Finally, some good news

My house will soon be clean. Isn't that the best news you've heard all day? Well, it is for me. You see, the other day, I was minding my own business, just trying to sweep the floor. But that darn baby of mine kept getting in the way, grabbing at the broom, throwing tantrums and being a general nuisance. I tried giving him the broom. He just stood there with it, looking a little bit happier, but that didn't really make my sweeping go any faster. Then I tried letting him help me sweep, but he wasn't too into that. Then I tried taking him to toys r us and buying him his own damn broom. All I could find was this entire cleaning kit:

I'm thinking, wow, now there's a win-win situation, wouldn't you say. So, now I'm sitting back with my feet up, eating bon-bons, while my 18-month old is scrubbing grout in the bathroom. Don't tell my husband. He'd probably make him clean at night, while I am at work, and then he'll be too tired to clean during the day for me.

A New Family Member

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud to announce that I am the loving new owner of an iPod nano. Not only that, but it was a completely unexpected gift from my employer! How exciting!

Here's the deal:

I work at a law firm (ahem, where my mom is a partner *cough*) as a part time evening secretary. I work usually work from 4 to 7:30-ish. I have worked there since March, and I love it. It works out perfectly for us, in terms of making extra money and not needing a babysitter. Anyway, last week, I noticed the Office Administrator and her secretary in one of the conference rooms, with the door shut, but the blinds on the window open. It was after 7 and very few people were left in the office. I noticed that they had little gift bags spread out all over the table. I wondered what they were up to. I figured it was something for the upcoming holidays. I asked one of the attorneys if she knew anything about it. She said that she thought it was the holiday gift. She said that they usually give everyone a pointsetta, but this year she overheard that they were doing something different. She didn't know what--just something different. I assumed that whatever the new gift was, it would be on par with a pointsetta. So, when I got the all-staff email about the meeting at 3 pm on Monday, I contemplated skipping it and just catching up later, when I got to work at 4. Then everyone started encouraging me to come. "It's OK, you can bring the baby." So, I ended up coming to the "party" and Chris ended up getting out of work early because it's a really slow week for him.


One of the partners starts out the meeting by saying that this year was their 15-year anniversary. They never expected the firm would grow so much and that they would end up with so many exceptional employees (there are around 40 employees now, from 5 originally). They wanted to get everyone something nice to thank us for being so wonderful. So, they got everybody a 4GB iPod nano. Oh, and also a commerative silver box with the company's name on it. I thought that was really cool!


I have to admit that I don't know a great deal about iPods. I just knew that I couldn't really afford one, so I kept my distance so as not to be tempted. This one is really cool. It's teeny tiny. It is the same size as that picture, and maybe an eighth of an inch thick. It only took me four hours last night to get a few songs onto it (because I'm slow, not because it's difficult). Anyway, that's my latest excitement. I guess it's time to go write some thank-you notes.

Are you there Blog? It's me, Kristi.

Dear Blog,

I want to apologize for being so reticent as of late, and so remiss in coming to you. But, don't you see, Blog? It's times like these that I need you most! I know, I know, if I look at the internet history tracks in the sand, I will most likely see that this is the time that you carried me. But it doesn't always feel like that. No siree. And perhaps I don't deserve it. I've been a Blog sinner. I have coveted thy neighbors Blog. I have taken the Blog's name in vain. I have also killed, but that is a different story altogether--a story for the Blog, don't you see? So, Blog, here I am apologizing to you. Asking you to keep me in your good graces. Have faith in me, Blog, and I won't let you down.

Remember, Blog is love.

Yours,

Kristi

I am the eye in the sky

I've have this sneaking suspicion that someone who seemed completely uninterested in my not-secret-but-not-widely-publicized blog has, in fact, been reading my blog. And I don't know why, but it kind of bothers me. I mean, it would be one thing if he read it and acknowledged that he read it, but it's another thing altogether to read it on the sly, pretend like you're not reading it, then bring up a topic from my blog like it's just been on your mind.

It's not like these things couldn't be on his mind as well, but it's just the way he says them. We generally have different ways of talking, and when you turn a phrase in a way that you usually wouldn't, and in a way that would be a DIRECT QUOTE from my blog, well, I just can't help but wonder. So...let this just be a little warning. I'm on to you, Seaton. I'm on to you.

P.S. I love you. Stop secretly reading my blog. It makes me feel dirty (as in UNCLEAN).

Gratuitous Baby Pictures

Because he's so damn cute...

Also, now just know that this is very unlike me because I'm a CUBS FAN (unlike a certain someone who happens to be married to me). But, you know, play offs don't really happen too often in Chicago, so, OK, Go Sox. There. I said it. Go and do your baseball thing.

Inquiring minds want to know...

I don't fully understand; what does this MEAN??

They're a lot like people, only more so.

For those not in the know, it's a line from the Berenstein Bears cartoon theme song. I mean, what do I tell Eric when he gets old enough to wonder what it means himself? Forgive me if, once again, I just don't get it.

Oh, the bitter, bitter irony

Have you ever noticed that at the store, the birth control and pregnancy tests are all neatly stocked in the same place? I guess it makes sense on one level, but on another level, if we could've found the damn condoms in the first place, we wouldn't be looking for pregnancy tests, now would we? Why rub it in? I personally think it's somebody's sick little joke.

The Woman at the Rock Show

A couple nights ago, Chris and I went to the Weezer/Foo Fighters concert (which was awesome, by the way). It felt like we were the oldest people there (well, except, of course, for the band members themselves). Luckily for me, Chris is five years older, so I knew that I, personally, was not the oldest person in the crowd. The guys sitting behind us were *maybe* 16 and kept talking about "the Weeze" like they were old friends of the band. These boys were in diapers when Weezer's Blue Album came out. That alone nearly put me over the edge.

When I think of Weezer, and the Blue Album in particular, I am taken back to a much simpler time in my life. A time when I was in HS and my greatest care in the world was whether or not the boy I had a huge crush on knew that I existed. My friends and I called this boy (who was a big Weezer fan, hence the connection) "Hank." I can't even remember his real name, but due to my friend Erica's tendancy to loudly and accidentally talk about my crushes within earshot of them, he was ONLY to be referred to as "Hank." Obviously, judging by the fact that I can no longer remember his real name, I did not ever end up dating this chap. But, I still admire the way he got a black eye from crowd surfing at the Weezer concert. That's real devotion. Devotion that the boys sitting behind me thought they had, but didn't, judging by the fact that they were sitting in the last aisle in the arena, rather than crowd surfing down on the floor.

Anyway, after a while, I realized that Chris and I were far from the oldest people there. In fact, the more I looked around, the more old people I saw. Most of them were chaperoning their children, whose diapers they were changing as Weezer was suggesting that they looked *just like* Buddy Holly and/or Mary Tyler Moore. Hmmm...I wonder if Hank was there?

The funniest simile I've ever heard at Church

"Happiness is like wetting your pants. Others can see it, but only you can feel it's warmth."

I just don't get it.

As a small "reward" for working the past two weekends, and one upcoming weekend, Chris took today off. I thought, "Oh, that'll be nice. We can go do something fun with Eric, as a family." Wrong. When he first got up, he did suggest an excursion to the Northwest Cutlery, to get his knives sharpened. Either that fell by the wayside, or it's in the works for this afternoon--I'm not sure which (although, mind you, I still have to work this afternoon, so it likely no longer includes me...whatever). Anyway, so far the majority of Chris' day off has been spent in the bathroom--and not becuase he's sick or anything like that. He just keeps going in the bathroom for at least 45 minutes, presumably to read the book that sitting in there, and to escape any sort of dad duties that might arise were he out of the bathroom.

I think he got out of bed around 9. It's now quarter to 1, and he's spent at least two hours in the bathroom, probably more. The whole morning went to pot. (har har) Why is the bathroom a black hole for men? Like I said, I just don't get it.

Dr. Strangelove

One of the major downfalls to becoming hooked on blogging is that I have recently spent A LOT of time reading other people's blogs. People I know, people I know only through the internet, and people I don't know from Adam (except, I know Adam--hi Adam). It seems like I've come across a huge pool of bloggers who have nothing but interesting things to write about, and they all write the most fascinating, funny, witty, poignant observations about random randomness. I have to admit, I'm a little intimidated by this. I think of something that I want to write about and then I think, no, that's not important. I've been doubting myself, and hence, avoiding my blog. But, tonight I finally realized that it's MY blog. Who cares if what I write isn't important/fascinating/funny/witty/poignant? So, that's that. I'm going to learn to stop worrying and love the blog.

Why don't you just rip my heart out while you're at it?

Today started out like your average Tuesday. We got up, had some breakfast, played, watched some Sesame Street and ran to the grocery store to pick up a few things. That's where things went horribly, HORRIBLY awry.

Because I am, like, the LUCKIEST woman alive, my local supermarket just so happens to have a branch of my bank nuzzled gently into the corner of its confines. I didn't plan it that way--it just happened. This means that I get to do my banking and my grocery shopping in one fell swoop, which, with a toddler in tow, is absolute unadulterated heaven on earth. Perhaps the best thing about it, though, is that although there are people on staff who can answer your questions and open accounts for you, all of the actual transactions must take place through the ATM. The joy of this, for me, is that I don't need to have unnecessary human interactions or wait in obnoxious lines. I just whip out my little card, push a couple of buttons, and I'm good to go. Whoever thought of this is a god in my book. I mean, she is just one tiny step below the person who invented the Visa Check Card.

While we're on the subject of the Visa Check Card, let me just mention to you my new mantra: "Cash? Who needs it!" At any given time, I'm lucky if I have $1.12 on me. I use that damn card for everything. I only feel bad for the cute little kids standing outside the grocery store selling candy bars for Cub Scouts. I used to be a sucker for those damn kids, but now I have to blow them off because they don't take plastic (just give that a couple years, though).

OK, back to my horrific story. This morning, in a moment of apparent delirium, I forgot to remove my precious debit card from the ATM when I was finished making my deposit. I didn't realize this until 15 minutes later when I went to purchase my groceries. Thank god there was no one in line behind me because I literally dumped my purse out onto the conveyor belt looking for my baby. But, alas, it was nowhere to be found. For a moment I went into panic mode--how am I going to pay for my groceries! Then I remembered the emergency credit card. With a heavy heart, I broke that bad boy out.

I then went over to the banking area and explained that I had just used the ATM but could no longer find my card. I asked if anybody had turned in a dropped card. No. "Does the ATM keep the card if you forget to take it out?" I ask the girl. She stares at me blankly. Then a guy comes out from the back. She explains what I just told her and the guy says, "Oh, if you forget to take your card, the ATM keeps it." OK, this should be simple--open up the ATM, look in the left behind card compartment, and give me my card back. Apparently they can't do that. WHAT GOOD ARE THESE PEOPLE? DON'T THEY KNOW THAT MY LIVELIHOOD IS AT STAKE?????

The guy then says, "Well, if you're sure you don't have the card, we'll just get you a new one." Oh thank god, now this man is talking some sense. They bring up my account in the system and the guy says, "There are three cards showing up--do you know what the last 4 digits on your card were?" I'm practically hyperventilating--can't you ask me a less important question? "I'm not sure," I say, "Can't you look at the name the card is issued to? And by the way, there should only be two cards on the account." "Well, there are three and they're all issued to you." First of all, WHAT??? Second of all, clearly only one of them has ever been used, so that's the one. We get it all figured out and then he drops the bomb. "Great, you'll get your new card in five to seven business days! Have a good one!"

Excuse me? Have a good one??? Did you not notice the myriad $3 to $5 charges on my account? Do you not know how my life depends on this card? I haven't felt this helpless since I was all but shoved out the door of the hospital with a one-and-a-half-day-old baby in my arms. "Good luck with the kid! We're sorry about that thing where we insisted that you would have to spend the night tonight and then revoked that offer at 7 pm and promptly sent two strapping men to your room to pack your bags and physically remove you from the premises! Have a good one! Oh! Don't forget your stool softener!"

How am I going to survive the next 5-to-7 business days?? Oh no! Am I going to have to go to the actual bank? Please say it isn't so! This is terrible, just terrible! Oh my god--what if I actually had to write a check, IN PUBLIC? How horrifying would that be? What if people saw me? Would they whisper behind my back? "What on earth is that woman doing? Doesn't she know she's holding up the line? Poor thing...she's stuck in the '90s! "

I might as well just crawl into a hole and die. I'm suddenly reminded of one of my favorite movie quotes of all time (from My Girl): "Get outta here! And don't come back for five to seven days!"

Hip Hop Has Blown My Mind

Curling my birthday hair.

Letting my birthday hair down.

Letting my birthday hair swallow my birthday neck.

Wearing my pink birthday dress.

Rockin' the Casbah Since 1979

Donning my birthday tiara, fresh out of my birthday shower!

Kinda Pleasantly Satanic

Because last night's blog (and most others from the past few weeks, for that matter) sounded, well, depressing, here's an update to say that I am having a kick ass birthday. I went shopping with Eric this morning and found an outfit that a) I love and b) actually fits! As an added bonus, there were very few screech monkey noises coming from my offspring during the shopping excursion. I also found my Ike Reilly cd a little while ago, and popped that in. It really takes me back to a time when I used to be a lot cooler than I am now. Other than that, I'm pretty much just determined to have a fun day, and it's working. Yay!

On this, the eve of the twelfth day of September

I sit here and I reflect upon my life and the fact that tomorrow will mark the completion of my 26th year of it. If you had asked me a few years ago what I thought I would be like on my 26th birthday, I'm pretty sure the description I would have given you would be vastly different than the reality of today. First off, I probably would not have predicted that I would be a mother. In fact there are still some days when I wake up and it surprises me, despite the fact that my baby is 16 months old. Although, the role of "mother" has become deeply ingrained in me. Today, I went shopping with some birthday money I got over the weekend. All in all, I would say it was a pretty successful shopping trip. I bought a pair of shoes, a pair of pajamas, a pair of pants and a backpack--all for Eric. Oh, I got myself a cup of Starbucks.

I never would have guessed that my birthday would prove to be such a depressing event for me. Well, I suppose depressing is really the wrong word. It's more that it is no longer a big deal, where it used to be something I really looked forward to. I would start reminding people months ahead of time. I would have an idea of what I wanted to do to celebrate. I would make a list of things that I wanted as gifts. Now I feel like I couldn't care less. I want to do something to celebrate my birthday, but I don't know what. Everything I think of just sounds like more of a chore than it's worth. Due to poor planning, I didn't do anything with my friends this weekend--just my parents. I figured I could celebrate with the friends next weekend, but I just found out that my parents are going out of town and can't babysit. The weekend after that is another friend's birthday.

Oh yeah, that's the other thing. From August 29-October 30, six of my very close friends have birthdays. There are also several less-close friends who have birthdays in there too, and I may or may not get invited to celebrate those as well. I have a very limited window of time in which to celebrate my b-day before it's somebody else's turn. In the past two years, I've taken to convincing myself that all of my friends are pretty overwhelmed with birthdays this time of year, so no one will really care/notice if I don't do anything to celebrate. But they do notice and then complain that I'm not doing anything. If it bothers them so much, why don't they throw me a damn party? Then all of our problems are solved!

OK, now I am getting depressed. Better quit while I'm ahead. Happy birthday to me. Yay.

Hmmm...my birthday would probably be better if I had this get-up:

Why I Love Chris

Because when I randomly make my stuffed cat meow at him, instead of looking at me like I'm out of my fucking gourd, he says, "We can't go swimming now, Garfield. We just ate!" What a perfectly random way to respond to your wife's insane behavior! Love and craziness... It just doesn't get any better than that.

Meow.

The battle of who could care less

The avocado green patterned linoleum in our kitchen is grayed from a layer of dirt that needs to be wiped away. If the sun is coming through our kitchen window just right, you can see a myriad of darker, even dirtier spots around the refrigerator where someone has carelessly poured a glass of iced tea and sloshed it out of the cup. There are piles here and there of goldfish crackers or teddy grahams which were dropped over the side of the highchair, forgotten, then stepped on. The dishes pile high in the sink, unrinsed and sticky. There is an overflow pile on the counter next to the sink. The stove is covered in crumbs and spills. The kitchen table is covered in clutter--various things that just don't have a home for whatever reason. The white counters--what you can see of them, at least--have sticky brown rings here and there, presumable from the iced tea that also was sloshed onto the floor.

Walk down the hallway to the bathroom and you might notice dust bunnies and various crumbs piling up along the baseboard. Turn into the bathroom and you will once again be regaled with loveliness. It doesn't take a very thorough inspection of the pink and gray atrocity to notice little heaps of white toothpaste crusted in the pink sink or the little piles of splashed shaving gel dried onto the pink vanity. Luckily, though, the piles of sticky goo make for an excellent way to catch all the pesky stray hairs that meander about in a bathroom. The mirror, you will notice, has been splashed up to a foot above the sink, and also has streaks from where someone wiped steam off of it with a towel. The bathroom only gets worse from there.

Step into the master bedroom and you will be greeted by heaping piles of laundry. Some here, some there. Some in baskets, some on the floor, some piled on top of the dressers. Good luck determining which of it is clean and which is dirty. The bed is unmade and the sheets twisted and pulling off one side of the bed. The carpeting is just begging to be vacuumed, as is the rest of the carpeting in the house.

In the living room you will find a wide array of brightly colored toys strewn about. It's not a good place to take a stroll in the dark. The dining room table is piled with more random clutter which, much like the kitchen clutter, has no defined home. Everything in the room could used to be dusted. The two large, empty baskets which are turned on their side were once filled with the afore mentioned toys. It would probably take 4 minutes to make the dining/living room presentable, but why?

The last part of the chaotic mess is in the office. Just imagine more sticky, crumb covered surfaces; large, dark spills on the rug and futon; pretzel crumbs and salt lining the futon cushion; and more toys randomly spread across the room.

What I have just described to you, ladies and gentlemen, is what my house would look like if I were to go on a cleaning strike and left my husband to take care of the chores. Why is it that he is oblivious to filth? How is that fair? For just once in my life, I would like to be the one who cares less. But I can't bring myself to live in the inevitable squalor that would arise.

Last night I went on the kind of cleaning spree that would make Martha Stewart shed a tear of joy. As such I am proud to say that the above description of my house is far from accurate (thank god). It is not unheard of for my house to reach that state, but it's cyclical. The house gets a really good cleaning maybe once every four months. In between those power cleaning sessions, the house gets cleaned at least weekly, but less and less fanatically with each passing cleaning. By the time I reach that four month mark, "cleaning" amounts to kicking all like things into their own piles--toys in this corner, shoes in that corner, etc. Then, one night, like last night, I break down and scrub things meticulously from usually around 9 pm until 2-3 am. Each time I do that, I think to myself that if I just made sure everything was thoroughly cleaned nightly before I went to bed, I wouldn't have to spend six hours doing it all somewhere down the road. And for the first week or so, my house stays really clean. Then it all starts going to hell because it's exhausting being the only one who cares. This is why I implore of my single readers that if and when you are considering marrying someone, take a good and careful look around their humble abode. If his/her cleaning standards are not up to snuff, then ask yourself how you feel about becoming his/her personal maid til death due you part.

And breathe...just breathe

Ahhhhhhhhh. That's a sigh of relief. Relief that Millie has departed, not to return to Christmas (it's OK, I didn't want to have a pleasant holiday anyway). As soon as I knew she was on her plane back to her far-off land, my body untensed a little bit. I'm still reeling from her visit, so now, 3 days later, I still have some residual tension. I truly believe that everything she said and did to me was designed to be some test of how far she could push me, and how much control she could exert over me. She won't take no for an answer, and she doesn't listen to reasoning.

For instance, Chris will be going on a business trip in November, most likely to LA. He doesn't know the exact details yet, but it will probably be a 3 day trip, in which he will be working day and night for all 3 days. Millie tells me, "Oh, you should go with him! It would be like a second honeymoon for you guys!" I told her that when I first heard about it, I was jealous and wanted to go too, but it wasn't going to be a good idea. "Oh, nonsense, it will be great! I really think you NEED to go." I explain that Chris will be working all day and all night. "Well, that's fine. You can do your own thing during the day and then the two of you can go out for nice dinners at night." "But Chris will be working at night," I reiterate. "Oh, he probably won't work that late. You really need to go with him. You need to get away. What weekend is it? I can probably come in and watch Eric for you. YOU NEED TO GO."

I tried my damndest to make it very clear to her that I would not be going on this trip, but she just wasn't listening. As we were saying our goodbyes, Chris says, "We'll see you at Christmas!" She replies, "Oh, no, before that! I'm going to come in November so I can watch Eric while you guys go out of town!" Argh.

Honestly, that little episode was the least of my worries last week, but it just highlights her personality. It was a long week, and I'm glad it's over. I really don't want to dwell on her anymore...I just needed a little cathartic release. I'm just going to put her out of my mind until the next time I have to deal with her.

Family matters

On or about the time of my marriage to Chris, a new "friend" entered my life. Uh, let's call her Millie. You know, MILlie. Let me tell you a little bit about Millie. She is a nice lady with good intentions who happens to be passive-aggressive. She lives 2000 miles away and rarely calls us or returns our calls when we leave messages for her. She is famous for calling me at times when it is commonly known that I am not available to take calls. She will then leave messages that sound something like this: "Now, Kristi, you had better call me soon! I was just calling you because I hadn't heard from you in a long, long, long, long, long, long time and I want to know how my baby is. I would like it if YOU would call me sometime, not just Chris. OK? I'm starting to think that you don't like me and you don't want me to be part of your life. I just want to be part of Eric's life. [sniffle] I just don't want you to forget about me. [cry] You know, Eric does have TWO grandmas. [SOB] I don't think I can talk anymore. Just...I don't know. You had better call me back or else! [Gulp]" Then I will try calling her several times, leaving several messages until I eventually give up and a couple weeks later she leaves another message like that. When we do actually connect on the phone, this is how our conversation goes:

Millie: "How are you doing?"

Me: "Oh, I'm doing pretty well--keeping myself very busy. How about you?"
Millie: "Oh...me? Well, I'm just terrible--you know, the usual. [Insert 20 minutes of how bad she has it]. You should really call me more often!"

Me: "Well, Millie, as inviting as that sounds, I honestly dedicate the majority of my free time to sytematically ripping off my toenails."

Oh, wait...I don't really say that. In fact, it doesn't really matter what I say. She just says it as a pleasantry. Judging by the number of times I call and leave messages for her before she calls me back, she's really not that into talking to me.

In person, we generally get along fine. The way I describe our relationship to my friends is by saying that she is someone with whom I have very little in common and would not have ever crossed paths with were it not for the fact that we now have relatives in common. I fill her in on what's been going on for the past few months with Eric and our family, but other than that, it's a struggle to come up with things to say. She tries to be nice and helpful, but every once in a while, she'll say something that just really gets on my nerves. I think we have a bit of a power struggle wherein she feels that she has the authority to act like my mother while I don't feel that I have to take that crap from her--I already have one mother, thankyouverymuch.

I still can't tell whether it's her actual personality that gets on my nerves, or if it is her persona as Millie that gets to me. I think she has a certain image of how a MIL is supposed to act, so she acts that way. I know some things that irk me are really minor, and I shouldn't be so petty, but I just can't help it! First of all, MY child is a blend of both his mother and his father, in looks and in personality. He is not YOUR child, and he does not take 100% of his genetics from your son. I was not just some random vessel selected to carry the chosen one. Secondly, you see my baby once every three to five months, for a couple of days at a time--stop telling me what he likes and doesn't like, and that he "always" acts a certain way. And, thirdly, just know that my parents are going to buy him mostly practical gifts, at my request, for holidays, so don't waste your breath calling "dibs" on the most outlandish, overpriced pieces of crap you can find. Months ago, and then again a couple of days ago, she told me to let my parents know that SHE was going to buy him a Hummer power wheels for Christmas. I was thinking, "Uh, OK, Millie. I know my parents aren't going to spend $300 on something like that." And really, they wouldn't. It's not like they don't buy him nice gifts, but they tend to agree with me that $300 is too much for something like that. Another thing is that I know Millie really can't afford it. She just wants to buy it so that she can one-up my parents.

So, usually I just keep my mouth shut about Millie, because honestly I don't have it that bad. Mainly, I just find it fun to make an artform out of being annoyed by her. I kept my mouth shut when she caused a scene at Eric's birthday party and then stormed out. I suck it up and call her back when she leaves me messages that make me want to block her number from my cell phone. But this time, she's really gotten to me.

We found out last week, on Wednesday, that she was coming to town on Sunday (four days later). It was supposed to be a surprise, but her sister let it leak. I really find it insulting that she would come to town for a week, presumably to visit us, mainly Eric, and then not even tell us. She's staying with her sister, so I guess that takes a load off me. But, like I tell her every time I talk to her, I'm a busy person. Had I known she was coming, I would have planned for it. I wouldn't have made plans with other people. I might have even taken some time off work. The same goes for Chris, obviously. But now I just feel put out. Fuck that, I want to tell her. If it was important to her to see us or our baby, she certainly would have let us know that she would be in town. So, what can I deduce from that? It just makes me mad; I feel like the only way she can figure out how to deal with us is by hassling us.

We saw her on Sunday night. She slobblered all over the baby then handed him back to me and told me how she was sick as a dog and had been all week. "What do you have?" I asked. "Oh, first it was a cold and then it turned into the flu. I just feel miserable." Ugh. You know what...you haven't seen Eric in three months, another day or two is not going to hurt you. I mean, is it too much to ask that you be relatively germ-free before you get in my baby's face? Then she said something to the effect of how we'll have to get together during the week. OK, I'm not a complete ass, and I'm generally free during the day, until I leave for work at 3:30, so I say, "Yes of course." Then she says, "Yeah, you can just take some time off work and we'll go out some night." Uh, no...sorry. I completely forgot that this is the week that I have set aside to systematically rip off my toenails.