Starting this weekend, I plan to revive Singuloso.
This whole getting your house ready to sell thing is for the birds. It's starting to look nicer now than it ever did, and it's making me want to stay - sometimes. I am living the nightmare known as "Design to Sell," only I don't have a fancy interior designer telling me what to do.
Ok. gotta go for now. My son is sleeping in his pack and play in his bare bedroom (new carpet being installed tomorrow) and he is bound to wake up at any time. So I better get some sleep.
Stay tuned.
30 May 2007
23 May 2007
The Week of Season Finales
I never thought I would say it. But 24 stunk. I won't recap here, but at the end of the two-hour season finale Monday night, I did not, as I have at the end of all other seasons, feel depressed because it was over. In fact, I felt glad, because I will gain an hour of my life back each and every Monday night instead of watching a show which has sadly gone down the tubes. Of course, I will watch when the next season starts up in January, but I pray that the storyline will NOT involve Jack tryng to get locate his crazy girlfriend. And what was that ridiculous exchange between Jack and Audrey's father? That was perhaps some of the worst acting I have seen on the show.
Anyway, then last night, I watched most of the season of Dancing With the Stars, but shut it off an hour and a half into it without even finding out who won. I just couldn't take any more memory montages that included Lance Bass talking about Joey Fatone's cha-cha abilities.
And I will NOT be watching the two-hour Idol finale tonight 1) Because it's the season finale of LOST (insert excited shivers here) and 2) Because I refuse to watch that idiot Blake beat-box any longer than I have to. BLAKE, it's a s-i-n-g-i-n-g competition, dawg. One of the most fun things about watching Idol is how Rich and I are able to predict, just as easy as Jack Bauer going rogue at any given time, what Randy will say when it comes time to hand out judgements to the contestants. His repetoire consists of "So, yo yo yo," "You know what dawg," "So, you know what," and many variations on these three.
Also, it's too frustrating to try and figure out what's going on with Paula Abdul's lips. Straight up.
Speaking of Lost, I have no theories. It almost hurts my head when I try and figure out what the hell is going on. But in addition to finding out clues about all the mysteries of the Island, and why the hell they are there, I hope the writers will solve the love square going on between Jack, Sawyer, Kate and Juliet. Even though Jack has been pissing me off as of late, I am still hoping he ends up with Kate, though I know that it will have the same effect on the show as Rachel and Ross getting together on Friends, and Sam and Diane hooking up on Cheers.
One season finale of note which took place last week, The Office. That is one f'ing funny show. Michael gets back with Jan because of her boob job, but those bastards at NBC left us with the same clifhanger as last year - Pam and Jim - and I LOVE them for it.
Anyway, then last night, I watched most of the season of Dancing With the Stars, but shut it off an hour and a half into it without even finding out who won. I just couldn't take any more memory montages that included Lance Bass talking about Joey Fatone's cha-cha abilities.
And I will NOT be watching the two-hour Idol finale tonight 1) Because it's the season finale of LOST (insert excited shivers here) and 2) Because I refuse to watch that idiot Blake beat-box any longer than I have to. BLAKE, it's a s-i-n-g-i-n-g competition, dawg. One of the most fun things about watching Idol is how Rich and I are able to predict, just as easy as Jack Bauer going rogue at any given time, what Randy will say when it comes time to hand out judgements to the contestants. His repetoire consists of "So, yo yo yo," "You know what dawg," "So, you know what," and many variations on these three.
Also, it's too frustrating to try and figure out what's going on with Paula Abdul's lips. Straight up.
Speaking of Lost, I have no theories. It almost hurts my head when I try and figure out what the hell is going on. But in addition to finding out clues about all the mysteries of the Island, and why the hell they are there, I hope the writers will solve the love square going on between Jack, Sawyer, Kate and Juliet. Even though Jack has been pissing me off as of late, I am still hoping he ends up with Kate, though I know that it will have the same effect on the show as Rachel and Ross getting together on Friends, and Sam and Diane hooking up on Cheers.
One season finale of note which took place last week, The Office. That is one f'ing funny show. Michael gets back with Jan because of her boob job, but those bastards at NBC left us with the same clifhanger as last year - Pam and Jim - and I LOVE them for it.
14 May 2007
Birthday Boy
Well, another successful birthday has come and gone.
My son turned two on the 11th, as you know, and it was a weekend of birthday activities.
First, the butter.
Now, for those of you who don't know about the butter, and most of you probably don't, I can't really offer you much except that it has been a tradition in our family passed down from one generation to the next. On the morning of a birthday, you are supposed to wake up the birthday boy/girl by smearing a glob of greasy margarine, or, in my case, I Can't Believe It's Butter, on their nose. Last year, it was done to smiles. This year, as you can see from the picture above, the little man wasn't too thrilled. But still, when my mother asked on the day of his party if I had put butter on his nose the previous morning, I was able to give her a resounding yes!
During a family discussion, I was told once that it was for good luck. A little research comes up with this explanation from a birthday traditions around the world Web site.
Canada - Greasing the nose with butter or margarine. In Atlantic Canada (Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick and Newfoundland) the birthday child is ambushed and their nose is greased for good luck. The greased nose makes the child too slippery for bad luck to catch them. This tradition is reputed to be of Scottish decent.
I suppose this makes sense since I believe I am about 1/64th Scottish.
Anyhow, this year I forgot to grease Rich, whose birthday passed on the 8th with much less fanfare, I am afraid, than our son's. I suppose that means he is doomed for a year of bad luck. Perhaps if I get him on my birthday, I can reverse the curse.
Anyway, the party went off without a hitch. Last year, for his first birthday, I was worried about the fact that I didn't have fancy holders for the condiments. This year, we were smart and ordered pizza and bought four cases of beer. That way, people were too drunk to realize we did not have quite the spread as last year. But it certainly made for a stress-free partay. I was so relaxed, I didn't even vaccuum the welcome mat before guests started arriving.
Obviously, gifts were the highlight of the party. And I don't know if you can see from this pic, but my son was literally jumping for joy when we finally let him in the family room with all the presents.
It's hard to figure out yet which one is his favorite, but he certainly enjoyed playing on his sand and water table he got from Nani, which, by the way, took me two hours to put together!
(p.s. the little blond cutie in the pic is Braedan's main squeeze!)
My son turned two on the 11th, as you know, and it was a weekend of birthday activities.
First, the butter.
Now, for those of you who don't know about the butter, and most of you probably don't, I can't really offer you much except that it has been a tradition in our family passed down from one generation to the next. On the morning of a birthday, you are supposed to wake up the birthday boy/girl by smearing a glob of greasy margarine, or, in my case, I Can't Believe It's Butter, on their nose. Last year, it was done to smiles. This year, as you can see from the picture above, the little man wasn't too thrilled. But still, when my mother asked on the day of his party if I had put butter on his nose the previous morning, I was able to give her a resounding yes!
During a family discussion, I was told once that it was for good luck. A little research comes up with this explanation from a birthday traditions around the world Web site.
Canada - Greasing the nose with butter or margarine. In Atlantic Canada (Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick and Newfoundland) the birthday child is ambushed and their nose is greased for good luck. The greased nose makes the child too slippery for bad luck to catch them. This tradition is reputed to be of Scottish decent.
I suppose this makes sense since I believe I am about 1/64th Scottish.
Anyhow, this year I forgot to grease Rich, whose birthday passed on the 8th with much less fanfare, I am afraid, than our son's. I suppose that means he is doomed for a year of bad luck. Perhaps if I get him on my birthday, I can reverse the curse.
Anyway, the party went off without a hitch. Last year, for his first birthday, I was worried about the fact that I didn't have fancy holders for the condiments. This year, we were smart and ordered pizza and bought four cases of beer. That way, people were too drunk to realize we did not have quite the spread as last year. But it certainly made for a stress-free partay. I was so relaxed, I didn't even vaccuum the welcome mat before guests started arriving.
Obviously, gifts were the highlight of the party. And I don't know if you can see from this pic, but my son was literally jumping for joy when we finally let him in the family room with all the presents.
It's hard to figure out yet which one is his favorite, but he certainly enjoyed playing on his sand and water table he got from Nani, which, by the way, took me two hours to put together!
(p.s. the little blond cutie in the pic is Braedan's main squeeze!)
10 May 2007
All growns up
To the 2 or 3 people who read this blog, I apologize for having been so lax in keeping my posts up to date.
My neglect is the result of being burnt out for the past week or so. And every time I sign into Blogger, all I end up doing is noticing how badly I need a manicure as I look at my still hands splayed out on the keyboard.
Anyway, my son turns 2 tomorrow and we went to the market this morning to order his Thomas birthday cake. It's all he's been talking about for the last month, and had I not gotten him one, there was sure to be mutiny. He kept repeating "Thomas cake, Thomas cake," over and over again to the bakery guy as he took our order.
It's amazing to me how in the last few weeks, his vocabulary had just ballooned, and all he does now is talk - and repeat. In fact, every once in a while, he comes out with "damn it" and I don't know where it's coming from, because I usually, and I stress the word usually, try to refrain from swearing in front of him, and I normally tend to choose a different four-letter word when I am angry. Every time I hear him say it, I think of that scene in "A Christmas Story" when Ralphie is helping his father change the tire, and he drops the bolts and says, "Fudge" only he doesn't say fudge. Then I think of the woman on the phone who says, "He probably heard it from his father." I'll have to ask Rich.
The other habit my son has gotten into is to hound people. At the grocery store the other day, while I was checking out the grapes, Braedan kept holding his animal cracker in some old guy's face and repeating, "animal cracker, animal cracker." He literally said it about 20 times (the grapes were not looking good that day). Either the old guy was deaf, or he was giving the best facial ever. Then today at the playground, he did the same thing to another old guy, except this time it was a munchkin, and my son was not parked in a grocery cart. Instead, he kept following the guy around. The man did not seem amused.
He's just getting too old too fast. He knows his ABC's, his numbers and his colors. We can actually have a conversation. Yesterday he let me know that a blueberry I dropped rolled underneath the oven. He's making up his own songs and talking on the phone. He knows how to ask for something so that I can't refuse.
My little baby is all growns up.
My neglect is the result of being burnt out for the past week or so. And every time I sign into Blogger, all I end up doing is noticing how badly I need a manicure as I look at my still hands splayed out on the keyboard.
Anyway, my son turns 2 tomorrow and we went to the market this morning to order his Thomas birthday cake. It's all he's been talking about for the last month, and had I not gotten him one, there was sure to be mutiny. He kept repeating "Thomas cake, Thomas cake," over and over again to the bakery guy as he took our order.
It's amazing to me how in the last few weeks, his vocabulary had just ballooned, and all he does now is talk - and repeat. In fact, every once in a while, he comes out with "damn it" and I don't know where it's coming from, because I usually, and I stress the word usually, try to refrain from swearing in front of him, and I normally tend to choose a different four-letter word when I am angry. Every time I hear him say it, I think of that scene in "A Christmas Story" when Ralphie is helping his father change the tire, and he drops the bolts and says, "Fudge" only he doesn't say fudge. Then I think of the woman on the phone who says, "He probably heard it from his father." I'll have to ask Rich.
The other habit my son has gotten into is to hound people. At the grocery store the other day, while I was checking out the grapes, Braedan kept holding his animal cracker in some old guy's face and repeating, "animal cracker, animal cracker." He literally said it about 20 times (the grapes were not looking good that day). Either the old guy was deaf, or he was giving the best facial ever. Then today at the playground, he did the same thing to another old guy, except this time it was a munchkin, and my son was not parked in a grocery cart. Instead, he kept following the guy around. The man did not seem amused.
He's just getting too old too fast. He knows his ABC's, his numbers and his colors. We can actually have a conversation. Yesterday he let me know that a blueberry I dropped rolled underneath the oven. He's making up his own songs and talking on the phone. He knows how to ask for something so that I can't refuse.
My little baby is all growns up.
03 May 2007
I should be rich
According to Salary.com, if I were paid for the work I do as a stay-at-home mom, I would make over $145,000 per year - and that's if I was only a mediocre parent. The cap for my area on the North Shore tops $174,000. Now that's what I'm talking about.
Now I know that in today's world, being able to stay at home is a privilege - and I really do feel lucky for this luxury - but this is what I feel like I should get paid at the end of every day. And I only have one two-year-old son. Would the salary double if I had two?
The whole issue got me to thinking. Am I really a stay-at-home mom?
Yes, I physically am at home. I am here when he wakes at 6 a.m. in the morning. We go to the park, have play dates and sing and dance our butts off in music class each week, and can basically do whatever we want whenever we want. It is my most prized possession, being able to stay home and watch him grow and learn new things each and every day.
But I also work as a freelance writer. I write when he's napping, conduct interviews at night and on the weekends, and sometimes, when it's appropriate, I bring him with me to cover stories. What does this make me? Does it demote me to quasi stay-at-home-mom status? I don't know.
But what I do know is that the last few weeks it's really been wearing on me, this dual role I am trying to play day in and day out, switching gears by the hour and never slowing down. One minute I am sweeping crumbs from a soynut butter and jelly sandwich from the kitchen floor, and the next I am brainstorming ideas for an article on solar power I have been assigned for an environmental news Web site. Somehow, the two just don't seem to go together. But still I manage to persevere every week.
With bags under my eyes and caffeine running through my veins, I somehow (usually) meet my deadlines. I manage to write something coherent and printable. I'm just wondering when my luck is going to run out. And I am thinking about that $145,000 pay check. But would I want to be paid for something I truly love to do? I'm not so sure. But a mom can dream.
Now I know that in today's world, being able to stay at home is a privilege - and I really do feel lucky for this luxury - but this is what I feel like I should get paid at the end of every day. And I only have one two-year-old son. Would the salary double if I had two?
The whole issue got me to thinking. Am I really a stay-at-home mom?
Yes, I physically am at home. I am here when he wakes at 6 a.m. in the morning. We go to the park, have play dates and sing and dance our butts off in music class each week, and can basically do whatever we want whenever we want. It is my most prized possession, being able to stay home and watch him grow and learn new things each and every day.
But I also work as a freelance writer. I write when he's napping, conduct interviews at night and on the weekends, and sometimes, when it's appropriate, I bring him with me to cover stories. What does this make me? Does it demote me to quasi stay-at-home-mom status? I don't know.
But what I do know is that the last few weeks it's really been wearing on me, this dual role I am trying to play day in and day out, switching gears by the hour and never slowing down. One minute I am sweeping crumbs from a soynut butter and jelly sandwich from the kitchen floor, and the next I am brainstorming ideas for an article on solar power I have been assigned for an environmental news Web site. Somehow, the two just don't seem to go together. But still I manage to persevere every week.
With bags under my eyes and caffeine running through my veins, I somehow (usually) meet my deadlines. I manage to write something coherent and printable. I'm just wondering when my luck is going to run out. And I am thinking about that $145,000 pay check. But would I want to be paid for something I truly love to do? I'm not so sure. But a mom can dream.
01 May 2007
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