I keep having these moments, peeps.  I’m doing okay, I’m doing okay, I’m doing okay, I’M DOING REALLY BAD THIS IS BAD, I’m doing okay.

I got two A’s on two of my make-up tests in Language Disorders and in Phonology(YAY!) but really bombed my Neurology test (BOO HISS) because I was still on the extra-strength Vicoden when I took it.  I studied for a week for that test and none of it sunk in.  I got a hideous grade.  I mean, it was a ScanTron and when I got it returned to me I saw that I had left some of the questions blank; that’s how out of it I was.

So I get to take a make-up test after class tomorrow.  The prof has been lovely enough to let me replace the grade with a new one, which he didn’t have to do and therefore rocks.  The problem is that there is a basic assumption that I have the time, skills and/or attention to study for the same test again and improve my grade.

I have not the faith in myself or my life.  I’m already exhausted and it’s 4:30 pm and the first moments of study time I’m going to get are after the baby goes to bed tonight.  This semester sucks ass.

I’d hoped that work would ease up today and that I’d have time to study and perhaps write a paper.  Instead work is ramping from “pretty busy” to “rediculous what the fuck”, and now I’m stuck floundering around like some sort of drowning wombat.

Tomorrow, by the time the test is over, I’ll be okay because it will be decided one way or the other.

Today I’m drowning.  I’m getting really sick of this shit and this semester has got to fucking end before I lose every ounce of self-respect and composure I have.

Please make a note of it.

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I yoinked this quiz from Kate. 

***You Passed 8th Grade Math***

Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Math?

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and his new shoes

This past Saturday I took Mr. Wallace to the pool for the first time.  I took it slow because, while we’d been to the splash park last summer, he’d never seen the inside of a YMCA before.

Wallace wore his carefully neutral face as we sat on the side of the pool and it became mildly concerned as we got into the water.  After a few minutes of observing the other kids play his face broke into a large smile and the ice was broken.  We were in the pool for about an hour and by the end of our visit he was practicing jumping in while holding on to my hands; practicing kicking; working on putting his head in the water; and playing catch with the other kids.

I had to take him out when his lips turned blue and he started to shiver.

Andy and I were both fish when we were little.  Both of us remember long days, cold and warm, spent swimming in the local pool or in the ocean.  There are moments when Wallace is demanding jazz music or spending time reading to himself that we get glimpses of our small selves in him.  Those moments, of course, could all be pure coincidence but there is still a sort of joy in watching your kid love something you remember loving.

I had one of those moments on Saturday. 

Then on Sunday Wallace got new shoes. We had a good weekend. How was yours?

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Replete with disgusting pictures

 This is the Big Dog.  To give you an idea of his size, he took food off our tall dining room table without stretching anything more than his neck.

This is my hand.

This is the story of what happened when the Big Dog met my hand.

You can read the rest of this post by scrolling down.  The rest of this includes icky photos and talk of things that might squick more tender sensibilities.  Seriously, only click further if you can handle gross:

Read the rest of this entry »

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Absolutely brilliant.

Click here to see!

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 As I was driving home from the store last night at 10:00 pm I picked up a follower.   I have no idea why or how, I just looked behind me and he was there.  I didn’t think anything of it until I made the third turn in the car, but at that point he turned behind me into our alleyway.

The chances he’d need to make those exact maneuvers were miniscule.  I didn’t recognize his car at all.  Unnerved, I watched him idle in the opening of the alley as I elected to roll past our garage and out the other side.

He must have known he was made because as I turned right out of the alley he turned left.  I waited for him to make another turn, wandered around our neighborhood for a moment, and made another run at the garage with a sharp eye out for a beat-up silver car.

Andy met me in the garage and we waited for a moment after I pulled in and we shut everything off.

Then the neighbor kid got home and I nearly shat my pants until we figured out the car going by was his and not a silver beater.

I think that many, if not most, women have those moments when they know that they’ve avoided something.  That by not drinking the drink the guy in the bar gave them; by not engaging the lady on the corner; by not walking back to the EL alone at 3:00 am; by asking for security company when going to the work parking garage late at night; they have avoided something that could have gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Last night, as I rolled slowly past our garage door, I was struck with the unquestionable feeling of having avoided something so bad it doesn’t bear thinking about.  I don’t like to think what might have happened if I’d have stopped.  I don’t like to think what might have been waiting for me when I got out of the car.

Remember the first lesson, ladies:  Your instincts know.  Do not question them.  Do not stop to ask whether you should REALLY be worried.  If you shouldn’t really be worried the very worst you risk is embarrassment.  If you should be worried and you ignore your instincts the consequences don’t bear thinking about. 

Listen to yourself.  Millions of years of evolution is on your side when it comes to marking predators.  Use it.

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And the world imploded with cute.

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So what does it mean when you’re a jazz musician and you get a call at 5:00 pm on a Monday night that basically says, “Hey, man!  Liquid Soul and Incognito want you to come out and jam tonight at House of Blues!”?

It means that you are probably a few months away from finding a hot blonde to be a new trophy wife.  On the other hand, SCORE me with the alimony!

Joking aside, it’s a very big deal.  When I dragged Andy out of London infamy he was very well known on the scene and extremely well-known and liked in Italy especially.  He was seriously touring and living the rockstar lifestyle, or as close as a trombonist can come to it.  Moving to the US was absolutely his decision, but I’ve always felt kind of bad about yoinking him out of the spotlight and settling him down.

It turns out that you can’t settle the Troublemaker down.  I fully expect certain husbands to stagger in tonight full of kudos and fun and lager, and I’m so happy for him I can’t even tell you.

Dude, my boyfriend is the coolest ever. 

Ever.

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and cute babies.

Does your spouse get into your side of the bed at night while you’re brushing your teeth so that when you tuck in on a negative degree night your site of the bed is already toasty?  Does he set you up with genuine BTUs? Does your spouse do that? ‘Cause mine does.  Plus, cute accent.  Neener neener.  

Honestly, I don’t brag on Andy nearly enough around here.  I told you about last Wednesday when I had my meltdown; well Andy has been taking up all kinds of extra effort around the house and trying to give me time to sleep and recover, and has been coaching me through serious panic freakouts about school.  He’s been losing out on sleep and working himself to death and still finding the time to just hold me and talk quietly to me until I calm down. You know how busy I am?  Andy is at least as busy.  The moment I got bit by the dog he not only had to work his ass off but he had to take care of me as well, so this month has been a real bitch for him.  He’s had two kids this month, me and Wallace, and he’s taken amazing care of us both.  I don’t know how I got as lucky as I did but whatever it was that created the karma, thank God it happened. 

I have two (well, one and a half) make-up tests today and I’m terrified that I’ll blow them and let everyone down.  It’s a point of pride to me that we’re working on something that will help set our family up long-term so that all our kids will go to college and that we’ll be able to afford to retire.  I don’t want to fail, but this is all very hard.  I am in awe of people who do this and don’t constantly whine about it. “Yeah, I’m going to school and working and raising a kid”.  Often that’s followed up with, “by myself”.  Those people are heroes.  Me, I’m a whiner. I couldn’t do it without Andy.  Plain and simple.  He’s a God.  I thought that when I first met him and I’m even more convinced of it today.  He’s a hero and an amazing dad and husband and my world would fall to pieces without him. 

Thank you, babe.  You’ve saved my ass and I promise that I appreciate every little thing. 

About Cute Babies 

I know that I’ve been griping about Wallace as well, what with the hitting and kicking and biting.  What I haven’t told you is that his cuteness has likewise grown exponentially, and the cuteness kills us on a regular basis. I beleive the term is, “From sugar to shit and back again”, and when he’s sugar, my GOD the boy is sweet. Last night we went to a potluck dinner and he flirted with everyone.  There were two little babies there and he very gently kissed them both and rubbed their soft little heads and held their hands.  He did many of his tricks and just basically impressed everyone with his elf-like adorability. 

On the way home we stopped by the Vos so that he and Andy could meet Bean, and Wallace repeated the baby adoration with many soft hugs and kisses.  He LOVES his Aunt MoVo and Uncle Fingers, and it appears that the adoration has grown to include the new Bean. I wouldn’t actually sell him. I could do without the hitting, but proportionately the cute far outweighs the irritation.  

I’ll post Wallace and Bean pictures soon so that you, too, can expire of the incredible adorableness.  

Anyhow, Hi! It’s Monday!  Here’s hoping that you get the day off.

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Tonight I was changing Wallace’s poopy diaper, which of course he objected to, so he kicked me nice and hard with his heels.  I held down his legs for a time-out and he smacked me in the face.  I held down all his limbs in a full-on wrestling move time-out and he reached down with his evil baby face and bit my arm.

Wallace - 1

Sad, sorry excuse for parent - 0

We then had a crib time-out which was much more for mom than it was for little, chompy Damien. 

 $30?  $20?  Whatcha’ got in your pockets, people?

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