Mom's great escape (for the day)

A mom friend and I escaped to Boston for the day a few weekends ago and spent the day... well, I'm almost embarrassed to say. Don't get me wrong, it was glorious and relaxing and totally fun. But in terms of "crazy" and "exciting," I'm not sure you childless folks are going to appreciate this tale (those of you with kids, on the other hand, will understand exactly where I'm coming from).

To sum up the day, we walked around, we talked, we shopped, we ate pastries for lunch (without having to share!), we got fitted for bras, we talked, we had ice cream even after having pastries for lunch and we met another friend for a sinfully caloric dinner and great conversation.

At one point during the day, we found ourselves sitting by a pond in the Public Gardens just... not doing much at all. We admired a bride and groom being photographed, we talked, we sat silently, we people watched, and we wondered how to explain our day to our families. I knew if I described it like the paragraph above, the Pretend Husband wouldn't get it (in fact, I tried that paragraph and his response was, "but you could have done that in the next town over. You didn't have to go all the way to Boston to do that!")

We decided that the day wasn't as much about what we had done, but what we had not done. We hadn't had someone tugging at our clothes at any point during the day, we hadn't been interrupted in our conversation even once, we hadn't had to stop a little human from falling or diving headfirst into the pond. We hadn't had to answer the question, "why?" six times in a row. We hadn't had to keep to a schedule so no one would miss their nap and be incredibly cranky for the rest of the day. We hadn't had to make decisions based on anyone else's wants or needs. And it was wonderful.

While I did miss my family that day, it was exactly what I needed. A beautiful day with a good friend, good conversation, great pastries and not doing much of anything. It was perfect.

Well, THAT'S never happened before...

SJ and I checked out a couple of tag sales this weekend to make sure there isn't any baby stuff we're missing (conclusion: there isn't). At one of the tag sales, the 10-year-old son of the woman hosting the sale starting following us around all used car salesman-like. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for? I can help you find it." "Did you see this toy? It's in great shape."

It was cute... for the first few minutes. And then I felt like saying, "Listen, can you let me browse through your family's crap in peace?" But, somehow, despite my looking exclusively at the baby stuff and-- you know-- the huge belly protruding in front of me, he missed the fact that I was pregnant until his mom asked when I am due.

I answered and that's when Car Salesman Jr. said, "You're having a baby?" and then reached.out.and.rubbed.his.hands.all.over.my.stomach. I mean, I understand the fascination little old ladies have with pregnant bellies, but getting groped by a 10-year-old is a first for me.

And just to show what an evil mind I have, my first thought as this happened was the desire to point at SJ and proclaim, "She's pregnant too!" while running for the safety of the car.

Who needs these fancy baby products when we have a whole refrigerator full of options?

Butt paste, nipple butter-- there are some interesting products for mother and baby out there. I was the guest of honor at two wonderful baby showers this weekend, and was also the recipient of a box of nipple butter at the first shower, which was a couples event that had both the Pretend Husband and I opening gifts.

After opening the nipple butter (it's meant to bring relief for nursing mothers), I began joking around about what other products might be available: nipple mayonnaise? Ooh, the PH likes mustard... how about nipple mustard? But he LOVES hot sauce. How about that?

While we continued opening gifts, the PH's guy friends started rustling around in the next room. Shortly after, we were handed the last gift-- a strange looking black bag that wasn't exactly in the baby shower style.

I peeked inside and immediately handed it to the PH, saying, "It's for you." He then pulled out a bottle of hot sauce with a label his friends created that said, "Red Hot Nipple Sauce."

I'm all for making my husband happy, but I think the line gets drawn somewhere around the idea of putting a spicy condiment on certain sensitive areas of my body. (Oh great, with all this talk about hot sauce, now I'm craving buffalo wings!)

Shhh, let's let him think he has a chance with the ladies...

I wasn't going to post anything today because the funny has been lacking around here, but then I found a conversation the Pretend Husband and I had this weekend that I had transcribed onto my phone for a future blog posting.

I got up early on Saturday morning to go to a tag sale with SJ (I know, we are wild and crazy, aren't we?!?) I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and had not showered. The PH and SJ's husband both decided at the last minute to join us and the PH came down the stairs all showered and decked out in khakis and a polo shirt.

"Hon, you look way better than I do for a tag sale," I said.

"You know how many ladies will be there who don't work on Saturday nights?" the PH replied (It should be noted that I work at a radio station on Saturday nights).

"Why? Are you looking to replace your baby mama?" I asked.

"I'm going to work the crowd," he said. "You working Saturday nights is severely affecting my social life."

(Does it even need to be noted that the PH came home from the CHURCH TAG SALE without any phone numbers? Or that he spent his Saturday night like he often does-- cuddling on the couch with the dogs watching sports? Yeah, that's why I don't worry when he gets dressed up and goes out to "work the crowd.")

No, I will not pay $4 for your slightly-used roll of paper towels

SJ and I hit up a bajillion consignment sales, tag sales and consignment shops this weekend in our quest to outfit both our pregnant selves and our future offspring in awesome clothes for cheap. I won't bore you with details, but it involved me finding the bouncy seat I registered for at half the price at a consignment shop and SJ hoping she really is having a girl because she bought some flowery GAP sweaters that were too cute to resist.

Going to so many places allowed us to kind of compare how people run their tag sales-- and just how much they value their possessions. For example, one tag sale had a Baby Bjorn infant carrier priced at $30 (they retail for $80). Another tag sale had the same one priced at $8. I found some really cute prints of frogs that would have gone well in our nursery-- until I noticed the woman wanted $50 for them. I'm not sure I spent $50 in the entire day, let alone on a single set of items.

On the flip side, we found a tag sale that wanted $1 apiece for maternity tops and 50 cents or a dollar per baby outfit. We like tag sales like that and left with huge piles of clothes.

Here's how I see it. Yes, you paid a lot for your stuff (especially baby stuff, which is not cheap!) Yes, it's in good shape. No, you're not going to get your money back. And let's be honest-- you were probably planning on giving it away anyway. Here's your chance to see it go to a good home and make a couple of bucks in the process. But don't expect to be able to re-do your kitchen on your tag sale proceeds. Because, being the seasoned tag sale veterans we are (OK, SJ more than me, but she's teaching me), we are going to sniff out whatever deals you have (hello, brand new Bundle Me for $10) and leave the expensive stuff for the suckers. Either that, or we will return at the end of the day and bargain with you until SJ pays $20 and walks off with more brand name baby outfits than she can carry.

The embarrassing part is that she also has way more friends on Facebook than I do...

The Pretend Husband and I were laying in bed chatting yesterday morning as the dogs slept curled between us. At some point, Molly groggily lifted her head to look at us. And we both burst out laughing because that poor peekapoo had the worst bed head. Combined with the nasty look she was giving us, we surmised Molly had a pretty rough night. Speaking in the voice we created for her, Molly confessed to sneaking out of the house after we went to bed and attending a rave. She also admitted that she "gothed" herself up (she had black lips and nails) for her night out on the town. Then she told us both to "shut the eff up" because her head was killing her.

The PH and I laughed about it and traded jokes, finding ourselves very, very funny. That is, until I thought about the fact I had worked until 11 p.m. the night before and then gone straight to bed when I got home (very similar to most nights for me these days), and realized my dog's social life is more exciting than mine.

Having a five-mile wide neighborhood could get a little tough on the trick-or-treaters

Oh man, did you ever have one of those neighbors who you could spend all sorts of time with and it's just not enough for them? Like, you let them sleep over your house on a Thursday night (and make them waffles in the morning), but THEN they still want you to visit their house on Friday night? And THEN they come over to your house on Sunday for dinner? And THEN they accept an invite to come over for dinner on Wednesday night? And THEN they invite you over for dinner the next Sunday? And THEN they want to establish a weekly dinner with you? It's so hard for the Pretend Husband and I, being just so popular with our neighbors *insert dramatic sigh here*

You may have picked up on the fact that SJ and her husband moved Friday! To our town! And all that complaining I was doing was fake and was in fact, just a way to rub it in about how much time we now get to spend with them and how awesome that is (we have decks of cards scattered all over both houses because you never know when a Setback game will need to be played!)

I would love to tell you about SJ's new house because it's huge and fabulous and, thanks to her family, had a completely organized kitchen by the time they went to bed on their first night in the house. But I don't want to steal her thunder (seriously, though, it's huge... and fabulous.)

But I will say, welcome to the neighborhood, SJ (what? I can't extend my neighborhood five miles to the west to include SJ's house?) We're excited to have you and look forward to those weekly dinners and if a game or two of Setback gets played afterward, who am I to complain?

Taking all the fun out of Halloween with my whiny recap

* I worked on Halloween night. Which means while all of you were dressing up, handing out candy, going to parties and generally enjoying the holiday, I was reading news about how traffic fatalities increase when Halloween falls on a weekend, how people could guard against getting the swine flu from trick-or-treaters (put candy into the kids' bags yourself instead of letting them reach into the bowl...) and how to clean up your property to avoid having people hurt themselves and then sue. It kind of took the fun out of the day.

* My dad and the Pretend Husband manned our door, handing out candy to the 20 kids who braved the weather, the swine flu and our treacherous yard to make it to them. But they were rewarded because we handed out full size candy bars this year. Congrats to us for avoiding having our house or cars egged for at least the next year!

* The PH was the one who answered the door while Dad tried to keep the dogs wrangled. My dad commented that the PH was great with the kids, chatting with them and complimenting them on their costumes. Since that doesn't exactly sound like the PH, I asked him about it and he said, "I told them, 'Here you go' when I gave them the candy and then told them to have a good night." Not exactly stellar conversation.

* My sister had 250 trick-or-treaters visit her house! She had originally been prepared for 100 but luckily heard from a neighbor that the neighborhood is a popular one, so she ran out and had enough candy for everyone who showed up. At one point, she opened her door to 40 costumed lined up from the road to her porch!

* What is the deal with parents who collect candy? Kat's lil sis said she had at least five mothers who pointed to their six-month-olds sitting in strollers and said, "I'm collecting candy for them." Um, no. Be honest. And buy your own candy.

Lesson learned: Any "experience" is made better by booze

The Pretend Husband had the opportunity to go to the New England Patriots game on Sunday with a friend. For some reason, the husbands decided that their wives had to go along for the "Patriots experience" (since when did my husband start talking like that?)

So, despite a day that included freezing temperatures, snow, sleet, rain, more sleet and more snow, the other wife and I agreed to go. We made the drive with the men and then lost them shortly after we got there as they headed into the game and we walked around the outdoor mall at the stadium.

Then, just as the guys were starting to really feel how cold and wet their feet (and hands and legs and faces) were, we found an awesome bar that featured soft couches and big screen televisions to watch the game on. And that's where the guys found us three quarters, four glasses of wine and two bowls of clam chowder later. I kind of like football now.

It's a slightly more grown-up version of "Can not!" "Can too!"

On Saturday, I made this:

look like this:

Oh, excuse me. It's kind of hard to see with those two vehicles in the way. Oh wait, that's the point! I can actually park cars in our garage! Saturday morning, I started moving stuff around in the garage and taking stuff into the house to put it where it actually belongs and not where it's been since we moved in a year ago. Eight hours later, I was done. And I did it with minimal help from the Pretend Husband, his father or my brother, who were all doing various tasks in our yard (which looks great, but not dramatically different enough to warrant illustration). Ok, I did ask the guys to move some furniture around with me (I'm no superhero).

And, while I was looking forward to finally being able to park in the garage (and I can't wait for the garage door openers the PH promised me for doing the cleaning), I probably wouldn't have killed the entire day on the project if it weren't for one thing. My dad said I couldn't do it.

Am I the only 32-year-old who still feels the need to prove Dad wrong? My dad stopped by about an hour after I started working on Saturday and when I told him what I was doing, he estimated it would take me about four days to finish.

"Oh no," I said. "I'm parking both cars in here today."

"Today?" he said. "There's no way you're going to finish today."

I had to prove him wrong. Which means at hour seven, with one bay cleaned and swept and a bunch of junk still clogging the other one, when I normally would have left the rest for the next day, I soldiered on and got it done. I have Dad to thank for that (I'm thinking of sending him a card saying, "Thanks for not believing in me!") I think the PH is hoping he'll make a comment about the basement next.

The thing about tag sales...

Time spent gathering items around the house and tagging them= 1.5 hours

Time we awoke on Saturday in order to haul our stuff to SJ's house= 6:30 a.m.

Number of times I wished I had never met SJ so I wouldn't have to be awake so early= 27

Pounds I had to lift onto the back of a truck at 6:30 a.m.= don't know, but it felt like 180

Number of times I had to lift what felt like a 180-pound desk on Saturday= 6

Hours I spent sitting in the sun, chatting with three funny sisters and bargaining with tag sale shoppers= 4.5

Money I made for my 8 hours of work and 6 desk moving experiences= $21.75

Money I spent on an item one of the funny sisters was selling= $45

What participating in SJ's tag sale cost me= $23.25

SJ's Letters to the Masses version 3.1: The Ren Faire Letters

Dear Man who attends Renaissance Faires to grope the actors,

You're icky, sir. And I realize that I may be dressed somewhat funny, and I realize that you find my outfit very pleasing to the eye, but come now. Would you want random men groping your sister?

Do I invite your groping? No, sir. I do, in fact, not.

Please back away.

Sincerely,
sj

*****
Dear Freecreditreport.com,

On behalf of all singers and musicians that perform at festivals while dressed in costume: Thanks. Thanks a whole freaking lot. My credit is just *fine* thank you.

I bite my thumb at you, sirs.

Unapologetically,
sj

*****
Dear People who laugh at me for dressing up like Heidi and singing at such festivals,

I get paid. And I look *fabulous.*

And little girls wish to be me. (It's cool though, parents. I totally warn them away from a life of singing sea shanties while wearing a corset.)

Yours in song,
SJ

******
Dear 22-year-old SCA enactor,

I'm sorry, but we are not "fated to be together" in this lifetime, or the next. My husband is both a history nerd *and* a hottie.

Not, in fact, yours,
SJ

The Universe is not pleased with me.

So remember when I had to make a decision?

I made the wrong one. And now the world has to pay. Because if you all remember, I was supposed to be going to Mexico on Sunday.

Yeah, that didn't work out for me.

So now we're going to the Catskills. No. I'm not kidding. Stop laughing. Yes, I'm under 60. Am hoping that I take ballroom dance lessons and Johnny and Penny have a gig that Penny can't go to, so I have to step in but then bad stuff goes down and Johnny gets fired, and then at the end of our stay, Johnny comes back to dance one last dance with me, and says to me "Nobody puts SJ in the corner."

Oh, and we're going to the casino. To hang with Brittany. Because we're so alike.

Did I mention how good the ice cream is?

If there is one sport I absolutely cannot tolerate, even for a few minutes, on TV or in person, it's baseball. And golf. Yeah, I said "one sport" but I hate them both. Except I probably hate baseball more because there's a chance of being asked to go to a game, while no one has ever asked me to a golf... match? tournament? game? extravaganza? Whatever you call it, I've never been invited.

And now I am faced with what I'm calling a "very important decision" (but only because work is slow and life is boring and this decision is about as important as it gets right now. don't worry, I realize it doesn't really rank in the grander scheme of things...)

But anyway. The Pretend Husband was given tickets to a baseball game this weekend. And he's peer pressuring me into going with him. The good part? It's in the city I went to college in, a city I love, love, love and haven't been to in way too long and it's home to the best ice cream I've ever had. But. I would have to go to the stupid baseball game.

So, on the one hand, city I love, best ice cream ever, a night away from home, the best ice cream ever, hanging out with the PH, the best ice cream ever... And, on the other stupid hand, stupid baseball. I'm a fan of football and I will willingly watch basketball games with the PH, but I cannot stand baseball. It's long, it's boring and it's long.

Let's hear what you think? Do I suck it up with the best ice cream ever as my sweet, sweet reward? Or do I skip it purely for health reasons (i.e. there's a strong possibility I would die of boredom if forced to sit through an entire game...)?

On splinters, Rick Springfield, lack of sleep and yardwork

Hi bloggy buddies!

How's it going? If you've guess SJ has had a crapload of caffeine today, you are exactly right! Every thought of mine right now is magnified and running about 10 times faster than usual!

Freaking awesome!

So right now, I've had very little sleep because of my crazed addiction to work, which is second only to my crazed addiction to the office coffee maker. I can guarantee you this blog post isn't going to make much sense in paragraph form, so I've decided to bullet point my thoughts.

• I have a splinter in my finger because of seriously overly ambitious pruning in my yard on Sunday. The splinter is mostly gone, but I think there's still a piece left. A friend told me to put a piece of ham on it. I think she's just trying to make me look silly.
  
• Yes, I did yard work. About four hours of it, after getting 3.5 hours of sleep the night before.
• Because the night before I went to see Rick Springfield.
• Stop laughing. I'm totally serious.
• Yes, he sang Jessie's Girl. Yes, it was awesome. There was an encore.
• Again I ended up at a karaoke bar, and actually sang by myself. Thank god there were no video cameras.
  
• It gets worse. I sang a Jewel song. But at the time, I had a super awesome time. Sunday may have been a little tough, however.

Sorry, Interweb. That's all I have for you.

Just in case you thought I was perfect...

My boneheaded move o' the weekend came at a vineyard the Pretend Husband and I visited yesterday. As he was sampling different wines and the woman serving us was describing the "notes of butternut and apricot," I asked, "How do they get those flavors into the wine?"

She started to explain that different varieties of grapes produce different flavors, which I hope means she didn't catch on to the fact that, for a minute, I thought they perhaps crushed up butternut squash and put it in the wine.

Happy Birthday, dude! And some other stuff.

Actually, it's not the blog's birthday.

It's my bloggy friend Pat's birthday. His *30th* birthday - which is kind of a big deal.

So if you get a chance, please endear him with happy birthday wishes and assure him that he is not old, particularly because every time he says that, it makes me feel older.

Pat, here's my gift to you:


What's that, you ask? What did I do this weekend? Well, I had fun. It involved singing Irish folk songs, singing karaoke (badly) after with my friend Henry (Pictured below. He's single, ladies. Just saying. Quite the catch. And totally made me look almost good at karaoke.) and some other fabulous friends and I topped it all off with a fun New Haven adventure that involved Frank Pepe's pizza *and* seeing dinosaurs (the Peabody museum at Yale).

All in all - good times.

SJ's List: Things that Failed this Week

I'm tired and cranky, but somewhat appeased by a fantastic bagel, and taking a minute out of my day to confess that I've been out there, lurking on your sites, and not commenting. Sorry, Interweb.

But in hopes of entertaining with my misfortune, I have compiled a list of things that failed this week.

1) My spelling of the word "week." I've corrected it from wek at least 14 times so far in this post.
2) My ability to comment on various blogs, including Andy's, Sam's, Muffy's - just to name a couple. Or wait. That's more than two. Just to name a threesome, then. I've totally lurked... hit the comment button and then: Brain Fail.
3) Time. I had nothing to do with this. Time failed me. Or daylight lose an hour of sleepness. Whichever.
4) Sleep also failed me.
5) The ending to last night's Grey's Anatomy. FAIL.
6) My ability to slam a door in someone's face. FAIL. Because I don't have one.
7) My rule of not staying past 7 at work.
8) My strict I'm Going to Mexico diet.
9) My intentions of restarting my pilates routine.
10) My plan to clean my extra room and start sewing.

So yeah, this was, on the whole, an unsuccessful week. However, we may end on a positive note, since KAT and I will be bonding over tacos and setback tonight. I know. I bet you wish you were with us. We wish that too. I'd invite you over, but it's not my house.

I hope that next week will be better for all of us. It's already looking up, what with it not being an hour shorter and all.

OH! AND! This weekend I will have an important annoucement. It has to do with... babies.

i am no good at making decisions.

and yet? i've been given a choice.

it's either this:



or this:


j is being sent to Cabo San Lucas for work (oh, woe to him... my poor husband... being sent to paradise..) and he can take me with him. however, if i go with him, it means that we cannot get the puppy we've been considering. this isn't that puppy, but it's super close.

decisions, decisions....

Don't be a hater, yo

Oh man, all you single people are going to be soooo jealous when you hear how awesome married life is! I mean, you might be feeling like your Valentine's Day plans to go out to dinner with a group of friends or rent sappy movies and eat ice cream are lame, but wait until you hear what the Pretend Husband has planned for us. We are going to spend all of Valentine's Day... are you ready for this?.... are you sure?.... here goes... cleaning out the garage!

OK, settle down, he's mine and you can't have him. Before the PH finds out I'm mocking him on the blog, I'll be fair and tell you all that we agreed not to do anything special for Valentine's Day this year... well, except wait until all the candy goes on clearance and then stuff ourselves full of chocolate-- that's romantic, isn't it?

And the cleaning out the garage plans aren't that lame because they mean our renovation is almost over! The majority of our furniture has been stacked in the garage since our family and friends put it there on moving day and we've been living out of boxes ever since. We've been slowly moving things into the house as we finish different rooms, but this will be the last of what we need (except the kitchen stuff, but don't ask me about that unless you're ready to pick up the pieces of brain after my head explodes in frustration...)

And the best part? Cleaning all the stuff out of the garage means we'll be able to park our cars in there. No more chipping ice off the windshield, no more frozen bottles of water on the front seat, no more risking my life to skate across the driveway to my car. Yay! So, actually, I guess the PH is giving me a usable garage for Valentine's Day which, if I'm honest, is way better than flowers and a card anyway.