Thursday, March 18, 2010

Sieve Head

Confession: I'm crazy.

In the last three weeks I have:

-Lost my wallet

-Switched my bank (including online banking payments, automatic withdrawals and direct deposits.) I had a Bank of America account since I was 12. They suck. I moved on.

-Lost my keys. Josh was sweet and said P probably just hid they and that I will find them. Not yet.

-Backed into the mailbox and something known as a whiskey barrel (incidentally, this does not hold whiskey- it is for flowers) at the end of the driveway of a friend’s house.  Thankfully we are still friends, she is very understanding.

-Moved (toddler and old lady dog in tow) and nearly doubled our mortgage.

-We have someone doing a short rental in our townhouse. I had to drop the keys off at the tenants work. She works at a school. There are two schools next to each other- Sand Castle Middle School and Sand Castle Elementary School. I left the keys at the middle school. The tenant works at the elementary school.

-Had a terrifying nightmare that an adult sized beaver lived in our basement. I even screamed out, "Oh my God!" in my sleep and woke myself up.

-Finally I basically signed my infant son (read: nearly 2 year old) up for college (read: pre-school). Where he will take naps without me. Play without me. Learn without me. Thrive without me.

I'm spent.

I think I may let Pmonkey make dinner tonight. I have a feeling it will involve icing, peanut butter and crackers.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Party Pooper

I have a very good friend named JD. We met in high school and have been friends since.

Every year, or for at least as long as I can remember, his parents host a St. Patrick's Day party. I'm told an authentic bag piper is present. Legend has it there is an insane amount of alcohol. Word on the streets of our home town is that the food is nothing short of amazing.

I say all of this from the perspective from someone who has never actually attended the party. I'm going by the tales JD regales me with after the party. For you see, in the 10 -or so- years we have been friends, I have NEVER actually gone to this party.

I suck.

I can't really remember why I have not gone in the past. Maybe when we were in college the date of the party did not jive with my recovery from my most recent Jager hangover.

Most recently, I know one year I was pregnant. The following year I had a baby.

This year was going to be it. Josh and I had my parents lined up for an overnight babysitting session with Pman.

We had arrangements to stay at another friends’ house. We. Were. In.

However, for reasons too boring to go in to, (in a nutshell, we needed to get the old house in order for the renters) Josh and I did not go to the party.

After we finished what we had to do on Saturday, Josh and I (and SweetP) went out to dinner, pushing back our bath and bed routine by about an hour. I was trying to rush rush rush through the bath (because we skipped it the night before).

There is no way to ease into this- so instead, I will set the scene.

P, wearing only a diaper, is holding onto the side of the tub doing his normal excited squeal and "can't wait to get in the tub" dance. -seriously, this is every night. I unfasten the diaper and begin rolling it up...when...

My son pooped on the floor.


Josh said that's what I get for interrupting him while he was doing his business.

When I told JD I was not going to be able to make it to the party, he told me I had to blog about why I chose to hang out in an old empty townhouse over bag pipes and beer. If only I had stuck to my guns and gone to the party, someone else would have had to clean up my son's poop from the bathroom floor.