Miss You Daddy

Warning: this will get you in the feels

I... I miss my dad. So, SO much. 

 

I heard this song on the radio for the first time on my way to work and I started missing my dad something fierce and my heart just...ached. He's been gone for a year and a half now. There's a peace that came from knowing his time on earth was completely out of anyone's control. But even with that peace that doesn't mean grieving and missing stops completely.

Today you could say the simple reason I miss him is because he isn't physically here. But it's not just that. It's the culmination of so many other things his dementia robbed from us. Like:

• Time. As he declined time had a way of moving incredibly fast while simultaneously standing still. He missed meeting little turkey by a few months. Months. Months that went by in the blink of an eye but felt like my due date would never arrive at the same time.  
• Words. I emailed my parents a lot before moving to North Carolina with the mundane updates of my life. Turns out it was mostly my dad responding, so as he lost his typing skills (which were never that good to begin with) the emails stopped as well. What I would give to have one more response to my nothings again. And he was never much of a talker but everyone remembers he had the heartiest laugh. Him doubled over laughing at a sceen in Toy Story 2 is one of my favorite memories. I wish I could hear that again even if was because we were making fun of my mom. 
• Who he was as a person. I consider us lucky he never forgot who we were and that his personality didn't change him into someone mean. But seeing him struggle with numbers when he had a masters in math hurt. He was always able to comfort me with a tight hug, but as I became protective of him I was the one to comfort (I hope). And no one could talk my mom off a ledge like him, but his disease was the ledge.
• Him becoming the doting grandpa I know he would have been. He was looking forward to the days of "filling them with sugar then sending them home." He also wanted a grandson but so far neither me or my sister have accomplished that one. My kids will never get hug him though. But I'm so happy he was was able to hold and play with his fist grandchild. 
• Hope. He suffered from a degenerative disease and knowing that is the worst. I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone.    

I love you Daddy. I hope you knew that and I wish you were here. You live on in memories and stories, and you'll never be forgotten. But I miss you. I miss you a lot.

Professionalism

The other day my coworker's husband brought something by for her and they had a quick little peck as he was leaving. I remarked how cute it was and how it reminded me of all the times I had visited dr soc's office and he wouldn't touch me. 😄

Seriously. In his defense at the time he didn't have his school's version of tenure, so by minding his P's and Q's to be as professional as possible he refused pretty much all physical contact whatsoever if on campus together. No peck on the cheek, no hug goodbye, no gentle touch for guidance, no encroachment into either personal bubble. Zero physical contact. He wouldn't even hold my hand.

But now that I have given him a child (and he has tenure) he has relaxed enough to be professionally affectionate. He figured if his coworkers will hug me hello/goodbye, holding my hand on occasion wouldn't professionally ruin him. Not to mention I would have been super pissed (and probably scene causing upset) as I waddled to the baby shower his coworkers threw for us if he had refused to hold my hand when my fingers were too puffy to wear my wedding bands!

Santa's Bag

Want to hear how I was almost the asshole who ruined Christmas?

Dr soc and I were out to dinner the other night and we were talking about our friends who are going to keep the magic of Santa going for as long as possible since their 10 year old still believes. Which we love and intend to do ourselves because we're both Santa fans.

me: Oh how great! Because I remember how bummed I was when I found out --
--I abruptly stopped--

I realized at that moment there were young kids all around us who may or may not still believe in Santa Claus. And several of them kept looking over towards our table and smiling at the baby because she's adorable. And I had almost let the cat out of the proverbial bag. I beckon to my husband to come closer and in a hushed tone I said we were surrounded by kids and I could have almost ruined Santa. He glances around and a look of understanding crosses his face because, like me, he assumed since our baby doesn't understand 75% of what we saying yet, it didn't occur to us other little ears may be listening either.

So then in a normal voice we continue our conversation but I amend my statement a little.
me: I was so disappointed was when I found out how much my parents helped Santa out.

Phew, 2016 will go down as the year I wasn't the asshole stranger who ruined Christmas for those kids. Because let's be honest, we all remember that asshole who ruined Santa for us. (I eventually figured it out on my own, but admittedly I was pretty slow on the uptake)    

Dinner Plans

Dr Soc and I worked out our childcare plans so that baby girl goes to daycare two times a week. The other days of the work week he teaches early in the morning and comes home, then I leave for work and those nights I close the library.

That also means those nights dinner is on him. I've been trying to get into the habit of menu planning and can manage a variety of 30ish minute meals, but on nights I close I don't get home until 8:30. One of the last things I want to do is cook, eat around 9 and then put the baby to bed (she nurses to sleep. I know, I have to wean that eventually).

But cooking with baby and quick meals are isn't his strongest wheelhouse. So most Tuesday nights I get the dinner text. Some variation of "dinner ideas?" and I tell him what I'm craving or not, what he can make from the freezer or where to order from.
This was our exchange from the other night:

But I still wanted it, even after recalling that memory. The only reason we didn't have meatloaf that night was because the grocery store didn't have any. And I was bummed too!

Voter fraud

Three weeks plus post doomsday the election the governorship of North Carolina has yet to be decided. Because not only is the loser incumbent governor refusing to concede, he's stalling like hell challenging the validity of all the votes before even officially requesting the recount. And the validity of the votes is in question because you know, all the voter fraud. ←Insert eye roll here.

I mean really. First, let me tell you how easy it was to vote early in NC. Since I'm registered to vote I went to whatever county voting location I wanted and told a complete stranger poll worker my name, verified my address and was given a ballot. That was it. But if I hadn't been registered to vote I would  have to do an extra step of registering and voting the same day.  Seriously.*

*as an aside I don't understand how anyone doesn't vote with easy access like that. Yet half of the population eligible to vote doesn't (PS: cork it if you didn't, you have no right to complain).

So let's hint to the possibility of fraud, not enough to have to prove anything but enough to stall, because you don't have to show any proof of who you are. Because by insisting you don't have to show ID (I was told several times to put mine away) means the state is not completely laced with bigotry the "surgical precision" gerrymandering and HB2 makes us out to be. All because the white lady with her baby wasn't offended by being asked to show ID.

And now to add insult to injury to this horrible, terrible, no good, rotten election season, the aforementioned bigotry laced tactics means NC has to redraw the lines again, and then have a special election in those new districts in 2017 and go through all of this again. ← Insert face palm here.

Get Used To It - Not Anymore

You know the saying s/he's seems like an asshole at first but not once you get to know them?
That's total bullshit. Because what it actually means is: s/he's is a total asshole and you just get used to it.

Which is how I feel about the president-elect. Trump's an asshole. And this isn't a case of  "seems like one at first." Throughout his entire campaign he bullied every opponent, boasted about committing sexual assault, spewed hateful and divisive rhetoric, and then sulked and demanded apologies for his thin orange skin like the man-baby he is if called out on any of it. That. Is. An. ASSHOLE. Those weren't "campaign promises" or dismissed "locker room talk" (also bullshit). He's always been this way and he's going to continue to be that way because being an asshole got him the presidency. And he's proving himself to be one over and over again with the twitter diatribes about the recount and each cabinet member he appoints. With an "alt-right" adviser here and a no experience there. Here an asshole, there an asshole, everywhere an asshole! Ripping away our civil rights, e-i-e-i-o!

But even after a recount, if #ImStillWithHer accepts the results, I begrudgingly will too. Even though the knot in my stomach grows tighter whenever the schmuck opens his mouth/tweets. Ugh, an asshole will be our president. But I refuse to "get used to it" or accept his behavior as a human being. And I hope the nation doesn't either.

Little Turkey

Welp. My baby is ONE! I'm honestly having a bit of a hard time with her being a full year old.  I mean, just, wow. In 366 days (leap year) she went from this:

an hour or two old

to this!

one year old!

Our tiny, perfect helpless newborn

my favorite newborn outfit

became our smiley

and proud alumni wearing

giggly,

not pictured: the sequels of joy  

sometimes sassy

I am NOT amused mommy

but always snugly

her favorite place to sleep

dog feeding

Boston Terrier: not included w/high chair

well traveled

Three flights, no (ok some) tears!

shark wearing

Happy Halloween!

most perfect little girl.

absolutely perfect

She made our family a million times happier than we ever imagined.

 .

We're pretty lucky like that! 

Happy Birthday Little Turkey!!

All American Palate

My mom visited last weekend and we commiserated over the election and talked each up to and then somewhat down from the ledge. But having my mom in town also means we go out to eat a lot (the cooking/menu planning/hostess with the mostest game has been pretty weak with the time suck that is parenting) and she has an adventurous palate so we try new places.

Anyway, I wanted to try the Asian grocery store close by because I heard they had authentic dim sum. I've helped my mom make a few things on occasion, but those delicious finger foods are deceptively "simple." Because those suckers take time a ton of time, energy and spices I don't have in my pantry. So we go and right off the bat we see a ton of Asians eating there which is always a good sign the food is authentic/good. And this place is loud and crowded and everyone who looks like my mom is yelling over each other in Chinese.

But here's another thing about my mom, she's ABC- American Born Chinese. And she knows some Cantonese, but no Mandarin. So we had no idea what we were ordering. Or eating. So it was...interesting.  

You know it's authentic when you see the locals eating there. But you know you're American when your mom doesn't know what you're eating.  

2016 Election Thoughts

I am pretty horrified by the 2016 election results. Actually, scared shit-less is a better description.
I know my husband and I will be okay. We're a white/Asian heterosexual legally recognized married college educated couple. We both have careers and insurance through our employers. But what about my LGBTQ friends? What about my extended family who is uninsured? What about the disabled and all the other same groups of people I don't know? What about my daughter? What the hell kind of world are we leaving her?

A demagogue. A racist. A xenophobe. A misogynist. That. That scares the hell out of me. And it should scare the hell out you too.

And I'm angry. I get that people just hate Clinton, whether it's she's establishment, not your party, don't agree with her record, etc. But you couldn't accept this devil you know is far better (and safer choice) than the devil you don't? And though I vehemently disagree with you, I accept that you have a reason for your choice. But don't defend the demagogue president-elect's rhetoric and behavior. Defending is accepting and allows the stance that anyone who isn't a rich-white-man is less than and doesn't matter as much. And that should be unacceptable behavior for a human being.

And to those of you who assuaged your conscious and voted for a 3rd party or write-in I hope you feel at least some sort of shame too. Because even though you may be happy you didn't didn't vote for either evil, your protest vote was not a vote for Clinton and she needed numbers. And while I know her supporters needed to show up at the polls too, splitting the vote is simple math and helped put that orange asshole into power.  

I proudly voted for Clinton, so I'm dismayed at the election results. And for a small bit of levity for this terrified post, I'm also pretty disappointed there won't be a taco truck on every corner either.  

Football Dreams

I had this dream a while ago I thought I would share now* since it's football season.

Luke Kuechly, Colin Kaepernick, and some other well known player were all staying at our house during training camp. They all really wanted me to pack them their lunches for camp, like a mother hen. So for some reason I took them all grocery shopping with me. I would push the cart and send them all off into the store aisles to fetch whatever ingredient I needed to make the lunch they wanted.

They did pretty well but one of them (I think it was Luke) wasn't sure what kind of eggs to get, so he put a dozen free range and a dozen brown eggs in the cart hoping those were right. I asked if  he had checked to make sure none of them were cracked, but he sheepishly shook his head because he didn't know he was supposed to do that. I think I gently reminded him and sent him to another aisle. After that it gets a little hazy but I suppose I packed their lunches and sent them all off to camp.

I have the best football dreams.

*okay, full disclosure, I started this post in the summer right after I had the dream but totally forgot to post it because, well, life, and now and it just happens to be football season.

 

Cat House

I try to run a tight leash when it comes to the dog. I watched enough dog whisperer pre-Bailey to know my dog had to respect me if I wanted to have any type of control over it. Then we paid a hefty penny for hard core training when Bailey and Jules were fighting, and the respect thing was highly enforced. So when I go on a walk with the dog I keep her on a short leash and don't let her lead or mark along the way. Except for one place, the lawn that belongs to the cat that attacked her.
Yeah. You read that right.  My leashed dog got attacked by a cat.

Back when the baby was about a month old the four of us (me pushing the stroller, Mike walking the dog) were taking a w-a-l-k when out of nowhere this streak of orange comes from behind and animal fight noises start. The baby starts to wail so I snap into mama bear mode and run a few steps to protect her. Meanwhile Mike has managed to pick up the dog by her leash while kicking at the streak of orange attacking her, which then retreats to a tree trunk and hisses at us. While in fight mode something has bled on mike's pants and the dog nipped or scratched him along the jaw so he's bleeding too and all we can do for a moment is stare in disbelief at this hissing streak of orange that we have just realized is a cat. But it gets even more ridiculous.

All the commotion brought the cat's owner outside who asks what just happened. The dog is still wriggling so we have no idea if she's okay but we know at least one animal is bleeding, my husband is bleeding, the baby's crying and this cat is hissing at us. So still in a bit of shock we tell them this cat just attacked our dog. And their response? "But he doesn't even have claws!"

Excuse me? This cat we have seen around the neighborhood before that just attacked our dog is declawed?  WHAT? And the owner, who didn't see a damn thing and leaves the garage door open a crack so this declawed cat can roam around, keeps insisting the cat doesn't have claws and doesn't believe us, and they don't even ask if anyone, human or animal is okay.

By this point the hissing cat has run back into the open garage, Jules has stopped wriggling enough that we can tell at the very least she's and dr soc's jaw isn't gushing blood, but the baby is still wailing at the top of her lungs, our nerves are on edge and the cat owner keeps reiterating the cat doesn't have claws. We need first aid and we're going to get absolutely nowhere with this person, so we curtly restate the cat attacked our dog, and we are leaving to take care of ourselves and hightail it home.

The whole walk home we're making sure we're not crazy and that we both saw/heard the same thing. A streak of orange that roams around the neighborhood whenever it wants because the garage is left open is a motherf*cking declawed cat and it attacked our dog. That sounds made up but it totally happened! At home we clean the shallow scratches on Jules' legs and the nip along dr soc's jaw, but thankfully everyone is okay enough. In disbelief, but okay.

A motherf*cking declawed cat attacked my dog. Mark all you want at that cat house Jules. Mark all you motherf*cking want.

Bull Poop

Parenting truth: Poop is a part of your daily conversation pieces.

If we're being honest, this sh*t (pun intended) starts even before the baby arrives. Because one of the unfun things about your body creating a human is that pretty much every other system in your body goes apesh*t in one way or another. And so you talk about it. Because you're pregnant and grumpy and out of f*cks to give.

Anyway. Here's some of our exchanges since becoming parents.

Baby is 3 days old-
me: Baby pooped on me. Parenting achievement unlocked.

Baby is 5 days old:
me: I have been pooped on twice today. That is all.

Baby is 4 months old-ish:
me: Blowout today was through her onesie and up her back, but her pants stayed clean.
dr soc: Impressive.
me: I know right?

After daycare drop off:
me: We're on outfit number 2 already.
dr soc: Already? 
me:  Yeah. If we're being honest we hadn't even left the house yet.
dr soc: Ouch.
me: And stinky.

After a particularly toxic diaper change:
dr soc: How bad?
me: Bath-worthy.

Two weeks ago:
dr soc: Ever seen a purple-looking nugget in baby girl's diapers?
me: Yup. Was there a gray tinge to it as well?
dr soc: Not sure, it's in the pail now. I was just surprised.
me: It probably did. Gray and nugget like from the yogurt and purple from the prunes.

today:
me: If you do nothing else today please for the love of god give our daughter a bath. There was poop on the wall.

Heathens are Us

I don't go to church. I'm not religious either. With the exception of a few months senior year of high school and the occasional holiday, I haven't attended a religious ceremony that wasn't a wedding or baptism of my own free will either. But I live in the bible belt and there's some sort of church/temple/synagogue/parish/mosque/something everywhere you look. I pass at least one each way I leave my neighborhood. So a lot of non religious affiliated events happen at these places of worship simply because it's a space that can host an event.        
So one Sunday morning I'm running an errand and notice the church parking lot is full as I drove past. I think to myself:

Huh, wonder what's going on at the church?
--pause--
Oh. Church.  

Daddy's Day 2016

Last year my dad passed away two weeks before Father's day, so I was understandably but incredibly sad the whole day. Since I was pregnant then too I assumed 2016 Father's Day would be much better, and it was. Baby girl got her daddy a matching shirt and onesie and a mug for his office. (Mommy's gift had to be returned because it wasn't going to fit where it should in the garage. Boo. I did get something else that works so it wasn't a total gift fail)  And the Cleveland Cavilers WON THE NBA CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!!! Seriously. It's a big f*cking deal.

But it was also harder in some ways, something I didn't expect. I was shopping for Father's Day cards and as I was looking for one the baby could give her daddy, I realized I didn't know how to get a card to my daddy. Because how do you send a card to heaven? My heart started to ache and I teared up a little in the store. But it's ok, because I'll always be a daddy's girl and I'll always I love him. I don't have to give him a card to know that. I just miss him.
 

Area Codes

me: I have a friends on the west coast. Actually, I have a decent amount of friends out there. Really I have friends all over the country. It's sorta like "hoes in different area codes." Only none of my friends are hoes.
Cearra::laughing:: okay, I actually did think that exact though but I wasn't going to say it out loud.
me: haha! I did though!

Fail safe

Someone found this lawn shark sculpture online and immediately though of my husband.  Because of course. So it was posted on his facebook wall and when I saw it my visceral response was: that is awesome and I want it! And when I see the $180 price tag I thought: totally doable.

The more and more I looked at it, the more and more I laughed and wanted it. And then it dawned on me this would be the coolest anniversary gift (traditional year four gift is fruit and/or flowers, so I say a lawn sculpture legit falls into the "plants" category) I almost whipped out the credit card right then then and there.

But somewhere in all that excitement I didn't do exactly that, so there had to be a reason. I just couldn't find one on my own. So I showed the garden shark it to my coworkers and asked them to find me a reason.
Josh: it's impractical
me: but it amuses me highly, so I don't care. Next reason.
Josh: hmm, well, it is $180 for something very impractical.
me: still don't care. Keep trying.
Josh: do you even have the space for it?  
me: yup.
Josh: your HOA?
me: screw 'em!
Josh: well ok, I've got nothing.
me: ok, thanks for trying. ~~I turn to another coworker~~ Lauren. I want to get this for my husband and I cannot find a reason not to. Josh tried but couldn't come up with one.

Lauren looks at the image for a minute, and says:

Lauren: those teeth look really sharp. Not toddler friendly.
me: yes! Perfect reason! Not safe for the baby! Thank you!
--pause--
me: Oh. I just completely failed at being a parent didn't I?

Color Blind

Turns out my husband is colorblind on occasion.

He comes home from class and remembers he wants to look up the term "purple states," states that have roughly equal amounts of red and blue support politically. The color analogy made perfect sense to me, but dr soc had either forgotten or didn't know red and blue made purple.

Whatever, I rattled off a quick lesson in primary and secondary colors he didn't pay a lick of attention to and I didn't care. Then the baby spit up over my shoulder and onto the couch and that became the more pressing issue. I can see at least four burp clothes in my line of sight, though none of them are within grabbing distance.

So my husband grabs my hair and starts to wiping up the spit up with that.

me: What are you doing? My hair is not a towel!
dr soc: Oh! Oops! Here, use this. ~tosses a yellow blanket to me~
me: What? That's one of her blankets! There's like 4 burp cloths right in front of me. Grab one of those!
He finds a yellow burp cloth and cleans up the 3 remaining drops of spit up that remain on the couch from my hair clean up.
me: honey, why on earth did you grab my hair?
dr soc: I thought it was the brown blanket (that the dog burrows under) we had on the couch...

Colorblind.

   

Blow Out

So I had a baby 4 months ago and dropped off the blog world. Meh, whatever. Maybe I'll go back and tell stories from that time, maybe not (probably not-this parenting thing is busy stuff!)
Anyway, we started my tiny baby on solids last weekend with hopes to make her not-so tiny. Or at the very least tiny but still growing like she should. (Seriously, she's in the 4th and 5th percentile for height and weight. TINY) And by "solids" I mean baby oatmeal (who knew that was a thing?) mixed with breast milk. It's a runny mess and maybe 50% ends up in her tummy, but she gets excited* for it nonetheless.
Since she's having only had breast milk up to this point, introducing solids to her diet (even as liquidy as they are) was bound to mess with her little system some and there would be some adjustment. So the day after her first oatmeal we waited for that dirty diaper. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually it happened, she got more oatmeal and we all moved on.
You know what else adjusting to solids means? Blowing out her diaper. And at the most convenient time of when I'm dropping her of at daycare. Yup. The past 3 times she's gone to daycare since starting solids, she needs an outfit change as I'm about to leave. Her last blowout took some skill because it went halfway up the back of her onesie, yet didn't soak through to her pants so she could still wear them. Her caretakers think outfit changes are her way of keeping mommy around a little longer. Which, given the skills her last blowout took, plotting may be in her wheelhouse too...

*You know who else is excited about baby on solids? The dog. First time baby sat in her highchair the dog was right there under the table at her feet. We're probably never going to have crumbs again.