life isn't treating her in the way she deserves.

(It's not a coincidence that two of her nicknames are "Princess" and "Madam" as in "How may we serve your every need today and care for your every whim, Madam?") Oy. But already it's scary how much I love her even when she is vexing me beyond belief. God has so blessed me with this beautiful strong willful charming girl who my parents, while trying to stifle their fearsome laughter, keep telling me is "just like you were when you were a baby."

I'd like to apologize for my snarky teenage years, but I think it's too late for all those bratty times. Don't worry though, I see it coming right back at me down the road in a horribly familiar form of justice for my parents. I guess having a grandbaby can be the greatest revenge of all.