Posts tagged ‘family’
…My Chemical Romance and I had a discussion about the differences in our cultural backgrounds and how I’m the Grinch. You see, I was raised Jewish. And I’m an only child. Ergo, I didn’t give a shit from whom the presents came (or where), I just wanted presents.
My Chemical Romance was raised… vaguely Christian-esque, with a large dose of Santa and two sisters.
I assumed my offspring felt the way I do about presents. I live with these kids every day, I know how they are about stuff.
I also wrongly assumed that I’d spent this holiday season nursing a newborn so I wouldn’t make it out to buy gifts. Joke’s on me! Thank you, ama*zon.com for having everything I needed (except for a whole-house humidifier). You came through, except when I get static shocks from opening the fridge.
Meanwhile, My Chemical Romance has this complicated scientific Christmas formula in his head that I only learned of tonight, but he wants to adapt it for our family — starting next year, since this Christmas is almost upon us and now it’s nearly 11pm and we have boycotted Wal*Mart for over three years now and Tar*get is closed, so hopefully this year the kids will simply enjoy their gifts and next year we’ll start the REAL tradition.
It took me a while to catch on, but now I totally get the plan and I think it’s great, and here’s how it works:
1. A certain amount of money is set aside for each kid, for gifts from Santa, and from mom and dad. Say $50/kid. So they will get at least one gift from Santa (which will not get wrapped) and one gift from us (wrapped). Or they might get a few small gifts from Santa (unwrapped) and a few small gifts from us (wrapped). Or some combination thereof, as long as the monetary value is equal to $50 (or whatever we decide).
2. We give each kid $5 for each sibling, to buy each other gifts. I’m sincerely hoping we can encourage them to pool their money for each other, or I’m going to end up with a bunch of tiny plastic dollar-store toys that will be broken by (next) New Year’s Eve.
3. My Chemical Romance and I have a set amount of money to buy each other one gift, one gift from Santa, and one gift from the kids, divided however we want.
Dinner out with The Informant and My Masterpiece (while Animal and Mineral are at their very first sleepover!)
Also, a 12-hour night sleep, and banana pancakes that did NOT have the consistency of a rubber tire. I don’t know why, but My Chemical Romance’s pancakes are always really rubbery. Perhaps it’s the pregnancy hormones or some weird pancake craving that led me to announce to him, while still half-asleep, that I wanted pancakes from scratch but that his always taste like rubber tire. Luckily he was not offended. He’s seen me pregnant before, and that was probably the least-offensive thing I’ve ever said while past my due date. He asked, like the good scientist he is, was it the taste or was it the texture? I said texture. He said maybe he’s overmixing the batter. Perhaps pancakes are like brownies, which should always be hand-mixed, and never over stirred.
And, he took all four kids to the mall (!!!) where they waited an hour in line to see Santa. My Masterpiece was scared to death of Santa, so she didn’t get in the family picture. While at the mall, they purchased Christmas gifts for me. And they were gone long enough for me to watch 16 and Pregnant, Glee, and Oprah.
Also #2: he told me I’m not very complain-y, especially compared to the last two pregnancies. I said being down 100lbs probably helps; I’m not having any physical issues. Yes, I feel kind of like a whale, but so do most 40w1d pregnant women. My whale-ism isn’t anything new.
My dog was in heat again a few weeks ago, and I’m probably going to get her spayed relatively soon. She is a “show” dog, but neither My Chemical Romance nor I want to show her. Other than not having time, energy, or money for showing her, I’m not so sure how she’d do in a ring. She’s incredibly social with other dogs, and I think she would distract everyone — including herself. She would roll on her back and try to get the judge to rub her belly. Plus she has this weird untamed hair — she has like 12 cowlicks that would take me forever to get straight. I’ve tried, when I groom her, to get her fur to lay flat. It likes to be springy and curl up. I’m not going to fight dog hair — I already fight with my own hair and The Informant’s hair. My Masterpiece seems to have gotten better hair genes, along with Animal and Mineral, who don’t count because they get shaved every month or two.
Another reason I would spay her is her Optic Neuritis. If you look it up, you’ll get a vague explanation that it’s an eye condition that leads to temporary blindness which will someday be permanent blindness. Maybe. There’s really no way to tell. She hasn’t had an episode of blindness in nearly a year — but the ophthalmologist vet said it would probably be a year between episodes, so I’m not sure yet. It’s not genetic, but I don’t want to breed her when she’s not 100% perfect, she’s not a champion… there’s just no reason to breed her.
I love her. She loves My Chemical Romance. She loves me, but when My Chemical Romance is around, she’s on him like wild on rice. She loves curling up in corners. Her favorite spot in the kitchen is in the corner, under a row of shelves. Her favorite place in the bathroom is the cubby under the counter where I put my chair. Her favorite place in the office is under the desk. Her favorite place in our bedroom is on our bed, preferably on a pillow. She sleeps on her back with her paws in the air. It cracks me up. Usually sometime in the night she gets off our bed and sleeps in a corner of the room, near the door. She follows me in and out of the bathroom when I pee all night long. She goes in the bathroom with My Chemical Romance when he wakes up in the morning and showers.
She loves a half-deflated soccer ball. She loves stuffed animals. She takes them outside and “kills” them, shaking them back and forth and running around. When I was talking with her breeder about which dog would be appropriate for our family, the breeder mentioned that in her personality test she didn’t show the instinct to kill stuffed animals or balls — so she seemed more easy going. HA. Almost two years later, and the kill instinct has been activated.
She LOVES other dogs. Her main goal in life seems to be to get other dogs to play with her. Too bad most other dogs find her pesky. We dog-sat for my friend Renaissance Woman (still need a better nickname?) and her big brown lab wouldn’t give her the time of day. Same with my parents’ two dogs. Luckily she has a BFF, Wii’s dog.
She’s a good dog. She used to be kind of small for her breed, but now she’s normal sized. We feed her raw, and My Chemical Romance is always amazed at the huge portions she eats.
For the last few days I’ve noticed some hormonal changes, and I’m
hoping wondering if this is my body getting close to labor and birth. I’m starting to have night sweats again, I’m breaking out on my face, and I’m getting more crazy with each passing day. I kind of feel like I’m back in my first tri, except with 40 extra lbs. I originally went to the doctor because of the night sweats, thinking I was having some kind of endocrine issue. Nope! Just pregnancy!
I’m so excited to find out if Tax Deduction is a girl or a boy. I’ve gone back and forth so many times in this pregnancy, first thinking it was a boy, then girl for a looooooooooong time, now boy again. I just don’t know. This pregnancy has been a weird mixture of more and less intense than my others. It’s more intense because of my weight loss; I can feel a lot more than I could with all the others, and I’m more knowledgeable about the process. It’s less intense because — duh! — I’m a lot more busy with the older kids. A clerk at Tar*get will say something to me about how it’s getting close and I’m thinking, “Close to what, exactly? Oh, yeah. I’m having a baby.” I feel like not knowing the sex inhibits the bonding I’ve felt with the other kids. With the others, I would think, “Hey, The Informant, how did you like this Thanksgiving meal? Pretty good huh?” but now I think, “Hey baby who might be XX or XY and we’re still not 100% certain on a name, what do you think of…” and by the time the sentence is out I’m totally distracted by something else anyway.
Last night I was having some intense back pain, thinking, “This is it… maybe…?” but nope. I took a bath and went to bed. It was probably from doing “too much” on Thanksgiving. All that cooking, plus I moved a Graco Nautilus car seat from my garage into the house, so that The Happy Mathlete could borrow it.
Next Friday is My Chemical Romance’s birthday and it might be sort of cool if the baby shared his birthday.
For totally making me want to throw away/craigslist/freecycle/ebay/goodwill/burn all of my possessions that I’m not using right this very second. Which includes three children and a dog, along with pants.
I went to the hospital recently to get some IV fluids, and while there I watched four straight episodes of Hoarding/Hoarders/FURRRRR-EEEEEAKS With Serious Mental Disorders Who Are Being Exploited For TV And Are Probably Spending The $5,000 They Make On Buying More Trash No Really I Mean Actual Trash.
And then my parents came to visit and bought the kids new winter clothes — although I am not certain I believe it will EVER get below 90* here — and that reminds me that I have to purge last year’s winter clothes, along with this year’s summer clothes, and it’s always a hassle.
Particularly when I’m pregnant and am probably having either a boy or a girl and don’t know what I should or shouldn’t keep.
Also, I recently went through the garage and found My Chemical Romance’s ORIGINAL birth certificate and social security card in one of eleventy-zillion boxes that he SWEARS he has gone through with a fine-toothed comb (I found a few of those too) and knows exactly where everything is.
Me: “Where’s your social security card?”
MCR: “I know where it is.”
Me (eyes narrow): “Where?”
MCR: “In the ‘important paperwork’ folder. Along with your Publishers Clearinghouse Award for 10 million dollars.”
Me: “Ha. Ha. Ha. Har de har. No, it’s not with my money. It was–” dramatic pause to look him up and down “– in the garage. In a box. With some wires and shit.”
I was raised in the midwest, where basements are used for storing boxes full of wires and social security cards and shit, and you park your car in the garage to avoid having to scrape the snow/ice off it in the morning. My Chemical Romance is 100% Southern California, so he thinks the garage is for storing boxes full of wires and social security cards and shit, and you park on the street.
God help him if we ever move to a climate where it actually snows regularly.
And now I have to go purge.