Vomit and other reminders I'm a parent

Yesterday was rainy, really rainy. I love rainy days, possibly because I don't live where it rains all the time. Rainy days here mean a reason to get on your rubber boots and go out for hot chocolate at an expensive bakery. Which is what I wanted to take Nora to do yesterday. It will never be up to LA Burdicks, but it'll do. They made her this cute little warm chocolate in an espresso cup and I also got us a croissant, perfect right? Nope. She wouldn't even taste the fucking hot chocolate. Once again I was learning the number one thing you learn from your child: fuck you and your expectations. Otherwise known as: Why do you always spoil everything? Well, I learned pretty well as she sat on my lap quietly and I congratulated myself on raising such a civilized two-year old. "So behaved," I thought "that I can take her out to a restaurant for hot chocolate." And in this self-congratulatory reverie I broke parenting rule number two: Just when you think you have them figured out, no you really, really don't. This was apparent on the drive home, when she began vomiting. I pulled over and and and just kind of held a towel under her as she retched. I took her out of her seat, don't ask me why. I guess I though she could throw-up in the gutter like other children. Instead she just stood there shaking and leaning her sticky smelly body against mine. When she seemed done. I had to put her back into her putrid carseat, complete with wet belts and buckles. Gross. I was dryheaving myself from the smell. Inside of ten minutes my vision of a nice hot chocolate had somehow morphed into trying to get home without calling my husband to come help me deal with my vomiting toddler. We did make it home. Though because of the rain I had to drive home with the windows up, yum. Here's hoping today is better, just to be safe we're having our hot chocolate here at home. And instead of hot chocolate it'll be tepid water and dry toast.

Birthday

Birthday
Originally uploaded by jegoffin.

Nora's birthday was exactly one week ago. We had a great big party and it was a beautiful day. The house functioned perfectly. It is so nice to be in our own house. And a little surreal too. Things are slowly finding homes in this great big place and I acquired a new credit card in order to increase my furniture buying potential. So far I've ordered two barstools and just moments ago a new leaning bookcase system with a desk. I can't wait to unpack at least a few of my books and knick knacks.
My mom was here for a few days and the weather was unbelievable, 80's. But as of yesterday winter, California Style, has set in. Rainy and cold, I swear yesterday it must have been in the 40's, no lie.
Today the sun is out and things are drying out a bit. I'm trying to sort out all of Nora's outgrown stuff; she has a shit load of stuff. I can't bear to part with the item that I remember her wearing, because what if we have another child and that child is a girl? I can't possibly let these lovely items out of my possession if there is even the slightest possibility I might use them again. I'm beginning to understand how hoarders and clutterbugs operate.

Meera Love Lee

The Quintessential Simmons Student!

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Exhausted? Check

This is what our living area looked like a couple of days ago, when I still had the energy to care and pick up a few things.



This is what it looks like this morning. I should probably fold the clothes, you know the "white" with the sweatstains that make you feel like you've not washed them. The ones I will definately soak in Oxyclean next time.

Finding a home for all the crap I've spent my money on the last ten years, not happening. Things aren't finished enough to put away into a permanent home, so why expend the energy to find temporary homes? Oh right, because my daughter's second birthday is in two days and I have invited an obscene amount of people. Instead I'd rather spend hours trying to figure out how to download free episodes of the second season of Veronica Mars (any help would be appreciated). Or spend another hundred dollars at Target on, ummm, what exactly did I get there? Okay, I need a plan and an army of helpers. Except then I would have to deligate, and who is going to want to touch those white?

P.S. I've finally uploaded some pics on Flickr, but I'm bandwith-shy this month and paralyzed with indecision about which pictures actually warrant flickrizing.

Perhaps

This blog should be called "Me and Nora and the New House".
I've realized that I only think about posting when there is something to report about the house progress and when there isn't any news or pictures I try to come up with something to say to tide over till the next big house happening. Here is what I keep forgetting: No One Fucking Cares. I pride myself on not going on and on about my daughter, when really I've substituted the house for my child. People rarely ask me how Nora is is, mostly I get a "so how's the house coming" to which I reply, "Oh you know, it's a lot of work, but we're getting there." or "The cabinets should get here tomorrow" or "Trimming out the doors really makes a difference". Seriously? The ONLY people who care about this shit is people who have or are remodelling or building a house. Everyone else, not so much.

So Everyone else, we're moving at the end of the week and I think we might have a bit less house-related blogging as a consequence. Which begs the question, what the hell am I going to blog about?