I'm still recovering from the trip to the cottage yesterday. It was anything but relaxing, to be honest. Thankfully, the gremlins enjoyed themselves tremendously and were well-behaved as far as they go. My contractions stopped this afternoon and I think InUtero Boy will be staying put for a while longer (at this point in the game that's still a good thing).
Friends may call or stop by to inquire as to the details, but I'm going to keep them off my blog so as to not start any extended family drama (even though I highly doubt anybody involved reads my crap). The Maven doesn't like drama much these days and has no time for it. However, I would like to publicly thank my mother for helping out so much yesterday. I owe you coffee and the joy of my company. Rejoice, for you have earned it.
I was just going to say that I slept like a baby last night, but then I thought about it.
Who on earth made up such a stupid saying? Have they ever met a baby? I'm guessing it was a childless man who decided it was a good comparison. One of those uncles you see twice a year who brings gifts at Christmas chosen by the woman at the toy store because he has no idea what kids are into, having not been one in years and dreading the thought of raising any. He probably showed up to a family gathering one afternoon, took one look at his peacefully sleeping, infant neice (the one who had been up all night screaming and rendering her parents to sobbing blobs of despair) and thought to himself 'Gee, I wish I could sleep like that'.
No, I did not sleep like a baby. I slept like.. Let me think here... a young woman in a low-stress career who has no children and no spouse who snores and who went out with her friends to a nice restaurant the night before, had a couple of glasses of wine, went home to watch something funny in her bunny slippers and passed out around 11pm. I slept like her.
Nothing beats the 'My Saturday really sucked' blues like a trip to the chocolate factory. A good time was had by all. We left with a bag so heavy that Geekster didn't want me carrying it, yet it only cost is $19.14. I won't mention what the gas cost was because it ruins the economic part of my brag.
I have about two pounds of Reese's Pieces that we bought for a whopping $2.97. How can you beat that? Of course, the transplant of the new heart I'm going to need in a few years due to eating large quantities of discounted candy might ruffle the feathers of my 'savings' theory a little.
I sat down a lot today and timed frequency and duration of contractions (while eating chocolate and watching the National Geographic channel). They weren't terribly regular, but they were there. Mostly Braxton-Hicks, but with a few painful ones thrown in for added scare. The chocolate and documentaries made it more bearable and an afternoon nap seemed to get rid of them altogether. The boys were mostly quiet while I slept and Geekster decided that his virus thingy wasn't as bad as me birthing a baby in the freezer section, so he went out and got our groceries.
This week is going to be slightly hectic. There's a meeting at Gutsy's preschool on Tuesday evening that I'm going to attend. A 'parents information session' for the newbies. I went to two of these when Intrepid was at the same preschool, so it probably won't be terribly exciting. Still, I have to set up a time to get together with the teachers to explain the boy's hearing loss and what that will entail. They're just going to love me. I'm one of those 'these are my child's needs and I expect they will be met' type of mothers. Of course, I don't say it in that way, but the implication is there. Frankly, I don't know why teachers like me so much. All of Intrepid's previous ones are always chatting me up when I go to his school for any reason. Despite my I-might-as-well-be-demanding-Evian-water -and-white-leather-couches-in-my-dressing-room ways, they still stop and talk to me. Maybe they're scared that I'll call another meeting if they snub me. That seems a likely reason.
Intrepid starts grade four on Wednesday. He's terribly excited and so am I. It's good that it's happening this week, as I was just contemplating a new tradition in our house:
Chloroform Fridays. It's a great concept, you see. Everyone gets a nap (whether they like it or not).
It would go well with Velcro Wall Wednesdays. I always thought that would be fun, too. I just need to find a big enough wall and velcro strong enough that they can't unstick themselves without my help. We could call it 'strength training'. Physical education, if you will. They'd only be up there long enough for me to have a bath, anyway. I'm sure any child protection social worker would think that's perfectly reasonable.
I just got another contraction for that. Shame on me for saying what other mothers are thinking (and if you took offence to my ideas, it's only because you're jealous that you didn't come up with them first).
Thursday is our first meeting with a new speech pathologist. We're now going private, which I'm miffed about for reasons mentioned in a previous post. The whole class issue really gets me down. Equal rights for all and blahdittity blah blah. Nobody's listening to me anyway. We're all way too self-centered in this generation to think of others. We only do it when people like Oprah tell us to, or if they make it easy, like accepting Tsunami donations at the Starbucks drive-thru. A latte and a clean conscience is a great way to start your week.
Friday is when the countdown to oldness comes to a close and I turn the big 3-0. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not ready yet. However, I will place the counter in here for good measure:
Countdown to oldness: 5 days.
I'm going to go play some lame computer game, eat some candy and pretend I'm still young and hip. But first I have to close the blinds so I won't see my minivan laughing at me in the driveway.
Friends may call or stop by to inquire as to the details, but I'm going to keep them off my blog so as to not start any extended family drama (even though I highly doubt anybody involved reads my crap). The Maven doesn't like drama much these days and has no time for it. However, I would like to publicly thank my mother for helping out so much yesterday. I owe you coffee and the joy of my company. Rejoice, for you have earned it.
I was just going to say that I slept like a baby last night, but then I thought about it.
Who on earth made up such a stupid saying? Have they ever met a baby? I'm guessing it was a childless man who decided it was a good comparison. One of those uncles you see twice a year who brings gifts at Christmas chosen by the woman at the toy store because he has no idea what kids are into, having not been one in years and dreading the thought of raising any. He probably showed up to a family gathering one afternoon, took one look at his peacefully sleeping, infant neice (the one who had been up all night screaming and rendering her parents to sobbing blobs of despair) and thought to himself 'Gee, I wish I could sleep like that'.
No, I did not sleep like a baby. I slept like.. Let me think here... a young woman in a low-stress career who has no children and no spouse who snores and who went out with her friends to a nice restaurant the night before, had a couple of glasses of wine, went home to watch something funny in her bunny slippers and passed out around 11pm. I slept like her.
Nothing beats the 'My Saturday really sucked' blues like a trip to the chocolate factory. A good time was had by all. We left with a bag so heavy that Geekster didn't want me carrying it, yet it only cost is $19.14. I won't mention what the gas cost was because it ruins the economic part of my brag.
I have about two pounds of Reese's Pieces that we bought for a whopping $2.97. How can you beat that? Of course, the transplant of the new heart I'm going to need in a few years due to eating large quantities of discounted candy might ruffle the feathers of my 'savings' theory a little.
I sat down a lot today and timed frequency and duration of contractions (while eating chocolate and watching the National Geographic channel). They weren't terribly regular, but they were there. Mostly Braxton-Hicks, but with a few painful ones thrown in for added scare. The chocolate and documentaries made it more bearable and an afternoon nap seemed to get rid of them altogether. The boys were mostly quiet while I slept and Geekster decided that his virus thingy wasn't as bad as me birthing a baby in the freezer section, so he went out and got our groceries.
This week is going to be slightly hectic. There's a meeting at Gutsy's preschool on Tuesday evening that I'm going to attend. A 'parents information session' for the newbies. I went to two of these when Intrepid was at the same preschool, so it probably won't be terribly exciting. Still, I have to set up a time to get together with the teachers to explain the boy's hearing loss and what that will entail. They're just going to love me. I'm one of those 'these are my child's needs and I expect they will be met' type of mothers. Of course, I don't say it in that way, but the implication is there. Frankly, I don't know why teachers like me so much. All of Intrepid's previous ones are always chatting me up when I go to his school for any reason. Despite my I-might-as-well-be-demanding-Evian-water -and-white-leather-couches-in-my-dressing-room ways, they still stop and talk to me. Maybe they're scared that I'll call another meeting if they snub me. That seems a likely reason.
Intrepid starts grade four on Wednesday. He's terribly excited and so am I. It's good that it's happening this week, as I was just contemplating a new tradition in our house:
Chloroform Fridays. It's a great concept, you see. Everyone gets a nap (whether they like it or not).
It would go well with Velcro Wall Wednesdays. I always thought that would be fun, too. I just need to find a big enough wall and velcro strong enough that they can't unstick themselves without my help. We could call it 'strength training'. Physical education, if you will. They'd only be up there long enough for me to have a bath, anyway. I'm sure any child protection social worker would think that's perfectly reasonable.
I just got another contraction for that. Shame on me for saying what other mothers are thinking (and if you took offence to my ideas, it's only because you're jealous that you didn't come up with them first).
Thursday is our first meeting with a new speech pathologist. We're now going private, which I'm miffed about for reasons mentioned in a previous post. The whole class issue really gets me down. Equal rights for all and blahdittity blah blah. Nobody's listening to me anyway. We're all way too self-centered in this generation to think of others. We only do it when people like Oprah tell us to, or if they make it easy, like accepting Tsunami donations at the Starbucks drive-thru. A latte and a clean conscience is a great way to start your week.
Friday is when the countdown to oldness comes to a close and I turn the big 3-0. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not ready yet. However, I will place the counter in here for good measure:
Countdown to oldness: 5 days.
I'm going to go play some lame computer game, eat some candy and pretend I'm still young and hip. But first I have to close the blinds so I won't see my minivan laughing at me in the driveway.