BrandiBlog

Earlier this evening I went into my bathroom to take out my contacts. As I walked into my bedroom, I could faintly hear an unfamiliar man’s voice. I thought, “Hmm, is the window open?” and walked around my bed toward the window. Then I noticed the baby monitor on the floor below the window. The voice was coming from the monitor.

I turned the volume up and heard a man’s voice saying, “Daddy’s gonna kiss you! Daddy’s gonna kiss you!” A woman’s voice than chimed in, saying, “You’re so cute! You’re so cute!”

Ahhhh….sharing baby monitor frequencies. I guess it’s just one of the pitfalls of living in a neighborhood full of young families. Baby monitors are in abundance! It’s actually surprising that this was the first time in 6 weeks that such a thing happened.

I switched the monitor to another frequency and went and changed the frequency on the base in Ryan’s room. No more listening to random neighbors instead of my own precious babe sleeping in his crib.

Then it occurred to me: I wonder if anyone else has heard US over the monitor? We don’t spend a lot of time in Ryan’s room since most of his toys are in his playroom, but there are a few conversations that are sure to be overheard.

Every morning when I go in to get Ryan out of bed I say, “Good morning, Sunshine!” He gives me a radiant smiles and says, “Sunshine!” It always melts my heart–and on particularly hormonal days, can make me cry.

He then yells, “JUMP, JUMP, JUMP!” and starts jumping on his mattress. I laugh and somewhat encourage this unsafe behavior by singing, “Jump, jump, jump” with him. Oh yeah, total grounds for our neighbors to call CPS.

But it’s no matter–if anyone was listening what they’d really hear was a smart, funny, joyful toddler and a mother who loves him and his antics. That’s not so bad, is it?

On my quest to get to know my new town better, I decided to brave out of my comfort zone today. I went shopping for a few items at a grocery store I hadn’t been to before. Ryan, of course, decided that despite the charming Muzac version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that was playing on the overhead speakers, he hated shopping. Halfway through the store he started to yell like a banshee and tried to climb out of the cart, but that’s a different story.

What was really more amusing is what happened in the checkout line.

As the clerk rang up my hamburger buns, the store manager came over the PA system in the store. He said, “Alright, Shoppers! It’s that time! Time for the Daily Trivia Question!”

The eight or so people in line behind me began to chatter in excitement. I looked at them questioningly, and the clerk just smiled that knowing smile. Apparently something really great that was going to happen.

The manager said, “What larger than life actor starred in comedies such as The Great Outdoors, Uncle Buck and Trains, Planes and Automobiles?”

Everyone around me started yelling out their answers. Exhiliration filled the air in the S. Bend, Oregon Albertsons. And then something totally unexpected happened:

A lady 2 carts behind me threw her hands into the air, screamed out, “JOHN CANDY!!!” and took off running to the back of the store. She left her nearly-full cart still in line for checkout.

When does this happen???

The guy standing behind me laughed and said, “She has to run back to the meat counter to give her answer.”

Um, ok.

He explained, “She wins a free bag of groceries. They do this every day at this store. It’s fun.”

He was right. It WAS fun! I can’t recall ever having a more fun time in the checkout line at a grocery store. How could I not love trivia in a grocery store? How could I not love laughing with strangers because someone won a bag of milk, eggs, and bread? How could I NOT love this town?

For some strange reason, I get the feeling that I’m going to be “needing” something from Albertsons more often at 3:30 pm.

I love my Myspace. It’s filled with pictures, comments from friends, and links to the people dearest to me. It’s kind of like my own little diary. It’s a great way to keep in contact with friends and cousins who are near and far. I keep my space private, so only approved “Friends” can check it out. It’s a place where I can just be me without judgment and I like it that way.

So I was a little taken aback to find out that my mom and dad have joined the Myspace world. Eeek! My brother sent me a message saying, “Hey, go check out this myspace and approve them as a friend.” So I click on the link and, yeah, it’s my parents.

WTF??!! I didn’t want to approve my parents to look at my Myspace! It felts like such an invasion of privacy. I mean, it’s not like I have anything particularly shameful or risquee on it, but still. I have a few slightly incriminating pictures on it, and I gush about how happy I am being away from Arizona. I’m wasn’t happy about letting my intrusive parents into my little world like that.

I went around and around, trying to decide how to handle this delicate situation. I finally decided to take my typical passive aggessive approach–just pretend like I didn’t get my brother’s message and that this Mom and Dad Myspace didn’t exist. That worked for almost a week. And then I had to face the music.

My mom called me on Skype last night and said, “Hey, we have a Myspace now! Can you add us as a friend?” FUUUUCK! I was backed into a corner. There was no way to get around it without either a) seriously pissing off my mom, b) making up some fantasic lie about not being able to add friends right now, or c) sucking it up and saying, “Sure”. However uncomfortable, C had to be my choice.

So now my mom and dad have access to my little private Myspace world. Oh well. I guess it won’t hurt them to see pictures of me doing shots, climbing under tables at restaurants, or letting my child run around the backyard in just a diaper and chocolate on his face. I guess it won’t kill them to find out that I own a thong that says “Team Sasquatch” and have pondered no longer shaving my legs and have a sore ass from riding a mountain bike with the most uncomfortable seat in the Pacific Northwest.

I’m keepin’ it real like Miss Cleo.

In order to take my new “When In Rome” philosophy to the next level, I’ve decided to lose a big chunk of weight and get in better physical shape.  I have found the exercise part of my new routine to be the most difficult part–I mean, who really has a ton of extra time with a toddler to chase after every day from sunrise to sunset?  So I decided that I needed to start exercising smarter, not harder.  The solution?  A mountain bike and kid trailer so I could just take my little human tornado with me on my quest for a healthier body.

This seemed like the perfect idea and I dreamed about it for over a week.  How glorious it would be to ride for miles and miles with my tot in tow!  It seemed like the most brilliant idea in the world–until yesterday, my first ride.

I started off with the foolish optimism that one usually has on their first day at a new gym.  I happily tied my shoelaces, hooked up the trailer to my new bike, and filled the cargo area with my keys, cell phone, treats and juice for Ryan and water for me.  I strapped on his shiny new bike helmet and harnessed him into his seat.  As I swung my leg over the bike frame I thought to myself, “This is gonna be a piece of cake!”

And then I started to ride.  For the first few moments it didn’t seem too bad.  My heart rate went up, my legs started to tingle and Ryan began squealing in exhiliration.  “Hmmm, this might be a little tougher than I thought,” I told myself as I rounded the corner to the next street in my “Leave It to Beaver” neighborhood and saw that it had a bit of an incline.

Halfway up the street I realized I had made a mistake.  A terrible, foolish mistake.  It wasn’t going to be a piece of cake; it was going to be pure, unadulterated torture.  My thighs began to burn and sweat poured from every inch of my skin.  The 25 lb toddler and 20 lb trailer that I pulled behind me had suddenly tripled in weight.  My heart raced and I pondered calling my husband and having him bring the Highlander over to Songbird Lane to pick my sorry ass up.

But I persevered.  I continued to pedal (albeit, at a slower pace than I had started with) and focused on the joyful squeals erupting from the ridiculously heavy trailer containing my ecsatatic 20 month old.  As he clapped and cheered, I imagined myself nearing the Tour de France finish line with spectators crying out my name and words of encouragement.  I visualized overflowing bouquets of flowers, muticolored fireworks and a mountain of Godiva chocolates waiting for me on the other side of the ticker tape.  And I pushed on, despite the new physical pain of the bike seat tearing my ass in half.  Who knew that a bicycle seat could inflict such agony.

Now nearly 24 hours later I see that I have learned a valuable lesson.  Never underestimate the difficulty of towing a toddler with a mountain bike.  It’s way harder than it looks–and my aching nether region today proves it.  But more importantly, I learned to never underestimate myself.  With a little encouragement from my son you just never know–someday you may see me finishing the Tour de France.  I can only hope that you all will be there at the finish line with that mountain of Godiva chocolates.

It’s hard to believe that it has already been 2 weeks since we moved into our house in Bend.

The 1200 mile drive over 3 days was an experience, to say the least.  The new Highlander was packed up to the ceiling, AND had a stuffed cargo bag on the roof, making us resemble the Beverly Hillbillies.  Ryan sat in his carseat behind me and our dog Rita laid on the seat next to Ryan.  Due to this seating arrangements, toys were not necessary for our toddler.  Who needs toys when he has an old black lab to feed goldfish crackers, apples, cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets?  It was endless entertainment for Ryan and the dog was more than content.

As we approached the end of our journey, the kid started getting antsy.  He decided at mile 1100 of 1221 that he was done being in the car.  He was over it.  So he started to scream.  Stick a fork in him, he was fucking done!  Right then, a familiar song came over our Sirius radio–it was The Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop”.

Something magical happened.  As Matt and I sang along with the chorus, Ryan listened intently.  About halfway through the song, we heard from the backseat Ryan yelling out, “Hey, ho!  Let’s go!” over and over again.  The more we cracked up the louder he’d sing.  And his singing went on for the next 119 miles.

So we’re here now and there are plenty more stories to share.  I’ll try to get my ass in gear and blog more often.

Blitzkrieg Bop

Last night I cleaned out Ryan’s closet. One of the few remaining items in it that wasn’t packed was my old diaper bag from when he was an infant.

I haven’t carried that sucker in at least 6 months, let alone looked through it. I chucked that bastard right after Ryan turned a year old and I decided to simplify my life and just throw a diaper, container of wipes and a juice box into my purse.

So this morning Ryan pulled the old diaper bag out of the closet and started digging though. The things he found!

–4 spoons, ranging from the infant one that changes color according to the heat of the food to a plastic toddler fork.

–A blue index card with “Ryan” written across it which had hung on his little bed in the hospital when he was first born.

–Camoflage baby sunglasses

–Water Babies sunscreen

–A barely used pacifier

–Some plastic grocery store bags that I would have used to put wet diapers or clothes into when out on the go

–A tampon (yes, mommies have needs, too)

–a blue hotrod HotWheels car

Looking through these items was like going back in time. It ran the gamet from my newborn child to nearing-toddler. I felt like I was reliving the first year of his life. It’s totally cliche and every mom will tell you this, but it’s true: time surely does fly.

The little person who I am now observing climb my dining room chair to get up onto the table and go through boxes is totally different that the little baby in the hospital bassinet with a blue note card identifying him. He is now his own person, with a love of Elmo and pizza, a hatred of flies, excitement over playing outdoors and fear of sleeping in the dark. He makes his likes and dislikes known to us and keeps us rolling with laughter. He’s the coolest person I know.

So if you get a chance, dig through your own diaper bag archive. You’ll be amazed at what you find.

How in the world can it be only 16 days until our big move!  The movers have been chosen, tenants signed a 2 yr lease on our house in Mesa, a garage sale was had, and the packing commenced.  We also have cleaners and carpet cleaners lined up to come in after we leave and get the house ready for the new family.

The movers come in 15 days–and we may just leave that same day!  We’re anxious to get there already.
So, um.  15 days?

My grandmother once told me that 95% of the things that we worry about never happen.  She said, “Worry is wasted energy.”  How true that statement can be!  After spending a week of worrying, everything seems to be falling into place.

We found renters for our house!  After doing credit and background checks and speaking with their current landlord, we found a perfect match.  They signed a 2 yr lease today and are scheduled to move in on May 31st.  It was amazing to feel the cloud of worry dissipate after getting the contract in writing.  A huge sense of relief washed over me as I sat and talked with the nice young family who will be spending the next chapter of their lives here in our home–my family’s first home.  Knowing that a new little boy will be sleeping in Ryan’s room is both exciting and oddly bittersweet.

Anyhow, we had the busiest weekend ever, cleaning out the storage shed in the backyard, throwing out stuff no longer needed in the garage, and packing up closets in the house.  We also planted 3 desert sage bushes and some lantana in our newly-graveled backyard.  It looks damn good out there now.

Next weekend we plan on having a huge garage sale and then donating whatever doesn’t sell.  We’re cutting out about 50% of the stuff (and clutter) in our lives.  This will be great, especially when you consider that our new house is about 500 square feet larger than the one we’re living in now.  We’re going to have so much room it’s insane!

So last Sunday night I laid in bed all night, tossing, turning and worrying.  Tonight is going to be a different story.  No more wasted energy!

Ok, so I’m still worried about the tenant thing.  We were supposed to have a family come look at the house last night at 5 pm.  After cleaning the house like a mad woman, at 5 minutes after 5 they weren’t there.  At 5:20, still no prospective tenants.  By 5:45 I was beyond annoyed and went and made Ryan some dinner.  At 6:15 I looked at Matt and said, “I don’t think they’re coming.”  Yeah, they never showed. 

 So the apprehension started to build.  I began to think to myself, “What if we can’t find a renter and we’re stuck paying for rent in Bend AND a mortgage here in AZ in less than a month???”  My left eye started twitching uncontrollably.

A couple of hours later I received an e-mail from someone named Jennifer.  Apparently she had found our house from one of the sites that Postlet.com automatically posts flyers to.  Woo hoo for free marketing!  So I set up an appointment with her via e-mail to come see the house this Thursday.  Although my eye was still twitching, I went from a 10-plus on the “Freak the Fuck Out” scale to about an 8. 

So yeah.  We still don’t have a renter, but at least there is some interest and I have 4 appointments set up with different people over the next week.  The apprehension I feel is definitely still there, but I have hope that it will all come together soon. 

Wow, April is almost over and I realize that I haven’t once written anything for this blog this month.  Ooops!  Guess that’s just what happens when life gets crazy and you don’t have enough time to stop and breathe, let alone blog.  I’ve been interviewing interstate moving companies, finding/applying for/renting a home in Bend, setting up utilities, getting landscapers in here to spread 15 tons of gravel in our backyard, looking for cleaning people, interviewing prospective tenants for our current home….. shit, that was just this morning.

It’s hard to believe that in just 27 days we will be moving to Oregon!  I’ve hit an almost frantic pace trying to get everything in order for our move.  It seems like every day another 10 tasks are added to my TO DO list.  One of my biggest stressors right now is trying to find responsible tenants to rent out our house.  With fair housing laws, I can’t exactly write in my craigslist ad, “No tweekers, dog fighting breeders, or people with 10 dirty kids.”  Damn the fair housing police!  So instead I write, “Responsible tenants wanted.”  Unfortunately, the term “responsible” can be loosely interpreted.

So today I worry about tenants.  I’ve decided that I can’t worry about two things on the same day, so tomorrow I’ll be able to worry about the logistics of driving an 18 month old boy 1200 miles in 3 days.  The mere thought of it is making my palms start to sweat.

Ok, so I think I’m starting to have a mini-anxiety attack just thinking about all of this, so I should probably end this post right now.  I’ll be back tomorrow to report on the next stage of emotions I hit when I have just 26 days left.  It will be a mini-social experiment, if you will.  I warn you now–the posts in the upcoming days might contain language that isn’t suitable for all audiences.  Reader discretion advised.