Here - Chew on this.
Baby D's teething is really starting to get to me. I shouldn't let it though; I keep forgetting that my girls, while twins, are definitely on two different growth patterns. Baby S has already gone through all this crap - the crankiness, the disruption of sleep patterns, the general bitchery. I have to remind myself, "Oh yea, this is just teething....baby S went through this, you already know what to do." Instead I just get pissed off and annoyed. Bad Mommy. Baby D woke me at like 4am...odd thing is, she fell asleep on the bottle after only about 2oz. She was out cold. Not at all like her. Poor little thing, I heard her stomach growling as I changed her diaper. But she woke her sister again, who (luckily) just laid in her crib and pondered life.
But I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel - I can see the beginnings of her bottom teeth starting to break through.
Then, I heard Big Poppa - one of DH's three cats. He's 16 years old, and jealous of the babies. His favorite thing is to sit outside their bedroom and howl his ass off in an attempt to wake them. I hear "Yeeeowwww....yeeeowwww"...and I shot up out of bed like a woman possessed. He met with the business end of my shoe, and went running down the stairs.
(before anyone calls PETA on me, it wasn't really a shoe. It was a fuzzy slipper. And I didn't kick him, I just threw it at him...and I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I didn't take very good aim either. But he got the message nonetheless)
I was feeling generally sorry for myself after reading a post on the Suburban Bliss Blog (http://www.suburbanbliss.net/suburbanbliss/), where she provided a link to these houses (http://www.showing247.com/hawthornpark/model.html). Just LOOK at those fucking houses! I'm a sucker for craftsman-style houses. This is an example of the house I always thought I would have. But, as we know, I do not.
Listen. I love my house, mostly because its mine, in spite of it being 80 years old and broken down. Without this house, I'd be living in the land of the evil MIL, so I'm thankful for my little hole in the wall. But...
Recently, I attended a "jewelry party" with my mom and sister. At first, I was really getting a kick out of trying on these incredibly expensive diamond rings and necklaces (stuff I'd never in a million years wear unless I was suddenly called to walk the red carpet with Joan Rivers). After a while though, I started to get depressed. Then we went to the house of the woman who hosted the party. Her house was exquisite, in a beautiful neighborhood, overlooking a golf course. And not a SPECK of dust, not an inch of clutter, everything was perfect. I found myself thinking, "This is the life I will NEVER have. My life will forever be clutter and dustbunnies and cat puke". So again, here I was looking at houses the likes of which I'll never own, and feeling really fucking depressed about it. Where did I go wrong. I shoulda married for money. OK, enough of me feeling sorry for myself. Subject change:
Did you know that the Food Network is looking for its next star? They're running a contest inviting people to send in tapes of themselves. The winner gets to star in a new Food Network series. I honestly thought about entering. Believe it or not, I hardly ever watch TVFN anymore. I'm about ready to call it the Rachel Ray network. Not that I have anything against Rachel - she seems like a sweetie...but TVFN falls in love with an individual, and then over-exposes them until the viewing public is sick of looking at them. They did it with Bobby Flay, they sure as shit did it with Emeril (I can't even watch him anymore, he has SO jumped the shark), and now they're doing it with Rachel. I mean, she's starring in...3? shows on TVFN right now, you can't even turn on that channel without seeing Miss EVOO.
So, here's my premise. On my show, you'll learn how to get from the sink to the fridge with a kid hanging on each leg and not drop anything. How to organize the fridge so you can open and shut it fast before one of the kids crawls in there. And how to keep a child on the other side of the room while you open the oven. We could throw in a speed round, where you have to wash dishes/load the dishwasher while keeping an eye on the kids, answering the phone, and manage not to trip over the cat.
Hell, I'd watch it.
But I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel - I can see the beginnings of her bottom teeth starting to break through.
Then, I heard Big Poppa - one of DH's three cats. He's 16 years old, and jealous of the babies. His favorite thing is to sit outside their bedroom and howl his ass off in an attempt to wake them. I hear "Yeeeowwww....yeeeowwww"...and I shot up out of bed like a woman possessed. He met with the business end of my shoe, and went running down the stairs.
(before anyone calls PETA on me, it wasn't really a shoe. It was a fuzzy slipper. And I didn't kick him, I just threw it at him...and I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I didn't take very good aim either. But he got the message nonetheless)
I was feeling generally sorry for myself after reading a post on the Suburban Bliss Blog (http://www.suburbanbliss.net/suburbanbliss/), where she provided a link to these houses (http://www.showing247.com/hawthornpark/model.html). Just LOOK at those fucking houses! I'm a sucker for craftsman-style houses. This is an example of the house I always thought I would have. But, as we know, I do not.
Listen. I love my house, mostly because its mine, in spite of it being 80 years old and broken down. Without this house, I'd be living in the land of the evil MIL, so I'm thankful for my little hole in the wall. But...
Recently, I attended a "jewelry party" with my mom and sister. At first, I was really getting a kick out of trying on these incredibly expensive diamond rings and necklaces (stuff I'd never in a million years wear unless I was suddenly called to walk the red carpet with Joan Rivers). After a while though, I started to get depressed. Then we went to the house of the woman who hosted the party. Her house was exquisite, in a beautiful neighborhood, overlooking a golf course. And not a SPECK of dust, not an inch of clutter, everything was perfect. I found myself thinking, "This is the life I will NEVER have. My life will forever be clutter and dustbunnies and cat puke". So again, here I was looking at houses the likes of which I'll never own, and feeling really fucking depressed about it. Where did I go wrong. I shoulda married for money. OK, enough of me feeling sorry for myself. Subject change:
Did you know that the Food Network is looking for its next star? They're running a contest inviting people to send in tapes of themselves. The winner gets to star in a new Food Network series. I honestly thought about entering. Believe it or not, I hardly ever watch TVFN anymore. I'm about ready to call it the Rachel Ray network. Not that I have anything against Rachel - she seems like a sweetie...but TVFN falls in love with an individual, and then over-exposes them until the viewing public is sick of looking at them. They did it with Bobby Flay, they sure as shit did it with Emeril (I can't even watch him anymore, he has SO jumped the shark), and now they're doing it with Rachel. I mean, she's starring in...3? shows on TVFN right now, you can't even turn on that channel without seeing Miss EVOO.
So, here's my premise. On my show, you'll learn how to get from the sink to the fridge with a kid hanging on each leg and not drop anything. How to organize the fridge so you can open and shut it fast before one of the kids crawls in there. And how to keep a child on the other side of the room while you open the oven. We could throw in a speed round, where you have to wash dishes/load the dishwasher while keeping an eye on the kids, answering the phone, and manage not to trip over the cat.
Hell, I'd watch it.
posted by scrappintwinmom @ 4:33 PM
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