Real Talk About Babies

So, now that we’re married, Brian and I have been having the baby conversation. You know, because we’re not spring chickens or anything. Note, before we get things going here: I AM NOT PREGNANT. Okay good. Glad we got that out of the way.

Our youngest wedding guest

This was our youngest wedding guest. I’m just smitten with the little boy I call Cap’t.

The conversation has kinda gone something like this.

Me: Brian, I want a little girl. If I don’t get a little girl, it’s all. your. fault.

Brian:  Oh really?

Me: Yep.

Brian: I see.

And, sometimes, it goes like this:

Me: Do you want a girl or a boy?

Brian: It’s probably cliche, but I don’t really care, you know, if it’s healthy. Some people really want, like, a mini me.

Me: …

Brian: You know like a miniature version  of themself…

Me: …

Me: starts nodding enthusiastically

Brian: I take it that’s what you want?

Me: Don’t YOU want a Mini-Me? Not like a Mini-You…a Mini-Me. A Mini-Chrissy. Can’t you just imagine living with two of us!?

Brian:…

And SOMETIMES, it goes like this:

Me: I want all the babies!!

Brian: Oh yeah?

Me: Yep. I want a Mini-Me and a little boy who loves me forever. And what if our first little girl is nothing like me? We’d obviously have to try again. You know, until we get it just right.

Brian:…

And then there are the times it goes like this:

Me: Brian, will you still love me if I get pregnant and am totally crazy?

In other news, I think he’s warming  up to the idea of us getting a dog.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Brian Shares Saturday: In Which I Told Brian You Missed Him (And Had Really Bad Grammar [And was wired on coffee])

Because OBVIOUSLY you missed him. He is sometimes funnier than me. And more often than not, he finds cooler things on the internet.

But life has been busy and he has not had a lot of time to share with me the cool things he finds on the internet. Like the article about dogs who fight and the male dog lets the female dog win (Yes, blog friends, I learned about this last night when Brian would NOT let me make decisions for our team while playing Ticket to Ride, even though all the other dudes let their ladies make the decisions…and I was stubborn and said “Fine!” like we were fighting and everyone was all “ooooohhhh! Should have said ‘yes, honey’…” and Brian was like, “Hey I read this cool article about how male dogs always let the female win if they’re fighting.” and I was all, “Why didn’t you show me THAT?!” And we were still fighting.

But. Because we switched off turns after that, we both got to do our own strategizing and managed to kick everyone’s ass and obliterate the competition and LOVE Ticket to Ride…. Yes, I meant to leave that “but” as it’s very own sentence. And yes, I realize that I am still in a parenthetical statement. And yes I realize that I am rambling on about a game we played last night. I had a very strong cup of Keurig coffee for breakfast and am ON FIRE today!) So basically I couldn’t find the article. But the male lets the female win. Did you hear that, BRIAN?

So a few days ago Brian and I had this G-chat conversation:

Me: Please feel free to resume sending random pictures and links. My blog friends miss you
Brian: did they say that?
did anyone comment on the Dark Matter article? I bet they didn’t
🙁
that makes me cry a little on the inside

And I guess it’s not so much a conversation as a comment and response, but whatever. I did not fix his grammar. (Even though my title is talking about my poor grammar and over use of parenthetical statements and the fact that I started every paragraph in this post with a conjunction and several sentences…AND have several run on sentences, but I blame coffee…I did it on purpose! Sort of.)

So go over to the Brian Shares post that sort of discusses Dark Matter (well, links to it anyways) and, for the love of God, comment on it, just to tell Brian that you have no idea what it means, but you love him anyways…otherwise this Saturday spot may cease to exist. Plus, no one needs to see my boyfriend cry. Especially not me.

He did FINALLY, after lots and lots of begging, offer me these two lovely pictures. On separate days.

Dolphins!!

If you don’t know this about me, you should. I have a dolphin obsession. Maybe it’s because they’re the only mammals, other than humans who fight and bang for pleasure. Maybe it’s because they’re so damn smart. Maybe it’s because I believe that I was a dolphin in a past life. I don’t know. But I love them. A lot. And Brian always threatens to eat dolphins. And I tell him that is mean and horrible. But then he sends me gifs like this (yes gif, not gift) and I still love him.

dolphin gif

I love the dolphin chomp. It’s what I do to bubbles! I could watch this video for hours.

Superman Meets Dr. Who

So I’ve finally started watching Dr. Who from the beginning. (OK the reboot beginning…I am lazy and don’t REALLY want to watch a show from the 60’s). I had seen many episodes and enjoyed them. But for some reason Brian doesn’t always know the difference between me falling asleep because I’m bored or tired…so he never watches it with me. So in order to show him “Hey! I’ll watch this awesomeness with you!” I started watching old episodes to “catch up.”

He sent me this, which was RIGHT after I watched the episode where a space ship crashes into Big Ben. Which apparently happens a lot in Dr. Who? And Brian said to me, “This is why Superman doesn’t visit London.”

Superman meets Dr. Who

The End!

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Confession Friday: I Lost at LIFE

OK. Here goes. The following conversation happened last night:

Me: So, do you want to try out our new game? (Our previous roommate bought us this sweet game, Dominion, for Christmas…and the next day, I had popped it, organized it, and read all of the rules. I proceeded to ask Brian to play every day thereafter.)

Brian: I kinda just want to relax and snuggle and watch TV. (The same answer he’s had every night since we got the game).

Me: You don’t ever want to play games with just me. It’s just like when I was a kid. I wish we had a dog.

Brian: You can’t play games with a dog.

Me: Yes, you can.

Brian: But you’ll always win.

Me: That’s not true!

Brian: I know…(and then he hugs me sympathetically).

We finally got to play Dominion last night. He felt so sorry for me…and, wait for it…he enjoyed himself.

The following conversation happened on Christmas.

Little A: Auntie Chrissy, did you bring LIFE?

Me: No, A…sorry.

Little A: That’s OK. Can we open presents?

Me: Sure. Ask Auntie Patti, though. She’s the boss.

Little A: yells Auntie Patti! Can we open presents??

Mom: Sure! (She was never that easy going when WE were kids!)

Present opening ensues.

Little A: opens games Oh sweet! Can we play!?

Me: Definitely!

So we start setting up Catan Jr. which is awesome.

Dad: Sure beats playing with the dog, right? he chuckles at me

Me: Dad, did you read that blog post?

Dad: Huh?

Me: The one I wrote about Bismark?

Dad: No, I just remember it. You always played LIFE with Bismark. I remember you lost a lot, too.

Classic Game of LIFE

 

Woj (My Little Brother, whose name is also Brian, which gets confusing): You lost to the DOG? Hahahahahahahaha! (Literally that many ha’s)

Me: Sometimes…

Woj: How many times did Bismark go to college?

Me: A lot.

Woj: Hahahahahahahahahaha!

So there you have it, Blog Friends. My dirty little gamer secret. And you know what? Right now, I totally wish I had a dog.

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Wordless Wednesday: Holiday Greetings from a Dog

Holiday Greetings Dog

Dog Greeting

Sleeping dog Christmas tree

Reindeer dog


Life as we know it by Paula

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

A Series of Unfortunate Events…Err…Just One, But It’s a Doozy

For those of you who don’t know, I spent a beautiful week in the happiest place on Earth. Walt Disney and I go way back (My first Disney magic, my love of Mousercise, and a grown-up trip to Disney World). Of course, I have a ridiculously long list of Disney memories; those are just a few of them. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you a little bit about our fantastic and magical trip to Disney, but today…Today I’d like to tell you about our pre-Disney “misfortune.”

Our plan was to leave last Wednesday afternoon for Florida. We were ridic busy up until our departure (Brian was working LATE nights to make up for his upcoming absence from the tech-y world, I’ve been trying to find us a place to live, prepare for my new job–that I’m starting TODAY, and a million other little details.) So I told him that he needed to get together what he wanted to bring, and I would pack it.

My OCD tendencies are pretty heavy in the packing department. I hate when the luggage is top heavy and falls down. I roll everything meticulously. I also feel the need to write everything that I pack on a list (this is different than my packing checklist), so that I know what is where and more importantly what would/could be missing upon our arrival.

So on Sunday night around midnight, after a very long day, Brian got all of his clothes together for me. Monday came, and my plan was to pack everything as Tuesday was going to be a circus day of running around. So, one of my besties, Lily, stopped over to help (OK, she stopped over to go shopping with me but whatever. That’s what friends are for).

So upon our return from a shopping extravaganza, Lily watched me pack. Well, she watched about 2 hours of it before she left for her man of the moment. 2 hours later, I figured it was time for a break. Yes, I take a long time to properly pack things in just the right places. Don’t hate. I got up to work on a blog post and perhaps enjoy a quick meal. I had previously texted Brian “Don’t forget to eat!” but I was on the verge of forgetting to eat.

15 minutes into a blog post, I heard my roommate yell, “Dexter! No! No, no, no, nonononono.”

At this point, I knew something bad had happened, as I heard Anna shooing the pup back outside. “I think D got sprayed by a skunk.” My brain processes much faster than anything else…my thought process was something as follows:

Oh God. Oh God. What should I do? Remember the last time this happened? You smelled like skunk for a week. Your car smelled like skunk. Your clothes. Everything. Disney. The luggage! Oh God. Oh God. What do I do? Ummm…Do I leave? Do I stay? Oh God. Oh God. I can’t stay. Our clothes! Everything is going to smell like skunk. I need to go. Shit! Shit! Shit!

So I did what any girl would do…I circled the house, offered what assistance I could, and panicked. Then…I mopped the floor. I’m not entirely sure what I thought this might accomplish, but it helped my piece of mind. The stench was so unbelievably overpowering, I cannot begin to describe it to you. But I’ll try.

If you’ve ever smelled fresh garlic, or better yet, chopped fresh garlic, you’ll be able to get an idea. Imagine the smell of fresh cut garlic on your fingers: a strong, potent, stinging smell. Now imagine that you are walking through a HUGE heavy cloud of that smell. Then, multiply it by 5. That’s what we were dealing with here.

After the attempted floor wash, I decided I needed to get the hell out of dodge…I likely had some laundry to do. Let’s not even talk about how I had just completed 5 loads of laundry so we didn’t come home to a full hamper. So after ensuring that Anna and her incredibly helpful mom, who knew skunk de-smelling tricks, were okay, I threw my shit in the bags and loaded up the car.

I’m not going to lie, I felt like the world’s biggest asshole, leaving Anna and Little D all by themselves to handle the stench. Brian was meeting me at the train by my parents’ house, so I went and picked him up. He got in the car and could smell the skunk. I knew I had carried it with me. So, we got to my parents’ and my mom smelled it immediately. I really thought she was going to kill me. She was surprisingly wonderful about the whole thing–this might be because we left everything outside overnight and by morning the stench had dissipated from the air. Of course, our clothes and luggage were still pretty stinky.

After washing 2 suitcases full of clothes about 7 times, two bottles of Febreeze, a container of Clorax wipes, and a box of dryer sheets, our clothes almost smelled normal, if not a little over fragrant. The luggage still had hints of skunk, so I packed our clothes inside of garbage bags and filled it with dryer sheets.

I was basically running on a total of 9 hours of sleep between 2 days because of the laundry and the folding and the rolling and the obsessive packing…

As we were packing the bags up, I commented that they still smelled a little skunky and my dad looked at me, point blank and said: They’re going to think all that skunk is actually weed. They’re going to confiscate your luggage.

We were able to leave for and make it to the airport on time, and my pink princess luggage was still usable:

The traveling pink princess

As we were getting off the plane, and I saw out the window that my suitcase, which I had just purchased for this trip, was sitting out in the Orlando rain…all. by. itself. I freaked out a little bit….questioned the flight attendants, questioned the guy outside the plane…Apparently when you send your luggage through Disney’s Magical Express, they let it sit there until someone comes by to pick it up. Never. Again. I’m too OCD to let my luggage go without me. I learned my lesson.

Yep, that’s my bag, right there…Somewhere along the line, they also lost my sweet Yelp luggage tag 🙁

 

It started raining just after this picture was taken.

Sure enough, once I started unpacking the suitcase, I discovered that the assmonkeys at TSA searched through my bag (Come on, skunk smell, dryer sheets, and a garbage bag screams “our dog got skunked, give us a break!” right?) Guess what? All that hard work I spent packing? Down the toilet before it even hit the plane… My suitcase was a mess.

Have you ever had a problem RIGHT before leaving on a trip? What is your packing routine (if any)? Have you have been skunked?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

The Good Dog(s)

We got Bismark when I was 5 (Our first German Shepherd, Joey, died on my fifth birthday) and we had him until I was a sophomore in high school. I loved him so much. He could always manage to make me smile, even when I was crying. I would be sitting on our front landing, and Biz would come over and lay his head in my lap when I was sad. He was a good dog. An ornament that bears his name still hangs on my parents Christmas tree in his honor.

When I was a little girl, I loved playing games, and I wanted to play them all the time. Sorry, Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, Boggle, and more, but my favorite game was Life. Constantly, I would ask my big sister, my mom, and my dad to play any one of these games with me, but mostly it was The Game of Life. No one ever wanted to play with me. So, more often than not, I found myself playing Life with my dog.

Bismark (our second German Shepherd mutt) was the best dog ever; he would snuggle with me for hours and he would play Life with me whenever I wanted to play. Of course, I had to do all of the work, but he would sit there patiently holding the spot of the blue car player. Life was one of those games that I couldn’t actually cheat in my favor, but I’m pretty confident that I won every game. (Side note: Now I try to play Life with my godson Little A whenever he asks me. I remember what it’s like.)

Bizzy could be a pain too. If you accidentally said anything that sounded like the word “pew,” Biz would go running out of the room. Somehow he knew that it meant something smelled, and he always thought it was him. A fun party trick at times, it got old pretty fast. A little bit of a runner, Bismark was also always escaping. He would find his way out of the backyard, and we’d hear him barking around the block or down the street. We never had to worry too much because he always came home. Often, we’d find him standing outside the front door or at the backyard gate (on the outside!)

Chester, our old gray house cat, was indifferent to Bismark. Chester loved Joey too much, and Bismark was just another dog. Chester and Joey used to sleep snuggled together like brothers. They even cleaned each other.

Bismark the German shepherd dog with Rex the dalmatian puppy trailing behind him

When we were in grade school/middle school, my brother got Rex, the trouble-making Dalmatian puppy. He brought out the puppy in Biz and made him seem years younger. The two would scamper around the backyard together, with Old Biz humoring the nipping, jumping, racing pup. When Biz would escape, Rex was right along with him, and good ole Bismark taught him to always come home. The sight of the two of them standing outside the back gate was infuriating, hilarious, and adorable all at once.

Chester, of course, hated Rex.

In the summer of 1996, a growth started forming on Rex’s stomach. As it grew bigger and bigger, we became more concerned. We took him to our then-regular vet in Lombard, and they told us that Rex was fine, it was a benign fatty tumor. They gave us some cream to put on it and told us he was fine. A year later, Rex’s health started dwindling, and we brought him back to the vet. The tumor was, as it turned out, cancerous. My parents put Rex down in November of 1997. The following January, Chester’s and Bizmark’s health were also failing (an old cat and dog, respectively), and we were saddened to imagine a near future without any of our family pets. Chester, who loved the Christmas tree over all other places in our home, curled up under the tree one night after mom went to bed, and never came out.

German Shepherds are known for their hip problems later in life. This was definitely the case for my board-game-playing dog. In February, after months of dragging his legs behind him, and loss of his bowels, my parents took Bismark to the vet for the last time. I was at a sleepover and never got to say goodbye. I didn’t even know that it was happening. As my distraught dad pulled the motorhome (his daily driver) out of the vet parking lot, he accidentally knocked over the vet’s sign in the front of the property. The vet was PISSED, but after my mother -sassy pants that she is- kindly reminded him that he basically killed our 5-year-old Dalmatian, the vet told them not to worry about it.

We never went back to that vet, again.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!