So I happened to learn a few things over the Thanksgiving holiday.

Such as:

No matter how cold it is, The Baby will still overheat in a sweater. Yes, we live in Houston and we were in Ohio. No kind of cold is going to get him. Bad for his Burberry sweater, but good for all of his summer clothes that still fit.

My Mam will always find a way to bring up death and/or dying. Like when we were talking and she mentions someone who just died (because she happens to know all the people who have just died, and how to bring them up in the conversation)...and her reply is usually "Gee, Jerry, that is only 9 years older than you."

Or, half way through your flight home, it is suddenly redirected, and then makes an emergency landing, the captain decides that drinks are free from that point on.

I think we all win on that one.

Poor Puppy

Dear Charlie,

I am really sorry that I posted about trying to get rid of you. It probably wasn't the nicest of things....and maybe it wasn't your fault. We both know you aren't too bright. There, we said it. Maybe you were confused when you unloaded in the nursery. After all, there are trees painted on the wall. Maybe you thought you were outside? Maybe you don't bark excessively, you have a case of turrets? Maybe we should look into some sort of testing then?

But, in trying to get back in my good graces, it probably wasn't the best idea to go outside and bring in every single tick in a 5 mile radius. This might be another time that we are just having a little miscommunication. See, you may not know that I don't enjoy seeing huge, bloated ticks on my bedroom floor. The only thing that better be drunk in my bedroom is me....not something that just feasted off your blood. (And, yes, insert any Twilight comment here.)

See? we are discussing this and getting it all out there in a friendly way....Something else you might not be aware of, is that while The Husband was gone, and you were sleeping on his pillows, not the best idea to leave a few of those suckers behind you on your pillow.

Or under the covers crawling on my leg.

Twice....therefore forcing me to sleep on the couch after vacuuming my bedroom for an hour.

Surely you understand why I have forced you to be a dog and sit on the floor rather than on the couch. And I don't have to explain to you why I refuse to pet you because my increasing case of the crawlies and itching is making my skin raw.

Even if it is really all Jock's fault, I still have to blame you because he is so old and basically grandfathered in. You understand.

Love,

Mom

Screw You Universe

So, The Husband is hunting. What does that mean? Well, other than saying an extra prayer that the Special Doe-lympics are being held in another part of Texas so the "cooler of death" will remain extra storage for old baby clothes? Well, that and, The Husband has flown his mom in to hang out with me and The Baby. Let me tell you, The Mother In Law is super great. She loves to read books and talk them to death (as do I), and hold The Baby (which means shopping and a mani for me). She is also so low maintenance, I truly believed her when she told me the peanut butter sandwich she made from the heel of a crusty bread was "a great lunch". She also has zero judgement when it is, say, 2 in the afternoon and we are still in our jammies.

So, since I know I have a seasoned grandma in house, that also happens to have a slight case of insomnia, I am sure that I will be able to sleep in while she gets up for the morning feeding. Not that my Mam wouldn't, but I can bet that The Mother In Law is already up reading in the next room and drinking her zillionth Dr. Pepper.

So, imagine my utter shock, and immediate anger, when I awake at a very early 7 am to my head seriously pounding. Was it the fact that the night before The Husband and I had a date and I decided to consume all the Cosmos? Usually a safe bet. But today? Nope.

At first, I actually think the dog is having a dog-mare and that explains the horrible twitching rocking the bed. Nope.

I then thought that the pounding in my ears was simply The Husband thinking that watching Point Break while we fell asleep was a good idea. Uh-uh. But, for what it is worth, Point Break is really never a good idea. Although I have actually heard of lifelong friendships actually ending because one friend named their dog "Bodie" when clearly the other friend called it.

So I pour myself out of bed (what did you think I was going to say??) and follow the noise. It is outside my door. Now, let me tell you, we live in a town home that has a layout like a New York brownstone...so as I look down my front stairs to the street and what do I see??

At 7 o'clock in the freaking morning?

On the day I have baby care and can not only sleep off the box of wine I drank, but also stay in bed and watch re-runs of ER???

On the same day that, evidently, the Universe is about to end, because a Mexican construction worker decided not to hang out under a tree for an extra hour and actually start their job early?

So there is Paco....with a mother f#&$!%# jackhammer. (And I can't handle the "Jean, why do yooou have to taaalk with such a dirty mouth" talk from my Mam, so pardon the fill-ins).

Yeah. Just going at it. It is so early, my dogs are even a little ticked off.

And to top it all off....I finally watched The Proposal....and it was so bad.

Like, really bad. All the Franzia in all the land could not pull it our of it's pit of humorless predictability.

In fact, please do not tell me if you liked it because I just might rethink our friendship.

So the score stands.

Universe: 1

Jane: 0

For Sale...Or Trade

For Sale or Trade:

**Chocolate Lab, Male

**Aged 7 years

(I guarantee he is cheaper than scotch....unless you are an alcoholic.....and your drink of choice is Macallan 30 year.)

**Fixed. Correction: Neutered

(He hasn't humped anything in years)

**Housebroken

(Kinda, but will probably eat his own poo, so it is the same, right??)

**Built in Security System

(This dog will bark at anything. Your home will be totally protected. There is no way anyone, or anything, will infiltrate your home when he is on the clock. He is so overprotective, he has been known to bark at nothing. See? He was just thinking there might be something there.)

**Good Eater

(He will eat anything. In fact, if you have any other animals, he will pick up after them too. He doesn't discriminate. He will eat any other dogs poop, no question asked.)

**Athletic

(He will fetch for hours....and hours...and hours...and hours. He is so dedicated, The Husband and I were worried that he had over worked himself because he was limping after playing really hard one afternoon. Not so. Turns out, he had been fetching for 9 hours straight and was just a little sore. We cut him some slack.)

**Helpful

(Please refer to "Housebroken")

**Fuzzy

(If there were any sort of apocalyptic ice age, you could totally skin him up and either keep yourself warm, or sell him on the black market for some gruel.)

If you make me an offer, I will even include a box of personal effects that include some Christmas ornaments, stocking and Halloween costumes of Robin (of Batman and Robin, naturally) and a rooster.

We really didn't think it would come to this. Charlie had so much hope in the beginning. Even with the poop eating, and the constant blank look in his eyes, we thought there was a glimmer of something. But, when he decided to stare me down, and pee in front of The Baby's crib, infecting the imported silk crib skirt, painstakingly maid by moi (and actually, it was quite easy to sew, but whatever), I just knew something was amiss. Too bad.**

**By the way, all you animal lovers, I am totally kidding. Unless your offer is good enough, that is. Waaaaa?

Nice.

You know what's fun?

Fun is cleaning a bucket of poop off your baby....

off his shoulders.

Luckily, the Universe returned the favor by putting The Proposal on my DVR this month. Finally, I can watch this feel good movie in the quiet shame of my own bedroom.

Good times.

Please, Send Cold Weather...To Wherever You Send Cold Weather To...

To Sally Struthers (Or anyone else who can help...),

Please let it get cold soon. Houston is hot. Really hot. But, seeing as it is now November, I feel the need to ask someone, anyone, for help. It is not for me, but for The Baby.

You see, The Baby is really hot natured (he gets it from The Husband). The kid gets so overheated that when we wear jeans, he is still in shorts. I think he has only worn socks a couple times in his short life...and one of these was while he was in the airport, because, well, ew.

The thing is, is that when The Husband decided to surprise me with a trip to London for my 30th birthday, we had just found out The Baby was a boy. Like, 4 hours earlier. Sooooo, when Harrod's was having an a.maz.ing sale on Burberry and we got a little out of control. Whaaaa?

Did we need the lambs wool sweater? Maybe not.

Did we have to have the jean jacket with leather patches on the elbows? Actually.....did I mention the leather patches? Yes? Well, did I mention the detachable Burberry hood? That changes things, I know.

Was the double insulated, feather lined, fur-trimmed hood winter coat really necessary? YES! By God, YES!

We have already gotten him into the super cute sweater vest, so we are safe there. But the thing is, is that we got them in size 6 month. Although The Baby is only 5 months, in European sizes, I either need to get him on a pack a day habit or seriously start restricting his rice cereal to keep him in that size for a few months until the weather here will be permitting. Somehow, I think there are parents, pediatricians and fashionistias alike that will agree that is not a good idea.

If you could please help me out with this and toss around a couple 60 degree days I will promise to send monies to wherever you send monies to.

If not, please let me know so I can put some clothes in the fridge.

Sincerely,

Mom of The Year

Come ON Now!!

Ok, so The Husband and I have been super nerdy and watching the World Series the last few days, or weeks, or however long it has taken.

But the thing is, is that I kinda have a problem. And it is this.

The MVP was Hideki Matsui. That is great and all good. But my issue is not that an Asian player won the MVP award....it is that I find it totally ironic that that the MVP award went to an Asian who was presented the award through his INTERPRETER. The guy doesn't speak a lick on Engrish. (Typo intentional and go ahead and get pissy with me about it.) Anyone?? Bueller??

Does anyone else find it oddly, ironically, hilarious that the MVP for the World Series Baseball Game, The Great American Pastime, DOES NOT SPEAK ENGLISH???

I'm just sayin'.

(No Title....Just Envision Me Rocking Myself in a Corner)

With The Husband working late, and The Baby teething (AKA crying all the time), I have been stuck in the house all day.

Alone.

By myself.

All.Day.Long.

After sinking to a new low and watching old reruns of 90210, I cornered the poor window guy who was innocently just trying to give me an estimate for some rotting windows we need replaced. I would not let the poor guy leave. (Did you know he was originally from Oklahoma and went to OU and that the OU alumni meet at Fox Sports grill and watch the football games and he also has kids and like dogs? No? Well, he is, they do and he does.)

It hasn't been this bad since The Baby was a month or so old. I blocked the isle at Target and kept a little asian lady from continuing her shopping going on and on and on about a rotisserie chicken cooker. I think at one point I even told her I had been to China. And I may have even asked her if she knew anyone there.

Mental note: to those of you who may see me out and about....be advised that it is in your best interest to avoid me at all cost. Unless you either A) don't have any place to go for about an hour. Maybe two. Or, B) want to hear all about I thought my dog was so smart one year that I tried to teach him how to read. Although I will say, that those who know Jock will agree.

I had better go. I have some flash cards to make.

**And, yes, Sarah, I fully expect you never to talk to me again after this.

Is There a Doctor in the House?

I need help. Actual, real help.

Here is the thing. I have this problem and I don't know how to deal with it. Lately, I have been drawn to something that is so unnatural and out of the norm for me. Frankly, it scares me to death.

It all started about 6 months ago.

I was about to pop out The Baby any day, and The Husband and I were at the movies. We were enjoying the air conditioning and super comfy chairs, my cankles kicked up after I just got back from my eleventy-ith trip to the bathroom....when I saw it. At first glance, it was nothing. But since, it has shaken me to my very core.

A preview for The Proposal.

That's right. The one starring Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds.

While I agree that Ryan Reynolds is yummier than the Birthday Cake ice cream from Marble Slab, the fact that I would be so drawn to this movie just isn't like me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good romantic comedy as much as the next gal. However, this predictable tale of "a fish out of water comedy about a reformed mean-girl coming into her own and ending up with the guy" isn't something I would, say, consider scheduling my c-section around.

But I couldn't get it out of my mind! I seriously thought it was the hormones.

Really and truly.

I mean, I was fixing to have another human removed out from under some organs, but by God, I wanted to know what was going to happen when they went to Alaska to keep up the shenanigans of this fake marriage.

True, that The Baby was over 9 pounds, but is that bigger than the drama of watching the tables turned on this mean boss, who is now at the mercy of her underling? How will he pull the strings??

I have these feelings of unforeseeable interest in something that isn't part of who I am. But, as the birth of The Wee One had come and gone I was convinced that this slight error in judgement was simply a result of the huge sure of hormones. Much like my massive hair loss.

So, imagine my sheer horror, when I see a preview for The Blindside.

Hanging my head in shame, in the darkness of my own living room, while The Baby is asleep and The Husband is at work. Nothing but me and the preview. This is so much worse than becoming addicted to 16 & Pregant on MTV.

And the shame. Lest we forget about the shame.

I must see this "based on a true story". I have to know how this homeless kid makes it out of the ghetto and into the NFL. Who is the little boy he bench presses?? How is his blue "homeless guy shirt" always so clean?

And you want to know what is the worst part?? The fact that this time.....this time, there isn't even yummy Ryan Reynolds to hide behind. No eye candy. And Sandra Bullock has this horrible southern accent that is about as good as my English accent. This is the very one that I like to use when I have had just a little too much to drink....or when I am in London. But really, that is just to assimilate. And because The husband loves it. No, he really doesn't.

Where have I gone?

What has happened to me?

I should have known that something inside of me was shattered forever when I got sucked into the Twilight series. And then, proceeded to hide the fact that I loved it, by claiming it was a selection for my book club one month. I mean, it totally was.

Who am I kidding. Maybe Sandra Bullock could team up with Robert Pattinson some day.

As if I could be so lucky.