We'll keep this one brief, as I've got a few pressing things on my plate. And my "plate," I mean "bladder." (How's THAT for mixing metaphors?) But I am indeed alive and well...well-ish...(Welsh?) and figured I could afford the time to jot down a few funny things of late...
Pregnancy (something I like to acknowledge between the all the goings-on with the house, apartment, car and, you know, work):
The baby has hiccups! Or I have rhythmic gas bubbles! Either way, it's really cute, but still not something I'd like to have happen for more than nine months at a time. Imagine being an elephant (this is a fun exercise anyhow) and being pregnant for eighteen months! I mean, I feel like I've been in a "delicate condition" for about three years now, but still. It could be longer. Like pachyderm long.
The cleaning lady of one of the fams for which I nanny told me DEFINITELY that I'm having a girl. "Really?" I asked. "Absolutely," she confidently told me. "A girl makes you tired and steals all your beauty." THANKS! I informed her that I've got a bit going on now and haven't really slept all that well lately, but she remained unconvinced. Perhaps my "beauty" is so far gone that even sleep couldn't restore it? Thanks, daughter.
However, a lady in the park came up to me and opened the conversation like this; "A boy. You are having boy, yes?" When I told her that we didn't know, she nodded and told me BOY, for I am out to HERE large. THANKS! She also told me how pretty I'm looking, so there. (Thanks, son!)
And some kidisms from work (that thing I try to do at least once a week):
Julia, 6 1/2, after rolling her eyes at how bossy her baby sister is becoming; "She just has to have her own way ALL THE TIME." I laughed and said, "Now who does that remind me of?" She thought for a minute and nodded sagely. "My friend Carl. He's from camp."
Chance, 4 1/2, completely out of the blue; "Kiki, I love you and don't want you to die." After thinking this through VERY carefully, I thanked him and asked why he didn't want me to die. He looked at me like I had three heads and replied, "Because I LOVE you."
And Lily, 2, grabbing my chest and saying, "Are these babies like in your belly?" I told her that was my chest and she has one, too. Laughing hysterically, she patted my back and said her new favorite phrase; "Kiki, you are so cute."
So the next time I post I will (God willing) have a new car, a packed-up apartment, an intact marriage and a house with floors, doors, windows and beds!
Some people just know how to live large, I guess.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Anyone have a Tums?
So, in roughly the amount of time it took to BUILD a new (and smallish) house, we managed to PURCHASE one! For crazy amounts of Monopoly money that I was briefly allowed to touch before it was snapped up in the hands of Lawyers. (Would someone like to buy me a sandwich? I feel that to make this purchase work, we may have to forego "food" for a while.)
It's totally worth it! No apartment number EVER AGAIN!
We sat on the floor of our new place (in one of the three living rooms, mind you) and marveled at the fact that this mammoth money pit was now ours. Ours! As we looked around at the extraordinarily barren rooms (sans appliances, fixtures, some doors) we wondered if perhaps we should have alloted a bit more money to actual "furniture." Eh, that stuff sorts itself out.
I had a grand moment at the closing table (after my aching hand forgot how to write the n in Schoeny- a few less than legitimate documents are out there penned by one Keely Schoey- wherein I had to sign a Social Security statement that proclaimed me to be a "home maker." (Long story.) I gleefully looked at P.J., who promptly turned back and mouthed "No."
"I'm gonna tell people I am, anyhow."
"That sounds fun. Go nuts."
"I'm not going to work anymore."
"Yes you are."
"I won't sign."
"You already did, Mrs. Schoey."
I might just be the home maker who wins the Out of the Actual Home the Most award. But I make it, baby. (And shall until at least 8.1.39. That's right. My mortgage goes to 2039, which isn't even a real number.)
In other Just How Much Do These Fools Have, Anyhow news, we just got back from a week with Peej's family in Myrtle Beach. Which sounds very old-peopley and Southern, which it also is. It does boast, however, 85 degree salty waves that do not care how pregnant you are or what SPF of baby sunblock you are wearing. And that is why we had a torrid, weeklong affair, that stretch of the Atlantic and I- regardless of that time I may or may not have been stung by a baby jelly-like creature. The sea let me float and I let my kid stop pressing directly into my kidneys. (Relationships have been based on less.)
It was a lovely week with two parents, eight siblings and in-laws, six nieces and nephews and two second-trimester gals. Plus, LOTS of tacos. Pivotal vacation food, especially if you are the second-trimester gals.
And, aside from the our friends' wedding that we were part of the weekend prior and the car that we are about to purchase (today!) and the show of mine that is getting produced in a festival in which P.J. was cast...not too much else is abuzz.
And the uppercut to the bladder that little Bitsy Pickles is now handing out means that it's either time for a nap or a snack. Hopefully I can have a little of both, as all of the non-internal children in this house are napping and my scenes are done for this week! Also, doesn't little Bitsy Pickles sound like a vaudeville name? (I have left the fear that this child will be part taco. That was very first trimester. This kid is all dill pickles and onions. But "Onions" seemed inauspicious for a baby. Did you know that "Chicago" is a Native American word for wild onion grass? Coincidence? Probably.)
Until later, I wish you love, pickle slices, and red onions dipped in horseradish. I'll save the kisses 'til next trimester.
It's totally worth it! No apartment number EVER AGAIN!
We sat on the floor of our new place (in one of the three living rooms, mind you) and marveled at the fact that this mammoth money pit was now ours. Ours! As we looked around at the extraordinarily barren rooms (sans appliances, fixtures, some doors) we wondered if perhaps we should have alloted a bit more money to actual "furniture." Eh, that stuff sorts itself out.
I had a grand moment at the closing table (after my aching hand forgot how to write the n in Schoeny- a few less than legitimate documents are out there penned by one Keely Schoey- wherein I had to sign a Social Security statement that proclaimed me to be a "home maker." (Long story.) I gleefully looked at P.J., who promptly turned back and mouthed "No."
"I'm gonna tell people I am, anyhow."
"That sounds fun. Go nuts."
"I'm not going to work anymore."
"Yes you are."
"I won't sign."
"You already did, Mrs. Schoey."
I might just be the home maker who wins the Out of the Actual Home the Most award. But I make it, baby. (And shall until at least 8.1.39. That's right. My mortgage goes to 2039, which isn't even a real number.)
In other Just How Much Do These Fools Have, Anyhow news, we just got back from a week with Peej's family in Myrtle Beach. Which sounds very old-peopley and Southern, which it also is. It does boast, however, 85 degree salty waves that do not care how pregnant you are or what SPF of baby sunblock you are wearing. And that is why we had a torrid, weeklong affair, that stretch of the Atlantic and I- regardless of that time I may or may not have been stung by a baby jelly-like creature. The sea let me float and I let my kid stop pressing directly into my kidneys. (Relationships have been based on less.)
It was a lovely week with two parents, eight siblings and in-laws, six nieces and nephews and two second-trimester gals. Plus, LOTS of tacos. Pivotal vacation food, especially if you are the second-trimester gals.
And, aside from the our friends' wedding that we were part of the weekend prior and the car that we are about to purchase (today!) and the show of mine that is getting produced in a festival in which P.J. was cast...not too much else is abuzz.
And the uppercut to the bladder that little Bitsy Pickles is now handing out means that it's either time for a nap or a snack. Hopefully I can have a little of both, as all of the non-internal children in this house are napping and my scenes are done for this week! Also, doesn't little Bitsy Pickles sound like a vaudeville name? (I have left the fear that this child will be part taco. That was very first trimester. This kid is all dill pickles and onions. But "Onions" seemed inauspicious for a baby. Did you know that "Chicago" is a Native American word for wild onion grass? Coincidence? Probably.)
Until later, I wish you love, pickle slices, and red onions dipped in horseradish. I'll save the kisses 'til next trimester.
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