tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64180466604172299102024-03-05T05:51:22.021-05:00With a Little LucUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-89751147949097455932012-09-14T09:26:00.002-04:002012-09-14T09:26:53.439-04:00That's Okay, I'm Done Sleeping AnywaysIt doesn't take long to realize that when you have kid(s), your blissful days of sleeping are over. Of course as Mason got older, we all fell back into a blissful sleeping pattern of (for Mason) 9pm-8:30a and (for us) 11pm-8:30a.<br />
<br />
Until recently.<br />
<br />
Mason started preschool and we started getting up at 7:30a. Not too bad. It's not just that we are getting that full 11p-7:30a rest though. Well, especially not me.<br />
<br />
This is what a typical night looks like for me right now:<br />
<br />
11p-12a: Fall asleep somewhere in here once I am comfortable<br />
2a: Wake up to pee.<br />
[Paul is snoring} <br />
3:30a: Mason comes in our room in a sleepwalking stupor.<br />
4a: Binx the Cat decides to clean his butthole for a good 15-20mins then procedes to puke somewhere in the room.<br />
[Paul snores somewhere in here] <br />
5a: Our neighbors let their 7 obnoxious dogs outside and leave them there to bark until they drag their lazy asses back outside to let them back in. This goes on for at least 30 minutes.<br />
[Paul is still snoring] <br />
6a: Get up to pee again.<br />
7a: Mason comes in the room and makes noises, bugs us to watch a cartoons, wants breakfast, whines, etc. Binx jumps on the bed at the same time and stares at me and purrs until I pet him.<br />
7:30a: We give up and get out of bed.<br />
<br />
Wow. After actually writing all that down, it's no wonder I am always tired. I thought the second trimester was one of puppy dogs and rainbows and endless energy! Weeee. Not for me! At least I'll be fully prepared to bring another non-sleeping human into this house. And maybe I'll get a puppy while I'm at it!<br />
<br />
I am now 18w5d or something. I think!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-74902704110270466142012-09-10T15:09:00.001-04:002012-09-10T15:10:10.892-04:0018 weeks and 4 yearsYikes! I can't believe it's already been 18 weeks. It's amazing how fast time flies when you're having fun. Literally. Nothing about infertility is fun and then you're pregnant and BAM. FUN.<br />
<br />
I am starting to feel the baby more and more every day but I am suspecting either an anterior (front) placenta or just the fact that I move around so much more during this pregnancy that is causing me to feel this baby later than last time.<br />
<br />
I did sit at a desk for 8+ hours last time, only moving to go to the bathroom or ride the elevator downstairs to get a salad. This time, I am shooting weddings for 10 hours on the weekends, chasing a 4 year old and running all over a bigger house that I also (sometimes) clean.<br />
<br />
This baby has no clue what it's getting into - or maybe it does? It's going to have to be flexible and like to be on the go because that's what we do around here. We bend and move.<br />
<br />
Mason turned 4 last week and I think he's still recovering. He also started preschool and spent the night at his grandparent's house so whining and crying has been the drill the past few days. He had his 4 year check up and shots today so he is taking a great nap and then hopefully we will be back on track! <br />
<br />
I feel so lucky and blessed right now. I have such an amazing life and I can't help but be thankful. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-76842259712776307102012-08-31T15:49:00.000-04:002012-08-31T15:49:46.687-04:00By Popular Demand...Sooooo.<br />
<br />
I. AM. PREGNANT.<br />
<br />
Which probably all of whatever readers I have left knows by now. In my last post I said I wouldn't give up until I filled both of the seats in the new car. It looks like I am going to do that in February!<br />
<br />
What ended up working? A double dose of Letrozole, an IUI and lots of praying. I took a test (because I'm sadist like that) the day before my period was due and there it was. What I had been waiting to see for 2 years. TWO lines. Right away. I waited until we were 10 weeks to share the news with the world via Facebook because it was becoming quite obvious I was pregnant and because we were still seeing the RE, we had seen and heard the heartbeat every other week since week 6.<br />
<br />
So of course the first thing out of some people's fingers/mouths was, "OMG are you going to blog again?!!". I do blog. On my business site but I don't want to scare potential brides off with my pregnancy banter, which if you read my first blog (<a href="http://www.thebabyluc.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Baby Luc</a>) you know it can be scary!<br />
So here I am. I'm back! And I guess this will give me something to do while I wait for this baby/wedding season wraps up/it gets cold.<br />
<br />
I have a lot of catching up to do as far as this pregnancy goes but I'll save some of that for some posts until I get back into the swing of things. It's only fair for Baby Luc 2.0 to get the same blog treatment of the first year of their little lives as Mason did, right?!<br />
<br />
Until (hopefully) tomorrow...here are some pics for you!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQC1Z-Z0IaIUzsM_twKJBmAy563icFRy1mSk2Q6hUDNeiIQHHGGIW1GxOHgkMdhiv3AeaCpmlkQEgXioTKURyx33JE3a5dxw0Qa3obpfTFey9oQuRjtxoINLDKSZzRdH-AT-OxlKaScvH/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQC1Z-Z0IaIUzsM_twKJBmAy563icFRy1mSk2Q6hUDNeiIQHHGGIW1GxOHgkMdhiv3AeaCpmlkQEgXioTKURyx33JE3a5dxw0Qa3obpfTFey9oQuRjtxoINLDKSZzRdH-AT-OxlKaScvH/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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me at 16w 3d</div>
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Baby Luc 2.0 at 12w</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-83082725429115342672012-03-21T09:32:00.000-04:002012-03-21T09:32:42.715-04:00A Goodbye.Who knew that saying goodbye to a car would be so hard for me. I remember when I wrote <a href="http://withalittleluc.blogspot.com/2010/10/here-goes-nothing.html" target="_blank">this post</a>. Declaring my love for a certain minivan. A MINIVAN. Then I realized the amount of miles and shitty gas mileage that went along with it weren't going to be good enough for a photographer who spends a lot of Saturdays in the summer driving all over Ohio. So we got a second car, one that was good on gas and began driving that almost all the time.<br />
<br />
We took the van to the beach in September because of the video screens and the room and comfort but that was about the last big trip she's been on. Fast forward to now, there have been a lot of changes in our life lately and one thing we agreed on was that it was probably best if we ditched the gas-guzzling van for a smaller SUV, one that gets at least 30 mpg. Well, that is happening this week and I spent about 15 minutes just.sitting.in.the.van yesterday. Looking around, imaging the 1-2 more kids I had planned on hauling around in there for the next 7-10 years.<br />
<br />
I guess letting go of the van is in a way symbolic of me letting go of that dream of having 3 kids and accepting that fact that one more is about all we can handle at this point. Neither of us wants to put me through this again. But I won't stop until I can fill *both* of those seats in the new car.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-13191243195844655552011-12-05T15:34:00.000-05:002011-12-05T15:34:35.138-05:00Well that was a while...I meant to write more, I really did but with having your own photography business where you offer family and children sessions means Christmas photos and YIKES. Busy. Not a bad problem to have.<br />
<br />
Especially when you need something, anything to take the focus off that you are in fact, still not pregnant. Of course since my last post, I did go in for my blood work. Did find out I'm not pregnant and did hyperstimulate, which despite being a super fun word to say, is not fun whatsoever. In fact, I probably wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.<br />
<br />
Evidently, there was some evidence of a possible ovulation, but with LUF syndrome, that can be deceiving. Either way, it didn't work. I'm hesitant to go forward towards IVF, and the RE is back peddling a little saying that he thinks there are some protocol changes he can try with me that may help us to avoid IVF. <br />
<br />
Either way, last cycle (the one after the hyperstim) was of course a BCP cycle to get my ovaries to calm the eff down. And this new cycle that I am about to begin will be an un-medicated, un-monitored, non-anythingpregnancyrelatedbecauseitsChristmas cycle. At least December, perhaps and probably January as well...maybe February? Maybe forever? I honestly don't know if I can do all of that to my body again even if it means to continue to live a life where every morning I ask myself if I can hold it together just for today. Can I? Yes. Keep going.<br />
<br />
I'm getting to a point where I am starting to think that maybe God gave me a perfect, amazing, smart little boy in Mason because He knew it would be all I would get.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-17775886732201652692011-10-29T16:40:00.001-04:002012-03-21T09:38:10.312-04:00*KnockKnockKnock* Anyone there?I don't know if anyone checks this blog anymore. Or if it even exists on any one's blog feed or whatever but I have decided to come back because I miss writing about my life and Mason and there is just so much FUN going on right now I can't stand it. Oh and I need a place to keep track of all the FUN because sometimes it blurs together.<br />
<br />
Remember when I wrote<a href="http://withalittleluc.blogspot.com/view/classic#%21/2010/08/hides-from-flying-objects.html"> this post</a>? It's dated August 2010 and I came out about us trying to have another baby and blah blah blah. We had started trying about 2-ish months before so go ahead and do the math....<br />
....I'll wait....<br />
...........<br />
..............<br />
Yes. Approximately 16 months. No baby. See what I mean? FUN!!!11!1!<br />
<br />
To hypothesize, I'll go ahead an do a quick little run-down and write more elaborate, detailed SUPERFUN blog posts later so I don't forget this experience because...whoa.<br />
<b>June2010-May2011</b>: lots of trying...nothing.<br />
<b>May2011</b>: Visit OB/GYN - prescribed Clomid, nothing.<br />
<b>June2011</b>: Prescribed Clomid again by OB/GYN, gets head out of ass and realizes they are playing a game of "here! try this! it might work be we won't know because we don't monitor you or anything!" Call fertility clinic.<br />
<b>July2011:</b> Visit fertility clinic and meet RE (reproductive endocrinologist) for the first time. Love the shit out of him. He runs all kinds of tests and monitors to see how my clomid is working (psst it is) and really doesn't find anything wrong but some suspected PCOS. But still...nothing.<br />
<b>August2011:</b> Upped Clomid dosage plus IUI, I produce two great follicles but....nothing. Two cysts from Clomid discovered. Must take a month off and use birth control pills to shrink the cysts. Given the option between $$injectables$$ or something like Clomid (which is now thinning my lining, drying up cervical mucous and just generally not working) for the next cycle.<br />
<b>September2011</b>: Birth Control Pills break. Decide on injectables, start Lupron on day 21.<br />
<b>October2011</b>: Add in Gonal-f on day 3, grow 10-15 follicles, 5-6 of which are maturing, have minor breakdown about the possibility of having a litter of children. Calm the f down. HCG trigger'd 3 times and had IUI's done. Went back in for after-ovulation ultrasound and discovered I had not released any eggs. LUF syndrome. IVF is only option. Shit.<br />
<b>November2011</b>: BCP cycle to calm ovaries down.<br />
<b>December, January/February 2011:</b> Nothing. Nada. Trying on our own. Switch RE's because I don't love my RE so much anymore. REALLY love my new one though. Discover another cyst on an ovary. She checks my estrogen levels to see if I can start a medicated cycle or if I need another BCP cycle and whoa. A trace of pregnancy hormone is in my blood. I'm told to do nothing. Come back in 2 days to see if the numbers are going up. They don't. Miscarriage. Begin BCPs.<br />
<br />
<br />
And that's where we are. Sorry to bore you, if anyone is even reading but I need to get it all out and somewhere so I can refer back if needed. I realize some of this might not make sense and I will explain later.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-31925058529934674292010-12-14T09:42:00.000-05:002010-12-14T09:42:31.934-05:00Moved. Again.Because I can barely think straight...I have started doing personal posts on the photography blog, which you can find <a href="http://www.tlucphoto.wordpress.com/">HERE</a>.<br />
See you there!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-35871258212146220022010-10-27T14:30:00.000-04:002010-10-27T14:30:35.400-04:00Here goes nothing...I have always been one of those people that go on and on about how I will NEVER drive a minivan because <em>ewww</em> and shit. Who needs all that room? Who wants to look like a douchebag? I mean, minivans are for <em>moms </em>and <em>old people</em> with lots of grandchildren. "I won't give in!" I say. "I won't lose my cool!" There's "plenty of room in my Jetta!" "SUV's are totally enough!" You get the idea. <br />
<br />
I 'pshawed' the car dealer when she suggested that I check out a Routan when I surprisingly declared how super tiny the Tiguan crossover was. "Nope. Never. Don't even talk to me about it" I said. After a little coaxing and a huge "what the hell!" I hopped up into the mom-mobile. "At least this will shut them up" I thought. <br />
<br />
You know what? <em>It wasn't so bad</em>. The seats were leather...and soft. The touchscreen was FUN! I love touchscreens! It has how many DVD screens? You can watch 2 videos at once, you say? The doors do WHAT with the click of a button? Damn. Look at all that room! I could fit all of my photography equipment in here PLUS leave Mason's carseat and still have tons of room. There's plenty of space for another baby (when we have one) and a bigger stroller. It's comfortable. I don't feel like I am sitting on the dashboard and simultaniously smelling the backseat passenger's breath. It has a V6. It drives like a car.<br />
<br />
Was I *gasp* losing my cool? Was I going to drive a <em>minvan</em>. Was I going to look like a <em>mom</em>? Wait. <br />
<br />
Hold it.<br />
<br />
I <em>am </em>a mom. I run a business that requires me to lug around all sorts of equipment and chairs and reflectors and props. What's the problem? Suddenly, I couldn't even tell you why I thought minivans were so bad? A "soccer mom" stigma? Maybe. But again, I am a mom. Doesn't everything have a stigma? You drive a 4 door sedan...you must be slow. And old. You drive an SUV? You must hate the environment. You drive a big truck? You must be overcompensating. You drive an expensive car? You must be snobby. Why do you need a HUGE SUV when you are a childless couple? Yadda yadda yadda.<br />
<br />
No. I think you drive your car because you <em>like it</em>. Imagine that. My husband never bought a sportscar because he was going to take it somewhere and race it. My in-laws didn't buy Mini Coopers because they plan on re-enacting a scene from the Italian Job (that I know of). My mom didn't buy an SUV because she is short and couldn't see the road in a smaller car. Love you, mom! And your T-Rex arms!<br />
<br />
I guess I never thought about all this before. I thought I knew what I liked. Maybe I was trying to hold on to someone that I am not. I am a mom, but I am still Tiff. Just because I drive a bigger car that has self-opening doors doesn't mean I am someone different. I still like to drink wine! I still like to dance and watch bad reality shows! I am the same boring, child-toting, vertically challenged, cackle-laughing person...I just drive a car that has more room for your judgemental ass. So hop on in! Pop in the Hangover and let's go out on the town! I will even let you take a nap in the back if you like!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-88804012203008735412010-10-04T18:39:00.000-04:002010-10-04T18:39:07.056-04:00September.September was birthday month. It was lunch dates, dinner dates and good times with old and (kinda) new friends. A month of <a href="http://www.tlucphoto.com/">phone calls and bookings</a> and "can I do this?". Hair cuts, suckers, new toys, new clothes and new shoes. September was also a month of tears, frustration, lonliness, hopes up and hopes down. September had 30 pretty much beautiful days, that quickly turned into darker evenings and cooler temperatures. <br />
<br />
<br />
But September is gone. October is here, <strike>when I drink lots of beer</strike>, and a new month brings a new beginning. Sure, there will be more dates, bookings, lots of work, another haircut (hopefully no more new clothes or shoes or toys), even cooler-yet temps and even shorter days. But this is the point where I do raise my imaginary beer and say: Here's to October. Here's to zero tears, frustrations, minimal lonliness (Paul does have a little travel this month), and hopes turning into reality. Here's to 31 gorgeous fall days of nothing but happiness and rainbows and puppy dogs and shit. (Now, you didn't think I would really make it through a serious post did you?)<br />
<br />
Have a great Scotch-tober my friends.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-33435585351579723242010-09-13T20:05:00.000-04:002010-09-13T20:05:08.143-04:00Yeah, yeah, yeah.Remember way back when I would religiously post monthly letters to my son? Nah, me neither.<br />
<br />
But hey! He turned TWO. And if you ask him, he will tell you that as well.<br />
<br />
The Mom Who Does Not Do Character Themes decided that a Cars theme would be appropriate this year. There's a first for everything, right? Also, The Mom Would Said She Would Never Put Her Child on a Leash? Yeah, she kicked the bucket last week. I bought an Elmo leash in a mad dash to a big box baby store when I thought we would be accompanying my husband to California (child + LAX = I panic). Now that we are *not* going, going, back, back, to Cali, Cali? Now, I just have an Elmo leash. What the hell am I going to do with an Elmo leash?<br />
<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-40505135048588839752010-08-26T14:36:00.000-04:002010-08-26T14:36:47.647-04:00Only child, much?I am starting to think that Mason really doesn't want a new brother or sister. Example numero uno: He stole my thermometer, the one I use to take my temperature every morning and HID it. Luckily I spotted it under his toy shelf while I was laying on the floor in his toy room today. Good try kid.<br />
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Next? He likes to jump on me and bounce on my stomach as if to say, "Take that evil potential-sibling-eggs". He also getting really, really close to 2 which means him screaming, "MINE" a lot and throwing himself to the ground, whining and going on food strikes, much to my displeasure and really making me rethink the whole 2-child scenario. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But of course there are the times where he cuddles, tell me to "try it mommy" and gives me that cute little grin that makes me really want to have another one. I really feel like I missed a lot of beginning stuff with Mason because of all the anxiety and crazy. It might be selfish, but I think I deserve it. I think I deserve another chance. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgccLrUVY20p8vWmXzbluLhQiLqFM4OYvqtuyVnuppuC9Tok4NPT7CV6roenCkLXzNrCQcXCJQzBfF1YEY2_qV_U65V3gpXf48xxownZQEPwhhZnMW0oxsOGCEBvnMJfA-Cqn3CU2PggWx/s1600/IMG_0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgccLrUVY20p8vWmXzbluLhQiLqFM4OYvqtuyVnuppuC9Tok4NPT7CV6roenCkLXzNrCQcXCJQzBfF1YEY2_qV_U65V3gpXf48xxownZQEPwhhZnMW0oxsOGCEBvnMJfA-Cqn3CU2PggWx/s400/IMG_0005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-55111391808012785472010-08-09T20:33:00.000-04:002010-08-09T20:33:05.869-04:00A little piddle diddy.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We are still in the deep depths of <strike>hell</strike> potty training. Actually, that's not fair. Mason has been doing wonderful with telling me when he has to go. Just not every time. He only tells me when he feels like it. So behold. The Potty Training watch. He loves it. It plays music. He dances. It helps my fried brain remember to take him to the potty. He knows it means he gets a gummy bear (or three! If he goes). </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyVbxTn3V2EXKLMByDD5WbDg6QXXpLGW4eF_5NsKeXioxnWSbdNWM3AGAEp-pfnUP2m_f1Nf_gNSZOMlKtBmRXnCv-yU-G4qXZ8WdEZqE6FBNNfUy5tguevIYsyT3ytOoU9sGYtvjLrJg/s1600/pTRU1-7365468reg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyVbxTn3V2EXKLMByDD5WbDg6QXXpLGW4eF_5NsKeXioxnWSbdNWM3AGAEp-pfnUP2m_f1Nf_gNSZOMlKtBmRXnCv-yU-G4qXZ8WdEZqE6FBNNfUy5tguevIYsyT3ytOoU9sGYtvjLrJg/s320/pTRU1-7365468reg.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The other day, I was making lunch and talking on the phone when he told me "Mommy, potty! Let's go! Alright!" and starting running for the bathroom. I can't tell him no, so I followed, leaving lunch on the stove and continuing my conversation. I helped him with his pants and diaper, handed him a book and headed back to the stove. Of course I heard an "UH OH!" so I ran in only to find a huge puddle on the floor and Mason splashing around in it. Then, OMG you guys. He stood up and stomped in it. I hung up the phone. Stood there and squeeled a little bit, told him to sit back down and did what any totally equipped, grade-A mom would do. I yelled for Paul. I could barely speak, let alone tell him that no, his child was NOT bleeding and no, nothing horrible had happened. </div><br />
It was worse than horrible.<br />
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There was pee. On the floor! And he was standing! and playing! Squeeeeeeee.<br />
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Paul basically looked at me, raised an eyebrow and told me to just take care of the burning lunch on the stove. Mason was placed in tub. The floor was mopped up. Crises over. It's all good.<br />
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Oh, and he PEED! Errrr Yay!? Biggie boy!? Here's a gummy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-48675382940055933252010-08-04T15:00:00.000-04:002010-08-04T15:00:57.238-04:00::hides from flying objects::So basically if I was trying to run a once-a-month blog I would pretty much be the most awesome-est (deal with the grammar) blogger in the universe. In the last two months we have packed our lives, three times, had birth control removed, attended two weddings that I was a bridesmaid in, traveled to the beach and back, cleaned, packed again, moved, unpacked, cleaned some more, ripped out landscaping, bought new landscaping, organized, shopped, yadda yadda yadda. What? Did you catch something in there? Yes. Normally I think that one's trying for more little people is a private thing...well...you have one and then you realize that all secrets, dignity, etc. go flying out of the window at lightening speed. What am I afraid of? The questions every month, maybe. But knowing the amazing people I have surrounded myself with, that won't happen. So people know. Big deal, I tell myself. Did it take me a while to get used to this? Yes. Did I cringe when the "secret" was let out without me doing it myself? A little. Now? Now we wait. Well, we do more than that, but we mostly wait. One thing I have learned? It's really freaking hard to not lunge at the cabinet in the bathroom with the pregnancy tests in it. I pride myself of being an all-knowing master of fertility. Okay, just kidding, but I know what's up with my lady-business, yo. I know how to chart, temp, look for signs, etc. And I damn-well know when I should and should not test. Still? Still it is hard to not pee on stuff just to see if it turns colors.<br />
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Don't look at me. You did not just catch me eyeing the Water-Temperature Color Changing Super Duper Awesome Lightning McQueen Hot Wheels.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-28652563157770031722010-06-30T14:47:00.000-04:002010-06-30T14:47:43.622-04:00A whole month, huh?!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Remember me? Hi! Just sitting here watching Cars for the eighty-millionth time with my sweet almost- 22 month old boy. The sweet part may be a little bit of an exaggeration seeing as he has become quite the little independent toddler which means lots of fit-throwing and screaming matches and NO! Although these days we here a lot more than no. Sentences. Full sentences. Also, singing of songs. Usher and Taio Cruz to be exact. And Elmo too, but mostly Usher. We know colors, letters, every single children's character - even ones that I never taught him, like Shrek. What the hell? We have never watched Shrek and he knows him enough to pick him out on a new grocery tote. We have been swimming a lot in the last couple weeks - enough that I tried those old-school arm floaty things and he LOVES them. He despises life vests (too restricting, imagine that) but love love loves the arm floats. He has gotten really good at going under and swallowing a minimum amount of water. A HUGE improvement to the gallons he was drinking at the beginning of the summer. </div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Next up? We have some weddings happening in the next couple weeks and then MOVING DAY! To say that I am excited would be a GIANT understatement. My own space, furniture, schedule. I just cannot wait! Although I do get some beach time right before the big move, sans Mason so that will be nice. You would think I would be pumped about that, and I am, but moving? That, my friends is where it's at! Not much more to update on, I think I have it covered. Instead of reading my boring dialogue, look at some photos!</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOno6YVIHtHSZMcoUjyVLOECsL-ADX_L8RjN7L1a-TOVe5K5Wrku_TM1aRN8KbD86ZkOSPcrrvc4RlT7sNDwLSBbJdzKR6ecmiZawfsXe9sRFAPM6LYxIPrZ2HEyfAvqitS7CyMSOo81iL/s1600/IMG_7616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOno6YVIHtHSZMcoUjyVLOECsL-ADX_L8RjN7L1a-TOVe5K5Wrku_TM1aRN8KbD86ZkOSPcrrvc4RlT7sNDwLSBbJdzKR6ecmiZawfsXe9sRFAPM6LYxIPrZ2HEyfAvqitS7CyMSOo81iL/s400/IMG_7616.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYusu3JNo-V1JKDcqgEFvhC2o8fbIepeFNeZm-TzNoIxDkqWm5nHm_fyFQ6YrqdNkYMpTZa9ULNrmlLsyONRz5Pduvq1QO8Dx-dWB59-jGkJb9wworrIze1Vx-JYADZ3sEtyDoKWVPoY_7/s1600/IMG_7990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYusu3JNo-V1JKDcqgEFvhC2o8fbIepeFNeZm-TzNoIxDkqWm5nHm_fyFQ6YrqdNkYMpTZa9ULNrmlLsyONRz5Pduvq1QO8Dx-dWB59-jGkJb9wworrIze1Vx-JYADZ3sEtyDoKWVPoY_7/s400/IMG_7990.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EAJdZ1gxJkoCHWl-ENmOEK9RERvo5aPdureIU22NqYIPOjOiiEUdEUOVAbht0HK24fcOxFehDpSGptv05HxXrSzK_HfsqIPI2QkTQocO5i9eWSGDHUxPCtNgHaID5SOMxAWpxcOChbhf/s1600/IMG_7992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EAJdZ1gxJkoCHWl-ENmOEK9RERvo5aPdureIU22NqYIPOjOiiEUdEUOVAbht0HK24fcOxFehDpSGptv05HxXrSzK_HfsqIPI2QkTQocO5i9eWSGDHUxPCtNgHaID5SOMxAWpxcOChbhf/s400/IMG_7992.jpg" width="267" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTXQAO7rB4ydbMwIIUvCHJFPKhMDH-m9FG7cHGIj9jBBh6F1zDR8Mwllee9J623hDs95xeIQXhdVDQCHQCG21LHsqbABZf153WRfYXm6bWkEZp138pRUvbzc87Ytcp89TdNt7Y1fjSW0Y/s1600/IMG_8095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTXQAO7rB4ydbMwIIUvCHJFPKhMDH-m9FG7cHGIj9jBBh6F1zDR8Mwllee9J623hDs95xeIQXhdVDQCHQCG21LHsqbABZf153WRfYXm6bWkEZp138pRUvbzc87Ytcp89TdNt7Y1fjSW0Y/s400/IMG_8095.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-81190733538257925572010-05-28T13:50:00.000-04:002010-05-28T13:50:13.126-04:00Lots of excite-ment-ness-ed.We bought a house. Yep. In my hometown. Which means we are no longer building, well not for another 5 years probably. We just found a deal that we couldn't pass up. The house is gorgeous and I am sooooo excited to move in. In July. Boo. Hello, June? Can you hurry please? Then I can at least say we are moving in "next month". I would feel much better.<br />
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Mason has been absolutely hysterical lately with all of putting-together of words. "I wanna watch choo-choo" and "I want more pancakes" are some of his favorites. He also recently starting screaming "FRIES! FRIES!" as soon as we walked into a Rocknes. I mean, how did he even know they had fries there? <br />
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Two of my friends are getting married this summer, and I am a bridesmaid for both of them. You know what that means: <strike>continuous shit show</strike> a lot of parties! One of the weddings is at the beach, so Paul and I are going to go sans Mason for a little one-on-one time and relaxation. This should help pass some time until move-in day and will be really fun as well. I love friend time!<br />
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As if I wasn't busy enough, I decided to start a little photography business. It has always been a hobby of mine and since having Mason, I have really become more interested in it. Then people started asking if I could take pictures for them. One thing led to another and <a href="http://www.tlucphoto.blogspot.com/">T Luc. photography + design</a> was born. If anything, it will give me an outlet to get some of my bottled up creativity out. I had two photos published in a local newpaper this morning and I am pretty proud of that. This is something that makes me very happy and I need that. <br />
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So, needless to say, I am going to have a VERY busy summer. I say BRING IT ON!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-28591035379430518672010-05-17T14:01:00.000-04:002010-05-17T14:01:36.534-04:00pooH<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">I think he took the whole saying "poo goes in the potty" a little too seriously.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-XjYUvUYIF7B1LXSxIhNIqD8ngGR2bKCJ_LY_Uif0A3tURCqNyks76T52Ota-MU1jv0dBWeJrjb3u7J2Zuy0MSPp0Q9yiXhIZdkmjokjd7joENFCB6JkMtUTg-NsZ_0OPGFhWfPTumF8/s1600/IMG_6839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-XjYUvUYIF7B1LXSxIhNIqD8ngGR2bKCJ_LY_Uif0A3tURCqNyks76T52Ota-MU1jv0dBWeJrjb3u7J2Zuy0MSPp0Q9yiXhIZdkmjokjd7joENFCB6JkMtUTg-NsZ_0OPGFhWfPTumF8/s400/IMG_6839.jpg" width="267" wt="true" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-36628241634143015162010-05-10T09:50:00.000-04:002010-05-10T09:50:37.460-04:00Oh hey there.There is so much I want to tell you. Really. Everytime I write something, and go to hit 'publish', I stop. X out the window, move on to reading more Perez. There are some really BIG, exciting (or not) things going on around here, but I just can't tell you <em>yet</em>. I promise I will soon though. This summer should be an adventure-filled one with lots of Mason and poop, and the usual of course. <br />
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We are still living with my family - which surprisingly, isn't quite as bad as you would think. I am still attempting to potty-train, but not pushing it quite yet. There is too much going on that I don't think potty training would fair well with. Hopefully I will be back in full force with lots of news and surprises and DETAILS that aren't so creepy and suspicious. Sorry about that. Until then, enjoy the usual photo of the son.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIBEDmlFi1NHhB9nJCOmSGB2V8ENZRkPq_Os7kAJrO6RzlNHOMuFLGWGCb88Rvexwp_hR-uEovrzh8-JjjOsOaaIByOsItvZgioqERVKll5oCCP0H14_1rct3di_PDASdMFt3MSErEBze/s1600/IMG_6804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIBEDmlFi1NHhB9nJCOmSGB2V8ENZRkPq_Os7kAJrO6RzlNHOMuFLGWGCb88Rvexwp_hR-uEovrzh8-JjjOsOaaIByOsItvZgioqERVKll5oCCP0H14_1rct3di_PDASdMFt3MSErEBze/s320/IMG_6804.jpg" tt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Do you see what I have to deal with?! All the cuteness! My brain can't handle this!</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-26642648335925526662010-04-20T09:25:00.000-04:002010-04-20T09:25:27.638-04:00Pee has consumed my life.That's right, internets. Potty training has commenced. Sadly, we are having to re-train the cats also. First Mason. He really started showing interest in his potty, telling us when he pooped, etc. So imagine my surprise when one day I decided to put him on his potty and HE PEED. I cannot tell you how vigerous my happy dance was that day! THEN, THEN INTERNETS, he did it again, and again! He doesn't quite grasp the whole tell mommy BEFORE you have to go rather than telling me after he has already done it, but I am not pushing it. One day, he told me he had to poop. We put him on the potty and I left Paul to keep an eye on him while I was blow drying my hair. Paul got a phone call and was pacing (per usual) while Mason sat on the potty (he usually doesn't move until we tell him to). At one point I looked up and saw him walking around naked (Mason, not Paul) and I thought he was probably done and continued to dry my hair. Next thing I know, Paul is flailing arms, and yelling NO NO NO!!! and I see a little nugget laying on the floor about 6 inches away from the potty with Mason squatting over it. He had pooped on the floor. A for effort, little man.<br />
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The cats. Oh the cats. I woke up one morning to find pee. Everywhere in the house. The cats had started their battle for dominance and we were living on the battle field. So I basically have been cleaning up pee, human and feline, for the last two weeks. I am proud of all of my little potty trainers as they are all making strides. If I ask Mason if he wants to sit on the potty and he says "no" I say okay, and go about my life. If I ask the cats if they are getting along and they say "no" I spray more Feliway. It's going really well!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-43899930390352643752010-04-05T21:26:00.000-04:002010-04-05T21:26:44.628-04:00Thank you mista Easter Bunny<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We liked Easter A LOT around here. Mason colored his first eggs, which was more like dropping bombs into what he thought was some new delicous concoction that I was going to start feeding him. Too funny. Who knew vinegar and water was so yummy? Not me.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSC6EomfEOmxd1SiDa19lIqd-7YJRQzbDghAI8N1mXNMjf_2Ro686eGtGxe389fTZ7mZWoUpmDwf06Y2_R9qVH29yaJfWgubX4dZcgqDhtJ1qUcheEugzFXd9nm2audS8P0isXce-nyTS3/s1600/IMG_6720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSC6EomfEOmxd1SiDa19lIqd-7YJRQzbDghAI8N1mXNMjf_2Ro686eGtGxe389fTZ7mZWoUpmDwf06Y2_R9qVH29yaJfWgubX4dZcgqDhtJ1qUcheEugzFXd9nm2audS8P0isXce-nyTS3/s320/IMG_6720.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_LtA9Yqd45USUMjZyUpujQ7fbQkEK7IQk842e3rdnScm44o4w9kheCrEIdrl0m18xy0vzSdj0njxaolJH1tpzxUsqKcrszeikUpi4YcQG5JVVcx9qHOSjquu0-mABAZv6ZI_-6mp3y2g/s1600/IMG_6708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_LtA9Yqd45USUMjZyUpujQ7fbQkEK7IQk842e3rdnScm44o4w9kheCrEIdrl0m18xy0vzSdj0njxaolJH1tpzxUsqKcrszeikUpi4YcQG5JVVcx9qHOSjquu0-mABAZv6ZI_-6mp3y2g/s320/IMG_6708.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Easter bunny was wonderful to Mason. He almost riveled Santa. But alas, Mason has NO CLUE what I am talking about. <em>What bunny? Don't see a bunny?</em> Hrmph. That would be me, mother of the year, who has yet to get a photo of her son <strike>screaming</strike> smiling on the lap of <strike>some smelly dude</strike> the Easter bunny. It was in the plans for Saturday, but there was too much going on and HAMS! to pick up. Maybe next year!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYFS3RbhXNlrwpon0-oId7RduNUynguzdfZyMkt25eA7hDZgOLxaywFO_Hw0acTqIGvMO052TlzuvDpxiII9EVvcc3RM51pMP1fN9FlIPK-t1dpqqpSxr7fwGH-7AGiaH9bPRfdYSIm4Dk/s1600/IMG_6709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYFS3RbhXNlrwpon0-oId7RduNUynguzdfZyMkt25eA7hDZgOLxaywFO_Hw0acTqIGvMO052TlzuvDpxiII9EVvcc3RM51pMP1fN9FlIPK-t1dpqqpSxr7fwGH-7AGiaH9bPRfdYSIm4Dk/s320/IMG_6709.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV00Gs9NNoXALhNP55-iH4DVv7YlycsIZzaE0z0KQBVP7Yz5-HvF2ZCdSPdEsT2Ub5GHhxZBOZIBkJl63PKviSC7hiUCYMAcSa9Oshbf-wf2QLUzIKht_ea0ftDrqpbngwHBpi3fbcFLl_/s1600/IMG_6739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV00Gs9NNoXALhNP55-iH4DVv7YlycsIZzaE0z0KQBVP7Yz5-HvF2ZCdSPdEsT2Ub5GHhxZBOZIBkJl63PKviSC7hiUCYMAcSa9Oshbf-wf2QLUzIKht_ea0ftDrqpbngwHBpi3fbcFLl_/s320/IMG_6739.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Hope you all had a wonderful Easter!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdwckSwN7ZwIAa_PGsZrNeMboVsOIg02sHhjSJf_ivqJaegAH4pNZa2-DfXUAnhiK0KHFTZ5GK2CEAzSyVjJSLHmvgi7wXb2Z2YocVygJzrzgkG3Yqa6XAQJIkCoJb_TZBc4gy6OqXyzb/s1600/IMG_6721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdwckSwN7ZwIAa_PGsZrNeMboVsOIg02sHhjSJf_ivqJaegAH4pNZa2-DfXUAnhiK0KHFTZ5GK2CEAzSyVjJSLHmvgi7wXb2Z2YocVygJzrzgkG3Yqa6XAQJIkCoJb_TZBc4gy6OqXyzb/s400/IMG_6721.jpg" width="332" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-56717764149071629322010-03-31T17:21:00.000-04:002010-03-31T17:21:47.199-04:00Not again.As I was running on a treadmill at my "new" gym today, I happen to glance up from the timer on the machine (where I usually STARE, hoping the time will suddenly jump from 25mins to 5mins) and focus directly on the flat screen in front of me that was tuned to CNN. I like news. I like to generally keep up with what is going on because I think it is important. I mean, yes. Jesse James is an asshole and all but there are pretty substantial things going on in this world that are a teeny bit more important. Just then, I saw it. Another teen had committed suicide from the effects of school bullying. Gah. My heart started aching, my stomach dropped. And then it happened. <em>That feeling</em>. The one I felt sososo many times before: anxiety. The racing heart, butterflies, sweaty palms, sickness...you name it. It was there. It all started coming back like a bad movie montage. <em>My</em> adolesence. <em>My</em> experiences. <br />
<br />
For some reason, and I don't know if it has to do with technology or what, there has been a lot more attention being focused on school bullying. First the girl and the whole Myspace ordeal. Now this. Of course, there have been way more in between there that have fallen through the media cracks. There have been TONS before then. And there will be more. <br />
<br />
I know what you are thinking: get over it, Tiff. Everyone is bullied at one point or another, and it usually sticks with you, causing some irreputible damage. Yes. To some extent, I agree. On the other hand, I would be willing to challenge the majority that what I dealt with was a little more serious. I won't go into tremendous detail about what was done and said to me during mostly 2 years of middle school because I would run out of space. But that's it. TWO YEARS. That is all it took to change me forever. I hated school. I hated social functions. I got through it though- which is more than Phoebe Prince will never get to say. I think I grew from it. I also think there was some damage done that can never be un-done. Damage that causes many issues in my adult life. <br />
<br />
You see, I second-guess everyone. I look extremely deep into people's words. Are they taking a jab at me? Is this person's intentions not right? Are they trying to hurt me? I twist words around to make sure that people <em>are</em> doing these things. These horrible things. I don't trust people. This is what I was taught at a very crucial age. The majority of people cannot be trusted. Everyone is out to get me. <br />
<br />
Sound's crazy, right? It is. Of course therapy has helped me calm this anxiety. These thoughts. But they still linger. Unfortunately, when you are that special age (somewhere around puberty/middle school/beginnings of high school) and you are becoming the beginnings of an adult, taking in everything, learning about relationships...this is when this shit happens. A lot of adults look at it and say, "Oh, they're just kids. It will make them stronger". Yes, maybe. Eventually. If they make it that long. <br />
<br />
I think what frustrates me the most is that nobody tries to do anything. They think they are, but they obviously just aren't doing enough. My mom went to school authorities many times. Tried to make something happen. Of course, my bully was the daughter of a teacher, so you must know how that would play out. Little things happened here and there, and I commend my school district for trying a little. It didn't change anything. Not until it was almost time to move to high school. The clique started dissolving. People started maturing, but that does not mean that it didn't continue on some level. <br />
<br />
I guess I could go on and on and if you have stuck with me this long, I thank you. Most of the time, this has to do with jealousy. These girls (mostly) are jealous of someone and just ruthlessly go after them. If you know someone going through this, or if you are a teacher, please TRY to do something. Waiting it out is not the answer. It may be okay, but as in Phoebe Prince's story, it wasn't. <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/03/31/blanco.phoebe.bullying/index.html?hpt=C2">Here</a> is a great article to read if you have time. If not, just keep your eyes open and if you see or hear of something going on, try to help. <br />
<br />
I promise I will try to be more funny in my next post, but that story really got to me this morning and there has to be something I can do to help. I figured maybe this was a good place to start!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-41353388371713933932010-03-26T21:06:00.000-04:002010-03-26T21:06:04.804-04:00The one where I clog the toilet. Again.We are being forced to make some very difficult decisions for the new house. We are often asked to get in the car, drive somewhere that sometimes looks like an abandoned crack den, and <em>pick out things</em>. Important things. Like sinks and toilets and lighting fixtures and stone, oh my. Recently, we drove, sans child of course (because an 18 month-old + lighting fixtures/unsecured sinks does not = a good time, or rational decisions) about 30 miles away to pick out the plumbing fixtures for our new house. It wasn't in the best part of town, and after seeing the building, our conversation went something like this: <br />
<em>Me: This is a little scary.</em><br />
<em>Paul: Well, they <strong>are</strong> wholesalers.</em><br />
<em>Me: Wholesalers, as in, we steal this stuff and sell it to you for a reasonable price?</em><br />
<em>Paul: Possibly.</em><br />
<br />
As I said before, this building somewhat resembled an abandoned crack den. This was not par for our contractor - he usually sends us to really nice showrooms because he lacks the ability to do anything half-assed. Or cheap. Ahem. Anywho, I had a feeling that we were going to stumble upon a.) a syringe-toting drug lord that would rob us of everything we have - including my mom's car (that's right, we live with them AND drive their vehicles) or b.) the land of Oz-like showroom. Luckily for us, it turned out to be the latter. Sort of. It was definitely very un-assuming on the outside, let's just leave it at that. <br />
<br />
We met a very nice lady, who made sure to make it very clear that she was the only one who was working there and that they closed at 4:30 (instead of the 5 o'clock that was posted on the door) and that she no longer worked Saturdays. We started in on the kitchen sinks and she had to run into her office to look something up when the feeling came over me: I had to poop. Now. I told Paul that I needed to use the restroom and he directed me toward the back of the showroom. When I got in there, I was totally expecting to be blown away by the coolest fixtures they had to offer. Letdown. Then I noticed a sign beside the toilet: PLEASE RETURN THE SEAT TO THE CLOSED POSITION AS THIS IS A WORKING EXHIBIT. Nice. So, what they were trying to tell me is, if I really liked that particular toilet, the lady would say, "Oh, sure. Come with me into the ladies room. We have a working exhibit!" Eww. Just as I was reading the sign I thought to myself, "Gee, self. It would really suck to clog this bitch up". I finished my business and flushed....<br />
<br />
DAMNIT. ShitshitshitSHIT! Clogged. I swear, for such a small person I can really drop some logs. I panicked and looked around. No plunger. Not behind the toilet, not under the sink. Nothing. Men's room. If there is one thing I know it is that men always have the plunger. I ran over and peeked in. Nothing. I was going to have to do the unthinkable: <strike>reach in and pull that turd out</strike> go ask for a plunger. I arrived before the saleswoman returned and whispered to Paul that I had clogged the toilet. No, there is not plunger. No, not even in the men's room. Then he told me to reach in. F that! When the lady came back I said, "This is really embarrassing, but do you have a plunger?" she ignored me so I spoke up, "DO YOU HAVE AH PLUNGER?!" she looked up at my red face and said, "Uh, no. Don't think so. Don't worry about it hun. I'll call the guy." Oh Jesus. Great. She was going to have to call someone who was going to have to plung out my shit probably a good 3 hours later. Poor soul. We SOOoooo weren't going to get their best prices. <br />
<br />
As you can imagine, moving on from that conversation and back to the task at hand was kind of akward. For me at least. She seemed to not skip a beat and went about showing us the options for soaking tubs. Sure. Whatever. Got any of those around? I am sure I can somehow clog the drain with hair or something gross. Needless to say, it was an awesome day. I was pretty proud of myself as that was my first real public clogging. If the quote that we recieved for the plumbing fixtures is any indication of the impression I made on the saleslady, it was rich. Priceless even.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-78180422170802073642010-03-23T18:51:00.000-04:002010-03-23T18:51:40.934-04:00Just a little sleepy.There isn't too much going on over here. We are dealing with allergies now, because the other sickness has moved on, so you know, there has to be something new. We can't ever just be healthy. Not until at least May...Anyways, here is kind of what has been going on:<br />
Just your typical Luc narcolepsy. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSbXMFlrp0E9yBo7Rc3Zr5hMTgUrFRwZSkh91gLfhSo1wtCb6WfSbX3P8x9BlJr9gual1lITyFNPJSvhIkFsGyMlKsOmDrFrWgmODyui4gLReWISKb93PnF7KoQQUwjm1cCVTbw6n4QMU/s1600-h/IMG_6643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSbXMFlrp0E9yBo7Rc3Zr5hMTgUrFRwZSkh91gLfhSo1wtCb6WfSbX3P8x9BlJr9gual1lITyFNPJSvhIkFsGyMlKsOmDrFrWgmODyui4gLReWISKb93PnF7KoQQUwjm1cCVTbw6n4QMU/s320/IMG_6643.jpg" vt="true" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RRKUqCL2ot-S1ECL9cGXrKcH-Mr3ABBizB55zn8Gy4iSt7Puh1XN9f_01T-2H2xUPgxupxf2eEQde3A1QuBp-peap5ifb_5LTPGC-uh_06qUCPTy100eIT0SZC1E2QjlZWTlBbKiAULo/s1600-h/IMG_6644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RRKUqCL2ot-S1ECL9cGXrKcH-Mr3ABBizB55zn8Gy4iSt7Puh1XN9f_01T-2H2xUPgxupxf2eEQde3A1QuBp-peap5ifb_5LTPGC-uh_06qUCPTy100eIT0SZC1E2QjlZWTlBbKiAULo/s320/IMG_6644.jpg" vt="true" /></a><br />
Hope everyone else is doing better than the bubble family!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-46639951578832247932010-03-16T21:10:00.000-04:002010-03-16T21:10:09.266-04:00Slow down, you're moving too fast.I guess I can update my blog now that we are officially moved in with my parents. I know, <em>freeloaders.</em> I am not going to lie and say this was totally easy for all of us. I mean, with the pouring rain on moving day, the croup outbreak, missing the old house, old gym, friends, family, life, etc. but it is for the best and I know it will get easier. Mason is having a great time...well, minus the croup. Did I mention he has croup? Yeah. Something that we had to go to an urgent care facility to get perscriptions for considering we are now an hour away from his pediatrician. It was in that same urgent care facility that he had a major meltdown after skipping a nap and refusing to follow the NO EATING, NO DRINKING, & NO CELL PHONE rules...okay, I broke the last one.<br />
<br />
I went and got a gym membership today at a place that I used to belong to...in high school. It is still the same, which almost made me cry because I realized how spoiled I had become and how instead of trying to catch up with a new, faster life, I must now learn how to slow down, minimize, and relax. Perhaps even find my happiness again. Now, before you go getting all confused, it is not that I am <em>unhappy</em>, but I have certainly become hardened with life, age and responsibility. I am hoping that returning to my roots will find me in the same mindset that I had before college, cheating boyfriends, bad job experience and post-partum depression. I am also hoping that being within walking distance to family members and friends will help me drop the guilt of not being close to them, and them not getting to watch Mason grow up. <br />
<br />
I think we will all be fine. I can do this. It just takes time and patience - which I am pretty bad at, but I can do this.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-31576316300996112892010-03-10T15:19:00.000-05:002010-03-10T15:19:00.201-05:00Therapy with TiffTwo posts in two days! <em>I know, right?</em> It's like the old me is back. <br />
<br />
You know how people who work in post offices are always incredibly unhappy? You do. Don't lie. Unless you work in a post office ::waves:: then YOU my friend, are the most delightful person I have ever met. No, wait! Don't leave!! Anywho, so these people. They are always soooo miserable. I have always wondered why. Why oh why USPS peeps, are you so down on life? I have a plan. Let's talk it out, I will give you some talking points, you let me know if I am right.<br />
<br />
1. Those lights. They are YELLOW. And not "happy sunshine" yellow. God-awful pee-stained carpet yellow. I would probably lose the happy as well.<br />
2. The most exciting part of your job is when a new line of stamps come out. And you get first dibs. Star Wars, anyone?<br />
3. You repeat words like "perishable" and "liquid" all day.<br />
4. It smells of carbon-copy paper in there. Ick.<br />
5. You cannot accept credit cards without a valid signature. No, you cannot even accept cards with "PLEASE ID" on the back accompanied with the correct identification. <br />
6. Every piece of paperwork you encounter is overly complicated. And the people filling them out are stooopid.<br />
7. Your place of employment always has a dusty and dingy feel to it. <br />
8. You are the only person that can work the counter. EVER. There is never anyone there to help you dwindle down that line that is now out the door. And if there is a second worker that day, it's Maude. The 80-something bored lady that smells of moth balls and applied for this job just to bug you and operate in the SLOWEST fashion EVER. ::big breath::<br />
9. There will no doubt be a line that extends out the door at 5pm. <br />
10. People bring their car-obsessed, super-tantrum throwing 18 month-old children with them and procede to keep asking you to repeat yourself as you try to explain how the PO Boxes work. This person also has to keep running away to chase said child as he darts for the parking lot.<br />
<br />
Now. Why would you ever hate your job so much that you would make every person that comes into contact with you want to swerve into oncoming traffic after visiting you? I guess I will never know.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418046660417229910.post-84113865327515382792010-03-09T16:17:00.000-05:002010-03-09T16:17:29.873-05:00Dear Mason - 18 Months<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">18 Months</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Dear Mason,</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I know. I am behind. You must understand though, that I have been very busy packing up our lives. Our big, crowded, hoarder lives. How does a family of barely three completely fill a 2,000 square foot house? GREAT question. I will refer that one to you, little man. It seems I cannot take a step with hearing Elmo's voice, or one of the Yo Gabba Gabba characters, or the annoying children and adults that record all of the Fisher Price toy sounds. No matter how sneaky I am about putting your toys away, you will stop what you are doing, walk over to the closet and throw them all over the house. The only time you do not is at night, before bed. I tell you it is time to put your toys away, and you oblige me. Thank you for that.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm07FhzVuMNYw2KUi6zVuvzWilV0UHR3TqjsG6EHfml8rG8rOruq3ln95k1cfsuBZeZFk6_Vwx1w6A4GF6_qazVPcpaLyCW8eqViqm5hh1kMqiMQ5nnqdNzeh9CDFFPaBTEnOmkb0KgNKY/s1600-h/IMG_6577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm07FhzVuMNYw2KUi6zVuvzWilV0UHR3TqjsG6EHfml8rG8rOruq3ln95k1cfsuBZeZFk6_Vwx1w6A4GF6_qazVPcpaLyCW8eqViqm5hh1kMqiMQ5nnqdNzeh9CDFFPaBTEnOmkb0KgNKY/s400/IMG_6577.jpg" vt="true" width="342" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At your 18 month appointment, you weighed 24 pounds, 14 ounces. A true testament to your wonderful eating habits. Just this morning, you knocked down 3 adult sized pancakes, a pear cup and an entire cup of milk. Well done. Now, you will smell of maple syrup until your next bath. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gHAiDkeaiqy5yS_tJ6XqwVpTxSq6ahNgsO3PxX30UJ5SVw6zMmw4Jhem2uh6OTzbwFcvyMlJCbCyVwWEC-ivPViKOtMX35N4U-zbkp-5e0vCbKXZwEWkRQk73DgS21OYVS44iUxNsAVZ/s1600-h/IMG_6571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gHAiDkeaiqy5yS_tJ6XqwVpTxSq6ahNgsO3PxX30UJ5SVw6zMmw4Jhem2uh6OTzbwFcvyMlJCbCyVwWEC-ivPViKOtMX35N4U-zbkp-5e0vCbKXZwEWkRQk73DgS21OYVS44iUxNsAVZ/s400/IMG_6571.jpg" vt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The weather has been really warm, well above 50 degrees for the past two days. We have been taking walks, our last walks, through the neighborhood. You scream, and flap your arms like a bird every time you see another child, or dog. Your true joy brings a smile to my face every time. I know you don't know how to fake happiness and I hope you never have to learn how. That is my mission: Mission Happy. My mission always fails though, when it is time to go inside. You scream bloody murder and somehow dislocate your shoulders so that you slide right out of my arms. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgBJhU5WxxJCUYzWaLiH7-z00pBoiBES39keL34_V9-yxplTCD61BDwwBe6If166pksrLIHdgB9pJuTi4HZhOUTJGRWyiPAUuTkeisJiCmLogXY0bXLQDSZH4ITOTdDEqn-_ddx7CstC84/s1600-h/IMG_6590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgBJhU5WxxJCUYzWaLiH7-z00pBoiBES39keL34_V9-yxplTCD61BDwwBe6If166pksrLIHdgB9pJuTi4HZhOUTJGRWyiPAUuTkeisJiCmLogXY0bXLQDSZH4ITOTdDEqn-_ddx7CstC84/s400/IMG_6590.jpg" vt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Your doctor and I had a little chat about the tantrums you love to throw lately. I have pretty much tried it all: yelling, ignoring, time outs, putting you in your crib and shutting the door, threatening day care...none of it was really working BUT a combination of time outs/ignoring you. I guess it slipped my mind that you wanted a reaction out of me. You were WINNING. I am smarter now, son. I know this game. Bring it on. </div><br />
You recently started calling your toy school bus a BUS instead of a CAR. Maybe you <em>really are</em> listening to us when we tell you, "That's a bus/truck/etc." every time you say "CAR!". Maybe someday you will even make your Papa happy and say "Porsche" instead of just car. You will learn. Porsche's are way more than just cars.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yQbL1FRhpMm-Sf6-gT2srMiW4GyfiwuTsgkumlxKNauhTmcBPZxYJjWXBa48XTlZkUgYjQaeL8B7DcBQf9rBINAISBwWm9xTg-qhmLPgCytfSAG4xh2AjWl_CyjHOlsid98VvOWL8Y8A/s1600-h/IMG_6612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yQbL1FRhpMm-Sf6-gT2srMiW4GyfiwuTsgkumlxKNauhTmcBPZxYJjWXBa48XTlZkUgYjQaeL8B7DcBQf9rBINAISBwWm9xTg-qhmLPgCytfSAG4xh2AjWl_CyjHOlsid98VvOWL8Y8A/s400/IMG_6612.jpg" vt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We are moving soon. I think you are going to have a blast living with family for the next...forever. No, I promise it won't be forever. Maybe close to it though. And after forever, you will have a new house. And hopefully still-married parents. I'M KIDDING! DON'T CRY! Mommy and Daddy love eachother very much...yes, even when he elbows her in the head in her sleep.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQB9SZI-mXMrN4di95Eq7JccyNi3VKaWCnfs4faZ2jkinPpcwgN_f2rnlgretkhloAoanPdDg_ZwDeFu0vnBq4x7sD4kUKgT5tqjX7Ml__rDrt5PL1RRHs5NQzbs9_V4mq-00uiJiM0qCk/s1600-h/IMG_6628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQB9SZI-mXMrN4di95Eq7JccyNi3VKaWCnfs4faZ2jkinPpcwgN_f2rnlgretkhloAoanPdDg_ZwDeFu0vnBq4x7sD4kUKgT5tqjX7Ml__rDrt5PL1RRHs5NQzbs9_V4mq-00uiJiM0qCk/s400/IMG_6628.jpg" vt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I always say I don't know how you can get any cuter, funnier, or smarter. You keep blowing my mind every day. Slow down a little bit, okay?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3