There is a little bit of an unconventional tradition we have come to know in our household over the past three years. This tradition is known only as "The July Beard." It is a little game we play while Mr. Paul B. is away in Aspen (our future home) on his glorious three week vacation and we stay behind to a sorry, one night stay at the Comfort Inn Orlando vacation and to work. Paul is left here to run PHMI, or PMHMI as we call it, when the cat is away. And what fun would it be if, when your boss was out of town, you continued to shave in such a stuffy businessman-like way. BORING. So Paul takes this time to grow out his Lebanese man-beard, scaring little children, cutting his wife and child's delicate skin to pieces with goodnight kisses and terrifying all is fellow running partners when he creeps up on them half-neckid in the dim light of 5am, outfitted with a beard that any fullbred Lebanese would kill for. The only difference this year was that I documented the growth for your enjoyment.
**Please do not be alarmed by what you are about to see, keep in mind that this husband of mine can grow a full beard in an hour so this is extreme!
We vied for who would get to post this. That is how good it is.....err how bad. I got here first so I'll tell my side. We are on our way to Target, our baby is in his rear-facing car seat and starts fussing. No biggie, he's never really liked that confining seat anyway. We arrive a few minutes later, get out of the car and open the rear door to reveal Sam in his car seat covered...excuse me !!COVERED!! in vomit (this includes my thank-God-I-have leather-not-fabric seats and everything around them). Vomit a-la-afternoon lunch of carrots and green beans. Lovely. Initially, we decide to go straight home, then we decide that the last thing we want to do is have to leave the lovely Tarjay, go home and then come back. Hell, Paul hates Target and had to be bribed with their stale popcorn to come in the first place. So we huddle mid-parking lot, and come up with a plan.
The plan: We break in to teams. Team A = Team Mom, Team B = Team Dad and Sam. Team B heads directly (concealed under a blanket as to not draw attention to our disgustingly vomit-covered child) to the family restroom**. Team A heads directly to the baby department because during the aforementioned huddle we discovered that our always proudly "well-stocked diaper bag" is not so well-stocked at the time and we have no change of clothes for Sam. And while this is the Target of the Palm Beaches, it is not exempt from the same interesting crowds that any superstore of its kind attracts. You know, no one would have batted an eye at our baby chilling around in his Pampers. I, however, was not going to sink to such levels. Babies have pride, too.
Knowing full well that the husband is in the restroom cleaning vomit from all of the crevasses of our baby and car seat, Team A is still concerned with the fashion of the emergency outfit that I am about to pull together. So, I hurriedly design a Target ensemble for my boy, run to the register and on to the family restroom. There I find Paul knee deep in puke-covered paper towels, dry-heaving and Sam laughing at him while kicking around on the bacteria-covered baby changing station. We all have a good laugh, return the spot-cleaned car seat to the car to "dry" for a bit and enjoy stale popcorn and the "wildlife."
I know this is not the last time this will happen to us and I doubt the quantity or quality of theses baby substances get any better with their age. Now I know a well-stocked diaper bag also needs rubber gloves, a mop and haz-mat suit!
**I always wondered for what reason a family would all need to go to the bathroom together, this was the day I figured it out. Thank you to the inventor of the Family restroom. Gold star for you.Loving you.
I know he's ours but I must keep reminding myself because he is just so stinking cute! I can't stand it. Just a few snapshots we took yesterday while playing in the dresser drawers. :) Think he was having fun?!
I came across this piece of art work the other day, done by my crazy talented husband. This is the sketch we were going to use on an announcement to tell our parents that the future Sam was on the way. But.....we chickened out and told them first, we couldn't wait the excruciating three days or so it would have taken to send it all the way across the country to my parents. Looking back I wish we had sent it but with all the excitement, anxiety, and sheer terror of our news we opted to, instead act like we were 16 year old highschoolers who had just done the dirty deed after a dance-less dance(you know the ones, everyone standing around holding up the gymnasium wall), got knocked up and had to have a sit down with the 'rents.
I called my parents crying, because for some hormonally induced reason I thought they would be upset that we hadn't waited like a hundred years in to our marriage to make babies. They responded instead with excitement and happiness, and I believe my dad said "it's about time". But, my mom added later "I told you no babies until you're 30!" (Which, by the way I have been hearing since I was 2 months old.)
We showed up unexpectedly and abruptly at Paul's mom's house later that evening and clumsily shared the news with her, which I believe put her into a state of temporary shock. After what seemed like a gestation period she finally, with her head rested on her hands at the dining room table, repeated to herself, "We're having a baby. We're having a baby."(which was when I finally resumed breathing again.) As if to convince herself that I was not some floozy in chiffon Paul picked up at the Winter Fantasy Formal. (or am I? hmmmmm)
And then I sent Paul to work the next day to tell his dad at the office. Lovely. I believe Mr. Paul B's response was, "I'm not old enough to be a grandfather!" Again hormonally induced, I think I may have cried thinking that he would hate me forever for prematurely making him a grandfather and thus end my life instantaneously. Great idea, glad I recovered and that Carrie called later that day to congratulate and celebrate with us. Because after all the tears and stress of telling our parents we would have to drop out during our Sophomore year, have a shotgun wedding and raise our baby in their unfinished basement, we realized that we were adults now and not Ked's wearing highschoolers, we were also incredibly ready, excited and well equipped by aforementioned parents to embark on this adventure.
For those of you that have never been to etsy you are truly missing out. Really, there are some of the most amazing and fresh designs, all handmade by some crazy good artists. You'll find everything from jewelry to baby clothes to well...... reusable pantyliners. I am crazy about recycling, reusing and living cleaner but, I will just go ahead and stick with the ole traditional, disposable feminine hygiene products of yester-year. And on a side note how does one know if one's "tractor" is sexy enough for this? Thought to ponder?
Don't let the insanity of this one seller scare you there are many treasures to be found. Now I must continue to peruse. (Beware: this is the worlds greatest time-suck.)