Christmas Nazis and the Men Who Love Them

I love Christmas. I’m obsessed. I was once (affectionately, I choose to believe) called a Christmas Nazi. I may or may not have insisted her topiary in a red pot was NOT a Christmas tree. I can’t be held responsible when I am in the season, people!

To keep myself and those around me sane, Christmas and I have a strict no contact order until the day after Thanksgiving. Then I can do all the calling and stalking (stocking, hee!) I want.

And I do. Ohhhhh, but I do!

This may be happier than ACTUAL Christmas day, when I pull all my stuff out of storage. Especially because last year, I saved my money and bought a TON of stuff the week after Christmas. And like a good little girl, I put it in my Christmas bin. And promptly forgot what I had purchased.

So it was like…well, Christmas…opening everything on Friday and seeing all the goodies I forgot I had.

And then…well, then Christmas opened up and spewed more gooey happiness my way.

My husband, who I am slowly converting from years of Scroogedom, looked around and said to me: “I don’t think we have enough Christmas decorations.”

And he was serious.

Clarifications and Updates

Happy Holiday weekend, readers! A few questions seem to have surfaced about my last post. To clarify, I was not in the habit of toasting animal crackers. I have some weird food habits, but toasting cookies isn't one of them. Somehow a plastic bag full of said crackers fell UNDER my toaster oven, and had been roasting underneath it for an undetermined amount of time. My concern was largely that I didn't smell PLASTIC BAGS burning!

This made me realize there are a lot of updates to previous posts that I don’t feel really deserve their own posts, so I thought I would just do a little update post for y’all!

My update to my Comcast woes.
So, a few more techs have come and gone. I was finally informed that because my Tivo is not an HD Tivo, my incompatibility is just a side-effect of Comcast sucking. As of now, my Tivo will tape one item on basic cable, and one item on the other channels. About half of my things don’t tape at all because the basic cable still recognizes it as a channel, but doesn’t actually exist. So like when I want to tape Millionaire Matchmaker (don’t judge, it makes me feel good about being poor), the Tivo defaults to Channel 30, but I get nada. Haven’t figured out how to fix that. I’m trying to figure out  if I can somehow get Comcast to give me their DVR for free and use that credited money to pay off my Tivo contract. Otherwise I’ll have to eventually pay $300 for a new HD Tivo.

My update to my state of sports polygamy.
Well, you guys, loyalty sucks. Basically because I happened to eliminate anyone who goes up against the Patriots…I was left with not much. I’m dead last. Probably my first and last year doing fantasy football.

I think the extra burn for me is that I lost to girls whose husbands totally did their teams for them. And they had ZERO problem cheering for people who go against their supposed loved teams.

Also? The algorithms make no sense. On multiple occasions, my teams won and did well, and yet actually got fewer points than the losing team. Stupid stat geeks.

My update to how much I love home daycare.

My prayers were answered! They are able to take Wee ‘Burb permanently! I am so excited! Wee ‘Burb has really flourished since she has been in our neighbor’s home. Our pediatrician, who incidentally treats the neighbor’s 20-year-old daughter and knows the family well and can not stop singing the virtues, was astounded at Wee ‘Burb’s vocabulary.

I mean as parents we all want to think our kid is advanced. I’m not even pretending she is, she mastered crawling approximately 12 seconds ago. But verbally…the kid is nonstop! And after going to pick her up early one day, I realized why.

First of all, the little preschool boys LOVE her! They fight over who can get her toys and they are always trying to get her involved in their games. As part of that, they NONSTOP talk to her. And I honestly think that’s why she has such a big vocabulary for such a little girl.

Anyway, I am very happy knowing she’s in a safe home with people we love, who love her.

My update to trying to find new mommy friends.

It’s so hard, you guys! So, Scott and I were in church a few weeks ago. And this couple with two preschool-aged kids kept looking adoringly over at Wee ‘Burb. They waved, they gave her a little peace handshake, which she LOVES. And they were all smiles to us.

And Scott and I were paralyzed.

Are they just thinking “oh that kid is cute with her pigtails and Patriots shirt (what? Girl has to show her spirit, church or not!) or are they thinking “hey, this couple looks cool! Look how they have to sit outside the church like us because our kids are unpredictable.” I think it’s worse than dating! Does he like me? Will he call? It’s just so awkward!

Speaking of church, we have seen the public domestic abuse couple a few times, and it has been awkward. Mostly we’ve just been a quick hello and avoiding making any plans.

My update to near death experiences.
Remember my almost death by chocolate? Well, that place closed! I can’t say I am bummed. Although it always makes me sad when local plazas remain empty. The whole world doesn’t have to revolve around Target and Rainbow, does it?

Anyway, thanks for reading! If you have any updates you want to post her, or link to on your blog, feel free to leave in the comments!

I'm Sorry, Mr. Rock, I Cannot Smell What You Are Cooking!

So recent events made me Google "loss of smell." Here's what Dr. Wikipedia is telling me is at work here:

Anosmia is a lack of functioning olfaction, or in other words, an inability to perceive odors. Anosmia may be either temporary or permanent. A related term, hyposmia, refers to a decreased ability to smell, while hyperosmia refers to an increased ability to smell. Some people may be anosmic for one particular odor. This is called "specific anosmia" and may be genetically based.

Scott has been accusing me of this for awhile. Mostly in relation to being unable to smell Wee 'Burb's bad diapers. But then sometimes my sense of smell is so acute, I'm wandering around trying to figure out what reeks while everyone stares at me like I'm nuts.

In fairness, it did turn up a bag of liquid potatoes.

So I guess I'm not totally anosmatic...or whatever the word is.

But clearly I have problems because when I moved the toaster oven to clean today, this is what I found:

I haven't had animal crackers since I was pregnant. Wee 'Burb just turned one. I was an English major, but I'm thinking that adds up to....Ewwwwww!!!

Dog Fight

I’ve mentioned our rather crotchety neighbors, the Dietz’ before here where they lectured us on mowing 12 seconds after we moved in and here where they towed our neighbor's car for being near their illegal sprinkler system.

We’ve enjoyed a rather quiet relationship for them for most of the year we’ve had Wee ‘Burb. I figured it was because they never got around to giving us a present for the baby like some of the other neighbors, or really acknowledged her existence. But again, they didn’t tow my car, so I’m cool with it.

A few weeks ago, Scott came in and told me Mrs. Dietz yelled at him. Now it was 6 a.m. and he’d been working a lot so I was dubious as I said “she actually YELLED at you?” and he was all traumatized like “YEAH!”

So apparently the issue was a legit one. As I mentioned in my previous post, Cous Cous has an issue finding the perfect poop spot. So occasionally her favorite spot is on the line…or over the line…of our yard and theirs.

When she does cross the line, Scott does pick it up and bag it. I know this for sure because I often get halfway through my walk to discover I have no bags.

In the mornings, Mrs. Dietz has a creepy habit of hiding in the shadows and smoking…outside on the top of her deck, which by the way was taken down almost a year ago (just pointing out that for someone all worked up about image, she has a torn down deck and hangs out in her garage watching people go by). So she stands on these leftover pillars, basically, and I never see her except when Cous Cous goes nuts and barks at her.

But this time she stepped out of the shadows to say “it’s not very neighborly to let your dog crap on my lawn.” I kind of looked at Scott and said “Well, she’s kind of right.” I refrained from saying “I told you so” because we had this discussion and I said people without pets may be sensitive to us letting her go on the lawn, even if we clean it up.

So he tells Mrs. Dietz he’s sorry, that he does always clean it up. And she goes “I don’t care. Stephanie doesn’t do it, you know.” Um, once again, you’re not making yourself look great here, Mrs. Dietz, pointing out that you keep track of who takes Cous Cous where. But still, she has a legit complaint, and so far I’m not totally off her side.

Until Scott goes “Okay, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” And instead of doing the mature thing and saying “it’s no problem, thanks” or something else acknowledging that he’s said it won’t happen again, she repeats “I'm saying it’s not neighborly. And Stephanie doesn’t do it, either.”

Now he has no clue what to say so he just mutters “uh huh” and “sorry” again and rushes Cous Cous back inside.

So, this plagued him for awhile and then a week when he was gone, a tree blew down. The tree starts in their yard, but landed in ours. I told Scott we should pick it up so we don't have problems with them, but events got crazy and when he went out to investigate to see if we should call the city, he noticed it was gone and figured out Mr. Dietz had cleaned it up.

So he goes over to Mr. Dietz and gives him a cutting board that Scott engraved as a peace offering. And Mr. Dietz is super cordial, no thanks necessary, no problem cutting down the tree, etcetera. So we figure maybe it’s just Mrs. Dietz with the bug up her ass.

Well, we had a big turnout for Wee ‘Burb’s birthday, which coincided with a huge storm here in Suburbia. We did what we could to snowblow the driveway and the road around our house so that people could park. When a few guests came in rattled, we figured it was the bad roads. But after a few glasses of wine, the truth came out: apparently Mr. and Mrs. Dietz were yelling at people who parked too close to their driveway.

Not blocking it. Just too near it.

The snowbanks were too large to be parked ON their lawn, so I have no clue who they think they are yelling at ANYONE who parks on the PUBLIC street. And we don't have snow emergency rules out here, you just get plowed in if you're on the street.

A few people moved and a few other people resisted the urge to flip them the proverbial bird. Reports were they were standing in their garage and by their front door just shouting at people to move their cars! On my daughter’s first birthday! Which they ABSOLUTELY knew about.

So, it’s on. Official Neighborhood Enemies! Welcome to Suburbia, friends!

It's a Hard Dog Life

I’ve decided to start a revolution where we change the meaning of the phrase: “it’s a dog’s life.” I know back in the days it was meant to convey some poor underfed beast used only for his hunting abilities, and repeatedly kicked in the head and forced to sleep in a pile of hot coals…or whatever life was like back when being a dog sucked.

Now I’d kill for my dog’s life. Some people wonder what their dogs do all day while they’re gone. Well, since I’m never gone, it’s not such a mystery to yours truly. And the answer is: sleep and annoy the crap out of me.

I happen to think Cous Cous has it pretty good. She has someone home with her almost all day. The little beast that annoys her is gone most of the day at daycare, leaving her free to enjoy her bones without drool-covered claws invading her space.

At least four days a week she’s taken on mile-long walks where somebody cleans up after her and all she has to do is stay within six feet of said person on a leash.

Now, does that sound like the kind of life that would make you so miserable, you would resort to eating a comforter? Or shoes? Or a DRAWER? A freaking DRAWER? All while your owner, who feeds you and loves you and despite the fact that she crapped out that beast that annoys you, has otherwise practically let you run the house is sitting in the other room, blissfully unaware of your buried resentment at…at WHAT? What could this dog possibly have up her ass that makes her act out like this?

I’m proposing a Scared Straight movement for puppies. I haven’t worked all the kinks out, but I am sure it will be centered around making the wayward puppies of the world watch an endless loop of those Sarah McLachlan commercials, the ones with the poor dogs covered in bruises and cuts and missing limbs all while “Arms of the Angel” plays in the background?

Ohhh, you think me rushing you to poop when it’s 30 degrees out is abuse (I mean, really, when you’re staring down the barrel of 30-degree temperatures, do you need to spend 10 minutes finding the perfect poop spot? I would think whatever spot doesn’t involve your ass freezing to your legs is perfecto!), why don’t you watch yourself some Animal Rescue on Animal Planet?

One phrase I am not looking to eliminate: “ungrateful cur.”

Please Forgive Me, I Know Not What You Do!

So, this has been a rough couple of weeks and I am EXHAUSTED. And the more tired I get, the shorter my fuse. I stumbled across this article on Shine about ways to manage anger. I was particularly interested in #13, which suggests you write a forgiveness letter or e-mail.

In the midst of planning Wee ‘Burb’s first birthday party, during the first snowstorm of the year, after a week of helping Scott with his first trade show for his business, and you know, that whole job thing…Comcast insisted I switch over to their fancy schmancy new Infinity cable. We had this purty little banner floating across the screen INSISTING in big white letters that we need to switch immediately or our TV lives will go dark.

Days of frustration later, I STILL have the banner and my Tivo, Cornelius, has been rendered almost obsolete. So here is my forgiveness letter to Comcast.

Dear Comcast,


I forgive you.

I forgive you for putting the incorrect UFC up on your On Demand, forcing me to call and try to cancel the order…three times. I also forgive you for trying to send a signal to my TV once I got the actual UFC up in attempts to make it work on the high definition channel…that I was later informed doesn’t exist in my area.

It’s totally cool that I had a bunch of people over and I had to stand there on the phone with you…twice. I understand that On Demand doesn’t really mean on demand, so much as “whenever the hell you feel like it, if in fact the channel even exists in my area.” It’s also cool that you charge me the same whether those channels are there or not.

More importantly, I forgive you for the recent two-day circus you made me participate in while converting to your supposedly AWESOME new Xfinity program. Oh how you promoted this as the next coming of cable. It’s understandable that you overlooked the fact that it isn’t at all compatible with existing technology, and that you’ve rendered my brand new Tivo as useful as my Commodore 64.

I get it, you were super busy sending signals to channels that don’t exist. Focusing on things like compatibility with what you have informed me is “sometimes incompatible third-party technology” is hardly as important as giving me the golf channel in HD, but not anything in On Demand.

I forgive you for sending me directions to hook up to my Tivo that didn’t work. And I forgive you for taking five days to send me a tech to fix my caveman-like third-party technology. And please, don’t feel at all bad for sending me a tech who didn’t know Tivo, and didn’t have the part for the Tivo I had.

It was wrong of me to expect that the work order describing the kind of Tivo I had would move that tech to bring the equipment necessary. I understand the stress of not having that part was probably what made the tech lie to my face and tell me my Tivo was working, while secretly hooking everything up through a small cable box remote. It was my fault for trusting him when he told me he was all done, not being aware the whole time Tivo was on channel 3. I never was good at seeing the trick behind the magic.

I should have known it’s like when Wee ‘Burb says “all done” when she sits at the table and baby birds me for more. Clearly he was just proud of a new phrase he’d learned. I was hasty to believe he was actually completing the task. My bad.

Comcast, please accept my heartfelt forgiveness for bothering you again to ask that you bring the tech back to complete the task that was not, actually, “all done.” Forgive me also for telling you what I thought of the tech who refused to call me back.

And you must accept my sincere desire for amends when I screamed at you at howler monkey levels when you told me that occasionally certain techs are unfamiliar with said “third-party technology.” I understand you were just trying to drive home the fact that I do not own a Comcast DVR, as you have humbly suggested I do each time I call you for service. We talk a lot, I should have caught on by now.

Me insisting that if the work order mentions specific “third-party technology” I am unintelligent enough to own, that tech should be familiar with said technology and have the parts to make said technology compatible with your next generation god-like technology was just my anger talking. I’d missed an entire episode of Dr Phil by then. And it was one of the housewives admitting she was knocked up. Emotions were high.

While we are listing my faults, I should not have laughed and mocked the woman when she called to set up a new tech to come for the following day. She was just being nice when she asked when I had to be at work, so when I said at 9 and she said her appointments started at 9:30 and I mockingly shouted “then why did you ASK me what time I had to be there?”…well, that was more anger talking. I had to watch Live TV. I can’t be held accountable for the things I say when I can’t fast forward commercials.

It’s that same lack of Tivo that made me roll my eyes and storm off when you sent me TWO techs the next day who promised they were familiar with Tivo and then told me they didn’t know I had a dual tuner Tivo. Again, I should not have assumed that fact being written on the work order meant that information was imparted. It was my own ignorance that led me to believe your techs could read.

Please try to forgive me for looking up Direct TV while your techs fumbled around and finally informed me that they’d “rigged it” so my dual tuners could work, only one tuner could only record channels 1-22. I know I should be grateful for any tuner that could bring me back to Dr Phil, even though it will be nearly impossible now for me to catch up on the housewives and their drama. I should not have said that I pay enough where I should be able to have Tivo work exactly as it did before you brought this New Light into the cable world.

Lastly, I want to thank you for making it up to me by sending me several On Demand movie gift certificates (I understand now those can not be used in HD and will plan accordingly). It was kind of you to send me ones to mail with my bill, despite the fact that I’ve set up my account to be paid electronically.

And the $30 off of my bill per month for the next year (the introductory rate any new Comcast customer gets before you give them the add-ons necessary to make “third-party technology” work) absolutely makes up for everything that happened in those two days and the fact that I still can’t work my Tivo half of the time.

I only hope this letter serves as the same kind of peace sign you’ve given me.

All my love,


StephanieinSuburbia

Hidey-Ho, Neighborinos!

So I have a crazy busy week this week preparing for Wee 'Burb's first birthday, among other priorities. Instead of posting my random thoughts or using some posts I've saved for a rainy day, I thought I'd introduce you to a few bloggers I love.

Notice I said a few. If your name is not on this list, it does not mean I don't think you're immeasurably awesome. And to that end, I'd love if you guys linked to your blogs and/or a favorite post of yours in the Comments section here.

Christina at Hungry Meets Healthy wrote a hilarious post about going shrimping with the boys. She not only has a great sense of adventure, she has some AMAZING recipes.

Kristy at Pampers and Pinot writes very honestly about having anxiety around dating her husband. You can always count on Kristy to tell it like it is, and she also features a lot of her other writing here.

I've mentioned my next buddy, LambAround, here before. Where we had a bit of a face-off on embarassing domestic disasters. But it was this post about creepy Singamajigs where I knew we were simpatico.

Kristen at Happily Ever After writes very honestly about not knowing what to write about here.

Mommy is Teething is another blog where I always can relate. This is a great post about the challenges of meeting other Mommies. I wrote about this myself when I was trying to meet other working moms. Since I wrote that post, I have been better at reaching out to my friends who have kids, trying to get over feeling like I am bothering them. But it's still a challenge. Postcards from Parenthood also wrote about this awkwardness and solved the problem by ordering Thumb Cards, which I still need to get more info on.

Picking a favorite post at Itzy's Kitchen is a bit like picking between chocolate and wine. Her recipes are amazing! This is but one of my favorites. She almost makes me wish I lived near her to take exercise classes. Almost.

Again, please link here to your blog and don't feel dissed if you're not on this list! I follow about 50 blogs, and I try to comment on most of them as often as possible, so lots of love to all of you!

Have a great week! If by chance I make it through this week and the birthday party, I shall chat with you all next week! Meanwhile, please visit these blogs and send them some love!

The Fifth Circle of Hell

You guys, I haven’t seen this much traffic in Suburbia since we hosted the golf tournament last summer. It’s frightening to realize that one street closing can cause such traffic Armageddon. And it does not help at all that said traffic is being re-routed through rotaries.

Some of you may know rotaries. You may know them as “traffic circles” or “roundabouts.” I have more colorful phrases for them, but around here they are called rotaries and they are just plain absurd.

Here’s the deal: the rotary has a purpose. It’s meant to manage traffic in an area that can not otherwise be easily served by a stop light or four-way stop sign. It’s essentially a large circle with (usually) two lanes that features (usually) 4 or more exits. If you are exiting at the nearest road, you take the outside lane and dart through. If you are going through the rotary to one of the further exits, you stay in your left lane.

These are not necessary for where we live. At all. But for some reason, Suburbia decided that they just…I don’t know. Look cool? Save money? I truly do not know. What I do know is, they suck. Let’s be honest, 90% of the population can’t handle a simple merge onto a highway, much less make a quick decision when faced with four routes to choose from in a big circle.

I’ve studiously avoided the rotaries as much as possible. But now because they are building a hospital on my usual route and it took me 6 minutes to get a left turn light, I am forced to take the rotary. As a result, I am pretty sure Wee ‘Burb’s first full sentence is going to be a string of expletives, followed by her mimicking the sound of a horn.

The lanes are clearly marked, if you are going straight (yes, because somehow going straight is an option in this messed up version of a rotary), you go in one lane. If you are curving, you go in another.

I’m not without sympathy here. A confession: when I discovered these in MA, I would do about anything to avoid them. I would go miles out of my way just to make sure that I did not have to enter the vortex of speeding cars. But I was 16, a new driver, and I got over it. And when I did have to face it, I followed the logical setup and nobody died.

Mostly, people just stop and stare for a minute or two. Occasionally, a car in the rotary thinks the one merging on to the rotary has the right of way and stops for a minute or two.

But a few weeks ago I saw, hands down, the most insane and idiotic thing I have EVER witnessed…for sure with rotaries, possibly with all driving in general. This person in front of me stopped dead to look at the signs, presumably. And then realizing they had missed their exit, they backed up!!!

Let me slow this down for you: they backed up…on a circle! It’s a circle!

You will, I promise, get to your desired destination. You will not, I promise, be stuck like in European Vacation pointing out: “Look, kids, Big Ben!”

I think I may need to start walking to the grocery store.

The Bitter Pill

You guys, something really weird happened to me. It’s kind of related to my recent blogging about what I am to understand is called Momnesia: basically me losing my marbles one day at a time.

So in June, you may recall that my husband hired me a housekeeper for the day to clean for my birthday party. And a few weeks later, I had what I attributed to a Momnesia moment. I thought I renewed some medication, went looking for it, and couldn’t find it.

Now it’s not a big deal, I dismissed it at the time. Because they’re basically just very low-grade anti-anxiety pills that I was prescribed for sleep when I was pregnant. I take them a few times a month on evenings I know I am going to be laying there staring at the ceiling listing all the things I’ve yet to do and all the time I should have spent doing said things. Am I the only one?

Anyway, these pills are awesome because they don’t put me to sleep, they literally just relax me enough where I can fall asleep on my own. But I am not so groggy that I can’t get up to soothe a very needy Wee ‘Burb in the middle of the night if need be.

Anyway, so I looked for them one night, and figured I just hadn’t refilled them. But since I couldn’t find the bottle, I just kind of blew it off and moved on. I have to confess, I was also afraid if I had refilled them and lost them, then calling to get another refill would put me on some list. Maybe it’s being the daughter of a woman who works in chemical dependency, I don’t know, but I fear ANYONE thinking I have some sort of issue with any mood-altering substance.

Case in point, after I had Wee ‘Burb, they put me on Vicodin. Which I hated, by the way. I don’t get how people can become addicted to falling asleep mid-sentence and waking up feeling hung over.

But anyway, so it said No Refills on the bottle. So I go to my two-week appointment and my doc is like “wow, Stephanie, you didn’t refill your Vicodin? You’re just taking Ibuprofen two weeks after having this baby?”

And I’m like deer in the headlights “but the bottle said no refills!”

Seriously, she stared at me like I had just spontaneously given birth to a twin they thought Wee ‘Burb had absorbed or something. And she informs me that it is only written that way so they can keep track of refills and make sure you’re not abusing it.

So I get yelled at for not taking meds, just in case you think the point of this post is that I was jonesin’ for some drugs and found them missing.

Since Wee ‘Burb has been mobile and I’m planning her first birthday and helping Scott with a new business while he constantly travels, I did need those pills, though. After three nights of not sleeping, I called Target and begged them to refill it. That was two weeks ago. I picked them up relatively without incident, other than that Target sucks my will to live with their construction and inability to actually refill a prescription within the timeframe given on the phone.

The other morning I get a call from Target saying my medication has been refilled. I inform them I picked it up two weeks ago. The pharmacist is puzzled, as you see someone called that morning requesting a refill. I asked if maybe it was an automatic refill request? She said no, they had a phone call request. Then she shrugs it off and goes “they must have just hit the wrong numbers.”

Ok, lots wrong with this scenario. First of all, have you used those automated systems? It’s kind of hard to punch in the wrong numbers because after you punch in said numbers, it says something like “please verify the first three letters of the last name are XYZ.” It also asks for a phone number to call when the prescription is ready. So if you did indeed make a mistake, those prompts would usually guide a person in error to start over. Right?

Second, why are they not more concerned that it’s two weeks and I’m refilling this prescription? I mean I get that it’s not some habit-forming pain-killer and all, but considering I need to turn over my fingerprints and first-born child to get Sudafed, you would think someone trying to refill a prescription two weeks after getting a whole bottle would maybe raise a few eyebrows.

I’m just confused why the woman at Target wasn’t more concerned. I’m trying not to blow this out of proportion, because if someone stole it and if they were trying to do something criminal with it, the joke’s on them. It’s something prescribed to preggos, so it’s not going to have hot street value, I’m just guessing.

But I also kind of feel violated that it’s possible someone was in my house stealing my medication. I’m not convinced it was the housekeeper because I don’t want to believe that of someone who does this job professionally. I know people who immediately blame “the help” when anything goes wrong in their house, and I do not want to be that person.

At the same time, I don’t know of any other strangers that have been in my house.

It’s just kind of an ooky feeling. Has this happened to anyone before? Do I need to take further action or just brush it off and figure the person either made an error or didn’t get what they wanted and moved on?

Momnesia: The Sequel

I feel it’s important to document my moments of Momnesia so that whoever ultimately decides I belong in the padded cell will feel completely vindicated.

So, like many couples, Scott and I have a nightly ritual. Once we’ve put Wee ‘Burb to bed, we typically sit down with our Tivo, Cornelius. Named after Yukon Cornelius of Rudolph fame. This is our second Tivo, our first, Big Papi, having passed about 6 months ago.

Anyway, we go through and determine which shows we want to watch. Yes, we watch TV at night. We’re intellectual neophytes. We’ve embraced it.

So once we’re settled into a show and a good couch snuggle, we’ll usually hear the jingle of Cous Cous’ collar going downstairs. And then the “who will let the dog out” dance begins. It goes something like this:

Me: Cous is downstairs.

Him: Is she scratching?

Me: Not yet.

Him: Okay. [goes back to whatever magazine or Internet article he’s reading until seconds later, we hear scratching on the sliding door downstairs]

Me: Now she’s scratching.

Him: Mmmm. [His way of pretending if he just waits it out, I’ll go down and take care of it. Only he knows this ain’t happening because I have the distinct pleasure of being Cous Cous’ full-time caretaker during the day. Which means I feel after-dinner doody is his duty, ya know?]

Me: Okay, now she’s whining.

Him: Sigh. Groan. Fine! [Gets up and goes downstairs]

Because I am a very considerate wife, I hit pause on the Tivo. Yes, I force him to go into the cold of night to let the dog take her 50 years to find the perfect poop spot, but he won’t miss nary a second of Dr. Phil. I’ll take my Wife of the Year Award now, please.

Anyway, so the other night Scott was packing for a work trip and for some reason I end up feeling bad for him every time he goes on these trips, even though it’s me who ends up being the single Mom trying to care for the insane dog and even more insane (and now mobile) baby. So I heard her scratching and instead of waiting for him to come out and here her, I was nice enough to go down and take her out.

But before I did, I hit the pause button on the Tivo.

The TV wasn’t on.

I'm Baaaack!

Happy November, People! As I mentioned, last week was my anniversary. What I failed to mention was that Scott was out of town the whole week. Oh, and Wee 'Burb decided to run a fever that was high enough to force her to stay home with me, but not high enough where she wasn't wired at the idea of being home in an only partially-babyproofed house.

So that explains my absence.

We had an AMAZING anniversary celebration this weekend, though, including a much-needed night away from the feverishly normal Wee 'Burb. We ate at La Belle Vie, which is the closest Minnesota has, or ever will have sadly, to5-star cuisine. AMAZING! Let me just tell you this: I have issues with carcass. I can't eat anything when it's in the form it was when alive. No lobster, I have to hide during the Thanksgiving carving, and definitely no chicken wings. But I ate marrow, people. AND I LOVED IT!

Side note: wanna know how much I love my husband? A few years ago I actually hosted Thanksgiving, including sticking my hand in a turkey's ass, and washing it. WASHING A CARCASS! ON THE INSIDE!! Now that's love.

After our amazing dinner, we checked in to the Grand Hotel, where we were upgraded to a king-size suite. It had a TV in the bathtub. Not the bathroom, the bath TUB!

In addition to the complimentary bottle of champagne they sent us, we also enjoyed a small version of our cappucino souffle wedding cake from Buttercream Bakery.

Last, but certainly not least, after getting up WHENEVER WE FELT LIKE IT, we ate an amazing brunch at Hell's Kitchen where I had a ham, cheese and pear melt that almost made Scott irrelevant.

Anyway, I should be back on schedule this week, assuming Wee 'Burb doesn't sponteaneously combust.

What are you all up to?