My Dear Watson

Bring It, 2009. BRING IT.

Clearly, I am the worst blogger in the entire world.  I really am.

I have not posted in so long, if I were to really detail what's happened since my last post it would take you  until Valentine's Day to get through everything, and really?  

WHO'S GOT THE TIME?

To sum up, just in the last few weeks, I have had my sister and nephew come for Thanksgiving, contracted a horrific case of laryngitis (otherwise known as Husband's Dream Come True) on Thanksgiving Day when I was hosting thirteen people for dinner, celebrated the twins' first birthday, celebrated my seventh wedding anniversary, had my 41st birthday, gotten ready for Christmas, finally been freed from my clomping walking boot, started physical therapy twice a week, been told my Crazy-Walk (sort of a drag-foot, limp kind of thing) was 'mostly in my head' (i.e. YOU CRAZY, LADY!) and let's see...what else?

I think that about covers it. 

Oh yeah. Not blogged once.  Not even Twittered, for Chrissakes.  And that takes a total of .00001 seconds.

So....highlights?  And, because it's ME, some lowlights as well:

Thanksgiving was fun, in that this is frigging insane kind of way.  In that good news/bad news kind of way that often defines life.

The good news is I managed to make a fairly decent Butternut Squash soup the day before I got sick, the bad news is my sister and I decided to 'garnish' the bowls of soup with a candied walnut and some unsweetened whipped cream to rock it all Top Chef Style.  This was NOT a good plan.  In the past I've used sour cream, and let's just say whipped cream cannot carry a walnut. So everyone's bowls had an odd looking smear on the top, plus a surprise what in God's name is THIS walnut that was lurking at the bottom of their bowl.

Thankfully, no one mentioned it.  Which was good because by the time we served dinner I literally had no voice.  AT ALL. Part of the problem was for some reason the Universe thought it would be funny to give me a terrible case of laryngitis on the day to give thanks.  The day I am having tons of people over for my very first Thanksgiving ever. (I mean, I've celebrated the holiday before.  I just mean, this was the first year I've hosted.  But you knew that. Moving on.)

Anyhoo, part of the problem is that my Mother is deaf as a door knell (which I think is supposed to be DEAD as a door knell but my sister and I have always said "deaf" and "dead" is much grimmer and who knows what that means anyway?) and so I literally had to repeat EVERYTHING AT LEAST TWICE.  EVERY SINGLE DINGLE THING.  ALL DAY LONG.

"When do we start the stuffing"

"What?"

"WHEN DO WE START THE STUFFING??"

"Where is the bowl for the cranberry sauce?"

"What?"

"WHERE IS THE BOWL FOR THE CRANBERRY SAUCE??"

All day long.

So you can imagine how by about 3:00 PM my voice was totally gone and I was using hand signals to ask if people wanted cream and sugar with their coffee.

The next day was the babies' first birthday, and my sister and BeBop and I bundled everyone up and took them to the San Francisco Zoo.

This was funny because I was still in The Boot and had to rent an Old Lady Scooter to, well, scoot around the zoo.  Also funny?  The speed controller was a dial with two pictures on either end:  a tortoise and a jack rabbit.

I know!  Zoo humor is so damn funny.  It's HARE-larious.  You can BEARly stand it. I'm not LION, it's that funny. 

SOMEONE STOP ME.

So my sister was constantly yelling, "Come on slowpoke!  Gun that mother up to jack rabbit and let's go!"  But even on jack rabbit, I could barely keep up with the strollers she and BeBop were pushing.

And don't even get me started on what happened when I came tooling around a blind corner and BANG!  Right in front of me is a loose peacock standing in the middle of the road, all 'oh look at me and my pretty tail feathers' and how I came THIS close to running said peacock over. I'm still having nightmares.

And then just to add a little extra drama to the outing, because Lord knows three kids under two, two strollers and an Old Lady Scooter aren't dramatic enough, there was The Incident from last year.  On Christmas Day a Siberian tiger escaped from her enclosure and mauled three people, killing one young man.  (DUDE. Watson gets all GRIM all of a sudden.) 

But now the tiger area is all enclosed in a high-tech,James Bond-y, USSR prior to 1990 crazy wire and lights type deal.  And tons of tourists stand around saying, "Is this where that Tiger ate that boy?"  and "Yep, I think it was right here" and why am I relaying this part of the zoo tour?  God, I have no idea.  

Let's just say I cranked my scooter up all the way from tortoise to jack rabbit and got the hell away from there. Later a friend told me I was taking an unnecessary risk just being in the vicinity, given that on my scooter I was a veritable Meal on Wheels for any escaped vicious beasts.

Later, for their birthday, we subjected the babies to more cupcakes and more photos of them stuffing the aforementioned cupcakes into their cry-holes.  Because really, can anyone ever get enough of babies shoving cupcakes into their faces?

Didn't think so.

To recap:  We had Thanksgiving, guests galore, laryngitis, babies' birthday, zoo trip, narrowly-avoided incident with both peacock and large vicious cat AND our anniversary, all on the same weekend.

Followed in quick succession by my birthday. 

My 41st BIRTHDAY, can you friggin' believe it?!

I cannot. 

Except when I get eight hours of sleep and STILL wake up tired. Then I can believe it.  Or how when I barely step on a speed bump in a parking lot and my foot snaps in two like a dried twig, THEN I can believe I am forty-one.

But I'm determined to make this the best year yet.  And I wish the same for all of you.




We got crap-ass cupcakes on our birthday, Thanksgiving-themed cupcakes with crappy Pilgrims on top that my crap-ass cheap Dad got ON SALE.  The nerve.





Screw that Dude!  I just shoved that chocolate masterpiece in my mouth and was all, YEAH! Chocolate is the BOMB!





We made sure our Mommy couldn't, for the life of her, take one good photo of the two of us together.  One of us was either moving, closing our eyes, trying to fall head first off the couch or shooting mucus out our nostrils down the front of our face.  GOOD TIMES.


 


Well, okay.  This one was pretty cute. We guess. 





This is the whole gang at the zoo.  I (Parker) am crying because this hat is not fierce, like AT ALL.  And my bro bro looks like a tiny little lumberjack in his hat, so overall not a great fashion day for the Watson twins.  But Mommy and Daddy are just beside themselves with joy because here we are, celebrating our 1st birthday!  What could better?

(Ok, so Mommy not getting mauled by a tiger while on her scooter. That was also nice. Good point.)

Trouble Afoot Chez Watson

"Tiny Tim is coming!" BeBop yells, quite inappropriately, each morning as I crutch my way down the hallway toward the babies.  CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK is the sound you can hear about three minutes before I actually enter a room.

So here's the dealio:  the first doctor who stated that I would be off the crutches within a week, that I would then use a walking boot alone, and that the total recovery time was 4-5 weeks was either 1) a sick, twisted individual who thrives on giving patients false expectations; 2) an escaped metal patient from the psych ward who tackled a real doctor, knocked him out with a blow to the head or the liberal application of chloroform to a white handkerchief, stole his white coat and shoved him in a nearby supply closet and spent the day impersonating a doctor; or 3) JUST WRONG.

WRONG WRONG WRONG

When I saw a specialist the week after breaking my foot, he said that I would get the walking boot, but have to be on crutches for AT LEAST another 3-4 weeks AND the total recovery time was more like 8-12 weeks. WTF?? And let me tell you, this 'walking boot' looks like something Darth Vader's bride would wear. It's just huge and cumbersome and hideous and doesn't match with ANYTHING. And? I have to pretty much wear some kind of running shoe type deal on the other foot, because I'm such a freakin' klutz I'm afraid without the proper support on my right foot I'm asking for trouble.

And as if getting that news wasn't bad enough, the doctor had a wall-mounted Shop Vac in the exam room. "What's that for?" I asked.  "To get rid of the evidence," he said.  "Hahaha. No really. What's it for?" I persisted.  DUMBASS that I am.  "For the callouses and toe nails." 

Me = sorry I asked.

So I'm hobbling around and will be until Christmas, for crissakes, and can't even really be alone with the babies because they're crawling all over the place and I can't keep up with them, but worse, I can't pick them up and carry them. For some reason they're just not up to speed on the whole 'get your asses in here and get in your highchairs and make yourself some dinner and while you're at it get Mommy a big glass of wine' routine I've tried to implement.  DAMN you 10 and 1/2 month old ingrates!

But here's the good news, the Baby Blessing was just fantastic.  Even though I was hobbling around, and I couldn't get my roots done (so my hair looked like ASS), and I didn't have a kicky new outfit that would hide my flabbiness (so I looked, well, huger than I would have liked) and I couldn't get a mani or a pedi (so my feet and hands were a hot mess) and the house was far from perfect (so I looked totally disorganized) and from this angle it was a perfect storm of unhappiness, even though all of this was in the background, it was still a beautiful, meaningful, once-in-a-lifetime day.

I tried to plan a 'green' party, which turned out great. I sent on-line invites using pingg.com, I ordered biodegradable plates, cups and plasticware from here, and I hired a caterer who served* local, organic food. There were cloth napkins leftover from my sister's wedding and I had water in glass pitchers instead of plastic bottles.  (I was hoping to use small, potted plants as centerpieces but that plan was a casualty of my foot so I did have cut flowers on the tables.) BeBop designed programs that we printed on paper made from the bark of a renewable tree, that we found here and the coolest part is that the paper contains wildflower seeds, so if you plant it, it will bloom! For thank you letters, I sent these adorable, on-line notes from iomoi.

I won't bore you with details of the actual ceremony, but if you're interested please e-mail me.  The short version is, we started with a welcome and then oaths that the grandparents and the Godparents took.  Then I read a letter that I'd written to the babies the night before they were born. (Thank you scheduled c-section!).  We said a blessing to the babies and made a promise of how we wanted to raise them.  And then my sister and a close friend each read a poem, followed by a closing prayer.

I think it was a very different experience for our guests.  But people just went with it and afterward, said it was a wonderful ceremony.

And then because we don't want to throw another party at the end of November, we cheated a bit and celebrated the babies' birthday a tad early.  At the end of the party, we all gathered around Jax and Parker and let them each dig into a cupcake.  This was the first time they have ever had sugar (other than fruit and some Cheerios) and can I just say that if Parker could talk, she would have said, "Mommy  YOU SUCK for keeping such deliciousness away from me.  I'd yell 'I hate you' and run to my room but first I have to devour this yummy mess of chocolate and frosting and NOM NOM NOM NOM!!"

And Jackson would have said, "Ummmm...this thing you gave me is okaaaaayyyyy....BUT WHY ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE STARING AT ME??  I AM NOT a circus freak FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE THEM STOP LOOKING AT MEEEEEEE!!"

Some fairly poor-quality shots to show you:

So there you have it!  That's what's new around here. I haven't been able to post sooner because seriously, after crutching around all day MY ARMS HURT.

*When I first posted this, I wrote "served used local, organic food..." With my stellar editing SKLS I forgot to take one of the words out, and DaisyCake commented that that really would be a new way to go green. And possibly moldy. And we did not do that. But slow food? HA. I'm thinking USED food might be a new movement that we've stumbled upon. 

So Bootcamp Had Its Way With Me...

...And I came back for more.

Yup. For some inexplicable reason* I decided to sign up for another month.

*I am a goddamn LAZY ASS. And left to my own devices I wouldn't do anything AT ALL.  Seriously, exercise for me is strolling slowly through the gym, lounging on a treadmill for about 10 minutes, getting super bored of VH1 and then deciding to head out to the nearest bagel shop.

And that's a good workout for me.

So even though I spent all those days thoroughly humiliating myself and hoping against hope that

1) I would miraculously learn how to jump rope from one day to the next and 2) the Blond Mom Gang would ask me to join their perfectly-coiffed cabal (and they would give me a free pass on the customary beat-down most new members get!), neither happened.

And yet, I knew if I wanted to get this baby weight off, and tackle The Awning Problem, I would have to do something that made me work hard.  Because really?  It's  not pretty, folks.

In other news, Baby Cate has arrived, what wonderful news!

And in other other news, the twins are almost nine and a half  months old. I have totally skipped Month Eight's letter, and now am well on my way to missing this month so I must get my ass in gear.

But in case you're curious, the headline is: 

BABIES TEETHING = SUCKTASTIC TIME FOR MOMMY AND NEIGHBORS ON BOTH SIDES

Yes, both neighbors casually mentioned, "Oh!  Are the twins teething?  This is the first time we could hear them." 

I try to shut the window when diaper changes sound like cats being attacked by rusty cheese graters and I try to remember to close the sliding door to the backyard when dinnertime sounds like wild parrots being plucked bald one feather at a time.

I hope that the neighbors can't hear me saying things like, "YOU ARE DRIVING MOMMY TO DRINK" and "Where the fuck is your father?" and "Get me the Baby Motrin STAT" but of course if they hear the babies they probably can hear me, but I choose not to dwell on that.

I just tell myself that teething is a stage, that we will all somehow get through this, and that within a few hours I can wake up to a new morning, which brings with it a new hope, a slowing rising sun, a comforting breeze cooled by the fog over San Francisco Bay, the beautiful soft light breaking through the tree tops and the chance to shove a Lexapro down my gullet faster than you can say

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

 

The Watson Twins, Nacho Libre Style!

Parker:  WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN' AT??

Jax:  Doh dee do, just hanging with my sis...how fun.

Parker:  Remember all those times you shrieked in my ear when we were sharing a crib?
REMEMBER THOSE?  You will pay Sucker.  You will pay.

Jax:  Hmmmm....This is starting to seem not so fun.

J: I am starting to not like this very much.

P:  I said, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN' AT??

J:  I bet she'll tire quickly and this life-altering humiliation will soon be over...maybe if I play dead like I was being attacked by a Grizzly bear?  Or a mountain lion?  Wait, am I supposed to play dead or make lots of noise to scare her away??  Maybe if I start to cry my Mommy will actually help me...Mommy!  Hel-----

P:  Take THAT cry baby!  Just try to scream with my entire fist shoved down your throat...mwah ha ha....

J:  This cannot be happening to me.  And?  Where the FRICK is my fricking MOTHER?!?!?

P:  Open a little wider, I promise this won't hurt. MUCH.

J:  Sweet Jesus. I am staring right into the face of Evil.

P:  Play dead MY ASS.  Here, have another serving of WHUP ASS for lunch.

J:  Really?  REALLY???!!  You're really just gonna stand there and take pictures of this and NOT HELP me?!?!?  You better get my therapist on speed dial. And please don't post the photographic evidence of this on your blog.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, woman, have you no shame?!?