General Whining

Props to you if you sang the title of this blog post.  Mad props to you, 90’s child…

I’m back at work.  Day 3.  Numerous emails and voice mails done and accounted for.  Numerous head smacks on the desk as I tried to remember my logins and passwords to various networks and work sites.  Numerous times I had to go sit in an unfinished office in our work building with no electricity or heat and pump breastmilk as if it’s a totally normal thing to do in the middle of a workday.  In a silk blouse and suit pants.  Totes normal, you guys.

TMI?  Don’t mind if I do!


I might have failed to mention in my last couple posts that I actually got a promotion while on maternity leave.  Seriously, who goes and pops out a baby and then gets a raise?  Me.  That’s who.  Yeah buddy.

I will no longer be the Circulation Manager of the magazine.  Oh no.  No more exciting Excel documents and audits.  No more irate older customers who were offended by the lingerie ad on page 5 so they’re calling to cancel their subscription and “by the way, have you found God, young lady?”  No more of it!  Imagine me, “Office Space”-style, out in a field with a baseball bat.  We’re moving on up!

I will now be in charge of the promotions.  Which is…pretty cool.  It’ll be a challenge for me, but one that I’m welcoming with open arms because I’ll get to use more of my creativity.  And writing skills.  Not the snarky writing skills, though.  One day I’ll put those to use besides this blog, no worries.

I’m glad to be back at work and interacting with real live adults, but I also miss my little pickle during the day and find myself extra tired every night after a long day of work.  It doesn’t help that we’re still not on a sleep schedule and my nights consistently revolve around an 11 o’clock feeding, a 3 o’clock feeding and a 5 o’clock feeding.  And, oh hey, Mom, make sure you’re awake at 7 o’clock, too, because that’s when I’ve decided I’d like to wake up for the day and have a diaper leak in your bed.  Love, Fox.

It WILL get easier, I know this.  I keep reminding myself that he will sleep through the night when he’s 16.  So I have that to look forward to.  Unless he has that wild streak like  his father and I and constantly tries to sneak out of the house.  Good thing we have squeaky wood floors.

There’s really not much else new to report so let me throw a few pictures your way.  Please do not eat my delicious-looking child, though.

The Before Photo:

Oh hey, Mom and Dad, you guys takin’ pictures?

Aaaaand, The After:

Well let me just pose for you real quick here…vvvvlurp…


Let’s take you through a timeline, eh?

Last Saturday:  Get home from work and hubs tells me there’s water in the basement and he noticed it’s coming down from our bathroom.  Apparently, every time we take a shower, the water is coming down through the tile, which would explain why the previous owners had caulked the ever-living shit out of our bathtub.  Made note to self to stop doing helicopter arms in the shower – could possibly stop all the water from hitting any wall area.

Wednesday Morning, Before Work: Take shower.  Because apparently on Saturday we bitched and moaned about our problem, but did not make any further attempt to schedule a calendar of events, if you will, to take care of the problem.  Welcome to our  household – where we ignore a problem until it resolves itself.

Get out of the shower and hear the smoke alarm going off in the basement.  Run into the bedroom, scare Tony out of bed with some type of wild-banshee screaming about the basement being on fire, run downstairs with him, still soaking wet and in a towel, watch as he looks around at the puddles on the basement floor and the water running down our staircase that is causing the smoke alarm to go off.  In a complete stupor, where he literally looks half drunk and half asleep, he violently rips the smoke alarm from the wall, takes one look at me and says very matter-of-factly “we’ll deal with this later.”  He then proceeds to walk back up the staircase and get back into bed.

Wednesday morning, at work:  Because my husband’s new plan of action is dangerously close to his Saturday plan of action, which involves letting the basement sort itself out (it’s not the main floor, so as long as we don’t go down there and see the problem, we might just be able to live in blissful ignorance to the fact that our house has essentially sprung a leak on the starboard side), I do what every strong, independent female would do – I call my father-in-law and cry to him that I have no idea what to do.

This seems to help, as my father-in-law is a very handy man who would never pass an opportunity to do some type of remodel that involves tiling or shiny, new Home Depot goods.  I take a half day at work and waddle through the Tile Shop with him for 3 hours picking out tile to line our shower.  We get home to Tony, who, with a change of heart from this morning, is surprisingly ready for the demolition stage to begin.

We  manage to pull the crowbar out of his hands long enough to discuss in length about how, since we’re doing this anyway, we may as well go big.  That means, let’s just gut the entire bathroom and do that bathroom remodel we’ve been talking about for a few months now.  My concern was time, as I couldn’t see myself heading home after a few days in the hospital and driving to my in-laws with a newborn to shower.  I was also worried about money, knowing my husband and his affinity for all things “high-end” product.  This is on-the-fly, Tony…no need for the  heated toilet seat.

Saturday morning: The crew is over, the cement board is going up, and the tiling should start soon.  We’re using our half-bath for toilet and sink, but we’re making daily trips to the in-laws to shower.  I’m staying out of the way, yet I’m called upon when going to Home Depot to help with the money spending (and to keep an eye on how many items my husband throws in the cart).  We’re bordering on $2,000 dollars out the hole now, so we’ve taken Ivy League schools out of the running for Fox’s future.  With all the sugar I’ve consumed throughout this pregnancy anyway, I highly doubt they would have ever been in his horizon anyway.  I’m just sayin’…

As I sit here typing this, the plumber has been here and we’re set to begin dry-walling, ripping the moldy sub-floor out and tiling.  Even though the floor, vanity and toilet won’t be done in the next couple days, my father-in-law’s plan is to have a working shower for us as quickly as possible.  Bless his heart.  Really.

We’re going back and forth regarding what our next step should be.  Something like this really should have been caught by our home inspector…the 4 inch layer of caulk around the tub might have been a dead giveaway to someone who knows what he’s doing.  We’ve also heard some “interesting” things come up about this gentleman after all of this came out of the woodwork (literally).  It makes me wonder what else he hasn’t caught and could potentially be a huge risk.  It’s weird that our plugs fall out of the walls, right??

Who has Mike Holmes’ number?


Anyway, I’ve brought you up to speed on our crazy, quick bathroom remodel of 2012.  We’ll have a beautiful, sparkling new bathroom for our friends and family to enjoy when they visit after Fox is born.  Still, though.  No helicopter arms in the shower, ok people?  Just in case…

We closed on our house Friday night.  Then we drove over there, where I proceeded to freak out about pretty much everything I missed during the first showing.  The second showing.  The home inspection.  And the walk-through.  How did I not notice how dirty the sides of the dishwasher were the first time?  For the love of God, why did I not check the freaking dishwasher?!

Because I was not at level-10, freak-out capacity when I first walked through the house.  I was actually sane, not some batshit crazy, first time homeowner who is peeling contact paper out of her new kitchen cabinets at 10 at night.

You could probably say my stress level is a little high at the moment.

But here’s why.

Moving boxes

I am living out of these.  And no sooner will you pack your Flinstones vitamins in a box that you have your husband move to the new place, you will realize you forgot to take your Flinstones vitamin for the day and have a slight internal meltdown that you are not enjoying the delicious generic red flavor of Barney Rubble.

Side note: XBox controller spotted!  (It’s like the Where’s Waldo of the nerdy, gamer world)

Because this first picture doesn’t give you a clear enough view of the nightmare that has become our apartment, let me show you the other lazy picture I took from the couch where my big butt has been planted while stressing out about the rest of the packing that needs to be done.


If we camp out somewhere between the couch and the desk tonight, we might be able to reach summit, or the laundry room in the back, by morning.

I also decided to take the following picture.


Apparently we have our priorities straight around these parts because the XBox is the last thing that will be getting packed, and don’t even suggest that Tony might want to put it in the box or he will stare at you, choking back a disgusted snort that you would even think of such a crazy notion.  “Woman!  There are still hours in the day that can be spent playing Halo!  Good day to you!”

So naturally, with all the stress and chaos that has been surrounding me, I frequently go to my happy place.  Which just so happens to be an avocado BLT.  Listen.  I don’t judge your happy places.

Avocado BLTIf this writing “thang” doesn’t work out, I could probably make it in the sandwich industry.  I’m just sayin’.  That’s a pretty damn good-looking sandwich.

And because this post has mainly become an easy-peezy picture book (because I’m tired, so that’s what you get), why not post a few pregnancy-related 26 week bump photos, shall we?

My belly is getting huge and this little boy-part-adorned mini-critter I’ve been hauling around all day is starting to get some-sort of heavy.

26 Week Pregnant Belly

We’re moving around here, not cleaning mirrors.  I make no apologies.

26 Week Pregnant BellyOooh snap!  Things are a-popping.  This week especially has been a “week of growth,” which is code word for “all of a sudden even the UPS guy at work is congratulating you on your exciting news based on his observation of your freakishly large new ab region.”  It still takes me aback when people congratulate me or ask when I’m due without knowing for sure that I’m pregnant and a very small part of me (very small indeed) wants to look at them sideways with a confused look and ask what they’re talking about.  You’re commenting on my beer gut?  Thanks a lot, ya’ jags!

No, I won’t do that to anyone.  I promise.  Not even the UPS guy.

26 Week Pregnant BellyHere’s the attitude-model-glamour pose where Tyra Banks would probably yell at me for not smiling enough with my eyes.

We’re getting down to 14 weeks left and I’m starting to feel like I’m not sure how there will be room for my stomach AND a bladder AND a baby if things get any more cramped.  One needs to go.  And my gut instinct tells me the baby’s probably going to stick around for a little bit.  So.  Bladder it is, then.

We also find we’re calling him all kinds of incredibly ridiculous pet names that he’ll grow to hate us for down the line.  So far he’s Foxy, which is a given and something that is probably making my poor mother cringe as she reads it.  He’s also Foxy Locks, Foxtrot and the Fox-ness Monster.  It’s getting weird, I am aware of this.

On a side note, one of Tony’s friends calls him Squirrel.  Get your woodland creatures straight, man!


It’s getting late and we have quite a bit of painting ahead in our future tomorrow, but I hope to check back in with you folks after this week is up and my one big wish for this week is to not have strangled my poor husband over paint samples.  Warm Khaki Biscuit Buttermilk Pancake or Buttercream Sage Sand Dunebuggy Mermaid?!

Wait.  What aisle do I go down to just find the beige paint?

For Christmas this year, the in-laws gave us a gift membership to Costco.  You all know what I’m talking about when I say Costco, right?  Do they have them everywhere?  Kind of like Sam’s Club?  No?  Yes?  Why am I still talking to you in question form?

Well for those of you missing out on the glorious-ness that is Costco, let me explain.  Costco is like the box-store big brother that dazzles you with awesome displays of unwordly delights, but then convinces you that you’ll need to stock up on 14 of those grape jellies, because of course you’ll use them before the expiration date, silly. 

“Shhh, don’t think about it, woman.  Just place it in your cart and let our free sample stands distract you before you realize what you’ve done.  Make sure you check out our selection of women’s stockings in aisle 10 because you have no idea right now how much you’ll need those, too.”

Before you know it, you’ve bought 10 bulk items that range from sour cream to light bulbs and you’ve spent $150.  You get to the parking lot and wonder how you’ll make dinner out of 80 packages of fruit snacks and battteries.  I’m no expert, but I think I could have just bought the one jelly at the supermarket and been pretty ok with spending $2.50 on it.  Unless all of a sudden I start a peanut butter and jelly phase.  I’ve been known to get on kicks.

Tony and I walked around Costco tonight and “ooh’ed” and “ahh’ed” at all the stuff.  Then we bought a large pack of gummy bears and some tortilla soup and called it a night.

Hi ya’ll.  It’s been about 2 weeks, so you know what that means.  A pitiful apology about what a bad lil’ blogger I’ve been.  I can’t help it if I’m boring.  Unless you like reading about a 40-plus hour work week?  Yeah?

You: And a full 7 hours on Saturday, too?  Tell me more!

Katie: Why, so glad you asked.  Let me lay it out for you, each individual hour at a time, mmkay?

This is why I don’t blog more.  Annnnnd, you’re welcome.

I have no excuses for you.  I’ve been working a lot?  At the gym a lot?  Hanging out with friends?  Busy building my underground apocalypse chamber in preparation for May 21st?

Let’s just say a little of all of the above.  Except the bomb shelter.  I ran out of concrete and the bunk bed on Craigslist fell through. 

I also just had a birthday, so that’s a damn, good excuse for neglecting all my internet friends, too.  And I’m not sorry for that.

(Ok, yeah I am.  Sorry.)

This past birthday was tough.  Mainly because it was my official entry into becoming a senior citizen.  Although I’m having a hard time finding stores that offer the senior discount for age 28.  I smell age discrimination. 

I feel it is my duty to enlighten you on what I’ve discovered now that I’m a senior citizen.

First, you need to wear more practical shoes.  I still stare longingly at the snake-skin stilettos, but often opt for the practical black wedges instead.  I’m an old maid now.  A married one at that.  Can’t be prancing around town risking a hip break.

Second, I’ve discovered my love for eating dinner at 3:30 in the afternoon.

Lastly, I enjoy nagging my husband a little TOO much.  Wait.  Scratch that.  I might have done that before getting old.

Oh my bebes.  I’ve been such a neglectful blogger.  It’s been forever since my last post, and for that I apologize.  But rest assured, I have not forgotten about you.  I’ll be back.  Sometime when I stop the cycle of work, gym, sleep, repeat.  How many years ’til retirement?

I’ve been getting out a little bit more lately, which is a good thing since around this time of the year you’d be hard-pressed to identify where the couch ends and my big ole’ butt begins.  It’s like mitosis.  There’s your science lesson of the day.  And you can’t say I’m lazy when I’m being intellectual.

It’s also been nice getting out because I’ve gotten a chance to hang out with my girlfriends more.  I recently went out and  grabbed a beer with my dear friend Maggie who just had a beautiful, beautiful baby and is feeling a little couped up like I am.  I also went to the art museum tonight with my bbff Allie-boo.  We looked at “art.”  And I say “art” because the majority of it was like the piece we saw that had silver trash cans and tea kettles on a shelf and was accompanied by a mumbo jumbo explanation about how it challenged the viewer’s psychological feelings about consumer goods.  Wait…what? 

When we walked over a few tiles that weren’t glued down we commented on how it must be representative of how life is unstable and can change at any minute.  Although, my interpretation was more like – “whoa, this artist is into plate tectonics!”  Again with the science.  Sorry.

Anyway, it was nice seeing my girls, because as a newlywed in the winter I’ve been pretty much either holed up in the house with my husband (who I’m starting to treat more and more like a girlfriend when I ask him if my hips look wide in these jeans…) or hanging out with his guy friends and laughing at dirty jokes.

Tough decision, I know…

Although I am partial to dirty jokes.

Anyway, I’ll be around more, I promise.  As soon as I have more to report on than what’s up with the creepy guy contestants on American Idol.

Remember the Freshman 15?  Do they make a newlywed version?  Maybe it’s the pure bliss of being married.  Or the frightful weather outside.  Or a touch of both with a hint of “ha – I own you for life, sucka’ so just try to divorce me when I put on a few pounds and you see me push our child out of my lady bit parts.” (Sidenote for the fam: nope, not pregnant yet, you can resume your regularly scheduled programing…)

Last summer I was pretty good about going to the gym for…oh…about a month there.  And then the wedding planning stress kicked in and the two-job thing didn’t help and excuse, excuse, excuse and I pretty much fell of the bandwagon from about August onward.  After the wedding I promised myself I’d buckle down.  Call it the Wedding Year’s Eve resolution.  But then the move and the holidays were upon us.  And what’s a girl to do when face to face with Christmas cookies.

My god, they have sprinkles, people!  Don’t act so high and mighty like you’d pass up something with sprinkles.

So I maybe have lost a little…tone…since last year.  And it’s driving me nuts.  Because:  tone vs. hot fudge sundae icecream.  Which one provides the more immediate gratification?  You got it.  Pass me the Edy’s.

But I’m back.  On the wagon.  Sweating it out with the elderly in their penny loafers and jeans on the elliptical machines at the Y.  And not feeling quite as guilty when I treat myself to the hot fudge sundae.  So wish me and my untoned thighs luck.  I’m going to need it in order to keep up with these elderly.

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