Comments you just shouldn't say on face.book:
-Congratulations on a live birth!
-You're pregnant? Who's the father?
-You can't love your husband that much, not the way you talk to him when you're drunk.
-Great picture! But half your boob is showing.
-Great picture! You're so full of it.
-That is so not a cute baby.
-So he's your husband, not the one I saw in that other picture on so and so's page.
-You really eat that stuff?
-Your fake bake turned your skin orange. Stop doing that.
-Meet a guy and make a family, I'm sick of seeing pictures of your dogs.
I am so going down. Facebook can be lovely but some of the things people say are so ridiculous. It feels good to purge/unfriend and focus on the people I want to hear from, unfortunately I can't unfriend my SIL who always brags about her ___-year marriage and how they are still very much in love, but case in point bullet #3. Makes my skin crawl. She's not nice.
Sigh. Just some ranting on a Sunday morning, my loud niece is in the other room, we get to watch her today while her dad visits my FIL in the hospital.
I am in a mood today! Good morning.
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Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Restart
And just like that, the Julian calendar resets to greet another January. Usually this begins the post-holiday renewals, the brand spankin' new gym memberships and gym clothes, the stupid lists of resolutions that fall by the wayside along with the gym card in two weeks, the need to do things "different this year" and restart and recharge the soul.
But not around here. We're too busy for that.
My father in law had a stroke on Dec 15. We were all on edge wondering if he was going to make it, as he teetered on the edge of consciousness given his cocktail of pharmaceuticals upon arriving to the hospital unconscious. Understandably, it threw everyone for a loop. He's strong, drives all the time, loves to laugh, and hell he's only 74 years young. Holiday plans were tousled, and even pipe dream holiday plans went out to sea (my company gave everyone a mandatory vacation after Christmas and I thought it might be nice to take the baby for a road trip. Meh. But my BIL's family kept their Tahoe plans quite intact, even having the nerve to facebook about how relaxing it was to be in the snow and looking at the blue water, while my other BIL's family was separated on the day. Double meh.).
Wannabe dad's family surprisingly pulled together, his stepmom's kids were and still are a huge help, especially as they muck through funny finances and iffy insurance policies. After three straight days of researching nursing homes in the area, they finally picked four, because you have to have backups in case the first three either don't have space, don't have space for long-term patients, smell funny, or are understaffed, as my FIL was on the brink of discharge. Brink, as in, find something fast because the hospital is discharging him TODAY and he can't go home. He was released to one near our home, which incidentally and probably somewhat purposefully is the same one my going-on-97 grandmother has been residing for the past three years. My aunts are with her all the time and have tips for newbies like us.
And so begins the rehab and therapy. We hope he doesn't have a heart attack in his condition, as he's had three prior attacks and each one has left his heart just that much less workable. The internets, if you're reading this, please keep my FIL in your thoughts and send positive, healthy vibes to us for a speedy recovery. For all his stubbornness and insecurity, his newest grandson needs his abuelito.
***
In other news, LR has started gingerly walking through the house. It is so wonderful to watch. He spent months on his hands and knees, scampering through wafting dog hair as he crawled from here to there. His head is getting big, as I hold up t-shirts thinking they'll fit him, he screams as he tries to writhe away from the collar coming closer to his big nog and yikes, it's too small. Oh oops, that's a 6-9 month size. Toss aside. And he decides he'd rather roll over while he's on the changing table with a half-off diaper full of poo, so that takes some maneuvering of legs and sock-covered feet. He's thriving and healthy, a little on the skinny side, and hairy like someone in this family who doesn't write regularly in this blog. He has full conversations with us as we look at each other with what-the-heck-is-he-saying expressions on our faces. The other day I swore he said "Well, what are you going to dooooo?" He walks to the door to greet us when we come home (the dog always beats him to us -- darn). He kisses his stuffed toys, the air, our open mouths, the dog's leg, "Mah!!" He drops food on the floor. He hates cheese. He figured out not to eat the banana peel but the yummy stuff inside.
My heart is full. And I had to lose two babies to have this.
***
In the last month several people have asked if we're going to have another. Of course we will. Just not at the moment, or 9 months from now. I'd like to savor this special time with my boy, we can save the chaos for a year or more. That way we'll at least have some help. He can carry the diaper bag. I say all this under the assumption that my eggs make it down the necessary tubes at the right time and are still receptive to their spermy partners. Damn that lazy cervix, it really complicates things.
***
Wannabe dad said something funny the other day: You cook a lot more now than before. I laughed, saying I had no choice, we have no money to eat out. I'm no great cook, but thankfully most of what I make is edible and lately the stove has decided not to burn my dishes.
***
We never made it to the cemetery on Christmas or days near. Life got in the way. That day we hosted the family party (my side) since one family went to Disneyland, one family had a new baby, one aunt is single and it's too much work for one person, and one family's house is too full already (think hoarders). So our little home was packed with cousins and aunts who came late but showed up with fried fish; uncles, the quiet one and the one on a cell phone for an hour; sparkly scary Christmas sweaters; a gift exchange that included two snuggies, mysteriously won by the mother of the contributor; flying wrapping paper from my kid and my cousin's wife's sister's kid and my cousin's new baby girl, who wannabe dad almost didn't give back after holding her for an hour; turkey, salty ham, roast beef that leaked a sea of fat in my oven; a fake tree, a real tree, wine, and too many desserts that stayed even after the tree went back in the box.
Not to mention, wannabe dad's lack of sleep schedule given his hospital visits. We do need to visit the girls so I can wish them happy holidays and continue with my scrubbing project. Soon.
But not around here. We're too busy for that.
My father in law had a stroke on Dec 15. We were all on edge wondering if he was going to make it, as he teetered on the edge of consciousness given his cocktail of pharmaceuticals upon arriving to the hospital unconscious. Understandably, it threw everyone for a loop. He's strong, drives all the time, loves to laugh, and hell he's only 74 years young. Holiday plans were tousled, and even pipe dream holiday plans went out to sea (my company gave everyone a mandatory vacation after Christmas and I thought it might be nice to take the baby for a road trip. Meh. But my BIL's family kept their Tahoe plans quite intact, even having the nerve to facebook about how relaxing it was to be in the snow and looking at the blue water, while my other BIL's family was separated on the day. Double meh.).
Wannabe dad's family surprisingly pulled together, his stepmom's kids were and still are a huge help, especially as they muck through funny finances and iffy insurance policies. After three straight days of researching nursing homes in the area, they finally picked four, because you have to have backups in case the first three either don't have space, don't have space for long-term patients, smell funny, or are understaffed, as my FIL was on the brink of discharge. Brink, as in, find something fast because the hospital is discharging him TODAY and he can't go home. He was released to one near our home, which incidentally and probably somewhat purposefully is the same one my going-on-97 grandmother has been residing for the past three years. My aunts are with her all the time and have tips for newbies like us.
And so begins the rehab and therapy. We hope he doesn't have a heart attack in his condition, as he's had three prior attacks and each one has left his heart just that much less workable. The internets, if you're reading this, please keep my FIL in your thoughts and send positive, healthy vibes to us for a speedy recovery. For all his stubbornness and insecurity, his newest grandson needs his abuelito.
***
In other news, LR has started gingerly walking through the house. It is so wonderful to watch. He spent months on his hands and knees, scampering through wafting dog hair as he crawled from here to there. His head is getting big, as I hold up t-shirts thinking they'll fit him, he screams as he tries to writhe away from the collar coming closer to his big nog and yikes, it's too small. Oh oops, that's a 6-9 month size. Toss aside. And he decides he'd rather roll over while he's on the changing table with a half-off diaper full of poo, so that takes some maneuvering of legs and sock-covered feet. He's thriving and healthy, a little on the skinny side, and hairy like someone in this family who doesn't write regularly in this blog. He has full conversations with us as we look at each other with what-the-heck-is-he-saying expressions on our faces. The other day I swore he said "Well, what are you going to dooooo?" He walks to the door to greet us when we come home (the dog always beats him to us -- darn). He kisses his stuffed toys, the air, our open mouths, the dog's leg, "Mah!!" He drops food on the floor. He hates cheese. He figured out not to eat the banana peel but the yummy stuff inside.
My heart is full. And I had to lose two babies to have this.
***
In the last month several people have asked if we're going to have another. Of course we will. Just not at the moment, or 9 months from now. I'd like to savor this special time with my boy, we can save the chaos for a year or more. That way we'll at least have some help. He can carry the diaper bag. I say all this under the assumption that my eggs make it down the necessary tubes at the right time and are still receptive to their spermy partners. Damn that lazy cervix, it really complicates things.
***
Wannabe dad said something funny the other day: You cook a lot more now than before. I laughed, saying I had no choice, we have no money to eat out. I'm no great cook, but thankfully most of what I make is edible and lately the stove has decided not to burn my dishes.
***
We never made it to the cemetery on Christmas or days near. Life got in the way. That day we hosted the family party (my side) since one family went to Disneyland, one family had a new baby, one aunt is single and it's too much work for one person, and one family's house is too full already (think hoarders). So our little home was packed with cousins and aunts who came late but showed up with fried fish; uncles, the quiet one and the one on a cell phone for an hour; sparkly scary Christmas sweaters; a gift exchange that included two snuggies, mysteriously won by the mother of the contributor; flying wrapping paper from my kid and my cousin's wife's sister's kid and my cousin's new baby girl, who wannabe dad almost didn't give back after holding her for an hour; turkey, salty ham, roast beef that leaked a sea of fat in my oven; a fake tree, a real tree, wine, and too many desserts that stayed even after the tree went back in the box.
Not to mention, wannabe dad's lack of sleep schedule given his hospital visits. We do need to visit the girls so I can wish them happy holidays and continue with my scrubbing project. Soon.
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