Time for an Encore?

November 11, 2013 at 10:31 am | Posted in Family, Married Life, Pregnancy Fun Time | 2 Comments
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The other day, my hubs got this in the mail:

Does that cardigan come in men's sizes?

Does that cardigan come in men’s sizes?

And he was totally baffled…. Why would he, a MAN, have received a coupon for a maternity clothing store?  I, of course, have NO idea.

(wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

Now that our dear daughter is eight months old (when did that happen?!?), my husband has started his campaign for a second child.  Well, I say “started,” but he actually brought this up for the first time when she was just six days old, and again when she was three months and six months old.  And I feel lucky to have a partner who loves our little one so much he wants another one.

BUT…

(you knew there was going to be a but!)

I’m not ready!  I want more time for just us three (and our sweet pup, too, of course), my first pregnancy was so hard I’m not sure I’m ready to face doing that again, and geez louise man!  No! 

Like in any disagreement, we’re going to have to find a compromise.  Anyone know how close they are to having men carry children?  Because I’m sure he’d look great in that cardigan. 

I Hit My Mother-in-Law’s Car!

September 19, 2013 at 8:00 pm | Posted in Family, Married Life | Leave a comment
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Alternate title: Please tell me spiders (and frogs) are good luck!

A few weeks ago I ran into my mother-in-law’s car.  Yup, she was here selflessly taking care of my little one so I could save money on daycare this summer, and I backed right into her car.  And even though I continue to be mortified to this day, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be teased about it for the rest of my marriage, I hold firmly to the fact that it wasn’t my fault!

You see, I’d had a very weird week.  On Sunday there was a spider literally THE SIZE OF MY PALM on my car door.  It was horrible.  Ho. Rih. Bull.  In fact, it was so big and scary that we for reals had to shoo it into an empty spaghetti sauce jar, then dump it on the ground and hit it with a BRICK to kill it.  True story!  A BRICK!

Well, it seems that really angered Her Royal Arachnid, because for the rest of that week I was plagued (that’s not an exaggeration – it was totally biblical, people!) by eight-legged jerks out for blood.  On Tuesday I awoke with a “mysterious” bug bite on my arm and saw a creepy crawler meandering up my bedpost.  “How do you like me now, you with your cement bricks?  WE KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP!”  I swear it was saying that as it slowly, menacingly crept on (until I made Andrew murder it, too).

On Wednesday we had a consultant come in to the office for a meeting.  As he placed his briefcase on the table, I noticed a spider clinging to it.  He noticed it, too, as did my boss, but instead of just squashing it like a NORMAL PERSON, he gingerly picked the little psychopath up and gently placed it on the floor.  Well, wouldn’t you know it: not ten minutes later, that little rhymes-with-mass-toll was crawling up my leg.  TRUE STORY.  I somehow stifled my scream until I could flick it off my pants (thank heavens I wasn’t wearing a skirt!), but needless to say I spent the rest of the meeting on high alert for a revenge-fueled interloper.  This consultant was clearly in cahoots with the arachnids.  Is that a valid enough reason not to want to work with someone?

And now we come to the day of the accident (which I still contend wasn’t my fault).  On Thursday, as I was backing out of the garage, a spider literally sprang down from the ceiling of my car and practically landed ON MY NOSE, which, as you can imagine, is why I backed into my MIL’s car (hangs head in shame).  I was under attack!  War had been declared!  The spiders were using guerrilla warfare tactics!  I had no refuge!  Not my house, not my office, definitely not my car… I was doomed!  And also late for work.

The only upside to the incident was that I thought the Great Arachnid War of 2013 was finally over.  The pests got their revenge (because really, is there ANYTHING more awkward than hitting your MIL’s car and blaming it on a spider?).  I waved the white flag.  I gave up.  And Friday passed without incident.  I regained my confidence, stopped looking over my shoulder, and tried to scrub all this from my mind to prevent future creepy-crawly nightmares.

That night before bed, I opened the front door to take the dog out, and realized the conflict wasn’t over… it was escalating.  Hanging onto my screen door, Mission Impossible-style, was a FROG.  Seriously!  A frog!

So I did what any gal would do – screeched (without waking the baby), pulled the dog back inside and begged my husband to walk her.  And he’s been walking the dog at night ever since.  Because once multiple species get involved, you KNOW you’re in trouble…

And yeah, I called Terminix for an extra visit the next day.

love mother in law

Rich People Problems

July 9, 2013 at 11:37 am | Posted in Family, Married Life | Leave a comment
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The other day the hubs and I were bickering about household chores – he feels like he does the lion’s share and that I spend more time reading baseball blogs than helping.  I feel like he needs to relax every once in a while and understand that our house will never be as clean or tidy as he imagines it should be.

Okay, okay, it was the opposite, but sometimes it’s refreshing to pretend it’s the gal who puts sports over washing bottles.  Annnywho, in one of my dramatic retorts, I said something like:

“Fine, I’ll just get the maid to do it!  But you never help plan menus with the chef, the gardener is still waiting to hear exactly how many millimeters you’d like him to hand trim off the lawn, and the chauffeur has really been slacking on polishing the dipstick handle.  Can you get off your lazy butt and order people around for a change?  Or do I have to manage the staff alone as usual?”

I think my golden throne (haha) needs polishing!  Where's the bathroom maid?!?

I think my golden throne (haha) needs polishing! Where’s the bathroom maid?!?

It was enough to break the tension between us, but that got me thinking: is that how fights between the uber rich actually sound?  What do the gajillionaire couples of the world squabble about?  Because I’ll bet it’s not dishes, laundry, or which bill to pay first and which to postpone.

I think an experiment is in order.  Here’s what I propose: give me a few gajillion dollars (one of you can give me a lump sum or take up a collection or something; how you make this happen isn’t the important part – don’t be penny wise and gajillion foolish).  I’ll move into a mansion, hire a full-fledged staff (first hire: a personal assistant and then a household manager who will actually hire the rest of the staff for me – that’s not something a gajillionaire like me should have to concern herself with), and report back.  I promise to answer this, and any other questions you have about how the upper crust lives.  We’ll all be the wiser!

You can’t put a price on knowledge like that.  But do try.

Photo Phriday: The Drinking Age in Rhode Island

September 7, 2012 at 3:10 pm | Posted in Married Life, Photo Phriday | 3 Comments
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Last weekend the hubs and I took a mini-break in the Ocean State.  We relaxed, went to a minor league baseball game, saw Providence’s famous Water Fire and learned that in Rhode Island, 21 is only the suggested drinking age.  Witness:

The “drinking age” in Rhode Island is “21”…

So basically, if you’re under “21” you “can’t” drink so don’t even try it (unless you have a fake “I.D.”).

I’m THAT Mom

May 17, 2012 at 10:38 am | Posted in Family, Married Life | 2 Comments
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As many of you know, the hubs and I recently adopted a beautiful little girl (of the canine persuasion).  It has been about a week and a half since she joined our family, but I’m afraid to say that I’m already “THAT mom.”

(Act surprised).

I admit it: I’ve gone on a few online shopping sprees, but as package after package arrives at Chez L-ski, I assure Andrew that I’m only getting “what we need.”  From toys to treats, food and water bowls to a crate, a dog bed to a harness, these are all important doggie supplies.  Andrew agreed: this was not frivolous spending, I was being responsible.

And then a few days ago, he opened one of the boxes and found a Halloween costume for Cadie (it’s a really cute bumble bee costume, but I understand how that might be “beside the point”).

“Really??” he asked.

“It’s not as extravagant as it seems,” I protested.  “It was on clearance AND I had a gift certificate!  It didn’t actually cost us a cent!”

But I admit that I may have gone a little too far in my doggie retail therapy.

The good news is that I think this bodes well for my future/potential children.  They always say you are worst with your first kid, so my current behavior is probably helping my first human child!  Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Say what you will about me, but I haven’t gone THIS far with Cadie. Yet.

Puppy Love!

May 8, 2012 at 12:46 pm | Posted in Around Boston, Family, Married Life | Leave a comment
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On Sunday, Andrew and I welcomed Cadence (or Cadie, as we call her) to the L-ski family.  A sweet, beautiful, tiny Black Lab (she’s less than 40 lbs.!), Cadie is about two-years-old and was rescued from a shelter down south and brought into our lives by New England Lab Rescue.

I’ve wanted a dog for years, so when we saw her sweet face, we fell in puppy love and immediately decided to adopt her.  We knew she would be a lot of work, but we also know she will be worth it.

For those who love dogs, or for those who just want to chuckle at the craziness of our first 48 hours together, here’s a sample of what we have learned about dog ownership so far…

Ensure closed doors are really closed!  Yesterday I took Cadie out for her first morning walk as a member of our family.  She was energetic and happy, did her business like a champ, and I was feeling pretty good about our second day together!  Until she ran away…

I’m sorry I ran away and got your shoes muddy… but wasn’t it a fun morning? Huh? Huh?

After our walk, I brought her in the house, took off her leash and started to remove my shoes when she darted through my legs and managed to squeeze out the front door, which I thought was closed!  Apparently, she got to it in the instant before it clicked firmly into place, and I felt like a grade-A rhymes-with-glass-bowl.  I got in the car to circle the neighborhood and Andrew sprinted through yards until he caught up with her (she was happy and wagging her tail, assuming this was as fun for us as it was for her) and brought her home.  Phew!  I’m pretty sure this makes my husband a super hero.

There’s no such thing as a free lunch – unless you’re our dog.  When Andrew raced out to “retrieve our retriever,” he was in the middle of making his lunch, so naturally the two pounds of sliced turkey, bread, etc. were unguarded on the kitchen counter.  I say “were” because the second he brought her home, she darted into the kitchen, jumped up on the counter and brought a week’s worth of lunch supplies down in her slobbery (yet adorable) mouth.  Andrew, once again acting as super hero, managed to get the food away before she ate it (and it gave her a tummy ache), but we had to throw it away due to floor cooties and doggie slobber.

Sittin’ pretty!

Some dogs, like some people, make a list and check it twice. I understand that dogs are prone to “mark their territory, tinkle-style,” but apparently Cadie is fastidious about tasks like this.  On Sunday, she peed in her crate twice, and peed in the house by the back door twice, and… you get the picture, and I’ll spare you the details.  The good news?  Consider the territory marked!  The bad news?  We need more paper towels and cleaner.

The health care debate in Washington is incomplete!  That’s not a plug for or against Obamacare or any political statement.  But after my first vet bill (Cadie had an ear infection, needed to get a microchip, various vaccinations and tests, etc.), I am starting to understand the pull of pet health insurance, because if this is a sign of things to come, Andrew and I may need to start the Ramen regime.

(I’m kidding – of course we budgeted for vet bills, within reason, before agreeing to adopt).

I could go on and on about our new pup, but I don’t want to be one of “those mommies” so I’ll summarize by saying we’re head-over-heels in love with this little mischievous pooch, and have signed up for training classes to ensure we three remain in love for years and years to come!  And we’ve give her a new nickname; henceforth we shall refer to her (in certain circles) as “the Devil Dog,” both because she’s as sweet as the Drake’s cake and because she’s a troublemaker we love to love.

Happy tails to you!

My new people are exhausting! (And yes, I’ve been spayed)

The Pregnancy Inquisition, Part Deux

March 29, 2012 at 9:28 am | Posted in Married Life, Pregnancy Fun Time | 2 Comments
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In my last post regarding procreation pressure (like that alliteration?), I lamented the awkwardness of having my friends, colleagues and loved ones harass me about my reproductive status, and received some great tips and feedback from you, dear reader(s).  Well, today I’d like to expand upon this topic and bring every retail establishment that sells anything related to children into the mix.

Mind Your Own Bees wax

Mind your own... (Photo from Beyond The Hive)

Have you seen the story in the New York Times by Charles Duhigg about how Target knew a teenager was pregnant before her own father did?  It’s both fascinating and creepy, and, apparently, happening every day, much to my annoyance.  The gist of the article is that, based on just a smidge of demographic information and the things you buy, even things that don’t seem like obvious signs at first glance (fragrance-free lotion, cotton balls and hand sanitizer, for example, indicate you’re about to pop out a tiny human), retailers can virtually predict major life events like pregnancy.

Lucky for me (ha!), it seems I’ve found myself on the list of “probably preggers, so shamelessly market baby-related products to her” distribution list.  From emails (cough cough Target cough cough) to catalogs (Pottery Barn Kids, I’m talking to you!), coupons (Babies “R” Us, back off!) to advice (no, I don’t need to purchase X, Y or Z to prepare for my inevitable parental cluelessness), I’m being bombarded on a daily basis with baby-related information and savings (but at least it’s helping the post office stay afloat).

I’ll say it again: I’m NOT pregnant.  Yes, I’ve been happily married for over a year, am in my thirties and recently bought a home, but I am not “with child.”

I am, however, thinking about how this must feel to women experiencing fertility struggles.  These retailers don’t know what our reproductive status is – they don’t have a clue about whether we find these communications exciting or a difficult reminder of a very sensitive, very personal issue.  I understand the need to make money, to attract customers at this time in their lives; I even respect the power of the statistics nerd!  (Seriously, all hail the nerds of the world!)  But for goodness sake, please back off.  Or at least hide your intentions a little better so we can assume it’s just a coincidence that diapers are on sale… again…

I’ll procreate when I’m good and ready,
Sarah

The Great HindJew Pact of 2012

January 25, 2012 at 11:00 am | Posted in Heebs, Home Ownership, In The Kitchen, Married Life | 4 Comments
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When I last obsessed about focused on my “healthy lifestyle initiative” (who am I kidding?  Let’s call a spade a spade: my diet), I was desperately trying to be the perfect bride. Since that time, I got hitched, got a new gig, bought a fixer-upper and started to fix it up, and, as a result, resumed eating my feelings. And I have a LOT of feelings. So now there’s a lot more of me to love than in my wedding photos…

Enter my gal pal and colleague, Dipika, and our brand new initiative: The Great HindJew Pact of 2012. Together Dipika and I are vowing to battle the bulge, to rediscover our skinny jeans and, most importantly, to feel better about ourselves. How? By making smarter food choices (cough cough portion size cough cough) and committing to a torture regular exercise routine.

Why am I telling you this? Well, we read somewhere that “publicly declaring your goals significantly enhances your chance of success.” So yeah, we’re using you. Thanks for your inadvertent assistance!

And if you’d like to join us in The Great HindJew Pact of 2012, we will welcome you with soon-to-be-unflabby arms!

The Pregnancy Inquisition

January 16, 2012 at 2:18 pm | Posted in Married Life, Pregnancy Fun Time | 11 Comments
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Thought things would change in 2012?  Sorry, folks!  I’m going to continue my habit of complaining about something fairly insignificant and then soliciting your advice.  Because that’s how to start the year on the right foot.

What’s got my knickers in a twist lately?  Pregnancy!

Or rather, the overzealous, overwhelming, overabundant questions regarding my hypothetical (and at this point, purely fictional!) pregnancy. Friends, family, colleagues, frenemies, even random baristas, stylists, salespeople and hobos (true story) are prying into my obstetric beeswax!

I know I’m not alone in this. It seems like the questions start the second you get hitched. But now that the hubs and I have been married for over a year, the frequency and intensity of questions has become more like an Inquisition.

My question is: how do you deflect these questions?

While I usually answer: “I’m birthing a house!” because, as you know, dealing with our little fixer-upper has been akin to creating new life (and going through a really, really, really long labor), there must be a better way to do it.

Most people ask out of love (or what I assume is love).  People seem to think an Andrew + Sarah combination is just what the world needs, so I don’t want to be insulting – because that is actually very flattering.

But at the same time, it’s a LOT of pressure and, quite frankly, nobody’s business!  So how, dear reader(s), do I handle this?

P.S. I am also aware that some folks are assuming that my “winter padding” is actually a bun in the oven.  Frankly, I’ve been so stressed over the past eight months, that if there was an actual bun in my actual stainless steel oven in my actual kitchen, it wouldn’t last long.  Eating one’s feelings isn’t the same as eating for two.  But here we are.

Are you Crazylicious? A Jersey Love Letter

November 29, 2011 at 3:19 pm | Posted in Married Life, TV (The Boob Tube) | 2 Comments
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A few weeks ago, I came home late from work and overheard a woman talking about teasing her hair (“the higher your hair, the closer you are to heaven”) and the power of the smoky eye, so I crept into the living room, ninja-style, to investigate.  It wasn’t another woman; it wasn’t even a cosmetics commercial.  The source of said beauty advice was the Style Network’s “Jerseylicious” – and my husband was watching the reality TV show with rapt attention.

Are you Jerseylicious? How about crazylicious?

If caught watching Jerseylicious, many men would feign ignorance of what was on the screen, or quickly change the channel to ESPN, or even make a lewd comment about only watching the show to gawk at the skanky outfits (of which there are plenty).  Not Andrew.  As soon as he saw me gaping at him (wondering what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks he was watching), he patted the couch cushion next to him and said: “Hon, you gotta watch this!  It’s really dramatic!”

And then he DVR’d the entire series.

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how deep his love of reality TV ran.  And when I watched the entire series with him, I realized how deep my love runs for him.  Let’s face it: the “reality” show is pretty obviously scripted.  But there I sat, snuggled next to my husband for hours on end, simply wanting to bask in the glow of his enjoyment.

So I guess this post is a kind of love letter to Andrew, because not only is he giving me blog fodder (which, admittedly, has been quieter than I would like lately), but he’s also shown me what an amazing man he is.  He isn’t ashamed of who he is, he doesn’t bow to peer pressure.  He is passionate and silly and has the courage of his convictions, even if those convictions revolve around bad TV, weird taste in movies, and his pledge of allegiance to the WRONG baseball team.  He is kind and funny and brilliant… except when it comes to the idiot box.

The hours (and hours) I’ve spent watching the show haven’t been squandered; as my husband watches the drama unfold, I get to watch him relax, let go of our “real” concerns and simply enjoy a little brain candy.

And who knows, maybe I will pick up the skills to do a killer smoky eye!

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