Archive for the ‘Stewart’ Category

Six weeks until the official due date.

I feel like there is so much to get done to finish preparing for this baby – yet trying to summon the energy to get the list accomplished is near impossible. I start each day more sore then the last and end each night short of breath and completely uncomfortable. I curse the fact that my fucking arms even exist right now – because my god where the hell do I put them when I am attempting to sleep? I am an emotional wreck and in a (well concealed) state of panic because soon there will be two little people to take care of and still only one me and one Stewart. I worry about how the hell I am going to get meals cooked with the world’s busiest toddler in the house AND a new baby. Oh and cleaning? HAH! Another point for me to panic over. Already I feel overwhelmed, and soon it will get worse. I want to spend as much time with The Dictator as possible before the baby is born – yet I want to teach him to be independent and to learn that I can not carry him around any longer. I still need a good middle name for The Deuce.

I want, I need, I have to, I should…….. it never seems to end.

Recently we went to our weekly playgroup which is held in the basement of a community hall. The stairs down to this basement are completely open and freak The Dictator out so normally I have to carry him down the stairs to the play area. On this particular day I bent over to pick him up and contractions started HARD (like 7 cm dilated no epidural contractions – yeah fun times). This has been happening for a couple weeks and is one of the reasons my awesome OB/GYN put me on sick leave from work.  There is no way in heck I can carry a two year old, diaper bag and his hot chocolate down the stairs with that kind of pain – so The Dictator threw a fit. And started crying. And started begging me to carry him. And started apologizing for absolutely no reason (it isn’t his fault – I really needed to sit down a few minutes and let the contraction stop) and breaking my damn heart.  After 15 minutes of trying to get him to calm down (and me being in tears myself) one of my friends walked by on her way down the stairs and carried The Dictator down for me.

And I couldn’t help but be mad.

Mad at myself for crying because I couldn’t do something so simple for my son. Mad at my son because he just wouldn’t wait a minute for Mommy to feel better. Mad at the world for seeing me so upset over really nothing. Mad at all the fucking old people who parked in the community hall parking lot (like a bunch of douche-bags in Oldsmobiles and Buicks with Kleenex boxes in the back window) so they could get their free flu shots and yet we had to walk 2 blocks (no joke) from a parking spot in a residential area to the community hall to go to an organized playgroup. Mad that not one person who walked by and heard me explain to my child that I could NOT carry him down the stairs offered to help me – even just with the fucking bag. Mad that I just didn’t turn around and take The Dictator back to the car (which was the aforementioned 2 blocks away) instead of trying to get him to relax while I caught my breath and got him down those stairs. Mad that I got mad and upset.

I am just a tired emotional wreck with a crampy, slightly bitchy uterus and compressed lungs. Sent your condolences to Stewart in the comments OK?


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  • We are celebrating Stewart’s Birthday this week. I took The Dictator out to purchase a new weed whacker for a gift but it has been renamed the “Daddy Whacker” for no known reason.
  • Also renamed is Daddy. He is now known as “Daddy Mommy” around here. Stewart had a couple weeks off work with the family and The Dictator spent so much time with him doing fun things (like streetcars and fast trains) that I have been tossed aside for the new Mommy in town. Although this one comes with a penis. Not so much fun being demoted by a two year old – seriously folks it is killing my ego. The bright side? I have been taking some long ass showers and I smell fantastic.
  • I fear my son is turning into “that kid” you all know the one; he hits things or people at random and acts a little like a bully at the playground. Yeah, that kid. We are working hard to stop the hitting, and now that he understands that hitting is wrong we have seen some reduction in the flailing fists of fury.
  • Massive sleep regression. The kid would NOT go to bed at night without being rocked to sleep and he wanted to sleep in our bed all the time. Hell no. Finally we (actually I laid it down, Daddy was a sucker for The Dictator calling out for him at night) laid down the ‘cry it out’ gauntlet, put a lock on the bedroom door and took away naps for a few days so he would start sleeping at night again (hence why there is a heck of a long break between blog posts – I was hella tired). Daddy Mommy started a new updated bedtime routine with The Dictator which stressed less cuddling and more being a big boy and now he is easier to put to bed then ever before. Thank Beezus. and also lso thank the Daddy Mommy! Seriously, if he wasn’t the major breadwinner in this house he would be one hell of a stay at home dad/house wife. I know you are jealous.
  • The Deuce is officially a girl. Let the shopping games begin!
  • Two year old boys like their ‘woodys’. A lot. My son has taken to doing the Al Bundy frequently – even at the kitchen table. Gah!

Question of the day:

Does anyone have a suggestion on how to deal with you sweet little two year old dropping the f-bomb? The larger problem being that he seems to use it in context of a situation. Like when Daddy is pissed about building a play-set and is holding is his anger quite well – yet there is a two year old saying exactly what you really want to say?

Fun times.

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In the last week I have spent 3 nights in Las Vegas with my Mom and Stewart on a “Girls Only but Stewart Can Come too Shopping Holiday”. Although it was a real treat to get away I do have a little ranting and raving to do about the holiday.

United Airlines/Ted has to be the second worst carrier I have ever flown (Worst? America West! Hands down biggest goat-fucks ever!). Although the staff in Hickville City and Denver were fine (totally excellent in Denver) and Flight Crews were great;  the airline staff in Las Vegas had to be the slowest, laziest and worst we have ever encountered (funny how my issue with America West was Las Vegas based…. hmmmm).

The Las Vegas ticket agent was likely the slowest person I have met in my life. It played out like this:

Scene: get to the counter and produce the online printed tickets for 3 people – 2 flights each; so 6 tickets total. Nita puts her suitcase (which is the largest of all 3 suitcases) on the weigh-scale.

Ticket agent takes tickets and decides that the tickets need to be ripped apart from the paper they were printed on so that they will be standard ticket size. One by one he fold the paper 8 times slowly over and over to create a crease to rip on. He then picks the paper UP and rips it – not smart enough to hold the damn ticket against the counter after folding one time and RIP…… seriously it took close to 10 minutes for him to shoddily rip 6 pieces of paper. In the meantime for the full 10 minutes my suitcase is on the scale and he is looking at it.

ticket agent: Your bag is too heavy. 58 pounds the limit is 50 pounds.

Nita: the other two bags are way underweight – can’t we just call it even?

ticket agent: Nope

Nita: how much to add the 8 pounds?

ticket agent: $100

Nita falls over throwing a fit (not really).

ticket agent: Just put 8 pounds of stuff in your Moms bag then it is all even. (like my Mom wants my dirty panties in her bag – yuck).

The fucker agent made me take the bag off the scale to transfer the items (previously the airlines would let you pull out the 8 pounds and transfer it instead of guessing like we did) and put them in my Mom’s bag. So once we guessed mine down to 50 pounds he tossed it on the convayer belt without even letting me lock the damn thing up. There was a 700$ purse in there with no lock on it! Ugh.

Now, I totally understand the weight restrictions (my father busted his back as a baggage guy all his life) but seriously this was a medium suitcase (not large) with nothing heavy in it. Way too many airlines have dropped the 75 pound baggage down to 50 pounds (YAY WestJet – still 60 pounds). What really irked me is he kicked us out of line so he could help other people. Hey asshole? You spent 10 minutes ripping 6 tickets – I don’t think customer service is your forte, so quit faking it. Oh and you could of told me that the bag was overweight since it sat on your scale for 10 minutes while you ripped the 6 tickets.

We finally get to the gate to see out flight is delayed 30 minutes. Not too big of a deal but we have under an hour in Denver to make our connection to HickVille City – and the ground crews in Denver are not exactly known for getting your plane to the gate on time either. It is already starting to look like we will miss our connecting flight.

Stewart (being an Air Traffic Controller) stands in line for the gate agent to find out what is going on and if we can rebook out connecting flight for a later time that night (or the next morning). After standing behind another customer (who is slightly stupid, fakes not knowing English and is rude as well) from HickVille City who needs to get the same flight info; the staff gets fed up with him and closes the wicket right in front of Stewart. During this time Stewart hears them blaming the delays on Air Traffic Control. This royally pisses Stewart off since he knows better. ATC does not delay aircraft; over-scheduled Airlines in over-scheduled Airports cause flight delays. By blaming delays on Air Traffic Control airlines do not have to be responsible for providing you compensation (or hotels overnight) if your flight is screwed up. Convenient hey?

Finally we board the plane. I am sitting in row 12. The cabinet that houses the drop down oxygen mask over my head has opened and the man beside me is trying to close it. We all know that this will cause further delays if a flight attendant notices it. They notice it. Now we have a mechanical delay (25 minutes) which now makes the airline liable for our hotels in Denver that night. Small YAY!

A mechanic shows up with no tools to fix it, and we joke with him to duct tape it closed. He says he can not do that and goes to get “clearance” to do a repair. Guess what the repair was? Tape. Didn’t stick but whatever – I got moved to upgraded seating. After that we sat on the runway for some time for the “paperwork” to show up so the plane can take off.

When we got to Denver we electronically got our tickets for the next flight that was available (the next morning) and headed to United Customer Service to see what if any compensation was being offered for the night.

The staff was awesome and pretty organized considering almost 100 people missed their connections. We were sent to a pretty nice hotel in Denver and given vouchers for breakfast the next morning. Since we would not get our luggage back (it was going to take 4 hours to get it) they provided toiletry kits with everything you need to not smell funky the next day. Needless to say we had to sleep naked that night (which seriously I do not do naked) but overall it was pretty good (except for the pussy ass cab driver to the hotel).

So what did I learn?

  • Flying out of Las Vegas on any American airline is a gong show.
  • Denver seems to be a nice city – I think Stewart and I will do a mini holiday there soon.
  • Flying when pregnant and still fighting morning sickness = not too fun.
  • I need to wear more comfortable shoes in Vegas.

Next Post: about the shoes…..

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Last time I had a real holiday was September 2005 in San Francisco, around that same time that The Dictator was conceived. Holidays are good for the reproductive cycle, no?

Stewart and I are taking off for a few nights, alone. The Grandmas (Claire and Danielle) will be staying at our home with The Dictator and Paprika while Stewart and I eat fancy dinners, stay in a FANCY hotel and tour some vineyards. I am so looking forward a few days of “grown up” time. Had someone told me a few years ago that I would be begging for a decent haircut, massage and sleeping in a bed that I don’t have to make; I would have NEVER believed them. OMG. I just realized I won’t have to cook or do dishes either.

Excuse me while I wrap my head around those thoughts.

This will be the longest time I have ever been away from The Dictator, and it makes me a little nervous. I am sure he will be fine with the Grandmas propensity to be overprotective and overcautious (I am sure Claire is making a bubble wrap outfit for him to wear right now) but I still worry you know? It is not like I am only a 20 minute drive away – I will be a significant plane ride away from my son.

Deep breaths, don’t panic.

C’est la vie. I need We need this break.

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Tonight Stewart is working a presentation for a work related “course” where he needs to teach a simple skill to a class. You think that would be easy, no?

Well Stewart can’t really do anything simple. The man can do almost anything complicated and could teach a course on how to buy a television for a week, but a simple everyday skill? Ha!

Stewart decided to learn how to sew a button on. And needed yours truly to teach him so he could teach others. How hard could it be?

Freaking easy right? I mean I have been sewing since I was 10 years old when my dad bought me my first sewing machine for my birthday (I wanted a Flute dammit) and can sew a button back on a shirt in under a minute. This should have been easy to do.

Instead we were this close to divorce court.

First Stewart has big clumsy man-hands. Trying to get him to even tie a knot in the thread was a challenge. I had to explain it to him (come on it is a knot – tie the bugger already) step by step (ummm make a knot – yeah). Then, I had to give him the needles with the big moron holes at the top so he could get the thread through.

Now the tough part is done right? Um -NO.

Stewart decided to consult Google for more technique and answers. All I have to say is: there are many ways to skin a cat. Then he started second guessing himself and me. Ugh. What a pain in the ass.

Now the bigger problem is he:

  • has to make the presentation
  • teach it to a group of men (hahahaha oh dear I would piss myself watching this one)
  • create a government-style bullshit document to supplement the presentation with student notes and instructor notes
  • learn how to double knot the damn piece of thread
  • thread the needle confidently in front of a class of guys

At least he can sew the button on (two different ways) really well. He is now lubricated with cheap Champagne and typing at the speed of light beside me.

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