It has been a dream of ours for a few years to move out of our house. We like our house, but when we moved in we had two adults, a cat, and some mismatched silverware. A wedding (with 75 gifts from Crate and Barrel and Macys included), 2 kids, a dog, and career changes later: we've outgrown our house.
We decided it was time to really move when the real estate market in the Seattle area came to a point where inventory is sparse and demand is there. Thus, we hoped that someone would buy our house by default of no supply. We put a lot of work into shining it up: new paint, a few repairs, and a cleanout to compliment the updates we've put it over the past 7 years.
Selling a house is a difficult and emotional enough process without having to keep it sparkly clean and staged. With two kids and a hairy dog, this is no easy task. The obvious answer was to run off to Mexico for a few days, leaving our house empty for real estate agents to drop in for showings. So, we did. We even boarded the cat, a first in her 9 year life. Much to our dismay, this did not go well. It was probably more to the cattery manager's dismay, and after a few scratches and hisses Coco was relegated to her luxury cat condo for 5 days of torture (to the tune of $136 for us). But I digress.
Our fantasy of selling in the first weekend was not met, but we anticipated that as we were priced high. We had a minimum to break even which I think is really sad. After all, isn't it the American dream to own a home for 7 years, put thousands of dollars into remodel, gain equity, and pay it down? The result is walking away with a check to put down on your next home having gained both sweat and appreciation equity. Well, when you're approved for an interest only loan and a bubble bursts, you're considered lucky to break even after 7 years.
A month passed with LOTS of showings but no interest. Finally we held a renter's open house and invited strangers in to rent. We found that demand for a clean house like ours in a great location may not sell the house, but sure caused a lot of interest in the rental market. We chose a really nice young married couple, much like us when we moved into the house. They had great references and we are confident they will be the ideal renters. We high-fived our decision to rent our house until a more advantageous time and entered the world of landlordship. The closest thing to a royal title I'll ever achieve, and I will NOT trade in that title for slumlordship.
Just as we were about to cancel the sale, we got an offer. A low offer with a letter. To paraphrase: "We ask that you take a $15,000 bath because we really, really like your house, especially the basketball hoop and the dining room. We see ourselves bringing our babies home to this house". No offense, but I'm not interested in paying out of pocket to accommodate your bouncing baby boy and your bouncing basketball.
So, next month, if everything goes right-we move into a brand new, cootie free home with a walk in closet, 2 places to shower, and 3 places to pee. We become landlords. We beg our family to help us move our new giant couch. We unpack, transition Maya to a big girl bed, and enjoy some much needed space. Its not the way we envisioned it originally, but it is all starting to unfold quite nicely.
Ah the new American Dream- to own TWO homes.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Monday, October 31, 2011
Why Trick or Treating with an 18 month old is like taking your drunk friend home
Tonight I had the pleasure of taking my 18 month old ladybug for her first real trick or treat night. I had to laugh because it really reminded me of some nights in college (and maybe even post college) where an unfortunate friend would have to be taken home in that type of drunkeness that entails a few different phases. I'm not saying that I myself have not had some nights where I midjudged my tolerance, but that is not for blogging since the internet is a permanent record and my kids could at some point access this. (Hey year 2024 Tatum-don't ask). So for the purpose of this analogy, assume this is a generic case study based on no way on a specific event.
Maya began trick or treating at about 6:45, which is really about bedtime after a hard partying day of preschool Halloween activities. As we landed at the first home Maya decided to walk right into the house, arms in the air, grabbing fistfulls of candy on her way into the foyer. She was much like Stiffler walking into a party grabbing a keg cup and exclaiming "what's up f*ckers!" She had pre-funked with a 3 Muskateers and M&M's so this behavior was understandable.
As we continued down the street she INSISTED on walking by herself. If I tried to hold her hand she swatted it away or pulled away and yelled "no!". So, I had to herd her down the path to prevent her from swerving into the road. You know how drunk people won't listen to you, so you make them think that going home was THEIR idea rather than arguing? I applied that philosophy with my non-verbal directing of the baby down the street as she stumbled and fumbled down the dimly lit sidewalk.
Every so often a lip of the sidewalk or a stray piece of grass would jump in front of her foot and in her big plush costume she'd face plant, candy bucket splaying everywhere. For anyone who has visited or attended a college prone to sub-freezing temps in the winter, the sidewalks are suspiciously slippery at night while drinking, but easy to navigate on any given sober trip to the library. Same idea.
After about 4 houses Maya started to throw temper tantrums on doorsteps for no reason. She wanted more candy (cuz one full size Snickers will not satisfy her appetite). She wanted to touch the dog, she didn't want to be carried down the stairs. Thus the random tears and crying. Only instead of sputtering "she's such a bitch- I know she wore the same dress as me cuth she hates me" Maya was saying "I want to bury my face in that candy bowl, put me down!!!"
After what equated to one block I let her walk down the street and she wanted to go in every house: lights off, nobody is home, lets go up that walk way! And then there is the craving for bad food that ails every late drunken night. The overserved friend at closing time will slur "Get me some Jack in the Crack! I need me some Mickey-D's! Lets get Dick's!" (sidenote for non-Seattlites: Dick's is a famous hamburger chain. However I've heard that shouted in other states for other reasons as well). Maya was not asking for a Double Double, she was plunging her hand into the candy bucket and attempting to eat whoppers through the wrapper. When confronted by her sad lack of molars to tear the wrapper open, she dissolved into tears.
Next thing you know I'm carrying her football style, one little ladybug rainboot has fallen off, she is whimpering and hitting me. I'm getting questioning looks from non-parents and sympathetic looks from parents. I consent to put her down at the base of our driveway. She crawls, head drooping, up the stairs. She rips a random leaf of a plant and then starts randomly laughing.
I've done the following to many a drunken comrade, but this is the end of the night for baby Maya: I carried her to the car and put her in the back seat where she promptly passed out. Once home I carried her inside, gave her a bottle, washed her makeup off, brushed her teeth. I got her p.j.'s on while she unabashedly flatulated and giggled at every toot. Now she is tucked safe in bed and I just hope she doesn't throw up.
I am just glad that I'm writing about my baby Maya. It wasn't easy but I treasure holding her little hand, knowing she is safe, and laughing as she melts down on a strangers front porch. I just love that girl.
Happy Halloween!
Maya began trick or treating at about 6:45, which is really about bedtime after a hard partying day of preschool Halloween activities. As we landed at the first home Maya decided to walk right into the house, arms in the air, grabbing fistfulls of candy on her way into the foyer. She was much like Stiffler walking into a party grabbing a keg cup and exclaiming "what's up f*ckers!" She had pre-funked with a 3 Muskateers and M&M's so this behavior was understandable.
As we continued down the street she INSISTED on walking by herself. If I tried to hold her hand she swatted it away or pulled away and yelled "no!". So, I had to herd her down the path to prevent her from swerving into the road. You know how drunk people won't listen to you, so you make them think that going home was THEIR idea rather than arguing? I applied that philosophy with my non-verbal directing of the baby down the street as she stumbled and fumbled down the dimly lit sidewalk.
Every so often a lip of the sidewalk or a stray piece of grass would jump in front of her foot and in her big plush costume she'd face plant, candy bucket splaying everywhere. For anyone who has visited or attended a college prone to sub-freezing temps in the winter, the sidewalks are suspiciously slippery at night while drinking, but easy to navigate on any given sober trip to the library. Same idea.
After about 4 houses Maya started to throw temper tantrums on doorsteps for no reason. She wanted more candy (cuz one full size Snickers will not satisfy her appetite). She wanted to touch the dog, she didn't want to be carried down the stairs. Thus the random tears and crying. Only instead of sputtering "she's such a bitch- I know she wore the same dress as me cuth she hates me" Maya was saying "I want to bury my face in that candy bowl, put me down!!!"
After what equated to one block I let her walk down the street and she wanted to go in every house: lights off, nobody is home, lets go up that walk way! And then there is the craving for bad food that ails every late drunken night. The overserved friend at closing time will slur "Get me some Jack in the Crack! I need me some Mickey-D's! Lets get Dick's!" (sidenote for non-Seattlites: Dick's is a famous hamburger chain. However I've heard that shouted in other states for other reasons as well). Maya was not asking for a Double Double, she was plunging her hand into the candy bucket and attempting to eat whoppers through the wrapper. When confronted by her sad lack of molars to tear the wrapper open, she dissolved into tears.
Next thing you know I'm carrying her football style, one little ladybug rainboot has fallen off, she is whimpering and hitting me. I'm getting questioning looks from non-parents and sympathetic looks from parents. I consent to put her down at the base of our driveway. She crawls, head drooping, up the stairs. She rips a random leaf of a plant and then starts randomly laughing.
I've done the following to many a drunken comrade, but this is the end of the night for baby Maya: I carried her to the car and put her in the back seat where she promptly passed out. Once home I carried her inside, gave her a bottle, washed her makeup off, brushed her teeth. I got her p.j.'s on while she unabashedly flatulated and giggled at every toot. Now she is tucked safe in bed and I just hope she doesn't throw up.
I am just glad that I'm writing about my baby Maya. It wasn't easy but I treasure holding her little hand, knowing she is safe, and laughing as she melts down on a strangers front porch. I just love that girl.
Happy Halloween!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Farming instead of Facebook
Recently, my youngest sister was looking at a picture of me at my going away party at UW. I smiled from the rooftop of Sigma Phi Epsilong in my stylish blue cap sleeved shirt and Gap overalls.
"Oh fun, was it a theme party?" she asked.
"Um, no, why?" I responded.
"Why were you wearing overalls then?" She replied.
My sister, being 9 years younger, did not believe that overalls were actually in fashion and innocently thought we were having some sort of country themed going away party. Recently, trying to make space for baby two, I sadly parted with said Gap overalls and donated them. I now think I should have kept them, not for fashion but for pragmatic reasons.
Let me explain. In this modern world of conveniences we congratulate ourselves on all of the tools we've developed as a society to make our lives easier. Let the machines do the work and we'll kick back and relax, right? I would argue that our lives are busier and more stressful than the lives of farmers in "days of yore" who worked sun up to sun down. In fact, Kenny and I call eachother farmers now while we work into the night to manage a household and careers.
Our day starts early and ends late. I try to wake up at 5am or before (although lately I've been hitting the alarm off in my sleep) so that I can be to work at 6am. Farmers get up at 5 to feed the chickens and milk the cows. I'd rather be getting some fresh air with some barn animals (fresh until the cows fart at least) than logging into a computer. Regardless, I rather enjoy my early mornings of solitude, keeping up with the East Coast territory I work. Meanwhile, Kenny is wrangling the kids while his blackberry buzzes with requests and expectations. I think he might prefer sheep sheering to "dealing with douchebags" as he says. But every morning the kids are fed, dressed, and out the door by 7:30 or 8:00.
We work all day at our desks, on our smartphones, landlines, voicemails, emails. We have expectations from above and the need to make money. We are tilling the land and growing crops. If, by crops, you mean software that manages expense reports and by tilling the land you mean Webinars.
Of course I have the good fortune to be done with work early as I started early. I'd love to say I go enjoy a good novel, pick up my kids early every day, get the house tidied etc. Some days, I do pick up the kids or tidy the house. Often I am going to the country store (aka Safeway, Bed Bath and Beyond) to procure items for the homestead or getting in some excercise because I sit at a desk all day. I pick up the kids at 4:30 or 5:00 and we go home, feed them dinner, figure out dinner for Kenny and I, do dishes, make lunches, do laundry, pick up toys, take out toys, bathe again because Maya found an uncapped marker, read books and get the kids to bed. We often eat dinner late and proceed to fold laundry, catch up with emails, clean a toilet, go through mail, pay bills etc. By the time 9pm rolls around I finally get a post-workout shower in and have a few minutes with the kindle. During all of this there is access, there is a need to get on Snapfish to order photos, there is a need to do online research for this and that.
Life is still busy, and somehow modern conveniences have created more work. The cost of all of these modern conveniences causes the need for a dual income. If we really were farmers, our workout would be built into our work. Riding a horse, walking the fields, hand laundering, think about the forearm workout you get from milking a cow! (Just don't milk the bull). If nobody could get a hold of you by email, and they were patient enough to tell you something when they see you next, we could spend time interacting face to face. We may not know everything about everyone, but our brains could keep track of life without assistance from a smartphone and Outlook calendar. How much time do you spend in front of a screen? What would happen if you didn't have any screentime for a week outside of absolutely necessary screentime required for work? What could you accomplish?
Thus, I wish I could trade in my iPhone for my Gap overalls. I'd keep a notebook in one pocket, wear a watch, carry a couple of pictures of my kids, and reduce eyestrain. I'd probably be more efficient, if not a little out of touch. I'd miss some Facebook posts (I wonder if there is a statistic about how many people have posted pictures of their feet and a drink while relaxing? Are you really relaxing if you're on the internet?). Maybe life would go on if I missed some political opinions and happy hour "check-ins".
I can't wear overalls and I can't hand launder my clothes or pluck a chicken from my yard (primarily because I don't have a chicken, I have a cat, and she'll be pissed if I pluck her hair). I really can't even go computerless because I have a job to do. But I can do a week without Facebook. Its become a bad habit to check FB when I'm bored, waiting, listening to a conference call, whatever. I think I need to disconnect for a bit. So, until Wednesday August 17 I will be unavailable on Facebook. I'm removing the app from my iPhone for now, and I'll see my FB friends in a week.
Off to the fields...
"Oh fun, was it a theme party?" she asked.
"Um, no, why?" I responded.
"Why were you wearing overalls then?" She replied.
My sister, being 9 years younger, did not believe that overalls were actually in fashion and innocently thought we were having some sort of country themed going away party. Recently, trying to make space for baby two, I sadly parted with said Gap overalls and donated them. I now think I should have kept them, not for fashion but for pragmatic reasons.
Let me explain. In this modern world of conveniences we congratulate ourselves on all of the tools we've developed as a society to make our lives easier. Let the machines do the work and we'll kick back and relax, right? I would argue that our lives are busier and more stressful than the lives of farmers in "days of yore" who worked sun up to sun down. In fact, Kenny and I call eachother farmers now while we work into the night to manage a household and careers.
Our day starts early and ends late. I try to wake up at 5am or before (although lately I've been hitting the alarm off in my sleep) so that I can be to work at 6am. Farmers get up at 5 to feed the chickens and milk the cows. I'd rather be getting some fresh air with some barn animals (fresh until the cows fart at least) than logging into a computer. Regardless, I rather enjoy my early mornings of solitude, keeping up with the East Coast territory I work. Meanwhile, Kenny is wrangling the kids while his blackberry buzzes with requests and expectations. I think he might prefer sheep sheering to "dealing with douchebags" as he says. But every morning the kids are fed, dressed, and out the door by 7:30 or 8:00.
We work all day at our desks, on our smartphones, landlines, voicemails, emails. We have expectations from above and the need to make money. We are tilling the land and growing crops. If, by crops, you mean software that manages expense reports and by tilling the land you mean Webinars.
Of course I have the good fortune to be done with work early as I started early. I'd love to say I go enjoy a good novel, pick up my kids early every day, get the house tidied etc. Some days, I do pick up the kids or tidy the house. Often I am going to the country store (aka Safeway, Bed Bath and Beyond) to procure items for the homestead or getting in some excercise because I sit at a desk all day. I pick up the kids at 4:30 or 5:00 and we go home, feed them dinner, figure out dinner for Kenny and I, do dishes, make lunches, do laundry, pick up toys, take out toys, bathe again because Maya found an uncapped marker, read books and get the kids to bed. We often eat dinner late and proceed to fold laundry, catch up with emails, clean a toilet, go through mail, pay bills etc. By the time 9pm rolls around I finally get a post-workout shower in and have a few minutes with the kindle. During all of this there is access, there is a need to get on Snapfish to order photos, there is a need to do online research for this and that.
Life is still busy, and somehow modern conveniences have created more work. The cost of all of these modern conveniences causes the need for a dual income. If we really were farmers, our workout would be built into our work. Riding a horse, walking the fields, hand laundering, think about the forearm workout you get from milking a cow! (Just don't milk the bull). If nobody could get a hold of you by email, and they were patient enough to tell you something when they see you next, we could spend time interacting face to face. We may not know everything about everyone, but our brains could keep track of life without assistance from a smartphone and Outlook calendar. How much time do you spend in front of a screen? What would happen if you didn't have any screentime for a week outside of absolutely necessary screentime required for work? What could you accomplish?
Thus, I wish I could trade in my iPhone for my Gap overalls. I'd keep a notebook in one pocket, wear a watch, carry a couple of pictures of my kids, and reduce eyestrain. I'd probably be more efficient, if not a little out of touch. I'd miss some Facebook posts (I wonder if there is a statistic about how many people have posted pictures of their feet and a drink while relaxing? Are you really relaxing if you're on the internet?). Maybe life would go on if I missed some political opinions and happy hour "check-ins".
I can't wear overalls and I can't hand launder my clothes or pluck a chicken from my yard (primarily because I don't have a chicken, I have a cat, and she'll be pissed if I pluck her hair). I really can't even go computerless because I have a job to do. But I can do a week without Facebook. Its become a bad habit to check FB when I'm bored, waiting, listening to a conference call, whatever. I think I need to disconnect for a bit. So, until Wednesday August 17 I will be unavailable on Facebook. I'm removing the app from my iPhone for now, and I'll see my FB friends in a week.
Off to the fields...
Monday, April 25, 2011
Kids are just to dye for and make me want to drink whine
Life provides a huge bag of stressful events. Stress is all relative, and I'm happy to share that although we have plenty of our own stresses, they are manageable and open our eyes up to appreciate the good times. This weekend was no exception.
My life is full of whiners, tantrums, and emotional negotiations. The W's, T's, and EN's are not limited to the two small children either. I won't go into the details but lets just say that the stress of finishing a difficult home improvement project lead Kenny to be a bit stressed. Don't worry, I knew that it was an emotional negotiation and almost had to laugh, so I let it slide.
Kenny finished the fence and overcame the challenge of building something that he previously did not know how to build. He whined a little, threw a tantrum, and performed an emotional negotiation with me and with himself.
While he finished the fence I put Maya down for a nap and Tatum played around in the warm, sunny backyard. I wanted to go to Flower World and Home Depot, but was at the mercy of naptime and the constant questioning and demands of a four year old. "Mommy I want to ride my bike, will you help me?" "Mommy I have to go potty can you take my helmet off?" "Mommy I'm hungry for a snack"... all while discovering that there were termites in a piece of rotted out wood in our back garden. Cue Mommy WTEN.
So, off we go to Home Depot at 2:45pm with the two girls and aspirations of a trip to Flower World (birds tweeting, happy family playfully chasing chickens, loving parents explaining the difference between a peacock and a peahen to our interested little angel). The moment we walked into Home Depot Tatum began to whine about how she wanted to go to a kid's store where you can play. She didn't want to buy paint. Suddenly the nose was a faucet and the whining volume grew to a threatening pitch. As I tried to negotiate a trade in the garden department for a four year old ("how many perennials for a slightly dirty preschooler?"), the cries of "I don't want to be here" were muffled by the back of her hand wiping slime from her nose. As we shopped for caulk and stain, Maya looked curiously on as Tatum drew the attention of a pregnant couple who I could tell were silently prophesizing that their unborn baby would never be that kid.
By the time we got to the flowers, Tatum had calmed down and we attempted an emotional negotiation of sorts as she wanted "4 red flowers". I consented because I too wanted some red flowers. We thought everything was going to be okay as we walked back toward the checkout area and Tatum spotted the checkout aisle display of candy bars.
"Mommy can we buy a candy bar"
"No"
"But mommy we need candy its yummy" (Lip begins to quiver)
"If you're a good girl, the easter bunny will bring you treats tonight"
(panicked voice): "But when we run out of candy next week, can we come back and buy some"
"No honey, candy isn't healthy, we are not coming back to buy candy next week"
Now, remember in cartoons, I believe especially Charlie Brown, where a character would begin to cry and the tears would shoot out from the corners of the eyes like sprinklers? Yea that happened, coupled with cries of "but I want the candy bar next week! But I want the candy bar next week! Mommy when we run out of candy next week can we buy candy bars here?!" "No Tatum you can't"
This escalated and she was worked up past "Emotional Negotiation" and skidded into "Why don't they make straight jackets for kids". Kenny saw me reaching a boiling point and told me to take Maya to the car. I believe his words were "I got this".
I took Maya to the car and after a few moments I heard "BUT I WANT THE CANDY BAR NEXT WEEK" rolling toward our car. Here comes Kenny making his way through the parking lot with a blubbering mess. He told me that everyone around him was looking at him suspiciously as he wrangled a child, struggling to get away from him and screaming "I want my mommy". It was like one of those moral dilemma hidden camera shows about bystander intervention. They figured she looks like him and he wasn't running so it must be okay. I'm just glad we hadn't gone in his work van, because putting her in a white minivan labeled "Team Clark" might have heightened their suspicions.
We got home and Tatum went down for a nap. Breathing a sigh of relief I took Maya out to the backyard where we snuggled on a blanket and played with toys. Kenny delivered a sandwich and glass of wine where we had a little moment of zen with our happy go lucky 11 month old. Maya gleefully gnawed on a pickle. I then realized I didn't know what else to do with her when she tried to crawl and eat grass, so I took her for a walk in the beautiful spring day.
Tatum woke up from her nap in a markedly better mood and she went to the fence where Kenny was painting and asked a barrage of questions around fences and paint and possibly the lifecycle of worms. She was back in his heart and things were looking up.
That evening I insisted in continuing with the plan of coloring Easter Eggs, and I filled the cups with dye and brought out 17 hardboiled eggs. We had a nice time coloring eggs and talking strategy around making multi-colored eggs. I looked at the clock and exclaimed "Oh my gosh Tatum, its past your bedtime! If the bunny sees you up he may skip our house!". "Oh my gosh mom okay what do we do?" "Well, I'm going to go get the Easter basket to put out, and a pen to write the bunny a note apologizing for your tantrum at the store".
When I went to get the basket (in sleeping Maya's room) I heard clinking downstairs that made me nervous. Sure enough when I came downstairs there were only two of the six dye cups remaining on the table, and four trails of colored vinegar leading into the kitchen. I rounded the corner to see Tatum furiously wiping up spilled dye, and she looked at me with the knowledge that she was in trouble. It was so darling I just said "honey thanks for wiping it up! Let me help you because the bunny is watching!" (Emotional Negotiation). We wiped it up and Tatum had dye all over her toes and fingers.
"Tatum, you have dye on your fingers and toes, we better get in the bath!"
She looked at her fingers and her toes and peered at me with the biggest doe eyes. "Mommy if my fingers and toes are died... will they grow back?"
Oh my heart melted at that point and I attempted to explain the difference between dye and die. She was in too big of a hurry to bathe so I whisked her upstairs and washed off the color. While she soaked we composed a letter to E. Bunny.
"Okay Tatum, what do you want to say to the bunny?"
"Um, okay T...A..." (oh cute she's spelling her name!). "C...H...K..." (huh?) "um...3...L...Y"
"Okay Tatum how about words. What words do you want to say?"
"Please.... um... Thank you" (Okay now we're on the right track) "....and something in spanish. Quatro!"
In the end her letter read: "Please Thank you quattro. A Toy, sorry for having a tantrum at the store, please hide my eggs. TachK3Ly."
After that was done she rushed to get ready and hurriedly kissed daddy goodnight with a sense of urgency I've never seen at bedtime. She insisted I tell a Princess story with the light out so the Bunny wouldn't see that she was still awake. I got one sentence in before she took over with "and then the princess colored eggs and her fingers died and she woke up and hunted for them the end okay goodnight mommy! Go to bed quietly, tiptoe and whisper so the bunny doesn't know you're awake!"
Once downstairs, Kenny and I toasted our parenting prowess and home improvement dedication with a shot of tequila. We celebrated the day with a late dinner, some white wine, and a couple episodes of Entourage.
The next morning I was not so happy with the successful early bedtime when 6:15 rolled around and the pitter patter of little feed was followed by a messy haired vision, seen between one open eye whispering "mommy, lets go see if my note worked and the easter bunny came". And so another adventure began.
My life is full of whiners, tantrums, and emotional negotiations. The W's, T's, and EN's are not limited to the two small children either. I won't go into the details but lets just say that the stress of finishing a difficult home improvement project lead Kenny to be a bit stressed. Don't worry, I knew that it was an emotional negotiation and almost had to laugh, so I let it slide.
Kenny finished the fence and overcame the challenge of building something that he previously did not know how to build. He whined a little, threw a tantrum, and performed an emotional negotiation with me and with himself.
While he finished the fence I put Maya down for a nap and Tatum played around in the warm, sunny backyard. I wanted to go to Flower World and Home Depot, but was at the mercy of naptime and the constant questioning and demands of a four year old. "Mommy I want to ride my bike, will you help me?" "Mommy I have to go potty can you take my helmet off?" "Mommy I'm hungry for a snack"... all while discovering that there were termites in a piece of rotted out wood in our back garden. Cue Mommy WTEN.
So, off we go to Home Depot at 2:45pm with the two girls and aspirations of a trip to Flower World (birds tweeting, happy family playfully chasing chickens, loving parents explaining the difference between a peacock and a peahen to our interested little angel). The moment we walked into Home Depot Tatum began to whine about how she wanted to go to a kid's store where you can play. She didn't want to buy paint. Suddenly the nose was a faucet and the whining volume grew to a threatening pitch. As I tried to negotiate a trade in the garden department for a four year old ("how many perennials for a slightly dirty preschooler?"), the cries of "I don't want to be here" were muffled by the back of her hand wiping slime from her nose. As we shopped for caulk and stain, Maya looked curiously on as Tatum drew the attention of a pregnant couple who I could tell were silently prophesizing that their unborn baby would never be that kid.
By the time we got to the flowers, Tatum had calmed down and we attempted an emotional negotiation of sorts as she wanted "4 red flowers". I consented because I too wanted some red flowers. We thought everything was going to be okay as we walked back toward the checkout area and Tatum spotted the checkout aisle display of candy bars.
"Mommy can we buy a candy bar"
"No"
"But mommy we need candy its yummy" (Lip begins to quiver)
"If you're a good girl, the easter bunny will bring you treats tonight"
(panicked voice): "But when we run out of candy next week, can we come back and buy some"
"No honey, candy isn't healthy, we are not coming back to buy candy next week"
Now, remember in cartoons, I believe especially Charlie Brown, where a character would begin to cry and the tears would shoot out from the corners of the eyes like sprinklers? Yea that happened, coupled with cries of "but I want the candy bar next week! But I want the candy bar next week! Mommy when we run out of candy next week can we buy candy bars here?!" "No Tatum you can't"
This escalated and she was worked up past "Emotional Negotiation" and skidded into "Why don't they make straight jackets for kids". Kenny saw me reaching a boiling point and told me to take Maya to the car. I believe his words were "I got this".
I took Maya to the car and after a few moments I heard "BUT I WANT THE CANDY BAR NEXT WEEK" rolling toward our car. Here comes Kenny making his way through the parking lot with a blubbering mess. He told me that everyone around him was looking at him suspiciously as he wrangled a child, struggling to get away from him and screaming "I want my mommy". It was like one of those moral dilemma hidden camera shows about bystander intervention. They figured she looks like him and he wasn't running so it must be okay. I'm just glad we hadn't gone in his work van, because putting her in a white minivan labeled "Team Clark" might have heightened their suspicions.
We got home and Tatum went down for a nap. Breathing a sigh of relief I took Maya out to the backyard where we snuggled on a blanket and played with toys. Kenny delivered a sandwich and glass of wine where we had a little moment of zen with our happy go lucky 11 month old. Maya gleefully gnawed on a pickle. I then realized I didn't know what else to do with her when she tried to crawl and eat grass, so I took her for a walk in the beautiful spring day.
Tatum woke up from her nap in a markedly better mood and she went to the fence where Kenny was painting and asked a barrage of questions around fences and paint and possibly the lifecycle of worms. She was back in his heart and things were looking up.
That evening I insisted in continuing with the plan of coloring Easter Eggs, and I filled the cups with dye and brought out 17 hardboiled eggs. We had a nice time coloring eggs and talking strategy around making multi-colored eggs. I looked at the clock and exclaimed "Oh my gosh Tatum, its past your bedtime! If the bunny sees you up he may skip our house!". "Oh my gosh mom okay what do we do?" "Well, I'm going to go get the Easter basket to put out, and a pen to write the bunny a note apologizing for your tantrum at the store".
When I went to get the basket (in sleeping Maya's room) I heard clinking downstairs that made me nervous. Sure enough when I came downstairs there were only two of the six dye cups remaining on the table, and four trails of colored vinegar leading into the kitchen. I rounded the corner to see Tatum furiously wiping up spilled dye, and she looked at me with the knowledge that she was in trouble. It was so darling I just said "honey thanks for wiping it up! Let me help you because the bunny is watching!" (Emotional Negotiation). We wiped it up and Tatum had dye all over her toes and fingers.
"Tatum, you have dye on your fingers and toes, we better get in the bath!"
She looked at her fingers and her toes and peered at me with the biggest doe eyes. "Mommy if my fingers and toes are died... will they grow back?"
Oh my heart melted at that point and I attempted to explain the difference between dye and die. She was in too big of a hurry to bathe so I whisked her upstairs and washed off the color. While she soaked we composed a letter to E. Bunny.
"Okay Tatum, what do you want to say to the bunny?"
"Um, okay T...A..." (oh cute she's spelling her name!). "C...H...K..." (huh?) "um...3...L...Y"
"Okay Tatum how about words. What words do you want to say?"
"Please.... um... Thank you" (Okay now we're on the right track) "....and something in spanish. Quatro!"
In the end her letter read: "Please Thank you quattro. A Toy, sorry for having a tantrum at the store, please hide my eggs. TachK3Ly."
After that was done she rushed to get ready and hurriedly kissed daddy goodnight with a sense of urgency I've never seen at bedtime. She insisted I tell a Princess story with the light out so the Bunny wouldn't see that she was still awake. I got one sentence in before she took over with "and then the princess colored eggs and her fingers died and she woke up and hunted for them the end okay goodnight mommy! Go to bed quietly, tiptoe and whisper so the bunny doesn't know you're awake!"
Once downstairs, Kenny and I toasted our parenting prowess and home improvement dedication with a shot of tequila. We celebrated the day with a late dinner, some white wine, and a couple episodes of Entourage.
The next morning I was not so happy with the successful early bedtime when 6:15 rolled around and the pitter patter of little feed was followed by a messy haired vision, seen between one open eye whispering "mommy, lets go see if my note worked and the easter bunny came". And so another adventure began.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The worst job in the world? or the best?
Some of my friends and family have heard my griping about my job lately. But I have to think, there are worse job descriptions out there:
The job I have described above is that of Santa Claus. Yes, Kris Kringle has to maintain a thick waist, wear an outdated red suit, live in the arctic, manage a factory of little old people, and work on Christmas. All to give stuff away for free to a bunch of strangers, and spend the whole month of December making little kids cry or greedy kids demand toys. His car is a convertible in the coldest month (in the northern hemisphere at least), but at least it delivers minimal greenhouse emissions since it runs on magic and reindeer power.
Then again, he brings joy to good little girls and boys. He also gets tons of press, his face is splattered across greeting cards, billboards, and the t.v. He doesn't have pressure to go to the gym (in fact its discouraged). I'm pretty sure he doesn't have bills to pay and he never has to fight traffic. I imagine there is a great sense of job security as well. And vacation time in the worst months, January and February, would be a plus. Papparazzi always catch him on the beaches.
Plus his job includes phrases such as "Christmas Spirit" and "Seasons Greetings" and "the magic of Christmas". Not: "RFP" and "conference call" and "vulnerable accounts".
Maybe that does sound okay. I wonder if he's looking for an assistant?
Merry Christmas everyone!
- I can move around, drive places, and I'm not sitting all day.
- I don't manage a factory.
- My job doesn't result in permanent weight gain.
- I'm not old, working in a workforce of young people and trying to understand my employees.
- I don't have to work on the day after Thanksgiving or Christmas.
- I get to live in a great bustling metropolitan area, no relocation to somewhere less desirable required.
- Although I work for Avis, I don't have to wear a red uniform as I don't work at the airport (I do not look good in red)
- People pay me for my product.
- I don't make my customers cry on a regular basis.
- I don't have to listen to them whine about what they want constantly. (oh wait... maybe this is actually part of my job)
The job I have described above is that of Santa Claus. Yes, Kris Kringle has to maintain a thick waist, wear an outdated red suit, live in the arctic, manage a factory of little old people, and work on Christmas. All to give stuff away for free to a bunch of strangers, and spend the whole month of December making little kids cry or greedy kids demand toys. His car is a convertible in the coldest month (in the northern hemisphere at least), but at least it delivers minimal greenhouse emissions since it runs on magic and reindeer power.
Then again, he brings joy to good little girls and boys. He also gets tons of press, his face is splattered across greeting cards, billboards, and the t.v. He doesn't have pressure to go to the gym (in fact its discouraged). I'm pretty sure he doesn't have bills to pay and he never has to fight traffic. I imagine there is a great sense of job security as well. And vacation time in the worst months, January and February, would be a plus. Papparazzi always catch him on the beaches.
Plus his job includes phrases such as "Christmas Spirit" and "Seasons Greetings" and "the magic of Christmas". Not: "RFP" and "conference call" and "vulnerable accounts".
Maybe that does sound okay. I wonder if he's looking for an assistant?
Merry Christmas everyone!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Oh Crap at Redhook again
Now that baby Maya is getting older, we are seeing a clear bond forming between the girls. Maya gets SO excited to see Tatum, and Tatum is turning into a loving, nurturing older sister. We are starting to see how little Maya is going to look up to Tatum, and as a result we need to make sure that Tatum is setting a good example.
Somehow, Maya has caught wind of things that Tatum did as a baby, and she sometimes seems like Tatum part deux. Sometimes that is a good thing, like when she sleeps through the night. Other times, not so much.
Lets flash back to three years ago. My old roommate Shannon, and her husband Chuckie, visited from Arizona. As it was a wonderful sunny Seattle day we took them on a tour of Redhook brewery and went to the PACKED patio for lunch. At the time, Shannon and Chuckie were pre-child. We had sweet baby Tatum in the baby bjorn. While we were enjoying a pitcher of Redhooks finest, I saw Tatum's little face turn bright red, her eyes squint shut, and a gurgling sound that only a parent can accurately diagnose. She then looked up at me and smiled a smile that said "ha ha, have fun with that. Boy do I feel better now!"
She had just done the equivalent to a guy sitting on the toilet on a Sunday morning, newspaper in hand, post-coffee, after having 6 or 7 beers the night before.
The interesting thing about babies is that they defy gravity. They poop on their own head. And as we figured out what Tatum had just done, I peeled open the baby bjorn to discover a mass of sludge to rival any swamp adjacent to a tire factory. Chuckie's face turned white, eyes like saucers. Shannon said in her usually cheerful voice "Oh that is definitely a right of passage as a parent, isn't it?". To the dismay of our fellow diners, (and due to lack of options), we stripped off her rotten banana covered onesie right on the picnic bench. I held her high in the air like Simba's stinky little lion and hosed her off in the bathroom. It was horrifying at the time, but a funny story.
Flash forward to last week. We are at Redhook, beautiful Seattle day, pitcher of ESB. Tatum is coloring and Maya is 5 months old, so we share the above story with out latest guest: John. John is Kenny's ex-roommate from Arizona. Single, no kids. No less than 10 minutes after we tell the story, I notice Maya smiling and smell a familiar scent. I pick her up, see the yellow smudge on her back and say "no way... its happened again". Strip. Bathroom. papertowels. Naked baby. horrified house guest.
What's next?
Somehow, Maya has caught wind of things that Tatum did as a baby, and she sometimes seems like Tatum part deux. Sometimes that is a good thing, like when she sleeps through the night. Other times, not so much.
Lets flash back to three years ago. My old roommate Shannon, and her husband Chuckie, visited from Arizona. As it was a wonderful sunny Seattle day we took them on a tour of Redhook brewery and went to the PACKED patio for lunch. At the time, Shannon and Chuckie were pre-child. We had sweet baby Tatum in the baby bjorn. While we were enjoying a pitcher of Redhooks finest, I saw Tatum's little face turn bright red, her eyes squint shut, and a gurgling sound that only a parent can accurately diagnose. She then looked up at me and smiled a smile that said "ha ha, have fun with that. Boy do I feel better now!"
She had just done the equivalent to a guy sitting on the toilet on a Sunday morning, newspaper in hand, post-coffee, after having 6 or 7 beers the night before.
The interesting thing about babies is that they defy gravity. They poop on their own head. And as we figured out what Tatum had just done, I peeled open the baby bjorn to discover a mass of sludge to rival any swamp adjacent to a tire factory. Chuckie's face turned white, eyes like saucers. Shannon said in her usually cheerful voice "Oh that is definitely a right of passage as a parent, isn't it?". To the dismay of our fellow diners, (and due to lack of options), we stripped off her rotten banana covered onesie right on the picnic bench. I held her high in the air like Simba's stinky little lion and hosed her off in the bathroom. It was horrifying at the time, but a funny story.
Flash forward to last week. We are at Redhook, beautiful Seattle day, pitcher of ESB. Tatum is coloring and Maya is 5 months old, so we share the above story with out latest guest: John. John is Kenny's ex-roommate from Arizona. Single, no kids. No less than 10 minutes after we tell the story, I notice Maya smiling and smell a familiar scent. I pick her up, see the yellow smudge on her back and say "no way... its happened again". Strip. Bathroom. papertowels. Naked baby. horrified house guest.
What's next?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
We are trying really hard to not completely ignore our Pets
Ahhhh, well I have fake teeth but they look pretty good. I had to give a presentation to 50 people and luckily didnt even need to explain that... yes, I am here to sell tools and also I hit myself in the mouth with a wrench. No one noticed, thanks to my awesome temporary teeth that I cant chew with.
In other news, I really love being a dad of girls. They are fun, cute and smart. Tatum is beginning to really impress us with her memory and subjective opinions on things like fashion, what we should do now and what our dog is thinking about. Tatum is just getting old enough to play fetch with Jackson, which is the extent of his exercise on mamy days.
I can say that we have not completely ignored our half black lab half golden retriever, he just got to run free and swim in the slew at the marymoor dog park, and then washed in the new little doggie wash station they have set up there. Tatum help me wash jackson and loved it, and I helped tatum not notice the dogs humping each other while we waiting in line for the Doggie tub.
Our cat has resorted to throwing up for attention which is just wonderful. My neighbor gave me some iams catfood that he is a salesmen for. This is a sort of low residue special sensitive cancer cat formula. We fed coconut that and she didn't like it but ate it anyways because she is part goat. He also gave me some samples of Iams Pate which I got an email from my aunt was recalled between certain dates because of not enough thiamine (which cats need to survive). I checked the dates, they were cans that were recalled. I fed my cat the food anyways. Its free catfood and it just lacked thiamine so we also mixed other stuff every other can. I am sure Coconut will live a happy low thiamine lifestyle for a month or two.
The dog and the cat now spend most of their time watching us walk back in forth to do something for the kids while the sit and wait for their half hour of attention that they get for the day... like a prisoner who gets a half hour in the yard. I have tried putting on animal planet for Jackson to stimulate his mind, but it mostly seems to stress him out that their is a wildebeast standing in his living room.
I can't wait until I have the girls feeding the pets as a choir and petting them for some attention. that way I can stop worrying if my pets are happy and just know that they are content... like me.
In other news, I really love being a dad of girls. They are fun, cute and smart. Tatum is beginning to really impress us with her memory and subjective opinions on things like fashion, what we should do now and what our dog is thinking about. Tatum is just getting old enough to play fetch with Jackson, which is the extent of his exercise on mamy days.
I can say that we have not completely ignored our half black lab half golden retriever, he just got to run free and swim in the slew at the marymoor dog park, and then washed in the new little doggie wash station they have set up there. Tatum help me wash jackson and loved it, and I helped tatum not notice the dogs humping each other while we waiting in line for the Doggie tub.
Our cat has resorted to throwing up for attention which is just wonderful. My neighbor gave me some iams catfood that he is a salesmen for. This is a sort of low residue special sensitive cancer cat formula. We fed coconut that and she didn't like it but ate it anyways because she is part goat. He also gave me some samples of Iams Pate which I got an email from my aunt was recalled between certain dates because of not enough thiamine (which cats need to survive). I checked the dates, they were cans that were recalled. I fed my cat the food anyways. Its free catfood and it just lacked thiamine so we also mixed other stuff every other can. I am sure Coconut will live a happy low thiamine lifestyle for a month or two.
The dog and the cat now spend most of their time watching us walk back in forth to do something for the kids while the sit and wait for their half hour of attention that they get for the day... like a prisoner who gets a half hour in the yard. I have tried putting on animal planet for Jackson to stimulate his mind, but it mostly seems to stress him out that their is a wildebeast standing in his living room.
I can't wait until I have the girls feeding the pets as a choir and petting them for some attention. that way I can stop worrying if my pets are happy and just know that they are content... like me.
Feeling Human Again
Maya just celebrated her three month birthday. She is smiling, laughing, sitting in her Bumpo seat... you know, super advanced. And with her turning three months comes my return to work, and Crossfit.
My first week of work was very low key. I prepped my boss and co-workers that I'm "easing into work" and essentially let her know that if she wants me to come back to work in August, lay off sister. (Put more politically).
This week I spent time catching up with my co-workers and sifting through three months of email. The general message was "our jobs suck, we're polishing up our resumes, the pressure has gotten way worse, and we're all super stressed". Okay great. But I have a new attitude, as having a child re-directs your mental priority and I have the perspective that work is work and not life. I've sort of turned into the guy from "Office Space" after he was hypnotized. And maybe I'm just glad to have a few hours a day to "relax' at work and not deal with a whining three year old.
My first week back at Crossfit felt great too. I feel like I have muscle, a bit of stamina, and I feel generally less fragile. And as I have not worked out at Crossfit for 10 months, I am liberated of that competitive feeling of having a better time, doing more weight, or exceeding my own personal results from prior results. I just had a baby, baby. Its just great that I'm here, right?
Second week back to work, I've started talking to customers. Due to my "Office Space Hypnotism" state of mind, combined with my boss's "I'm too busy to micro-manage you... yet" state of mind, I've had some pretty good interactions. And after three months out, my numbers are the best on my team. As I talk to work contacts, its really interesting to see the three ways that people respond to me telling them I'm back from maternity leave. Here is the essence of the three consistent responses:
1. "I hope you had a fun leave of absence. Anyways, can you help me with this issue?". Yea it was super fun, I pushed out a baby, haven't slept and constantly leak milk. Thanks for dismissing the addition of a human to this planet thanks to me, I'd love to help you book a car at a low rate for your vacation.
2. "Oh you were on leave? What did you have? Name?" Okay, clear evidence that my boss forgot to send out an email about the birth of my baby (which she did admit to me).
3. "Congrats! I have four daughters myself (insert synopsis of their family tree, reminder that "it goes so fast", potential "just wait until they're teenagers" comment, and random advice). I find this one endearing, although redundant.
Second week back at Crossfit and I'm just happy to have control over my physicality and be the sole occupant of my body at this point. Its a place we work out and really, its good for me mentally.
The general message is that I feel human again. I am back doing something mentally stimulating, physically stimulating, and a routine is starting to form. More importantly, my attitude has adjusted. I can't put too much importance on petty things, and I am starting to have control of my time! Now if the baby could just start sleeping through the night on a consistent basis, we can really have some fun.
My first week of work was very low key. I prepped my boss and co-workers that I'm "easing into work" and essentially let her know that if she wants me to come back to work in August, lay off sister. (Put more politically).
This week I spent time catching up with my co-workers and sifting through three months of email. The general message was "our jobs suck, we're polishing up our resumes, the pressure has gotten way worse, and we're all super stressed". Okay great. But I have a new attitude, as having a child re-directs your mental priority and I have the perspective that work is work and not life. I've sort of turned into the guy from "Office Space" after he was hypnotized. And maybe I'm just glad to have a few hours a day to "relax' at work and not deal with a whining three year old.
My first week back at Crossfit felt great too. I feel like I have muscle, a bit of stamina, and I feel generally less fragile. And as I have not worked out at Crossfit for 10 months, I am liberated of that competitive feeling of having a better time, doing more weight, or exceeding my own personal results from prior results. I just had a baby, baby. Its just great that I'm here, right?
Second week back to work, I've started talking to customers. Due to my "Office Space Hypnotism" state of mind, combined with my boss's "I'm too busy to micro-manage you... yet" state of mind, I've had some pretty good interactions. And after three months out, my numbers are the best on my team. As I talk to work contacts, its really interesting to see the three ways that people respond to me telling them I'm back from maternity leave. Here is the essence of the three consistent responses:
1. "I hope you had a fun leave of absence. Anyways, can you help me with this issue?". Yea it was super fun, I pushed out a baby, haven't slept and constantly leak milk. Thanks for dismissing the addition of a human to this planet thanks to me, I'd love to help you book a car at a low rate for your vacation.
2. "Oh you were on leave? What did you have? Name?" Okay, clear evidence that my boss forgot to send out an email about the birth of my baby (which she did admit to me).
3. "Congrats! I have four daughters myself (insert synopsis of their family tree, reminder that "it goes so fast", potential "just wait until they're teenagers" comment, and random advice). I find this one endearing, although redundant.
Second week back at Crossfit and I'm just happy to have control over my physicality and be the sole occupant of my body at this point. Its a place we work out and really, its good for me mentally.
The general message is that I feel human again. I am back doing something mentally stimulating, physically stimulating, and a routine is starting to form. More importantly, my attitude has adjusted. I can't put too much importance on petty things, and I am starting to have control of my time! Now if the baby could just start sleeping through the night on a consistent basis, we can really have some fun.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Jess is compelling me to post
Well, since she alluded to the story and since she basically started this blog for us to do together, I will oblige and tell you about my ill-fated Sunday...
I work in the construction/industrial supply industry, not that I am overwhelmingly handy with tools, but I sell them and have access to pretty cool stuff. One of the products that I ordered for myself is a Rust-Oleum anti-slip floor coating. I have a basketball halfcourt in the backyard replete with a key and a Seattle Supersonics logo painted on it (under the logo I used spray paint, also Rust-oleum, to write R.I.P. for our dearly departed Oklahoma Thunder). I am hosting a two-on-two Basketball tournament/BBQ in a couple weeks and wanted to paint the court with new surface for the following reasons:
1) It will keep you from slipping when it is wet and we do live in Seattle
2) it will look nice for the tournament
3) I wanted experience in applying one of the products that I sell (to make me a better salesman, but mainly #1 and #2)
This anti-slip paint is a heavy duty Industrial epoxy paint which means that I had to mix an Epoxy resin with the paint which has some grit in it. The mixing needed to be done with a Jiffler blade for 3 to 5 minutes (a mixing blade that attached to a 3 chuck drill). So I purchased the blade from "the Depot" and got ready to paint my court. I used Intertape PT14 masking tape (a line of tape that I represent) to mask off the key so I would not paint over the lines. and charged up the battery on my Bosch Cordless Drill/Driver (also a line I rep) to get ready to mix and apply the Epoxy paint. I am feeling good about getting experience with the products I sell and doing something I have never done before (painting with epoxy).
There was one problem, the Mixing blade has a three foot shaft on it and at the end of the shaft was a rubber tip used to hang on a display at Home Depot. Now this blade had probably sat on the shelf for a year and the rubber tip had basically fused to the end. I needed to get it off to put the blade into the drill. It would come off by hand, so I sprayed some WD-40 Blueworks Penetrant (another line that... I represent!) around the shaft to loosen it up. After a couple minutes of letting the Penetrant marinate on there, I tried again... the rubber tip didn't budge. So I got a pair of my LockJaw clapping Pliers (I don't need to say it do I) and clamped onto the rubber tip to pry it off.
I was sitting in a chair in my backyard, blade between my feet, and applied pressure to pull the rubber tip off. The penetrant I had applied before, caused the pliers to slip off the rubber tip and fly up smacking me right in the mouth. Here is the payoff to this longwinded tail (be warned, it ain't pretty):
I will tell you that I have Veneers on my front 6 teeth, so the damage is not as bad as it looks, but I did break my actual tooth under the veneers and needed a crown to be built. Thank you to Dr. Stacy Pacheco for doing the emergency dental work after coming home from eastern Washington on a week that she is on Vacation. Its going to be a long process to get my teeth fixed, I currently have temporary fake teeth on (they look like the real thing thanks to Dr. Pacheco). I have to wait for my gums to heal before we can take impressions for my new veneers. I have a presentation in front of 50 people on Thursday. I just hope my lips heals before then.
I am proud to report that after I did this, I picked up the same pair of pliers and finally got the rubber tip off . I mixed the epoxy and painted my basketball court with a mouth full of broken teeth. If you want to play in my tournament, it is at 1PM on August 14th. I will be the guy wearing a mouthguard just to play some backyard basketball.
I work in the construction/industrial supply industry, not that I am overwhelmingly handy with tools, but I sell them and have access to pretty cool stuff. One of the products that I ordered for myself is a Rust-Oleum anti-slip floor coating. I have a basketball halfcourt in the backyard replete with a key and a Seattle Supersonics logo painted on it (under the logo I used spray paint, also Rust-oleum, to write R.I.P. for our dearly departed Oklahoma Thunder). I am hosting a two-on-two Basketball tournament/BBQ in a couple weeks and wanted to paint the court with new surface for the following reasons:
1) It will keep you from slipping when it is wet and we do live in Seattle
2) it will look nice for the tournament
3) I wanted experience in applying one of the products that I sell (to make me a better salesman, but mainly #1 and #2)
This anti-slip paint is a heavy duty Industrial epoxy paint which means that I had to mix an Epoxy resin with the paint which has some grit in it. The mixing needed to be done with a Jiffler blade for 3 to 5 minutes (a mixing blade that attached to a 3 chuck drill). So I purchased the blade from "the Depot" and got ready to paint my court. I used Intertape PT14 masking tape (a line of tape that I represent) to mask off the key so I would not paint over the lines. and charged up the battery on my Bosch Cordless Drill/Driver (also a line I rep) to get ready to mix and apply the Epoxy paint. I am feeling good about getting experience with the products I sell and doing something I have never done before (painting with epoxy).
There was one problem, the Mixing blade has a three foot shaft on it and at the end of the shaft was a rubber tip used to hang on a display at Home Depot. Now this blade had probably sat on the shelf for a year and the rubber tip had basically fused to the end. I needed to get it off to put the blade into the drill. It would come off by hand, so I sprayed some WD-40 Blueworks Penetrant (another line that... I represent!) around the shaft to loosen it up. After a couple minutes of letting the Penetrant marinate on there, I tried again... the rubber tip didn't budge. So I got a pair of my LockJaw clapping Pliers (I don't need to say it do I) and clamped onto the rubber tip to pry it off.
I was sitting in a chair in my backyard, blade between my feet, and applied pressure to pull the rubber tip off. The penetrant I had applied before, caused the pliers to slip off the rubber tip and fly up smacking me right in the mouth. Here is the payoff to this longwinded tail (be warned, it ain't pretty):
I will tell you that I have Veneers on my front 6 teeth, so the damage is not as bad as it looks, but I did break my actual tooth under the veneers and needed a crown to be built. Thank you to Dr. Stacy Pacheco for doing the emergency dental work after coming home from eastern Washington on a week that she is on Vacation. Its going to be a long process to get my teeth fixed, I currently have temporary fake teeth on (they look like the real thing thanks to Dr. Pacheco). I have to wait for my gums to heal before we can take impressions for my new veneers. I have a presentation in front of 50 people on Thursday. I just hope my lips heals before then.
I am proud to report that after I did this, I picked up the same pair of pliers and finally got the rubber tip off . I mixed the epoxy and painted my basketball court with a mouth full of broken teeth. If you want to play in my tournament, it is at 1PM on August 14th. I will be the guy wearing a mouthguard just to play some backyard basketball.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Protected by Faeries
This past Sunday was an odd day. As a family we slept in, crawling out of bed between 9am and 10am. I finally went into Tatum's room close to 10am, where she was sprawled out on her bed and still recovering from her stomach flu two days before (another story).
After a morning of lethargy, Kenny decided to tackle the day. But first, he tackled his own mouth. With a wrench. I'll leave that up to him to describe.
Between Kenny's personal Fight Club morning and Tatum's lack of energy, I decided it was time to see if some fresh air could perk us up. I packed the girls in the car and headed to Rhododendron Park, a new favorite of ours.
When I pulled up I saw a man in a maroon silk ruffled shirt: odd attire for a Sunday afternoon at the park. I then saw a woman in a flowing skirt and cape get out of a Mini Cooper adorned with earth loving bumper stickers, including one that said "Protected by Faeries". I thought it was an odd choice of car (Mini) and bumper sticker (faeries) considering the woman was, at minimum, 300 pounds.
As I walked into the park I noticed that a sort of official gathering was being set up in the park shelter that typically hosts children's birthday parties and family picnics. However, the people flocking to the tables were not the normal women in khaki Capri's with cupcakes and a group of kids under age 5. Rather, it was an oddly dressed group complete with flowing capes, floral headpieces, and a number of men in Utilikilts. I parked Maya and I at the closest bench to the picnic shelter to (spy) piece together what was going on.
First: there was a greeter that asked everyone "are you here for the wedding" and had them sign into a guest book. A florist delivered flowers and a number of people brought dishes for what appeared to be the early formation of a pot luck reception.
Second: there were a number of lesbian couples, as well as straight couples. And, a number of children also dressed in the same medieval looking garb as their adult counterparts. It was like the renaissance festival without giant turkey legs and fake jousting. (I couldn't help but hope that their parents don't make them wear cloaks and head pieces to school, our young society just isn't hospitable of that kind of different).
Third: One woman stood out as a possible priestess or officiant of the wedding, as indicated by an intricate flowing cream colored cape, leather bound book and sword.
Finally: many of the men had swords (likely fake ones... I hope).
It was about the time that I began counting utilikilts and swords that I put together, based on my little knowledge of the topic, that this was a Wicken Wedding. As if that weren't entertaining, the photographer began taking pictures of the bride and...bride. A lesbian wicken wedding. Could the day get any better?
Tatum asked me to push her on the swings, which took me away from my listening post. However I was rewarded by a little pirate asking me where the bathrooms were. Yes, a pirate. I looked in the field and low and behold, a pirate birthday party. A dozen little boys with eye patches and swords. Where are the hidden cameras people? I'm used to Dora the Explorer and Thomas the Train parties in this park, and now we have a potential battle royale between the wickens and the pirates. Time to hunker down with the some popcorn.
Just as a woman walking by remarked that the forest was a perfect faery forest, Tatum asked to go home. The curiosity seeker in me wanted to force her to stay and watch the day unfold, but one look at her sad little face told me she needed a good nap. So we packed up the car (much to the delight of a wing-wearing woman in a Subaru Outback who needed a parking spot) and headed home to our toothless daddy.
Now I've done a little research on Wicca (On Wikeapedia... Ha!) and there is, in fact, a relationship between Wicca and Faeries. Wicca is a belief system that demonstrates a reverence for the Earth and her natural order. They study/worship the elements of nature, the seasons, and some circles believe in fairies, or faeries. So I did some research on faeries and found a wonderfully entertaining website called the Children of Faerie. I was particularly interested to learn the following about these creatures:
-Only certain people have faery sight (aka can see faeries). All cats have it. (aha... I'm seeing a correlation here between cat ladies and the belief system). If you want to know where they live in your house, follow your cat.
-Unicorns live in apple orchards.
-A circle of mushrooms is called a faery circle, a sure sign of faery activity. Or, a sign you ate some bad mushrooms which lead to "faery activity" if you ask me.
-Faeries are very fearful of anything made of iron.
-If you make a tea of marigolds and rub it on your eyelids, you may see faeries.
-Don't combine marigold tea eye-rubbing with a mushroom circle and an iron rod. That's called the deadly triangle and you'll see Satan. Okay I made that up, but come on. Its kind of funny.
Okay I'm starting to get paranoid that a faery is going to come replace Maya with a faery baby, which is a changeling. So on that: I love faeries! Especially faeries getting married in the park surrounded by skirted sword-wielding men and miniature pirates.
Good night Mother Earth. -Jess
After a morning of lethargy, Kenny decided to tackle the day. But first, he tackled his own mouth. With a wrench. I'll leave that up to him to describe.
Between Kenny's personal Fight Club morning and Tatum's lack of energy, I decided it was time to see if some fresh air could perk us up. I packed the girls in the car and headed to Rhododendron Park, a new favorite of ours.
When I pulled up I saw a man in a maroon silk ruffled shirt: odd attire for a Sunday afternoon at the park. I then saw a woman in a flowing skirt and cape get out of a Mini Cooper adorned with earth loving bumper stickers, including one that said "Protected by Faeries". I thought it was an odd choice of car (Mini) and bumper sticker (faeries) considering the woman was, at minimum, 300 pounds.
As I walked into the park I noticed that a sort of official gathering was being set up in the park shelter that typically hosts children's birthday parties and family picnics. However, the people flocking to the tables were not the normal women in khaki Capri's with cupcakes and a group of kids under age 5. Rather, it was an oddly dressed group complete with flowing capes, floral headpieces, and a number of men in Utilikilts. I parked Maya and I at the closest bench to the picnic shelter to (spy) piece together what was going on.
First: there was a greeter that asked everyone "are you here for the wedding" and had them sign into a guest book. A florist delivered flowers and a number of people brought dishes for what appeared to be the early formation of a pot luck reception.
Second: there were a number of lesbian couples, as well as straight couples. And, a number of children also dressed in the same medieval looking garb as their adult counterparts. It was like the renaissance festival without giant turkey legs and fake jousting. (I couldn't help but hope that their parents don't make them wear cloaks and head pieces to school, our young society just isn't hospitable of that kind of different).
Third: One woman stood out as a possible priestess or officiant of the wedding, as indicated by an intricate flowing cream colored cape, leather bound book and sword.
Finally: many of the men had swords (likely fake ones... I hope).
It was about the time that I began counting utilikilts and swords that I put together, based on my little knowledge of the topic, that this was a Wicken Wedding. As if that weren't entertaining, the photographer began taking pictures of the bride and...bride. A lesbian wicken wedding. Could the day get any better?
Tatum asked me to push her on the swings, which took me away from my listening post. However I was rewarded by a little pirate asking me where the bathrooms were. Yes, a pirate. I looked in the field and low and behold, a pirate birthday party. A dozen little boys with eye patches and swords. Where are the hidden cameras people? I'm used to Dora the Explorer and Thomas the Train parties in this park, and now we have a potential battle royale between the wickens and the pirates. Time to hunker down with the some popcorn.
Just as a woman walking by remarked that the forest was a perfect faery forest, Tatum asked to go home. The curiosity seeker in me wanted to force her to stay and watch the day unfold, but one look at her sad little face told me she needed a good nap. So we packed up the car (much to the delight of a wing-wearing woman in a Subaru Outback who needed a parking spot) and headed home to our toothless daddy.
Now I've done a little research on Wicca (On Wikeapedia... Ha!) and there is, in fact, a relationship between Wicca and Faeries. Wicca is a belief system that demonstrates a reverence for the Earth and her natural order. They study/worship the elements of nature, the seasons, and some circles believe in fairies, or faeries. So I did some research on faeries and found a wonderfully entertaining website called the Children of Faerie. I was particularly interested to learn the following about these creatures:
-Only certain people have faery sight (aka can see faeries). All cats have it. (aha... I'm seeing a correlation here between cat ladies and the belief system). If you want to know where they live in your house, follow your cat.
-Unicorns live in apple orchards.
-A circle of mushrooms is called a faery circle, a sure sign of faery activity. Or, a sign you ate some bad mushrooms which lead to "faery activity" if you ask me.
-Faeries are very fearful of anything made of iron.
-If you make a tea of marigolds and rub it on your eyelids, you may see faeries.
-Don't combine marigold tea eye-rubbing with a mushroom circle and an iron rod. That's called the deadly triangle and you'll see Satan. Okay I made that up, but come on. Its kind of funny.
Okay I'm starting to get paranoid that a faery is going to come replace Maya with a faery baby, which is a changeling. So on that: I love faeries! Especially faeries getting married in the park surrounded by skirted sword-wielding men and miniature pirates.
Good night Mother Earth. -Jess
Thursday, July 8, 2010
As heard by our neighbors
Contrary to what I have convinced myself, wood fencing does not act as a sound barrier. I tend to forget this, as do our house guests, and I wonder what sort of conversations our neighbors have listened in on. Although we have a large wonderful yard, I can hear my neighbors talk in the few times they venture out. We are outdoor people and spend a lot of time entertaining and just hanging out. Today, if you were our neighbor you would have delighted in the following.
Tatum: I'm nudies daddy!
Kenny: You are nudies! Do you like to be nudies? Should I be nudies too?
Tatum: yay! you be nudies TOO!
Kenny: Okay here goes my swimsuit! (pause) I'm nudies too!
Tatum: we're BOTH nudies! yaaaay!
Kenny: Its fun to be nudies on a hot day!
Now before you think my husband is a total creep, let me fill you in on some blanks that the neighbors couldn't see due to the wood fence.
Tatum was in the swimming pool and had stripped off her swimsuit as young children are apt to do on a super hot day. Kenny was playing with her swimming baby doll, and assigning his voice to the doll. He had actually taken the DOLL'S swimsuit off, not his own. Upon realizing the neighbors were out enjoying the weather, he exclaimed in a louder than normal voice:
"That's right! its fun for your baby doll to be nudie too on a hot day, so she took her swimsuit off! But daddy didn't. Daddy's swimsuit is still on, because daddies don't like to be nudies. That's silly!"
Oops. Granted, still mildly creepy to some that he decided the baby doll should be nudie, but consider this. He is a 33 year old man that until the last few months has never played with baby dolls. Cut him some slack, he's a dad of two girls and its a learning process. If he played with the doll in a manner that came naturally, he would have had the doll in some sort of MMA cage match with the Yo Gabba Gabba dolls, or he would have employed her baby to mow the lawn. So he's really doing his best here.
Later, as I sat out back enjoying a nice glass of pinot grigio, talking to my sister on the phone and snuggling a sleeping baby, Tatum opened the door and when I looked at her I said:
Me: "Tatum? Where are your pants? And what's on your legs?"
Tatum(at top volume): "Mommy, there's poop EVERYWHERE! I pooped mommy! I need you to wipe"
Lovely. I went inside to investigate and sure enough she pooped on the potty! Notice I said "on". Not in the hole that is designed for the poop to fall through. On the rim. Then she attempted, in her ever-growing independence, to clean up the poop with half a roll of toilet paper. This clogged the toilet at which time she felt it prudent to loop me into the situation. Enter mommy in time to clean up the toilet, unclog it, and shower her off.
And with that I ask: is ANYONE available to babysit? I need a date night.
Tatum: I'm nudies daddy!
Kenny: You are nudies! Do you like to be nudies? Should I be nudies too?
Tatum: yay! you be nudies TOO!
Kenny: Okay here goes my swimsuit! (pause) I'm nudies too!
Tatum: we're BOTH nudies! yaaaay!
Kenny: Its fun to be nudies on a hot day!
Now before you think my husband is a total creep, let me fill you in on some blanks that the neighbors couldn't see due to the wood fence.
Tatum was in the swimming pool and had stripped off her swimsuit as young children are apt to do on a super hot day. Kenny was playing with her swimming baby doll, and assigning his voice to the doll. He had actually taken the DOLL'S swimsuit off, not his own. Upon realizing the neighbors were out enjoying the weather, he exclaimed in a louder than normal voice:
"That's right! its fun for your baby doll to be nudie too on a hot day, so she took her swimsuit off! But daddy didn't. Daddy's swimsuit is still on, because daddies don't like to be nudies. That's silly!"
Oops. Granted, still mildly creepy to some that he decided the baby doll should be nudie, but consider this. He is a 33 year old man that until the last few months has never played with baby dolls. Cut him some slack, he's a dad of two girls and its a learning process. If he played with the doll in a manner that came naturally, he would have had the doll in some sort of MMA cage match with the Yo Gabba Gabba dolls, or he would have employed her baby to mow the lawn. So he's really doing his best here.
Later, as I sat out back enjoying a nice glass of pinot grigio, talking to my sister on the phone and snuggling a sleeping baby, Tatum opened the door and when I looked at her I said:
Me: "Tatum? Where are your pants? And what's on your legs?"
Tatum(at top volume): "Mommy, there's poop EVERYWHERE! I pooped mommy! I need you to wipe"
Lovely. I went inside to investigate and sure enough she pooped on the potty! Notice I said "on". Not in the hole that is designed for the poop to fall through. On the rim. Then she attempted, in her ever-growing independence, to clean up the poop with half a roll of toilet paper. This clogged the toilet at which time she felt it prudent to loop me into the situation. Enter mommy in time to clean up the toilet, unclog it, and shower her off.
And with that I ask: is ANYONE available to babysit? I need a date night.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Tiny Dancer
Yesterday as I sat in traffic with the theme song from the kids show "Olivia" running through my head (a song that repeats the same word over and over..."Olivia"...I mean how self absorbed can one kids show pig be? I can only figure she is some relative of Miss Piggy), when I decided it was time for some C89 music. This local radio station plays the kind of techno and house music that is reminiscent of my clubbin days in Scottsdale, and brings out a little friend I like to refer to as my Tiny Dancer.
Most of us have one. This is a piece of our imagination that allows us to think we are a spectacular dancer and choreographer. Most of us don't actually dance like our tiny dancer leads us to think we are. This is why bars and clubs don't put mirrors on the dance floor. If we saw that we are more Napolean Dynamite and less Justin Timberlake, we would politely retire to the tables flanking the dance floor and order up a round of shots to cope with the lack of actual coordination.
One time, at a dive bar in Flagstaff Arizona (they called themselves an afterhours club but it was more like a community center selling Red Bull), there was a row of portable mirrors placed on the dance floor for late night crazies like us. When met with the reality of what we looked like, we started to joke around by dancing "badly" and "dorkily", which came easy. We told ourselves and eachother that we were just being funny. What was really occurring is that our Tiny Dancer had run away screaming, since mirrors are like kryptonite to little TD.
Tiny dancers are fueled my loud music and alcohol. Like popeye and spinach, booze makes Tiny Dancer grow in size and seem more real. There have been times after enough chardonnay that I could actually see myself as a professional choreographer. No living room is too small for my tiny dancer, just close the shades. No, not to prevent the neighbors from seeing, but rather to prevent any mirror effect from the windows.
Yesterday as I drove to bookclub I let my tiny dancer hang out in my head. Small though he was she still offered some entertainment for a little while, and I wondered if everyone has a Tiny dancer.
Do you?
Most of us have one. This is a piece of our imagination that allows us to think we are a spectacular dancer and choreographer. Most of us don't actually dance like our tiny dancer leads us to think we are. This is why bars and clubs don't put mirrors on the dance floor. If we saw that we are more Napolean Dynamite and less Justin Timberlake, we would politely retire to the tables flanking the dance floor and order up a round of shots to cope with the lack of actual coordination.
One time, at a dive bar in Flagstaff Arizona (they called themselves an afterhours club but it was more like a community center selling Red Bull), there was a row of portable mirrors placed on the dance floor for late night crazies like us. When met with the reality of what we looked like, we started to joke around by dancing "badly" and "dorkily", which came easy. We told ourselves and eachother that we were just being funny. What was really occurring is that our Tiny Dancer had run away screaming, since mirrors are like kryptonite to little TD.
Tiny dancers are fueled my loud music and alcohol. Like popeye and spinach, booze makes Tiny Dancer grow in size and seem more real. There have been times after enough chardonnay that I could actually see myself as a professional choreographer. No living room is too small for my tiny dancer, just close the shades. No, not to prevent the neighbors from seeing, but rather to prevent any mirror effect from the windows.
Yesterday as I drove to bookclub I let my tiny dancer hang out in my head. Small though he was she still offered some entertainment for a little while, and I wondered if everyone has a Tiny dancer.
Do you?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I'm just an Avatar wooing my flying thingy
Getting to know a new baby is a bit of an odd experience. You meet, and its like "hi, I am your parent. The plan is that we know eachother indefinitely. I will spend hundreds of thousands of dollars raising you, which you won't appreciate until sometime in your twenties, if even then. We will try not to screw you up too bad in the process".
Then a sort of one sided courtship begins. As a parent, I already love the wrinkly squirm buggy with my whole being. But she has a little "jury's still out on you" attitude that will no doubt fully manifest itself in the teen years. I drop everything for the baby. When she cries, I jump. 3am? No problem. Ruin my body for you? Worth every dimple. I would pull out a breast in aisle 8 of safeway if her adorable little tummy so desires. A baby will fart, crap, pee, and barf on you worse than the worst drunk booty call you can imagine and you'll still call the next day.
Meanwhile, this person you are getting to know will initially only want to sleep, then wake up famished and demand to suck on your boobs. Then while you do all the household chores, this person stares at you blankly before falling back asleep, or whining. This may sound disturbingly like other courtships from your past. But unlike an ex-boyfriend, a baby is trainable.
So what's with the Avatar title? At 3am, during a feeding, this analogy seemed totally sensical. My boobs are like the Avatar's braid thingy, and when I am nursing this little baby we are connected on a level unique to our relationship. We were once connected by umbilical cord and now I provide the food that sustains her. She knows my smell and my voice and its the sort of connection that forgives poop up the back, sleeplessness and stretch marks. In turn she forgives my morning breath and grumpiness. Its a very primal courtship and I feel lucky to experience it.
More later, I have to snuggle with my adorable little poo factory.
Then a sort of one sided courtship begins. As a parent, I already love the wrinkly squirm buggy with my whole being. But she has a little "jury's still out on you" attitude that will no doubt fully manifest itself in the teen years. I drop everything for the baby. When she cries, I jump. 3am? No problem. Ruin my body for you? Worth every dimple. I would pull out a breast in aisle 8 of safeway if her adorable little tummy so desires. A baby will fart, crap, pee, and barf on you worse than the worst drunk booty call you can imagine and you'll still call the next day.
Meanwhile, this person you are getting to know will initially only want to sleep, then wake up famished and demand to suck on your boobs. Then while you do all the household chores, this person stares at you blankly before falling back asleep, or whining. This may sound disturbingly like other courtships from your past. But unlike an ex-boyfriend, a baby is trainable.
So what's with the Avatar title? At 3am, during a feeding, this analogy seemed totally sensical. My boobs are like the Avatar's braid thingy, and when I am nursing this little baby we are connected on a level unique to our relationship. We were once connected by umbilical cord and now I provide the food that sustains her. She knows my smell and my voice and its the sort of connection that forgives poop up the back, sleeplessness and stretch marks. In turn she forgives my morning breath and grumpiness. Its a very primal courtship and I feel lucky to experience it.
More later, I have to snuggle with my adorable little poo factory.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
facebook posts
It has been a while since I blogged. The primary reason for this is that I was on pregnancy bed rest for nearly two months, which didn't result in a lot of interesting material. My blogs would have outlined my transition between bed and couch and back again. Plus with my enormous belly, there was no "lap" for my laptop. But now I avow to make up for a large gap.
While confined to my blackberry I have wasted an increasing amount of time checking Facebook. I have begun to wonder if everyone's lives are as sunshiney as their status updates indicate, or if their updates are purely selected to portray that. And for those people that don't regularly let us know their daily goings on, are they having a rough time and just don't want to talk about it? I have laughed to myself that if I was totally forthcoming in my status updates, I would be defriended by about 60 percent of my Facebook "friends" and letting a bit too much information come forth.
Here are examples of typical status updates:
"Coffee on the patio and then baseball game with the kids and amazing husband! What a beautiful day!"
"Out with all my BFF's for wine and apps. Great evening with Lisa, Sarah and Marie!"
"Just tried a new recipe which cured my middle age acne, allowed me to run a half marathon in 90 minutes and the food actually washed the dishes when we were done. Thanks food network!"
"Just ran 10 miles while doing bicep curls, then cleaned my house and planted some flowers. All before 9am. Going to be a productive day!!!"
So, if I were to post HONESTLY in the past couple of months, here is what you would find.
"Took a bath to relax contractions. Too big for my tub, almost couldn't get out! Ha!"
"Finished all my laundry...three days ago. Still waiting for it to fold itself".
"Pushed a baby out of my va-jay-jay this morning. Think I will order some grilled cheese now"
"Bleeding nipples. Nuff said"
"I love my husband for being so helpful! My husband is a huge jerk. Ack! Lost control of my emotions! What day is it???"
"Breast fed three times and ate one meal and read 2 books to my three year old. All before 3pm! I think I will go put my contacts in and shower, going to be a productive....ah who am I kidding this day is shot."
"Sore crotch. Ice pack down there. Love percoset"
Hey: I'm just being honest.and don't get me wrong, I love my baby and she is awesome. I have no complaints. But for now, if I'm being honest, I think I will refrain from status updates on Facebook.
More later...
While confined to my blackberry I have wasted an increasing amount of time checking Facebook. I have begun to wonder if everyone's lives are as sunshiney as their status updates indicate, or if their updates are purely selected to portray that. And for those people that don't regularly let us know their daily goings on, are they having a rough time and just don't want to talk about it? I have laughed to myself that if I was totally forthcoming in my status updates, I would be defriended by about 60 percent of my Facebook "friends" and letting a bit too much information come forth.
Here are examples of typical status updates:
"Coffee on the patio and then baseball game with the kids and amazing husband! What a beautiful day!"
"Out with all my BFF's for wine and apps. Great evening with Lisa, Sarah and Marie!"
"Just tried a new recipe which cured my middle age acne, allowed me to run a half marathon in 90 minutes and the food actually washed the dishes when we were done. Thanks food network!"
"Just ran 10 miles while doing bicep curls, then cleaned my house and planted some flowers. All before 9am. Going to be a productive day!!!"
So, if I were to post HONESTLY in the past couple of months, here is what you would find.
"Took a bath to relax contractions. Too big for my tub, almost couldn't get out! Ha!"
"Finished all my laundry...three days ago. Still waiting for it to fold itself".
"Pushed a baby out of my va-jay-jay this morning. Think I will order some grilled cheese now"
"Bleeding nipples. Nuff said"
"I love my husband for being so helpful! My husband is a huge jerk. Ack! Lost control of my emotions! What day is it???"
"Breast fed three times and ate one meal and read 2 books to my three year old. All before 3pm! I think I will go put my contacts in and shower, going to be a productive....ah who am I kidding this day is shot."
"Sore crotch. Ice pack down there. Love percoset"
Hey: I'm just being honest.and don't get me wrong, I love my baby and she is awesome. I have no complaints. But for now, if I'm being honest, I think I will refrain from status updates on Facebook.
More later...
Saturday, January 30, 2010
WANTED: Cushy Job
So I am watching Keeping up with the Kardashians. Make fun, with one kid in bed and one in the oven my social life has taken somewhat of a nosedive. Its weird, I don't get invited to do anything. Ever.
So here is what I take from this. They have so much money, Kim Kardashian can make her own fragrance. Their jobs are to be famous. Bruce Jenner is on the show and he is famous because he was a decathelete who had a lot of pretty kids (and clearly a lot of pretty plastic surgery) and does public speaking or something.
I'm a realist, I realize I'm not a Kardashian. But lets rewind to the era of cushy jobs. Now cushy jobs are like Dodo birds or VHS tapes or phones that plug into the wall. We know they existed at one time, we have a memory of them, but our kids will have no clue they ever existed. I vote we bring them back (cushy jobs, not VHS. Who wants to be kind rewind?).
I am working too hard for too little right now. I am a slave to freakin' corporate travel. If I sign a deal for hundreds of thousands of dollars I get a HUUUUUGE...
high 5. That is not rewardable by money any longer, but it'll make up for business that has eroded away due to the economy and sure that I get to keep my job and maybe get a little bonus. Last year I even got an email from an upper manager saying "great work"!
Recently we have been shopping for a preschool for Tatum. As we both work full time, she will be in full time preschool. The pricetag on fulltime preschool is a little astonishing, but I'm not worried. I showed them the email from the manager telling me "good job" for signing $200K in new business. That should pay for $10K worth of schooling right?
I'm still waiting to hear back.
So if anyone has sighted one of these so called cushy jobs, I will pay a reward. I'd like to put in roughly 30-35 hours of good, quality work. I want to be able to flex my negotiation and business muscles in that time and be challenged, but I don't want to feel the need to work nights and weekends to stay afloat. I want big money for big deals. If I'm delivering, I want payment. And I don't want those big deals to be that hard to come by. Something that people need/want/are willing to spend money on, happily. I want big orders with smiles. I want a car allowance, expense report, flexibility, no micromanaging, and of course 6 figures. If sighted, please let me know.
Thank you.
So here is what I take from this. They have so much money, Kim Kardashian can make her own fragrance. Their jobs are to be famous. Bruce Jenner is on the show and he is famous because he was a decathelete who had a lot of pretty kids (and clearly a lot of pretty plastic surgery) and does public speaking or something.
I'm a realist, I realize I'm not a Kardashian. But lets rewind to the era of cushy jobs. Now cushy jobs are like Dodo birds or VHS tapes or phones that plug into the wall. We know they existed at one time, we have a memory of them, but our kids will have no clue they ever existed. I vote we bring them back (cushy jobs, not VHS. Who wants to be kind rewind?).
I am working too hard for too little right now. I am a slave to freakin' corporate travel. If I sign a deal for hundreds of thousands of dollars I get a HUUUUUGE...
high 5. That is not rewardable by money any longer, but it'll make up for business that has eroded away due to the economy and sure that I get to
Recently we have been shopping for a preschool for Tatum. As we both work full time, she will be in full time preschool. The pricetag on fulltime preschool is a little astonishing, but I'm not worried. I showed them the email from the manager telling me "good job" for signing $200K in new business. That should pay for $10K worth of schooling right?
I'm still waiting to hear back.
So if anyone has sighted one of these so called cushy jobs, I will pay a reward. I'd like to put in roughly 30-35 hours of good, quality work. I want to be able to flex my negotiation and business muscles in that time and be challenged, but I don't want to feel the need to work nights and weekends to stay afloat. I want big money for big deals. If I'm delivering, I want payment. And I don't want those big deals to be that hard to come by. Something that people need/want/are willing to spend money on, happily. I want big orders with smiles. I want a car allowance, expense report, flexibility, no micromanaging, and of course 6 figures. If sighted, please let me know.
Thank you.
Big Mouth and Big Boo boos
Oh from the mouth of babes as they say.
Today my lovely daughter told me that I had a big mouth. This is how she explains that I ate more in the same amount of time as her. She said "mama have big mouth. East faster. Tatie has little mouth."
Similarly, when I get her dressed she says "Tatie little boo boos". "Mama have BIIIIIIIG boo boos".
If the conversation ever gets to our butts she will not be getting new tap shoes for her birthday.
Then I wonder how much her actions reflect what I do and how I parent.
When I arrived home today from lunch with friends, Tatum was on the stairs with her babydoll. Apparently, her baby fell down, so she wrapped the baby in a blankie and put her in Time Out on the stairs. I'm not sure that falling down has historically been a punishable offense in our house but something was interpretted as such. Hmmmm.
Today my lovely daughter told me that I had a big mouth. This is how she explains that I ate more in the same amount of time as her. She said "mama have big mouth. East faster. Tatie has little mouth."
Similarly, when I get her dressed she says "Tatie little boo boos"
If the conversation ever gets to our butts she will not be getting new tap shoes for her birthday.
Then I wonder how much her actions reflect what I do and how I parent.
When I arrived home today from lunch with friends, Tatum was on the stairs with her babydoll. Apparently, her baby fell down, so she wrapped the baby in a blankie and put her in Time Out on the stairs. I'm not sure that falling down has historically been a punishable offense in our house but something was interpretted as such. Hmmmm.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Letter to My Gym Owners
Happy Twenty Ten Sitting at Computer people! Here is what I have been doing(in the form of a letter to my Gym):
Hi Guys,
I just wanted to drop a quick email, to Thank You for helping improve my life over the past year
and to relay an example of how Crossfit has actually saved my ass (figuratively, not literally...unfortunately)!
It happened yesterday, I went Snowboarding at Crystal Mtn. for the first time in 5 or 6 years with a group of friends (including Jason Ingersoll). I have been boarding about 5 times total in my life. I am a novice. The guys I went with was a group of skiers and a few snowboarders who have done it regularly over the past few years.
I was concerned that I would:
A) Get stuck on the mountain and have to take my board off and walk down like a defeated guy who lacks enough coordination to figure it out
B) Hurt myself and have to be sledded down by Ski Patrol in one of those sledding canoe things
or
C) Suck so bad at it, that my friends ditch me (because they were sick of waiting for me to make it down the mountain) and I would end up boarding the Bunny Slopes all day by myself.
Well, I am proud to say none of that happened and although I did injure myself, the workouts I do at Crossfit saved me from a more serious injury.
Here is what did happen:
The first run, we took a chair up the mountain and then a second chair up to the summit. I was worried about going all the way up to the top without practice run, but surprisingly, I did just fine and the balance came back to me rather quickly. Don't get me wrong, I fell pretty hard a few times, but I truly could feel the strength and flexibility I have built in my Thighs and Calves at Crossfit helping me with balance and form. My Buddies were happily surprised that I was not holding them up.
Some of the guys were getting tired after a few long runs, but I felt like I could continue til close. The guys that were tired were ready to break for lunch and we had one last run down the mountain. We somehow got stuck on an icy cat track that went on forever (switching back and forth all the way down the mountain) and was treacherous for any snowboarder, but especially me using all new equipment and doing it for the first time in half a decade. The ice was so hard that it was like a hockey rink. I got going too fast and when I tried to slow down using my toe-side edge I began to veer towards the side of a cliff, so I tried to position my feet down hill and use my heel side edge to slow down, that is when I caught my heel side edge before I got my feet positioned and went hurtling though the air backwards and landed hard on my ass. The ice packed hard like concrete. It hurt so bad that I was and am pretty sure that I broke my tailbone (as trained rescuers do you guys know what it means when you hit your tailbone so hard that your sphincter spasms and it feels like you are shooting BB's out your penis? Yeah me neither, but thats what happened). After the fall, I was able to get back up and limp down the cat track which only got steeper and icier. I fell on my Tailbone two more times and felt like crying each time, but this is where I feel lucky to have been doing crossfit. on what would be my last run of the day (though I was not planning on it being the last), I fell hard a total of 10 to 12 times. Because I was desperately trying to protect my tailbone (which happened on the first fall), I was breaking my falls with my hands and came very close to breaking my wrist (and I mean seriously close as I broke my left wrist two years ago). I absolutely credit my training at Crossfit with saving me from a broken wrist. The Hang Cleans, Push Presses and other workouts that have helped rehab my wrist with extra strength and flexibility undoubtedly prevented at the very least a bad sprain.
Today, the last day of 2009, I am standing here (not sitting) writing this email to say Thank You Kirkland Crossfit! You saved my Ass, well nevermind, you save my wrist! Maybe to work on increasing the resiliency of our tailbones we add a workout where you do 100 wallballs with a 70 pound kettlebell under you (you know to build a tailbone callous).
Love you guys,
Kenny
Hi Guys,
I just wanted to drop a quick email, to Thank You for helping improve my life over the past year
and to relay an example of how Crossfit has actually saved my ass (figuratively, not literally...unfortunately)!
It happened yesterday, I went Snowboarding at Crystal Mtn. for the first time in 5 or 6 years with a group of friends (including Jason Ingersoll). I have been boarding about 5 times total in my life. I am a novice. The guys I went with was a group of skiers and a few snowboarders who have done it regularly over the past few years.
I was concerned that I would:
A) Get stuck on the mountain and have to take my board off and walk down like a defeated guy who lacks enough coordination to figure it out
B) Hurt myself and have to be sledded down by Ski Patrol in one of those sledding canoe things
or
C) Suck so bad at it, that my friends ditch me (because they were sick of waiting for me to make it down the mountain) and I would end up boarding the Bunny Slopes all day by myself.
Well, I am proud to say none of that happened and although I did injure myself, the workouts I do at Crossfit saved me from a more serious injury.
Here is what did happen:
The first run, we took a chair up the mountain and then a second chair up to the summit. I was worried about going all the way up to the top without practice run, but surprisingly, I did just fine and the balance came back to me rather quickly. Don't get me wrong, I fell pretty hard a few times, but I truly could feel the strength and flexibility I have built in my Thighs and Calves at Crossfit helping me with balance and form. My Buddies were happily surprised that I was not holding them up.
Some of the guys were getting tired after a few long runs, but I felt like I could continue til close. The guys that were tired were ready to break for lunch and we had one last run down the mountain. We somehow got stuck on an icy cat track that went on forever (switching back and forth all the way down the mountain) and was treacherous for any snowboarder, but especially me using all new equipment and doing it for the first time in half a decade. The ice was so hard that it was like a hockey rink. I got going too fast and when I tried to slow down using my toe-side edge I began to veer towards the side of a cliff, so I tried to position my feet down hill and use my heel side edge to slow down, that is when I caught my heel side edge before I got my feet positioned and went hurtling though the air backwards and landed hard on my ass. The ice packed hard like concrete. It hurt so bad that I was and am pretty sure that I broke my tailbone (as trained rescuers do you guys know what it means when you hit your tailbone so hard that your sphincter spasms and it feels like you are shooting BB's out your penis? Yeah me neither, but thats what happened). After the fall, I was able to get back up and limp down the cat track which only got steeper and icier. I fell on my Tailbone two more times and felt like crying each time, but this is where I feel lucky to have been doing crossfit. on what would be my last run of the day (though I was not planning on it being the last), I fell hard a total of 10 to 12 times. Because I was desperately trying to protect my tailbone (which happened on the first fall), I was breaking my falls with my hands and came very close to breaking my wrist (and I mean seriously close as I broke my left wrist two years ago). I absolutely credit my training at Crossfit with saving me from a broken wrist. The Hang Cleans, Push Presses and other workouts that have helped rehab my wrist with extra strength and flexibility undoubtedly prevented at the very least a bad sprain.
Today, the last day of 2009, I am standing here (not sitting) writing this email to say Thank You Kirkland Crossfit! You saved my Ass, well nevermind, you save my wrist! Maybe to work on increasing the resiliency of our tailbones we add a workout where you do 100 wallballs with a 70 pound kettlebell under you (you know to build a tailbone callous).
Love you guys,
Kenny
Monday, December 21, 2009
So You Think You Can Dance in the Barrio
My take on the Barrio: Why is it named Barrio when its Bellevue location is the opposite of a ‘neighborhood’? I think maybe HighRise or SkyScraper is more appropriate, but I guess the Barrio sounds more appetizing.
Yes, the food was great, but we did make the mistake of bringing Tatum and she was not down to sit…down. So instead of an intimate Birthday Dinner where we spoke about our hopes for the upcoming year, the schedule for Christmas and whatever else came to mind, we minded our increasingly independent two year old who wanted to explore the restaurant.
It had been a long day of work and when we arrived, I was excited to cocktail it up. I ordered an Absolut Pear with Soda (light and refreshing). They did not have Absolut Pear at the Bar, my server told me, but let me know that the Bartender was willing to muddle some Pears and mix it with Absolut and Soda. I would have been fine with just switching to Absolut and Soda with a lemon and lime as that is my go to drink anyways, but the offer was intriguing and I liked the extra effort made to accommodate me. The drink was good despite the fact that Pears don’t muddle so well.
We ordered the Rolled Taco (taquito) app that were some of the best rolled Tacos I have ever had. It was fried to the perfect crispness and the meat inside tasted of a quality I am not used to for a Taquito. We also order chips and homemade salsa. They give you choices on the salsa which I thought was fun and we went with the two salsa selection. I wanted Fresh Tomato and Habanero, but was overruled by the Birthday girl who preferred the Tomatillo over the Habanero. I realize now that she was not only ordering for herself but also for Tatum who would probably be blaming us for her Sting-Ring if she ate the Habanero. The Salsa’s were fresh and delicious but bordering on too sugary. I was starting to feel happy with my special Pear Drink and yummy apps. Then Tatum took me away from those things to climb the stairs in the restaurant and pick up all the things she had thrown on the floor.
By the time I was able to convince Tatum that Santa wanted her to sit down at the table so that Mommy and Daddy could eat, my entrée had been sitting their for a few minutes. It looked good. I had ordered the Braised short ribs because I had never seen that on a Mexican Menu and because I love all ribs. The dish had a unique presentation with the meat on the bone sitting atop cooked Squash. I sliced the extremely tender meat up, combined it with some squash in a tortilla (add some of our fresh salsa appetizer) and I was magically transported to real Barrio in little coast town on the Yucatan Penninsula (not really, but I did enjoy it).
We followed Dinner up with a Churro for dessert. The Churro was recommended by my sister who is one of the Manager’s at Purple the adjoining restaurant which can be accessed by a snakey corridor between the two restaurants. I remember being introduced to Churros as a kid at Disneyland and ever since they have inhabited a warm place in my hea… er, stomach. These churros came with a dark chocolate dipping sauce that was very rich and not very sweet but not bitter.
I like to try new foods and only half the time do I actually think it’s an innovation worth continuing. Barrio had a couple of new twists on my favorite foodre (genre of food)…Mexican. Jess and I both agreed that we still think Purple has an advantage over Barrio, but I would definitely go back sans 2-year-old to try other intriguing things I saw on the menu.
After dinner we went home to watch the Finale of one of our Favorite TV shows (up there with the Office) ‘So You Think You Can Dance?’ Russell, the Crumper (yes Crumper) from Boston ended up winning. Congratulations to Russell, he was my favorite Dancer throughout the season and man, I have to admit, I like watching good Crumping. I even kinda like saying Crumping. If you like watching great dancing and not just looking at the hotties on Dancing with the Stars (and I don’t mean the Stars), I highly urge you to watch SYTYCD. I personally love Breakdancing and Popping and now… Crumping.
So there you go two plugs in one post… I should get paid for this.
Yes, the food was great, but we did make the mistake of bringing Tatum and she was not down to sit…down. So instead of an intimate Birthday Dinner where we spoke about our hopes for the upcoming year, the schedule for Christmas and whatever else came to mind, we minded our increasingly independent two year old who wanted to explore the restaurant.
It had been a long day of work and when we arrived, I was excited to cocktail it up. I ordered an Absolut Pear with Soda (light and refreshing). They did not have Absolut Pear at the Bar, my server told me, but let me know that the Bartender was willing to muddle some Pears and mix it with Absolut and Soda. I would have been fine with just switching to Absolut and Soda with a lemon and lime as that is my go to drink anyways, but the offer was intriguing and I liked the extra effort made to accommodate me. The drink was good despite the fact that Pears don’t muddle so well.
We ordered the Rolled Taco (taquito) app that were some of the best rolled Tacos I have ever had. It was fried to the perfect crispness and the meat inside tasted of a quality I am not used to for a Taquito. We also order chips and homemade salsa. They give you choices on the salsa which I thought was fun and we went with the two salsa selection. I wanted Fresh Tomato and Habanero, but was overruled by the Birthday girl who preferred the Tomatillo over the Habanero. I realize now that she was not only ordering for herself but also for Tatum who would probably be blaming us for her Sting-Ring if she ate the Habanero. The Salsa’s were fresh and delicious but bordering on too sugary. I was starting to feel happy with my special Pear Drink and yummy apps. Then Tatum took me away from those things to climb the stairs in the restaurant and pick up all the things she had thrown on the floor.
By the time I was able to convince Tatum that Santa wanted her to sit down at the table so that Mommy and Daddy could eat, my entrée had been sitting their for a few minutes. It looked good. I had ordered the Braised short ribs because I had never seen that on a Mexican Menu and because I love all ribs. The dish had a unique presentation with the meat on the bone sitting atop cooked Squash. I sliced the extremely tender meat up, combined it with some squash in a tortilla (add some of our fresh salsa appetizer) and I was magically transported to real Barrio in little coast town on the Yucatan Penninsula (not really, but I did enjoy it).
We followed Dinner up with a Churro for dessert. The Churro was recommended by my sister who is one of the Manager’s at Purple the adjoining restaurant which can be accessed by a snakey corridor between the two restaurants. I remember being introduced to Churros as a kid at Disneyland and ever since they have inhabited a warm place in my hea… er, stomach. These churros came with a dark chocolate dipping sauce that was very rich and not very sweet but not bitter.
I like to try new foods and only half the time do I actually think it’s an innovation worth continuing. Barrio had a couple of new twists on my favorite foodre (genre of food)…Mexican. Jess and I both agreed that we still think Purple has an advantage over Barrio, but I would definitely go back sans 2-year-old to try other intriguing things I saw on the menu.
After dinner we went home to watch the Finale of one of our Favorite TV shows (up there with the Office) ‘So You Think You Can Dance?’ Russell, the Crumper (yes Crumper) from Boston ended up winning. Congratulations to Russell, he was my favorite Dancer throughout the season and man, I have to admit, I like watching good Crumping. I even kinda like saying Crumping. If you like watching great dancing and not just looking at the hotties on Dancing with the Stars (and I don’t mean the Stars), I highly urge you to watch SYTYCD. I personally love Breakdancing and Popping and now… Crumping.
So there you go two plugs in one post… I should get paid for this.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Things that Would Make my life easier: aka my life as Jane Jetson
Just some "pie in the sky" wishes...
1. NO MORE DOG HAIR: Now of course I don't want to get RID of my dog. But I have to vacuum a LOT. Then I roll the vacuum to the hall closet, put it away with a smile on my face, waltz into the living room, and the carpet is already black and fuzzy. We groom him, brush him, take him to pup scrub... there has to be another solution. I could shave him, but its cold out and the poor guy would freeze. Plus I don't know how therapeutic petting bare dog flesh would be. So that's out. I thought maybe I could roll him in glue, to keep the hair stuck to him. But then I had a vision of calling him for breakfast and Jackson running in with couch cushions stuck to his sides. So I am now on the hunt for a doggie pill that reduces or eliminates shedding.
2. A JETSONS GET READY MACHINE: C'mon you've all thought about it early in the morning when you're trying to shave, shower, hairdry, makeup, etc before you want to be out of bed. What if you could get on a conveyor belt like George Jetson and it would take you through all of the steps without lifting a finger? Its better than a carwash, and would make my life so easy.
3. A WEEKLY MAID: A girl's gotta dream right? Or better yet: ROSIE! (See: Jetsons).
4. NATURALLY FAST METABOLISM: I would still work out to be toned, but if I could eat even a few Christmas cookies without the fear of 4 extra ass dimples, life would be easier. For those weeks where I travel and eat restaurant food without enough excercise, just knowing that I won't gain 5 pounds automatically would really reduce my stress. Plus, spending a few hours less on working out would free up some time and #3 wouldn't be necessary.
5. REPLACING SLEEP WITH A PLUG: I can work on my computer while its charging. What if I could plug myself into the wall to recharge, while simultaneously catching up on Desperate Housewives and folding laundry? Even if I still needed like three hours of sleep, because I actually like a little sleep, I'd surgically add an outlet to my back. Hmmmmmmm.
6. A FETUS SITTER: Okay just hear me out. You can get a babysitter, but what if I could be like "here trusted lady/sister/mom, carry my unborn baby for a night so I can go to dinner and share a bottle of wine and then sleep through the night without peeing 8 times. I'll take it back in the morning and you'll make $100".
7. A PRIVATE PLANE: Roomy seats, go where you want on your schedule, avoid recirculated breath of a 100 strangers. Knowing that if there is pee on the floor of the "bathroom" because of ill-timed turbulence, at least you know whose pee it is. So many reasons this would make my life easier. Plus how fun would it be to like "lets hop on my plane and head to Cabo for the weekend." heck I'd settle for a Jetson's flying bubble car thingy.
Okay as I can't plug myself in, and I have to wake up early and get myself ready after waking up 8 times to pee, its time to go to bed. Busy day tomorrow, full day of work plus the need to vacuum and work out. Better go get my 7 hours.
1. NO MORE DOG HAIR: Now of course I don't want to get RID of my dog. But I have to vacuum a LOT. Then I roll the vacuum to the hall closet, put it away with a smile on my face, waltz into the living room, and the carpet is already black and fuzzy. We groom him, brush him, take him to pup scrub... there has to be another solution. I could shave him, but its cold out and the poor guy would freeze. Plus I don't know how therapeutic petting bare dog flesh would be. So that's out. I thought maybe I could roll him in glue, to keep the hair stuck to him. But then I had a vision of calling him for breakfast and Jackson running in with couch cushions stuck to his sides. So I am now on the hunt for a doggie pill that reduces or eliminates shedding.
2. A JETSONS GET READY MACHINE: C'mon you've all thought about it early in the morning when you're trying to shave, shower, hairdry, makeup, etc before you want to be out of bed. What if you could get on a conveyor belt like George Jetson and it would take you through all of the steps without lifting a finger? Its better than a carwash, and would make my life so easy.
3. A WEEKLY MAID: A girl's gotta dream right? Or better yet: ROSIE! (See: Jetsons).
4. NATURALLY FAST METABOLISM: I would still work out to be toned, but if I could eat even a few Christmas cookies without the fear of 4 extra ass dimples, life would be easier. For those weeks where I travel and eat restaurant food without enough excercise, just knowing that I won't gain 5 pounds automatically would really reduce my stress. Plus, spending a few hours less on working out would free up some time and #3 wouldn't be necessary.
5. REPLACING SLEEP WITH A PLUG: I can work on my computer while its charging. What if I could plug myself into the wall to recharge, while simultaneously catching up on Desperate Housewives and folding laundry? Even if I still needed like three hours of sleep, because I actually like a little sleep, I'd surgically add an outlet to my back. Hmmmmmmm.
6. A FETUS SITTER: Okay just hear me out. You can get a babysitter, but what if I could be like "here trusted lady/sister/mom, carry my unborn baby for a night so I can go to dinner and share a bottle of wine and then sleep through the night without peeing 8 times. I'll take it back in the morning and you'll make $100".
7. A PRIVATE PLANE: Roomy seats, go where you want on your schedule, avoid recirculated breath of a 100 strangers. Knowing that if there is pee on the floor of the "bathroom" because of ill-timed turbulence, at least you know whose pee it is. So many reasons this would make my life easier. Plus how fun would it be to like "lets hop on my plane and head to Cabo for the weekend." heck I'd settle for a Jetson's flying bubble car thingy.
Okay as I can't plug myself in, and I have to wake up early and get myself ready after waking up 8 times to pee, its time to go to bed. Busy day tomorrow, full day of work plus the need to vacuum and work out. Better go get my 7 hours.
Barrio Birthday dinner
Happy Birthday to Me
First of all: my dear husband took me to dinner tonight at the new Barrio in Bellevue. We decided to take the tot because we wanted to go to Snowflake Lane afterwards. Our dear Yaya offered to watch her but I thought "hey, I want to hang out with my cute kid". As a result there wasn't a lot of adult conversation but watching a guy make tortillas with Tatum made it worth it.
If you want a kid friendly restaurant, this latest addition to the Heavy restaurant group (also owns the Purple Cafes and the Barrio Capital Hill) probably isn't a first choice. If you want colorable kids menus big squishy booths to hide in, stick to Zeke's pizza. But, they weren't kid UNfriendly either. It wasn't like How to Cook a Wolf where we were told "we don't have high chairs for a reason" when we dared to bring one child to 8 adults (great food by the way, for an adult night out). The server put water in a covered drink cup and offered to bring some blank paper and a pen, and they were able to concoct a kids quesadilla.
The food was fabulous, I had pork tacos that were a different than pork tacos I'm used to. They weren't "shreddy", but strips of almost steaklike pork with a great savory seasoning. The portion sizes were great, and the one bite of drunken beans I had provided a nice light side dish. Unfortunately Tatum ate the rest of the beans, and I'm hoping the results of that will become apparent tomorrow while my mom is watching her.
The night was capped off with Kenny giving me a birthday present that he designed himself. I think were I not simultaneously attending to a two year old I would have cried. His mom helped him find beads of aquamarine and something that is escaping me right now (I want to say saphire but that can't be right?)... the stone of sagittarius, which we both are. He then searched all over for the perfect necklace, and ended up with a sterling silver chain with two pounded silver circles as a pending. The circles were one within the other, and on the very inside, Kenny hung the beads. It was beautiful and thoughtful and I'm a lucky girl!
First of all: my dear husband took me to dinner tonight at the new Barrio in Bellevue. We decided to take the tot because we wanted to go to Snowflake Lane afterwards. Our dear Yaya offered to watch her but I thought "hey, I want to hang out with my cute kid". As a result there wasn't a lot of adult conversation but watching a guy make tortillas with Tatum made it worth it.
If you want a kid friendly restaurant, this latest addition to the Heavy restaurant group (also owns the Purple Cafes and the Barrio Capital Hill) probably isn't a first choice. If you want colorable kids menus big squishy booths to hide in, stick to Zeke's pizza. But, they weren't kid UNfriendly either. It wasn't like How to Cook a Wolf where we were told "we don't have high chairs for a reason" when we dared to bring one child to 8 adults (great food by the way, for an adult night out). The server put water in a covered drink cup and offered to bring some blank paper and a pen, and they were able to concoct a kids quesadilla.
The food was fabulous, I had pork tacos that were a different than pork tacos I'm used to. They weren't "shreddy", but strips of almost steaklike pork with a great savory seasoning. The portion sizes were great, and the one bite of drunken beans I had provided a nice light side dish. Unfortunately Tatum ate the rest of the beans, and I'm hoping the results of that will become apparent tomorrow while my mom is watching her.
The night was capped off with Kenny giving me a birthday present that he designed himself. I think were I not simultaneously attending to a two year old I would have cried. His mom helped him find beads of aquamarine and something that is escaping me right now (I want to say saphire but that can't be right?)... the stone of sagittarius, which we both are. He then searched all over for the perfect necklace, and ended up with a sterling silver chain with two pounded silver circles as a pending. The circles were one within the other, and on the very inside, Kenny hung the beads. It was beautiful and thoughtful and I'm a lucky girl!
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