John Buck

When I look at my babies it always feels like they are exactly the age they were meant to be. Then a month or six or a year passes and they're different. Still, the feeling persists. I can't picture them older or changed. They are just one and three. It seems they are perfectly suited to be one and three and they will always be one and three. My own little defense against the time machine we live in. Other then brief feelings, imagining them 10 and 12 or 41 and 43 is so difficult. And 82? Never. Never can I picture them losing their little boy voices to puberty and manhood and then, eventually, to the crackle of old age. I wonder if that is how it is with any other mothers. If picturing them past the age they are is reserved for the times you fear you won't see it.
My Grandpa passed away two months ago. His mother has been gone a long time, but I wonder if she looked down on his final days and marveled on how she went from staring at a tiny baby to a man who lived completely.
John Buck has always had a big personality. He was voted most outstanding boy in high school. I mean, c’mon. Most outstanding? Pretty sure they made the category up for him. He was an all star in every sport. He played college football and basketball.He had five beautiful babies with my Grandma and was able to see four of them grow. He played handball with his college buddies for as long as I can remember and there was one fantastic moment where he danced with his pants on his head. You haven’t lived until you have seen your Grandpa do the running man with pants on his head.
He’s always told it like it was. One of our favorite Grandpa lines came on Christmas morning. He opened a package and stared down in silence. Somebody asked him what he thought and he said, “I don’t like it and I won’t wear it.” Tossed the unfortunate gift aside and that was that.
One last memory. When I was in high school I found an old letterman sweater of his. It fit like a dream and I wore it frequently. Years after I came into it's possession, we found a very old video of him wearing the same sweater while he was in college. It was taken on the old yellow film that people try to replicate with phone apps these days. He’s outside doing backflips, goofing around and looking very much like a silly college kid. I remember putting on the sweater and trying to picture it's past. It was once brand new and his. He threw it on as he was running out the door once. Maybe he wore it on a date with my grandma. He wore it when he had no idea what he would be doing when he was thirty or forty or eighty.
I called my grandma today, heard his voice on the answering machine and for a second it felt like he might have just stepped out. When he passed away the world lost something great. My uncle said it best, he was a real man. A real person. And I am going to miss him so much.

In which I publicly declare Baby Year

Haven’t done one of my lists of laziness in a while and today is as good as any. So a little compilation of why this week is awesome.

Someone is having a birthday. Someone fantastic who just so happens to be much taller and better looking than me. Someone who has a black belt in Kung Fu. No seriously, this someone does. Happy birthday Lesco!

Go Niners!! Nevada’s very own Kaepernick happens to be, and I quote, the most dangerous quarterback in the NFL. Says one hundred sources. Google it. Did you know he came from Nevada? You probably did because they’ve said it over and over just the way we Nevadans like it. Don’t judge our enthusiasm, star quarterbacks are rare in these parts. If you’re suddenly confused because you thought he came from some place called NeVAHda, let me school you. Don’t ever say it like that. No vah. Never. Va, like the beginning of vacuum. Like we’re going to suck those dirty birds right up on Sunday. Like that.

PS – Kaepernicking > Tebowing. It’s been Lesco’s signature move for the last 20 years.

I started a book club. After reading this post by one of my very favorite bloggers, I thought, “Huh. I want one of those.” So now I got one. We probably have way too many members for any sort of insightful discussion, but who cares? We’re just excited to have another chance to get together and eat. In fact, the invitation stated as much. Who wants to join an eating club?

I left work for two hours on Wednesday to go to a bounce warehouse with my kids. It was awesome. I felt like I was really connecting with my Phin while jumping down a two story, inflatable slide. He’s so cool. Yet, not as cool as Gray. Boyfriend didn’t even change his facial expression going down that thing. Like, “Please Mom, we didn’t even break the sound barrier. Try again.” Noted little one.

Do you ever wait far too long to grocery shop? We do. Then we end up running to 7-11 every ten minutes for bread, milk or Flintstone push pops because all we have left in the fridge is a limp head of purple cabbage and forty two salad dressings. So hallelujah for a stocked fridge because this family got it done. And I meal planned which is a giant feat for me. Don’t ever ask me if we actually made all any of the meals I planned. Little steps. Itty, bitty, we already ate the tortilla chips for taco salad night, steps.

Last, I feel like I’m finally getting my working mom of two feet under me. Sure, sure some things aren't getting done like they used to, but it’s a baby year. Baby year, you ask? Yes my friends, baby year. That means everything between the moment the kid was born to the moment the kid turns one falls under baby year. Didn’t get Christmas cards out? Baby year. Socks haven’t matched in three months? Baby year. Missed a court date? Baby year! Ok, that last one probably shouldn’t qualify. Let this serve as a public service announcement to check those speeding ticket dates. You’re welcome.

Go Pack! I mean Niners. Whatever.

What. the. F. aka, things said my first day back.

First day of school today. Well, first day back after maternity leave and I w.ork for a school, so....

I bought pants for the occasion, in my normal size, which made me feel pretty good about myself. No shame in admitting I strutted around my kitchen this morning and gave myself a little pat on the back. 

Then I went in to my office. I was getting all the news I've missed in the last three months. They repaved the street, a couple of colleagues were married, oh and she had a baby.

Wait, what? She was pregnant? The same time I waddled though the halls and moaned to the masses she was rocking skinny jeans and not saying a word? We were due weeks apart? And she was back to work the next week? Well done much younger, fitter co-worker. And by well done I mean, can we trade genetics?

My pants no longer seem all that special. I did not strut post work. 

But hey, they repaved the street!  

And look at these feet! I get to come home to these feet!

Hey, guess what?

I’m having a baby.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

The last several months have been a blur.

I had an MRI scheduled for the first working day after the New Year. I took a test before, to be sure, and maybe, maybe saw something.

It was not all happy toasting in our house. I think Jared’s first words were, “I’m scared.” Not to have a baby. We want another baby very, very much. I’m sure some of you want a baby so much that you can’t imagine anything other than joy.

Turns out it was the right reaction at the time. I won’t go into it, but we are quite happy to have made it this far. This far is not so far, just a little into trimester two, but it’s more than we originally thought. Doctor too.

So she told us we can be cautiously optimistic. Easier said than done.

I’m not one of those tiny pregnant chicks. Thanks to my dandy fibroids, I’m huge. Poor uterus measured 6.5 months at my first appointment. I wasn’t even eight weeks. I haven’t asked her what it was since then. Why bother?  

And it’s painful. Silly ‘broids got to go.

If it ends in a baby, it couldn't be more worth it.

So that’s a little bit of what’s happening over here.

That and my Phinny is becoming more beautiful and wild by the second. I am just so grateful for what I have. 

The thirteenth. Can we focus on the good? Thanks.

It’s Friday the thirteenth ya’ll.

Pause. Commence Halloween theme music.  Watch Jared run and hide in the closet because he hates Halloween theme music. Scratch that. Watch Jared take whatever device is playing Halloween theme music and throw it in the conveniently full bathtub. Snap your fingers and listen as Halloween theme music starts playing from all the heating vents. Watch look of horror on husbands face and realize the hundred bucks you paid you paid the HVAC guy to make that happen was the best dollah dollah you ever spent.

Didn’t happen, but damn if that isn’t an awesome idea.

This day can’t phase my office. It has been a hard and sad week.

So pictorial evidence that the world is still a bright and beautiful place. In collage form because the good people of the blog world do them. And I like it. 

1. My coworkers know the quickest way to brighten the place up includes pepperoni and a front office gathering.

2. This is how my baby smiles when you ask him. I swear. The noodles were delish.

3. Lunch time away from the office is one thousand times better when your favorite one year old makes an appearance.

4. Phin phin found chalk in his stocking so we’re finally putting that board to use. Rawr.

5. Snowflakes we made during Christmas are still hanging in the window because we have none of the real thing. Zilch.

6. Phin insisted on sitting in the basket at Kohls. I complied because I’m a good mother.

7. Smile face again. I love it that much.

8. Matching holes in my tights. What the wha…..?

9. And we’ve entered the OCD phase. Everything must line up. Everything.

Sum it up.

Check it, life summed up in 10 11 sentences.

I googled to find a picture that would properly show my disgust with the time change and found this instead, get your hoe biatch. It made me feel better.

 
Made one of these to try to prolong the feeling.

Have managed to develop a system that only requires Phin to be inside a tub for thirty seconds to reach optimal cleanliness. Thought of it in a tub at Lowes where discovery was accompanied with lots of screaming. Decided most genius must stem from public humiliation.

Heard Jared say "I know my man" in reference to Harry Connick Jr right before properly identifying Judy Garland's voice on Pandora......huh.

Found this picture when deleting old crap and decided I probably should avoid that face and letting my dog neck me when there is a camera present. Does this whole thing just creep you out too? Look at my awkward hands, LOOK!

Bonus, just checked and my babe is still the cutest.

The art of calling in. Aka, really bad advice

source

It is an art and if you have ever, ever had a job you know I’m right.

I’m talking about the days you are really sick. Or your kid is. Or your brain is because you know those days happen and you’d be a total waste of a human body at work that day. It’s on those days that you have to assess the situation and make contact with the office. Let’s review.

The obvious sick.

Your voice is gone, you can hardly take a breath and just the sound of you attempting to talk brings tears to the most hardcore CEO’s eyes. Call. Leave a message on the office voicemail, call a co-workers cell phone, let them hear exactly what could happen to them if you bring your body full of mucus within a hundred feet of the office. Take their sick day blessing. No need to over do it folks. If you are puking your brains out, wait until you’re taking a breather. Puking while calling does not garner sympathy, it will make it so no one will ever, ever taste your amazing enchiladas at an office potluck again.

Take heed, you should never attempt to fake sick voice. It’s beyond obvious. Fake cough is even worse. Fake dry heave? Do that one, it’ll make your co-workers laugh. At you.

The invisible sick.

You threw out your back, your head feels like it will explode, etc., etc. There is no benefit to calling unless you just have to give the details of your current injury. Boss can’t hear your twisted muscle homie. Unless you’re groaning but that’s a slippery slope my friend. Send a text if you can do that sort of thing. An email works if you have to leave work day instructions. That’s the road we take most often around these parts. “On brink of death. Will be in tomorrow.” Or even, “Moved bed into bathroom, purchased stock in Kleenex, think I just saw the cat I buried in the backyard three years ago.  See you Monday.” Tell the truth my friends.

The Monday/Friday sick.

Call in around the weekend and no one will believe you. Maybe it’s all in my head, but if you feel the guilt of having a health failure on the heads or tails of a weekend you can always do the in person call in. If you feel you are capable of making it in without infecting the masses, you can make an appearance. This is my least favorite method. It does allow for you to get a couple of things done and lessens your use of sick time if you take it by the hour but this is a dangerous dance. You risk infecting a co-worker. Bad. You risk making the impression that you are, in fact, healthy enough to work and feeling the wrath of an unconvinced colleague when you return. Even worse. Proceed with caution.

Tell me, any calling in advice? Even better, fantastic calling in stories? I have some of those. Ones that involve me asking my Mom to hit me with our family car, or have I already gone there with you guys? Share.

This weekend I dedicated zero time to clever post titles, but

-I spent way too much money on ornamental pumpkins. It was necessary.

-I found out that not one, but two humans I know are currently growing babies.

-I double checked just to be sure. I’m not.

-I let Phin play at this little indoor playground in the mall and followed him around like a hawk. I even gave the Moms of the pushy little kids mean eyes until they told their kids what’s what. Then I realized Phin wasn’t bugged and really, as my coworker has pointed out, I was the maladjusted one.

 -I took Phin over the hill to a family party where he charmed his great Grandpa and attempted to destroy some decorative foliage. It was stressful so I allowed him to have more sugar than the entire previous 18 months combined. He thanked me by screaming for 80 of the miles home. Construction miles. Screaming.

-I let him take my phone apart because it’s broken so who cares, right? When I put it back together so he could do it again, it worked. So that game ended quickly.

-My baby sister crashed on my bed in a dress and heels ten minutes after I gave her a dose of Tylenol PM. Wish it did that to me.  I basically forced her into jammies and shoved her on my couch. Phin poked her several times in the middle of the night and she didn’t wake up.

-I tried on my old prom/homecoming court dresses when cleaning out my closet. Not sure why those are in there after moving five times in ten years. I told myself I needed to pack them away or donate them, but instead I just hung them back up. Lazy.

I cuddled that perfect baby of mine way too much last night and accidently fell asleep in his crib. There is no quiet or graceful way for me to climb out of that thing so I woke him up and then we both fell asleep in my bed. He kicked me in the face all night long. Not at all awesome.

Still, a great Mel slash Phin weekend. Love this little life. 

We fought then made up. So it's like it never happened.

I’m a little head over heels in love with the two foot monster that stomps around our house. Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am the parent that will break silence in the office with, “Oh frick humans, you will not believe what my monster did.” Happens two to three hundred times a day. Pretty much I relive his entire previous twelve hours in minute detail at work each day.

Everyone loves it, I’m sure.

The internal “Stay Cool Mel” moniter is beeping like mad by the time four o’clock rolls around, but I can’t stop. I have a problem.

This post is not about how I’m shocked modeling agencies and Mensa haven’t broken down my door trying to get at my Phinny, but seriously, what’s up with that? This is about how Sunday I had brief taste of wanting to lock myself in a dark closet and hold my breath until I passed out.

I’ll admit it’s my fault. I envisioned this perfect Sunday where Phin and I lazed around the house all day in our jammies eating cinnamon rolls and cuddling inbetween naps. I don’t know why I thought my one year old little boy had turned into a twenty eight year old chick for the day. Probably because I’m an idiot. Don’t worry, I was schooled. He quickly reminded me that he was still one and still a little dude. One who’s natural reaction to a sugary cinnamon roll is not to roll over on the couch and zonk out.

Some of my favorite demonstrations of this fact?

Taking my very favorite bowl, one I received when Lesco and I were hitched, out of the cupboard in the three seconds I had the child lock off and smashing it into dust. I can’t glue dust back together. Or the time he bit me so hard it put a hole in my leggings. That was a blast. I’m sure Liza wants you to know about how he threw the tape gun at her. And the cat. He threw the cat at the dog.

One positive, we mastered the word sorry. He sounds so freaken cute it’s distubring. Almost made his pact with Satan worth it. Almost but not really.

We ended the day in his rocking chair where we worked it out. I apologized for yelling like a madwoman when the bite happened. He rubbed my cheek while we rocked. That means I love you in Phin speak. So I think we’re good. 

I think the next fight I'll pick is with my little sis. She and her boyfriend are going on a last minute trip to Paris tomorrow. Paris. Suddenly my groupon for Fresh Mex doesn't seem that great. Oh to be young, in love, child free and have a boyfriend who works for an airline. 

Bon Voyage Renee!

Buy this beautiful pic here.

It sucked, but we made it out alive. Mostly

Every once in a while something happens that makes me think, "Whoa. Whooooaaaaa. Now I can call myself a real mom." Sometimes the events that inspire these thoughts are perfect moments, other times it's being covered in a gallon of my child's vomit.

We were sick and everyone thought we were gross. I'm sure the cashiers at the hardware store are still trying to get Phin juice out of the self service station. Have to give Lesco major kudos for handling that one. And the two puking sessions on the way home from said store. And the next three after that.

Phin alternated between sleeping and destroying the house/my will to live in sanitary conditions. For a sick kid, he had some serious energy. I think he was a viking in a past life. He probably drank a lot and clubbed people. He probably left that life with fewer limbs than he was born with. I bet his name was Kveldulf..or something.

I joined the sick club on day two. Never a cookie, always a cookie cutter. Wait, other way around.



Please someone tell me that you too have had a moment where your child has climbed all over you while you sat picking at your nails, too weak to address the fact that you are mere furniture in the eye of your offspring. Anyone?



Plus, I haven't had internet in my house for over a week. A WEEK. I sat outside my brothers house and used his wireless a couple of times while he was sleeping. Steve & Kari, does that creep you out?

Yay for google! Yay for health!

love vs love

Things I'm loving about today. And things I'm loving.

I’m loving how skinny I feel in these jeans I got on. They have mystical powers that create the illusion that I work out. My butt has that perky shelf thing going on. My butt does not have that perky shelf thing going on when I roll out of bed. Some people need mascara, I need magic jeans. And mascara.

I’m loving the pudge sneaking over the jeans. Wasn’t there when I woke up and got dressed. Why does my fat always hide until I’m out in public like, “Booyah, what are you going to do now B?” I’m going to hold my purse in front of me when I walk and suck in. I think that’s what they teach you in Pilates.

I’m loving that we have a reserve of quality fans on hand in the office for days our air conditioner is on the fritz. Thanks Andrea.

I’m loving the ac being on the fritz. Yelling across the room at your co worker, “I asked you which is the most promising future super power, India or China?” is so awesome.

Ok, we don’t yell that. It’s more like, “Can you believe Snooki and Mike? Can you believe it??” Just as legit.

I’m loving walking home. It’s all by choice. No broken car or anything. I’m getting plenty of time to gather my thoughts and have a little peaceful walking time before wrestling that one year old Viking warrior I live with. I need my mental strength.

I’m loving walking home. What, you’ve never been conflicted? The homeless guys that whistle at me then follow for three blocks. Dude, I have all my teeth and for the most part they are pointing in the right direction. Do you really think we can work through our differences? The french fries on the sidewalk walk which were previously housed in some human’s stomach. The valet who almost ran me over with a Toyota. If I’m going to go, can’t I go American? All so charming.

I want to end on something positive.

I’m loving summer walks with my little family. We’ve been trucking our little caravan all over town the last week and it’s been wonderful. I’m not ready for Jared to leave town again. I’m fond of that man. We like to hang. So out of town? It sucks.

Oh and I'm loving these dixie cup lights. Which brings me to loving blogland. So much love.

Pretty cups here

I should have believed them. A note for mommies.

There are things they tell you. They being every human that has had or been within 50 feet of a child in the last 100 or so years. Things that should terrify you into never having a one of your own. Except they tend to tell you these things when you're pregnant. Even better, when you're holding that brand new, perfect smelling newborn of yours.

Uhhh, too late dude. The return policy on these things sucks.

People told me to get sleep while I could.
Enjoy my alone time.
Say goodbye to my favorite restaurant.
Say hello to concealer.
Memorize what my house looked like clean cause I was never going to see it that way again.

That list look short to you? Don't worry, there are thousands more.

I would tell people “Oh I hear you. I know my babe is going to be a total nightmare.” Playful head tilt and nod. Fake scared laugh. Maybe followed by a “I just hope he isn't like me.”

But really, it was a facade. I was going to have THE BEST BABY in the world. And not because of luck either. I was going to show that baby who was boss. Are you laughing at me? If not, go ahead. I am. No really, ignore the tears. It's hysterical.

My baby showed me. This is not a letter of defeat. We're still going at it and I imagine it will be that way for the next 16.5 years. And probably another decade after that.

I just want to let all the other moms in the world know they are not alone.

For all the mamas of picky eaters, I'm right there with you. I introduced my baby to a giant variety of foods early on. He loved everything. I considered myself a parenting genius.

Not anymore. He prefers dirt over veggies. He'll take dog food before a burrito. Stuffed animals go in before any sort of meat. Right. There. With. You.

For all the moms who have babies that steal ice with a Stretch Armstrong reach (wtf?) and hurl it at the waiter. You are not alone. If your baby finds every toy and magic noise making machine completely unsatisfactory the second you walk into a restaurant, we should become best friends. If crayons are for mouths and paper menus for shredding, our children must share DNA. Did you leave dinner last night looking worse than the people crossing the finish line after an iron man? You just ran a harder race my friend.

Did you send the CEO of Spanx a three page, hand written thank you note along with a fruit basket? Did you manage to go through life with a fairly light makeup routine but now go through two tubes of concealer a month? We should plan a play date. I won't judge if you missed a spot.

Sleep. Oh sweet, sweet sleep. When your child was born and skipped that whole sleepy newborn phase, did you think there might be something wrong? When you heard of other babies the same age as yours starting to sleep through the night, did you get a glimmer of hope? When you were the last one in your due date club awake at 12, 1, 2, 3 and 4 in the morning did you start to get a wee bit resentful? When your baby hit one and you could count on your fingers the number of times s/he slept 5 or 6 hours in a row, did you start tearing up every time you heard of another mom's sleep victory? Did your pediatrician tell you that some babies just don't sleep as much as others? Did you consider punching her in the face? If so, come over. I'll make you dinner. We'll share horror stories. We have all night, right?

This isn't to say it it isn't worth it. It is. I want more. So I guess what I'm saying is that it changes you. Into a masochist.

Did I miss a deadly sin?

If we're talking about last week, I'm going to have to go with no.

Let's review, shall we?

Wrath - Frack. Who didn't feel the wrath of Mel this week? Co-workers? Check. Crappy drivers? Check. Jared? uh, quadruple check? Check times a billion? Can't stop checking check? Yeah, that last one.

Greed - Is pretending the ice cream is all gone so you don't have to share greedy? What if the person you're lying to is under the age of two? Does that make it worse?

Sloth - Let's not talk about Tuesday.

Pride - This sin hangs out with wrath. If pride gets poked, wrath's got it's back. I keep trying to keep these two on opposite sides of the room but it's hard to keep track when my main focus in life is keeping my eyes open and preventing that monster I live with from swallowing poisonous chemicals.

Lust - Anthropologie shoes. Homes in Dwell. Food on Smitten Kitchen. Let's just sum this one up as pinterest.

Envy - Stay at home mommies. I know envy is awful, maybe the worst one for me right this second. I want it so bad.

Gluttony - We went to Mi Casa Too for dinner. Do you get what I'm saying?

But you know what makes everything better?

Summer rain storms.



Playing twinsie with your baby.




And dresses with polka dots.



It's better to look on the bright side.

You think you have a lot of laundry?

Ha. In fact lots of those.

There are benefits to have 300 lbs of laundry to fold. Instant ride for the kiddo.