Saturday, February 27, 2010

The Daily Grind

I realize I haven't posted an entry with pictures in a great while, but that would require taking pictures, and being that Josh has commandeered the camera indefinitely, posting with pictures will continue to be difficult (I guess he likes to take pictures of his CALLE events? Why, I'm not sure. I've looked through those pictures and believe me, they're pretty pointless). According to Dayna, posting entries without pictures is lame. Well Dayna, you're lame.

But who needs pictures? I mean, I can tell you exactly what's going on and who looks like what. Rip is a 6 month old baby who clings to my legs all day, whining and begging to be picked up so he can 'jump' in my lap (his jumping is more of a straight-legged bounce). He squeals with delight while I remember that some babies bend their legs when they jump. Not mine. He's a genius, that one.

I am a mom who wears sweats all day and considers being dressed up as wearing a normal bra, rather than a sports bra. Yeah. I know. I'm hot. Josh is a lucky man. So is Rip. I'm sure Rip is going to be confused when he starts school (assuming he ever lets go of my leg, that is), and realizes that the other moms are wearing some alien material called denim. He'll probably be even more confused when the other kids are bending their legs while they jump, too. He's got a lot ahead of him.

But we typically stick to the same routine every day. Me in sweats, Rip in sweats (the glory of having a boy; sweats are considered an 'outfit'). He eats, then I eat. I eat while Rip clings to my leg, but he's well rested and well-fed, and so he forgoes the whining momentarily, and instead opts to play with my toes in my socks. Then I do the good mother deed and wrestle around with him. Let me just say, this is no tickle session. I am way rougher than Josh would ever dream of being, but since Rip appears to enjoy it, and I enjoy the aggressive play, it works for us. Again, Rip will be likely be confused when he goes to a playmate and starts trying to throw them around, and the playmate is confused by the abuse. We'll let the teachers sort it out.

The next hour or so usually involves me picking things up, putting dishes in the dishwasher, folding laundry, all with a chubby baby in my arms or lap. Please. That baby does not touch the ground. And I'd rather burn the calories than hear him whine. Plus, I'm trying to delay his gross motor skills. He's been crawling since 5 1/2 months and he's found a particular liking to walking (me holding his arms while he run/leap/walks). So, I don't really want him to be able to move too much more, at least not for a while. Yes. I'm debilitating.

Eventually, he goes down for a nap. This is the time I live for. Although Rip doesn't take the longest naps, he naps long enough for me to take a shower hot enough to turn my entire skin pink. I literally look like a piglet (chub and all). But we basically recycle that routine every two hours for the rest of day. It's exciting and you're probably jealous of me. I'm not surprised.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Mom Friends

I'm not like the other moms my age. I'm snarky and sarcastic and I think infant massages are ridiculous. I don't care about themed nurseries, I microwave bottles, my baby wears sweats every day all day, and I let him sleep on his tummy. I don't make my own baby food, I haven't bought a single baby toy, and I can't remember the first time I heard his heart beat. I get mad at him when he doesn't sleep and I don't enjoy nursing. Yes. I should be kicked out of Utah, or at least the little lunch group that I've been invited to, soon to be disinvited to (all young moms, all fans of infant massages). I'm pretty sure the moms there are all a little terrified of me, or at least by the fact that I joke about not liking my child (I do).

Anyway, I'm starting to whittle away at the moms I can be friends with, and the moms I can hardly stand. Listen. If you take yourself and your baby a little too seriously, we cannot be friends and you should probably not read this blog. Stop now. I've put together a list that will determine if we can or cannot be mom friends. Chances are, we cannot. I detest most new moms and so the likelihood that you don't irritate me are slim to none.

  • If your baby doesn't sleep through the night and you don't say, "I'm going to shoot my brains out" at least 12 times a day.
  • You assume other people think your baby is the smartest, cutest, most talented baby ever. This drives me CRAZY!!!! Chances are, your baby in unattractive, slow, and without the least bit of potential, so don't bother.
  • If you love nursing so much, you have to tell me you love nursing so much. Sick.
  • If you can't jokingly say anything non-positive about your baby. Listen. It doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a tolerable person.
  • You won't admit that it bothers you when other people's babies roll over, sit up, or do anything before yours does. If you haven't ever thought, "Could he/she be slow?" then you definitely cannot be my mom friend.
  • If you leave your shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot (this doesn't have so much to do with being a mom as it just bugs me. My fluffy-haired mom does it so I should be a bit more forgiving, but I'm not. Stop doing it mom!). I seriously think there should be a steep fine or penalty of sorts. You people are criminals.
  • If you do not wear sweats when you're at home all day. This is unforgivable.
  • If your baby never spit up; this is also unforgivable.
  • If you forfeited any bit of personality you had, and opted instead for the generic new mom personality.
  • Lastly, if in the first month of being a new mom you didn't pray for a car to hit you and used words to describe the experience as 'fantastic, wonderful, magical,' or anything other than frightening, than we cannot be mom friends.
My guess is, after reading this, you don't want to be mom friends anyway. Good. You've saved me the experience of having to pretend to think your kid is cute. But let me also be clear about things. I love Rip. I love him more than anything else. In fact, when people aren't watching, and the blinds are closed and I'm positive no one is coming over, I even kiss and hug him. At home, I love holding him and there's nothing more satisfying than when he lays his small head on my shoulder and sucks away on his binky. I love when he wakes up in the morning and gets so excited to see another life form. I love when he army crawls onto my lap and I love when he finds something that makes me laugh and does it over and over again. But don't tell. I might not be able stand myself.

Monday, February 1, 2010

BYU Parking Police

BYU Parking Police.

Did you get scared reading that? Enraged? Both?

I've had more than my fair share with run-ins with these soulless beings, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that there is a special place in hell for such persons. Sinister, evil, and full of misery, these shadowy life forms are the very essence of darkness. I only know this because I was able to catch a glimpse of the miserable creatures' faces on my way home the other day, and I swear to you, it was sheer bleakness.

I was driving along, feeling hopeful about The Bachelor (who wouldn't? It's amazing and pointless! Double bonus!), when a sudden wave of despair crossed over me. I couldn't see Walmart, so I assumed it was just the remembrance of having a 5 month old who decided taking naps was for the birds and quite lame and would no longer be participating. I pushed through it, and was starting to feel better when it hit me even harder. A coldness, unlike any natural coldness felt by either snow or ice, I was instantly frozen with dread and gloom and other bad things that go along with gloom and dread, plus more gloom and dread. I forced myself to face the direction the coldness was coming from, and that's when I saw them. The BYU Parking Police in their little jeep-like cars cruising down the road like their sole purpose in life wasn't to destroy and humiliate all happiness. I'll be honest. I was scared. More scared than when I colored my hair a light brown. Yeah. More scared than that.

See, Josh and I have discussed the parking police throughout our marriage. We've always gotten parking tickets (I was even booted off campus, unable to ever show my little Honda Civic face on campus again), and always on the worst possible day in the worst possible situation. We've always wondered at what point people realized they were without souls and decided to take a career wrecking the lives of others.

Josh: "Can you really even be considered a member of the church if you're a parking police? I mean, what drives someone that far, that they would even consider being a parking police?"
Me: "Not sure. Maybe Walmart?"

Is it a gradual development, or more like an instantaneous burst of evil decision-making? Either way, I've always wanted to meet or see one of the villainous beasts up close. Just to compare it to one of the Lord of the Rings' wraiths. Now I have. Both are faceless, both are black, and both would like nothing more than to stab someone. If only the parking police had blood dripping from their tires like the wraiths do from their horses, then they really would be one in the same. I wonder if Rip is considering being a BYU parking police...