When I first told my parents about this blog, to be perfectly honest, they were less than thrilled. I think any parent, when they hear their child is starting a website with the word, “naked” in it, probably has some reservations. My parents naturally felt the same way. I remember my mom and dad warning me that this blog would come back to bite me in the ass when applying for future jobs or in my current work situation. They said I could potentially ruin not only my career, but also Grey’s and that it just wasn’t worth the risk.
Then, there was their fear that I would be stalked by crazy Internet junkies. They believed that by me letting the entire world into my life (and my family’s lives), I would be opening myself up to crazy people. I agree with this now — as I did then — however, I figure at this point, EVERYONE is on the Internet. If you’re gonna be stalked, you’re gonna be stalked. And quite frankly, there are way more enticing people to stalk than ME, so I took my chances.
Of course, after their initial pleas that I publish the blog under a pseudonym or bag it altogether, they were my biggest fans. They gave me ideas for my notes, offered constructive criticism, and watched all of our promotional TV appearances dozens of times. But I am genuinely grateful to them for their initial reservations, I’m sure that’s partially why I actually decided to go ahead and see this blog to fruition!
So thanks, Mom and Dad, for your well-intentioned, but also totally ignored, advice. I do appreciate your delayed support for this endeavor!
My truly supportive family! I've always felt free to tell my parents exactly how I felt (like how this mustache of my dad's looked ridiculous) and they've done the same with me (like how launching a blog with naked pictures of myself may be a bad idea).
Ah, gotta love two-year-old preschool. Now that Ollie’s in a program, I think I appreciate teachers even more than when I actually WAS a teacher. Not only do I have a few hours of free time per week now where I can run to the grocery store sans child or get my brows waxed without a screaming toddler trying to burn down the salon, but Ollie is actually LEARNING! And becoming better behaved! Preschool is literally a miracle.
I mean it when I say his teachers are saints. In just a few short weeks since school has started they have helped teach my wild little beast the alphabet, his numbers, and even rules of social conduct (i.e. keep your pants on while in public and don’t pick your friend’s noses). Even though my son is the classroom hitter (and pusher, and screamer, and barker…), they show a tremendous amount of patience with him. Plus, every day I get a detailed note sent home to me explaining his daily behavior. Most of the time the notes are filled with lines like, “Ollie tried to attack the prayer leader today — just wanted to make you aware” or “Still working on aggression issues. Does he usually use toys as weapons?” sometimes I’ll be pleasantly surprised to find notes like, “Ollie had a great day! Very cooperative and didn’t hurt any one!!!!!” that warm my heart.
The teachers may as well sign the notes, “Wow! He isn’t a sociopath afterall! ” but of course they don’t say that. I can imagine all the things they’d love to write to me about my unruly son, but everything is always communicated in a positive way. For this, I am so grateful. Really. And even though every night I pray he’s not kicked out of school for aggressive behavior toward his peers, at least I can breath a sigh of relief that he’s in good hands when I drop him off.
Some suggested reading material for my lil angel...
PS: As I go to post this, I find it ironic that today is my dad’s 64th birthday. I mean, could he have a better present than a wild grandson? I’m sure he’d say no…and remind me, “Paybacks are a bitch!” (I was a biter and an aggressive child like Ollie and realize now how much my behavior probably troubled my parents.) I guess one day I can look forward to having even wilder grandchild of my own!
Last week my dad drove down from Erie to help us with tying up some loose ends in the home renovation department. For lack of a better term, he was pretty much our bitch for five straight days, doing things like painting the front fence, putting up an arbor outside, installing door trim, fixing the porch screens, and basically every project we could think of that we don’t have the time or energy to do.
Not only was it nice to have the help on the house, but it was also great to spend some time with my dad. Ollie enjoyed seeing “Butt-Butt” (apparently how he pronounces, “Gramps”) and I had fun too (especially with a live-in babysitter for the week).
The only snag in my dad’s trip was when we accidentally “glutenated” him (he’s a Celiac, so can’t have anything with wheat) by giving him a bag of regular pretzels. But after researching how to stave off a gluten attack (apparently a shot of tequila and some Benadryl — who knew?!) he didn’t end up getting sick — which was a good thing.
The other crazy part was when my dad and I dropped Ollie off at his preschool. When we said goodbye, we heard the teacher say, “OK, Ollie, say byebye to Mommy and Daddy.” HA! They thought he was my husband. Which is gross — AND distrurbing, at least for me — because that means the teachers either think I’m a goldigger who married an old guy or else they actually think I look old enough to be married to a 63-year-old!!
I have to give my dad credit though, he doesn't look 63, and it's not just the tie-dye. Here he is reading to Ollie the spelunker.
Seriously, I know I said it in yesterday’s post, but Karin TRULY picked a winner with her sprinkle present to me. She granted our family the gift of Wahoo, the giant inflatable blue dog by Marky Sparky toys.
I’m not kidding when I say Wahoo has changed my entire perspective on pets. Before he joined the family, Grey and I had considered possibly getting a puppy for Ollie so that he didn’t feel so left out when the new baby arrives in November, but now, well, now we’re leaning toward just letting him play with the large rubber air puppy instead. Hey, he probably won’t even know the difference!
The best thing about Wahoo is that he requires no housebreaking or grooming. He won’t take a dump on the couch or shed hair all over the floor. Ollie can pounce on his back and bite his nose with no threat of retaliation or worms. Plus, no need to kennel him when we go on vacation. In fact, if he starts to annoy us we’ll just deflate him and stuff him in a closet. No pesky trips to the vet to put him down. OR, for that matter, annoying barking, howling, or rubbing his ass on the carpet like dogs are so fond of doing. He’s the best companion since the pet rock. Whoohoo, Wahoo!
I’m a fisherman! I fish! Or at least I pretend that I do, now that Grey and I got a license to allow us to drive our car on Cape Henlopen here in Delaware. Basically, if you’re a surf fisherman (like me) then the State Park Authority gives you the green light to tool all over almost-completely deserted beaches across the state of Delaware. The only catch is you actually have to have a fishing pole and fishing equipment in tow when you take your car on the shores, you can’t just lie on the sand in your bikini drinking a margarita with no gear whatsoever.
So, tonight, Grey, Ollie, and I had our first “fishing” expedition out on the Cape. It was great! We packed up a gigantic fishing pole, a tackle box, beach towels, and snacks for our little jaunt on the dunes. We literally had the beach all to ourselves, but on our drive out, we saw a whole bunch of other “fishermen” with coolers and brews and grills working hard catching a buzz, if not any scaly animals.
The only other places I’ve ever driven on the beach in a car have been Nantucket and Fraser Island in Australia. In Nantucket, Grey and I actually got our rental Jeep stuck in the sand and almost had to pay $20,000 in damages to Avis…whew, close one). In Fraser Island, I drove a gigantic truck (complete with a bull-bar) packed with six other study abroad kids down the shores looking at ship wrecks and dingos. Both experiences were ones I’ll never forget, but definitely both on-vacation-type memories. What’s so nice now, is that on some random weeknight or ho-hum day, I can join my husband and son for a drive out onto the beach. Just another thing I love about our new hometown!
Isn't this a sweet set-up? See our fishing pole on the front of the Jeep? It's there...so we weren't breaking any rules, unless you count that Ollie made it a nude beach....
I know there are many downfalls to Facebook (it’s a time sponge, it hurts kids ability to actually speak to each other, people sometimes use it for creepy reasons, etc), but I honestly think the good outweighs the bad. I love it for two main reasons: the stalking and the birthdays.
First of all, it’s so much fun to peer into other people’s lives through their wall posts and pictures. It’s great that you can go years without having contact with a person and then friend them on FB and instantly know how many kids they have, where they work, and how their hairline or waistline is fairing. Amazing.
The second reason, is that it makes you feel so darn great on your birthday. The fact that the FB powers-that-be post your date of birth allows everyone and their brother to come out of the woodwork to send you birthday greetings on your big day (those of them that aren’t trying to steal your social security number and identity, anyway). I think that’s pretty neat. Yesterday, on my birthday, I heard from tons of Penn Staters, Washingtonians, Erieites — and even a few former students. It was fantastic! I felt so loved!! And popular! It was like an instant self esteem boost, which, when you’re turning a year older and look like you’ve swallowed a basketball, is much needed. Thanks, FB, but also all the friends that sent me the lovely birthday greetings. You made my day!
Thanks also to my two favorite crazy boys for making it a perfect birthday! (I love this totally insane cake cutting shot. Can we ever have a normal family pic?) Also, please ignore the "It's a Boy!" on the cake...pure speculation at this point!!
Annoyingly enough, I got a speeding ticket in the mail yesterday. It’s from the District, where it seems they have automated photo enforcement cameras on every street corner and highway underpass. Of course, I was pissed when I opened the mail and got the fine (135 bucks –EW, RUDE, DC!), HOWEVER, as this is my first ticket ever in our Nation’s capital (except parking tickets), so I do admit it was about time.
I think, part of the reason why I never got a photo-enforcement ticket in the five years I lived as a Washingtonian (or NoVa resident) was due to the fact that I had PhotoBlocker — a clear glaze that blurs the numbers of your license plate when the flash hits it — sprayed on my plates. My little brother got me this genius product for my birthday when we moved back to the East Coast. For those of you that don’t know him, this is a very typical Ian-gift. Whereas other people may gift items like a new shirt or maybe a gift certificate, Ian gives the people he loves items like realistic-looking voodoo dolls, signs that read: DINGO CROSSING, and books titled, Thank God I Had a Gun: True Accounts of Self Defense.
So, like I was saying, I think PhotoBlocker is the reason that in five years of driving around DC, I never once got caught by a speed camera. Or, more accurately, I got caught by speed cameras (how can you miss that flashing!), but I never once got a ticket in the mail from them until now. I’m sure, after all this time, the glaze simply wore off and that’s why I was busted. Ironic, to get the ticket only now that I’ve moved out of the area, but isn’t that how things usually work? Oh well, I guess it’s just time to order another can!
Genius!!!
Other than PhotoBlocker, this book may be another one of my all time favorite Ian-gifts. The little boy crouching in fear on the bed is a nice touch to the cover art, no? Since tomorrow is my birthday, I'm guessing Ian will get me yet another amazing present!
Ah! Today Ollie turns two! I can’t even believe it. First, geez, does time fly. Where did all the months go? I feel like I was handed a seven pound bundle of blankets and all of a sudden it materialized into a wild little boy that hops on the dining room table and hammers the TV screen with his toy trains. Second, wow, I can’t even believe I’ll have another one of these in just three months. Both thoughts make me want to hysterically laugh and cry and eat massive amounts of synthetic cheese snacks to take my mind off of reality.
Before I had Ollie, I knew parents loved their kids. Everyone knows that. I got the whole “motherhood” thing — or so I thought. Then, August 16, 2008 rolled around and I was floored. I remember one girlfriend telling me to look forward to my labor because it would be the “best day” of my life and, boy, was that dead on. Ollie’s birthday, and every day since then, has been leaps and bounds better than any other time in my life (though I will admit it was fun kisssing drunk boys and dancing to cheesy frat house music in college). But seriously, I think I speak for both Grey and I when I say that having Ollie was the single happiest event in both of our lives. Yeah, our wedding day was special, but bringing a new human being into the world topped it by miles.
When I look back over my blog entries, or even the whole point of why I’m doing this daily thanking — I think Ollie takes the cake for the thing for which I am most grateful. Happy 2, Lil Fella!
My cheering squad checks out a first glimpse of Baby O
Back from the OR, I examine my bundle of joy for the first time...I think it's funny I have essentials like my Blackberry and hairbrush within reaching distance. The necessities of child bearing.
Just a few hours after being removed from my belly, Ollie looks incredibly well-adjusted to life outside the womb. Thankfully, he inherited his dad's rosy skin tone!
Two years ago today, I went into the hospital to have a baby. But despite my doctor’s promises that the “birthday will definitely be August 15th,” Ollie was actually not delivered until the early morning hours of the 16th — after a whopping 20+ hours of labor and, finally, a c-section. Not that I was in pain or that it was a horrible labor; it wasn’t. Yet I have to admit, I think our family was bored out of their ever loving minds while they waited with us.
While I was happily drugged with an epidural and lounging in bed watching the Olympics having people hand feed me ice chips, the rest of my family was forced to shift weight from one leg to another and pretend staring at me was extremely fun. They plastered on smiles while I barked orders like, “Deal another round of Asshole and don’t forget I’m the President!” and brought me magazines and hard candy from the gift shop.
I knew then, though it obviously wasn’t the foremost thing on my mind (a dilating cervix tends to distract), that we were very lucky to have all of our family surrounding us as we waited for the baby. With Grey’s whole side and my whole side (plus some of our friends in attendance), it was like a party, not the scary labor filled with bloody towels and cries of agony I had always imagined. I am MOST grateful.
Grey's side of the family...
My side of the family...
Our friends Kris and Craig (who were 8 months prego themselves) with my parents as my mom tries to entertain people by playing weight and height guessing games (exactly what everyone wanted to be doing at 1am on a Friday night!). The expressions of sheer boredom here are priceless!!!! Don't worry, guys, this November it'll be a quick 30 minute wait thanks to a scheduled C! Love you all and thanks again!
My little Ollie, not quite even two years old yet, has developed a funny habit: ass slapping. I realized this the other day on the ferry when he was giggling and going up to every woman he saw and swatting her on the butt. The little flirt thought it was hilarious; he’d stealthily sidle up to a girl and then spin around and slap. And let me tell you, no amount of distraction on my part could take the fun out of this new game.
Oddly, Ollie is not the only guy in my family that has a strange predilection for booty attacks. My brother will probably kill me for writing this, but as a young tot, he too, had a thing for touching strangers’ backsides. However, whereas Ollie likes to slap asses, my little bro liked to pinch them. We’d go to the grocery store and there he’d stand in the canned good aisle — goosing female store patrons. One time, my mom toted us out with her for a bra-shopping expedition (oh the fun of childhood) and he hid in the racks of lingerie and randomly popped out and squeezed unsuspecting woman’s butt cheek’s in his pudgy little toddler hands. Strangely enough, every single one of his victims thought it was adorable. He was the sweet baby bum pincher. Aawwwww, precious.
It’s the same story with Ollie and his ass slapping. Women think it’s darling. Ollie smacked one lady’s enormous booty on the ferry the other day and she athought it was so adorable that she took pictures of him with her camera (or maybe this was for a police report, I don’t know). I had to laugh when one male passenger astutely observed this situation and piped up, “Bet you wouldn’t think it was so cute if I did that!” Touché, sir, touché. Oh well, my philosophy is, work it while you can, kid!
Ian takes Ollie out for a tricycle ride when we were in Erie last week. I suspect this quiet walk was when Ian explained the joys of booty attacks to his nephew.
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