Happy Halloween to You and Yours!

Why my husband and I were meant for each other

Stephen has an amazing, recently discovered gift. He has the ability to decipher the celebrity voice narrating every commercial on television. That is to say, he can describe the physical attributes and character traits associated with each celebrity narrating the commercials but can not name them because Stephen is really REALLY terrible with names. I, however, am really REALLY excellent with names, especially famous ones. So Stephen hears the commercial, says something like, "The Office, Tall guy," and I shout, "John Krasinski!" Or he says, "Home Improvement, drugs, prison," and I declare, "Tim Allen!"
So yeah. Soul mates.

Divisible by 3

Guess who's 9 months...tomorrow...

Ivy is mobile. Insanely mobile. She's the Usain Bolt of crawling. She pulls herself to a standing position on the couch, the wall, and her crib. The paranoid mother in me wants to get her a helmet to soften the blow of the falls that happen so many times a day. The only time she sits still is to watch older kids and dream of the day she too will walk, talk and wear shoes. 

Ivy has very little interest in baby toys and too much interest in computers, phones, remotes and wires. She turns her nose up at baby food but devours rice, naan, meat balls, chicken, grapes and green beans. She insists on holding a spoon when she eats, even though she doesn't know what to do with it and uses her hands to shove food in her mouth. She may start talking soon but judging by her jabbering, I think she's convinced that she already speaks. This morning I asked her to say "mom" and she replied, "dadadadada." Well played, Ives. 

Ivy loves to laugh and often flashes big, two-teethed smiles to get a giggle out of Stephen or me. She chases Ollie and steals his toys, which, by they way, are a million times less cute and a million times more boring than her toys that she refuses to play with. She seems to enjoy making new friends as long as a parent is still in sight. 

Ivy only cries when she needs something, and even though she gets into a million different things a day, it's pretty amazing how she can keep herself entertained.  She plays for hours, always rediscovering objects, turning them over, hitting them, giggling about them, sharing them with her mom.

I don't know what I did before Ivy was around. I must have been so lonely without my tiny buddy. 

Extreme Makeover: Dog Edition

Before:

After:

Good pet owners probably groom their animals more than twice a year. Good pet owners also probably don't give their dogs cookies to keep them quiet. Because we've trained him so well, he's a total maniac when the groomer comes at him with scissors. So we got a prescription for sedatives. Today we doubled the dose, and, as you can imagine, hilarity ensued. He fell asleep sitting up, ran into a wall, and finally sprawled himself on the ground and had to be carried through the Paw Spa doors.

Ivy thinks that my laptop is the world's greatest toy that I'm not letting her have. She makes her opinion about this known. Frequently. So today I let her type a little something: 

Aaaaaaaaaaa3WS 2QQa W @Xq w. 

Maybe it's too early to tell, but I'm going to go ahead and assume she's a child prodigy. If not in poetry then in computer science because in the fifteen seconds she had her hands on the keyboard she used at least eight keyboard shortcuts I never knew existed.

3 weeks...

TGIF, can I get an amen? What a week. Being an undecided voter in a swing state is not as awesome as one might think. Turns out being in part responsible for picking the next leader of the free world is a little more stressful than picking the next American Idol. Speaking of reality television, in a completely shocking turn of events, Jef with one F and Emily of The Bachelorette have broken up. When you've finished sobbing enough to at least see through your tears, you can read my thoughts on the split here. But back to politics. The debate Tuesday night reminded me a lot of childhood when my siblings and I would play board games and argue about the rules and eventually someone would pull someone's hair. After that incredibly awkward ninety minutes I was ready to write in Pill Pulman in Independence Day on my ballot. So I was relieved to see the following clip from the Al Smith dinner and be reminded that there is some semblance of civility left between the these two men. I don't know where to find Obama's speech. Sorry.

Who are you voting for? I'd love to hear your rational reasons for doing so. If you tell me that Obama's an ignorant communist or Romney's a heartless flip-flopper I won't take you seriously. But I would really love to hear why you think one man would make a better leader than the other.

Too much candy's gonna make you sick

Our Home Owners Association discovered the secret to truly horrifying Holloween decorations. The trick is, the less the spookier. And by less I mean one. A single gravestone nestled in the corner bushes. No name, no death pun, just a skull and cross bones with the dates 1890-1921. I would think there was an actual 31 year old buried beneath the bushes if the marker weren't made of cardboard. I checked the other corner bushes and found no goofy spider webs, tissue paper pumpkins or over-sized spiders. Just the one cardboard gravestone partially hidden in the bushes. Guys, maybe it IS real, and the mass murderer who buried his (yes, I'm assuming it's a man) victim there ninety-one years ago knew that if he marked the grave with cardboard everyone would assume it was just a silly holiday decoration and he totally got away with it.
Happy Halloween?

Like Jeff Foxworthy but without the moustache

You know you're a good parent when:
-Your daughter laughs hysterically every time you say "poop"
-The onesie on your child is covered in food spills and you know you'll probably only change it if you decide to post a picture on Instagram.
-An unplugged ethernet cord has become an acceptable chew toy
-Your phone ""
-You give your baby an old remote control to fall asleep with because it soothes her.
-After giving your baby an old remote control and assuming she fell asleep you walk in ten minutes later to find her gnawing on her crib railing.

You know you're holding up well as a person when:
-You finally shower at 3:00 pm
-In your afternoon shower you shampoo your hair three times because you can't remember if you already have.
-You eat tortilla chips for lunch and chocolate chips for desert.
-You decide you're clever for having a chip themed food day when you actually didn't plan it and only realized the coincidence after the fact while blogging.

A national security update

Good news everyone: Gerber is not participating in chemical warfare. Their baby food is just baby food and not liquid anthrax. Thank Heavens Ivy's banana breakfast was in a four ounce jar (.5 ounces over the limit) and subject to TSA testing or we'd all still be laying awake at night in fearful wonder, amirite?

the whites of your eyes

I don't drink, so I rarely find myself in a liquor store. That may be why I felt so lost in Fox's Wine and Beer as I stared at walls and walls of alcohol, trying to remember what the movies taught me about the difference between Merlot and Chardonnay. I wanted to make Beef Bourguinon and the recipe was insistent that normal grocery store cooking wine would not suffice. Instead, one must use a quality Pinot noir for a flavor base. Guess what. I couldn't find a single bottle that said "Pinot noir, best used in Beef Bourguinon, buy me now". Heck, I couldn't even find a bottle that said "Pinot noir". I read labels that said things like "Earthy undertones" which made me think of worms and "nutty aroma" which made me think of the Nutty Professor which made me think of Eddie Murphy which made me think of the movie 1,000 words which I recently watched on an airplane and is two hours of my life I will never get back and it was while I was in this black hole of confusion and regret that a store clerk asked if I needed any help. In one breath I blurted "I don't drink but I'm cooking and I need a Pinot noir and I don't know what that is please help me." He handed me a bottle and before he could present any other choices I paid and left.

I thought that was the end of my alcohol inadequacies for the day, but then it came time to add the wine to the beef and I had no idea how to open the bottle. Because we don't drink we don't own a corkscrew, and, as it turns out, they don't mess around with corking bottles. Those suckers are in there tight, and a corkscrew is absolutely necessary in accessing the Pinot noir needed for the Beef Bourguinon which was shaping up to be the most high maintenance meal ever. I was about to break the bottle open on the counter when stephen intervened. He googled my dilemma, watched a youtube video, then proceeded to use a wire hanger and a paring knife to uncork the stupid bottle. Fifteen minutes, a nearly injured husband and a massacred cork later, the wine met the meat.  

The point of this cautionary tale, because I know you were wondering, is that if you find yourself in need of a dinner party host, someone who knows fancy beverages and how to open them, do not call me. And as for the Buorguinon, next time I'm using Diet Coke.

Play us out, Keyboard Cat

Happy Weekend!

PS: Here's my TV review for the week: http://weareontv.blogspot.com/2012/10/and-then-sometimes-television-breaks.html

puppy, baby, tomaeto, tomahto

My child thinks she's a dog.
Whenever Ollie growls, Ivy growls right back, and now she's started growling at every dog she sees.
She tries to get to the dog food any time she's on the floor.
She's gotten in trouble more than once for chewing on shoes.
If I'm not paying close enough attention, she'll nibble on a cracker, let Ollie have a few licks, then nibble on it again. I've learned to pay closer attention.
Last night for the first time in a long time, Ivy refused to sleep and screamed for what felt like an hour. After trying everything I could think of, I laid her down next to Ollie and she immediately stopped crying and fell asleep.

I just took the computer cord away from her and she growled at me.

when you're a stranger

Let me start by saying that we, Stephen, Ivy, Ollie and I really like Longmont, our small Colorado town. We're surrounded by warm, friendly people, trees whose leaves have just begun to turn, a handful of gourmet food shops, and parks on every corner.

All those things said, we're pretty sure that Longmont was originally founded by extraterrestrials.

As one drives into Longmont they are greeted by this:

I believe this is where the space ship originally landed and the sphere is still used to communicate with the mother ship. The feathers are for aesthetic purposes only, obviously.

Drive down main street and you'll see this:

This covers the entire side of a building. That cat is at least 6-feet. The "visitors" must of misunderstood what a business logo is meant to be. Sidebar: We took Ollie to Paws & Claws once and they shaved off his beard. Aliens aren't well-enough acquainted with the various grooming standards for dog breeds to run a grooming service.

And this:

This mural is on the side of a store. I don't know what they sell, but I'm pretty sure it's not dead Native-American Women. Space travelers are slightly racist.

Take a turn on 9th and you'll see this:

What I really should have photographed were the people walking in and out of this smoke shop. Proof that the unearthly species still dwells here. 

 Walk around McIntosh Lake and you'll run into this:

Two Alien hands entwined in the intergalactic symbol of love.

And finally, as one exits Longmont by way of Ken Pratt Boulevard (one of the two Ken Pratt Boulevards- aliens don't understand that there shouldn't be identical street names in one city), one finds the sacrificial alter:

These light up at night and turn an eerie green.

A quarter mile trail leading to the alter, lined with what must be grave markers.

Here's the overhead view (zoom in about four times):

If that's not a crop circle, I don't know what is.

Let's just hope they came in peace.