Happy Birthday, Schmommy!

July 30, 2010 at 9:10 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments
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Today is a very special day. It’s my Schmommy’s birthday. I’d tell you how old she is, but you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway, because very few nine-year-olds have given birth. Although one time when my parents were having the carpet in the family room replaced, the carpet guy mistook us for sisters (and me for the lady of the house — EW!). So maybe you would believe me if I told you Schmommy is not much older than I.

birthday cake

Happy Birthday, Schmommy!

Hoodles, Schmommy is an amazing woman who is raising the last of three little hellions. And she’s one heck of a cool gram-gram to little Max. Have you heard about her organic community garden? It’s kind of a big deal. Hers is the one that supplied an entire winter’s worth of potatoes last year. I’ve been reaping the benefits of said garden for the past three months. Delish!

Also, is anyone else thinking it’s a pretty crazy coincidence that the mothers of Factinis & Factomelettes have birthdays a mere seven days apart?

~April

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Ahhh, Networking

July 22, 2010 at 8:00 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments
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One of the joys of the unencumbered life is the endless networking involved. And by joys, I mean miseries. But I’m doing it because it is vital to my career blah blah blah. Can you tell I hate networking? I could go on for hours on about how it all seems so utterly pointless and I abhor forced conversation with people I don’t want to know, but I’ll spare you that. For now.

Today I’d like to tell you about my latest foray into networking. I’m a member of multiple groups, one of which requires you to attend an orientation session before gaining full membership (and access to their job board). So yesterday morning Schmommy came over to man the fort while the hubs was working so I could attend an orientation session. I don’t think this particular group is for me.

Y’all, I got out of bed at 6:30 (and I know I can’t complain too much here because for years my alarm was screaming at 5 a.m. and I’m sure many of you are up by 6:30), took a shower, did my hair and makeup and put on a workin’ it outfit (two snaps!). In short, I was dressed to impress. That was mistake number one. Because when I arrived at the meeting, I was overdressed — and I wasn’t even wearing a suit. There were definitely people in shorts and t-shirts, some were unshaven, no one else looked ready to meet their future employer. Unless I’m the only one who wants to work in a professional office.

Which brings me to my next point. The entire session was spent discussing business cards. Let me first tell you that the gentleman leading the session (who was wearing a bolo tie, by the way), informed us that he had never held a position in a company that warranted him having a business card. Draw your own conclusions. I certainly did. Hoodles, he’s a graphic designer and was hoping to enlighten us on how we should design our business cards in order to stand out from the crowd while still coming across as professional. Which is great, if you’ve never had a business card. But I’ve had many and seen even more. Trust me, I know better than to put a picture of a palm tree or my cat on my business card. And I’m well aware that the font should be easy to read. Am I going too fast for you? Is this news? Because it seemed to be to many of the others. And in our session leader’s desire to dutifully provide worthy examples, he passed around his own business card, which has a slightly different shape than you typically see and features a unique drawing, which he uses to brand himself. Sounds like a great idea, right? Here’s the problem: some of the attendees thought that their business cards should look just like that, so they started asking questions on how to do so. Because the best way to stand out from the crowd is to look exactly like someone else. Sigh.

Thirdly, it dawned on me that perhaps I was not meeting with a group of like-minded professionals when our leader described taking a job as the manager of the Family Dollar as getting out of your comfort zone. And not because, at least in my case, that would involve quite a substantial pay cut, but because that position would be a big jump up from your prior positions. And lest I incite another blog war, allow me to say that I am in no way trying to knock people who aspire to be the manager of a discount store. All I’m saying is that I thought I was surrounding myself with other professionals with similar education and experience. And I don’t think that was the case.

And there was one more problem with this meeting. The woman next to me talked nonstop. She was already on my bad side because when the bagels were passed around, Chatty Cathy completely bypassed me. That earned her a shocked and questioning look. You do not — I repeat DO NOT — deprive me of food. Especially when I’m with child. But it was the incessant chatter that earned her more than one of my most withering glares. If you’ve not been on the receiving end of one these looks, feel free to ask my husband what it’s like. Just kidding! But seriously, he knows. For most people, a little murmuring is probably just kind of annoying. But I have hearing loss in my left ear, which means if I really want to hear a speaker, I have to turn my head so that the words dance themselves on into my right ear. However. Because I was one of the last people to arrive, I was sitting so that my left ear was closer to the speaker and Little Miss Blabs-A-Lot was on my right. Also on my right? The rest of the restaurant. Good thing I wasn’t missing anything more pressing than a discussion of business cards!

Needless to say, as soon as the discussion concluded, I hightailed it out of there. Next Monday I’m off to a meeting of another group. Dear reader(s), I sure hope this one goes a little better. Send me your good vibes. It’s going to take extra effort to take myself there.

~April

And Then He Peed On The Sink

June 24, 2010 at 8:39 am | Posted in Misc. | 3 Comments
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Since having Max, I’ve had many experiences with bodily functions that were surprising to me only because of how unfazed I remained. Things that once would have drove me screaming straight into a shower now rarely warrant so much as a shrug. Like the time when Max was just a few months old and he peed, pooped, puked and sneezed on me all in a 24-hour period.

The other day was as much an adventure of being a SAHM (that’s Stay At Home Mom for those of you not up on the lingo of the Interwebs) as any other day. While I was changing the poopy diaper of a squirmy little boy who hates having his diaper changed primarily because it takes time out of his busy schedule of streaking through the house screaming like a banshee, said little boy was as wiggly as ever. And he somehow managed to smash his right hand in the worst part of his diaper.

“Awesome,” I said. So I was forced to hold his filthy hand as far away from his still-squirming body and our cream-colored carpet as humanly possible while wiping off his butt with my other hand. Why we have cream-colored carpets in the first place and the havoc that wreaks on our daily life is another story altogether.

But I was beginning to lose the battle with the poop-hand, and I knew I would never be able to encase his little tushie with a clean diaper using only one hand. I’m good, but I’m not that good. So in my apparently delusional state, I decided it was safe to take a naked-from-the-waist-down, unpotty-trained, 15-month-old boy to the bathroom for a thorough hand washing. I was incorrect.

As soon as I stood that little boy on the bathroom counter and ran the water, he peed. He doused an entire half of the counter. What could I do but laugh? And when I relayed the story to Schmommy later that day, she laughed and said, “Five years ago, did you ever think you’d be laughing about something like this?”

And no, I never imagined I’d be laughing all day about a story that culminates with someone peeing on my bathroom counter. I know exactly how you, dear reader(s), feel as you commute to your (hopefully) urine-free offices, wishing you didn’t have to work. And how sometimes (or maybe constantly, I don’t judge) you daydream about the “life of leisure” of a SAHM while staring intently at your computer screen so as to give the illusion of the ultimate worker bee. So while you may be thinking that the grass is greener over here, allow me to remind you that your 9-5 schedule does not involve copious amounts of urine and feces. Unless you work at a daycare or the zoo. Or you have a really, really, horrific job.

~April

Why I Work Out In Private

June 14, 2010 at 7:53 am | Posted in Misc. | 4 Comments
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In response to Sarah’s recent post about As Seen On TV fitness products, Tracy suggested I tell you about the time I injured myself during an early morning hotel workout. And I’m sure her only motive behind bringing up this vignette is to serve as a cautionary tale. Because, being her only favorite sister-in-law, she would never want to embarrass me.

A couple of years ago Schmommy bought me a Power Tube, basically a resistance band with handles. And since it folded up pretty small, I figured it would be a great way to keep up with my fitness regimen when Mike and I took a little trip down to Fayetteville. Famous last thoughts.

Our first morning in Fayetteville, I jumped out of bed early to get those endorphins hopping. I put on my yoga pants and tank top and proudly started doing some bicep curls. And while I was thinking about what a lazy bum Mike was for still being in bed and mentally patting myself on the back, the handle broke off one end of my Power Tube and the band snapped me in the arm. Hard. Hard enough to leave an angry welt. Insert your favorite expletive here. Mine starts with F.

And of course, as I’m rubbing my sore arm and throwing the offending Power Tube on the ground, I hear a snicker from the bed. The snicker grows into full-blown laughter. And my beloved says, “I told you you were going to hurt yourself with that thing!”

~April

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