Coming soon . . .

I swear I'll blog soon, and I promise to shorten my posts. Geez, have you actually read my other ones? I mean, honestly, what was I thinking? Who has time for that length? I bored myself rereading them last night. Short, sweet, and absolutely gut-splittingly hilarious from now on, you have my word. Until then, enjoy my thoughts of the day posts.

Daddy's Birthday

The Hubs turned 33 last Friday, but it really felt more like MY birthday . . . We had our first date night since Punkies was born! My fabulous, intelligent, beautiful sister (buttering her up for future favors, though she is ALL of these things) babysat so we could go out and celebrate. I was in charge of making the reservations for dinner, so I chose a place that I knew the Hubs would love. It also just so happens that I've never been to Ruth's Chris, and since the planning was up to me, I figured why not take advantage? The true purpose of the night was to celebrate the Hubs's birthday, but given that it was my first night "out" in a long time, we decided to go all out.
I wore a dress and high heels, did my makeup and hair, and even splashed on a little perfume! I can't describe how excited I was for our night out! All day I had visions of a romantic dinner, giggling over a bottle of good red wine, sharing a sinful dessert, holding hands under the table . . . and it was absolutely everything I'd hoped for! (You were expecting some sort of snide, sarcastic comment to follow, but no, we had a wonderful time! It was absolutely perfect.) After dinner, which was by the way amazing, we headed to The Four Seasons hotel bar for a drink and to people watch. I'd never been, but the Hubs goes there frequently for business lunches and thought it might be a nice place to continue our evening. He was right. The hotel/bar/patio is beautiful, and there certainly was some seriously good people watching! Don't get me wrong, he and I have plenty to talk about and always enjoy each others' company, but for some reason we frequently find ourselves interested by what others are doing, saying, wearing, and how they're acting. If someone were to overhear our commentary, I'm not sure they'd always find it to be nice, but it sure is funny! And it's all in good fun. We certainly aren't being mean, we're just amusing ourselves at their expense . . . privately . . . so they don't know it . . . therefore there's no harm done, right?
Allow me to give you an example of our warped sense of humor from a previous hot date. It was our second anniversary, and we were vacationing in Italy. We had rented this quaint little apartment for a night in Cinque Terre, and it had a balcony that overlooked the main street. It was absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way. That night, after dinner, we decided to take a glass of wine out to the balcony. Romantic, right? But then our "people watching" began. At first it was innocent. We enjoyed seeing the locals meet at their regular spots; the elderly Italian men sitting on stoops, smoking cigarettes and commenting on the younger women that passed by, while their elderly wives sat outside of one of their homes a couple of blocks down gossiping and tsk-ing the scantly dressed bar goers as they walked by. We especially got a kick out of the old woman "cleaning her windowsill". In actuality she was scrubbing the paint off that thing as an excuse to watch over the neighborhood. Occasionally she'd frown and report the goings-on over her shoulder to her husband who was obliviously watching TV. But the real fun came a little while later, after the elders had retired for the night. That's when we saw two dogs off their leashes, with no owners in sight. We watched them for a while because they were cute, until one of them took a huge . . . ahem . . . sorry, relieved himself in the middle of the street. This was the main street, mind you, and there are very few cars but LOTS of people walking. So of course we did the only responsible thing and got out our video camera. I mean, come on, someone was bound to step in it, and our hopes were high that it would be a stumbling drunkard leaving the local bars! I am not exaggerating when I tell you that we sat out there for another two hours, laughing ourselves silly every time someone nearly hit it. At one point I had to go to the bathroom so badly, but there was NO WAY I was going to risk the inevitable poop-covered shoe that some sorry sap was about to encounter. So I held it. Until I nearly lost it when one guy missed the poo by maybe an inch only to "kick it like a football," as the Hubs described. But have no fear, he actually managed to reposition it in the perfect spot . . .without even noticing what he'd done. We were nearly hysterical at this point. (Here I will pause to remind you this was our anniversary. In Italy.) Fast forward through more of the same until finally victory was ours. A group of young girls were leaving a bar and gabbing away, clueless of their eventual demise, when one of them absolutely nailed it. I mean, we could hear the squish from our 2nd floor balcony, a block down the street. It was awesome. An amazing dinner, beautiful night on the balcony in Cinque Terre and now this; our night was complete!
So now it may make a little more sense when I tell you that the second half of the Hubs birthday night was spent sipping cocktails and discreetly whispering about the cast of characters that we saw in the bar. Some of our favorites were the two men, probably in their 60s, smoking cigars and drinking scotch who would stop all conversation to elbow each other and bite their lower lips when a girl . . .any girl . . .walked by. Then there was the woman who thought her voice was good enough to sing along with the band, loud enough that we could still hear her from the outside patio. But the real zinger came as we were leaving. We were waiting for the valet to pull up with our car when two bombshells strutted past us wearing 5 inch heals, an entire MAC store of makeup and dresses that left little to be desired. I was telling the Hubs a story at the time and found myself stumbling over my words at the same time that I realized he wasn't listening anyway. When our car pulled up, I gently lifted the birthday boy's jaw off the ground and reminded him it was time to go. As we pulled away and I finally peeled my eyes off of the barbies we'd left at the curb, I refocused my stare on my husband. I was almost too baffled to utter words, but I finally managed to say the only thing I could think of, "Did you see the boobs on those two? Who looks like that?" The Hubs chuckled and simply said, "Hookers." WHAT?!?!? I am so naive. I'd just seen real live Julia Roberts Pretty Women! And that was the icing on my cake.
After our evening of delicious food and our typical people-watching antics, we were ready to head home. It was only midnight, but we were pathetically exhausted and completely satisfied with our glorious night out. The Hubs thoroughly enjoyed his birthday and I can't tell you how much I needed that night. It was nice to have some time alone together, and it's important that we continue to have our date nights.We went home feeling like our old selves, and as we took a peek at our video monitor and saw our precious little angel sleeping soundly in her crib, we were also happy to feel like our new selves. Date nights are good, but we wouldn't trade our new status of mommy and daddy for the world.

Weekend Adventure

The Hubs and I decided to do our first weekend getaway with Punkies this past weekend. He is involved in a golf club that plays once a month, each time at a different course, around the LA area. This past weekend was at a course in Temecula, an up and coming wine region, near San Diego. Of course, with Punkies in tow, we did not partake in any wine tasting, other than enjoying our own bottle out of styrofoam cups, in our hotel room, after the little one went to bed, but I digress. The trip actually went really well! We left our house around four o'clock on Friday afternoon, which of course landed us right in the middle of rush hour traffic, but we were in good spirits and had armed ourselves with every toy and noise maker imaginable to keep the babe happy. She actually held up pretty well for a couple of hours but finally had a meltdown around 6:30, forcing us to pull off for an earlier than anticipated dinner of pizza . . . and beer. The pizza was because we were starving, and heck, it was vacation! The beer was because it took a good 25 minutes of Punkies screaming at the top of her little lungs before we found our destined dining spot, and by that point our nerves were fried. Luckily the second we removed the straps of the torture device in which the little nugget was being restrained, her carseat, she was all smiles.
The last time I ate pizza that fast, I'm pretty sure it was about 3AM and I may or may not have been heading home after a night of jovial (and innocent) Saturday night celebration with friends. I say it may or may not have been, because I honestly don't remember. Nights like those seem like a lifetime ago. Point being, the Hubs and I seriously slammed our pizza, passing Punkies back and forth between bites, trying to chew while making silly faces and sounds, all in an effort to distract her from the fact that it was her bedtime and mommy and daddy weren't even close to actually getting her to bed. As we sat back with our bulging bellies, waiting for the check, I realized we hadn't spoken to each other since deciding whether to go with vege or pepperoni and mushrooms. To be fair, that was only really 15 minutes prior, but shocking nonetheless. BUT, Punkies had made it through without a breakdown, so success was ours.
We got to the hotel around 9, quickly changed Punkies in to her jammies, I nursed her while Hubs flipped the channels in search of a good movie, and I was out to join him within no time. We'd made the excellent decision to stay at a Residence Inn, giving us the ability to put the little one to bed in one room and still be able to stay up, watch some tv and hang out in the other. It worked out perfectly! We were both totally exhausted but determined to enjoy some alone time and unwind, so we opened a bottle of wine and watched a little tube. We don't require much as far as date nights go these days, and this one was all we needed. Vacation was off to a great start!
The next morning Hubs got up early and headed off to his day of golf, while Punkies and I prepared for a day of adventure, with open hearts and minds, ready to let our hair down and be footloose and fancy free! We started our day with an exciting nap. Once that was out of the way, we went on a LONG walk through the surrounding area in search of pool diapers, so Punkies and mommy could catch some rays. Plenty of rays were caught, but they resulted in an awesome farmer's tan on mommy from all of the walking before we even got to the pool. In retrospect, this may be for the better. I'm looking a whole lot better in a tank top and yoga pants these days than in a bikini . . .so maybe it's best that I spent the majority of our day fully covered.
After finally finding a Rite Aid, purchasing the diapers and heading back to the hotel to begin our day of relaxation and lounging by the pool, I realized that we had twenty minutes before Punkies would need her next nap, and we hadn't even changed into our suits yet. Thus is life these days, and I'm excepting of it, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to get that adorable, pudgy, pale body into the pool for a dip . . . and I imagine Natalie would like to get in too. So we changed super fast, blew up the fun little baby raft that I'd purchased just for this weekend, and hightailed it down to the pool. Luckily we were the only ones there, so I had no problem exposing my post baby-hasn't-seen-the-sun-in-months bod for just the couple of seconds that it took me to enter the pool. (Nothing gets you over the initial shock of chilly pool water like wanting to hide your body in it before passers-by catch a glimpse.)
Though short, Punkies first pool experience was sweet. She spent most of it being rather confused by the water and kept looking at me for confirmation that what we were doing was safe and normal. I did get a couple of smiles out of her when I swung her back and forth and made funny noises, but to be honest I'd probably have gotten those by doing the same thing out of the water. Either way, it was a great time for mommy and the fact that Punkies didn't really have much of a reaction made daddy feel a little better about missing it. We look forward to doing it again soon, together, when she's a bit older and readier to enjoy it.
The rest of the day went smoothly and was actually quite relaxing. Pooltime lasted for all of maybe 10 minutes before she'd had enough and was ready for another nap. Luckily all the action had worn her out, so I got to lounge on the couch for an hour and a half, without having to think about all of the things I should be doing . . . laundry, vacuuming, eating, using the restroom, etc. It was a peaceful mother daughter day, and we had dinner with daddy to look forward to that evening!
The Hubs got back around 6 and Punkies and I were dressed to the nines in our Saturday night best for a hot date at The Olive Garden . . . which is where our luck with Punkies's great mood finally ran out. Our hot date turned into a game of shushing, bouncing, singing, tickling, picking up and jiggling toys, you get the point. She was at the end of her rope and did NOT appreciate us taking her out AT her bedtime for the second night in a row. The poor thing was absolutely miserable. The Hubs and I took turns walking her around the restaurant while the other scarfed down food before switching off. We came to three conclusions that night. The first is that Punkies is a real trooper, but every baby has it's limits, and we'd pushed her's too far. The second was that The Olive Garden is not as good as we remembered it to be, in fact it was absolutely disgusting, so we didn't mind having to leave half of our meals on our plates as we rushed the moaning baby out to the car. And the third is that when you're at The Olive Garden, you are NOT actually family; our families have never given us judgmental looks like the other diners gave that night. Hey, we gave it a try.
All in all is was a wonderful weekend, even relaxing at times! Sometimes it's nice to just get away for a day or two, and we hadn't done an overnight trip in a long time. In the end it gave us the confidence to know it can be done, and it's a lot more about our mindset, patience and planning than about Punkies. She's little enough to roll with the punches, and I figure we outta take advantage of that as long as we can. It may not have been the sexiest weekend, but there's nothing more romantic than teaming up with your best friend for an adventure and giggling at yourselves and your follies over a styrofoam cup of wine at the end of the day.

For My Daughter

I came across this on Twitter this morning. I LOVE it! All of us have encountered "mean girls" more times than we'd like to count. I love the message to hold your head up high, don't let meanness damage your heart, and continue to let your love and light shine onto all those you meet. I plan to teach my sweet angel to NEVER compromise herself for someone else.

Enjoy! http://thegypsymama.com/2012/04/what-i-want-my-daughter-to-know-about-the-mean-girls/

Feelin' Guilty

When I was growing up I remember we had a "cleaning lady" that came to the house once every other week. I'll never forget the scent of lemon and pine from the dusting spray and clean wood floors. A clean house smells and feels really good! I didn't think of it at the time, but I'm so glad my mom did that for herself. She had three of us to feed, entertain, transport, discipline, mend, cuddle, the list goes on. That's a lot of work! I'm proud of her for giving herself the gift of having someone else clean her house every other week so she had one less thing on her VERY long to-do list. And how cool of my dad to understand why she would want it and supporting her need to have a little help.
All of that being said, I'm feeling a little guilty right now. At this very moment, I have a wonderful cleaning lady vacuuming my bedroom. In fact, just a moment ago I actually did the feet lift that one does when someone needs to vacuum under where they're sitting. That felt incredibly lazy. I swear my days are usually very busy with the baby, and the thought of actually being able to accomplish some cleaning, let alone cleaning the entire house, is laughable. I've obviously done it, but it usually takes at least 3 days to finish because I manage to get half of a bathroom done by the time Punkies wakes from her nap. However, today is throwing me for a bit of a loop and making me feel super guilty. I think Punkies is having a growth spurt or something because she took a super long nap this morning (almost 2 hours) and is down again for a second nap that has already been another 45 minutes. Honestly this never happens! Of course it is happening today, the first time ever that the Hubs and I have hired someone to help with the cleaning. And I am actually finding myself lost for things to do . . . dare I say, even a little bored!
About midway through the first of Punkies's naps, I gave myself mental slap across the face, and said to myself, "Self, get your act together pronto! There are things you've been wanting to do and now you have the time to do them! Think . . . . what are all of the items you've been meaning to check off your list?" I decided it may help to wander aimlessly around my kitchen while I gathered my thoughts. I could shower. . . but no, I'm just going to get sweaty on a walk later. I could update Punkies's baby book. Nah, I'd rather do that over a glass of wine tonight. I could brush the cat; Lord knows that would save me from having to swiffer the floors within two days of all this beautiful cleaning. On the other hand, no thanks. Hmmmm. (Here's where I grabbed a handful of wheat thins and munched on them while I continued wasting time "thinking".) Until finally it hit me. I decided to do something that I haven't done in roughly, um, five months and 13 days. I picked up my US magazine, grabbed a diet coke from the fridge, and sprawled across my bed for some me time. It was the best 15 minutes that I've had for a LONG time. Of course by the time I finished stewing over what to do first and finally gave in to my idea of doing absolutely nothing, the baby was awake and ready to rock and roll. Oh well, it was 15 minutes more free time than I've had in ages. But it was also just enough time to make me feel absurdly guilty that someone else was cleaning my house.
I'm not sure what I'm hoping for here. I find myself searching for validation from friends, asking if they have house cleaners and crossing my fingers that they do. Though each time one of them tells me that they do, the relief is only temporary, because I can't help thinking of the olden days when women did it all! I mean, those ladies were popping out babies by the dozen, churning their own butter and washing clothes outside in a basin and then hanging them on the line to dry. How is that even possible? Have I mentioned lately that I barely find time to brush my teeth? I don't even wear underwear half the time because it's one less thing to wash. (Alright, also because I wear yoga pants every single day, and I truly believe underwear do not belong under those things. We've all seen the lines they create. Embarrassing.) I fight a daily internal battle between wanting to be a capable, earthy mom who uses cloth diapers, makes her own baby food, creates amazing tactile development toys from sand, paper towel rolls and puddy, and feeling so exhausted that I let the diapers pile on top of the pail because I haven't taken the overflowing bag out in weeks, blowing the cat hair off a pacifier for the fourth time after it's fallen on the floor because it keeps Punkies busy, and being willing to pay someone big bucks to clean my house so I don't have to do it myself. Whew, I'm worn out just writing about my internal struggles.
Yet as I sit here sipping my organic Mother's Milk tea, which tastes horrible but helps lactation, with a happy, warm, sleepy baby snoozing downstairs, the dishes from my homemade dinner drying on the rack and the smell of lemon pledge and Murphy's Oil Soap wafting through the air, I know I'm doing my best for my daughter, my husband and myself. The Hubs even reassured me tonight when he said, "Ya know, if having someone clean the house every couple of weeks gives you an hour to sit down or do something for yourself, that's worth it, because you deserve that." I'm gonna take that reassurance and keep it in my back pocket for the next time I'm feeling guilty. And though I commend the mamas from the olden days, I have to admit that I'm pretty grateful for my washer and dryer, the grocery store down the street and my fabulous cleaning lady who leaves my house smelling good and allows me to keep up to date on the latest with the Kardashians, because let's be honest, that does make me feel a little more like myself these days, and that feeling is priceless.

Bringing Sexy Back

I’m starting to feel bad for my husband. I have to think he longs for the days when I used to put on a cute, lacey nighty to go to bed. Now he’s lucky if I shave my legs once a week. Of course, he’d never actually say anything to me about it, but I swear I can see it in his eyes when he watches me step into my pair of men’s boxers and throw one of his old ratty t-shirts over my head before giving him a kiss goodnight. In my defense, I can’t help it! I just want to be comfortable, and frankly I’m too exhausted to do or be much else. The other day he took a picture of me holding our adorable five month old daughter. She was wearing an especially cute outfit, so of course we had to document it. After examining the picture he’d taken, I looked up at him and innocently asked, “Why am I always wearing yoga pants and a sports bra in all of our pictures?” To which he very gently responded, “Babe, that’s all you ever wear.” Oh yeah. I forgot.

The thing is, when I wake up in the morning I’ve got roughly 10 seconds to do whatever getting ready I intend to do for the day before Punkies (the nickname given to our daughter by her daddy) loses all patience with my selfish behavior and voices her disapproval with a loud cry. With the best of intentions of working out at some point, I put on my yoga pants, sports bra and tank top, throw my hair in a ponytail and brush on some bronzer . . . just to look alive. Then I scoop up the baby and we start our day. Problem is, I never know how long naps will be or what loops our darling little Punkies will throw my way, so it could be 5 PM before we’re able to go on our walk (i.e. my “workout” for the day). Therefore I wind up in my workout clothes all day long, finally showering after she goes to bed, only to throw on sweatpants and a tshirt, because why mess with an actual outfit if all I’m going to do is eat dinner and watch tv? I swore I’d never be like this . . .

Now the Hubs on the other hand, comes home every night looking dapper in his suit and tie, making me feel like an even bigger slob! I knew we had a problem a few nights ago when he came home and I was in the kitchen fixing dinner. I’d had a doctor appointment earlier that day, so I’d actually taken a shower, done my hair and slapped on a little makeup. (My husband may not get shaved legs outta me, but you better believe the OBGYN does . . . come on ladies, you know it’s true.) Anyway, I certainly wasn’t dressed in anything fancy. I was wearing jeans and a black shirt (dark colors hide the extra baby pounds, ya with me?). He came up behind me and kissed the back of my head and said, “Wow, you look great! Jeans, huh? Nice!” Jeans?!? Now I admit I do have some great jeans. I’m happy shopping at Old Navy, Ann Taylor, The Gap, whatever, but when it comes to jeans, I do have a thing for the designer brands. So, okay, I get it, they were nice jeans, but they’re still just jeans. Yet he specifically noticed them and was taken aback by how “great” I looked. A year ago this was a standard, everyday outfit. I only looked “great” if we were headed out on a hot date and I’d taken several hours to get myself to that point. Geez, how far have I fallen?

Now I know I’m being a little hard on myself. I did just have a baby five months ago, and I am staying home to take care of her. The Hubs does work really long hours and travels a decent amount, so I do a lot of it on my own. However, I remember specifically thinking I wouldn’t be this way. I distinctly recall a conversation with a friend after she’d had her baby. I was pregnant at the time and told her yoga pants had become my standard attire lately. I laughed and said, “Poor Hubs. I’m sure he’s loving this stage.” She looked at me with a straight face and said, “Oh, he’ll get used to it. That’s all you’ll wear from now on.” At that moment, picturing a forever life of slovenliness, I promised myself I’d ditch the yoga pants as soon as I was feeling up to it and get back into my normal, snazzy wardrobe. Here we are almost a year later and I sit writing this in those same yoga pants.

Being a mommy isn’t easy. I never thought it would be. However, I did think I’d have the same zest for looking my best no matter what. To be fair, I’ve never exactly been a sex bomb. I mean, I had a fairly long awkward stage, if we’re being honest. In fact, I joke (but am more than half serious) that my awkward stage started at age 10 and only just ended around age 23. That’s about the time that I realized I should probably attempt to be healthy and workout. I actually think it started one summer when I was between jobs and living at home with my parents. I was flat out bored and decided to go for a run, something that I’d never done voluntarily, without it being required for lacrosse practice or to quickly escape the rain. I started with one mile and within a few months had worked up to fairly regularly running half marathons. I was pretty darn fit and loving it! Having rock hard abs and lean legs was not something I was used to. Exercising and nutrition became part of my daily routine and something that really defined me for years. I was lucky enough to be able to keep up with it through my pregnancy and going on long walks and trips to the gym helped me stay super fit and feel good all throughout. I’d love to be able to continue working out like I used to and get the body and confidence back that I had before sweet Punkies came into my life, but when is there time?

I already explained how I start my mornings, but let me brief you on how our days go down. I can make it short and sweet. We nurse when she wakes up, then play for a little while before nap, nurse before nap, nurse when she wakes up, play, nurse, nap, go on a walk, nurse, nap, nurse . . . you get the picture. Somewhere in there I manage to brush my teeth, but I’m lucky if that’s before noon. Please believe me when I say, I’m not complaining. I LOVE my new job. It’s an absolute blessing to be able to spend my days with the love of my life. However, it’s certainly an adjustment, a BIG one. The Hubs and I described it as hitting a brick wall at 100mph. Nothing could have prepared me for committing my entire mind, body, and every thought to someone else. There’s nothing I’d rather do, but it’s still a big change. A big change that leaves very little time for much else, especially things like working out or getting my nails done, much less putting on eyeliner or an outfit that actually matches.

I do find that it gets easier with each passing day. I’m getting more and more used to my new job and Punkies continues to develop her unique personality, becoming more playful and making me laugh constantly. I’m also getting more familiar with her needs all the while she’s becoming more independent. The stars are aligning and I’m finding time to take care of myself a little bit. I even showered today . . . BEFORE she went to bed! In fact, the Hubs came back from a business trip tonight, and I had a homemade dinner waiting. I made a point of doing my hair, putting on some makeup and wearing jeans. I even shaved my legs. I’m feeling pretty darn good about myself today, not pre-baby sex bomb, but definitely bomb-ish. Now, if I could only get him to wake up from where he passed out on the couch and come to bed with me. I should probably seductively whisper in his ear that I’m headed to the bedroom to slip into something more comfortable. But let’s be honest, we both know what that means.