Pictures -Do you care?

Because I'm such a good mom, Rip had his real first pictures taken. Yes. He's nearly 7 months. I dare you to judge me!

Nothing fancy or artsy, just me, Rip, Target, and the girl with a neon-green thong. Yup. While Rip stared at the picture lady doing her best to make him smile, I had to stare directly at her neon thong covering very little of her tan-even-though-it's-winter-and-it's-your-bum-and-it-should-probably-never-see-actual-light rear end. Anyway, it went fine, other than the fact that Rip was less than smitten by neon thong girl. I mean, this baby generally likes everybody and he spent the first 15 minutes just staring at her like her head was behind the banister at our house (Rip is deathly afraid of the banister that leads to the basement. We don't know why, we just know that when Josh puts his face behind the banister, Rip starts freaking out. This provides the amusement on slow nights). He was completely confused by her neon green thong, I guess. I know I was.

This was his expression most of the time (the only time he would smile was when I would jump out from behind her; I don't think it was a genuine smile, but sheer relief that I hadn't abandoned him to the woman wearing such provocative underwear while shooting pictures of children). It pretty much says it all. Now picture me with the same expression. This is how we were both looking at the woman wearing a neon green thong hanging 2 feet above her pants. *sigh* I do wish the baby had more hair, but considering I probably didn't have hair until I was 10 years old, he's managing quite well. He's going to lose it when he's 25 anyway, so I figure he might as well not get too attached to having hair.

And if I must be honest, I find myself really enjoying this baby. Josh and I always talk about how sorry we feel for our next baby, because we couldn't possibly love another baby as much as we do Rip. Poor next baby.

The Jolley Robbins

This is our coed indoor soccer team. The name, Jolley Robbins, means exactly what it says. This team has Jolleys and it has Robbins. Three of Josh's sisters play on it, with two of their husbands, and then a couple of brother-in-law's brothers. It was really fun, only I would leave each and every game completely humiliated by my behavior.

See, I've become that girl. The girl who loses her temper and is screaming at guys twice her size. I have even punched a guy in the back... after the game, when we were shaking hands. I've told many a refs that they are nightmares. I've been honestly ready and willing to get in multiple fights with any number of male opponents. I have no filter and absolutely no control over what I say and who I say it to.

So why should last night be any different? Well, it wasn't. I always start a game making promises to myself that I'm going to remain human and not fly off the handle. No such luck. I didn't just 'fly off the handle.' I ran at a full sprint away from it, never to return.

Idiot defender guy: "Oh give me a break. Tell that girl to relax" (referring to my sister-in-law, Karen)

Idiot Goal Keeper: "Seriously. She's out of control!"

Me: "Why don't you both just shut your freaking mouths?"

Idiot defender guy: "Oooohhhh..."

Booty Shorts (girl wearing exceptionally small shorts): "Okay, everyone, it's just a game. Relax."

Me: "Save it Booty Shorts"

Idiot Goal Keeper: "What did she call you?"

Booty Shorts: "Booty shorts"

After the game was over and we're shaking hands....

Booty shorts: "Next time don't comment on what people are wearing"

Me: "Next time, wear clothes that fit you."

And this girl was just some random peacemaking type, who probably hadn't played a lot of soccer and honestly didn't have a pair of soccer shorts, so she opted for the next best thing -shorts that look like underwear. In her defense, she did have pretty amazing legs. Not the point. The point is I told a ref to go back to Mexico, I screamed a number of times at people to shut up, and ultimately, I was hoping beyond hoping that someone would just get in my face so I would have an excuse to punch him or her in the face. The rage that engulfs me during games terrifies me later.

Josh and I were discussing it after the game on our way home. I expressed that I hated the type of player I had become. I never used to lose it like that. I never used to (there may have been a time or two) argue with refs, get in fights with players, or completely forgo any self-respect I might have had and act like a complete lunatic. Josh summed it up perfectly.

"When you used to play to a certain ability, and you never had to say anything because you just let your play and skills speak for you, and you don't necessarily play at that same level you once were capable of, you improvise."

I guess that's what I'm doing. I'm improvising for all those missed passes, crappy shots, and failed one-on-ones. Sad. I wish I could still just be decent instead of having to fight every single person on the field. I don't think my mother-in-law is too impressed.

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.

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.

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...

WAIT!

I just thought people might like staring at pictures of our family (I'm the one that is 2 feet tall). We went and saw the lights on Christmas Eve and we bundled up the Rip so he would not die. We're good parents like that. Here he is before we saw the lights.And here he is after. Apparently we thought he was hot so we debundled him. And yes, he has that bewildered expression most of his life.

We do love his chubby baby bum. Baby bums are the best.

Sick and Disgusting

I have pink eye. There's an infection in the spider bite I scratched to death and my throat has decided it hates me. In a nut shell, I'm disgusting. My eye has swollen nearly shut and my leg oozes pus. I wouldn't be telling you this, except that I've decided to spread the diseases to one and all.

Consider yourself warned.

I'm going to touch every single shopping cart, touch and handle each piece of fruit in the grocery store, and wipe my eye sauces on all the children I can see and find. And I look forward to it. Immensely.

See, it all happened when my sister put her 2 year old in charge of spreading pink eye far and wide. I'm not really sure how far or how wide she spread it, but far enough to reach me. I was initially very upset by my gunky eye and the fact that my eye kept sealing itself shut with oozy drippy matter, but I now see it as an incredible opportunity for vengeance. I can finally take care of all those unresolved grudges I've been holding.

To the twin boy who lived 2 houses down from me, be prepared to never see clearly out of your right eye again. It will be seeping gunk for the next 2 days. Never again tell me to 'shut up' when we're 12 years old. Big mistake twin. Big mistake.

To my arch nemesis whose boyfriend I kissed and she had the nerve to dislike me ever since, don't be surprised when you find yourself unable to breath because your throat inevitably decided to close its doors to your oxygen supply. It isn't pleasant and there's only so much that orange juice can do.

To the bagger at Walmart named Kyle who took an extraordinarily long time putting my 4 items in the bag, I just dislike you and will probably just slash your tires or something. No disease for you. I have only so much illness to spread around.

And finally, to the ladies who look like men at the indoor facility, charging $600 to play in 5 games is not an honest price. I owe you the greatest amount of sickness and plan on licking each and every single one of your steering wheels, but not before I wipe my leg infection on you. Suffer!!!

But I plan on posting some pictures of Rip since he will inevitably catch the sicknesses. I wish it weren't so, since the only grudge I have against him is his decision to demand binkies at 4 in the morning. Other that that, we're cool. So I really am sorry that he will undoubtedly catch the pink eye (which really should be renamed to 'most unbearable swollen eye'), and probably a little of my head cold, and maybe possibly some of the infection in my leg. Poor little creature.