This is Yogi’s very favorite farm animal. We got the farm from a friend and in the set there are two sheep. One with fro and one without. Yogi has NO interest in the bald sheep. Fro sheep however has major appeal. Major “shove him directly in the mouth” appeal. As you can see from the picture on the bottom right, he is not interested in every farm animal with a fro. The cow is oddly not tasty. There are many things I will never understand.
A PICTURE OF YOURSELF
I’ve decided to take this in the oddball image direction. I’m having a strange day and only strange pictures will do.
This is a shot of me and Z celebrating how good it truly is to be a gangsta. 😉 Yeah…. we were really silly that weekend. This is also my very best mean face. Gotta work on that. T and Z met my now wife during this crazy trip.
We gathered lots of baby photos for our wedding reception and I’ve been looking through them lately for little hints of Yogi in my wife’s baby face.
This is one of my favorites of my wife’s pictures.
And here is further evidence that I have ALWAYS been a girly girl and I have always wanted a baby. Oh how I loved that hat. I can still remember it.
Watching the little guy learn new things is mostly exciting, but it can also be frustrating.
His latest trick? Pulling his bib off his neck. In case I haven’t mentioned this here, my son was a St. Bernard in his last life. Surely. It is the only way to explain the unbelievable amount of drool that he produces. He has been this drooly since maybe the first month and in spite of what everyone says when the drooling becomes apparent to them, there is not a tooth in sight. I really think I’m right on the money with the St. Bernard thing.
At any rate, a drooly baby who loves to pull his bib right off as soon as you put it on is a wet baby. I can only replace the bib so many times and I think it just eggs him on anyway. The “putting the bib back on” game is not nearly as entertaining for me as it seems to be for him. So when he starts in on the bib I’ve just decided to let it go. It means lots of clothes changes as the front of his shirt now functions as a bib, but what can you do?
what they put in Pampers Baby Dry diapers that keeps your baby dry for 12 hours? This morning at 6 o’clock I found out. What you see in the picture above is the relatively tiny amount of weird, puffed material that was left behind after I cleaned up the shell of the diaper that remained, bathed Yogi and threw his pj’s and sleep sack in the washer.
Somehow the front layer of the diaper disconnected from the back layer and left behind it’s snowy innards. Everywhere. When I unzipped the sleep sack Yogi was swimming in it. A lovely way to start the day.
I think we might both be losing our minds. Yesterday we had our first big crossing-state-lines adventure sans Yogi and although we lived to tell about it, the whole things smacks of a serious loss of brain cells. Here’s the story.
Last night my cousin got married. This was a wedding that we definitely wanted to attend, but with travel falling on every other weekend during the month of December, we decided to give the boy a break and leave him at home with my wife’s parents who drove in from still another state to help us out. In light of the fact that we were leaving Yogi at home, we wanted to make the trip as quick as possible. Our “as quick as possible” plan looked like this:
- Leave home around noon on Saturday
- Drive to the 6 o clock wedding, changing clothes in the hotel room my parents had gotten before hand
- Attend wedding
- Attend reception
- Visit with family and eat cake
- Drive back home in order to make Yogi’s usual 3 o clock feeding
We encountered our first hurdle between steps #1 and #2 when I called my Mom to let her know that we would be arriving early. Go us! The call went something like this:
Me: “Hi Mom, we’re about 30 minutes outside of CITY NAME. Are you guys at the hotel?”
Mom: “You’re where?”
Me:We’re getting close to CITY NAME”
Mom: “Oh my word honey, the wedding is in CITY NAME 90 MILES SOUTH!”
I have no excuse for this. I don’t know what happened. I do know that when I got the invitation, I decided to put it directly in the recycling bc I knew I wasn’t going to do anything further with it. In spite of the fact that this cousin lives in our city and we have seen her on a number of occasions during the last few months and discussed this wedding with her at some length, we both got the location all wrong. I have no idea. None.
By the time we get our bearings and start heading in the right direction we have just enough time. Just enough time means speeding and no time for changing clothes. Or at least no time for changing clothes anywhere but in the car. So, in the passenger seat I manage to do the following:
- Apply full make-up
- Remove jeans, t-shirt, bra and socks
- Put on strapless bra and wrangle my way into spanx (lovely)
- Slide on dress and manage zipper
- Shove my feet into heels
Once I am dressed, we pull the car over to the side of the road where I get behind the wheel and my wife gets changed into pants and a button-down shirt (this detail will be important later). We drive into the church parking lot at 5:57. Shezam!
Then there was the wedding. This is getting long, so just the highlights:
- The first reading was the Genesis Adam and Eve story. Love that.
- The sermon included five separate references to marriage as a covenant between a man and a woman. Love that even more.
- The crux of the sermon was that something unexpected would happen when you put Christ at the center of your marriage. The minister spoke of this unexpectedness in a way that I’m sure he intended to sound like it would be a good thing, but instead sounded vaguely unsettling. Maybe that was just me.
The reception was 30 miles from the church (30 miles in the away from home direction) at the local Elk’s Lodge so my wife decided to pump while I drove. While I drove my parents called no less than three times to make sure we were still behind them. Love that too. Between the ceremony debrief, the pump management and the phone ringing we were ready to get out of the car for the reception. Apparently my wife was a little TOO ready.
This became obvious when we walked into the reception, greeted the bride and groom with hugs and were met with frank shock. Somehow my totally together wife walked into the Elk’s lodge with her shirt unbuttoned to the waist. Because of her coat, no one had noticed on the walk in, but once inside it was pretty hard to miss. She recovered pretty quickly, but man that was a surprise.
The rest of the reception was pretty tame by comparison, but I never did get comfortable with the huge looming elks mounted in every room. Kind of a strange setting for a celebration if you ask me, but nobody did. Keeping in step with the Deep South-ness of the whole thing, there was tons of food, lots of liquor and Budweiser and more discussion of hunting season than seemed reasonable for a wedding reception. The minister sat at the table next to ours and I kept wanting to ask if his frequent references to “Christian” marriage throughout the ceremony was a new qualifier added in since the gays have been trying so hard to get into the game or if it’s always been that way. I honestly wanted to know this, but I couldn’t think of a way to ask.
Although I had arrived at the reception with my own Glad-ware (when in Rome, right?) for one very specific reason, we didn’t make it to the cake cutting. My wife’s mother loves wedding cake and we thought it would be fun to bring some back to her, but the clock was ticking and we had to get back on the road.
The trip home was relatively uneventful. The final surprise nudity moment of the night came in a gas station where we were once again changing clothes and due to my considerable public bathroom phobia, I had suggested that we change in the open space so that we could avoid the “jammed up with a toilet in a tiny stall” clothes changing experience. I knew it was a risk, but it was late and I didn’t really care. I also thought we had gotten pretty good at changing clothes quickly. I’m sure you’ve guessed that we weren’t quite fast enough and we managed to surprise some poor soul in the middle of nowhere Mississippi who just needed to use the bathroom and who ultimately decided that it just wasn’t worth it.
Six hours, two cups of coffee, one Diet Mountain Dew and lots of music later, we were home. Yogi had just finished his bottle.
That is the big question around here. Well, it’s a big question for me. My wife thinks that astrology is silly. Of course, she’s a Capricorn so she would think that. 😉
But….. all of this is a question bc my wife also thinks that the baby will be early. We’ve read that IVF babies tend to come early and we’ve also read that women who exercise throughout their pregnancy tend to delivery early. By early, we’re not talking premature, we’re talking earlier than their non-IVF and non-exercising peers. Full term (which I think is 37 weeks), but not necessarily 40 weeks. So, perhaps Bean will be an early bird. I (of course) don’t have any idea.
Since becoming aware of this early possibility, we’ve also learned that 34 weeks seems to be something of a magic marker. Bake your baby for 34 weeks and although they may need some intervention, they are likely to be just fine. Now that we are safely in the 33rd week (so close to the magic marker) and it is consistently hot as hell, my wife is feeling pretty ready for this baby.
Our due date is September 2, so I’ve been getting myself ready for a Virgo. My best friend is a Virgo, so I feel like I have some sense of what I might be getting myself into. Of course, if we have an early bird (at least before August 23) we will have a Leo. A Leo! I don’t even know a Leo.
I did find these images that illustrate our options:
Early Bird Bean:
Given our personalities, we might do best with a Leo. We could use a little lion around here. Actually, bc it’s fun, I’ll include info about us.
Me. I could only find an image that included the good side/bad side for me.
For the last three years we have rented our house from a couple who I originally viewed as characters (as in – Wow, she’s a character) and now view as regular, old-fashioned crazy. Their status changed last summer when the police showed up on my doorstep with notice (in quadruplicate) that the house I was living in with my hoping-to-be-pregnant-soon wife was IN FORECLOSURE. Wha??? I should say that we were still in character status until we delivered the notice to their front door and was greeted with total denial (AKA lying). Crazy #1, while never making any eye contact, informed us that the house wasn’t really in foreclosure, that this was all some kind of complicated clerical error. She went on to tell us (which we certainly didn’t ask), that they had been behind on one payment and that check was in the mail right this moment. Right this moment. Right…… of course. One late payment. That makes all kinds of sense. I’m sure that the sheriff’s department shows up at people homes when they are two weeks late on a mortgage payment. Neither of us were interested in the details of their financial lives, but we did need to know if we needed to be looking for somewhere else to live. Crazy #1 informed us that we did not. Crazy #2 doesn’t talk. I don’t think he’s allowed to.
Fast forward to yesterday.
The po-po was back on my front porch. In fact, it was the same officer as last time. It seems that the house is once again in foreclosure. This is much less of a scare than it was last time as we will be moving next month and the hearing isn’t scheduled until August. Whew! In fact, the notice was actually welcome this time around as it offered us a higher-stakes way to get in touch with Crazy #1 who has been failing to return phone calls or answer her front door since last Wednesday (EIGHT days ago) when our AC went out. After delivering the notice to her mailbox last night (no response to the doorbell in spite of both cars on the street and lights on throughout the house) the phone rang this morning and it was Crazy #1! We should have air in this joint by the end of the week.
Not sure what’s up with the sarcasm….
Check out this article from the New York Times. It’s called The High Price of Being a Gay Couple. Fun.
I’ve been tagged by Schroedinger. The game? Share 10 random facts about myself and then tag 10 other bloggers so they can join the share-fest. Ok, here goes:
- I read Shel Silverstein poetry at my elementary school talent show. Yeah, I was just that cool.
- I could eat pizza (particularly Mellow Mushroom pizza) every day for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy. This is not an exaggeration.
- I spent my college summers working in a tractor parts distribution warehouse. I drove a forklift. Myself. I’m certified.
- I have a shameful love for reality television. My favorites? The Bachelor (how horrifying is that?), Project Runway, America’s Top Model (gasp!), and Big Brother. If cornered, I would probably tell you that these shows fascinate me bc I’m a psychologist and people are my business, but it’s really just that eating Quakes on the couch watching weirdos on TV is my kind of relaxation.
- Gender and how/what people think about god fascinate me.
- I can count on one hand the number of times I have gone to bed without washing my face. I don’t really know what that’s about, but I just can’t NOT do it. Drunk, sick, bone-tired? I’ll still be clean and moisturized before my head hits the pillow.
- I’m an only child who was always aware of the fact that I wasn’t supposed to be an only child. My Mom had health problems. A very peculiar kind of pressure.
- At any given moment, I am reading at least three books.
- I’m an Aquarius.
- I’ve always wanted to be a red-head, but my hair is brown.
- Tylenol Severe Cold can only be taken every six hours
- It is very hard to finalize a rental agreement more than two months before you will actually be moving
- Teaching is quite difficult without the aid of your voice and with only your weak miming abilities as back up
- (Attempting) to sleep on the couch in an effort to avoid making your wife sick is not the ideal way to get a good nights sleep yourself
- Keeping your mother in the know as it relates to potential rental opportunities is maddening when your mother believes that Craigslist is nothing more than a nest of scam-eager vipers
- It is looking like I have gained more weight during the course of this pregnancy than my wife has