You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October 2009.
So the comp should be picked up today. We’ll see. THIS might be my last post for up to 30 days.
I’m so going to a Mac. Sad. I hate to make Sparky happy like that, but I can’t stand it any longer. and there is an iPhone in my future. Just shut it, Tilman. I don’t want to hear it!
In other news, we got a video baby monitor. It’s fascinating. It is supposed to let me relax and stop thinking every noise is my kid jumping out of his crib (he can’t do this yet) or tickling his feet while he sleeps to make sure he’s breathing. Only, see, I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s like the Roomba when we first got him. I spent HOURS watching the damn vacuum vacuum. Now I spend Max’s nap watching him on a video screen.
This morning Ollie found the camera. That cat is such a camera whore. any camera, anytime. Whiskers and nose. We’ll have to work with Olls and get him to understand that looking down at the camera adds ten pounds.
Oh and our water supply, you know, into our house, has been found to have a coliform bacteria. All water must now be boiled until the new UV filter system is installed which should be soon… ish. This is Germany after all. It only took a week to get the damn sink installation in the Kablooey room finished incorrectly. Anther week for them to correct the mistake. And then another week to paint and get the worktops installed. Two months for 10 square feet. I’m not bitter. Oh the glories of everyday life.
Above and beyond anything though, is that kid. Man, I just love him more and more everyday and thank my stars I get to stay at home with him. Thanks for that, Sparks. Thanks for supporting us so I can stay home. And thanks for not expecting me to cook. I might go a little batty talking to a 6 month old all the time. I might need a break around 6 pm, but I never get tired of being with him. He will need a sibling so I don’t spoil the perfect being he is right this minute. But we can wait on that one for a while.
Adios, amigos.
Ollie stop licking Max’s head…
I’m waiting for the DHL guy to come and take my comp away for it’s latest rehab issue. My computer is hooked on the junk. It’s the only explanation I have other than Vista + Sony = craptastic mess of un-uninstallable shit with a blue screen chaser. I’m thisclose to turning Mac.
This might be my last post for “Up to 30 days, Ma’am.”
I thought Max had the swine flu yesterday. It started the day before. He’s been really, really cranky which is really not like my little angel at all. Seriously, I have a pretty easy-going kid so the cranky issue followed by the not sleeping issue plus a little bit of a fever and a little cough, multiplied by the 16 articles I’ve read on the swine flu led to my correct diagnosis of the swine flu.
Wrong.
It was the drool that filled me in. That and the constant biting of everything he can get his mouth on.
Yep, teeth. The kid is teething. It only took me about four hours to get over my H1N1 scare and then another four hours of trying to help the little guy with ice chewies, frozen peas and oragel (which he hated with a capital H) before I remembered “Hey, I can give him Tylenol.”
I am a genius.
Tylenol and co-sleeping equals 12 hours of escape for Max and his ravaged little mouth.
Right now he’s eating my book and other than writing this, I’m watching Elmo and the Alphabet Jungle.
J is for Jerboa. Did you know that?
Now then, the Kablooey room is almost done. Had the plumber, who looked a lot like Vin Diesel AND bossed me around a bit, finish his part this morning. Nothing like a guy with big tools to boss me around. Me-ow.
The dry wall guy is here now fixing the large hole the plumber made. Tomorrow I hope to have it painted and then the work tops mounted and it’ll be done and all chemicals can be stored above five feet. Everyone under five feet will be safe. Over five feet and you’re on your own.
Now, for your viewing pleasure, here is Max.
I’m tired. Like bone tired. Max is keeping me up all night again.
I keep hearing Air Supply playing in my head.
“I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you…”
I have no clue how that got in there, but it’s not going away.
Max is in his crib, happily playing by himself, but wide eyed and well, happily playing.
I want to go to sleep before our midnight through 5 am lovefest where I really regret ever starting to breastfeed because Sparky gets to sleep through his nights.
I’m so tired the bags under my eyes start at my nose and work their way out.
The Kablooey room is almost done. It’s done enough that I can really screw it up if I don’t pay attention to the details, much like my grasp of the German language. Did the catholic lady have friends help her move or take off her clothes. One verb that can go very wrong. I think it might be two verbs actually, but they sound alike.
Got Scrunchy in the mail today. Ollie swiftly knocked him off the bookshelf. Thankfully his box is sealed or he’d get to know the Dyson a lot better than either one of us wanted.
I’ve got nothin. Nothing that wants to jump out of my head. Lots in there, but I can’t seem to pull anything out. Thought constipation. Will pears, peaches, plums or prunes help? A therapist? A week in the Canary islands like my physiotherapist?
Max has decided he wants my attention now. I suppose I should rush over, change his diaper and then nurse back to his 3 hour nap before we get up for the night.
Oh, what are you thinking of?
What are you thinking of?
Oh, what are you thinking of?
What are you thinking of?
I have the answer to all our problems, Sparky and mine.
Sparky drives me crazy using only half a banana. I hate the smell and the blackening peel on the counter. Nothing I say or do convinces Sparky to use the whole banana. This is a guy who can eat three plates of meat and potatoes yet cannot eat a whole banana?
I say it’s a passive aggressive thing.
He says it’s a ratio issue – muesli vs banana bits.
I then say it’s an issue for couples therapy because if he doesn’t find a way to eat the whole god damned banana, he’ll be buried with that damn half a banana.
I found the answer and it’s not 250 euros an hour.
Mini-Bananas. The best part was when Sparks asked the cost and I told him I didn’t know because why look at cost when they solved so many problems but as the baby food was only 30 euros and the whole bill was close to 130 euros, well, around 100 euro**?
Oh my god was that worth it. I wonder if he’ll eat a whole god damned banana if the alternate solution is 100 euro mini bananas?
**They were not in fact 100 euro. I just like to keep Sparky guessing.
And here’s a gratuitous Max shot.
You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have... *
My last two weeks.
We made a joke that my brother and my dad are riders of the Apocalypse because they showed up in a puff of smoke and the rest of our world kind of imploded. Some stuff I can write about and some stuff I don’t. Let’s just say my Dad REALLY wants me to move home now. So much for the romance of European Living.
Sparky picked up my father and brother from the airport on October 1st. Five miles from home the car started smoking – in through the air vents. They managed to get home and the car promptly died.
Welcome to Germany, Dad!
That was the car that could hold four adults and a kid seat.
Then our second car died.
Then the rental car died, the rental car we NEEDED to get to Frankfurt to be there when Scrunchy was put to sleep because he was in a lot of pain. His time was short and I sat there kicking a non-functioning car while my poor little cat sat in a strange hospital waiting for me.
And then Scrunch died.
A neighbor I barely know drove us, in Friday night traffic and waited for us to complete our business to drive us back. A bit of grace just when I needed it. Thank you, Uschi.
As an aside, can I just say that it cost us more to cremate Scrunchy than most of his vet bills?
My car was fixed in a day so at least we had one that worked. Not a car that we could all fit into at one time, but at least we weren’t stranded in the middle of nowhere otherwise known as our loft. Sparky would chauffeur my dad and brother to a restaurant then get Max and I so we could go out as a group. Not ideal, but at least we got to go out.
Max was, of course, an angel. His schedule was totally ignored. He went where and when we went and yet he was so flexible and easy. I don’t know how I got so lucky. I expect his first phrase to be “Hang ten, Dude.”
I was playing with him one day when he dropped his head too fast for me to react starting Guilt Fest 2009 part 465. His mouth hit my forehead and while it didn’t bleed, it left a mark on his perfect little duck lip and his tears mixed with mine. I felt like such a crappy mom.
It did however prepare me a little for today when he rolled off the bed – over the pillows that had held him in the middle before – and on to the floor. It is the first time I have ever been grateful for a bed 6 inches off the floor. He is fine. Not even a mark. Sparky and I might have had our lifespans shortened, but Max recovered with 30 seconds of snuggles and kisses.
The Kablooey room is, of course, a nightmare. Ikea delivered the wrong cabinets twice. The installation guy has rescheduled and the plumber went on vacation without telling anyone the details of our job.
But you know what? The last two weeks have either bestowed an inner knowledge upon my golden head or worn me down to the point I just don’t give a crap anymore. It’ll get done when it’s done and there ain’t nothin’ I can do to make it go faster.
I think it was the delivery of the only car the five of us could fit in at 9 pm October 12th, the night before my dad and brother left that really pushed that point home. At least we could all drive to the airport together!
Anyway, I’m recovering this week. I had a great time with both my Dad and brother, but I’m tired. Playing housekeeper, cook, mother,daughter, sister, and wife is exhausting. Thank goodness Max is there with me. We’ve spent a lot of the day snuggling and giggling in bed.
He went through a growth spurt over that two week visit and frankly, I don’t know who replaced my little baby with this long kid. He’s so big I can almost not remember him being small. Oh and that weaning thing? So not happening.
Gotta run, but here’s a little picture of the last two weeks.
I have had that damn theme song in my head for days now. It rotates with “C is for Cookie“
He was the best and the greatest. He was my sentry when I showered and would lick my hips to help me dry off. His first meal with me was spaghetti and it took me a month to realize that the light orange dot on his chin wasn’t a spaghetti stain, but his coloring.
He’s been through a lot and finally his little bod gave out.
I miss you so much, Scrunchels. Give my love to Cleo and Sig for me. They’ll be waiting for you.
Out of 15,000 women, Germany came in number one as the worst lovers because they stink.
As it is simply an odor issue, may I suggest Germans, in general, stop wearing acrylic and other man made fibers AND wear actual deodorant or, god forbid, antiperspirant.
Sparky didn’t use deodorant when I first met him. A gym rat (with a fantastic ass, an 8-pack and a hero’s chin) who showered twice a day to remove any odor and well, it didn’t always work. Sparky didn’t stink. He smelled like, well, man. Know what I mean?
Dewey, you know what I mean.
BUT, not everyone liked what I liked. So, one of the first things I did with the Sparkster when I met him was gently introduce him to my Sure and all-natural fabrics and holy shit, did that change the world. As an American, deodorant is a birth right responsibility. With Sparky, I had to finagle a bit, finesse a little. Mostly I had to fight the “it’s not natural” argument. I countered with my own “It’s not natural, but I do it” arguments. Let’s just say that trumped his argument, hands down.
(The second thing I did was introduce him to pants that didn’t advertise his religion, but that is another story for another day.)
Give ‘em a bath and a deo stick and Germans just might be on the other list. At least they are starting off ahead of the pack!
