So this is how the rest of my day went yesterday:
I finished my blog entry. And then headed up to the bathroom to continue digging through the cabinets. After trying on every single self-tanner I found (it was a pseudo-science experiment...which one works better? Each appendage of mine is now a different shade of orange. The winner? Neutrogena Micro-Mist Self-Tanner Spray. And c'mon, Scottsdale is eight days away and my skin is literally the color of yogurt. Very scary. I need some serious intervention), I figured I should finally do something productive. I gathered up the Bear and headed to the post office. I had several packages to mail, as well as I needed to pick up the keys to our new mailbox.
And I walked into to what I though was some kind of post office convention. There was no ice cream, cake or streamers, but there were enough people for a party. About 35 people stood in line in front of me. Silently. Mind you, I had just been to the exact same post office on Saturday to find the place completely deserted (only to run into massive crowds later at Party City, since it appeared that every single person in Vegas was attending a child's birthday party that afternoon). After standing in one line for about ten minutes, the woman behind me in line declares loudly (and without provocation), "Looks like everyone is here to pick up their new keys! All new home owners!" and points to the line I am not in.
Oh.
So I jump lines. And wait more.
In the time we were waiting, Scotty decides to dump his entire sippy cup full of apple juice and water down the front of his shirt. He's now soaking wet and I don't have another shirt for him. (I have 12 diapers, an entire package of wipes, three pairs of socks, puffs, six toys, and a bottle, but no onesie). I start texting Brian about the wet shirt and am leaning over the stroller when Scotty lets out the loudest toot known to man.
And every head in the place, including the people working at the counters, swivels in my direction.
I smile politely, let out a nervous laugh, and quietly say to Scotty, "You need to say, 'excuse me!' silly!" I watch as everyone furrows their brows and continue staring at me when I realize, OMG. They think I did it. And now they think I'm blaming it on the baby.
This awkward silence drags on for what seems like hours, though it was only probably a few seconds. Scotty's toot did break the ice, though, and several people began smiling and talking to him (probably b/c they felt like he has a crazy mother who blames gastrointestinal movement on her children). In fact, the woman next to me decides to hand Scotty the piece of paper she was holding so he could play with it.
To which I promptly take it out of his hands, and hand it back to the woman. Smiling politely.
And she hands it back to Scotty.
I take it away from him (it was headed straight for his mouth) and give it back to her.
And she hands it right back to him.
Are you starting to see a pattern here? This weird game of triangular catch went on for no less than 20 minutes. I tried to say something to the woman (like, "Hey, babies eat paper, and paper isn't good for them. Stop handing my kid paper.") but I don't think she spoke English. So we just continued this little game until blissfully, my number was called.
And there was this weird, creepy guy that kept smiling at me - me, not the baby - while we were in line.
Needless to say, I couldn't wait to get out there, orange appendages, wet, tooting child, and all.
We made several other stops, including going to another postal store (the line I was in was 'pick-up only.' Thank you, woman behind me in line) to mail the rest of my stuff. The guy behind this counter was so unbelievably stoned that I was fearful he would type in the wrong info in the computer. (not surprisingly, this store is within blocks of our current home.) It took him 20 minutes to tape up a package and by the end, I was so on edge, I almost yelled to him, "Just give me the damn tape! I will do it faster!" But I didn't. And got out of there successfully.
(Maybe now is also a good time to point out that aside from my just general crankiness about the move, Scotty is also in full-blown teething mode and only slept for a total of NINETY minutes all day. And I haven't eaten a carb in 6 days since I am going to be in a bathing suit in 8, making me extremely on edge. Argh.)
So by the time we got home, I stripped him out of his wet onesie and attempted to feed him his baby chicken salad while seated on the floor. I was just too exhausted to use the high chair. And in typical nine-month baby form, he ate it but also enjoyed smearing it all over his body and the rug. Oh, joy.
Brian got home to find me scrubbing chicken salad off of the baby while in the bath, and with my weary arms and aching back, I was able to get him ready for bed. I handed him over to Brian and turned to walk out of the room. As I left, I made the baby sign language gesture for 'all done' and told him, "I'm...all done. No more for me."
Brian laughed. And then he said, "So what do you want to do about dinner?"
I looked at him and replied, making the gesture again, "No, I don't think you get it. I'm - " hands waving " - all done. I don't care what you eat for dinner. I'm not eating anything. I am - " hands again " - all done."
He got the hint.
And by the time the Bear was down, Brian came down the stairs, arms full of clothes ready to take to the hew house. He even put up the curtains in Scotty's room. The poor guy didn't get home until after 9pm, but at least we are making progress.
T-minus 2 days until the big move. And then we will really be...all done.
I finished my blog entry. And then headed up to the bathroom to continue digging through the cabinets. After trying on every single self-tanner I found (it was a pseudo-science experiment...which one works better? Each appendage of mine is now a different shade of orange. The winner? Neutrogena Micro-Mist Self-Tanner Spray. And c'mon, Scottsdale is eight days away and my skin is literally the color of yogurt. Very scary. I need some serious intervention), I figured I should finally do something productive. I gathered up the Bear and headed to the post office. I had several packages to mail, as well as I needed to pick up the keys to our new mailbox.
And I walked into to what I though was some kind of post office convention. There was no ice cream, cake or streamers, but there were enough people for a party. About 35 people stood in line in front of me. Silently. Mind you, I had just been to the exact same post office on Saturday to find the place completely deserted (only to run into massive crowds later at Party City, since it appeared that every single person in Vegas was attending a child's birthday party that afternoon). After standing in one line for about ten minutes, the woman behind me in line declares loudly (and without provocation), "Looks like everyone is here to pick up their new keys! All new home owners!" and points to the line I am not in.
Oh.
So I jump lines. And wait more.
In the time we were waiting, Scotty decides to dump his entire sippy cup full of apple juice and water down the front of his shirt. He's now soaking wet and I don't have another shirt for him. (I have 12 diapers, an entire package of wipes, three pairs of socks, puffs, six toys, and a bottle, but no onesie). I start texting Brian about the wet shirt and am leaning over the stroller when Scotty lets out the loudest toot known to man.
And every head in the place, including the people working at the counters, swivels in my direction.
I smile politely, let out a nervous laugh, and quietly say to Scotty, "You need to say, 'excuse me!' silly!" I watch as everyone furrows their brows and continue staring at me when I realize, OMG. They think I did it. And now they think I'm blaming it on the baby.
This awkward silence drags on for what seems like hours, though it was only probably a few seconds. Scotty's toot did break the ice, though, and several people began smiling and talking to him (probably b/c they felt like he has a crazy mother who blames gastrointestinal movement on her children). In fact, the woman next to me decides to hand Scotty the piece of paper she was holding so he could play with it.
To which I promptly take it out of his hands, and hand it back to the woman. Smiling politely.
And she hands it back to Scotty.
I take it away from him (it was headed straight for his mouth) and give it back to her.
And she hands it right back to him.
Are you starting to see a pattern here? This weird game of triangular catch went on for no less than 20 minutes. I tried to say something to the woman (like, "Hey, babies eat paper, and paper isn't good for them. Stop handing my kid paper.") but I don't think she spoke English. So we just continued this little game until blissfully, my number was called.
And there was this weird, creepy guy that kept smiling at me - me, not the baby - while we were in line.
Needless to say, I couldn't wait to get out there, orange appendages, wet, tooting child, and all.
We made several other stops, including going to another postal store (the line I was in was 'pick-up only.' Thank you, woman behind me in line) to mail the rest of my stuff. The guy behind this counter was so unbelievably stoned that I was fearful he would type in the wrong info in the computer. (not surprisingly, this store is within blocks of our current home.) It took him 20 minutes to tape up a package and by the end, I was so on edge, I almost yelled to him, "Just give me the damn tape! I will do it faster!" But I didn't. And got out of there successfully.
(Maybe now is also a good time to point out that aside from my just general crankiness about the move, Scotty is also in full-blown teething mode and only slept for a total of NINETY minutes all day. And I haven't eaten a carb in 6 days since I am going to be in a bathing suit in 8, making me extremely on edge. Argh.)
So by the time we got home, I stripped him out of his wet onesie and attempted to feed him his baby chicken salad while seated on the floor. I was just too exhausted to use the high chair. And in typical nine-month baby form, he ate it but also enjoyed smearing it all over his body and the rug. Oh, joy.
Brian got home to find me scrubbing chicken salad off of the baby while in the bath, and with my weary arms and aching back, I was able to get him ready for bed. I handed him over to Brian and turned to walk out of the room. As I left, I made the baby sign language gesture for 'all done' and told him, "I'm...all done. No more for me."
Brian laughed. And then he said, "So what do you want to do about dinner?"
I looked at him and replied, making the gesture again, "No, I don't think you get it. I'm - " hands waving " - all done. I don't care what you eat for dinner. I'm not eating anything. I am - " hands again " - all done."
He got the hint.
And by the time the Bear was down, Brian came down the stairs, arms full of clothes ready to take to the hew house. He even put up the curtains in Scotty's room. The poor guy didn't get home until after 9pm, but at least we are making progress.
T-minus 2 days until the big move. And then we will really be...all done.
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