A Bad Day...

Today has honestly been the day of living hell. And it's only 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I'm thinking about checking myself into the local jail. Based on today, jail is looking pretty good. Pretty damn good. Oh. Swearing offends you? Best you weren't around today. Chet's first word might be a four letter one. Let me explain.

We live in Ithaca, which upon today's analysis, is the worst place in the world. Period. So anyway, we live in Ithaca and do not have a washer and dryer. We can either pay a small fortune and use the washer and dryer in the basement, but to use any machine manufactured in the early 1800's makes me nervous. But we usually do anyway. Well, it just so happens that today I have at least 3 loads of laundry, which will basically take all day to do. So I consider braving the laundromat, which really doesn't sound that bad, only I have the two kids with me (Josh is at some pretend meeting all day), plus I haggled my friend into coming with her 1 year old so, yeah. Three babies basically. We are idiots.

I separate all the whites, darks, and sheets and towels and go to put Chet in his car seat. Upon returning, I find Rip has dumped all the laundry out and has been throwing it all over the house. I should have taken this as a sign of upcoming events, but I foolishly plunged forward. I separated them once again (this oddly takes me some time; why?) and went outside with two kids in tow, three laundry baskets, and one giant diaper bag. We get outside, I unlock the doors, and throw my keys on the front seat while I start loading laundry in the trunk. Rip gets in the car, I shut the trunk, he closes the door, and then locks all the doors. With my keys inside. I stand there shocked. Is my kid really locked in the car? My friend is with me and we are like, uhhh, what do we do? I quickly remember that there is some hidden lockbox somewhere on the car and so we start digging around for it. Neighbors start joining in the search, but no luck. We can't find it. I keep trying to call Josh, to which he texts me he is in a meeting. At this point I consider finding a gun and instigating some kind of school shooting on Cornell's campus, but I don't because I don't have a gun. I haven't reached hysterical yet, but Rip is starting to. He's probably been in the car 10-15 minutes, watching. He starts pouting, asking to get out, and for me to 'hold you, hold you?' Finally a neighbor asks if they can call AAA, I say yes, they say he will be here in 10 minutes. Those next 10 minutes Rip is screaming and at one point, starts slamming his head into the window. I stay relatively calm, but I can't stand watching this 2 year old screaming for his mommy, sweating, with snot pouring down his beet-red face. He tries desperately to get out and at this point I'm crying. My friend starts crying, my neighbor is crying, and Rip is crying. I'm pretty sure Chet was crying because that's basically his go-to. We're all crying. The AAA guy gets there and blah blah blah. Rip is saved!

So. Do we go to the laundromat? Yes. Should we have? Absolutely not.

We drive over there, unload our laundry, and realize that even though there is a sign, the actual laundromat is on the other side of the strip mall. We haul our 4 bags of laundry, two strollers, and three kids across this strip mall, and reach laundry central. By this point, I'm coated in layers of sweat (I was sweating profusely during the Rip locked in the car I'm a terrible mother fiasco), and the blasted humidity that I hate is definitely not helping. The two babies are crawling around the laundromat floor, Chet is screaming, wanting me to pick him up, Rip is bashing people's laundry baskets into washers, dryers, babies, anything really, and I am hoping Child Protective Services is on their way to rescue me from this life. No such luck. We finally get the washers started, and Rip is crying for a snack. I brought him crackers, but by this time it's lunchtime. We get some bagels and muffins at a bakery/deli and this is when Chet decides that he absolutely is done with everything and everyone. He is screaming in this echo-ridden deli place and I am shoving apple sauce down his throat. I am honestly about to lose it and I put him on the ground (it is absolutely filthy, btw),  and hope he finds a good home with owners who will love him, maybe let him sleep in their bed. He starts picking up food particles/tetanus and eating them. I don't care at this point. I'm hot, exhausted, and hating my life.

I'm sort of sick of rehashing this living nightmare, but just know that lots of crying later, we made it out of the laundromat. Will I ever go back? Not a chance. Will I ever leave this apartment? Only if promises of jail are made. As long as I don't have to take care of another human being, I am so for it.

As promised...

Lucky you! You now get to spend the next 45 minutes (if it takes you any shorter, you either did not spend adequate time oogling or you skipped this post altogether; shame on you) seeing pictures of my apartment here in Ithaca. You are so blessed.

This is directly across the street. As you can see, there is our mailbox, nestled snugly in the midst of some poison ivy.

And the outside... Look! There's Rip.

And the kitchen... notice the knobs on the oven? You sort of have to guess what temperature you're using. I've guessed wrong now pretty much every time.

And this is our enormous bedroom. The picture actually makes it look smaller because we have an armoir and a desk fitting comfortably in there, but it definitely is a lot smaller than the luxury we're accustomed to.

The living room... yes. That's an AC unit in the window. Yes. That is supposed to condition the entire apartment (I say 'entire' as though the apartment is vast and spacious; it is not). Also, notice any lights other than the lamps? No? That's because there aren't any. We are lucky to have three lamps, but it still seems weird that there is no light fixture of any sort.

And just because we're all adorable, a few extras. Man, I wish the bags under my eyes were not the primary focal point. The boys in their Cornell hats and sweatshirts. We are very supportive.

And Chet last night in his skin tight pajamas playing with a balloon. I love skin-tight pajamas on babies and toddlers.

And a recap? There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom but they sort of just look like every other kid bedroom and bathroom you've ever seen. So not much there. But I was thinking how you're not supposed to put real names or locations on blogs and things, because it's dangerous. I agree. However, I'm almost 10,000% positive no one wants to come stalk me and my family. For one, they would have to deal with Rip and the constant battle of finding him the exact train he is currently looking for. That in and of itself is reason enough to stay away. For two, they would have to stare at the bags under my eyes and that is not only terrifying; it's somewhat grotesque. So I'm feeling pretty confident I'm not stalker material. Chet might be though. Wait. Never mind. He would vomit apple sauce, oatmeal, or whatever else he has eaten and he would promptly be returned. Yes. Chet no longer spits up, he vomits. And considering he's mobile, you pretty much step into vomit wherever you go. So yeah. No one is taking this family.

Here comes a doozy...

Yes, we made it to Ithaca. No, this update will not entail beautiful, scenic pictures of Ithaca or our apartment or Ithaca really at all. That post will come when I actually take pictures of my apartment or Ithaca really. So stay tuned.

Until then, you get to read about the magic that is Rip. He turned two today, and I am here to document that I not only baked him a cake, I frosted a Thomas the train character on it (the kid takes obsession to a whole new level).. I, my friends, am amazing. Here is the said cake. Not that impressive when you compare all the cakes that are on the internet, but considering I have zero artistic ability and or creativity, this is like a serious work of art. This is comparable to when monkeys paint a circle or something.

And most importantly, it tasted good too. You can begin worshiping me now.

So like I mentioned before, Rip turned two today. Man. I would say it's gone by fast and all those cliche type things you're supposed to say in order to even pretend to be a good mom, but it really hasn't. I honestly feel like we've had Rip for at least 20 years. That would make him 20. But he's not. He's two. And very much so. Josh comes home and spends 30 minutes with the kid and always says the same thing. "That kid is on one. What is with him tonight?" Uhhh... He's two. And he has our genetics. Bad combination.

In spite of bad genes and being two, Rip is incredibly fun. Somewhat bizarre, he does and sort of says (he only talks a little) the funniest things. He's basically crazy. The phrase, 'Easy Psychopath!' usually comes out of my mouth at least 14 times a day. Not sure what the consequence for that will be...

Rippy the two year old. Here are some of his likes:

• Trains. Not just a little, not just a lot, but an extremely frightening level. 
• Climbing out of his crib and climbing into Chet's crib in the morning. He likes to show Chet his trains, just in case Chet forgot what they looked like.
• Bikes. He likes to look at other people's bikes and then cry about how I can't let him steal them.
• Balloons
• Hats
• 'Keck' (aka Chet). Although, if Keck (Josh and I both call Chet, 'Keck' now) approaches one of Rip's trains, Keck becomes less popular. Really, when Keck does anything besides laugh and smile at Rip, Rip is not impressed by him. But if he sees me getting frustrated with Keck, he comes over and hits me. Only he is allowed to abuse Keck, apparently.

These are a few pictures from the last couple of months. I will now begin to narrate.

Dayna took some family pictures for us right before we moved. I know she was busy so a shout out to Dayna is called for. Dayna, you rule. Move to Ithaca. We can stare at wildlife together. I'll post more of these fam pictures later. Just a sneak peek...

Two weeks before we left for Ithaca, we last minute flew to San Diego to see some friends and say goodbye to amazing weather. This was us at the beach. Chet was not impressed. Rip was. But then, Rip loves water. You wouldn't know it from his expression... his constant expression.

So for Rip's birthday we went to a kid science museum thing. It's the same thing as the Children's Discovery thing at Gateway in Salt Lake City. A little old for Rip, but he seemed to still like it. This is him and Nina doing arts and craft. Well, Nina is doing arts and craft and Rip was balancing markers on his head. It's a girl/boy thing.

After the discovery thing we went home for cake and ice cream (remember when I made that amazing Thomas cake? I rule). Here are the two points right after Chet attacked Rip's cake. Rip was ticked.

Oh, and my mom got Rip a train set that he idolizes. He goes ballistic every time Chet glances at it. But we also got Rip a bike which has been wanting since forever. Well, the second he saw the train set the bike took second fiddle. But Chet seems to like it so whatever. It works out. Here is Chet 'riding' Rip's bike. I do like Chet. How could you not like him? Oh yeah. He spent his first 6 months vomiting on everything. He still vomits but not as much. So we love him now.

This is what the porkchop used to look like. Amazing! He doesn't look anything like that now.

Rip feeding one of his trains. He has to have a train to sleep, eat, ride in the car, etc. etc. etc. A train is his constant companion. Now you understand why I call him a psychopath?!!

This is Rip's fort. He loves hiding. So hiding in a fort while he watches Thomas the tank engine?

This is at his cake and ice cream festivity. He loves hats, as I mentioned above. A lot of time he climbs out of his crib and finds his hat and is just playing in his room with his hat on. We think it's hilarious. But then, we're his parents. We think most things he does are hilarious.

Wow. This post is a doozy. I'll post in a few days about Ithaca in general. I'm sure after this marathon entry, you'll remember why you don't actually like me. So maybe you don't care about what my apartment looks like or what across the street entails. Well, my mom does. So deal with it.