The End of an Era

All good things must come to an end, as they say. And so that is how on the 22nd of July in the year 2011 I said goodbye to my dear, dear friend the jet ski. I think back fondly to the day I first laid eyes upon the yellow, pink, and purple Seadoo. What an ugly piece of shit, I believe, are the words that first entered my mind. It was a majestic machine that evoked memories of days long past with its 80s-style graphics. As if it were a time machine I found myself back in my early childhood, wearing four pairs of socks in alternating (neon) colors and my hair so crimped it practically broke right off if you touched it.

It was so much more than just a machine that had the potential for flying across the water at high(ish) rates of speed. And it was so much more than just a fond reminder of my youth. It was an intricate piece that kept the far right corner and upper left corner of the garage together. It was a constant source of inspiration for not only me but for my darling, Marcus, as well. For me, the jet ski was a metaphor for my life: slowly getting older but still yearning to feel young and vibrant. For Marcus, the jet ski was a battle he would not lose. He would not let this jet ski down and he would fix it. Once. And. For. All.

So, it came to pass that one day Marcus did just that. He fixed it. And it ran. For longer than 20 minutes.

I soon found myself standing in the driveway watching Marcus drive out of sight, towing the jet ski behind him. Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered all of our good times. Where would I go from here? What could possibly take the place of my beloved? As I turned to head back in I found my answer. The arcade game “Ivan Stewart’s Off Road” sat, beckoning me from the far reaches of the garage with its blue painters tape holding the mother board in place and truly inspired 80s computer graphics. Ah, yes! How could I forget? The very first thing that followed Marcus home after we were married and which, in turn, was the very first thing of his that I despised. I had put so much time and energy into my relationship with the jet ski that I had practically forgotten about “ISOR*.”  I feel as if I have come full circle. 

*Quick side note: After typing that acronym I can’t help but be amused by the fact that it can be pronounced as “eye sore”.

So long, sucker!

Alex's Second Embarrassing Blog Post

It turns out my precious baby has a penchant for pooping near the pulpit. The Spirit of the Lord moves her. Christ compels her!

That’s all I’ve got.

While this episode was different from Grandma’s it was entertaining in its own right. Sunday morning came and as per usual I found myself rushing around, trying to be ready in time for the 10:00 service. Marcus also wanted to walk so we needed to be out the door with enough time to walk the 15 minutes it takes to get there. Before we left I had the foresight to grab Alex’s diaper bag. To be honest, I almost didn’t bring it but remembered a recent church adventure that required Marcus to leave and change her. If it hadn’t been for that I would have left it at home because, I thought, what could happen in a hour?

At some point during the service Alex fell asleep in my arms which eventually turned into my arms falling asleep so I passed her off to Marcus. Ha! As luck would have it I did so just in the nick of time because shortly after all hell broke loose in her diaper and there was no way we could get by without changing her. As my motto goes “Whoever felt it deals with it” so Marcus soon left with a fully clothed baby and diaper. Quite some time later, which should have been my first clue something was amiss, he returned and I watched in shock as he walked up the aisle with a half-naked baby who was looking rather pleased with herself. Of course.

So, lessons learned here? 1. Always bring a diaper bag regardless of how long you plan on being gone. 2. Leave a spare onesie (or two) in the diaper bag so that you don’t find yourself holding a naked baby in church. In the end we arrived at church in our Sunday best and left wearing nothing but our birthday suit. And yes, we walked the whole way home with a naked baby basking in the morning glow of the sun.

Silence of the Lambies

Is it weird that while I'm putting lotion on Alex I say to her in my mommy voice "It puts the lotion on the skin?"

4th of July Weekend a.k.a. the Weekend the Jet Ski Moved From One Corner of the Garage to the Other

I know you all have been waiting with bated breath to hear about the latest adventures of the jet ski.  Marcus proved me wrong during Memorial Day weekend when he ended up taking the jet ski out to the water where it ran for roughly 20 minutes.  I asked my darling husband when he's just going to give up on this.  In my opinion, which doesn't really stand for much since I know jack about jet skis, out of all the pieces of crap he's collected over the years this one is probably the biggest piece of crap.  Anyway, the jet ski is back at the house and this time it's been put to good use as a magnet for other crap.  If you'll note it did move from one side of the garage to the other so that's promising; it's just a few more inches from being out the garage door.  In the meantime I'll continue taking pictures of it's movement throughout the garage and documenting it's running time.  So far, for the summer of 2011, it's been moved once and ran for 20 minutes.  I think we're off to a good start!

Nope, no water over here either

 

My Frenemy the Cat

When I first got Lasagna my goal was to make her the best cat on earth. Of course the requirements for what makes a “best cat” are relative but for me it is a cat who sits contentedly on your lap and doesn’t go all stranger-danger when someone new enters the house. I thought the best way to make Lasagna into this type of cat required two things: 1. Force her to sit on my lap and love my love and, 2. Make sure as many people as possible handled her when they came to visit. The first one backfired on me and I think it’s because there is such a thing as “too much love.” Still, some will disagree with me and say that the reason she isn’t a lap cat is because I dressed her up in ridiculous outfits. You say tomato I say tomatoh so let’s just agree to disagree. (On a side note how many whimsical phrases can I fit in one sentence? Roughly 2.)

The point I’m trying to make is that Lasagna did not turn out to be my ideal “best cat.” On one hand she is very friendly. She loves being around people and enjoys sitting somewhere close-by provided you don’t touch her. Another thing she does that I find endearing is she allows children to come juuussst close enough before casually getting up and moving a bit farther out of reach. Instead of running as far away as possible she plays a little game with them and seems to be as interested in them as they are in her. Finally, one last thing I like about Lasagna is that I have never seen her act aggressively towards anybody. Except for me.

Lasagna hates her some Lauren. I have known for some time now that she prefers Marcus over me and I have come to accept that. However, her preference for Marcus and dislike for me has turned into what can only be described as an assassination attempt on her part to be rid of the b*tch that stands between her and her man. For the last few months my days and nights have been spent trying to quietly go about my business and avoid making eye contact with the cat for fear that she may off me at the slightest provocation. I’ve found that by moving slowly I can avoid any confrontation. Unfortunately for me there is little time in my day for moving slowly.

Assassination attempts have been occurring more frequently and, as any good assassin would, she has the element of surprise playing in her favor. Being a small cat allows her to hide and crouch in places not in my line of view. Having pointy teeth and claws also helps as does my resistance towards going to jail for animal cruelty.

If you haven’t lived through an assassination attempt I assure you it is no laughing matter. With one wrong move the fight for my life begins as she hurls her tiny, yet freakishly strong, body into my legs while shouting her war cry. I desperately seek a place to run and hide but by turning my back to her I leave myself vulnerable and she goes for my Achilles heel in an attempt to incapacitate me and finish the job. I fall to the ground in a heap of panic and tears yelling out for help from the man who supposedly devoted his life to me when we said our vows. As she makes her attempts to rip my jugular out I hear Marcus say “What do you want me to do about it?” I begin to wonder if he’s in on it, too? Has she used her cat wiles to seduce him into thinking life would be better without the ol’ ball and chain? Surely not, for if I were gone who would clean her litter box? I shudder to think what horrible plans they have made for life after me.

Then suddenly, much like the attack began, the attack ends and I watch the time bomb that is my cat retreat into another room. I painfully crawl into the nearest room and close the door mindful to lock it in case she’s grown opposable thumbs and figured out how to open doors. I quickly scribble out an SOS and send it sliding out, under the door hoping that Marcus will find it and rescue me (assuming, of course, that he isn’t in on it). A minute later the same note is sent back to me with one, long, bloodied whisker. She’s waiting. As darkness falls I cry myself to sleep hoping and praying that I will live to see the daylight again.





I wake up to a stream of light flooding the room. It’s quiet in the house as I cautiously unlock the door and peer out. No Lasagna. I make my way downstairs and warily begin making coffee when suddenly. She’s there. Rubbing against my legs purring and meowing pitifully for her breakfast. I look down at her and she looks back up with her big, green eyes seeming to ask for a little scratch behind the ears. I oblige and then make my way to the pantry to get her food. It seems like all is well and we are once again friends. As I happily scoop up her food into her bowl I turn, just in time to see her go running away with the butcher knife.

Just come a leetttle closer

I will murderz u

Diary Entry # 2

Day 107 Under Dictator Rule:  We have come to accept our fate and live a somewhat peaceful existence.  We no longer think back fondly to the days of yore and rather focus on the days ahead.  Alexandra the Great has loosened her miniature grip on us and is allowing for longer stretches of sleep.  For quite some time her beauty rest consisted of 4 hours which, we happily accepted as it was, indeed, better than 2 hour stretches.  With that being said she must have been in a particularly benevolent mood Saturday night because she slept for 7.5 hours and last night slept for 8.  Dare we get our hopes up that this will last?  Could this be a change in Alexandra the Great that might take her from Evil Dictator to Compassionate and Kind Ruler?  Only time will tell.

Update (14 June 2011):  She tricked us.

Seriously?

Now that we’ve had one child the question as to when we’re having a second is being asked more and more to which I must reply, “Are you people ever satisfied?!” Alex is barely three months old and it seems others are eager for her to become a big sister.

I can’t say that Marcus and I haven’t talked about having another but while he’s 100% gung-ho to go now (that can be read in more than one way) I am a little bi-polar on the subject. There are times when I know that Alex deserves a little playmate and someone to share her life with. There are also times when I wonder how could I possibly have any more to give to another baby? It doesn’t seem fair to Alex to take away all of my attention and love. Then there are the times when I think back to the more physical aspects. I really did not enjoy being pregnant and it wasn’t because it was a difficult pregnancy. I just did not enjoy being pregnant and what came with it: The sickly feeling at the beginning, the bulging belly, the strange sensations from the kicks and hiccups, and need I mention the bathroom issues? None of those things made me excited or giddy and to this day I want to punch the woman who says she loved every aspect of her pregnancy including the getting sick part. Really? So when you were dry heaving into the toilet bowl you were laughing and giggling the whole time exclaiming “I love this!” There are two things at play here: 1. The nostalgia for having a baby is skewing your memory. 2. You’re bat-shit crazy. I digress.

The fact of the matter is while another child is definitely in the future for us I need to become one of the women I despise in order to go through it again. With that being said does anyone have any suggestions on how I can drive myself bat-shit crazy because that’s the only way this is happening.