the Hippo Brigade

Not in the job description

7 Comments

March 29, 2011

Is it possible for a 15 month old to have colic?

Because if it is, mine has it.

Alright, so maybe it’s not colic. Maybe it’s a collection of many baby aliments. Like growing 5 teeth out of his puffy baby gums all at one time. Or maybe it’s because he says like three things and is frustrated that I don’t understand when he pulls at his clothes and points at a house plant. But suddenly I turn into Timmy, and I’m all “What is it?” Did old man Wethers fall into the well?” And he’s all “ggrtht GRRUGHT!!!” And I’m all, “An·nun·ci·ate, Hudson! Would you like more (signing the word for ‘more’) blueberries?” Then he vigorously shakes his head no while he waddles away, and then he throws his fists down and cries.

This is what I have to work with.

Last night was my tipping point.

I’ve been sick with a collection of maladies, one of which called for shoving a clove of raw garlic in my ear, which I faithfully obliged, and then afterwards, I minced it and added it to my rice, Olé!

Just kidding, that would be gross.

Or resourceful…?

Alright, gross.

So needless to say I really needed my rest.

Hudson has been a stellar sleeper lately, sleeping at least 12 hours each night, but last night he decided to change things up a bit.

Of course he did–

Starting at 10:20 p.m.

My husband heard Hudson crying from his bedroom. I however couldn’t hear anything, so I popped out the cloves of garlic, and rushed to Hudson’s side. I rocked him, sang him a off-key Katy Perry song, which he adored, and laid him back down, asleep. Yay. Time for mama to sleep.

20 minutes later…

More crying.

I ignored it because I was just getting into a good REM cycle, and sometimes he cries out, and then settles himself back down. I didn’t want to miss an opportunity for him to settle himself.

Although my negligence only made him more angry. He cried louder. So I threw off the covers, picked my wedgie, and walked quickly to his room.

I rocked him again, this time until his arms went limp and I knew for certain he was asleep.

Deep breathing? Yes.

Totally relaxed? Yes.

So I gingerly put him back into his crib, thanked Jesus, and went back to sleep.

As soon as I was cozy in my warm bed, I heard him again.

Screaming.

Not just crying, but screaming.

WHAT THE EFF?!!

This time I marched into his room, threw open the door, my guns were blazing.

What’s going on, huh, Buckeroo?

::Scream::

Does your mouth hurt?

::Scream::

Are your footed-pajamas riding up?

::Scream::

Can I mildly sedate you with Tylenol so that we can both get some sleep?

::Scream::

I’ll take that as a yes.

After the dose of pain meds, I pulled up a pillow and blanket and slept on the floor with him.

I’ve never done that before, so I was unsure what I was trying to accomplish. But he seemed to enjoy it. And the important thing was that he was quiet, and happy. He ended up laying on top of me, with his head nestled in my neck while his arms were wrapped around me.

My heart swelled.

After 45 minutes of this, I was starting to get restless, and my sciatica was flaring up.

Yes, hi, my name is Beckey, I’m 30 years old, and I have a mean case of sciatica.

Whatever.

So I put him back into his crib, and went to bed.

20 minutes later…

FRICK!!

I gave him some warmed up milk and that seemed get him to finally sleep.

Did I mention it was like 2 am now?

Yay.

He slept until 5 and woke up again.

I wanted to cry with him.

I felt like I had a newborn all over again.

It was a tough night, but to be honest, this morning, I’m totally awake, still slightly sick, but really glad I had the chance to cuddle with my baby boy all night.

He clearly just wanted his mommy, what mommy can reisit that?

I just hope he got it all out of his system. Mama likes to cuddle and all, but two nights in a row?

Nope.

Oh, and then this morning, he’s all, “What Mom, Why are you giving me the stink eye? I’m all good. Everything is fantastic.”

 

 

 

Not Quite Vegan

3 Comments

March 24, 2011

You know when you throw a party and you invite all these cool people and then someone lame shows up, who didn’t even bother bringing you a gift, and you’re like, “Um, hello? Would it have been that difficult to grab something awesome from your house and tie a bow on it? And they’re all, “Frick where’s the vodka?” And you’re all, “Yeah, this is a kid’s birthday party. We are only serving Capri Suns and Mike’s Hard Lemonade with fun straws.” And then they’re all, “Do you have anything other than meat and cheese, I’m vegan.” And you’re all, “Vegan?! What the crap’s wrong with you? We’re humans, we are supposed to eat animals! COW and PIGS are yummy!! Ummm. sausage…”

And they’re all, “Um, no. It’s gross, do you have some lentils or something.” And you’re like, “Here’s an apple, bon appetit. Who the hell invited you anyways?” And they’re like, “You did. We’re best friends. See we even have matching tattoos.” And you’re like, “Whatever.” ::High five:: “But seriously, vegan?”

 

So now I’m that person.

Okay, no. I’m not officially vegan or anything. And I’m certainly not giving up my collection of leather jackets or shoes, or handbags. Or drawerful of tiny dead animals. But I am thinking very differently about the food I eat.

First thing to go was dairy.

I love dairy. A frosty glass of milk with exactly 3 ice cubes in it makes me smile. Especially if it’s accompanied with any varietal of girl scout cookies, except for those lame friendship ones. BAH! who are they kidding. If you really want some friendship bring me a box of thin mints RIGHT NOW.

I also love things that are creamy (Insert dirty joke here). And things that are creamy usually come from a cow.

Damn cows.

Tofu cheese just isn’t doing it for me yet.

Why no diary? Because it hurts my insides. In case you’re wondering what that means, it’s code for I’ll poo all over you. Plus, it gives me a wicked case of the farts. And if milk smells that rancid coming out, imagine what it’s doing to my body.

Interesting tidbits about dairy:

Most people can’t process dairy (about 60%). And almost all Asians can’t. Ever wonder why sushi never comes with a gooey slab of melted cheese on it?

Also ethically, dairy cows are not treated very nice at all. Plus if you’re a breastfeeding mama, you know what it feels like having your boobies hooked up to a pump. Can you imagine that ALL THE TIME? And then they shove those cows full of a ton of hormones to keep them lactating. No thank you. And then we give it to our kids? Yay! But it’s so healthy. Nope. It’s watered down white stuff. Have some almond milk instead.

Plus dairy is a major inflammatory. It makes your insides all wonky. And it makes you fart. A lot.

So we are swearing off dairy.

But what about animals? Are you still gonna eat animals?

Yes. Animals are tasty. I like them. But here’s the deal: I don’t like how they are treated. So, our family eats very vegan most nights, and when we have a hankerin’ for some beef I buy it at an animal welfare approved meat. Go here to find a store that has happy meat.

So there you go.

Oh, and I also bought a juicer and I’ve been juicing the crap out of fruits and veggies. A tall frothy glass of beets, cucumbers and kale? Yes please.

I thought my kids would be all about it. I gave Berlyn a taste of real apple juice and she was all, Playa pull-eeze, that shiz nasty.

But Hudson hopped right on board with mommy’s-magical-juicing-trip.

So does this mean you can’t invite me to parties or if you do you have to set aside some warm curried lentils for me and my family?

Probably.

Does this mean I’ll look down on you while you eat a fast food hamburger?

Yes.

But I won’t have a offensive case of the farts all the time. So, I think that evens everything out.

Cheers!

Here’s a good book recommendation if you’re interested in eating better.

 

 

 

 

 

Daddy’s New Office

4 Comments

March 15, 2011

Sometimes I make believe my dog is a disco diva.

I sit her on my lap and wave her front paws around in a dancing-like-configuration while singing nasally renditions of Dee-Light’s Groove is in the Heart. We’ll do a series of paw claps and raising the roof,  and she’s really good at the sprinkler too. Then I slap her belly a few times and send her on her way.

I do it for her.

You know, to keep her in shape.

We don’t want a fat pug loafing around the house. We need to keep our pup fit and and healthy to be able to endure long stretches of combo bark-farting at the Mormons and UPS guy that periodically visit our home.

Thus, the disco-jam dancing.

It was 2 o’ clock in the afternoon when the kids were resting upstairs, and Pat was working in his office, which, conveniently is also upstairs.

I was on the couch doing some calisthenics with the dog when Pat came down to make a sandwich.

Pat: What are you doing?

Me: Ugh, what does it look like I’m doing?

Pat: Torturing the dog. I don’t think she likes not having control of her front legs.

Me: Well, for your information, she is exercising. If I didn’t do this once a day, her muscles would atrophy and she would need one of those dog carts to move around.

Pat: Whatever. You guys enjoy yourself, I’m getting an office far from here so I can work without the distraction of you singing Cool and the Gang.

Me: WHAT??!! You don’t like my singing??

Pat: Nope. Never have.

Me: Really? That’s surprising, because I’m so good, especially in falsetto. Oh, and it was Dee-Light I was singing, not Cool and the Gang.

Geesh.

Pat: Whatever.

Me: Wait!! You’re leaving? Who’s gonna kill spiders for me and help me when Hudson blows out his diaper? Who’s gonna take out the stinky trash and provide me with entertainment at a moment’s notice?

Pat: I guess you’ll have to figure all that out on your own.

Me: **sad face**

 

And then he moved out.

Four and a half years of working at home, and now he’s gone.

No more episodes of me busting into his office wearing nothing but hot rollers and a bra while he’s on a video conference with clients.

No more of me asking for help with the groceries.

No more of me hovering over his shoulder while he designs websites and telling him where to put stuff and what font to use.

And lastly, no more midday sexcapades.

…Wait.

Alright, so we didn’t really have many midday sexcapades, but we certainly cannot have any NOW.

He’s been gone for a couple weeks now, and honestly, I kinda like it.

I thought I’d be so sad. But really it’s working out.

Plus, having him leave everyday gives me a chance to miss him.

And when I miss him too much, I just video chat him and sing to him in falsetto.

In my bra.

Yeah!!

He really does like my singing, he just doesn’t tell me because he doesn’t want me to have a big head about it.

And I get that.

And when I really, really REALLY miss him, we take a trip up the freeway and visit him!!

And when I say “visit him” what I really mean “run loose through his fancy new office.”

 

 

 

 

Enter Blog Description (here)

4 Comments

March 12, 2011

I’m really bad at describing myself.

I’ve had to do if a few times now that I’m a critically acclaimed blogger.

Ahem.

What?

Alright, so there’s no critical acclaim for what I do.

The pay off is, ugh… well…

hum…

Payoff…?

(Taps fingers on table, purses lips, taps some more)

Well, there is no payoff per say, so anyways…

MOVING ON.

 

Describing myself usually ends up going like this:

I’m a dork, yada yada yada, Nobody look at me. I’m uncomfortable with this portion of the writing of the stuff. Can we talk about something else. CATS! Let’s talk about cats! Aren’t they precious when they try to get something under the couch? Or when they bring you a baby bird with a broken neck? Preh-cious. Or what about when an otter cleans his face? Are you kidding me?!

There’s a tiny blurb in a local publication that I’m featured in next month.

OC Family, you know them, I attempt to write something on their website once a week. Tuesdays if you’re keeping track. 7′ o clock in the morning if you’re really keeping track. But if you’re really keeping track, you’re kinda scaring me right now. So stop. UGH.

Some people can be so creepy.

They just want a few lines to describe me. Something along the lines of:

Here’s Beckey and her blog, check her out! (Insert photo and bright font, maybe some colorful arows and a dancing cartoon cupcake. People love cartoon cupcakes)

So here’s what I have so far:

• 4 words that best describe Beckey are lazy, jaunty, stellar, and dexterous. Her knees resemble potatoes and her kids almost always drive her crazy, in a good way; like in a crazy-fun-party way, but when everyone goes home at night, the crazy fun is over and she’s left curled in a ball singing Mary Had a Little Lamb en Español.

No? Too much?

What about:

• Beckey is most often found fantasying what it would be like to drink a cup of oolong tea with her feet, she likes walking places, and coloring rainbows.

Coloring rainbows?

No that doesn’t work, people will think I’m five. It’s true, but not necessarily good information for sharing.

Perhaps I should try first-person:

• Hi, I’m Beckey. I’m not gonna beg you to go to my blog, but you should because fun things happen over there. Like the other day I posted a photo of my DOG!!  Can you believe that? Anyhoo, come on down to Hippo Brigade, things are awesome and smell slightly better over here.

Hum…

How about:

• Beckey types moderately fast, she writes about dinosaurs and things that are fuzzy.  Most of the time her socks don’t match.  If that’s the type of thing that bothers you, you should not go to her blog.

Wait, I don’t want people to NOT go to my blog.

• Beckey promises that if you visit her blog  she will turn all the fountians on campus into soda fountians and enforce a strict no math class policy. She will replace the mystery meat in the cafeteria with chocolate chip ice cream and hold a flash mob dance parade everyday at an undisclosed time.

Or what about:

• Beckey is not one of those people who say things like, “It feels like a Thursday, but it’s only a Tuesday, yeesh.” Or “I have a case of the Mondays.” She does not involve herself in days-of-the-week conversations. But she does wear days-of-the-week underwear.

Maybe I shouldn’t mention my underwear. It’s inapproproiate.

• Beckey is hardly inappropriate. She likes it when there are cookies in her oven, and she finds saying bad words delightfully gratifying.

Well, I guess you’ll have to pick up next month’s issue of OC Family to find out what description I use. See what I did there? Sneaky huh?

 

 

 

6th year of marriage

8 Comments

March 9, 2011

We’ve been married for 6 years.

The first year we played house.

I failed at my many awkward jobs. Like being a office manager, which mainly meant on the second day of work, I was to clean out the company kitchen. Oh you can imagine all the Hot Pocket explosions that were shellacked to the insides of that tiny, cheap microwave. But instead of steel wool and industrial cleaner, I was armed with a Bic pen and and a coffee soaked sponge that looked like it had been around since before the invention of the Lean Pocket. I would dutifully clean the office crap every day, and run deposits to the bank, and secretly go to the mall. What? I needed a little retail therapy after the death-in-the-form-of-moldy-tabouli-and-taco-meat I was exposed to in the community refrigerator. I remember coming home, turning the key in the lock and thinking, Wow. I’m finally a grown up.

I was 24.

Our first year of marriage we got a dog.

Her anus would later give us much grievance, but in the beginning it was love at first sight.

Exactly one month after our first anniversary, I found out I was pregnant. And instead of rejoicing, I remember repeating the words, “I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to.”

The “to” was of course in reference to becoming a mom.

I was in the midst of trying to navigate the waters of being a stellar wife, I was in the throws of trying to figure out how to be a sex goddess, and with the blink of an eye it all changed into maternity bras and hemorrhoid cream.

We wanted to travel, perhaps live abroad. If we knew that kids were so close on our horizon, perhaps we would have lived on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean, or vacationed in a nudist commune in Oklahoma, or taken that trip to Iceland.

Or perhaps not.

It’s frickin cold in Iceland.

But just like that it was different.

And in our second year of marriage Berlyn was born.

By the third things were starting to get better.

Fourth was average.

Fifth was fantastic.

We also just had Hudson, so that’s pretty awesome.

And now sixth.

Sixth we are happy.

We are in a good rhythm.

We are finally starting to face some of the bad habits we do and make serious efforts to stop them. We aren’t always fighting. We have more air to breathe. We communicate better. Our children make us work hard at our marriage, so much harder, but they are a blessing and a joy to us.

We fit togher.

It seems like the dust is settling and we are starting to figure things out.

FINALLY.

He’s the coolest person in the whole world, and the only one that I never get sick of.

I love his heart, his devotion, his ability to provide for us, his goodness, and his never ceasing love for me and our children.

Happy 6th year of marriage.

Whoo hoo!

That time I almost killed a guy

9 Comments

March 4, 2011

The other day I almost hit a guy.

Yup.

There he was crossing the street of the grocery store parking lot. Probably thinking about the fantastically low price on pork loin and whistling a tune from his youth, when I came careening around the corner and nearly took out his legs.

It’s true, I almost smashed him.

Broke his parts into a million bits.

Thankfully he stopped just in time.

And then I slammed on the brakes.

And then I did that thing where I started pantomiming.

I did the I’m so sorry thing, with my hands over my heart and shaking my head. And then I did one of those deep exhales. Because I was genuinely sorry, and completely shooken up. And I was horrified of the thought that I almost ran someone over.

Oh and did I mention that he was wearing an American Heart Association pin? He was probably doing some charity work, and I almost took his feet off. Or at least a few toes.

Oh and did I mention my kids were in the car?

How awful for them to see a man ran over by their own mom.

UGH!

So, anyways, I did the whole mimey thing and I mouthed I’m SO SORRY! to him.

And he was like, YEAH YOU ARE!

And I was like NO, I REALLY AM.

And then he did that head shake that dads do when they’re really disappointed in you.

You know what I’m talking about. Like when you came home a little late from hanging out with your friends, and your drunk friend asked to spend the night, because she didn’t want her mom to find out, and you thought that was probably okay, you didn’t drink, but you wern’t about to send your friend home all drunky and whatnot. Who knew what kinds of shenanigans she could have got into on her trek home. But your dad was there at the door waiting for you, and could clearly see that something was up with your friend, and you were like, BUT DAD! I did the right thing, and he was like, the right thing would have been NOT to go to the party, and you were like, BUT DAD, I can’t NOT go to parties. I have a reputation to maintain And then he sent you both to your room, but before he did, he did that disappointed-father head shake. And you would have taken a week’s long grounding instead of the disappointed-father head shake. But there it was, shaking right in front of you. Reminding you that you suck.

So the guy I nearly took out shook his head, and then the really strange part, right after I felt super sucky about myself, was that I didn’t wait for Mr. Man to cross in front of my car like he ultimately wanted to do, right before I almost killed him. Perhaps kill is too strong a word, but who knows, if he has a preexisting heart condition, I guess it’s possible.

I started to go first.

I was like, okay, I stopped for you, now get outta my way now, so I can catch the light and go home. I have milk!

He almost slapped the hood of my car, he was so angry.

So I stopped again, and FINALLY let him pass.

Moral of my story is not to bore you with the details of a 13 second encounter with a man in the  grocery store parking lot, but to expose what a snot I really am.

I really am THAT selfish.

Part of me was like, excuse me sir, I know I almost ran over your legs and ankles, but my needs are more important than yours, and I have to go, RIGHT NOW.

I guess you can say I had an “AH-HA” moment thanks to Mr. Heart Association.

Sorry I almost hurt you real bad, and sorry I was such a giant d-bag about the whole thing.

And now I have some things I need to work on.

I have to soul search, and find out why I’m such a selfish wang.

And how to resolve to be better.

And I have to find ways to use the word wang more.

Because that’s always fun to say.

Reality

1 Comment

March 2, 2011

Sarah over at Fitz Fam Happenings wrote an amazing post today on her blog that I just had to share with you.

I really felt like I connected with it, because it’s pretty much how all my conversations go when I’m talking with another mom.

Raise your hand if you can relate!!

***

Hi!

Hi!

It’s so good to -Get out of the street!

You too. How are you?

Oh I’m -off the table NOW, you know the rules- doing well, you?

Great, except for the major -no you can’t have a cookie right now- thing happening in our lives.

Thing? What -on earth are you doing in there? Open the door and keep it open- thing?

Me and the husband, we’re -where’s the baby?

———–Take kid to the bathroom while my friend finds her baby————

What was I saying?

I dunno, something about a -yes you can have carrots- thing?

———–pause to get carrots, cut carrots, serve carrots———–

———–Friend changes her baby’s diaper while pausing for carrots——–

Right the thing! We’re trying to…(save baby from choking on carrots)

Is she ok?

She’s fine, she has a great -NO HITTING!- gag reflex.

That’s helpful.

Mmmhmm.

Were you saying something about your husband? How is -I don’t know where your shoes are, where did you take them off?- he?

He’s good. But we’re, hold on I need to take this.

——————–check Facebook while my friend answers phone————

Sorry. What was I talking about?

You and your husband. Is everything -you need your helmet on if you’re going to ride your bike!- okay?

Totally! It’s just that we can’t seem to -WHO is SCREAMING? Oh my GOSH!

Wow, um, he’s really bleeding.

Maybe we should go.

It’s was SO good seeing you!!

You too! Love you friend!