I'm so glad that's over

My grandfather passed on last Thursday and I drove from Montreal down to Hilly Billy Heaven, Pennsylvania. The entire trip was a clusterfuck of epic proportions and I'm glad to be home. I learned a lot on this trip though and I'll share some of the high points with you:

1. My grandfather looks funny with his teeth in. It had nothing to do with him being gone, he looked exactly the same. But with teeth.

2. It doesn't matter if your mom works for Customs, you will get pulled over at the border anyway and your car searched for no other reason than because they can. This takes the better part of an hour.

3. *Some* cops don't care if you're going to funeral. You can get a speeding ticket anyway.

4. My sister was pulled over by a cop who let her go with a warning. I'd say there were sexual favors involved because I'm catty and bitchy and jealous like that but her kids were with her and even I won't go there.

5. The Big O stayed home with the kids and while the house was wrecked and the children and the kitchen floor were sticky, no one bled from the eyes so I consider it a success.

All in all, I'm glad that Grumpa isn't suffering. He had a long, happy life and touched so many people. I love him dearly and he'll be missed greatly.

Grumpa

My grandfather was my first friend. Some of my first memories are of him. He owned an upper/lower duplex in North Tonawanda, NY. My father, mother, sister and I lived downstairs and he lived upstairs with my aunt. After my parents split and we moved out, he eventually sold that house and moved back to Pennsylvania. He had a small home that he shared with his wife. They lived on a couple of acres and would plant what he called a garden and what I would call a farm lacking animals. I went down every summer for at least two weeks. He taught me how to dig out new potatoes and shell peas. I learned how to drive a stick shift on the road that ran along the railroad tracks behind his house. There was an honest-to-God swimming hole off the tracks about a mile down and I'd try to get him to let me go whenever I could. He had smelly well water and a decent collection of comic books. All in all, it was a pretty good time.

He'd write me letters updating me on the happenings in his life from time to time and as I grew from a little girl into an obnoxious adolescent, I responded less and less. This inspired him to start calling me PLK, short for Poor Little Kid Who Doesn't Have A Grandpa. He was convinced that I had learned nothing in school and had somehow manipulated my teachers into passing me even though I couldn't write since I never wrote him back. I in turn decided that his sunny personality wasn't being properly acknowledged and began calling him Grumpa. He liked this immensely.

My father taught him how to use a computer in the most basic sense and he's been emailing anyone he could for almost a decade since his hearing has failed. His lack of punctuation makes for interesting reading but it's nice to hear from him. He likes to tell me about the weather, family I've never met and his gangrenous big toe. Again, interesting reading but he always asks after the boys and spells The Big O's name correctly. And he always, always signs them Grumpa.

Time flies

Today is the Tyrant's 2nd birthday. My mom surprised us with a visit a couple of days ago and we're all going over to the in-law's to party, toddler style. My in-law's have family in the area and they were all invited which means that there's going to be 15+ people there. I don't think I had this many people at my last 5 birthdays put together, but whatever. The Tyrant is funny and amazing and adorable and super fly!

Happy birthday to my favorite 2 year old!

They better like each other

It took us a while to get pregnant with The Tyrant. We got married and I went off birth control. Three years, +/-18 rounds of Clomid, 2 miscarriages and one near-death experience later, we held him in our arms. As I've written before, he was an angel baby. Slept well, ate well, smiled a lot; just perfect. This was our downfall.

When we discussed how many children we wanted, we agreed that 2 would be great. Since we had so much trouble and heartache having The Tyrant, we decided that we would discuss trying again for a second child when he was one year.

I've never been a patient person. Ever.

When he was six months old, I got my cycle back and had the brilliant idea that we should try again for a second child immediately. Who new how long it would take this time, I told The Big O. We'd try for a year and I'd go back to my OB, get more fertility drugs that make me batshitcrazy and play the waiting game again. He was not convinced but I was persuasive and eloquent and knowledgeable in my logic (read: I got a Brazilian wax).

I thought for sure that it would take us forever to get pregnant again. Actually from the time we had the first conversation to when I peed on a stick was a little over two weeks. Fruit flies have longer life spans.

Now we have Peanuty and I can say with absolute confidence that if he had been our first, he might have been our last. He's still the angel baby that The Tyrant was, but in different ways. For example: Peanuty likes to snuggle where The Tyrant didn't. Unfortunately he likes to snuggle at 11PM, 1AM, 2:30-3:30AM and 6AM.

But today I watched The Tyrant play hide-and-go-seek, toddler style with his baby brother and thought about how lucky I am Giggling and chortling, they were the most beautiful babies I've ever seen. Now if only I can get this kid to sleep without selling my soul...

He called me an artist

The Big O wants me to let more people know about my blog so we're going to have an unveiling soon. I haven't let my "real life" folks know about my blog because I wanted to see if I could write. See, I've never written before, I've just wanted to. I don't know if it's any good but he tells me that I have potential and I choose to believe him. I also wanted to see if I could write weekly and I wanted a place that I could just vent about anything that came to mind, including my "real life" folks if necessary.

There will be pictures of The Tyrant, Peanuty Goodness and of course, The Big O. Since I have artistic control, there may or may not be photos of me unless I can perfect PhotoShop to make me look like Christy Turlington on a fabulous day.

Stay tuned!

What do you want to know?

Someone asked me if I was going to write one of those 'about me' posts. While I really enjoy reading them on other blogs, I find that writing my own feels incredibly narcissistic.

But my fans insist:

1. I was born and raised in Buffalo, New York and left almost as soon as possible. Great city, great people....wait, no....just great people. The city kind of sucks.

2. My dog died over a year ago and if I had my way our second son would've been named after him. Stop looking up the number for Child Protective Services; before we changed it, his name was Luke, not Fido or Rover. Either way, I got vetoed.

3. I can speed read. This in no way pays any bills or enhances my life in any way. It actually costs me money as I buy books on my Kindle faster.

4. I can still do a round-off. It's not pretty but I can put my ass over my head and land without killing myself.

5. The smell and taste of coffee makes me gag.

6. My house is a complete disaster area but my Tupperware cupboard is arranged with military precision. I fear this is the sign of a disturbed mind.

7. I'm getting tired of nursing and would like my old breasts back. They were perky and perfect and I'm afraid that now they're sad and will look like someone deflated water balloons part-way.

8. If you're not sarcastic or snarky, I probably won't like you.

9. I smoked cigarettes for about 18 years and quit 6 years ago. I am now one of those obnoxious former smokers who hate the smell and will give myself whiplash sitting in my car trying to see who is smoking at the stoplight near me so I can give them the stink eye for fouling up my air.

10. I learned how to drive a stick shift sitting on my uncle's lap in his Jeep when I was 13. He pressed the gas/ clutch combo because I couldn't reach the pedals and yelled at me to shift up or down.

11. My goal in life is to not fuck up my kids any more than I was. Some days this looks like a tall order.

12. I would get my nose pierced if I was sure I wouldn't look like an asshat but the odds aren't in my favor at this stage of the game.

I'm a bad influence

The Tyrant really isn't a tyrant, he's a great kid with a strong sense of self. Luckily, he has his father's laid back personality with a healthy dose of humor in there to make it interesting. When he was born, The Big O and I immediately fell in love with this little bundle of squeeziness. He was an angel sent from on high and we couldn't have been happier. I nursed him exclusively until he was almost 6 months but that little darling had been sleeping through the night at 2 months. He ate almost anything you gave him with a smile on his face. Actually, he still does most everything with a smile on his face.

At the end of the month, he'll be two years old. While he is still my perfect angel, he's attempting to assert himself in ways that I don't appreciate. Like when he whips his blocks at Peanuty Goodness and beans him in the head. (Unfortunately, Peanuty Goodness has a huge head. Seriously, his head is melon-sized, it's pretty hard to miss.) Thankfully Peanuty Goodness doesn't seem to mind overly much, I think he's just pleased to be part of the action.

And I have to admit, the swearing thing was kind of funny. The first time. It's a little adorable to hear your kid mispronounce a word that'll make you slap the taste out of his mouth when he says it later on in life. But after the first time, I just cringe thinking that I'm going to have to watch my language. As it is, I apparently say "Ummm" a lot if he repeats it as often as I say it.

Today, it appears that I have to watch my attitude also. The Tyrant gets a pacifier at nap and bed time only. When he wakes up, he knows he has to leave them (yes, he gets three. I call it a gluttony of pacifiers) in the crib. He woke up happy today and when I went in to get him, he was all smiles and wanting to get out. Some days he wakes up miserable and just wants to be left in his crib for a while. We accommodate this because it's easier to leave him in there than fight a silly battle.

He stood up and threw his pacifier down. It bounced a couple of times and fell onto the floor underneath the crib. This is where the dust grizzlies live. Dust bunnies are no match for dust grizzlies. No matter how often I vacuum, those bastards seem to hibernate and come back. When he saw that his pacifier had fallen under the crib, he made a sound that can only be described as disgusted. Thoaty, gutteral and full of attitude. I laughed my fool head off.

Again, let's hope that this is the worst of what he picks up from me. Cause I'm going to be paying for that attitude later on in life when he becomes a teenager and makes me wish that instead of kids, we had just gotten another dog.