Monthly Archives: February 2011

Flutters.

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I’ve been having some really weird and vivid dreams lately. I don’t even try to explain them to anyone or discuss them out loud because they are SO odd, and I know it’s due to hormone changes, blah blah blah. Or maybe it’s because I ate chocolate pudding out of a mixing bowl right before I went to bed. I guess we will never know.

Anyway, I woke up at 1:00 a.m. and Husband was parked next to me so I woke him up to have a nice chat about his day. He was kind enough to oblige me but started snoring before I was finished with my questioning. I was lying there drifting back off to sleep when I swear I felt flutters.  

Baby flutters!

Now I’m sitting here wondering, did I dream it up? Did it actually happen? I am pretty sure it actually happened, but I’m afraid no one will believe me as I am just now (like today, right this minute) 12 weeks along.

As a side note, how do people wait this long to announce their pregnancy? I mean really. I don’t get rule-followers. I also do not get:

1. Justin Beiber

2. That show on CNN where the guy screams about the stock market and throws random items around and rings a bell and sweats a lot … what’s it called?

3.Video games

4. French cooking (waaaaaay too complicated)

5. How to “truss” a chicken (see above)

!!!

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Husband got a promotion yesterday!! This means I have to cook something special. I should probably avoid the oven …

I have been pretty quiet this week because I’m feeling happy. That’s pretty messed up, right?  I figure no one wants to hear about how well my child is behaving. The most interesting thing that has happened is when I had to iron one of my maternity shirts and took note of the fact that it was EXACTLY like ironing a twin-size bedsheet.

This is not news worthy.

The Time I Caught My Oven On Fire.

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Note the burned exterior.

I just wanted to bake cookies to take to my grandparent’s house this afternoon. That’s all.

We went to the grocery store. I stuck to my list. I did not buy ice cream, or even walk down the ice cream aisle. I got home, settled my child in front of Nick Jr, preheated the oven to 375 and started mixing up ingredients. 

As I returned the milk to the refrigerator, I saw it. Black smoke billowing out of my oven.

Remember the lasagna that no one would eat? Well, apparently something overflowed when I baked it earlier this week. I wouldn’t have known about it … I don’t pay attention. Or clean my oven. 

When I pulled open the door, I saw FLAMES. 

I stayed calm. I did the reasonable thing. 

I … threw a box of baking soda in there. Literally, the whole box. On accident. I meant to just dump some soda on the flames, not toss the whole box in. So then I had to fish THAT out, before the box caught afire. As you can see in the photo above, it was well on it’s way. Retrieving it required Husband’s grilling gear, one of those poky things that are used to spear meat, and a whole lot of gumption. 


Conclusions: 
1. Our smoke alarm doesn’t work.
2. I need to clean my oven.
3. I may need to stop cooking altogether.
4. WHAT THE HELL?! Does this stuff happen to other people? Wait. Don’t answer that.

Groceries.

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Last week Publix had a “Buy One, Get One Free” sale on Mayfield ice cream. As you can imagine, I hightailed it over there and picked up two different flavors (Homemade Vanilla and Brown Cow) along with a big bottle of chocolate syrup.

Mixing all of the above together in a big bowl = heaven. 

I’m just saying.

Several nights later, I realized I was the only person in the house eating said ice cream … and I had put a pretty large dent in our supply. I got really disgusted with myself, internally blamed my Husband for not being more of a pig and eating it before I had a chance to, and packed it all up in a shopping bag.

I sent all of it to work with him today. I don’t care what happened to it. It is most likely still in his truck. I just wanted it away from me so I don’t continue to stuff myself with it.

Now … I’m getting ready to go back to the grocery store. Husband informed me on Thursday that he wants us to host a Super Bowl party tomorrow, so I have to return to Publix for dip-making supplies. 

I WILL NOT BUY MORE ICE CREAM. 

I WILL NOT BUY MORE ICE CREAM. 

I WILL NOT BUY MORE ICE CREAM.

My Day.

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Today I got an assignment for someone named Mr. Scitzs. I took one look at that last name and knew nothing good was going to come from our phone conversation.

I studied the name for awhile, mustered up the will to not laugh out loud, and called. A woman answered.

Me: Hello, this is Harmony from State Farm Insurance.

Woman: Hello.

Me: May I speak to Mr. Shits?

Woman: (silence)

Me: (giggling … I lost all professionalism at this point.)

Woman: It’s actually pronounced “Sights.” Like EYE SIGHTS.

Me: Oh. Oops.

Pissed Off.

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Today, I’m pissed off. There are a long list of reasons why, but the primary reasons are:

1. I’m pregnant.
2. I’m tired. 

Yesterday I came home to a wreck of a house after going to the grocery store in the POURING rain. I was exhausted by the time I picked up the Toddler and made it home — BUT — I made two lasagnas from scratch without a recipe, put away three (YES THREE) loads of laundry, changed the sheets on our stupid king-size bed and dealt with an unruly Toddler who refused to go to sleep until 8 p.m.

I woke up today thinking surely things would be better today. They aren’t.

My husband won’t eat the lasagna I made. It really makes me mad because I put extra cheese AND real meat in it just for him. My child also refuses to eat it. If I were a so-so cook, I’d understand. But I know good food … and this stuff is good. 

Today I came home to a sink full of dishes, a dryer full of (crumpled) whites that I was too tired to fold yesterday, and laundry that still needs to be hung up. And for some reason, all of that coupled with the fact that no one will eat my f*#king lasagna just REALLY PISSES ME OFF.

The thing about hormones is … they make you act irrationally. When I reached my peak of irritation, about 10 minutes into repeating “no, you’re not getting a sandwich for dinner, lasagna is your dinner,” I had a moment where I considered turning in my resignation at my “real” job so I can get a handle on my “second” job as a wife and mother.

I’m failing, I’m fat, and I’m angry. There you have it.

P.S. Guess what I’ve been craving?