Grass it is.

Me: What do you want for lunch?
Rocco: Ring Pops.
Me: No Ring Pops for lunch. What do you want?
Rocco: Pockapoes. (popsicles)
Me: That's a treat, not lunch. What do you want?
Rocco: Treats.
Me: What do you want for real?
Rocco: Pancakes.
Me: We had pancakes for breakfast. What else?
Rocco: I wanna eat grass.
Me: Nevermind.

It's like going insane but in 4D

Since my last clearly insane post, we've added a beautiful baby daughter to our family. Mila Elizabeth was born April 14 (thanks to a little date I had with castor oil and OJ. [Not the murderer.]) With only two children, I can already relate to the crazy mom on Malcolm in the Middle. Sometimes it's like you have two choices: be a bitch or go completely insane. There is no third option. (Joe gets a daily text which, I'm sure, gives him an inkling which option I went with.) Choosing both is the easiest option, but I'm trying hard to stay out of Building 22, at least until I'm 50.

We spent a week at Joe's parents' house while they were visiting his sister in New Haven. We were SO excited to have a mini vacation because that's what it's always been, a vacation. Not so with a two-year-old and four-month-old. From an unexpected gecko in the living room to Rocco getting stuck in a huge clay pot, things got "interesting." He's realized that when I'm feeding Mila or putting in a load of laundry, he has a window of opportunity for misbehavior. "Oh, you don't want me to suck a melted Kit Kat through holes bitten through the wrapper? Well maybe you should have expressed that, because how would I know?""Crayons AREN'T for eating? Then why do they make them so deliciously waxy?"

My friend Rena joked about how years ago I said I wanted to have four kids. It's still a possibility, but just not until Mila is getting on the bus to Kindergarten. Having three little kids would end up in me having one option instead of two, and that option would be chosen by the tiny voices in my head...

I guess four green peppers is my limit. Good to know.

Last night I planned on going to the grocery store. I made my list and was ready to go. Then I started feeling exhausted and decided that it might be better if Joe went instead. This meant specifying each item on the list with quantity and type. On my list was written, "1 red bell pepper, 1 orange or yellow bell pepper." I thought this was specific enough, but boy was I wrong. Joe came home with three green bell peppers. Maybe if we didn't already have two green bell peppers, maybe if I was feeling better, and maybe if I wasn't a crazy, hormonal pregnant woman could I have held it together, but five green bell peppers was just too much for me to handle.

Me: WHY DID YOU GET THREE GREEN PEPPERS?!
Joe: Because they were on sale and the other ones weren't.
Me: But we already have two! What am I going to do with FIVE green peppers?!
Joe: I don't know.
Me: I don't get why you bought these? We don't need them and I specifically said "red" and "orange or yellow."
Joe: They're the same thing!
Me: No they're not! Are you crazy?
Joe: Yes, they are.
Me: If what you mean is that you pick the green ones earlier than the red ones, then yeah. But they are different. That's why they cost different amounts and that's why they taste different and look different.
Joe: Well, they were only ninety-nine cents.
Me: That's a total of three dollars. If you would have gotten one red and one yellow it would have only been a two dollars and sixty cents.
Joe: Whatever.
Me: Jesus Christ.

So it's a day later and we're still not over this. Joe wants to do a taste test (which I am happy to do) because he doesn't think there is a difference. I tried to explain to him that it's like grapes and raisins. They ARE the same thing, but not really. If a recipe calls for raisins, you don't use grapes. In the mean time, does anyone have any recipes that require five green peppers?

It's like a daily baptism

We have soft water!

I haven't had it since I lived with my parents, and I guess I didn't realize how much of a difference it can make. Until now, I've lived in apartments, and apparently landlords don't think renters deserve silky, manageable hair and soft skin. I took the first soft water shower today and I swear that instead of a washcloth, it was tiny angels, lathering and singing to me, while they washed away the memories of lime build up in the tub and mineral residue in the dishwasher. I've seen the light and I don't ever want to go back to my old demonic, hard water doused self. If someone told me that it was holy water coming out of the shower head, I'd believe it.

Tomorrow, I think I'll buy some nice shampoo and conditioner to celebrate. Biolage? Bumble and Bumble? Aveda? Who knows? I might even get crazy and get one of each. Or maybe two. And some nice bubble bath. The sky is the limit when you have soft water. Maybe I'll get some of those fizzy bath things, too. We'll see, Acala.

Who wants seconds?

Joe told me he loved chicken Marsala, so like a good wife (haha), I made it. I was so excited because it turned out perfectly. I even bought the more expensive Marsala wine in an effort to make it above the norm. After we were finished eating, I said that it was probably the best thing I've ever made. He said he thought chicken Marsala was something else, and that this tasted like shortbread cookies. Oh. Not exactly what I had hoped he'd say. He tried to make me feel better by saying the chicken and pasta were cooked perfectly but he thought Marsala tasted beefy and this didn't. His suggestion was that, "Next time you should make breaded chicken with beefy gravy." It would probably make me feel worse, but this is coming from the same guy who thought matzo ball soup was soup with balls of mozzarella cheese. Or that Nutella and Vegemite were the same thing. From now on, I think I'm going to have to clarify what I'm making for dinner, just in case he asks for piccata and expects pickles.

Sorry, Wilford Brimley

I failed the glucose tolerance test. After all that confusion, I could have drank the damn cup of coffee with real sugar and it wouldn't have mattered. I don't know why I failed but I did. I could attribute it to the fact that I ate jalapeno poppers and other unhealthy things the night before, but it's all moot anyway. The nurse called me Friday morning to tell me that I had to take a second test that is three hours long, and you have to have your blood drawn four times throughout the test. And you are a prisoner in the St. Joseph's Medical Center basement. Wow? That sounds great. I thought I was getting spoiled with the pelvic bone pain and terrible heartburn. I figured I'd get this thing over with sooner rather than later, so I went in on Monday morning. For 14 hours prior, you can't eat or drink anything other than sips of water. That means no poppers. That part wasn't so bad, since I was asleep most of the time. What was bad is that as soon as you get there, they draw your blood. Then they give you a whole bottle of the gross orange syrup that you have to drink for the first test, then only being a tiny cupful. I chugged it. The nurse was impressed. She even commented on how I didn't even have to stop to take a breath. This ain't my first rodeo, lady. Normally it's a mixed drink when I'm being rushed to leave to go to a different bar. So I sat there for three hours, doing the Star Tribune crossword, reading a book, and occasionally watching Law and Order SVU. (Ice-T is a terrible actor by the way.) No internet on my phone because I was in a virtual dungeon. I shouldn't complain because it wasn't THAT bad. As soon as I got home I immediately ate a piece of leftover Domino's Pizza. It's still not that good. Oh and if you're wondering about the "new" taste, they changed everything but what I don't like about it, the mushy cheese. Anyway, now I have heartburn again, but I do have good news. I passed the test! No ordering diabetes supplies from our good friend Wilford Brimley! I think I'll go pour myself a glass of straight Hershey's Syrup and toast to passing the test. Who knows, I might even cross the nurse who told me I looked "full term" and asked if I was positive there was "only one in there" off of my To Kill list. We'll see.

It tastes like sugar. But it's not sugar. And it made my fucking day.

I have my glucose test in a few hours. Pregnant women have to take it as a screening process to detect gestational diabetes. You can also call it what it really is: Giant Baby Disease. I lost the information sheet the nurse gave me, so I had to look it up online. Somehow I became confused and thought I had to fast for 8-14 hours and only drink water. I was annoyed all morning because I really wanted a cup of coffee. I Googled it again only to find that I can eat and drink, just not sugary foods/drinks. I smiled, but on the inside I was doing the cabbage patch and lighting off fireworks. Then the realization that I couldn't have any sugar in my coffee brought the party to a halt. Now what was I supposed to do? Google. That's what. "Splenda glucose pregnancy test." I came to find that Splenda doesn't raise your glucose level. What is this? Totally Sweet and Awesome Day? And here I thought my life wasn't exciting.

Wrapping paper is probably not necessary.

Joe's birthday is coming up on Valentine's Day. I can't decide what to buy him that will be paid for with his money out of our joint checking account in which he will inevitably see in the debit column on our online banking statement. Maybe groceries.

Sometimes I wonder if you even care about my child's poop.

If I tell you how very excited I am about Rocco finally getting the hang of potty training, don't think it's because I think you want to hear about it. Realize that it's because I'm one of those rare people who doesn't enjoy handling poop.

The things I do for you, Rocco

I Googled "cartoon animals getting electrocuted" last night. No, I'm not some weirdo who thinks cartoon animals getting electrocuted is entertaining. That would be Rocco. Nothing makes him laugh harder than seeing Mort, the mouse lemur, from Penguins of Madagascar getting jolted with thousands of watts of electricity. The weirdest thing about this search is that there actually were other results. This includes a Tom and Jerry episode that also includes poisoning and explosives. (Those were the days...) Just like I thought, Rocco loved it. Maybe he gets it from his Uncle Dmitri, whose first grade teacher called our mom to let her know that he had drawn a violent picture of squirrels on a power line getting electrocuted. My mom made sure that things like that "should only be drawn at home." As for Rocco, I guess there are worse things that could entertain him, such as "animals getting electrocuted." I'll count this as a win.

Food, water, shelter, love, and white faux fur boots

On December 9, 2009, we found out something that would change our lives forever. I have no self control. After finding out that we'll be welcoming a baby girl into our family in April, I couldn't buy her a black and white polka dotted dress fast enough. I was warned by friends that "once you start, you won't be able to stop." Me? The Quintessa of self control? No, that's just not true. "Yes, it is, Acala," called the white faux fur boots and matching hat from Crazy8.com. Well, I don't want her to be cold! Only a terrible mother would let her child freeze. And apparently only a terrible mother would let her daughter live without a shirt donning the Eiffel Tower and a poodle. Or pajamas covered in panda bears. Or a retro Puma tracksuit. Or three pair of tiny yoga pants (they're all the rage in '10!) Who knows the stats on babies on whose solids consist of ramen noodles and purple juice from the Dollar Tree? That's why they make Flintstones Gummi vitamins, Acala.

There is no fiscal responsibility up in this bitch.

I ordered a Kate Spade bag. I don't need it, but since when has that stopped me. All fault lies on a rubber chicken purse. Don't believe me? A friend of mine jokingly posted a link to a rubber purse that looks like a chicken. For some reason I wanted it. I don't know why, because I hate chickens, but I did. This lead to looking at more purses. Non-bird purses. I thought about my orange purse that my mom bought in Paris and how much I love it, but having a kid (and soon two) doesn't allow for such small, adorable things. Then I found it: the Kate Spade Quintessa. Larger, and in orange. Some people might think that $200+ is way too much for a purse, and they are right. It's way too much money. I could buy enough chicken purses to adorn a large family for $200. (Maybe some day I will.) After a few hours of deliberation, I decided to get the purse. Joe was sitting on the sofa behind me, and since he'd already said no to the chicken purse, I knew asking wasn't an option. He got up to go to the bathroom, and I knew it was my only chance. For some reason, being pregnant and already having trouble getting around was no longer an issue. I ran to my purse like a five-year-old runs to get candy at the Fourth of July parade. I grabbed my debit card and sprinted back to the computer. I made the transaction. (Free shipping? That's just an offer I couldn't refuse.) It felt great for the first hour, then the guilt set in. Thankfully, soon after came the justification. I did just return the white Gap maternity coat (that I didn't need) and the white VS jacket (that you guessed it, I didn't need). I feel a little bit better about it knowing that I'll nearly break even. I'm sure all the guilt will be gone once the UPS man rings the doorbell with my new, overpriced best friend. I just hope I've remembered to throw on a pair of yoga pants to go with my slept-in tank top and brushed my teeth before I answer the door.

P.S. Don't tell Joe!

My life has become an SNL sketch

Have you ever seen the old Delicious Dish sketches on SNL? It's about two ladies, Margaret-Jo McCullen and Teri Rialto, who have a cooking show on NPR. The absolute blandness of their conversations is so terrible that it's hilarious. This is what my life has become.

Here are a few of my recent thoughts/experiences that have lead me to this realization.

My thought earlier today (about two in the afternoon), "I'm going to take shower. I can't decide between using the Zest body wash or the Bath and Bodyworks orange-ginger body wash. I guess I'll just have to decide when the time comes!" It turns out I decided to use the Caress Tahitian Renewal exfoliating wash. I totally forgot I had it! How exciting! I guess that's what happens when your mind is tied up in things like family packs of Barilla pasta on sale at Target for $4.

When Joe got home from work today, instead of asking him how his day was, I told him about how I was so hungry while I was putting on my makeup that I almost stopped mid-routine and went to eat something. Then I decided to finish and get dressed, then went into the kitchen and got a bowl, poured Cajun trail mix in it, and grabbed a glass of water. This is my life. This is what I do. OMG.