My Monday Morning.

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My morning:

4:15 am – Bean spontaneously bursts into tears for the 2nd time of the night (presumably because he didn’t like either of the three pacifiers that were in his crib and within arm’s reach, or because his blankets are too warm, or because he’s lonely and begins a meltdown of epic proportions that only 3 teething tablets, a bottle and copious rocking can fix. I finally rock him to sleep, pop the pacifier in his mouth like a stopper and crawl back into bed at 4:56 am.

5:30 am – Alarm goes off, hubs tries to wake me up. I tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, and snooze the alarm until 5:45. He wakes me at 5:45, and I lay there, pondering if calling in for the day to both work and parenthood is an option.

5:50 am – I get Bean out of his crib, and bring him back to our bedroom. Normally this would be enough to wake him, but he sleeps like the dead this morning (overnight meltdowns can wear you out, after all) and is essentially a rag doll as I undress him and get him ready for his bath. I take off his diaper. Still no response. I stand him up for a second. He wakes up, looks at me, smiles… and pees all over the front of my nightgown, soaking the front straight through to my underwear. I scream, cup his junk to catch the pee and run straight into the bathroom and shove him into the shower at my husband. Then I pull off my nightgown and underwear, shaking my head – now we are both awake!!

6:15 am – Bean is bathed, lotioned and diapered without incident. I attempt to put on Bean’s shoes. It’s like stuffing marshmallows into a box. I finally get them on, and he kicks them off.

6:20 am – I finish dressing Bean in his super cute outfit for picture day at school. I put his jaunty and well-coordinated bandana bib around his neck. He smiles up at me, turns his head and vomits down the sleeve of his ensemble.

6:25 am – I hand Bean over to hubs to clean him up and put his shoes back on. Hubs crows at me about how HE was able to put Bean’s shoes on… and I watch as Bean kicks them back off, one by one. 🙂 *small win but I’ll take it*

6:35 am – I finally get out of the shower and begin to get dressed for work. We leave the house 15 minutes later.

Happy Monday Folks!!

The day I ruined “Pay It Forward Friday” at the Dunkin Donuts

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So it’s Friday. You know what that means, right?

(apart from “Pants Off Friday”, a ritual into which I’ve indoctrinated the Bean)

Friday is the day that I get Dunkin Donuts coffee!

It’s a treat that keeps on giving for the rest of the morning – restlessness, stomach upset, increased heart and breathing rate, agitation, ringing in the ears, and irregular heartbeats (thanks WebMd). It’s bad for you and delicious and like Mother’s Milk to this mama on the go. I take mine with cream and sugar and DD always know how to get it JUST RIGHT.

Mmmmmmmm.

*sigh*

So there I am, in the pre-dawn darkness of the Dunkin Donuts drive-through at 6:30 am, and I pull up to the window to pay my $7 tab. I hand DD Drive Through Lady my card. She hesitates, gives me a funny look and finally says “Um, the lady in front of your paid your tab”.

“Oh, wow!” I exclaim. “That’s so nice!! I’ll pay the person behind me. How much is theirs?” This is my first pay it forward in the drive-through experience and I was so excited. I’d read about them on Facebook, and couldn’t wait to take part.

“The total of the person behind you is $22.30.”

I gasped.

What the heck were they buying? Medical grade marijuana??? I’m guessing just a few dozens for their office, but GEEEEEZ. I can’t afford that, when bringing up Bean has made my budget so tight I’ve become a (cue 2nd gasp) COUPONER… Trust me, Enfamil and Pampers has me on their mailing list using their coupons faithfully and I’ve learned to stack coupons like a BOSS. Not to mention using the Target Cartwheel App AND the Publix App!! DD is really a luxury I shouldn’t be getting in the first place, not to mention it is not helping me lose the weight I desperately need to shed.

I offered to pay a portion of their bill, and DD Drive Through Lady calls the manager over, and they stare at the cash register, trying to figure out how to do it. Eventually the manager apologizes, and tells me that they can only split the total if I give them cash, which, in 2014, I barely keep 50 cents on me. At this point, I’ve help up the line wayyyy longer than necessary, so I apologize, and drive away, completely embarrassed that I have now Ruined It For Everyone and (cue 3rd gasp) held up the DD Drive Through line, keeping others from getting their coffee faster.

This was my chance to keep the Pay it Forward going, and I broke it!!! Of course this would be my luck. I’ve been agonizing over this all day. I’ve got to Pay It Forward again somewhere. What should I do??

The Peach-Bean Strategem

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I know, I know. It’s been like 80 years. My bad yall.

 

In my defense, I’ve spent the last year in a whirlwind: engagement, wedding, now we are expecting!! Holy smokes right?

 

The Bean (yes, we call our son-to-be The Bean) is due in about 3 weeks, and I am so ready. As excited as we are about having our Bean here with us, this has been one long, long long pregnancy. I’ve gone through night sweats, day sweats, crazy dreams, swollen ankles, gigantic growing boobs, a waistline that refuses to give up the ghost resulting in a “B” belly silhouette that just makes me look fatter, broken underwire (while I was wearing it), waistbands of underwear just popping at work, swollen fingers that can’t wear my wedding rings, senseless crying, and many other ailments. I can no longer feel the urge to pee (thanks to my shifted bladder), so I just wear panty liners and do a lot of precautionary bathroom visits. I toddle about like a penguin from place to place bringing humor to whoever sees me, and get stuck in chairs in an endearing habit that the hubs calls “turtling”. My boss and GM have offered to buy Segway for me to get around the hotel. I’ve considered taking them up on it.

 

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What you can’t see here is that the elastic in my underwear’s waistband is busted, as is myunderwire… and my dignity.

 

All of this will be worth it once The Bean is here! Right?!?

 

So… anyway… that’s my excuse for being such a horrible slacker on my blog. I have missed this. So many stories and hot messes that I haven’t shared, hilarities that I didn’t document in their full glory. I hope I can make up for that.

 

For example, I’ve had one client recently tell me that she didn’t realize that I was pregnant, but just thought I was getting fatter (!) while another was trying to add up on her fingers the months between my wedding and due date to make sure “it added up right”. I swear on my life this stuff is really true. And I missed blogging about it.

 

Then there’s the creepy lady in the Honeybaked Hams that as snifing me and talking about how we have the same credit cards in a nutty, “Single White/ Black Female” kinda scenario… and the lady in the Asian restaurant we go to that gave the Hubs a high-five for… and I swear on y life this happened… for KNOCKING ME UP! Yes. YES. Her words, not mine. Hubs was grinning from ear to ear. I turned red, a pretty amazing feat for a brown girl.

 

So much I’ve missed in my blogging hiatus.

 

Right now I’m just focused on one goal: Evicting the Bean. I love him so, but that will not stop me from serving him with a notice to vacate. The doctor keeps saying “big people have big babies” and seems to be on this mission to convince me that my baby will be born as the Son of Hulk, but so far nothing. The back and forth game of will he/ won’t he is pushing me to the edge, and I’m ready to take this into my own hands.

 

I call it the Peach-Bean Strategem, after one of my favorite episodes of Doctor Who, the Sontaran Strategem.

There are several steps to this process, and we will carefully follow each one to ensure a swift victory:

  1. Start eating spicy food more often.
  2. Enjoy more bouncy time on my yoga ball.
  3. Um… physical congress (yall get my drift)
  4. More walks (or penguin toddles) around the lake by our house.
  5. The tried and true method: the Eggplant Parmesan from Scalini’s.

 

# 5 is really the piece de resistance… the no-holds barred, guaranteed final step in the Bean Eviction Notice… women in Atlanta have been standing by this recipe for years. Messy Jessy the BFF added this one to my Strategem. As a Peach myself I feel I stand a good chance of this working for me too.

 

Bee (yall know him as the BBE, BFE, now the BHE   – Best Husband Ever) seems willing to go along with the plan. I can’t tell if he’s truly on board, or just afraid of his pregnant wife who seems to be endowed with superhuman strength, yet still seems to todle like a penguin, and get stuck in chairs like an upside down turtle.

 

Granted, the Peach-Bean Strategem may be as doomed as the Sontaran Strategem ( read the synopsis of the episode), but I’m sure it will make for some good stories. In the interim I plan to spend some quality time with the Bee, go do adult stuff that I probably won’t be able to d much of for a few years(any suggestions welcome), and take lots of naps in between my plotting, spicy food and yoga ball humping.

Yall pray for us…

 

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It’s My Birthday! No, not really.

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So I know you guys will enjoy this…

 

My clients that just left after a two-week program took us out to dinner at Kobe as a thank –you… totally unexpected and very, very cool. The staff for this conference was mostly male, and mostly pranksters. Every day, they pulled a new one on me!

 

So I should not have been at all surprised when after dinner, this dude with a giant drum comes BANG-BANG-BANG into the hibachi room, followed by one of our servers with a cupcake on a plate.

 

During dinner, we’d been talking about upcoming birthdays among the staff, so I’m clapping along with everyone else, trying to figure out whose birthday it is. I was virtually… no LITERALLY speechless when she plops that cupcake in front of me, lights the candle with her little lighter and starts leading everyone into a round f “happy birthday”.

 

My birthday is in December.

 

I was horrified and out of breath from trying not to laugh outright at our poor little server, who, by proxy, was now party to this joke. I’m also craning my neck around, trying to figure out WHO DID THIS.

 

As I’m struggling to breathe, and trying to work it all out, she crams this hat on my head.

happy birthday lol

THIS is why I don’t like restaurants singing happy birthday to me. Once when I was turning 16 I went with friends to a Bennigan’s on my birthday, where they made me dance on a chair waving sugar packets in my hands like castanets. I’ve been traumatized ever since.

 

 

Anyhoo, for the rest of the conference (we had one more day with them), every conference staff member snickered out a “happy birthday”

 

They all kindly signed my hat, so I will never forget them. Not that I ever really would but… 🙂

signed har

 

Perspective and Restored Faith

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Every now and then, the stress of planning and paying for our wedding really overwhelms me, and I’m literally gasping with panic and rocking back and forth like a traumatized 5-year old. The weight of everything – work, wedding, life – comes crashing down at once. I’m fortunate that I have my BFE, who is very good and helping pull me up and save me from drowning.

 

One of those moments happened a few days ago – complaints about how extravagant our wedding was, stress about working too much, not seeing each other enough in our waking hours – it was all too much to bear. I was sad and worried. and was up rather late worrying about all my problems.

 

The next day, I went into work, still stressed out and now tired from a night of minimal sleep, and beaten from thinking too much about it all, I found myself pouring out my mess to a co-worker. Without even expecting it, I got a little perspective.

 

My coworker has been married for over 20 years, and for several of the last few years his wife has been living and working in another state. Not a commuter deal, literally two different households, two different states, no, two different REGIONS of the country. They sometimes go weeks and months without seeing each other because the price of travel is so cost-prohibitive, but they make it work. And while I’m bummed about BFE’s schedule for the next 6 months, that he’s working too hard, or we don’t see each other as much as I’d like, well this dude’s going to be living several states away from his wife for at least another year. 

 

It was a cold slap to the face, and a reminder of all my blessings. I felt a bit spoiled and a bit “first world problems”-ish.

 

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I can’t say I won’t get fussed about those issues anymore, but I know that I’ll be counting my blessings a lot faster than racking up my woes.

 

And just when I thought my heart couldn’t take any more… I went to the Chick-Fil-A today.

 

I know. Not that big of a deal. I got my usual, and as I turned from the counter, I saw this big group of military folks, lining up for their lunch. 

 

I tried not to stare, but I always find them so interesting. As I’m grabbing my packets of ketchup and napkins, I hear people murmuring to the soldiers, “thank you for serving”. 

 

“Thank you for serving”. I starting to really think about what that means. Standing in the presence of people whose job it is to protect our country gives you perspective too. 

 

My friend and I sit and eat, and it just so happens that the soldiers all sit in our section. AS we’re talking, my gaze kept turning to them, watching them eat like… like normal people. Seriously, I know I sound crazy, but I find them all so fascinating. 

 

All of my sneak creeping on the military peeps meant that I saw the two Chick Fil A people approach with a big tray. They thanked them all for their service to our country, and gave them free ice cream. It was nothing huge, but it felt like a big gesture. I felt warm all over. 

 

All week I’ve been working with a client whose job is computer investigation, like the folks that weed out child pornography, search computers of criminals, and keep cyberspace safe. From these guys I learned how frightening and disturbing a place can be, as well as the people in it. Seeing these Chick Fil A folks say thank you, and hearing random patrons do the same really warmed my heart. 

 

How easy it is to get sidetracked from the things that matter! Grateful for perspective and restored faith.

Apparently One Size DOES NOT Fit Most

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onesize

 

So… I was telling the BFE about my visit to the Farmer’s Market with Messy Jessy last week, and he stopped me and told me that I should blogging about what happened. So here I am.

 

Let me first start by saying that this is NOT a rant about being a big girl in a size 2 world… I am more happier with myself and my life than I hae ever been. I know I have to lose weight, and it’s a process. This is about other people, and their awkward WTF statements.

 

So here’s what happened:

Messy Jessy came down to visit this past weekend, and found ourselves wandering around the Farmer’s Market in Winter Garden. I was excited, since I’d been wanting to go to this Farmer’s Market for a while, but always missed it! I was starting to think it was the Shangri-la of Winter Garden… or perhaps a desert oasis for the farmer’s market challenged. I swear, EVERY TIME I tried to go, the fricking thing wasn’t there.

 

So we’re wandering around, amused at all the different vendors and their wares, and, thanks to the mobile credit card apps that all vendors have these days, unfettered by the “oh, sorry I don’t have any cash” excuse. We were literally sitting ducks for every adorable hat-making, custom jewelry-selling, home-made pickling, hippie-smelling soap-making tent in that place.

 

But I digress.

 

We walked into the coolest tent in the place – this lady made the coolest aprons evarrrr!!! Jessy and I ooh-ed and aah-ed so much that the proprietess comes over and enthusiastic shows us her different styles and patterns. Just as I’m flicking through the racks and debating which card I can charge my new apron to that will least upset Mr. Scrooge – I mean, BFE – the  proprietess comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her first mistake.

 

First of all… don’t touch me. I don’t know you. We are not cool. She clearly did not realize that my personal space is protected by a social contract I maintain with everyone around me, an invisible bubble that only those of my choosing are allowed to enter.

 

So I was already unsettled by the touching with Apron Woman upped the ante and added the piece de resistance: “I just want to let you know, I have PLENTY of clients that are YOUR SIZE so I’d be happy to make to take your measurements, and in a couple of weeks you can come back and pick up your own apron!”

 

WHAAAT?!!?! It’s an apron!! I thought aprons were like umbrellas, ponchos and socks” one size fits most!

 

Seriously – should I be getting measured for aprons now? Shopping in the husky section for my kitchen attire? I am so confused. I have aprons at home, aprons that I share with my skinnier BFE, and I feel like they still do a pretty good job of covering the necessary areas.

 

After getting schooled on proper apron attire, I thanked said proprietess, removed my personal space out of her reach, and headed to a tent that is DEFINITELY “one size fits most”: the headbands and hair clips tent.  Or should I get measured for one of those too?

 

Well I do have a big head. 🙂 Bigger than most?

 

southern peach