Hey there, cats and kittens! I’ve packed up and moved my stuff over to Verve & Sass. Come visit!
The other day, I took Ezra with me to Old Navy. He walked in the store and suddenly his eyes lit up, he shrieked for joy, and then? This happened:
Yes, he ran up to the little girl mannequin, gave her a hug, pet her hair, and then tried to hold her hand. He didn’t want to leave her.
And this, you guys, is why I need to get Ezra some more friends. Mama may be an introverted loner, but baby sure ain’t.
Embiggening? Embiggenning? In any case, despite telling myself that I am going to start eating healthy, really, really, for real this time, my diet for the past week has consisted of:
- homemade peach tart
- homemade ice cream cookie sandwiches
- more cake
Which may explain why I’ve gained five (FIVE) pounds since moving here. Living at my mom’s may be delicious, but it’s certainly not good for my waist line.
A few weeks—okay, months—ago, Cris and I decided we were going to start the Couch-to-5k plan. We were certain. We were dedicated. We even spent a bazillion dollars are REI on running stuff. Witness the shoes:
That’s how dedicated we were to running every other day.
As of today? We’ve done the ‘Week 1 Day 1” plan three separate times. And that’s about it for that. The crazy toe shoes sit by door unloved, the Jillian Michaels dvd gathers dust by the tv, and I sit here with my ever-widening ass planted the couch.
Not cool, lady.
I’ll get my ish together once we’re settled in the new house. I swear.
That is, if we get the house. Some last minute ridiculousness on the day before we were supposed to sign has caused a flurry of panic and stress and despair.
Which would be fine, if I was one of the people who stopped eating when stressed instead of one of those people who stress-eats her way through a gallon of ice cream and self-loathing.
I don’t know. Fingers crossed or something. I’m going to bed.
We’ve officially locked in the rate on the mortgage and just have to sign final papers. They’re saying 30 days until the house is done. 30 freaking days.
I’ve spent countless hours dreaming up how I want to furnish and decorate the inside of the house, but we’re on a budget and there are major essentials that need be purchased before I can start trying to talk Cris into a $3500 couch. I bought a garage door opener on Woot the other day and we’ve started looking at refrigerators and we probably need to buy a lawn mower. We need curtains or blinds or whatever for all the windows and a washer and dryer and and and…what the crap. It’s so adult…and yeah, I know I have a kid so I should be over it by now, but I seriously still feel like I’m just playacting at this whole adult thing. It’s ridiculous to think I’m going to be a homeowner. I’m going to paint stars on the ceiling of the secret room under the stairs, build a fort in the backyard, and turn the loft into a giant ball pit.
And hey,I might even let Ezra play with me.
As soon as Cris walked in the door after work, I threw my arms around him, buried my face in neck, and said “Can I leave, please?” The desperation must have been pretty obvious in my voice because he shooed me out the door and told me not to come home before 10. So now I’m at Starbucks, alone. Never mind the two large, loud groups at surrounding tables. Never mind the near panic attack I had when the barista wouldn’t stop asking me questions (What do I want? What size? Sweetened? OMG I DON’T KNOW PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME MAKE ANY DECISIONS JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING AND LET ME SIT IN PEACE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD). And certainly never mind the laundry and mess and various chores that await me at home. And really, really for serious never mind the fact that there’s about a 90% chance that Ezra won’t be able to go sleep without me. Never mind it all because I feel utterly spent and I have no chance anymore to just sit. To be still with myself and let thoughts swirl around in my brain until they begin to fall in place and make sense. No chance to recharge and regroup. I get occasional moments, sure—a half-hour here, a couple hours there—where someone will take the baby off my hands for a while, but that time mostly gets spent furiously catching up on work I’ve been putting off. Or laundry or grocery shopping or cleaning up Ezra’s toys for the millionth time in a day so my parents don’t get mad at me. I feel like a jumpy, punchy bag of guts and unresolved strings of thoughts. It’s messy. I don’t like it.
Seven Six weeks to go until the house is supposed to be done. It will be awesome. The house itself, of course, but even more than that, I’m looking forward to getting my home back. My sweet, quiet, cozy safe place with my little family and my kitties and awesome king size bed. I’m going to run around and jump on couches just because I can. I’m going to let Ezra play with his toys on the table without getting yelled at.I’m going to snuggle up with Cris and read a book while he plays video games after the baby has gone to bed. I’m going to lock myself in one of the empty rooms and spread out on the floor in my underwear and sleep for twelve hours straight.
It’s going to be out of control.
I know I’m super lucky to be able to escape the cubicle and make good money and spend time with my crazy adorable
baby toddler. But since moving to Sacramento (and in with my parents) and starting to work from home full-time, I have…accomplished absolutely nothing. I think I figured that working from home would give me even more delicious time to waste away online, but my google reader situation is out of control (oh, three months behind or so), I go weeks without remembering what a twitter is, and I don’t even know where to start blogging again.
Spending less time online would be great if I were at least doing something productive or fun or…anything. Anything at all. The sad truth is that working from home has made my crazy ADD magpie-esque level of time-management skills really, really obvious. I feel a bit like I’m drowning all the time despite the fact that I am doing absolutely nothing.
Sure, it’s hard to get things done living out of a small room in my parent’s house with all my belongings packed away in storage. And yeah, it’s obviously hard to be productive with a toddler—and not just any toddler but one who spends 90% of the day bouncing off the walls like he’s just snorted a few lines of coke in the bathroom while I wasn’t looking. (‘drank a bottle of coke’ would probably have been a more appropriate analogy, I know, but we’re two hours past time and he won’t sit still for longer than two seconds and oh my goodness, child, why won’t you just lay down already ). But excuses aside, my to-do list is multiplying daily and I’m not even attempting to pretend to make a dent in it.
I know I need a babysitter/nanny/mother’s helper/whatever, but that’s not really going to help until I get some ADD meds that actually work. Paying someone to watch my kid so I can squirrel away hours looking at pinterest and watching whatever Vin Diesel movie is available OnDemand is probably not the smartest use of my money.
Yes! Finally, finally, Cris was offered a job here. Starting June 1st, our family is no long split between two cities. This is fantastic.
The last morning Cris was here and woke up for his commute to the Bay Area—at a time that is scientifically known as ‘the buttcrack of dawn’—Ezra woke up and had a complete meltdown when he realized his dad was leaving. I don’t think any of us could have taken it much longer.
I have no idea how we’re all going to fit in this house without driving each other completely mad. It’s a small house and there are already too many people in it and now Cris will be here full time. And I don’t even know when our new home is supposed to be completed, so I can’t cope with the crazy crowdedness by counting down the days and holding my breath. Also? My desktop computer suddenly decided it wouldn’t turn on one morning and I may have lost all my photos from the past forever. Also also? Ezra has suddenly learned what this whole ‘separation anxiety’ thing is all about and he freaks out if he’s not within finger-grabbing distance of me at all times. Also also also? My insomnia has reached epic heights. Awake all night and exhausted all day.
How did I go from YAY HAPPY to OH BOO HOO ME in five seconds? I don’t know. But all I’m saying is, if I don’t end up in some homicide-suicide scenario on the local news by the end of the next month, I will be verrry proud of myself.
1. The House:
They’ve finally started building it. (!!!) We walked around all excited, and then realized that our backyard is small. Like, it’s silly how small it is. I think I’ve had larger balconies in old apartments. We knew it was going to be tiny because the lots are small, but…dude. It’s okay though—we’ll make the most of the space we have and keep it cozy and cute. I didn’t want to buy a lawnmower anyway.
2. Nap Time:
is going splendidly. Yes, I know, I’ve totally jinxed it now, but I can’t help it. I’ve finally got Ezra on a one-nap-a-day-right-after-lunch schedule and he falls asleep in a minute or two. I’m not spending two or three hours every day trying to force him down. This is epic. I’m an idiot for even mentioning it.
3. Bed Time:
Entirely different story. Ezra hates bedtime and wants nothing to do with it. Period. The end. Now let’s go play with trains.
4. Boo Hoo:
Cris is still working/living in SF and I feel like a sad single mom. There have been so! many! interviews, and there are a few positions they are just dangling in front of our faces, torturing us with while they take their sweet, sweet time making final decisions. So we wait and fret and make sad faces at each other over the phone and try not to think about how much we are spending on gas for the weekly/semiweekly trips between San Francisco and Sacramento.
It’s hard to be productive while working at home with a very, shall we say energetic toddler. But I spent the last two days in the office and managed to be almost equally unproductive, so this is more of a me thing than a baby thing. Specifically, a me-with-ADHD thing. I should maybe do something about that. After looking at this shiny thing over there.
I’m over it. I’m tired of thinking about it, planning it, cooking it, fighting to get the kiddo to eat it. My parents eating habits are so different from my own, Ezra doesn’t like anything that isn’t cheese or yogurt or crackers, and I have no real space for storing and cooking meals here, and no breaks from the baby to prepare a nice meal even if I had the energy. I want the human equivalent of cat food. I want to go grab a 90lb bag of human chow at Costco and dump in the kitchen and just be done with food for the month. Taco-flavored human chow.
7. Future Plans:
Within the next year, I want to a) lose 60 lbs b) have another baby c) get married. There is no graceful way to make all these things happen concurrently, so…I will probably spend the next year lounging around, listening to Mumford & Sons, and growing increasingly agitated. Hey, at least it’s a plan!
Since moving back in with my parents, the cats have had to live in the garage. (My mom is allergic.) (And also she hates cats.) I think they’re going a little crazy from being locked in the same space with much less interaction than they’re used to. I’m just glad they aren’t related because it would be getting very Flowers in the Attic up in there.
Early early in the morning the other day, I was woken up by a sudden loud pounding and scratching at the window over the bed where I was sleeping with the baby. It was like 5 am and I was like
half mostly asleep, so I kinda had a heart attack stumbled to cover the baby and me under the blanket to protect us from what I assumed were the zombies or monsters or gangsters who were trying to break in and steal my brains or cute new shoes or whatever.
But the sounds eventually stopped and gave way to meowing. Loud, long, plaintive meowing. Mmmeeeeeooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
So I gathered my courage enough to peek out of the blinds. And there’s Ollie sitting on the patio, staring up at me, crying. I rushed out to the backyard and scooped him up and brought him back to the garage. He must’ve escaped sometime when the garage door was open the night before, and spent the night roaming the neighborhood before deciding he’d had enough of freedom and wanted to come home.
It was only after I snuggled back in bed that I realized I hadn’t seen Miette when I put Ollie back in the garage. But I brushed it off because she always hides these days and she’s too much of a scaredy cat to escape. And also it was 5 am and I wanted to sleep for the ten minutes or so I had until the baby woke up demanding to be entertained.
But by the end of the day, I still hadn’t seen her on any of my visits to the garage. Not entirely uncommon, but when I opened a can of tuna and she didn’t come running out to devour it, I knew she was gone too.
Ollie, I wasn’t too worried about. But Miette? She panicks and pees herself whenever there’s a loud noise. She takes about ten minutes to prepare and practice for the jump up to our foot-high coffee table, and even then she sometimes misses. She sometimes runs headfirst into a wall or falls over while just sitting there. Miette is adorable and sweet, but she barely qualifies as a cat, really. I couldn’t imagine her even surviving a day in the wilds of suburbia.
I left the house—in the cold, in the dark, in bare feet, with a really nasty cough—and wandered up and down the street calling for her with no luck. I called Cris to let him know the sad news and he proceeded to comfort me by pointing out that I haven’t been paying enough attention to her and it was all my fault and I shouldn’t be allowed to have pets if I can’t even take care of them. Or something like that. It was a fun conversation. It may or may not have ended with me hanging up on him and ignoring his “Sorry I didn’t really mean it that way” texts. Whatever, butthead.
But, long story short (too late!), I found her the next morning, hiding deep in the bushes behind the house, letting out the teensiest meow ever after she heard me calling for her for ten minutes. So my cats are still alive and well, and I’m not the worst cat mommy in existence.
The cute part of all this is that I think Ollie got himself a girlfriend on his wild night out. Another neighborhood kitty likes to set outside by the garage door now. They meow back and forth all night. When I let Ollie out to see the kitty, they ran up to each other and nuzzled each other a little bit and sniffed each other’s butts and then ran down the street in what I can only assume was rapturous joy at being together again. Since I’ve never heard of two stranger cats meeting without a major hissy fit, I’m pretty sure this is true love.
Miette might be heartbroken.
We meet tomorrow morning to finalize all the ‘design choices’ for our new home (!!!). We’ve been pouring over the list of possible options and upgrades, and if we added everything we really wanted, it’s, oh, about three times our budget. So it’s been weeks of discussion and back-and-forths and what-ifs… do we really need a fireplace (I guess not?), will we die without hardwood floors (yes, but it’s about half as expensive to do it ourselves later), do we need the optional fourth bedroom (yep, especially if I want to keep popping out babies in the future).
But compromises were made and we’ve finally got it down under budget and we didn’t once murder each other. Even if I don’t get the appeal of surround sound prewiring. Even if Cris doesn’t understand the necessity of pull-out drawers in the kitchen cabinets.
So tomorrow things get finalized and maybe then I’ll actually have some idea of when the house will start being built and when we can expect to move in. So far in the process, the date’s been pushed from June, to July, to August. So… I’m guessing sometime in 2012 at this rate?
I’m excited, but I’m trying not to get pee-my-pants excited until we’ve closed on the loan, just in case something goes wrong. But that doesn’t stop me from spending half my free time creating inspiration boards and daydreaming about how to decorate the various rooms.
Basically, I just need to win the lottery by the time we move in.