Not up to Code!

A couple of months ago your humble blogger was out back clipping blackberry bushes from our lower deck when one of the boards gave out and I fell to my demise 4 feet below. It was only four feet, but it could have been a lot further. So I had to ask myself how many people are going to have to fall through this deck before somebody does something about it? Four? Six? I don’t know really. You tell me. We’ll actually we only know about six people, so six is the max. Will our homeowners insurance cover this many people? I don’t know. I do know that minimum code requires that the casual stroller should not fall through the structure. It looked like a lot of work to fix though, so we covered the hole with a disposable table cloth and left it alone to heal on it’s own.

Note from Gas: Brakes thinks he's Holmes on Homes. (and he does look pretty cute in his overalls)

Fast forward 3 weeks. Gas casually recommends that we work on having a fun outdoor area for when the weather gets better. Cue: The deck. So I hired a guy to get some estimates on redwood lumber (me), consulted an exterior designer (Gas), called in a deck guy (my dad), hired a painter (me), and hired a team of carpenters (us, and we use that term very loosely BTW) and started work. Don’t worry we’re going to Make it Right! Keep smiling.

Now the truth is that guys really don’t know how anything works. But we can always pop open the hood and take a look. Unfortunately sometimes once we get going tinkering with something there is no undo button. Hence this mess:

In addition to the rotted boards near the end of the deck, the joists closest to the patio were very beat up. Particularly the one on the middle was almost completely gone from dry rot:

So after a couple of hours of making a mess and a discussion with our architect (my dad), we decided it would be best to just pull up all the decking boards are replace with new.

Gas thought a white banister with redwood decking would look good since the yard is naturally pretty dark. For the paint we used a paint gun with acrylic white paint. Oh, and BTW we have a ton of firewood if anybody wants some.

This is where it got really messy. We cut back the joists beyond the dry rot and replaced some of them with treated lumber then covered the structure with wood protectant. The little carpenter on the left also helped us with odds and ends.

After getting the framing done it was easy-peasy except for a little bad weather.

The rain coming early was a bummer and we had to stop work about 1/2 way through fastening the deck boards.

Here’s a picture of the finished product (wet):

We also got a yard adornment. It’s like a mix between a garden gnome and a Chia Pet, and it does some cool stuff!

Brakes’ Riddle

After painting knobs all day (sounds diry- its not.) on Valentines day, as you can imagine, I was a wee bit irritated. I may have pouted, whined, and sulked communicated my disappointment in a completely mature and appropriate way. Like most of my lectures helpful suggestions, I assumed that Brakes would blatantly ignore most likely forget my message. So you can imagine my total surprise when I woke up the following day to this: (after he had been up for hours with the baby, letting me sleep in! I know! How could I ever complain about this man?! Just wait- it gets better!)

(I really should stop showing off my messy night stand!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I looked across the room and saw this:

In this kitchen I spied these:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dining room bore this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The living room was not left out:

Neither was Weezy’s room, both bathrooms, the garage, even the mother-in-law catacombs where the dogs sleep! Every where I went there were sweet yellow flowers clipped from our front yard (pretty sure they’re weeds but I love them just the same!) and every time I spotted a new vase Brakes and I would make out and Weezy would give me tender little kisses! It was loving, romantic, meaningful, and it made me feel adored and appreciated! A+ Brakes! I am so glad you are my little over-achiever and I apologize for underestimating your listening skills!

Goodbye Old Friend

I’ve heard that writing can be a great way to express one’s feelings, so I thought it would be nice to share the history of a family member that Gas and I've really cherished over the last 7 years. Despite having lost a multitude of them over the years, I’ve determined that regardless of what people may tell you it’s always a traumatic experience.

The year was 2003. Gas and I had met only two years earlier and she had been wanting one for a long time. Her previous Jinksy was inherited by her brother. Needless to say, that didn’t work out so well for Jinksy. Having felt some grief over this himself, Gas’ dad started working behind the scenes to get his paws on a new one. Fortunately he had a client who was looking to pass their little darling on to one very special owner who could give her the care she needed. So after a short negotiation she was ours:

A 1991 Pontiac Grand Am LS.

Gas was thrilled. They went everywhere together. To the store, to my house, and even to Petco (to look at the puppies of course). She made the move from Arizona, to Utah, and even to California. She did misbehave on our drive back to Arizona, but you know what they say: You don’t always get the car you want, sometimes you get the car you need. For what other reason would we have spent 2 unscheduled days in Kanab (est. pop 5400) Utah? However, after a little adjustment she became our loyal friend again. Shipping her from Utah to California did make us all a bit nervous though.

A couple weeks ago on one fateful afternoon she was struck with a common illness for her breed and could not pass a smog test. We were faced with a decision. Do we keep spending money trying to keep her alive in what might be a helpless battle? Or do we “retire” her before things get worse?

The DMV conversation went about as expected:

Your humble blogger: “Is there anything that can be done?”

DMV representative: “No. (long silence with a grip of typing going on in the background) And by the way can I put you on hold just for shits and giggles. ”

Your humble blogger’s internal monologue: “It wasn’t like she had attacked anyone! When you are walking down the street who do you fear more: A 1991 Grand Am or a Prius? Those things can kill people! A 1991 Grand Am couldn’t kill a person if it tried. I mean really it couldn’t. And even if it did you’d have plenty of time to get out of the way.”'

DMV representative returns.

Your humble blogger: “This whole experience has made me feel very isolated and alone as though no one cares.”

Not one to put up a fight though we excepted our condition and headed over to the yard to said our goodbyes. We did become a bit worried after spying the sign:

“Pick-n-Pull”! "Cash for Clunkers" (how crass)?! Can we please show some respect. And the way they just pile them up there by the thousand:

After some time we discovered it really is for the best though. And her legacy will live on since we used our bounty to make some much needed improvements outside to our deck (more on that later):

 

Goodbye old friend.

1991 Pontiac Grand Am (1991-2010)

Neighbors, Skunks, and Green Leafy Plants. What do they have in common?

The morning after the floors were completed Gas and I were awoken by an odd smell emanating from the furnace vents. To be more precise it smelled similar to a big greasy breakfast. We were a bit puzzled at the time, but decided to let it marinate (to continue with the food theme. Gas is a fan of themes and I am a fan of Gas, so please excuse my “cheesy” theme. Get it? Cheese? Anyways.) with us for a bit and we opened the windows. The smell appeared to get better until we turned the heat back on in the evening and within minutes the house stunk again although it had morphed into an odor more “herby” in nature; Gas swore it smelled like skunky-weed.

Now the neighbors directly to our north are somewhat of a strange couple. They are older and retired. The wife is a very talkative and gregarious type, while the husband actively avoids eye-contact with us as he trudges to and from his house. I might be able to pick him out of a lineup, but only if it was a profile. Rather than decide he just isn’t the neighborly type, my imaginative wife theorizes that he must be terminally ill and he does not wish to make friends with her for fear that the loss will be too great when the time comes. She has mentioned that I should hint to them that she writes a hell of a eulogy. (I’m not sure that’s the choice of words I would use, honey.) In any case she felt that he may be numbing his pain with the occasional “joint” on the balcony relatively close to our crawlspace and attic intake vents. Case closed. Or so we thought…

I was not so convinced of this story, particularly because it seemed to be localized to the furnace and the crawlspace or catacombs as we like to refer to them. So we searched the furnace ducts and opened the front to the furnace but couldn’t find anything. I kept wondering if maybe the Weez had deviously planted a woodsprite in one of the furnace ducts and it was baking every time we turned on the heater. After suffering (not silently, Gas!) through this for a week or so we decided it was time to call in the experts. I don’t think Mel, our local furnace pro, had ever been greeted at the door so warmly. Gas verbally made-out with him at first site! Its a good think I am not the jealous type and Mel was a happily married Grandfather. After sniffing around a bit we headed to the catacombs and he immediately recognized the smell of a skunk. Apparently the little critter had sprayed near one of the catacomb vents and the smell got pulled into the intake. He recommended taking something that smells nice and attaching it to the furnace intake. So we wet a rag with some sweet pea oil, turned on the heater and within 5 minutes our entire house smelled like the Body Shop. I would highly recommend it.

So, in the end, what is the lesson in all of this? Don’t judge a book… err, house… err, grumpy neighbor… by it’s… err, his… cover… I mean smell. And also demeanor. Anyways.

Till next time, folks! I’ll just leave you with a picture of my sweet-peas in our sweet-pea smelling house.

We are Avatars!

Hey guys Brakes here again.

A couple weeks ago due to beer pressure (I convinced her after she’d had a few) I got Gas to agree to see Avatar in 3-D. Now you’d have to be living under a pack-and-play to have not seen this movie, but this was not a given for us due to our sordid history with science fiction movies. The first and only one I’ve ever been able to drag Gas to see was the third Lord of the Rings movie to which we snuck into the theatre midway through on my birthday after I’d agreed to see a Hugh Grant chick-flick. What a deal! She was very uninterested until the epic battle scene where the dwarf demands the ranger toss him over the threshold so he can battle on the other side: “Toss me. I cannot make the jump!” She now exclaims this whenever she doesn't want to do something, be it washing dishes, or walking back to the car in the costco parking lot. It’s a line that never gets old. To her.

Although we do agree that Avatar was akin to Ferngully on steroids . We luckily have been able to avoid Post Avatar Depression (P.A.D. for short) although the other day I thought to myself how neat it would be if real life were in 3-D. We’ve been quoting the movie nonstop and we borrow phrases from the Na’vi language such as:

Na'vi: "I see you" Translation: I love you

Our house: I see you... literately. I see you ignoring the poopy diaper and waiting for me to notice.

Na'vi: "Unobtainium" Definition: A rare mineral valued at “20 million a kilo"

Our House: A synonym for sleep or something that is equally rare and absolutly just not going to happen. For example: "How much unobtainium did you get last night? Oh, not much. How about you?" "You want to unobtainium later?" "Not gonna happen, Brakes." It is a multifunctional word.

Na'vi: "Woodsprites" Definition: seeds of the "holy tree", appearing similar to airborne jellyfish.

Our House: A synonym for poop. Used in a sentence: "Weez made another woodsprite so soon?!... Honey, can you get this one?" "Sorry honey it’s unobtainium."

Our Avatar obsession also lead us to make an avatar of Weezy at this website: http://www.avatarizeyourself.com/. She can thank me later.

So without further ado we present our powerful little Na’vi warrior:

Announcement!

Brakes here again. I’m not sure how long you typically wait to tell this kind of thing? We waited about 3 months to announce our first born but this time around we are way too excited!

We always thought we’d plan this in advance, but sometimes life just happens.  Gas and I got drunk one night and, well, you’ve heard this story before…

We started trying last week, but it was a bust, so Auntie Diana came to babysit the Weez on Saturday and, with the splendor of adult-only time, Gas and I decided to give it one more go-round.   Not to get too graphic but it took several locations, frustration, and disappointment before we finally landed in the sweet-spot; Best Buy.  We were about to give up but, at the last minute, we spied the perfect one!  It looked so lonely all by itself. Apparently, another family had purchased it, but it wasn’t a good fit so they had to bring her back. Their loss was our gain; Gas and I were in love at first site!  So we bought the little beauty and excitedly left, in a hurry to introduce her to the rest of the B&G household. On the way home, I couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of responsibility our new family member would be, but we were sure it was the right choice.

The next day I spend nearly 4 hours with her making sure she felt welcome and comfortable in her new home. I can’t lie, she did tinkle a bit at first, but I think we’ve housebroken her now.

Gas and I are pleased to announce the newest member of our family:

The LG LDF6920ST Dishwasher.  Isn’t she pretty?  And yes, she will be expected to do some chores around the house.

I Love My Hardwood.

Wow. There really isn’t a clean way of saying that is there? But it’s true. Hi everybody! Brakes here. While Gas is off steady chasin that paper, her majesty has allowed me to talk about our newest house update.

One thing we loved about our rental was the gorgeous, refinished hardwood floors. That wasn’t in the cards this time around, but we tried to see the bright side; now we’d inherited older, more experienced… even worldly… carpeted floors.   They weren’t sexy and sleek like in our rental but we tried to appreciate them just the way they were.  While Gas and I pined after our foxy hardwood of yore, Weez (much to Gas’s dismay) fostered a fast friendship with the wizened blue shag dressing the bedrooms.

We gave it our best shot but the carpets clearly weren’t the floors for of our dreams.  It wasn’t them, it was us… We’d arrived at a different stage in our lives; we’d made (and then spent, on this God-Forsaken money pit) our million (***figure greatly exaggerated for dramatic sake***).  We didn’t want to be tethered down by tired, worn carpeting… not when there are so many fruitful, young hardwood beauties out there just begging to be installed.  So after a couple of months I drove down a discreet back alley to the den of inequity that all renovators know about but never discuss in polite company; I ventured to Lumber Liquidators.  

I told myself that I just wanted to look.  But when I took a gander at such a flagrant display of flooring flesh, I felt my resolve slipping.  I knew this would be an expensive proposition and I suddenly felt guilty for hiding this trip from Gas. I was a bit nervous as I watched the salesman approach, not having done this before and all, but the host made me feel right at home. He assured me that all the hardwood is well taken care of and that people pay good money to spend time with them. So, when I was ready he gently lead me to the merchandise, enticingly lined up along the wall, and asked me to pick my pleasure.  Do I go with something adventurous like a dark bamboo? Or a tantalizing blonde variety? Perhaps an exotic hickory? Hmmm….Then there was the question of size? Thin or thick?  Was bigger really better? There was even a discount on the fake ones but they didn’t feel real to the touch, so I decided not to go that route.  Besides, I knew Gas would never accept a fake.  In the end I went with a solid wide-plank distressed oak. She wasn’t cheap and it only took maybe four minutes to make a commitment, but in the end, I knew she would be well worth the price. Now I just had to go home and tell Gas.

The days spent waiting for them to arrive seemed endless. After an appropriate 48 hours I broke down and called, but I only received a very coy voicemail. The next week, jilted, I called again.  Another two weeks passed, but still no call. I was beginning to contemplate moving on (there are plenty of other flooring options in the sea!), but just as I started to browse various other hardwood ads, the call came at last!  “Your hardwood will be delivered Tuesday,” they said. I immediately phoned our installers, and they assured us that while the transition(s) would be rough (no pun intended) that most couples quickly fall in love with their new floors.  “Tell me something I don’t know!  I’m already head-over-heels,” I sighed dreamily.

The installers weren’t kidding. There were definitely were some tough moments. Could I afford these floors? Would they mesh with our lifestyle? After all, if they can’t get along with my family then it won’t work…. Obviously Gas and the baby were my top priority.  But with relief, I soon discovered that there was one compatibility issue that wasn’t a problem. Gas loved them too (I have the coolest wife ever!) and she embraced them as if they were her idea!

After the first day I thought to myself these floors have everything. We prepared a toast that night to welcome our new floors into our home.  “May our relationship be modern enough to endure the times and old fashioned enough to last forever!” we sang as we carried ourselves over their threshold.

…We celebrated their arrival with a festive meal!

… And afterwards, we cozied up to them by the fireplace.

Then when the time was right… …….

The morning after (the installation) things were momentarily awkward… but then we introduced our floors to the Weez and her exuberant welcome broke any residual tension!

I know that, on these floors, we will all be one big happy family!

Social Skills Lessons By Brakes

My very clever nestie friend (I have not actually met her in real life but we’ve been sharing intimate, yet untraceable, details from our personal lives for 5 years, so I think that qualifies us as friends. Anyways.) SmartAssMom writes a fantastic blog about motherhood, life, and lately, entertaining and decor. Her recent sardonic take on tablescapes and children-welcome adult parties got me thinking about how differently Brakes and I navigate certain social situations.

I was raised in a home where entertaining guests was an art form and being a perfect hostess was ranked right up there next to godliness and personal hygiene in level of importance. Brakes is:

A) a Man and

B) A little Autistic (I am a professional; I can say these things).

He doesn’t always “get” social cues, nor does he always understand appropriate ways to send certain signals. (As many of you know, though I was, of course, initially attracted to Brakes I know that looks fade; what really cemented his intrigue was my clinical interest in his Aspergersy take on the world.)

Here are a few shining examples of Brakes’ social brilliance:

• When Brakes and I were separated for a month, when I was visiting Arizona, we spoke every night on the phone. On an especially poignant night I was really missing my man, so I waxed poetic to him for a few minutes finishing up with, “I’m feeling very tender towards you…” I then waited an appropriate amount of time for him to return the sentiment. When he didn’t, I patiently explained that it was customary to reciprocate kind words when they are spoken. He paused for a minute, mulling this concept over in his mind, and said, “Right. I love you. I love you a reasonable amount… how was that?” Bless his heart.
• A few months later, when he proposed, he kept up with this romantic ideal by saying, “Well Bug, we’ve known each other a long time. I love you. I guess the next step is getting married. What do you think?” If I hadn’t been distracted by the big, honking rock between his fingers, I may have asked for a do-over.
• My absolutely fave social-trick Brakes taught me is how to get rid of party guests that overstay their welcome. He simply gets up from the table and begins clearing. This would work out really well if he didn’t have a wife that never wants the evening to end or if our friends were not used to his sometimes abrupt social transitions and didn’t pay them much mind. In fact, while Brakes is in the kitchen mopping up after my culinary adventures, we’ve had entire conversations centered around Brake’s less than stellar phone-skills. It works well for me.

In the spirit of celebrating Brake’s idiosyncrasies I am going to end this post much like he would (mid-conversation)-

“Alright. We’ll I gotta get going. Click.”

Plus he writes “I Love You” with pasta and puts it on the special plate.

I am a lucky woman!

We are such LOWESER’s

Hello out therrrrrrreeeee! Can anybody hear me? Hi everybody. Brakes here! Sorry for the very long brake.  (I was referring to the long hiatus, not my privates.  That would be inappropriate.  Despite what Gas has lead you to believe, I do have some social graces. Anyways.)  Gas has been hard at work on a super secret project the likes of which I hope we can divulge soon. This project has taken virtually all of her free time and, in the interest of sparing her sanity in the evenings, it has meant a lot of soiled diapers coming my way. Let’s just say that I’m up a couple on her at this point. (Gas Edit: Not likely.) If this project could grow legs it would walk the trail to Mordor (I know all you Mommy Blog readers are closeted Tolkien geeks too!).  (Gas Edit: I thought I asked you not to reference LOTR on my our blog?) But enough of that. I was sent to talk about our other child.

As many of you know Gas and I bought a house not too long ago. It’s what Gas refers to as a “mid century modern rancher” which IMO is a cute way of saying sixties tract home with no curb appeal. The upside is that it is on a large lot and has plenty of room. This is good because we are never moving. again. ever. or ever. never.

When we bought the house it was obvious that it needed some upgrades. It was listed as a “maintenance free house”. I can only assume that this was because there hadn’t been any maintenance performed on it in over 25 years. Thankfully, Gas was very organized and came up with a tiered and color-coded (leave it to her to add decor to a flow-chart) system with the most important things in green (tier 1) to least important in red (tier 3) and slowly we’ve been chipping away.

We started with the necessary stuff like a fence for the dogs, and fixing leaky plumbing. Then we moved on to some more difficult stuff like tiling. Now neither of us have been around home improvement much. Gas did a little maintenance growing up (Gas Edit: Does this make me sound like a custodian? I wasn’t.  Not that there is anything wrong with custodians, or sanitation engineers, or whatever.  Anyways.  Continue:) and I had some woodworking and electrical experience in college, but for the heavy lifting we’ve had to call in some experts. For the tiling we were fortunate enough to call in my dad for his expertise (and some tools).

Here’s a couple pictures so far:

This one was taken on closing day. The gentleman on the left is the former owner, Kago. Notice how we are smiling and he is not. I’m pretty sure if this was taken today the roles would be reversed. Look at Gas and I beaming.  So young.  So naive.

 

Day 1 of the renovation. Weez got right to work directing.

Here is my dad and I tiling the floor in the entryway. Please note the gigantic hole in the floor from which my head is protruding.

This was definitely one of those what-the-hell-were-we-thinking moments. We made this hole in front of the garage entrance a couple days before our guests arrived for Christmas. The hole leads to the dark, cavernous crawlspace below. The idea was tossed around that we could leave it there with some water and rations beneath. When tensions got high we could just ask the offending guest to please check on the laundry in the garage…

Gas’s mom refers to the crawlspace as the catacombs. I like to call it our “mother-in-law” unit.

  

Here’s the kitchen floor before and after:

Last weekend my little sister started calling us LOWES-er’s because we’ve been know to frequent our favorite hardware store up to three times in a day. Though, sometimes we like to mix it up a bit and go to Orchard Supply Hardware (OSH). Why? Because we’re OSHsome!   That's all for now, folks!  I am off to tackle some more tier 1’s! 

Life of Crime

I think the pressures of homeownership are beginning to get to Brakes.  He’s been acting out.  It started with a lower tolerance to noise.  He would snap at the dogs more easily and startle if the doorbell rang (before it broke- but that is whole other story).   He sometimes cringes when I talk.  Hmmm.  Anyways, these issues really culminated last week at Old Navy.  (Remember my big spree?  I got $20 in Old Navy bonus bucks!  Holla- whaaat?!)  Never one to let a coupon expire, I hauled Brakes and Baby out to battle the pre-Christmas crowds.  I also had to exchange a pair of pants that were apparently too edgy for Brakes ( you knew Old Navy is the new Hot Topic, right?).  I chose a pair of shoes (adorable bronze flats with a fab ruffle along the toe), that were exactly $20 with tax.  (I am so good.) 

Shoes in hand, we joined the line.  It was a long one, and I settled in for the wait.  Brakes and Babe do not have the shopping stamina I enjoy so within minutes, Weezy was grabbing socks off the rack and cramming them into her mouth.  Brakes was perseverating on the lights in the ceiling.  When the muscle in his jaw began to clench and unclench, I suggested he take the baby and meet me at Home-Depot (or as we affectionately call it: our vacation home, as all our free-time and the equivalent of a second mortgage are spent there each weekend).  He grabbed Weezy’s stroller and hightailed it out of ON.  When I got to the front I had Brakes’ edgy pants to return but no shoes.  “Where’d my shoes go? I had them right here.” Then my mind flashed to them hanging from the back of the stroller.  The stroller Brakes was happily wheeling around the Depot by now. 

I said, without thinking, “My husband took them…”

Realizing how that sounded and picturing security torturing me until I ratted him out, I lamely finished up, “… and put them back on the rack.  He is always doing that. Ha. Ha-ha.  What a wacky guy.  Ha.  Ha-ha.  He sure does some crazy things.  Yes-sir-e-bobby.  Wacky. Waaa-cky! W-to-the-A-to-the-c-k-y!  Whoo! Wacky!  Anyways.” Just. Stop. Talking.  My mind yelled.  I bit my tongue, signed the return receipt, and booked it out the door, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I passed through the metal detector and obscuring my face with my purse as I passed by the video camera.  I added a limp too, so as to further disguise my identity.  

In a panic, I combed every aisle of Home Depot until I spotted Brakes.  Still attached to my innocent baby’s stroller was the evidence of his crime.  It was true.  Brakes had shop-lifted a pair of shoes.   I slowly approached the criminal and warned him not to do anything rash.  He pretended shock at his deed and tried to use reverse psychology to distract from his error.  After gazing at our sweet girl, happily munching on a paint-brush (which we paid for, I’ll have you know), we knew what we had to do; we had to return the shoes.  I suggested Brakes launch them through the front door than dive into the get-away car but he insisted on doing it the old fashioned way.  He marched us up to the counter, intent on explaining the situation.  Before the words were out of his mouth, the cashier said, “You must be the husband that stole the shoes.”  I started to babble incoherently again, but Brakes shot me a look.  He gave the cashier a charming smile (Sigh.) and said, “That's me; but I’ve seen the light, and I would like to pay for the shoes now.”  The 16 year-old employee just about swooned and happily ran our card. (I wonder if I earn bonus bucks on the bonus bucks?)

As we drove away, a contemplative Brakes confessed, “I have tasted a life of crime and it was bitter. Just bitter.”  Something tells me I’ll get the old Brakes back soon.

Brake’s Big Secret

The following is a transcript of a conversation Brakes and I had over the weekend: (what?  Its not like you don’t keep a log of every interaction between you and your spouse. Anyways.)

Brakes: Umm, Bug (Usage of charming nick-name.  I grow suspicious.)  In the interest of full-disclosure, I should probably tell you something.

Gas: (Crap!  He got fired!  He cheated on me! He ate my left-over 1/2 a burrito!!!) What? (Stay calm- there will be other burritos.)

Brakes: You know last week when I was throwing up and had a sore throat? 

Gas: (Oh God!  Its cancer!  I am going to be a single mother!  How am I going to make the mortgage!  Shit!  I am going to have to date again.  I had better loose weight.)  Yes?

Brakes:  Well, when I said I was going to the hardware store, I really went to the doctor. 

Gas: (YOU LIED TO ME!  YOU ARE A LIAR!  OH GOD!  WHO ARE YOU!)  Uh hunh.  And?

Brakes: They gave me a test.  It wasn’t just a cold and food poisoning.  I totally had swine flu-  But I am fine now.

Gas: (What?  Swine flu?  But people die from swine flu?  Brakes looks pretty healthy to me.)  Really?  No you didn’t!  How do I know you’re not lying?  (Once a liar…)

Brakes: No seriously, I did. 

Gas: (Still suspect.) Well, why didn’t you tell me?

Brakes: I didn’t want you to worry.

Gas: (Likely story!) Why didn’t you really tell me?

Brakes: (Looks abashed.) Umm… if you knew I had it, then you would talk yourself into getting it and then who would watch the Weez? 

Gas: (Grudgingly decides that is probably true.) Okay, but never lie to me again, or keep secrets like that from me.  Capice? (Okay, I did not really say capice.)

Brakes: (Looking relieved.) Yeah.  XOXO. (He did not really say XOXO, but he did give me a hug and cop a little feel.)

Lessons Learned:

1.  My husband thinks I am a big enough hypochondriac that I can talk myself into swine flu.

2.  My husband is probably right.

3.  Swine flu is not always the demon I have been staying up nights worrying about.  Thank God.

4.  I may have a tendency towards jumping to conclusions, imagining wild scenarios, and experiencing irrational thoughts.  You should be wary.

5.  Brakes is a terrible secret-keeper. 

An Equation for Brakes

67, 512 smiles ago,

22, 292 kisses ago,

10, 696 nugs ago,

5, 578 hienie love-pats ago,

1,462 days ago,

468 glasses of wine (and 52 dirty martinis) ago,

211 burritos ago,

115 Sean Connery impersonations ago,

55 Office episodes ago,

36 plane rides ago,

12 heated discussions ago,

6 hours of labor ago,

1 Weez ago,

0 regrets ago,

I married my best friend.  Thank you for such amazing agos, my sweet man!

XOXO,

Gas

I’m With Him ehhm Them

So I have a really controversial new boyfriend.  Brakes is okay with it.  He is crushing on my new BF a bit too.  His name is Dr. Richard Ferber and I think I love him. A lot. 

You see, Dr. Ferber managed to give me what no other man has managed to give me in the last 6 months;  several consecutive nights sleep. 

Many of you have heard me lament discuss Eloise’s inconsistent sleeping habits.  Yes, I understood that lack of sleep is part and parcel with new babies; we knew that going into this rollercoaster.  What we did not predict is what lack of sleep was going to turn me into.  Brakes is a type-A personality who fine-tuned his working-through-exhaustion skills while getting his PhD (did you know I married a doctor?).   The only time I practiced work-through-exhaustion skills was when I made it to class after a wild night partying freshman year of college.  Lets just say, I become insane I don’t manage well with no sleep.  So after an official six months of feeling like death and complaining about it incessantly bravely muddling through my exhaustion, Brakes and I had a heart to heart.  Brakes took scientific data (I told you he was a doctor) and determined that Eloise sleeps less than an average adult which is about half as much as she should be sleeping.  This, combined with a crazy wife, convinced Brakes that drastic measures needed to be taken. 

I did some research.  It turns out we had been informally following Dr. Sear’s methods for encouraging babies to sleep for several months.  It obviously was not working so we had to change our strategy.  For weeks my very wise mom had been urging me to let Eloise “cry it out”.  Being stubborn and independent, I refused to listen.  I did not feel comfortable allowing my child to cry herself to sleep.  Shudder.  I was admittedly indignant and self-righteous (and just generally an ass) in these conversations with Mom.   However, when I happened upon this video at www.babycenter.com, I realized that CIO was something I just might have to succumb to… besides it was invented by a doctor, how bad could it be?

We had a plan.  We would put Eloise to bed, awake in her crib and let her cry at 5, 10, then 15 minute intervals.  When the interval was up, we would briefly go to her, rub her back, give her a kiss, then skedaddle out of her room. 

The first night she made it through the first two intervals.  By the 15 minute check point she was sound asleep and sweetly sucking her thumb.  I wiped the tears from my face, sipped my hefty glass of wine,  and Brakes and I congratulated ourselves on our stoic parenting abilities.  Eloise slept all night.  The next night we had a repeat performance however she was asleep by the 10 minute mark.  For the last week Eloise has been taking 2-3 good naps per day (for the first time IN HER LIFE) and sleeping all night. 

In fact, she is so much better at communicating what she wants, as well as putting herself to sleep.  For example, I never realized that she wanted a third nap each day.  Now she gets fussy and if I carry her back towards her bedroom she stops whining, if I turn and go into another room, she wails.  If I do an about face and go back to her room, she is quiet until I place her in her bed where she rolls over, grabs her blankee and sighs contentedly. 

It is like having a completely different baby and it leaves me with some actual time on my hands for blogging and painting my toenails cooking and cleaning.   And that, my friends, is the reason I would cheerfully enter into a polyamorous (did you see that True Life?! Umm, yeah.  I told you I had time on my hands) with Brakes and Dr. Ferber… or, as I like to call them, my Doctor-Double.  Flame all you want but I have a baby that sleeps through the night… and just look how happy she is: **It should be noted that I do not advocate the Ferber method for everyone.  Our child happened to respond to this method positively and did not cry/scream for four hours.  The parents out there who have dealt with that, hats off to you!  Brakes and I would for sure have broken.