Parking Lot Pump

Since becoming a mother, I am all about saving time. Maybe not even saving time as much as being efficient with my time. Efficiency takes creativity, really, it does.

A lot of time can be wasted pumping milk for my son. The efficiency I strive for is basically in hopes of spending as much time as possible with him. To maximize my time with Dominick and minimize my time away from him pumping, I pump while I am driving to and from school.

While I felt this was slightly dangerous at first, I have adapted quite well. I only feel uncomfortable when stopped at red lights and the neighboring cars start staring. I also have a slight fear of getting pulled over, as I am unsure how a cop would take my pumping.

On a daily basis, I arrive at school before most. The parking lot is empty and it is still slightly dark out. Therefore, I have no problem pulling into the parking lot, nipples exposed and able to disattach in the parking lot. Today, however, was a different story. As I approached the parking lot, it was jam packed full. Jam packed full with nothing but men and children.

You see, on this particular morning, we were holding a special day called Dads and Donuts. The fathers come to school with their child in the morning and have breakfast. Lucky for me, all the fathers happened to be in the parking lot as I arrived. I was trying to pull the goodies off my breasts and cover up my bare parts, as the first parent/child pair spotted me and waved enthusiastically. I simply smiled, for I was pulling my coat sheepishly shut, hoping a nip wouldn't slip.

Needless to say, today wasn't a good day to be pumping as I pulled into the parking lot. But, hey, at least I don't do it while mowing the lawn!

Puddle Swimming

Yesterday morning it was pouring. It was pouring so hard that there were flash flood warnings. And, the flash flood warnings were actually serious because the puddles Shea and I were running through nearly came up to my knees in certain places.

To many, running at 5:30 in the morning in the 50 degree rain may sound  miserable. To me, it was heaven-sent. Almost as heaven-sent as cake batter ice cream from Cold Stone Creamery with Oreos smashed into it. It felt good. It was refreshing.

As I splashed through the high puddles, I couldn't help but hope another lay close ahead. I even ventured so much as to wish that I could find a puddle deep enough to actually dive into. For some reason, I wanted to swim in these amazingly refreshing puddles.

Odd, because I spent all summer pregnant and with a higher body temperature than I am used to, yet I did not go swimming once. Nor, did I have the desire to step foot in a pool. It could be because I was a fat load and did not want to be seen in a bathing suit. It could have been because the only available places to swim would be the highly polluted Lake Erie or a public pool. Public pools sketch me out, especially knowing how often I peed in the pool as a kid, a teenager, and a collegiate water polo player.

My desire to swim passed shortly after the rain stopped. But maybe, just maybe, this is a sign that I need to get myself signed up for a Tough Mudder very soon! 

Dinner for None

Slightly frustrated at Shea for stealing the majority of my dinner right off of my plate, I made a rash decision. I decided that I would not take the time to make myself something else to eat. I would make a simple bowl of cereal.

Since I have not had a real (milk and cereal) bowl of cereal since the coming of Dominick, I decided it was a good time to test his lactardiness. We suspect he may be a lactard based on his fussiness in response to dairy back when I ate it, and the possible genetic defect he may have inherited from his father. I figured if I put a tad bit of milk in my cereal, I would see the response in the next day or two. This could be my in to eating ice cream again!

I sat down on the couch with my momentarily cranky baby and my bowl of cereal. It almost annoyed me that Shea was sitting there with his adorable puppy eyes, begging for a taste of my Cheerieos, because he already stole my first dinner.

As I put my back-up dinner plans into action, bringing my soon up to my mouth, Dominick had other plans. My wildy active four-month old kicked his legs and flung his arms out in merriment, sending my bowl of cereal flopping into my lap. I sat there for, no lie, about a minute as the milk laden cereal seeped through my pants. I was unsure of how to handle this. No matter what I did, this gargantuant mess was going to get bigger.

I eventually stood up, spilling the mess onto the floor. I dropped my pants and immediately threw them downstairs to be laundered. By the time I got back to the mess, pantsless, Shea was busy cleaning it up. Another victory for the Shea-Man. Ughhhh.

And, We're Rolling

This weekend was monumental! Not only was it a much appreciated three-day weekend, but Dominick achieved a milestone.

He went to the bathroom on the potty for the first time! We are overachievers to the extreme here.

Okay, you caught me. That's not Dominick in that picture. And, no, we are not extreme overachievers. Dominick did not go to the bathroom on the toilet. He went all over his changing table. 

However, there is one thing I was truthful about. Dominick did reach a major milestone this weekend. My beautiful baby boy rolled over for the first time. Well, for the first, second, third, and fourth time. He's a rolling machine! 

The funny thing, Jeff has yet to witness it. He has accused me of lying, but I think the shear excitement in my voice and on my face proved it more than true. Plus, Shea witnessed all four rollings. He wasn't impressed though. He rolls over all the time! 

Lazy Poops

Ever since we moved here, the fat-lazy neighbors across the street have given me new some new pets to peeve about. One of those peeves glaringly occurs each week. Each week around garbage day in particular.

Our garbage is picked up on Monday morning. Which means that on Monday afternoon or evening, at some point, all of my lovely neighbors wander down to the edge of the curb and drag their garbage cans back to the side of their garages. I do the same. In fact, everyone on the street does, except our across the street neighbors. Even when they park in the street and walk up their driveway, past the garbage can, they don't bring it back. Why? I'm not sure. All I am really sure of is that their garbage can is always the only one left out by the side of the street three days beyond garbage day.

Obviously, this irks me. Not only is it extremely lazy, something of which I have no tolerance for, but it is rude and disrespectful to the entire neighborhood. Nobody wants to see your ugly, empty garbage can for days on end. So, today, while out and about with Shea and Dominick on this gorgeous seventy degree day, I decided to take a stand.

I wasn't going to let this garbage can break my good mood today! In fact, I wanted to try something to bring a little added joy and excitement to my life. Something that involves Shea's offensive smelling poop.

I have simply decided that for everyday that the neighbors do not bring their garbage cans back up, I will toss Shea's poop in their bin. Believe you me, that poop can quickly smell up a garbage can! However, I'm not sure if these people will even notice. They are certainly too lazy to look into the garbage can. They are probably too lazy to even smell. Good thing breathing is involuntary!

Missing Laundry

After doing the laundry the other day, I noticed that a heavy sweatshirt of Jeff's was not quite clean. Being the excellent wife and launder that I am, I placed the sweatshirt in the dryer for just a few minutes to top it off.

Anytime I place anything in the dryer, my not so good launderer side comes out. The side that leaves clothes in the dryer, unthought of, and forgotten about. That is what happened to Jeff's beloved sweatshirt. Lost in the shuffle of my brain.

A few days passed and Jeff noticed that his sweatshirt hadn't come up with the rest of the laundry. Rather than asking me where it was, he went ahead and accused. Yup, accused.

Although I've left clothes in the dryer plenty of times, he was surprised. He was surprised because he assumed that I had shrunk his sweatshirt and stashed it away trying to hide the evidence.

I was totally offended for a multitude of reasons. First and foremost, how dare he question my honesty like that. He can accuse me of shrinking things all he wants. In fact, he does. And, in fact, I do. The thing that gets me is, I have never tried to hide it before. I may get slightly defensive about the shrinking accusations, but I do not try to hide my work.

In fact, I remember one time in particular, I shrunk a nice hooded sweatshirt. And, may I remind you, Jeff, I did not try in the least to hide the remnants. I wore them proudly around because, well, they fit me nicely!
I paraded around in that hooded sweatshirt like it was my own; wearing it to the mall, to basketball games, and just to lounge around in.

So, no way in H-E-double hockey stick was I going to start hiding my shrinkage now. I would have showed it off with pride. If only men could take a lesson for me!

Festering Honesty

I don't ever mean to make fun of my students. Especially in this school I am currently working at because they all have some sort of learning disability. But, when you hear what Gavin had to say, you will understand!

Gavin is a great kid. The kind that sometimes drives you crazy, but you can't get too mad at, ever. Each day when Gavin comes to my class, he greets me the same way. No, not a hello or a how are you. It's always, "Mrs. G, have you seen the Spongebob episode where he...." From here Gavin goes into what could be an hour long rant, quoting parts of the show word for word. Kid can't remember 2 times 3, but he can rattle off every line of a half-hour show of nonsense.

In a way I want to scream in Gavin's face, "No! I don't f-ing watch Spongebob! Stop asking me everyday!" But, on the other hand, I find it adorable how oblivious he is to the fact that I don't watch the stupid show. Plus, the kid gets a big, sh*t-eating grin just talking about his beloved show.

Anyways, I was circulating around the room the other day when I was suddenly slapped in the face by a horrific smell. It wasn't the normal smells of elementary school: B.O. and farts. It was something much different and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. When I voiced my thought that I smelled tuna fish, a young girl chimed in that it wasn't tuna fish, it was more of a skunk smell.

Well, I swear you could see Gavin's hair stick up. Without hesitation he volunteered, "oh, if you smell skunk that's me. My dog got sprayed and we haven't washed him yet. The smell is festering in our house."

Wow, Gavin, thanks for your brutal honesty. It doesn't look like politics are in your future.