We’re making animal noises these days. And he is one fierce beast…
We’re making animal noises these days. And he is one fierce beast…
I’m reading another one of the incredible Deepak Chopra’s books again. Man, he’s amazing. He really makes me think. The book is called The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire. It’s pretty heavy-handed when discussing spirituality and science, but well worth the read if your looking for something introspective. Here’s one of my favorite quotes as of late:
Killer reminder. And on that note, I’m off to see my soul…
People say a lot of stupid shit at pivotal points in life. (Mental responses in blue)
About marriage or commitment:
About having your first kid:
And then about having another:
I mean really, people.
I bet if you asked a mother of four she’d say it feels a little different than the days of when she had two. Just a guess. For sure, having two is no joke. It’s a juggling act I’m managing as skillfully as I can right now. And some days I definitely get it handed to me.
But at this point, I’m not buying the: “What’s one more?” So don’t try me.
I got my haircut the other day and my hair lady was telling me about this gang in Boulder. I know I live in a bubble, but WTF right? Boulder? Anyway, she got jumped on Pearl Street on Halloween night two years ago at about 1 in the morning. She was beat up so bad she had to have plastic and reconstructive surgery. Dear God.
At any rate, I was telling Luke about this and after feeling awful for my hair-cutter friend, he responded:
LUKE: “Well, just so you know I’m also hoping to become a part of a gang.”
ME: Rolling my eyes and laughing, “Oh yeah?” Because I imagine most gang bangers eagerly and overly enthusiastically tell their partners they are ‘hoping to become a part of a gang.’
LUKE: Excitedly responds, “Yeah, it’s called the Chain Gang. It’s an association for chain restaurants on the West Coast. Our company is really hoping to become involved.” Smiling brightly.
Again, dear God.
Well, we made a trip out to the hospital this past Friday night thinking I was going into labor. Turns out I’m an idiot and after one kid still can’t recognize a contraction. The doc didn’t even come into our room, he just sent the nurse to tell us to “come back when the contractions actually hurt.” Sheesh. Total rookie move.
But I’ve been having contractions close together ever since, which feels a bit strange. Luker and I went out to dinner on Sunday to celebrate our 6 year anniversary and I was contracting like a mother fucker–every five minutes. One “tip” the nurse gave us was to “get up and walk if I started contracting while sitting down to see if they kept up.”
Dear Luker is endearingly on edge because of all the hype lately. Every move I make he’s wondering if maybe this is it. “Are you contractions stronger? Should I be timing? I think this is it!” He says with each sound I utter. So as we were out that night, I felt a particularly strong one.
“Okay,” Luker responded as we sat at the St. Julien hotel eating dessert, “I want you to get up and walk from the window to the wall to see if this is for real.” I laughed at him thinking there ain’t no way I’m moving this truck of a woman away from the creme brulee. Nice try. He then added the best part: “I wonder if that’s what Lil Jon was thinking. You know, in his song.”
As you can tell from the video, Lil Jon was most definitely preoccupied with his wife’s (that he likely doesn’t have) contractions when he references windows and walls. For sure.
Well, Luker’s birthday is right around the corner. Time to get my bake on. Those of you who read my blog know that Luker is pretty into boxed cake, despite my love of homemade cookin’.
This year, I asked him what he wanted and he immediately responded “Funfetti.” Obviously. But then he sat for a moment deep in thought. I have this killer vegetarian cookbook that a friend’s parents gave us when we got married. It has all kinds of recipes…including desserts.
“How about spotted dick?” He said laughing, referring to this o-so-fabu cookbook. I thought it was funny too. Spotted dick. What about that is not funny? Exactly.
I’ve looked at the recipe a million times, but never actually made it. I somehow can’t imagine making one and then having the in-laws over: “Here, have a piece of my warm, spotted dick,” I’d say as I brushed my hands on my apron.
But this time, I’m goin’ for it. That’s right people, thanks to Luker’s birthday, we’ll be eating our first spotted dick.
That’s right folks. We’re having a BOY this time around! Here’s how we found out…
Luker and I had planned to find out on Valentine’s Day but not right at our appt with the ultrasound tech. We wanted to do something special and have just the two of us find out together. The Doc knew we didn’t want to know right away, so she put a little card in an envelope for us to open later…
That night for Valentine’s Dinner, Luke got reservations at Frasca, arguably the best restaurant in Boulder. I didn’t know where we were going, so it was all a surprise. When we got there, we told our waiter that we had this envelope and we wanted him to take it and open it in the back. If it said “girl” we wanted him to bring Luker a shot of tequila. If it said “boy” we told him to bring scotch in honor of Luke’s Grandpa. He laughed and took the envelope to the back and proceeded to tell the entire wait staff who all stared at us, smiled and laughed.
Luke kept trying to say all these really romantic things to me and I swear I heard not one word. I was so freaking nervous/excited to see him bring out the damn shot. Ten minutes, which felt like 20 hours, passed and he walked out with the shot. Bartenders, waiters and managers all looked on. The glass was a dark golden color. I was sure it was a girl and I was psyched about it. We both were.
He placed the shot in front of Luker and without a sniff, Luke slammed it. I waited and waited for him to say something. The waiter stood at our table waiting.
“Tequila!” Luke said proudly, “we’re having a GIRL!”
We started to hug and get all excited and the waiter was like: “It’s Belvedere (something-or-other).” Luke and I nodded our heads.
“You said scotch for a boy, right?” Now the waiter was worried. Had he screwed up? “It’s like the best scotch we have.” He opened the card in front of us to prove that yes, it said BOY.
I started crying due to the shock of it all and we both felt ridiculous because of our lack of alcohol recognition skillz. Hadn’t our training in high school taught us anything? At that point, everyone in the restaurant was looking at us and smiling and coming over to congratulate us. Quite a moment.
TWO MAIN TAKE AWAYS:
It’s a new year, and like every other asshole on the planet I joined a gym. Hear me out before you write me off as a total fool…
My main motive was less about exercise and more about daycare. On the nights that Luke’s working late, I need to get myself out of the house. There’s an Abo’s Pizza and a coffee shop next door to this gym. So, I can just show up in my gym clothes, drop her off, and go next door to have all you can eat pizza in my spandex. How’s that for brilliant? Exactly.
When I joined, the usual salesman with the usual salesman-y attitude (plus a red face and a bulging muscle shirt) brought me into his office to “discuss my options.” Great. Our conversation went something like this:
Salesman: Do you plan on working out like four-six times per week?
Me: I was thinking more like once.
Salesman: Let me offer you something special, we are running a deal where if you come four times per week..blah blah blah..(He definitely wasn’t listening..at that point neither was I).
Me: I just like that you guys have daycare.
Salesman: What about a punch card?
Me: For daycare?
He didn’t quite know how to handle me. With all the steroids he’d been taking, his swimmers had clearly died off long ago. So the thought of using a gym as a daycare facility just didn’t connect in his wee noggin that was being so tightly squeezed betwixt his shoulder muscles.
Luker and I have never really done the whole Christmas thing. I mean, we celebrate with our families and all, but really the holiday hasn’t had tons of significance for us. Now that we have a kid, we are trying to figure out how Christmas will look in our family.
So we went ahead and did the whole tree thing this year, despite years of protest prior. Nothing fancy, no cutting of trees or anything like that. We just went down to the local King Soopers to pick one out.
Luke took charge; I think getting a tree is a manly thing.
“Show me the biggest tree you got.” Luke said confidently flashing his dimples to the slightly annoyed, aproned, male-store-clerk.
I’m pretty sure the thing was like 10 feet tall, at least 10 feet around. He tied it to the top of the car proudly, and as I shook my head smiling he yelled:”You didn’t marry me cause I went for the small things in life, Honey!“ Now the store clerk was shaking his head too.
It was a total Griswald Moment when we got it home:
Poor Luker, he could barely fit the darn thing through the door. And once he got it inside and in place, it was completely encroaching on both couches on either side. Not a chance anyone could sit down.
Sadly, our dear Luker had to take the tree back. There was no way. We got another one that seems to fit. But unfortunately, the thing is already dead. We may have been a little eager this year. Hell, there’s a first time for everything. Maybe we’ll get it right next year.
I’ve been trying to get Cora hip to different body parts. She’s nailed ears, mouth, nose, feet, hair, tummy and a few other essential spots. The other day, when changing her diaper, she grazed her business. To which I responded: “vagina.”
Luke was upstairs and heard me. “Ewww!” He hollered from upstairs, “don’t call it that!”
“Well what, My Dear, shall I call it?” I asked from her room.
“Call it privates or something like that.”
Okay. Point taken. Maybe she’s not ready for vagina. Hell, I’m hardly mature enough to use the word. But my mind went back to all the teaching courses I took on health, and how certain buzz words (penis, vagina) need to be desensitized for young people.
I mean what would she think if she grew up thinking her vaj was called “private?” Consider the following (sub vaj where appropriate):
Just imagine it.
As for now, I think I’ll stick with vagina with an occasional use of “business” or as my friend Kylie says, “va-jay-jay.”
All I can say is thank goodness we don’t have a boy. I have a whole slew of nicknames for those parts…maybe this post should be titled “On Maturity.”
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