OK, off to run more errands. Getting ready to be gone for four days and leaving the house and our kid in the care of someone else takes a lot of planning.

But today, after our trip to the lawyer to get our wills signed and notarized, we felt that lunch was warranted and since we were there, a stop at Sprinkles was in order. And they had a new flavor which I just HAD to try. Chocolate Marshmallow. It’s a chocolate cupcake with marshmallow cream in the center, and frosted with chocolate ganache. This might be one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. It’s like a Ding Dong only much much much better. The chocolate in it is dark chocolate which I don’t even like, and I like this cupcake. I’ll be back down there next Saturday for a pre-beach wax and I think I’ll be buying about sixty of those suckers. Forgive me Trainer Dave, for I have sinned.

On an unrelated note, Bridget fell out of her toddler bed twice last night. The first time, we heard “Thump…. WAAAAH!” (deja vu all over again) and went up to find her sitting on the floor bawling her little eyes out. She was not hurt, just scared. It took me a while to get her calmed enough to go back to sleep but she did. Then about 1 a.m. I heard the THUMP again. But no crying. When I went in to her, she was standing up with the most pissed off look on her face. It was not pretty after that, she cried for at least half an hour. I tried to explain to her that if she kept her head on the pillow, she would not fall out of bed. Must have worked because she has not fallen out since. Who knew she was so practical?

Although she did bust herself today. She was supposed to be down for her nap, and we were out in the front yard talking with the roofer, when whose little face appeared in her window? It was pretty funny but one of those moments that you can’t show how funny and cute you think it is. Jake went up and busted her behind the blinds and then she went down for her nap for real.

When we went in to get her, she was so stinkin’ cute, lying there in her big girl bed with her head on her pillow. Just three days ago, we could count on her to throw her pillow out of the bed immediately. Now she keeps it in bed and uses it correctly. So big. So smart. This is going so fast.

Bedtime was different but not awful. With the glider gone, we had to sit together on her new big girl bed and read books. She has been very excited about the bed, in fact climbing up on it the minute the front crib side came down, before we had the bed rail completely attached. So as I read to her, she was bouncing around on her bed. I warned her several times not to stand on her new big girl bed and she seemed to listen. I put her back in bed a couple times before I left the room, and we heard her crying in her room through the monitor once I got downstairs. At one point, it was obvious that she was out of bed because I heard her wailing REALLY loudly which told me she was standing next to the monitor in her room. I went up about an hour after she quieted down, expecting to find her asleep on the floor but she was in fact in her bed. She was crumpled up near the end of the bed and I picked her up and moved her so her head was on her pillow and she didn’t make a peep. I have a feeling though, that I’ll be in there more than once tonight.

I was so sad tonight at dinner. I was just thinking about all the work and planning we did on the room before she was born. It’s not like I thought she’d have her nursery full of bees her whole life. But wow, I just thought that we’d have more than 20 months of nursery before it started looking like a big girl room. I’m still not going to redecorate until she’s old enough to tell me what she wants so the bees will be with us for a while yet. Just the way of things, I suppose, when your baby starts to really grow up.

Oh, and just so you know, as a point of reference…. the book What to Expect The Toddler Years puts this stage of moving to a toddler bed at 24 months. Bridget will be 20 months on Saturday. Now I know that all kids develop differently but this really does seem early to me. But except for teething, Bridget has hit all of her milestones early. I know that I was in a crib until I was almost four but I also know that I could get out of it. I have clear memories of climbing out of it and I think my move to a bed was delayed by a move from St. Louis to southern California - my parents just didn’t want to buy furniture in St. Louis to just move it a few weeks later. Practicality runs in my family I guess.

Part of me wonders if we did this too soon. I mean, just because she climbed out once doesn’t mean she’ll do it every time she goes to bed. She didn’t do it at nap time today. Maybe it was just a fluke. But then I slap myself in the face and realize that she took her first step one day and then didn’t do it again for a few days, but it was only a matter of time before she was a dedicated walker. So no, even if she didn’t do it again for a month, we would never know when it was going to start happening again, and next time she might hurt herself.

I think that this is how life with Bridget is going to be - her dragging me kicking and screaming to the next stage of her life. I might as well get used to it.

I was up getting ready and I knew she was awake but I always get myself ready first or else I will never get to. I was brushing my teeth, when through the monitor I heard THUMP…… waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I ran into her room and she greeted me at the door. She was fine, not hurt, just scared I think. I immediately picked her up and ran to the phone to call Jake. Hey, if I have to carry around this worry in my head, so does he!

So now I’m off to find the directions for her convertible crib so that when Jake gets home this afternoon, he can turn her crib into a toddler bed.

Seriously, isn’t 20 months just a wee bit early for this? She’s never going to stay in her bed. We’ll have to put those door knob things on so she can’t wander the house at night. But I know I’ll find her sleeping on her floor where she passed out from exhaustion after playing with all her toys for hours after we put her to bed. This is not going to be pretty for any of us.

This machine was weird to begin with, since it was a seated one, but that only made me think it was going to be that much easier. But holy hell, it about killed me. Which is saying something considering he had previously made me do bicep curls while balancing on a half ball.

I may be overstating it just a little bit but there was a moment or two when I thought I might, um, how shall we say it politely? I can’t say it politely so I’ll just say it. I thought I might actually poop my pants. Thankfully I did not, or trust me you would have heard about it sooner. That’s blog fodder too good to pass up. But seriously, if that had happened, there would be no coming back to the gym after that.

So even though I managed to not humiliate myself at the gym, I am left with one lingering issue. My calves are so sore, I can barely walk. Ouch. I haven’t been this sore from training since I started this whole process.

Let’s just hope that tomorrow’s session does not hold calf raises for me. Not only for the sake of my calves but for the sake of my pride.

Since we are about to go away together, we decided that it was high time we get our wills prepared just in case. It really sucks to have to think long and hard about what you want to happen to your child in the event she loses both her parents at the same time. I should not be allowed to think about these things, especially when Jake is not here to distract me because now I’m getting more nervous than ever about leaving Bridget while we go to Mexico.

Hopefully I’ll have more fun things to talk about tomorrow.

I don’t really have a show today, more of a tell.

Today, Bridget was in the bathroom with us as we were both preparing to go out for some errands. I was putting on makeup and Jake was in the shower. Bridget was being her usual raccoon self and pulling things out of drawers and cabinets.

Jake stepped out of the shower and Bridget looked up and Jake’s man bits, pointed and said, “Daddy junk!”

And if that wasn’t funny enough, she then pointed to her diaper area, as we call it around here, and said “Bridgie junk!”

She couldn’t figure out why we were both laughing so hard that we were crying.

But now I’m on the fence about whether to correct the use of this term. I mean, I can’t see how “junk” is any worse a term for it than “balls” or “nuts.” And honestly a toddler using the term “penis” is just creepy. However, I did also swear that we would not use silly words for genetalia, like “wee wee” or anything like that. So I don’t know what to do now except not let her see Jake naked so we can avoid the issue altogether. I can honestly say that I NEVER saw my dad naked as a child and I don’t think I was any worse for it.

Oh, and just so I don’t feel like I’m cheating you, here is a picture of Raccoon Girl

It’s a good thing she’s cute.

I had originally bought another biography of her by Antonia Fraser, who is apparently quite the biographer, but reading it was like chewing sawdust so I set it aside. Then I found this one that got good reviews as far as readability went. I had to order it used from some random seller on Amazon and then a week later I saw it on the Publisher’s Remainders table at the book store for about half of what I paid for it. Typical.

I was actually impressed at how easy it was to read. It was just really really long. I did get confused by all the names - Moray and Maitland and Mar and Argyll and Huntley…. wow! It is a long cast of characters. But it was surely fascinating. Really all I knew about her was from both of the Elizabeth movies which of course were told from Elizabeth’s point of view. Truly interesting and tragic stuff.

The minute I finished it, though, my head was about to explode with knowledge so I had to pick up some fluff to read. I’ll probably live, in a literary way, on fluff for a while before diving back into another serious book. I’m looking for a good, readable biography of Elizabeth I if anyone knows of one.

Fun times, fun times.

Now to decide which if any emails I want to get on the damn thing. You all know how I hate technology.

Poor AndreAnna had a really long day since she was admitted last night with preeclampsia and had her labor induced. Anyway, go visit her, send on some congratulations. Hopefully they gave that girl some food because laboring is hard work and she went all day and most of the night on a granola bar and some orange jello.

I am in awe and just waiting for photos of that little man.

We didn’t do the full body age test like I did at the beginning, just my weight and body fat calculation. I have dropped 4% of my body fat. I stood there looking at them blankly because I was really looking to get some sort of feedback on that. Is that great? Is it good? Is it not good enough? Is it bad? A little feedback here, please! They tell me that it’s really good but I wonder how good it really is. Would they actually tell me that it wasn’t very promising? That would hardly be a motivatation thing to hear. But then again they didn’t tell me that I should spend more time doing cardio, or really think about writing down all my calories. So I don’t know.

Oh, I also lost four pounds. I expressed my concern over the fact that it was only four pounds and I got the standard response - muscle weighs more than fat. Yadda yadda yadda. Yes, I know. But I’ve been working my ass off, literally, I’d like to see more than four pounds gone. I need to be more patient. I know. Blah blah blah.

Tonight, after much debating we put an Obama for President sign in our yard. And I’m really nervous about having done this.

Let me back up. I love Texas. I really do. I’m not a native Texan but given my choice, I’ll probably live here until I retire to a beach in South Carolina. But I am ashamed of how close-minded and shall we say, judgmental many of the residents of this state are. I do think that many people around here don’t use their brains a lot of the time, especially when it comes to matters of politics. Now, I’m not attacking anyone. I just think that some folks need to actually educate themselves on issues and the platforms of candidates before backing or dismissing them. This goes for both political parties. Just because your daddy’s daddy’s daddy’s daddy voted Democrat should not be the sole reason you vote for a Democrat. That’s not reason enough. Every voter’s responsibility is to educate themselves, via multiple sources to minimize bias, on the issues to determine what really matters to them before they cast a ballot. If you can’t or won’t do that, then you are unqualified to vote. Yes, I said it and I mean it. I don’t believe that straight party voting should even be legal. But I’ll get off my soapbox now because that’s not the point of this post and I’m already treading into dangerous political waters and my blog is not about politics. Plus my blood pressure is rising and it’s too late at night for that.

So now we’ve got this yard sign. In a neighborhood where we’ve already been targeted by some acts of minor vandalism. In a neighborhood where I suspect that many folks would fall over dead if a black man became president.

But we finally had to say, fuck it. We have every right to express our support for our candidate, just like the McCain supporters. And isn’t the point of living in the US to enjoy the freedoms we hold dear, in this case to say what we want, support who we want, and not be persecuted for it? So we are making a stand and taking a chance that no one will damage or tear down our sign.

But I bought two, just in case. Come on, there is a difference between optimism and stupidity.

I slept like crap last night thanks to jackassery from my asshat neighbor. I don’t do well when I don’t get my sleep.

Bridget is just such a little raccoon lately. No matter what we do, she seems to have an uncanny knack for finding something she shouldn’t have, pausing just long enough to let you see that she has it, and then running off while laughing. Forget about packing the diaper bag - that’s best done when Raccoon Child is napping to avoid having the contents strewn across the house. We are having a big fight about keeping bottoms in chairs. Last night we found her standing on the kitchen table, doing her little Flashdance routine up there. We promptly put her in timeout but had to turn our backs to hide our laughter because, while horribly dangerous, it was stinkin’ cute. Today I found her crawling across the coffee table. That landed her another 90 seconds in timeout. I know she’s too young for timeout to have a lasting effect but she does seem to understand that she is being punished and it upsets her. Not that I want my child to be upset and cry but it is part of the disclipline process.

Sigh.

I hate that I spent so much time telling her no today. And it feels like I’m yelling at her, but if you don’t raise your voice with her and use a stern tone, she just laughs at you when try to discipline her. I’ve never seen a kid do that.

Sigh again.

I’m off to bed. Maybe a good night’s sleep, plus Mother’s Day Out tomorrow will restore my supply of patience.

• I got my car washed today for the first time since, oh about April. Yeah, I think it was April because I did it right before my surgery, since I knew we’d be taking a road trip that weekend. I forget how pretty my car is when it’s all clean. When I left the gym today, I actually panicked for a second because I couldn’t find my car. Then I realized that I just didn’t recognize it - my car is not actually gray after all, it just looks that way when it’s dirty.
• I’m not sure if I blogged this before or if I just Twittered it but I’ve long suspected that Trainer Dave shaves his arms and legs. I did a few sly inspections for stubble and saw none and just thought, “wow maybe he’s just naturally hairless.” But no, it’s confirmed. Today there was distinct stubble on his forearms. Why, Trainer Dave, why? I get why swimmers shave their body hair, and maybe even cyclists. But the average gym rat does not need to lose the hair for speed. Ick. Then I started to wonder what his fiancee thinks about the whole thing and if they share a razor. Double ick.
• I have yet another fucking yeast infection. I’m sorry to any men out there reading this. But damn. I’m so sick of this. I know that it’s because I had to take antibiotics for the huge gaping wound from my mole removal. There are few minor feminine problems that are more awful than a yeast infection. Obviously it’s not as bad as say, cancer. But my breast surgery was far less uncomfortable than this and that came with Xanax. And apparently I am prone to them because I rarely get just one. I get them over and over and over. Then it’ll go away and I’ll go years without one at all. My doctor has told me that I need to just make douching with vinegar and water a regular part of my routine, as in, do it a couple times a week. I also read online that some women use boric acid, making capsules out of it, placing them up the va-jay-jay. I’m not sure I can put roach poison up my hoo-ha, but I’m also not ruling it out if the prescription and the vinegar don’t work.
• I have a scribbled note to myself about a blog post idea that could either be “condom” or “condiment.” Since I have no way of knowing which it is, I’ll just talk about both. Even though we are married and healthy and not trying to prevent pregnancy, we’ve been on the condom bandwagon for a while. That’s because of my above mentioned battle with Canidida albicans. In an effort to rule out the possibility of passing this back and forth to each other, we’ve decided to use condoms until I am all clear again. And it sucks. I hate them. Just to go on the record with that. I know you all wanted my opinion. Not that we are having sex while I’m in the midst of an infection because OUCH! But in between. I won’t feel good about giving them up until I have gone two straight months without any symptoms. And yes, I’ve been to the doctor for a battery of tests.  I’m not diabetic or HIV positive and this is not chlamydia or any other STD. It’s nothing other than a stubborn cooter. (How many different euphimisms for “vagina” can I use in one blog post?)
• As for condiments, I cannot be sure what I wanted to say really. I recently decided that the only use in the world for ketchup is on french fries. I refuse to eat it on anything else. I spent most of my life thinking I hated mustard, when in fact I just hate yellow mustard. I like the spicy brown kind of mustard. If you live near a Potbelly Sandwich Works, you should try theirs. YUMMY. I crave their mustard. Mayonnaise has its place in the world but to me that’s really just in salads. In general, I don’t put mayo on a sandwich with one exception - a BLT. That sucker MUST have mayo. And it must be Hellman’s (or Best Foods depending on where you live in the country). Great, now I want a BLT.  I think that Kraft mayo and Miracle Whip are disgusting and you will never ever find either in my kitchen. Relish is the spawn of the devil and I don’t understand why anyone eats it. In fact, relish is the reason I don’t eat tuna, chicken or potato salads out or at other people’s houses. Because most of the world puts relish in these things and most of the world is wrong. I only eat my mom’s potato salad recipe, which I am learning to make almost as well as she does, and nary of a speck of the evil relish can be found in it.  I am on the fence about barbecue sauce. I am not a fan of most bottled kinds but I like it at barbecue restaurants. I think I’m all out of condiments to discuss now.
• The working out is going very well. My stomach is far far flatter than it used to be, in just a little over one month’s time. But I’m not really seeing a significant drop in my weight. I know that muscle weighs more than fat and that by building muscle I will speed up my metabolism, which will make me burn more calories even at rest. But I had hoped to see a poundage drop. My current pants are too big but a size down in pants is too small. That’s annoying. However, I bought a skirt last week in a size I have not worn since we lived in New York and the size of my wedding dress. Granted, I always wear a smaller size in skirts than I do in pants, and this does not mean that I could fit into my wedding dress today, but it was a minor victory. I also know that if I really were to be motivated I’d be a calorie counter, but I just can’t do it. I’m Italian. We eat and talk with our hands. If you take food away from me, I’d lose my identity. I do try to plan my food better and make smarter choices about food and portion sizes, but no matter what Trainer Dave says, I will not be writing down my calories. I work out so that I can continue to eat most of the things I like. In moderation. I don’t do well with deprivation and I will never consider any food off limits. Except liver. That’s always off limits but more for the gag factor than anything else.

And that concludes our random bullet list for today. Tune in tomorrow when there might be a cohesive post. Or not.

Last year for his birthday a wee bit early, Jake got the original iPhone. Not out of the goodness of my heart really, but more because I could not take him bitching about the damn thing for one single second longer. He annoyed me into buying it for him.

Here he is with it, expressing his love for his new phone.

This year, the new edition of the iPhone comes out on my birthday. Which means that when Jake gets that one, I get his old one.

Not that I especially have a need for the iPhone. I hate cell phones in general and carry one because…. I don’t even know why I carry one. I guess for safety’s sake. I hate text messages, I don’t like getting voice mails, I don’t have any emails urgent enough that I need to see them whenever they arrive, wherever I am,  and I never feel the need to surf the web while I’m out and about. So honestly the phone is going to be very much wasted on me. I’ll be the only one with an iPhone who has no idea how to use it.

(And no, Jake does not suck for giving me a used iPhone for my birthday. I bought myself the lovely new bag recently and we are going on a vacation very soon. I don’t need anything else.)

And we just now made plans to get together. We met for coffee at a Starbucks and gabbed for almost five hours. I’m not even kidding. We met at 2 and the first time I looked at my watch it was quarter to seven. And when I left my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

It just reminded me again of how amazing the internet is. I’ve built some amazing connections with people all over the place.  I’ve shed tears of sorrow and happiness over weddings, births, deaths, pregnancies lost and relationships ended with these friends. And most of them I may never meet in real life. But that doesn’t make the connections any less real, or mean that I care any less about the ups and downs in the lives of my friends.

Can you imagine how weird this must sound to someone a generation older? To have a friend that you care dearly about and celebrate birthdays with and buy gifts for that you’ve never laid eyes on in person must just boggle their minds. But I love how none of you think it’s weird. In fact, chances are good that if you’re reading this, you are probably one of the people that I’m talking about.

Any of you have a heart-warming tale of a connection you’ve made online?

So here’s where I need help. I always thought that we’d keep her in the crib until she could get out of it. I just never thought that she’d be this close to getting out of it. So do I just wait to see how long it takes her to get out? But I don’t want to find out she can get out of her crib by her landing on her head. On the other hand, I can’t imagine her in a toddler bed yet either. She would not stay in it. She’d get up the minute the door closed and end up falling asleep on the floor somewhere. But I don’t like the idea of a crib tent. We bought one a while back but I don’t think it would have attached to our crib so we got rid of it.

What would you do about this? Do I just wait to see how long it takes her? I mean, it could conceivably be months and months before she goes over. I kind of think that even if she does go over, she most likely will not be seriously hurt - how many kids have climbed out of their cribs over the years and lived to tell about it? And it might scare her enough to make her not do it again for a long time. Or not. I don’t know. I live in a constant state of fear over this. Every time I hear her cry in the middle of the night, I’m convinced that she’s on the floor of her room trying to get out.

Help!

More tomorrow. Happy Fourth of July.

Closer inspection shows the exact utensils she finds the most intriguing:

Since a couple of these things could be dangerous for a little one who stands on her tiptoes and reaches one sticky grabby hand up into the drawer and feels her way around for what she wants, it’s apparently time for drawer locks. I was hoping to avoid those since I hate drilling too many holes into our cabinetry. But she’s tall enough and curious enough now, and also not content with emptying the drawer or towels and cloth napkins. I guess we need to consolidate sharp objects and put a lock on that one drawer.

When, oh when will my kitchen be my own again? When can I use pot or a pan without having to wash it first because I don’t know if there is toddler spit and dog hair in it from being dragged around the house?

I won’t hold my breath.

Back with more tomorrow.

Not that anyone else would be so stupid. What the hell am I doing with a green sharpie anyway?

Back in February of 2005, I had the amazing opportunity to go with Jake to Paris. We used miles for my flight, work paid for Jake’s, and we had enough Hilton points to make the one night of hotel we had to pay (an extra night over what Jake had to stay for work) free. We stayed at the Hilton Paris.

We arrived on a Thursday morning, having flown all night. We ate at a lovely cafe near our hotel and were able to check in to our hotel. And then we made the horrible mistake of taking a nap. NEVER EVER do that. Stupid amateur mistake. So we fought jet lag the rest of the trip, which was awful. But Friday morning/afternoon, we were up and about and on our way to Notre Dame. This is me sitting in front of our hotel waiting for Jake to go back up to the room to get something.

We were really that close to the Eiffel Tower. But here’s a secret  - the Eiffel Tower is not really such a great place to be in Paris. It’s not really all that close to anything else. But it sure is pretty. Did you know the Eiffel Tower sparkles at night? Here’s a picture from our hotel window.

Paris is beautiful and I loved the Louvre and Notre Dame, but it didn’t capture my heart they way it does with some people. I much preferred our last day spent in Normandy, where we lucked into a fantastic tour of the beaches and WWII sites.

This is Omaha Beach from the American cemetery there.

I’d love to go back to France and spend more time in the rest of the country. One day perhaps.

Poor Monkey is still not back to her old self yet. She’s still sleepy and pretty clingy. She slept for about four hours today and then went on one errand with Jake that seemed to wear her our. Although I can honestly say that a trip to Frye’s wears me out too, so it could just be that particular errand that sucked the life out of her. When they came home she was crying and only wanted me to hold her. She was hungry but wouldn’t eat much. I made Jake give her a bath just because I know that I always feel better after a bath, especially when I’m sick.

I’m glad we are almost at the end of this particular bout of illness. This has sucked like a two-dollar whore. And you can quote me on that.

I don’t know why but it annoys the hell out of me when someone rings your doorbell and then follows up immediately with a loud knock. It’s like I didn’t get my ass to the door soon enough for their liking. I just find that incredibly rude, especially when it’s someone ringing my bell unsolicited. If it’s food delivery or UPS - something that I ordered- that’s one thing. Annoying but tolerable. But when you are ringing my bell to sell me something, don’t be a double asshole by doing the ring-knock combo. That’s just jackassery.