Technical Difficulties and Other Stuff

I just got finished reading 70 blog posts.  That’s right.  Seventy.  That’s how many I’ve missed since Saturday, when I couldn’t have read a street sign, much less a blog post,  for getting ready for Tater Tot’s party.  It’s also the day our internet connection dropped dead.

Our internet people finally came Tuesday.  I explained that Tater Daddy had already crawled around under the house and marked the place on the cable where the problem was.  He just couldn’t fix it himself.  Charles, the internet man, wandered around the backyard for a few minutes, came back in and said that the problem wasn’t back there.  I repeated the whole thing about the cables running under the house and even showed him the hole in the floor.  Then I pointed to a spot on the floor and said, “My husband said to tell you that you’ll find the problem spot right about here.”  Charles went back outside, stood there for a minute or two, and returned to tell me that the whole cable was damaged and that he’d have to put in an order for someone to come out at a later time to run a new one.

Charles is no fool.  He didn’t want to crawl around under the house.

Tater Daddy came home and he was…er…kind of put out.  After supper, he went to Lowe’s, bought what we needed and tried again.  It took the better part of the night and two trips under the house, but we are now connected to the outside world again.

According to my husband, though, Charles is an idiot.

In other news, we’ve been without a dishwasher since I mentioned it to you a couple of weeks ago, but I finally picked on out yesterday.  It is supposed to be delivered and installed before 8:30 this morning.  While I’ll be happy to have my new dishwasher, with its Jetclean II and ToughScrub powers, it should be illegal for deliveries to be made at 7:15, don’t you think?

I’ll be back in a day or so because I do have other stuff to blog about.

By the way, “I really loved the last haircut.  I think I might like to go even a little shorter this time,” does not translate smoothly into hairdresser-speak.  I know this because I spoke those very words yesterday when I got my hair cut.  I left the salon not with a shorter version of the very cute and sassy hairdo I got four weeks ago, but with a short haircut resembling one Princess Di once sported. In the 80s.

I still love they guy who cuts my hair, and I should have been more clear about keeping the same general style and less enthusiastic and “going shorter!”  Fortunately, my hair grows like a Chia Pet.

I have to go water my head now.

I’m Playing Along

I’m playing along today in Kelly’s “Show Us Your Life” carnival.  I love it when someone else thinks up something for me to do, especially when I have a bazillion other things to do.  Tater Tot’s birthday is Sunday, and his party (we just do a family thing for now) is tomorrow.  He will be three years old.  THREE!  He was a baby, and then I blinked twice and now he’s three.  Whew!

Back to the carnival.  Today’s theme is to show your wedding dress.  Tater Daddy and I got married in October 1994.  When my mother and I went shopping for my dress, I was determined to find one with a super long train and absolutely no bows.  Naturally, I chose one with a sweep train and a huge bow on my rear end, not to mention the bow that attached to my veil.

The skirt was plain with a beaded bodice, as was the look in the day.  Here I am with my Daddy.  It’s one of my favorite pictures of us.

Here’s the happy couple coming out the front doors of the church after all of the pictures had finally been taken.  And look!  Tater Daddy didn’t have any gray hair!  I guess fifteen years of being married to me put the gray right in him!  Haha!

So there you go.  Head on over to Kelly’s Korner and check out what other people were wearing the day they got hitched.  Feel free to play along.  Let me know if you do and I’ll be sure to head back over and check it out.

I’m off to pick up some last-minute things for Tater Tot’s party.  He’s really into Lightning McQueen and the Cars characters.  Kachow! Kachow!

Well, I Guess He TOLD Me

Tater Tot was bumping into Zeus on purpose.  Zeus is 14 and, though pretty healthy for his age, kind of feeble.  The following exchange took place.

ME:  Stop bumping into Zeus.  He’s old.

TATER TOT:  (yelling)  No!  YOU’RE old!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s 5:00 and I have to go.  I want to beat the crowd at Luby’s.

What I Did On My Bloggy Vacation

It appears that I’ve channeled my inner 7th-grade spirit and have decided to write about what I did on my vacation in which I went absolutely nowhere.  It was fabulous.

Believe it or not, I only napped once, and it was interrupted by a phone call after about 40 minutes.  Let’s face it.  Napping falls into the category of Things I’d Like to Do Again when a toddler and a newborn are in da house.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I watched a fair amount of TV, mostly whatever Tater Daddy was watching.  Oh, my!  There is a whole other world of television outside of Diego and Caillou.  Have y’all seen any of The History Channel’s The Revolution?  I’m normally snoring by the second word when it comes to these shows, but this is a GREAT series.  I’ve also become hooked on Drop Dead Diva, and I hope I can remember to watch it or at least record it.  When Army Wives came on the air, I was all over it.  Then for some reason I forgot to watch one episode, and that was it.  Big Brother started last week.  Some seasons I’m interested, others not so much.  This season seems to promise several train wrecks (Chima is one all unto herself), so I just can’t turn away.  I also want to see if I can catch Jesse with his shirt ON.  

My mother’s garden is starting to come in, so Tater Tot, Small Fry and I met her about halfway between Memphis and her house one day last week.  She loaded us up with tomatoes, cucumbers, and eggplant.  We nearly killed ourselves on BLTs and fried eggplant.  Shut. Your. Mouth.  It was divine.  (She just called to say the corn is ready to be picked.  I wept tears of joy.)

One night we made a homemade pizza.  Exciting, I know.  We’ve never made one, though, and it was pretty good.  I wish the crust had been thinner and crispier, but for a first time effort, it wasn’t bad.  Plus, it was fast.  I was so proud bored that I took a picture of it.

I found the recipe at cooks.com.  I’ve had a lot of luck using that site, but there may be some others out there.  Do you know of an online recipe site that has great recipes?  I’d love to know about it, because I am in a food RUT.

Our dishwasher died a couple of weeks ago, so I’ve been looking around for one to replace it.  I got serious about it last week and have narrowed it down to two.  Then, because the appliance gods apparently hate us, the microwave joined the dishwasher and “crossed over to the other side.”  Nice.  Have you looked at microwaves lately?  Some of them promise to do everything from cook a roast to make your bed for you every morning.  Those are nice perks, but I don’t want to pay $800 for a microwave.  I’d like a simple microwave; one that will let me set the time to pop my popcorn and reheat leftover pizza; one that will tell me the time; and one that has a timer.  Guess which company makes this model?  Not a single one.

I watched movies with Tater Tot.  We played with dumptrucks and tow-trucks, tractors and bulldozers.  We pretended to be trains and bears and dinosaurs.  We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together, and we ate melting popsicles on the porch.  We read books and played catch and sang songs.  Sometimes, we were simply quite and still.

It’s good to step away for a little while every now and then.  

I guess you could say I took a bloggy nap, and it did me a world of good.

How are YOU?

Like a Needle in a Haystack

You wouldn’t think it would be that hard to find a pair of casual sandals; plain old brown go-with-everything sandals.

You, my friends, would be wrong.  That is, if you live in the world of me.

The thing is, I don’t like the thong sandal.  (Come to think of it, I don’t care for it in underwear-britches, but this post is about sandals.)  Don’t get me wrong.  I like the sandals themselves.  I just don’t like to wear them.

I’ve never liked that little strip of leather or nylon or whatever in between my toes.  It irritates me to no end.  Always has.  When I was little, around six or so, the big thing (in sandals) was to have a white or navy  blue pair of them — with a thong.  A single strip ran up your foot from the thong, met a strap that ran around the back of your foot and buckled at the ankle.  I still remember the blisters between my toes, and the memory still makes me wince.

There’s one more reason I avoid thongs, and it’s very simple.  I have the ugliest feet in the free world.  I’m not kidding.  They are U-G-L-Y.  It’s one of the main reasons I don’t get pedicures.  Subjecting an innocent person to my feet is just wrong.  I worked with a guy at my first job who was one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.  We were having a discussion about feet one day — we were very serious about our jobs, what with both being fresh out of college and all — and, long story still long, I let him look at my feet.  We became hysterical after making all kinds of jokes about my hideous feet, and then he summed it up.  ”Oh, my word!  You have Tasmanian Devil feet!”  I’ve never actually seen a Tasmanian Devil, but if I ever meet one, I should apologize to its species for the insult.

For the longest time I agreed with my mother that no one has cute feet except babies and toddlers.  But then I went off to college, and when I moved in with my friend, Diane, do you know what I discovered?  Diane had beautiful feet.  And she wore sandals that actually showed her toes.  Amazing!  Honestly, Diane should be making the big bucks as a foot model.

Any-ol-hoo, a couple of weeks ago, Tater Tot was at Parent’s Day Out and I had a whopping case of cabin fever, so Small Fry and I decided to wander about.  I haven’t bought sandals in a while, so we went into DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse).  I thought surely they would have a variety of sandals, not only in color, but in style, what with their 5 million pairs of shoes.

Here’s what I’ve been wearing for the last three years or so.  It’s what most of my sandals look like; no thong and a strap wide enough to cover the foot ugliness.

Just look how worn they are.

And, yes, that is some sort of stain on my sandal.  No doubt it is Tater Tot related.

If you look closely you can see all the dog hair on the carpet.  So much dog hair, so little time.

Anyway, I hauled Small Fry in his carrier up and down those aisles only to find thong after thong after thong, along with a couple of really ugly Gladiator-style sandals.  (I think I’m going to write Big Mama and ask her opinion on those.  What do you think?  Will she agree with me and say they are all kinds of wrong, or will she say they are actually a fashion must, thereby proving to the world that I am, indeed, a fashion idiot?)  What do you think about the Gladiator look?

I did find these, which are very comfy.  They’re not quite what I had in mind, but I do love the way they feel.  If you’ve ever worn anything Merrell, you know what I mean.

What in the world is a girl like me to do?  It’s a thong-lover’s world, and looking for a cute sandal without one is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Sighhhhhhh.

One haystack down, so many more to go.

Peeking Out

I’m poking my head back into the blog for one quick thing.

I just read this post from Missy’s blog.

Even if you don’t have children, it’s worth reading.  It’s reminds us how quickly things can happen to any of us.

Mama Needs A Vacay

I’d love  to tell you that I’m headed off for a week of rest and relaxation, but the odds of that happening don’t even exist.

I’m simply heading off for a week of not blogging.  I’ll keep reading your blogs because I’m hooked and couldn’t keep away if I tried.  What can I say?  Your blogs are like Diet Coke to me.  I’m hooked.

As for me, well, I’m running out of steam.  Y’all know how I need my steam.  So I’m going to take a week off.  Unless, of course, something fabulous happens.  In that case, I’ll be back immediately.  I wouldn’t hold my breath for it, though, so y’all have a great week, and I’ll catch you next Monday.

Do you think there’s any way I can possibly sneak in a few naps now that there are two little Taters around here?  You know how I lurves me some naps!

Super Hero in Training

And people thought Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, George Clooney, and Christian Bale were so great…

Wait ’til they catch a glimpse of Tater Tot as Batman.

Have a great weekend.  I hope it doesn’t require the help of a super hero.

Why My Mother REALLY Has Caller ID

If you ask my mother why she and my father broke down years ago and started paying for caller ID, she’ll tell you it’s due to years and years of menacing phone calls from a high school friend.  When MJ is on one of her tears, she calls up two or three folks from high school and badgers the stew out of them.  It has been this way for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been on the receiving end once or twice when I’ve innocently answered the phone and MJ has mistaken me for Mama.  Fun?  Not even close.

Before the days of caller ID, when word got around that MJ was either in town or had been left alone with a telephone, Mama and her two friends (Aunt Becky and “Miss” Elizabeth Ann), the other recipients of MJ’s rantings, would call each other with “Red Alerts!”

If one received a call from MJ, she’d call the other two and say, “Red alert, red alert!  MJ is on the loose!”  At that point, my brother and I had very clear instructions.  He and I became the chief phone answerers, and when one of us drew the short stick and got MJ, we were to politely say, “Miss MJ, Mama isn’t available right now but we’ll sure tell her you called,” and then HANG. UP. THE. PHONE.

That’s what Mama would tell you if you asked her why she loves (and needs) caller ID.

But I’m beginning to think that I’m her newest reason.

When we left her house Saturday night after a most delightful day and 4th of July celebration, I left with this bucket.

The blueberries are from a family friend who has a dozen or so bushes and is kind enough to let us pick.  I had no idea we could grow blueberries in the south and until a few years ago had never tasted fresh blueberries.  Delicious!  Tater Tot loves them and has snacked on them until we’re down to one or two little Tot-sized servings.

I’ve eaten about four tomato and cucumber sandwiches on white bread.  Slathered with mayonnaise.  The only way to have made them better would’ve been to add bacon and a couple of slices of Vidalia onion, neither of which were handy.    The sandwiches were still heavenly.  Sadly, though, I’m out of tomatoes, and store-bought tomatoes just won’t do…not after having had the real thing.

Mama also sent us home with this.

It was the most perfect cantaloupe I’ve ever eaten, and YES, I ATE THE WHOLE THING MYSELF WITHIN TWO DAYS.  Tater Daddy didn’t want any when offered, and it turns out that Tater Tot doesn’t like cantaloupe.  The child will eat tomatoes and blueberries, so we’ll forgive him on the cantaloupe-thing.

Here’s what I had for breakfast two days in a row.

I know.  Don’t you just want to walk right up to my front door, slap me six times and kick my shins?

After I polished off the cantaloupe, tomatoes, and cucumber, I immediately picked up the phone and called my mother to tell her how delicious everything was.  Then I started drilling asking her when she thought more tomatoes would be ripe.  The questions didn’t stop with tomatoes.

• What about cantaloupes?  
  
• How about cucumbers?  
  
• Because everything was soooooo tasty, and oh-by-the-way, Mama, did you happen to hear the part about how my greedy family I had eaten everything all up?  
  
• And what about the corn you planted?  When will it be ripe?  Some corn sure would be good right about now.  
  
• How are the watermelons looking?  
  
• When can we pick zipper peas?  I sure can’t wait for those zipper peas.  You know how I love zipper peas, Mama.
  
• What about eggplant?  Are they ready yet?  I mean, more than one at a time?  Tater Daddy and I sure do love fried eggplant.  How are those eggplant-planties coming along, Mama?

Mama and I usually talk every night around supper time.  That’s our regular time to catch up.  Lately, though, I’ve tried to call her during the day — early afternoon, mid-afternoon, sometimes late afternoon.

Guess what?  Many times, there is no answer.

I’m pretty sure she’s started screening her calls because her daughter has “the garden greed.”  

Curse you, Caller ID!!

2 Months Old

Somebody is growing like a weed.

Small fry is 2 months old, and judging by the size of those fat rolls, we may have to start calling him Crinkle Fry.  

Apart from the sweet baby fat he’s put on, here’s the low-down on what else he’s been up to.

He smiles more and more every day, and he’s cooing up a storm.  Sometimes he even squeaks.  (When Tater Tot did this, my Daddy used to ask if they made Baby WD-40.  Ha!)

Bless his heart.  Small Fry’s hair is soooo light that his little eyelashes don’t show up at all, but I promise he has them!  And they’re just as long as they can be.  They were pretty short until about a week ago and then they popped out like little blond spiders.

He cannot stand a wet diaper.  Two hours after you put a bottle in his mouth, he’s going to have a holy fit because his diaper is wet.  You can set your clock by it.  I usually change him in between the time he eats and his big fit, but at the two-hour mark, that diaper is WET and he is MAD.  Maybe he’ll be easy to potty train.  One can dream, I suppose.

He has dropped one of his nightly feedings, so he’s sleeping anywhere from seven to eight hours.  I’ve started adding a teaspoon of rice cereal to his bottle, and it has probably helped a little, but he really started the process on his own about two weeks ago.  (Stretching out the sleeping, that is.  He’s not old enough to measure the cereal correctly.)  One night he slept five hours straight and a few nights later he slept six and a half hours straight.  It’s very considerate of him to take it easy on his old mama, don’t you think?  (Especially when his sweet and precious older brother is most decidedly NOT.  I’ll fill you in later.)

Just because Small Fry sleeps 7-8 hours straight doesn’t mean that I am.  I still wake up every four hours or so and put my hand on his chest.

I think he’s trying to find his hand, which as I recall with Tater Tot, was the first step in finding his thumb.  While I realize that sucking his thumb isn’t any better than sucking on a pacifier, at least he’ll be able to find his own thumb in the middle of the night.

Small Fry prefers to turn his head one way and one way only.

Did you know that all babies have a preference due to the way they’re positioned in the womb?  I had no idea.  Well, while Small Fry was in the NICU, the nurses positioned him on the same side all the time, and it just happened to be the side that he naturally favors.  Who knew, right?  

He won’t turn his head to the left very far on his own.  So now, during tummy time, I have to turn his head for him and help him stretch the muscles on that side of his neck.  We don’t want him to have a lopsided head forever, after all.  He hates it.  Absolutely HATES it.  However, after only a few days of pulling on the poor child’s neck, he’s able to turn it much more easily. 

(When his pediatrician, whom we’ve know for a sweet forever and lurve like nobody’s business, was showing me what to do, I asked him to show me again.  I wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing and said, “You know, I don’t want to break the poor child’s neck.”  He laughed and said, “Oh, it’s highly technical.  You hold his head and turn it to the left.  And remember, they yank babies out by their heads when they’re born.  You’re not gonna break his neck by doing this move on him.”  They DO pull babies out by the head!  I’ve never thought about it in those terms, but have you ever stopped to think that it’s a wonder any of us ever got out?  I always focus on the fact that babies are crammed into such a small space for nine months. I hardly ever think about the very end until the VERY END when they have to crawl through such a small space.  No wonder so many babies have to be induced.  I’d take one look at that doorway and put the brakes on, too.)

But, I digress.

Speaking of tummy time, Small Fry is still working hard at lifting his head and chest off the floor.  We, and by we I mean I, sit with him and cheer him on.  Push ‘em up, push ‘em up, way up! until he just rests his little head on the mat.

He weighs 12 pounds and is 22 inches long.  He drinks 5 ounces at every meal except the last nighttime bottle.  He gets an extra ounce in that one, and he smacks it right down.  The boy likes his food, and he does not like to be kept waiting.  Small Fry has a big wail.

His burps will blow you out of the room, especially the ones that accompany the bottle with the rice cereal.  We burp him about halfway through each bottle, and he gives up those burps nicely.  However, he hangs on to the end-of-bottle burps and makes you work for them.  I suppose it’s payback for making him wait for the bottle to begin with.

He recognizes my voice and my face, and he smiles and wiggles when he sees me.  And, no, that doesn’t thrill me one bit.  If you believe that, I have some oceanfront property in Arizona I’d like to sell you.

I’d love to do some more bragging, but he’s only two-months-old.  

He won’t be solving algebraic equations for at least another month or two.