Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Cabin Fever

Ugh....Today is the official unofficial 1st day of summer (even my baby smelled like watermelon today..maybe it was the watermelon that dripped into his diaper and stained it pink? :). Usually this would be good news, but not so in a land where every day feels like summer to some degree. I'm not just talking about the southerly wind this morning that brought air thick like warm milk and drenched me in beads of sweat just putting my son into the jogging stroller, but also the DELUGE we experienced this afternoon (more to come), Sam's first thunderstorm where he pointed out the window with each thunderclap the same way he does when airliners soar overhead.

Yeah, it dumped this afternoon for about 3 hours. Usually good news to those concerned with how thirsty their lawns are. Not so good when you have a 15 month-old addicted to the outdoors. Sil and I witnessed this luxury motor vehicle up to its Xenon eyeballs in rain water....

video

So we had to come up with a bunch of indoor activities this afternoon. Admittedly, not my speciality. We started with snack time. On the menu? Milk and a cupcake......

video

Then we built a fort....


Which, naturally, Samzilla completely decimated....


All in all it was a long, but great day. Sam saw Uncle Dave and Uncle Josh. He shared a banana and ham and egg sandwich with me at Bucky's. He pooped in Jidou's office (hehe!). He fell asleep in the car while I was in the drive-thru at the bank. And he had lasagna with Nanny-Bo. Phew....what will tomorrow bring?!

#2



Goodnight monk monks.

Monday, March 30, 2009

#1


Ya Ya Sisterhood Weekend aka Boy's Week :)

Today begins what I believe is the 3rd Annual Ya Ya Sisterhood Weekend wherein Elise sneaks away to spend the week with her mom and aunt (with uncle in tow). This year's festivities are in Maryland and DC.

Yes, that means what you think it means......BOY'S WEEK!!

Sometime around the 20th annual event, Sam and I will be at the Yardhouse (or, hopefully, the West End in Boulder or some ex-pat hovel in Barcelona) watching the Final Four but for now that means swimming holes (Somerset pool), finger-painting and girl-watching (Eva in her jogging stroller :)

I resolve to blog like a maniac this week to keep Elise plugged into events around the man lair and to post some long-awaited video (I have the battery charging as I write)...like Sam shampooing his own hair! Let's just say it's a good thing we have No Tears J&J Baby Shampoo! And as I understand it, Elise will be documenting her own travels via her personal valet, MoMo who sometimes goes by Monks, a very talented photojournalistic monkey.

I don't have to go on to say that Sam was fine by the time we got to the 95 ramp to whisk us from the airport. I told him to look for airplanes as we went (we didn't see any). And I don't have to say it was Dad that lost it. I don't know why. Well, I do know why, but sometimes I'm overcome by emotion at the least convenient of moments...like merging into freeway traffic.

I will go on to say, however, that Sam went to bed at exactly 8:01 with nary a peep.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Easter Issues?

Last night I dreamt that I was being attacked by killer Easter bunnies, who were roving around town (my home town, because in my dream I was still living with my parents) in a convertible, child sized (think pow-pow-powerwheels) Hummer with guns and sharp sticks to poke me with.

If anyone can help me interpret this dream or has a good therapist, please don't hesitate to call :)

"Today I Saved Pooh Bear"

(and other short stories about South Florida's obsession with small dogs)

"Today I Saved Pooh Bear" by elise hanna

I was leaving Starbucks this morning, as I do every morning, with a toddler (there I said it, toddler) in one arm, keys in one had and my iced tall soy latte in the other. (Oh wait that's three hands! Shit. Must get third hand, keep needing it.)
So there I am busting a move to Publix (or Pube-ex to insiders) to grab a few things that I realize I have forgotten from Sunday's weekly shopping extravaganza. When from behind me I hear, "Pooh Bear!!" from a "Palm Beachy" woman (who is perfectly fit and able to catch Poohy Bear her damn self) struck with fear that her sweet Pooh Bear has escaped, all two pounds of Yorkie* fuzz has broken free, leash intact from her dainty grip.... or perhaps it just gnawed it's way out of it's custom, poop stained, $2500 Louis Vitton, monogrammed dog carrier.

Anywho, driven by the damage I may cause to my child having to watch a small animal get run over curbside of his favorite coffee shop, I leap into action. (Mostly because everyone else is in tears that Pooh Bear would ever think to escape, when it leads such a posh life in an overly silk-flowered-beachside-condo, and never has to set foot in a patch of grass, but is instead held delicately over the toilet to "piddle.") I look down at my hands (all three of them) brimming with baby and soy, and think "well maybe I'll just let it go, my hands are full, and I'm not dropping my baby or my latte for this little puppy." (Not the choice many a South Floridian would make, but hey, my roots are still firmly in the PN-Dub (PNW, er Pacific Northwest) Thinking as fast as my three sips of coffee will allow, I step out and just stop tiny Pooh Bear, from his suicide mission great escape.

**sighs of relief from onlookers**

I patiently wait, with a steadfast grip on all important items, until another onlooker (still not Poopsies owner) zips over and picks up Pooh Bear's leash and delivers him/her back to frozen-in-time lady. I'm not expecting the Caldecott Medal here (or whatever the hell you get for saving a dog from certain death) but this lady starts to thank everyone around her in a pill-induced frenzy, while hugging Poochie a little too tightly and licking it's fur back into place, straightening hair bows, and checking for chipped puppy nail polish. I make a break for it as to avoid any type of dreaded on the spot medal ceremony, while decked out in my sweaty gym clothes. While, from behind me I hear a nice man who was changing the light bulb above the madness, repeat time and time again to Pooh Bear's "mommy" who is thanking him (as if he could have saved poopsie from atop a 12 foot ladder), "she did it! The woman (I prefer girl) with the baby! She did it, thank her, not me!" But, crazy head just kept, giving Pooh Bear mouth-to-mouth and thanking the stucco covered column in front of her.

* to my grandmother, who is so hip and follows this blog, and probably has her own blog, I would save your sweet Yorkies in a minute, I have nothing against Yorkies or puppies of any breed, just certain delinquent owners :) love you and the babies!

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Long lunches, makeovers, and twirls around the mall.

My aunt and uncle were in town. My aunt to play and my uncle to work. We sent Uncle Robert off to the mines, Paul to run with the child and we zipped to the mall in the mini cooper, like school girls skipping fourth period chemistry. We talked make-up, hair, looked at a million pairs of shoes and bought half of them. We glanced at things for the men-folk and bought none. We tried on sparkly jewelry and makeup, we giggled about old times and times to come. When we were "shopped out" (sha...as if!) we sat and lingered for hours over salads and iced tea and talked some more.

With no family of my own in town or even near by, I long for these types of days. The types of days my mom and I had in my youth and the times we still have when we are together. Which we will be soon! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Look out men-folk! We escape next week for our (fourth?) annual Ya-Ya Sisterhood week and don't try to hold us back. My mom and aunt have met for the past four or five years to relax, regroup, chat, go on many adventures and generally torture my uncle, who is usually kind enough to let us crash his pad. There will be shopping (bring a change of shoes Joyceeee) there will be giggling like school girls, there will be inappropriate girl talk (earplugs Uncle Robert) and there will be long lunches. We were only pre-funking this weekend, now that we are warmed up the real funk will go down next week! Who knows, maybe we'll get tattoos this time! err more tattoos ;)

Thursday, March 12, 2009

The only car race you'll ever catch me watching

{Mini vs. mini-Mini}


"Hey Dad, nice ride! Wanna Race?"



"Is Mom looking?"



"On your mark...get set...GO!"



"Ha! I totally beat you old man!"



"Crap! You need new tires"

Monday, March 9, 2009

We deserve this!

Bubsy,

You and I, we deserve eachother. Your Grandma Diane has always told me, "go ahead, you deserve it," that bowl of ice cream or new pair of shoes. I like this rule, this hard earned treat rule, (in moderation of course). She has always reminded me that when I'm working hard I have to reward myself. Well I sure did! I deserve you kid, someone to share bowls of cheerios with on the kitchen floor midday, someone to hang with me at the park, waving at everyone and every animal, making me come out of my comfort zone and chat with strangers. Someone to hunt squirrels with and collect acorn caps. Someone to tuck into a tiny doll bed and giggle with until we fall to the floor. Someone to tickle and laugh at my jokes and my funny faces, someone to view the world a little upside down with.

I have dreamed of you, a little curly haired boy, dark sparkly eyes and the softest sweetest skin, and here you are. I've always worked hard and I think you're why.

But, you deserve me too, Bubs. You deserve all the goofy faces, all the long walks and silly songs, you deserve all the cheerios and goldfish you can fit in your tiny hand, you deserve the best. I may not always be perfect and times may not always be great, but as long as we're together, you, me and dad, we'll have the best time, we'll always seek adventure even if it is under our own kitchen table.

Mucho Love Bubsito,

Mom







Friday, March 6, 2009

Not quite as Irish as Uncle Dan



I love my family, but have to admit we're all a little quirky, none more than me. If you really know us, you know we are not Irish, we are a little Croatian, a little French and little English, but no where our varied family tree, Irish. However, my brother Dan is, Irish that is. He is the only one in our family that is Irish, not just a little but 100%. He lives, breathes, cooks, eats and drinks and even dresses Irish, I think he may even speak with an Irish accent at times (Guiness induced of course). We don't know how or where he became so Irish, to my knowledge he has never even visited Ireland, but he makes a Shepard's pie that would make a Shepard weep and he celebrates St. Patricks day all year. If this makes him sound crazy, like he thinks he's a leprechaun and chases around a pot of gold all the time, not so. I just find it fascinating that a fully biological sibling can be a totally different ethnicity than another. Who knows maybe Sam will have an Icelandic sister someday? Until then Stan, you better work on this son of mine, 'cause I laid him in a field of clover to take his photo for you and expected him to shout "No! Not me lucky charms" and he just started crying!

Monday, March 2, 2009

Fatherly Advice

Recently, Sam seemed restless and though it was only, approximately, one month since Christmas (Sam's birthday is the day after Christmas so he was inundated with new toys), we took him to Target to buy a few new toys (I know...I know...we're easy...okay maybe not "we're easy"...maybe "dad's easy"). In actuality, this trip was as much for Elise and I as it was for Sam.

When playing in Sam's room, Elise and I--the creatively-minded people that we are--are naturally drawn to the Legos. But there just wasn't enough Legos to make anything good. We needed more Legos to build true masterpieces, and, somehow, everything became the "Rainbow _______ (fill in the blank) this and the Rainbow ________ (fill in the blank) that", i.e. the Rainbow Tower, the Rainbow Pyramid, the Rainbow Barcalounger, etc. The word "rainbow" merely reflected the assorted colors used to construct said architectural masterpiece and not the sexual orientation of said structure, though it was somehow implied that it was a gay-friendly Transformer we had just built. So, we bought a ton of new Legos at Target, more for mom and dad than for Sam, but he got some cool new toys, too.

Like this electronic animal puzzle that makes the sound of the animal when you put the puzzle piece back in its proper spot, i.e the dog barks, the parakeet tweets (in this very cold electronic song that sound more like techno music than a bird) and the cat meows. The only problem with this puzzle is that the sensors in the puzzle pieces are extremely, extremely, extremely sensitive.

God forbid, if we ever had an earthquake in Florida, because this things would meow, woof, bray and moo nonstop. As it is, all one has to do is walk into the room where said puzzle is housed and the mice squeak or the guinea pigs make whatever that weird electronic noise is that this puzzle purports guineas pig make. It is especially disconcerting in the middle of the night should we have to come downstairs for anything!

Sam and I were upstairs playing with our new Legos. I was making the Rainbow Bridge Over Troubled Water and as quickly as I could put it together, Sam was taking it apart. My son has a penchant for taking things apart. That's the nice way of saying it. Most times, he is just shy of the Tasmanian Devil in his proclivity toward chaos.

But am I worried?

Nah. I would have to confirm with my mom, but, as I recall, my brother Carlie, was also very good at taking things apart as a boy. In fact, I distinctly remember the thousands of tiny pieces that made up the inside of some sort of complicated piece of electronic equipment spread on a towel. I don't think he ever put the thing back together, but now he is a project manager at Intel and I don't think the hired him because he is really, really good at taking apart computer chips.

This past weekend, Sam pseudo-mastered the art of standing unaided. As we both suspected, he can totally do it, the trick is distracting him enough so that he stands for long periods of time before he realizes that he has been standing for a long period of time. So, as my Rainbow Bridge Over Troubled Water was being torn apart before my eyes, I encouraged Sam to practice his "standin' up". (what, to me, is even more amazing than Sam standing unaided is the fact that he, after but one day, knew exactly what I was talking about when I told him to show me "standin' up".)

He grasped onto his Fisher Price parking garage and tentatively hoisted himself to his feet. Immediately, I could tell that this attempt at "standin' up" was going to be less than successful. His feet were crossed. As I predicted, he immediately tumbled, but I was quick to console him. "That's okay, Punka, " I told him. "Things don't always work out the way we plan."

Holy *&%$! Did that really come out of my mouth! It sounded so....so....fatherly. I astounded myself with my unsuspecting nugget of paternal wisdom. No doubt Sam was equally flabbergasted. He is more used to his father singing goofy songs or jabbering jibberish than offering up life lessons. Maybe...just maybe...I'm cut out for this fathering thing after all!

Sunday Calls

Dear Mom and Dad,

Sometimes the reason I don’t call on Sunday is not because I forgot, but instead because I am feeling homesick and just can’t bear to call. Because I am missing how simple life used to be. When the baby crying was just the neighbor kid I babysat. When the bills were just something on the Canada geese flying by, when the house was always clean and I only had to help. When the only work I had was homework, and the only teaching I had to do was teaching my brothers to knock before entering my room. I would not give up this life for the winnings of the Florida Powerball lotto and all the nights at the Ritz Carlton I could stay, but some nights it is all a bit to much to carry and I find myself wishing I was back at your house, finishing dinner with the family with nothing left to do but brush my teeth and go to bed; not calling and laying the weight of my week on you.

With all the love in my heart,

Elise

"upside down baby"

This is one of Sam's latest tricks. He does it everywhere, in every room, inside, outside, anywhere that has just become too boring in the past year. Spice it up baby, go upside down with it!