Monday, April 2, 2012

coffee and COCK at the Dust

JG and I took the kids out Saturday for a bit with intentions of hitting a playground, but we were rained out directly after lunch.  Sort of a bummer, but we did get some (always) delicious grub at Stardust lounge and met up with some fun people. We moved just north of Orlando to Sanford about five years ago, so we try to treat ourselves to a day "downtown" now and then for fresh sites and plenty of  food options. 
Stardust is a pretty hip hangout these days with a full liquor bar and vegan- friendly fare.  I first started my relationship with "The Dust" more than ten years ago.  Back when it's claim to fame was a wicked selection of VHS and DVD rentals and a killer cup of coffee.  I traded books from a single shelf of used paperbacks at the front of the shop and drank my first Orangina on a date with a guy I've maybe mentioned here once before
Over the years, the movie rental part of business must have proven less lucrative because the collection I remember browsing has turned into the backdrop to a newer hangout where healthy food and imported beers reign supreme. The one shelf of books has grown into a wall of books for sale or trade and they still sell the shit out of some Orangina. 
It's a cool place. Has been. Will be. 

But I didn't bring up Stardust because I wanted to review it and make you all jealous that you live too far away to frequent such a cool hangout.  I brought it up because while we were enjoying our lunch last weekend (as much as a group of grownups can enjoy a meal with three kids hanging about), Sam decided to mortify me by yelling the word COCK half a dozen times before finishing it up with one very demure          

"a-doodle-doo". 

Lucky for us, the joint was mostly empty tables peppered with some groups of people on laptops and notebooks who were probably in need of a little comic relief.  

Shortly after the scene, he found a tricycle and began his tour of the shop waving at strangers and honking a pretend horn. 

And pointing. 

Let's hope he doesn't break out the eff-bomb while we're at the doctor's office next week. 





Thursday, February 2, 2012

Facetime

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Hair

The hair photo was a challenge. Still figuring out my new iPad. Anyone have a suggestion for easier blogging and or posting photos from this brilliant piece of technology? I am currently posting from the blogger iPhone app.

As for the photo, it leaves little to be desired in the way of detail. The hair is a dramatic change for me. Brown bob with a long piece in the front colored yellow, pink, and light blue.

Now tell me I don't have cool shit going on.

::::::: update ::::::::
Joined a gym today. That's cool shit. Maybe I will post from the elliptical or something on Friday. Blogging from the gym is cool, I think.


Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Hello. Again.

Last weekend somebody told me that my new haircut was going to give off the illusion that I had more going on in my world than being a mom. My old haircut was good. It was newish and "current" and sorta whispered interesting. But this one. This one just screams Yeah, I'm a mom, but I do other cool shit, too. So. This is when I pick up where I left off on my last post. Momming it up still, but sharing the "other cool shit" going on in my world. Starting with this post. Hello, again.

Friday, September 23, 2011

rat race

Sam got a job.  he leaves every afternoon before I call NAP time and goes to work.  before picking up his shape-sorting bucket and heading out he kisses me good bye.  and all the pets.  the dogs both get a hug and kisses on the nose and the cat gets a quick pat and peck on the butt.  (such short salutations are due to his unpredictable nature. the children have learned to make as little contact as possible and to direct the contact as far away from his teeth and claws as it is possible). then sam shuffles, pantsless, to pick up his bucket of colored shapes and makes the long commute to the empty corner cubby in the tv cabinet.  he cheers, “luv you” before carefully tucking his toes and nose in and closing the door.

within minutes, his work is done.  I assume he is a licensed shape-sorter.  and he emerges from his cubicle- quite literally- saying “I’m home” and passing around more wet kisses than you can shake a stick at.  I don’t get that saying. does there need to be a large amount of items gathered before it’s appropriate to shake a stick at them?  or could you just shake a stick at one or two things? anyway.

if you ask him if he’s all done working and ready for his nap, he’ll shriek NOOOOO and pick up his shapes and head back to his office.  he can sometimes be coaxed out of disgruntled employee mode by offering a severance snuggle in the brown chair.  it’s his favorite place to read “one more book”.   one more meaning as many as he can carry from the shelf to the chair in two trips.

once all the books are read and then just a few more are read, it’s possibly safe to hoist the workaholic onto your hip and carry his tired boy body to his bed and away from the stresses of a longish-short minute at work and around the house.

Will work for m&ms… will sleep for nothing.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

toy story

on one of our last weekly visits to see jed's mom and dad,  a little basket was quietly pulled down from a closet and proudly presented to sam on the carpet of the living room floor.


daddy's cars.
and tractors, and trucks, and diggers, sporty cars, dragsters (is that correct?) and one very popular fire truck.

for twenty minutes we all sat around the basket full of old classic toy cars and things (Go-bots and Micro Machines, even...) and oohed and aahed while jed and sam dug around discovering forgotten gems/new trophies.

jed remembered his favorites and which were originally his brother's.  he plunged his hand into the depths of truck-heaven looking for one in particular that another sparked a memory of.  and told stories about the ones with the wheels that "ride smooth".

sam's little hands couldn't rest on just one or two.  his favorite are the ones with the little doors that open and close.  and the ones with the beds that really dump.  and when i caught him playing quietly (for once) in the sunlight this morning on his little red table- i picked up my camera and watched his little boy hands as they made the wheels go.

"daddy's cars" are once again getting their turn.  makes me happy for everyone involved.



Thursday, August 18, 2011

the last, the boobie baby.

They ask you in the hospital.  And at your obstetrician’s office while you’re peering over the giant mound that’s been your abdomen for the last few months.  You direct each answer to the top of your doctor’s head.  Strangers ask you in line at the grocery store.  Not men.  That would be weirder than weird.  And your mom-friends and neighbors all ask while they rub your bulbous belly and make predictions about the sex and weight of the karate kicking baby inside. 

Are you going to breastfeed?

Well, yes.  And then you’re sometimes asked the follow-up question, “for how long?”.  And that’s where this post, after so much nothing posted, begins.

Cadence was a ferocious eater in the beginning.  Her daddy referred to her as the baby pterodactyl during feeding time because of the dinosaur noises she’d make while she nursed.  I’ve never heard a real-live dinosaur make noise because they’re extinct now, but I imagine she hit the nail on the head.  It was awkward and I felt embarrassed quite a bit when nursing in public.  I felt fumbly and stayed home a lot until she began taking a bottle.  Like all my babies, she took in quite a bit of air.  The burps were manly and hilarious.  Often they induced hiccup fits.  The day she became aware of her hands they were all over my breasts leaving little pinches and scratches.  But that was the end of her nursing.  A hospitalizing case of food poisoning and a short bout of depression made me lose interest and she was done before her fourth month or so.  I mourned a  while, never really appreciating the health benefits or the connections we shared during those feedings.  I blame hormones and an ill-cooked turkey.

Sam and I had a rough start together.  His tongue was short and I felt like I couldn’t get him to do it “right” no matter the advice I took or the patience I mustered.  My nipples hurt for two weeks straight and I cried a lot.  Pain and hormones.  But he got it.  And I nursed him in public with more confidence than I had with Cadence.  Jed was eager to be a part of the feedings and Sam happily accepted bottles of pumped breast milk from him starting around the end of his first month.  More hungry dinosaur noises.  Lots of gas.  And reflux.  But we forged on and he only became bored with the breast around month seven.  And by that time I was enjoying only one feeding in the evenings before bed.  I was so much more appreciative of the natural food source and built-in pacifier I carried with me at all times  I wore my nursing bras under things well past his month eight, although he had become completely disinterested in nursing by then.  I had wanted to nurse for a year.

And now I have Annie.  My first boobie-baby.  I love the smile she flashes up at me when I look down at her, milk spilling from the corners of her pink bow-shaped mouth.  And this is how I know I am done having children.  When I completely ignore all the advice the books and websites give about pacifying a baby with the breast and pull out “leftie” at the dinner table just to have a sorta quiet (albeit one handed) meal.  And how I pull her close to me in the middle of the night when I hear her lips smacking for just a little suck even though I know she’s not hungry.  I cry a little to myself each time I pick her up and lift her growing body in my arms and up to my chest.  She is too long for me to nurse her in the armed chair and still too small for that huge and empty crib in the other room.  I know she is the last child because I don’t feel as sad or frustrated when she refuses bottle after bottle and holds out for me.  The reason I’ve been gone so long from the blog is that I find it  takes so much longer to type with only one hand.  But she’s the last, so I will not take for granted any second she will have me hold her and feed her with my body.

 

Just please link me to that video of the ten year old girl with the British accent still being nursed by her mum whenever she pleases if I haven’t weaned Annie by kindergarten.  Thanks and I’ll be back as soon as I can.