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.

Comeback

Yes, getting used to my new life has left little time for blogging. Me, Jeff, Dominick, and Shea have gotten into a pretty good routine now; now that I am (dreadfully) back to work and Jeff's basketball season is in full swing. 

I don't want to waste time explaining why I haven't been writing, but it may or may not have to do with having less time now that I am a working mother. Or, it may have to do a forgotten password. I will let you decide. Personally, I just want to jump right back in like we haven't missed a beat. 

With that, I'd like to tell you that my human-handsome boy is now 3 months old.

And my handsome puppy-boy is now 4 years old. On the blessed birthday of my boy Shea, I treated him like a king. A fill day of spoiling! With others in mind, I took photos throughout his special day in order to create the following montage: 

 

Shelter

We all know overbearing people. When dealing with overbearing people, the best thing to do is deal with them in small doses. I try very hard to deal with my grandmother in small doses. I am not going to call her overbearing, but you can draw any conclusions that you would like.

Of course, if you are trying to spend time with someone in small doses, you shouldn't be seeking shelter at the same place during a hurricane. Hurricane Irene has destroyed much of upstate New York, where I am currently visiting my family, but she has also destroyed my vacation.

While here at my parents house, we consider ourselves lucky. All of the surrounding areas are dealing with flooding, extreme damage, and power outages. We are not. However, for the past 60 hours Dominick has been exposed to things no 6, 16, or 60 year old should be exposed to, let alone a 6 week old. One can only hope his working memory is not working!

Luckily, there are safety shelters set up throughout the region. I am just about ready to seek shelter!

Rural PA

Dominick and I took the long trek to New York today. Leave it to a newborn to turn a six and a half hour trip into an eight and a half hour trip. This was not due to his crying, fussing, and screaming, for there really wasn't any. It is just what comes along with dragging a six week old around with you.

After about an hour and a half of driving, it was time for Dominick to eat. I obviously knew he would need to eat along this trip. Being the prepared mother that I am, I had bottles ready to go, thinking this would be more efficient than giving him the boob. I pulled off an exit in lovely rural Pennsylvania. I had half a tank of gas, but figured I'd fill up while I was off the highway and stopped, so I followed the sign for the gas station.

Once I found the gas station, I realized that the bottles that I had were still too cold to feed to D-Nick. With no warm water to run over them to warm them up, I had to breastfeed him. And, look at that picture. Does it look like an acceptable place to whip your breast out and attach a baby to it? Nope, it doesn't.

As luck may have it, I noticed a large, empty parking lot across the street. I turned into it, thinking it was the perfect place to feed him. Yes, the Jehovah Witness Kingdom Hall parking lot would due just fine.

Is that weird? I thought it may be a little and felt as though Jehovah may be watching me. But, I had to do what I had to do. 

A bottle feeding and 400 miles later, we arrived at my parents house. Now, we are ready for Hurricane Irene to come over the weekend. I still cannot figure out why I brought my baby to a hurricane. Shouldn't people have come out to our little safe haven in Ohio? 

P.S. That Gulf gas station in the middle of nowhere did not actually have a gas pump.

Dog Running

I have always whole-heartedly believed that running with Shea is very beneficial. Shea reaps benefits that will hopefully help him to lead a longer, healthier life. And, I can't lie, I gain a lot from it too.

Yesterday, I found an article that supports everything I have believed for the past three and a half years; an article that gives seven reasons why running with your dog is a great idea. I agree with each of these seven reasons.

Seven Reasons to Run With Your Dog

I began running with Shea for very similar reasons as the author of this article. I began running not because Shea was eating my flip-flops, it was more-so that he was eating my arms and legs. It was the only way I could calm his puppy-ness down. 

The running has continued now, long after Shea's arm and leg gnawing days. Our longest running drought actually just occurred. Giving birth caused the doctor to give me a prescription of non-exercise. I spent the past five weeks in an exercise coma. Walking was about the extent of it and personally, I don't consider walking, even when it is fast, to be exercise. As I have learned, Shea does not either. 

Since I was cleared to exercise this past Thursday, I of course, have been running on a daily basis. Don't think for a second that I am running without my buddy Shea. Problem is, he got a little more out of shape from the walking than I did. This means that I am doing a lot of jogging in place while Shea catches his breath. He is quite intelligent, as he fakes having to pee in order to get a little break. 

When that doesn't get him enough of a breather, he resorts to playing dead. This leads to any passerby's laughing hysterically at him or at me, either/or. I guess it would be quite funny from an outsiders perspective for this is what he looks like:

Every once in a while someone decides not to laugh and actually shows concern in fear of something being wrong with Shea. They will stop and ask if he is ok. The laughing comes when I explain that he is just currently out of shape and stubborn. 

He will get back to tip-top shape. I will make it happen, but not if it kills him. 

Kissy Face

Today I brought Dominick to my school. Classes begin Wednesday and teachers were required to be there today to have their classrooms set up. Since I have gotten requests to see him, I figured it was the perfect day to meet everyone.

As soon as I walked in the door I was barraged by a few teachers who happened to be walking down the hall. It was reminiscent of when I would bring Shea to my parents house. My father would basically shove me out of the way to get at my handsome dog. Same thing. One teacher in particular, threw me to the side, screaming "Dominick!!" and grabbing him, gently believe it or not, from me.

She was in heaven. She was in heaven not only because she had Dominick in her arms, but because another teacher's baby, Audrey, was at school too. Her mother must have had the same idea! Audrey is three months old.

Dominick has a tendency to make a kissy face. He closes his eyes, puckers up his lips, and looks for anyone or anything to kiss. Apparently kissing is quite natural for him.

As soon as Audrey and her mother came over to us, Dominick simply turned his head towards her and puckered his lips. Everyone got a real big kick out of my baby boy's attempt to kiss this baby girl, joking about how he must like older women.

Since Dominick technically cannot see beyond 18 inches from his face, I doubt he was looking to kiss Audrey. I think he was looking for a kiss from his mommy.

How It Should Be

This is how I envisioned it would be once we brought Dominick home:

Unfortunately that is not Shea and that is not Dominick. This is how it really is:

and

I see a hint of jealousy and resentment in those pictures. How about you? 

Asi

Yesterday Jeff came home early and sent me out to go buy myself a new pair of running sneakers. This was done with the anticipation of today, as I was cleared to exercise and run at will by my doctor.

But, that is neither here nor there. This post is about how wonderful my husband is. Not only was he an amazing support during delivery, but since the moment Dominick emerged, he has been an incredible father, attentive to both Dominick and my needs.

Jeff is not afraid to change a diaper. He relishes in the little quirks of babyhood; the funny noises, the funny faces, and the constant farting and pooping. He enjoys having Dominick lay on him, he is comfortable toting him around, and is unaffected by full diapers.

In addition to all of this, Jeff has done everything to make me comfortable. He cooks, he cleans, he grocery shops. Really, I feel like I don't do much at all except get milked. He has made a point to come home from work early a few days so that I can get out of the house and do something. For example, yesterday I went to buy running sneakers. Last week, I decided to use the time to get a haircut. What a fiasco!

With the beautiful time my husband gave me, I drove around looking for a salon that cuts my kind of hair per say. Many a times I have gone into a hair place here in Cleveland and have had to leave due to the fact that my hair is smooth, not kinky. Get my drift....

Since this type of salon is much more common in these parts, I was driving around for quite some time trying to find something besides a Super Cuts. After 45 minutes of strictly driving, I found a place that looked perfect. It was closed. Another ten minutes, I found another perfect looking place. Only one stylist was working and she was booked for the remainder of the day. Another 15 minutes and I was about to give up. Go home, uncut and unstyled, more frustrated than an elephant stuffed in a VW Beetle.

Then I saw my saving grace. A simple, new looking building called the Asi Salon. Sounds nice, doesn't it? I caught it out of the corner of my eye as I was driving past. I turned around and headed to the Asi. I parked the car, walked in with an excited smile on my face, only to notice that the inside looked nothing like a salon. Looking around I became aware that this place would be perfect if I was looking for a sandwich and a beer, for the sign in fact, read....

Yup, a saloon! I wanted so badly to find a salon, I simply omitted an o. Smile gone, frustration back, I walked out defeated with my tail between my legs. Luckily I was saved by a friend and a business finding app. I was able to get my haircut at an appropriate place. The fact that my husband generously offered me this time and that I got my hair washed by someone other than myself, made all the frustration worth it.

Exceeding Expectations

Dominick is above average. He has been since day one. Above average in bowel movements that is.

At the hospital, they initially gave us a chart of how many BM's Dominick should be having per day. Right from the get go, he exceeded expectations. When the chart called for two BM's, Dominick was giving four to five. When the chart went up to five per day, Dominick produced eight.

Now, four weeks into it, he continues to blow the numbers out of the water. Every time he gets a clean diaper, it's no longer clean. He often doesn't even allow for it to put on before he soils it.

Lucky for us, along with Dominick's poops, come a barrage of bodily noises. I could upstairs with Dominick in the nursery and Jeff  would be able to hear Dominick's rumblings from work. In fact, this afternoon Dominick dropped his insides and Shea jumped out of his fur in fear of the intense thundering that came along with it.

Personally, I can't wait for Dominick to grow old enough to pick on him for this!

Hands-Free

Some would consider the story I am about to tell embarrassing. I like to think of it more as proof of how much I love my 3 week old son. 

I've had the feeling often. It would come on while out for a walk or romp with Shea. The sudden urge to pee. It has never been a gradual thing with me. It's always an, "I have to pee right now," kind of moment. I have always done everything in my power to hold it in until I could fling the door open, sloppily drop my shorts,  and plop down on the toilet at the knick of time. Quite honestly, there is usually a drop or two that have to be wiped off the seat cause of early release. 

In all these instances, I have simply dropped whatever was in my hands, to free them up. Lord knows hands come in very useful when trying to hold it in for an extra two to three seconds! 

Keys, throw them to the floor. Tennis ball chucker, throw it down. Yesterday, however, I had precious cargo in my hands. I had brought Dominick outside with me to throw the ball around to Shea. It's good bonding for them. So, when the sudden urge to pee came along, I ran inside and using my better judgement, I did not throw Dominick to the crowd. I held on tight to him, rather than using my hands as a pee blockage device. 

For those of you who don't think your hands help you hold it in, I can tell you, you are wrong. When I came to the realization that I had no chance of getting Dominick to a safe place, getting my shorts down, and reaching the toilet, I did what any adoring mother would. I ran to the toilet, Dominick in my arms,  and sat down with my shorts still intact. 

It was my best option. I knew I was going to pee myself. This option allowed for the least amount of mess: simply wash the shorts. In fact, I wouldn't quite consider it peeing myself. I mean, I was sitting on the toilet! Yesterday, it became quite clear to me that my son's well-being is more important than my self dignity. 

A Natural InSTINK

I went for an evening walk, as always. Tonight it was just me and Shea. Walking around the neighborhood, I decided to go out to the main street that runs perpendicular to our street. I did this because sometimes Shea likes the stimulation of the cars passing.

We had taken this road sometime last week. I remember noticing, laying on the side of the street, a dead skunk. I remember it distinctly because I wasn't sure at first if it was dead or not, and quickly pulled Shea past on that night. The unresponsiveness on the skunks part made me realize he was in fact, dead.

Why am I talking about this, you might be wondering? Well that dead skunk came into play tonight. The skunk carcass had actually been removed from the spot. All that remained was a small amount of fur or hair, whatever it is they have.

So, walking along, Shea did as he normally does at any spot, and began sniffing around. This was not alarming to me in any way. Not until he dropped to the ground and began rolling around. I caught a glimpse of the black fur or hair that was laying there in the grass, and my mind flashed back to what I had seen in that exact spot last week. Pulling and tugging on the leash, I pleaded with Shea to get up and get away. He did fairly quickly, thank goodness.

As we walked home, I couldn't help but continually look at him with horror. How could my baby puppy do this? What on earth could drive him to do such a thing?

Lucky for me, I have google at my fingertips. Of course, I googled what could cause a dog to roll on a dead animal. Turns out this is a very common occurrence in the dog world. It goes back to their primal instincts. They naturally do it to cover up their scent so that they can both hid from predators and sneak up on prey.

News flash Shea.....I feed you kibble in the kitchen twice a day! You don't have to hunt!

Handy-Man

On Thursday, for the first time ever, I called to have work done on our house. One of the bathroom sinks had sprung a leak. I called this lady, whose one job just happens to be arranging for any house-issues to be fixed.

This woman gave me the number of a handy-man she swears by. In fact, she swears by him so much she told me that if I had an extra key for the house, to give it to him so he can just come and do any repairs when they are needed. Yea, sounds like a great idea. I am going to give a man I don't know a key to my house so he can fix all the repairs I need. Yea, making an appointment for him to come is very inconvenient since we have needed one thing repaired in the past year. I told her that I do not have an extra key, plus, we have Shea here. He's not gonna let some strange man walk in to the house when we aren't home. Well, at least not with barking at him non-stop.

When I mentioned Shea the woman had a great solution for his presence: "Well, can't you put the dog in a box?" A box? Really? No, I cannot put the dog in a box. He is not a puppy that I am selling on the side of a busy street. He is my beloved pet.

Anyways, I called her preferred handy-man. He came yesterday, Friday, and got right to work. After about a half hour he came to speak to me. He needed to run to the Home Depot. He had gotten his spotlight stuck in the outlet. That is something I would do, not a handy-man. 

After four hours and three trips to the Home Depot, the handy-man told me that he could not fix the bathroom sink. So, rather than having a working sink in our downstairs bathroom, we have a sink with no pipes attached to it and a wait for a plumber. 

And I should give this man a key so he can fix any problem that arrises. 

Is it Possible?

Is it possible to have 3 loves of your life?

1)

2)

 3)

All in different capacities of course.