First birthday photos

A few photos, please stop looking now if you do not like incredibly cute babies.

Yes, we dressed her up like Yoda. We know we are geeks.

There was a birthday party

Last weekend was the party. It was, well, it was a party, for a one year old. I still don't get why it's such a big deal. Am I crazy, or is it everyone else?

It was exciting for Goosey, being at her Grandma's always is because there is so much new stuff to terrorize and get into. Like all the breakable things and collectible dolls that are all over the floor (yep, all over the floor. It takes eagle eyes to hang out over at the Shopping Queens house.)

Goosey made out like a bandit with the presents; toys, clothes, books, a collectible precious moments doll. Yes, that's right someone gave her a collector doll. When I opened the box I read the tag that said 'this item is NOT a toy...' and the advice began. "You should put her hairnet back on." "Keep the box, you ALWAYS keep the box for collectible items." "I gave Goosey's cousin one collectible doll every year until she was ten." "Our mom would let us play with our special collectible dolls twice a year." I had no idea what to say, I believe that toys are meant to be played with, not to sit on shelves. I pretended to really take the advice to heart, and put the doll back in the box. What else could I do with all of Mr. NH's family giving such great advice about it.

There was Pooh cake with pink icing, and not the good kind, but the stuff that tastes terrible. Goosey got her hands in it, but didn't like the sticky feeling. So rather than eat most of it, she flung it on the floor.

The most exciting thing, wasn't the birthday or the presents or the cake, but the dog. Goosey followed her around the kitchen in circles trying to pet her. It was a nice break for me.

The things that excited me most at the party included these conversation tidbits:

d: "Whatever happened to giving asexual toys to kids?"
s: "It's because girls need girl toys and boys need boy toys. Girls should be at home learning from the mother, like cooking and cleaning."
(I didn't say they were all good exciting...)

f: "Can you look at my foot and tell me what's wrong with it?"
Mr. Nh: "Ok, but is it clean?"

f: "Netty pots are messy and don't feel good."
m: "Have you used one?"
f: "No, but it sounds like it would be messy."
d: "S would be using one every half an hour if she got one, she always has sinus problems."
s: evil, evil glare to her husband d.

me: "Goosey, you want to hold your cousins hand?"
cousin: "I'm not holding her hand, too much frosting."
a: "Wimp."

And the conversation with the Spiritual Mother about the final transition of changing from calling her son Rachel/she to Trey/he. I could see Mr. NH's aunt trying as hard as she could to pretend like she wasn't listening to the conversation. She is a staunch christian who believes in everything the bible says, especially about marriage and lifestyle 'choices.'

It was a nice enough party, but I am so glad that it's done.

One year old Yoda girl.

My amazing sister

My older sister, Storysmith, is an amazing storyteller and writer. She has a blog and you should l check it out and bug her until she posts more stories. You'll also get to find out secrets about me when I was little, but don't believe everything she says. She is the older sister and they don't always get the story straight.

www.alchemystoryworks.blogspot.com

Climbing mount coffetable

Mr. Not Hideous and I rearrange the apartment again. It was the third time we did it this year. The first time was in January when we first moved in. We didn't plan it out well. The second time was right as Goosey was starting to crawl, we didn't want her to burn her fingers on the radiator. This time we had to rearrange because Goosey apparently wants to be a gymnast, so she tried practicing her air-born somersaults. Let me explain.

Last week Goosey decided to take advantage of her incredibly sleep-deprived parents. She started climbing on everything. And by everything I mean the coffetable.

I like to think that if i hadn't been so sleep-deprived she wouldn't have gotten up there, at least it wouldn't have happened over and over and over and over again. And maybe if I hadn't been so tired I would have been the Queen of Distractions, singing funny songs and finding the perfect silly face to stop my little mountaineer. But I was tired. In my tired haze I made a bad decision, I chose to let her be on the coffeetable while I sat with her to keep her from scooting off. It was my moment of weakness. It set the standard for all future climbing exploits.

Goosey happily played with the books and dvd cases that were stacked on the coffetable. She was content to sit, and as long as she was sitting I wasn't too worried. In my tired haze I made another bad decision; I turned to put the wipes away.

It took two seconds. She stood up, tripped and flew through the air making a beautiful somersault landing face first on the heater vent, legs pointing away from the coffeetable. THUNK.

She cried, I held her and put arnica on her small bruise and watched to make sure she didn't get a concussion. Mr. NH took her back downstairs to see the chiropractor for the second time that day. And she was fine, bruised and out of adjustment, but fine. And she stayed off the coffeetable for about six hours, then it was back to climbing, climbing, climbing. So we had to change things.

It took about two hours to get everything moved into a safer play area. Unfortunately, I know that when she figures out how to climb on the couch we will have to rearrange things again. Great.

She really is too young to be a gymnast, but try telling her that.

One year on Saturday

The Goosey-girl turns one on Saturday. I'm excited.

Now I think most mom's are excited about the birthday party. You know, the one where there is a theme and some kind of cartoon shaped cake. Like cookie monster, Dora the explorer or Thomas the train. The party where every family member has been sent invites weeks in advance with a card to send back the RSVP. The party where weeks or maybe months have been spent planning, decorating, and worrying about how it will go. But not me.

I don't understand those birthday parties. Why all the fuss? No matter how many photographs you take the child won't remember it. I know turning one is a big deal, but for me, not big enough to spend that much money on it. I would much rather have the big party at five or ten.

Goosey almost wasn't going to have the big party, and honestly if it had been up to me, she wouldn't have. Maybe we would have done something special, but not THE party. But we are having THE party. Mr. NH's mother, Shopping Queen, is hosting, and taking care of ALL the details. I only need to make sure the guest of honor gets there, and that excites me.

I have no idea what the party will be like, I'm sure there will be cake. I just have no idea if it will be in a special shape or if the party even has a theme. I don't know if there would be any relevant theme other than cats that Goosey would get excited about. She doesn't watch TV and wouldn't have any idea what was going on if Dora suddenly appeared on her cake. Goosey would just get excited for the frosting.

So what is getting me all excited for her turning one? The car seat. Yes, that's right, the car seat. Goosey turning one marks the much anticipated event of being able to turn her car seat around so that it is front facing! This may not seem like much, but, for the girl who doesn't like to drive more than one hour in the car, I'm hoping it will lengthen her tolerance for car trips. Hopefully, it means that driving the five hours to the Storysmith's for Thanksgiving will be easier; I don't want to have to leave at 4am again.

So, here's to the Goosey-girl turning one, and her soon-to-be front facing car seat!

My room of requirement and Mr. Shel Silverstein

Josie over at Sleep is for the Weak has started her own writing workshop. I love these, because it makes me write about things I probably wouldn't otherwise, or write them with a different twist.

Prompt #3:

If I had a room just for me in my house where time would stop upon entering it, well, that could be dangerous. I imagine it would be like the room of requirement from Harry Potter.

I would have a library filled with all the books that I've ever meant to read, and it would come up with suggestions for me based on what I like. It wouldn't come with a stuffy librarian telling me that I couldn't eat or make noise, but instead the librarian would just know what I wanted to read and make me snacks.


I would have a dance studio. A big dance studio. Not just a studio, but also it would have dance classes for me to choose from. If I wanted to take my favorite class, well, I'd just have to think 'Intermediate modern, please.' and the studio would fill with other students, the teacher, and live music. Or, maybe, 'afro modern' and Roxanne and students would be awaiting me.

There of course there would be the nap room. Comfy bed with just the right amount of pillows, and cats who cuddle but do not demand attention.

A room full of yarn and knitting needles, so that I would always have just the right amount of supplies to make whatever project I felt like. And I could just go in there and feel all the yarn, if you're a knitter I think you'll understand.


I could get lost for days in my room or requirement. Maybe it's a good thing I don't really have one.

Prompt #5:

How Not to Have to Dry the Dishes
by Shel Silverstein

If you have to dry the dishes
(Such an awful, boring chore)
If you have to dry the dishes
('Stead of going to the store)
If you have to dry the dishes
And you drop one on the floor--
Maybe they won't let you
Dry the dishes anymore.

I know this prompt was supposed to be making up my own cleaning haiku, but I feel that Mr. Silverstein perfectly describes how I feel about doing the dishes in general. (and yes, I know that this is not a haiku.)

Poor neglected crock pot

My crock pot has been on vacation. Since last winter. Last year it was making me stews and chilis and soups. It was great. I would make two meals at once, saving myself time in the evenings to spend with Mr. NH once he got home from work.

And then summer came, and we didn't feel like having chili or stew when it was 85 plus degrees outside. Who wants to eat something that makes them sweat when just going outside can do the same thing?

So my crock pot has been neglected, sitting on the shelf collecting dust. Waiting for the day when the air is cold enough for our bodies to crave warmth in the form of soup or stew or chili.

Time to dust it off, give myself a break and a nice warm bowl of split pea soup.

This post was inspired by #1 of Mama Kat's writer's workshop.

My sister

There's my sister, Storysmith, always telling me what to do. Now I know who I can blame my fashion sense on.

No water

It has been raining for a few days. Usually I like the rain, especially hearing it fall on the skylights, but when it rains for days it leaks, from the skylights. So, we've been living with buckets and mixing bowls placed strategically around the house.

The cats love it, they can get a drink in just about every room in the house.

I can live with water dripping in because the landlord says he'll caulk it... again. This is an ongoing problem.

The basement is flooded. There are about three inches covering the entire basement. This isn't really my problem, Mr. NH and I don't have anything stored down there, but it has lead to our water being shut off. Apparently a pipe burst in the alley between our building and the meat locker (that's right, I live next to a meat locker. One word of advice, if you ever live next to or park next to a meat locker, don't leave the windows of your car open. Flies.)

The city came and looked at it, they say that the landlord has to pay for the repair because the pipe it just on the wrong side of the magical line that says what belongs to who.

Until it's fixed we have no water. We have to haul buckets of the flood water upstairs so we can flush the toilet. We're living out of the damn buckets and mixing bowls. I guess I should be happy I like to bake and have so many mixing bowls.

I have a love/hate relationship with water right now.