So, there I am standing in WalMart with a palm full of vomit...

Okay, it's been printed here on more than one occasion that I have some snobby tendencies and that, in general, I don't like people.

So, if I have to go to a place like WalMart on a weekend, it's very likely that I'll do it first thing in the morning.... like when they first open -- simply so I can avoid "the element" and the frustration that they cause me. At 7:00 am the store is relatively empty and I can get in and out without wanting to open up a social services kiosk.

Look, I think people should be able to raise their kids anyway they want (within reason of course), and I'm sure that my parenting tactics may seem odd to some..... however...... if they want to tell their whining toddler to "shut the fuck up" I would prefer that I not be subjected to it -- because in my tiny little mind using that kind of language in that kind of tone is abuse and I don't want to bear witness to such behavior.

So, the 'lil man and I headed to WalMart this morning -- I needed to get the Halloween candy and a couple of other items. We got there and he was in a great mood -- he got a real kick out of running from the car to the store in the rain. He loves to smile at all the shoppers & employees -- and in someway it's nice that he's able to make their day -- because he really is enough to turn their "I'm at WalMart at 7:00am" scowl into a smile.

He's been teething something fierce the past few days -- he's cutting some really big molars and as a result, he puts everything in his mouth -- this time, it was his entire fist in an effort to let his little fingers massage his gums. Then I heard it.... poor 'lil guy gagged himself and it started to erupt. It's instinct I guess..... you cup your hand and you try to catch it...... but then what? The parenting books do not cover this..... he's startled and has vomit all done his jacket and you've only got one free hand to deal with and/or contain the mess.

In some ways, being in WalMart is a blessing -- where better than a place that sells the cleaning supplies? So, I headed for the paper towels -- and then thought "NO, Mrs Big Dubya -- use your head..... this is a job for babywipes!" I won't even start in on how I'm awed by our parents who raised us in a pre-baby wipe era...... so I went to the baby aisle and busted open a package of baby wipes. We were able to get ourselves back to a presentable condition, grabbed the candy and got back on the road home.........

Such is Saturday morning in casa Dubya....

Don't believe the hype

About a month…maybe six weeks ago…. I got an email from Aunt P – she’d gotten wind of a survey that if you filled it out, you could get a free Senseo machine.

Of course I laughed at her and told her that she’d been sold a bill of goods – those things are always a farce. Initially she thought the same thing, but upon completion of the survey, she got notification that she qualified for the free machine and that it was being shipped. Additionally, Mr. Tall Guy also qualified – his machine was also on its way. I’d had no experience with Senseo, but I’d heard great things about the Tassimo and Keurig machines – so I assumed this would be just as good….. I figured what the heck, I’ll fill out the survey too. And, for good measure – I forwarded it to the Big Dubya too.

A few days later, I had heard nothing – but the Big Dubya received notification that he qualified and that his free coffee machine had shipped. I’m not so sure what the hell is wrong with me…. Did I not answer the questions well???? Why was I the only one of the four of us that didn’t warrant a free coffee machine. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t upset – I was – but at least we were getting one…. And it was free.

It’s a very convenient and clever concept – brew just the amount of coffee you want….. fresh, when you want it – no clean up – I like it. I told the Big Dubya that if we were really pleased and found that we got good use of it – maybe we would upgrade to one of the higher-end brands (Tassimo/Keurig)….. but this would be a great way to determine whether or not this set up was for us.

Well, the Big Dubya’s coffee machine arrived with some sample coffee – let me tell you, to say that the coffee tasted like ass would be generous. I could have gotten more enjoyment out of a cup of the ‘lil Dubya’s bathwater. The Big Dubya and I assumed that it must just be that they sent us bad sample coffee….. but no, we tried other flavors…. Vienna, Cappuccino, Paris…… to put it simply they all just sucked.

I checked with Aunt P….. she said her coffee sucked too – but if you put a tea bag in, it does yield a decent cup of tea. And her machine was BLUE..... and Mr Tall Guys was BLACK..... at least ours was an inconspicuous white. I’m wondering if this is the company’s sly way of getting people to by their crap coffee….. send them a free machine in an obnoxious color and then send them out to buy all the various coffee pods in a desperate attempt to get it to produce something decent.... or at least drinkable.

I dunno….. at least it was free…. And, now I don’t feel so bad about not getting one anymore.

Give ‘em an inch, and they’ll take…….

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know – I asked for it.

A week or so ago, I was corresponding with the Big Dubya’s famous (infamous?) best-bud (known here in blogland as 39).

See, I have a theory that every “married with child(ren)” type guy has a 39 in his life. 39’s the guy who’s been with you since grade school…. seen you through thick & thin…… he’s one of the family. He’s the guy that hasn’t settled down (hell, he may never settle down), and he manages to simultaneously make you long for your "young and frisky" days while also making you really, really grateful that those days are behind you.

Anyway, 39 mentions this other guy (who I am not a fan of by the way) is having a “fire on Saturday night”… it sounds kind of dastardly I know, but I know what he means. I gently reminded him that by the time Saturday night rolls around I’ll be 35½ weeks pregnant so, although I really appreciate the info…. I’m clearly not going to partake in the festivities (despite the fact that I really do need a break) – but, hmmmmmm it might be nice to let the Big Dubya cut loose for the night. It’ll be a while before he gets the chance again, and he hasn’t seen these guys in a while…… 39 then reminds me that most wives don’t think this way…. and that my husband is a lucky guy.... I like being known as the "cool wife" -- kinda stupid, I know -- but I like being the one that is low-maintenance and reasonable.... that is, of course, until it bites me in the ass and being "low-maintenance" translates into feeling "neglected, forgotten and taken for granted".

So, at 2:00 on Saturday afternoon the Big Dubya packed his bag and headed off to his party in the woods. My only request was that he kept his cell phone on and accessible….as, I’m 35½ weeks pregnant and home alone (168.7 miles away from “the fire”) with a slightly under-the-weather 16 month old… if I need to get a hold of him in a hurry, I don’t want to be calling all over creation trying to track him down.

You knew it was going to happen (no, thankfully not labor)…. Sometime around 5:30, Granny called to ask if the Big Dubya was going to be eating dinner with them….. they were going out to eat and didn’t want to leave without him, but they also didn’t want to wait if he wasn’t coming. I had no idea what his dinner plans were…… so I called his cell phone....

YEP, I GOT VOICEMAIL!

In fairness, he was visiting his parents and cell phone coverage at Nana & Papa Dubya’s house isn’t so good – so, it’s fine that I got voicemail……. But, I got no return phone call…. There was a vague text message sometime close to 7:00 saying that he arrived safe, but I didn’t get a return phone call.

It wasn’t until 10:00am on SUNDAY that I finally heard from him.

There was no call to see how the ‘lil man was doing…..

There was no, “Hey honey, I’m about to get plowed on micro-brews and Cuban cigars…. so if you need me to come home, better say so now while I can still drive…” call

No, there was no call at all...... nothing.....

Maybe it's the hormones....... I dunno........ it's not even that I'm mad....'cuz I'm not really..... his going to the damn fire was my idea in the first place, but my feelings are pretty hurt.

Shouldn't he have wanted to check-in on us? How is it possible that even good guys fuck-up the easy stuff, huh?

What's more fun than taking your very active 16-month old son to the gynecologist?

How about finding out that your husband took the stroller out of your car (and didn't put it back of course) and realizing that you have no way to restrain the child while you are being examined.

Thank God those urine sample cups are fun to play with!

Happy Friday

It looks like it won't be us...

Yep folks, it appears that the 'liller Dubya will not be the 300 millionth American.... oh well.

The experts refer to it as "nesting"

I on the other hand, think that "freaking the fuck out" is a far better... and more accurate description.

For weeks now, I've been threatening to get all the 'lil Dubya's baby stuff out..... bassinette, bouncy seat, gender-neutral onsies & stretchy suits..... and get it all washed (in Dreft of course) and ready for the arrival of the 'liller Dubya. I asked the Big Dubya to bring the storage bins up from the basement.... and he said he would, when he had a chance.

Well, on Friday -- I went to my regularly scheduled doctor's apt and the doctor noticed my BP was slightly elevated.... no, not high -- no, not dangerous -- no, nothing to worry about..... weight was fine, labs were fine. But, given my history.... he advised that we step up to a weekly schedule and that if I find myself experiencing any type of discomfort -- I shouldn't even bother to call the office -- just go to the hospital and get hooked up to a monitor -- better safe than sorry. No problem...... I've got a BP cuff at home..... I'll keep an eye on it too.

On the ride home it occurred to me that I'm about a week away from where I was when I delivered the 'lil man...... and holy shit, nothing's done. Worse than that -- our house looks like a crime scene. If I were to go into to the hospital to deliver, people would be coming.....to visit, to help w/ the 'lil man...... they can't see this place like this.

I went home and got to work.... I took apart the swing, the bouncy seat, the car seat -- all has now been washed. I cleaned out the 'lil man's closet.... making room for the new-baby stuff that is now making it's way to the washer (my Maytag is getting a workout this weekend). I've started packing my hospital bag -- last time it was all so sudden, there was no bag packed.... and ladies, you have no idea what you'll get if you let your husband just bring you stuff when you are in the hospital........ beer tee-shirt from college was on the list!

As a result of all this panic -- we're in better shape. Don't get me wrong..... we are not "there" yet, but we're getting there.......

I did notice that the woman who just moved in across the street has a cleaning lady come.... something I've been threatening to do for years. I keep saying that I'll hire somebody as soon as I get the house clean enough to let her in to see it.......... hence, nobody's been hired yet -- but we are getting closer. I'm getting serious though, it's even on my Christmas list this year -- I'd love it if someone would just hire me a cleaning service...... Hint, Hint, Hint..... is this thing on?

A bit cranky today....

Not sure why it bothers me, but it really does.......

This morning Granny (my mother) called and got me even more aggravated than I was to begin with. She began the conversation inquiring as to whether or not the Big Dubya had returned from his business trip (the second out-of-state stint in two weeks). I let her know that he had..... then she started singing the praises of the Big Dubya..... it must have been terrible while he was gone..... he's so good, he does so much..... Gee, ya think? Yes, it's harder to manage the 'lil man on my own -- particularly because I'm 8months pregnant -- it's really just the little things that become a challenge.... bending over to give him a bath, carrying him up the stairs -- but, we managed..... lots of women do it all by themselves all the time.

Here's my question -- and probably the line of thinking that makes me an ungrateful bitch..... as, I know that my husband is probably better than most, but......

We BOTH work full-time, we BOTH have demanding jobs...... why shouldn't he do stuff around the house and why shouldn't he be partly responsible for caring for our child (soon to be children). I mean, WE BOTH agreed to buy the house..... WE BOTH prefer to live in a clean house rather than basking in our own filth..... WE BOTH agreed to have children....

But, let's get excessively picking and note my specific and deliberate word-choice here..... because I think it's telling. I didn't say that he "helps" me -- I said that he's "partly responsible" -- You see, Granny thinks that the Big Dubya "helps" me by participating in these activities.......Hmmmmmm, how is caring for OUR child or sweeping the kitchen floor of OUR house "helping" me?

I don't consider doing the weekly food shopping, paying all the bills, staying on top of all the laundry as "helping" him..... I consider it pulling my weight, doing my share of the work -- yet, when the Big Dubya manages to load the dishwasher -- Granny thinks he deserves some sort of trophy. Why is that? Why is giving the 'lil Dubya a bath or washing his bottles considered doing ME a "favor"?

Anyone able to help me see the light..... cuz, I don't get it?

What's big and awkward and can make grown business men come running?

That would be a pregnant woman going ass-over-tea-kettle in the middle of the office...... in this case, Me!

Yep, I managed to avoid falling down when I was pregnant with the 'lil man -- but I took one hell of a digger last Thursday.

It started off simply -- I was sitting at my desk and decided that I needed a red pen. I got up and made my way to the supply cabinet..... I was in our downtown office for the day, that's where the "good" supplies are kept. I selected the red pen I wanted, grabbed a new yellow highlighter for good measure and began the 50-step-walk back to where I was working.... no rocky or uneven terrain -- just industrial the carpet that you'd find in any office-building.

That's when it happened....... my foot just didn't hit the floor right..... my other foot tried in vain to compensate.... my arms flailed out to all sides looking hopelessly for something to grab onto..... there was nothing..... I was going down....... and I was going down hard.

The thoughts running through my head.... Must twist to other side, must not fall on baby....... and then there I was, laying on the ground. I had managed to avoid falling on my stomach..... in the process I beat the living shit out of both my knees, my hands and my ribs (I think from the freakish twisting-to-avoid-the-belly-motion).

I heard shrieks..... no, they weren't mine. A co-worker witnessed the tail-end of the acrobatic-display and then several others rushed from their offices to see what happened. The pain was excruciating..... but the embarrassment was oh, so much worse. I hopped up and deposited myself back into my chair -- hoping everyone would go away before I started bleeding.....

"I'm fine, I'm fine" I promised them all..... as they stood their pale and ashen. "Really, I swear.... I'm fine" and I was.....

Once everyone finally retreated to their offices, I was able to survey the damage -- skinned palms, skinned knee..... oooohhhhh the beginnings of a really, really ugly bruise. The ribs concerned me the most..... they were the closest thing to the baby..... so, I sat quietly -- and waited....... and then the baby moved and I knew that all was fine.

I think I'm gonna wrap myself in bubble-wrap for the next 6 weeks.

EEEEWWWWWW Gross!

As my stomach churned, I really wanted to stop reading..... but I just couldn't -- it just got grosser and more twisted by the minute.... and I was captivated by these sickos.

Anyway, Mr Nice Guy did it to me, so I'm doing it to you......

http://www.browardpalmbeach.com/Issues/2006-09-28/news/feature_full.html

I wanna know!

Generally, this is a Mommy-Blog..... I say generally because sometimes family/work/life issues manage to slip in. In many cases, being a mother touches these issues too -- but it's just not really the focus of this space or why I began blogging to begin with.

That being said, today's post is strictly work-related..... I don't think there's anything mommy-centric here.

I work for a big, well-respected, Fortune 500 Company -- I have I guess what could be called an upper-middle management job. When I attend meetings, I'm often the lowest man on the totem pole, but that's okay because the room is full of the "big-cheeses"..... I'm kinda satisfied that they remember my name from week to week and if I can chime in with something intelligent from time to time -- well, then all the better.

I represent my division on a huge enterprise-wide project -- and on the project I have a colleague that I'll call "Chris" for the purposes of this post. Chris is extremely well thought of -- capable, adds value to every meeting. From what I hear through the grapevine, Chris holds several masters & advanced degrees from very prestigious schools...... yeah, there's a couple of Ivy League names on the old resume.

Here's my dilemma -- I have no idea if Chris is a man or a woman.

Could be a man trying to be a woman..... could be a woman who was just cursed with very man-like attributes.... could be a woman who used to be a man...... I just can't tell. Clearly Chris' current intent is to be a woman..... Chris wears womanly patterns/colors on a very man like build..... something north of 6 feet with broad shoulders, big feet and a deep voice. Ever wonder where these people manage to find women's clothes in men's sizes?

In the grand scheme of things, I suppose it doesn't matter -- Chris is very generous to me on this particular project -- has been helpful and supportive whenever I need him/her to be..... but I find the whole ambiguity somewhat distracting. I worry about saying something insensitive..... I mean, I'm sitting there with my big old pregnant belly and wondering what goes through Chris' head when I walk in the room....

This is not something you can ask around about? I mean -- this is a big company...... HR eats this shit for breakfast..... and even if I could, how could I do it tactfully -- "Hey Mindy, is Chris a really a dude?"

I did broach the topic with one colleague -- I work with him a lot..... I knew if I was vague, he'd know what I meant and be vague right back -- so I asked him

Mrs Big Dubya: Hey Tom, Ever work with Chris?
Tom: Not directly, but..... I know who you mean
Mrs Big Dubya: Oh, I was just wondering what the background was -- seems really accomplished
Tom: Yeah, lots of qualifications -- but I don't know what Chris' story is either.... sorry.

I never realized how attached to the label "man" or "woman" that I am...... I mean, Chris is doing a terrific job -- is more than qualified.....

Why am I so damn curious?