February 10, 2008
Moving Right Along
On Friday, I reached 142 degrees flexion. I am fighting for every degree lately and it is painful. When I go to physical therapy, I am there for at least two hours and I work like I have never worked before. I also swear into my pillow a lot. It’s paying off though.
I am finished wearing my brace. I haven’t worn it since I walked into physical therapy on Friday.
I’m very nervous about people bumping into me in public. Uneven sidewalk and icy conditions scare me half to death, but I am doing it. The crutches have been packed away and the brace will soon follow.
Of course, I realize that at my post-op appointment in a few weeks, I’ll be fitted for a custom ACL brace but this one will be much less intrusive into my everyday life. This is the brace that will eventually get me back to karate, tennis and Amy Winehouse karaoke.
I spent my birthday weekend eating at a hibachi restaurant with my family, eating entirely too many chocolate cupcakes (thanks Mom), and painting my house like a weekend warrior mad-woman.
We got an idea of what we’ll be able to sell our house for on Friday, and we are excited. Our realtor didn’t balk at our "colorful" family room. He didn’t even mind our pink counter tops (We didn’t do it-We inherited it). He thinks we have a beautiful home and that it will sell quickly.
This comes with many mixed feelings. This is the home we finally put our stamp on and made our own. We spent many weekends stripping flowery wallpaper, and painting beautiful little girl rooms, complete with murals, clouds, flying fairies, and ocean waves.
Much to his surprise, I taught myself how to use suede paint like an expert while Mr. BBM was on a business trip. I fell in love with this house when we bought it and it will be difficult to leave it. Upstairs is the bathroom where I found out Lil C was on her way. I brought Lil C home to this house for the first time and spent many happy times with family and friends inside these walls.
I’ve realized though, that we can make any place our own. Our memories are our memories and they are packed and stored neatly in our hearts and minds. They travel well and they’ll go where we go, where we can make more memories. . .
Over the weekend, we found a house we love. It’s perfect. Saturday night, Mr. BBM and I both had dreams about it. It’s in a great neighborhood, in a great school district and it has just the right amount of space for us. Mr. BBM would have a private office. The girls would have tons of closet space. I would have my own walk-in closet (Can I get an AMEN from the ladies?), and we would have a usable yard where the girls would be able to play to their little hearts content.
Now we just need to figure out if we can get all the options we want on the lot we want and how this whole thing will work out so that we’re neither homeless nor the proud owners of two homes. That would be bad.
2008 may prove to be a year full of exciting changes in the BBM household.
Thanks to everyone for the awesome birthday stories and well-wishes. I have to give a major THANK YOU to Sizzle for singing me a beautiful rendition of "Happy Birthday" that made me wonder why she’s not being played ad nauseum on the radio right now. I also have to say that Adam had a story so funny, I actually cried I laughed so hard.
February 7, 2008
Distract me
I’m not normally the type of person to draw attention to myself. . . unless of course, you consider that I am a willing karaoke participant, I bleed on the mats and get injured at karate camps, I do all the interactive stuff at the wax museums . . .
Oh, who am I kidding?
Today is the 4th anniversary of my 29th birthday. That’s right, I’m 29 for the 5th time today, February 7th. Did I mention it’s my birthday???
I got a fabulous Japanese text book in the mail complete with audio CD from my friend Adam yesterday. Thanks Adam! Now the whole family can learn Japanese when we get in the car. Very cool! It will help distract me greatly while some of my dojo mates are off to New Orleans next week for winter camp, the camp at which I was planning on testing for Shodan.
Ho. Hum. Sigh.
I need all the distractions I can get.
So, in honor of my birthday, distract me from my sore knee and being another year older better older better. The best birthday story, poem, song or other distraction, left in my comments, gets lots of link love and the distinct honor of making me smile. You have until midnight.
What? You were expecting another trip down memory lane? If so, go here.
Edited to add: From a high school friend of mine who obviously has enough photo shop skills to make my thighs look that svelte. What a birthday present!
OMG y’all! Sizzle just recorded herself singing happy birthday and sent it to me. She should TOTALLY be on American Idol. Wow! Step it up people! You’ve got some competition!
February 6, 2008
I’m THAT Mom
When I was in college, I did a lot of babysitting for my boss. I worked at a flower shop and he was the owner. He had gone through a nasty divorce and had been left with his two children, ages 6 and 4 at the time. Obviously traumatized by what had happened, he spent a lot of time going out with friends and trying to pick up his life in the only way he knew how. I was the babysitter that allowed him to do this.
It was quite common for me to spend my Friday nights picking his children up from day care and after care before taking them home for a long night that wouldn’t end for me until around 2 a.m. It made it an even longer night because the kids also had "issues."
One night, I decided to take the kids to Blockbuster to pick out some movies to help us all survive the long haul of a night that was to come. The 4-year old little boy decided he wanted a spider man poster. I told him we were renting movies, not buying posters and a temper tantrum ensued. His sister thought it was wildly funny and I was horrified.
There we were in Blockbuster, one little girl laughing so hard she was in stitches and one little boy flailing all around the floor, screaming "I hate you" and "You’re so mean" at me as if I had just attempted to remove all his toenails or something. He was screaming, spitting and flailing so much so that there was absolutely nothing for me to do.
I was an experienced babysitter, but this was all new to me. I tried to pick him up and he kicked me so hard in the shin that I thought I’d pass out from the pain. I tried to nicely tell him to get up. That didn’t work. I tried to more firmly tell him to get up and that didn’t work. Finally, I tossed the movies we were going to rent on a nearby counter, grabbed him off the floor despite the assault my body took, and told him we were leaving and there would be no movies tonight. He continued to hit me and scream at me until he was buckled into the car.
I had two thoughts while standing in Blockbuster, noticing everyone noticing me. The first was that I was never having kids. The second was horror at the fact that these people all probably assumed he was my child. He looked so much like me. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and a slim build. It was awful.
Fast forward to the summer of 2005.
I am extremely pregnant with Lil C and we’re at the mall getting Big I’s pictures taken. We go to The Picture People and when the prints are ready they frame a big one of Big I. We bought the pose, but not that actual framed version. Big I can’t stand the idea of leaving a picture of herself behind in the store. She refuses to leave the store and throws a royal temper tantrum. We walk out and leave her behind. She comes running after us and throws herself on the mall floor, screaming, drooling, flailing.
It’s a Friday night and it’s a virtual high school class reunion for me at the mall. EVERYONE I know and haven’t seen in 10 years is there with their extremely well-behaved kids. Any other time, I would have been that put-together parent with the well-behaved kid, but not tonight.
I get so irritated with Big I, that at 7 months pregnant, I hoist her up, head out the front and feet out the back and start carrying her through the mall. She kicks her way down and I put her in a chair in the center of the mall. Holding her there, I quietly and calmly tell her that her behavior is not acceptable, that there are going to be serious consequences and that she better knock it off and now. An old lady sitting nearby leans over with a chocolate bar and says "Here, give this to her."
Infuriated with my child and the whole situation, I spit fire at this woman and tell her "Does this look like a child who deserves a chocolate bar to you? NO THANK YOU!" I pick my battles, sure, every parent does. But with one like this, there is no appeasing the kid or else your future authority is destroyed. Chocolate after a colossal temper tantrum? I think not.
Mr. BBM takes over when it’s clear my firm tone isn’t getting anywhere and we head towards the exit. She is screaming and thrashing and all I could think is, "Thank God I have pictures of her in my wallet so that if mall security stops us and thinks we’re kidnapping her, I can prove she’s mine." Big I lost TV. She went straight to her room and bed, and lost all DVD privileges in the car too.
Mr. BBM and I don’t mess around.
Fast forward to yesterday.
This was my first time to the grocery store with the girls since before my surgery. I went in for just a few items and figured I could handle it. The girls were being great. Both were riding in the truck cart and getting along just fine. It was when I stopped to talk to a relative that Lil C decided to raise hell.
She climbed out of the cart and starting grabbing hoards of Valentine’s candy that she was shoveling into the truck as fast as she could. I put them back and she threw a fit and grabbed more. The kid has a killer grip.
The grocery store won’t need to clean their floors anytime soon because Lil C did it for them. Break-dancing on the grocery store floor, she screamed and flailed, cried and yelled. Big I thought it was hysterical. Suddenly, I’m right back in Blockbuster, except this kid doesn’t just resemble me. She is mini ME!
The grocery store was packed with the after-school crowd and I was mortified. No matter what kind of person you are, you can’t help but notice an unruly toddler. You can’t help but pass a bit of judgment on the nearby parent who is obviously not controlling the situation. I might as well have been wearing a giant scarlet letter on my chest.
I grabbed the cart and walked away from her and told her we were leaving. She quickly changed her attitude and climbed back in the cart. Before I even stopped for fruit, she jumped out of the still moving cart, ran to the flower section of the store and picked up a ceramic pot.
The kid throws everything. She will frequently grab one of Big I’s toys and chuck it down the stairs just to be a stinker. I panicked.
Walking slowly wasn’t going to do the trick. I tried to lightly jog and the pain shot through my knee so badly it made me stop in my tracks and gasp. I limped over to Lil C and ripped the pot out of her hand as she giggled and then started to throw another fit.
Head out the front, feet out the back, we made our way to the check-out line. I would have just left the cart but I had absolutely nothing to make for dinner at home. She realized she wasn’t getting anywhere. She calmed down and asked to be put back in the truck. In the truck she went.
Out in the parking lot, she refused to get out of the truck. She knows I’m slow and can’t bend like I used to be able to do, so she kept scooting from one side of the truck to the other as soon as I would get to that side. I couldn’t exactly leave her in the cart in the parking lot.
Luckily, my relative came out, stuck his hand in the one side and she immediately went to me. I loaded that stinker in the car and told her we’re not leaving the house again until she’s three, or possibly 13. I haven’t decided yet, but one thing is for sure: I’ll be in isolation with a 2-year old. Send help.
February 5, 2008
Old Friends, Good Times & Cooper Marketing
Mr. BBM will often come home from work and have a glass of wine or a beer with dinner or afterward. I rarely do this. Iced tea is my beverage of choice. Although I enjoy a glass of wine or a beer from time to time, I just really don’t drink that much, especially since I hurt my knee back in October.
When you’re around old college friends, however, all of that can quickly change. One of our good friends from college married a lovely guy from England and we always have a blast when we’re with them. Saturday night was no exception.
Because everyone tends to do things for me since I hurt my knee, Mr. BBM or one of my friends were constantly refilling my wine glass. The conversation and wine were flowing quite freely apparently. When someone is constantly refilling your glass and you’re just hanging out and gulping sipping, it’s difficult to know exactly how much you’ve had until you get up to pour yourself a glass.
I quickly found out as I surveyed the room and realized that everyone else was drinking mixed drinks or beer. I was the only wino, literally.
"Will someone please have a glass of this wine so that I can’t claim to have kicked the entire bottle by myself?" I asked.
My friend happily agreed to share the blame and we did what many tipsy people decide to do. We went downstairs to throw pointy objects at the wall, i.e. play darts. By then, the damage was already done. We were all feeling fairly silly. We started playing three different dart games and each one got cut short because one of us hit the wrong button and restarted the game (you should know that I did not do this, despite having almost an entire bottle of wine). You should also know that I was totally winning 501 and was down to only 9 points. Granted, I was more likely to be throwing darts into the wall than hitting a 9 at that point, but you get the idea.
So, with our dart game waning and our jolly English man dozing, my friend recommended that we get some markers and write something clever on his forehead. This sounded like the most fabulous idea ever to me, so I quickly went and raided the girls marker collection and brought down a variety of colors. The only problem was: what do we write?
Mr. BBM couldn’t really think of anything and neither could my friend. I, however, can come up with marketing slogans and rhyming fun in my sleep (or after almost a bottle of wine). Because his job is selling mini-cooper cars, I knew I had to incorporate that into my clever marker slogan.
"I know. I know!" I yelled energetically!
"Buy a cooper, or kiss my pooper!"
There was a brief hesitation as everyone realized the genius that was my statement, and then there was an eruption of laughter. Our English car salesman quickly realized that with markers in hand and a slogan ready for public consumption, he had better sit up, stop dozing, and NOW.
Tipsy or not, that slogan is pure genius. I imagine my friend will be using it quite often while at work. One thing I won’t be doing often? Drinking that much wine again.
February 5, 2008
Old Friends, Good Times & Cooper Marketing
Mr. BBM will often come home from work and have a glass of wine or a beer with dinner or afterward. I rarely do this. Iced tea is my beverage of choice. Although I enjoy a glass of wine or a beer from time to time, I just really don’t drink that much, especially since I hurt my knee back in October.
When you’re around old college friends, however, all of that can quickly change. One of our good friends from college married a lovely guy from England and we always have a blast when we’re with them. Saturday night was no exception.
Because everyone tends to do things for me since I hurt my knee, Mr. BBM or one of my friends were constantly refilling my wine glass. The conversation and wine were flowing quite freely apparently. When someone is constantly refilling your glass and you’re just hanging out and gulping sipping, it’s difficult to know exactly how much you’ve had until you get up to pour yourself a glass.
I quickly found out as I surveyed the room and realized that everyone else was drinking mixed drinks or beer. I was the only wino, literally.
"Will someone please have a glass of this wine so that I can’t claim to have kicked the entire bottle by myself?" I asked.
My friend happily agreed to share the blame and we did what many tipsy people decide to do. We went downstairs to throw pointy objects at the wall, i.e. play darts. By then, the damage was already done. We were all feeling fairly silly. We started playing three different dart games and each one got cut short because one of us hit the wrong button and restarted the game (you should know that I did not do this, despite having almost an entire bottle of wine). You should also know that I was totally winning 501 and was down to only 9 points. Granted, I was more likely to be throwing darts into the wall than hitting a 9 at that point, but you get the idea.
So, with our dart game waning and our jolly English man dozing, my friend recommended that we get some markers and write something clever on his forehead. This sounded like the most fabulous idea ever to me, so I quickly went and raided the girls marker collection and brought down a variety of colors. The only problem was: what do we write?
Mr. BBM couldn’t really think of anything and neither could my friend. I, however, can come up with marketing slogans and rhyming fun in my sleep (or after almost a bottle of wine). Because his job is selling mini-cooper cars, I knew I had to incorporate that into my clever marker slogan.
"I know. I know!" I yelled energetically!
"Buy a cooper, or kiss my pooper!"
There was a brief hesitation as everyone realized the genius that was my statement, and then there was an eruption of laughter. Our English car salesman quickly realized that with markers in hand and a slogan ready for public consumption, he had better sit up, stop dozing, and NOW.
Tipsy or not, that slogan is pure genius. I imagine my friend will be using it quite often while at work. One thing I won’t be doing often? Drinking that much wine again.
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