The Forgotten One

I write all the time about Braden.  About Casey.  About my husband and work and vacations and my various identity crises.

It dawned on me yesterday that I haven't written at all about a certain family member and housemate. 

This is Cous Cous.  She also goes by Cous, "The Moose," Moostifer, and Ga ga. 

She is a Cavapoo (a mix between a King Charles Cavalier and a poodle).  She is 4 1/2.  She is about 25 pounds.  She is a daddy's girl.  She is OBNOXIOUS.  And as much as I hate to say it, she is at many times forgotten.

It wasn't always the case.

Back in December of 2006, we were newlyweds living in New York.  I was working at Skadden in those days, and I was miserable.  We made the decision to leave our jobs and move to DC, and we thought it would be a perfect time to get a dog.  We'd have more space, an easier lifestyle, and I'd have four weeks off from work to potty train the little thing.  We perused the internet for hypo-allergenic breeds (husband claims he is allergic) and knew Cous was "the one" from the second we saw her picture.  She flew into JFK Airport with her breeder the day before we moved to DC.  I fell in love with her from the moment I saw her.  My husband, on the other hand, vomited that day when she had her first accident.  (I told you he had a problem with his stomach when he is undergoing a life change!)

Pic of the Week - $400 Empanadas

On Sundays, my husband generally makes dinner.  He enjoys it, and I'm certainly not going to complain.  This week's dinner?  Beef empanadas with a black bean and tomato sauce:

I swear they taste better than they look.

I generally don't interfere with my husband in the kitchen and let him do his thing.  However, while I was watching him cook on Sunday, I noticed he was throwing an awful lot of food into the garbage disposal - lettuce, tomatoes, cauliflower, etc.  The garbage disposal is a great invention, but it can't take a head of lettuce.  We have learned this the hard way.

I thought to myself, Surely he won't put all that down the garbage disposal.  He is probably just keeping it there for now, and will transfer it to the garbage later.

So I decided not to say anything.  Why be condescending?  Besides:  He just clogged the sink last month.  He learned his lesson.  I'll let him cook in peace.

A few moments later I heard the clankety clank noise of the garbage disposal.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I do love a good "I told you so."  But not at the expense of water spilling all over our kitchen floor.

A plumber, a snake, and $400 later, we enjoyed our empanadas.  They were good, but not $400 good.

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

The weather this past weekend was downright depressing.  Cold, rainy, gloomy, curl up in pajama type weather.  It was a premature reminder of the dark months to come.

For the past four years, I have fallen into a winter funk from mid-November - February.  I can't say it's depression per se, but I generally am sluggish, bored, unmotivated, and never wanting to leave the house because it's too damn cold - just blah.  I find myself crossing days off of the calendar and counting down the days until daylight savings time.  I think this funk has been the result of one or more of the following factors:

- morning sickness
- post partum depression
- the drafting of a ridiculous number of deposition outlines with a completely unmanageable deadline
- a crying newborn
- a lack of sleep
- sunsets before 5pm
- the self loathing of post-baby weight
- the announcement of salary freezes
- an impending return from maternity leave
- the stress of childcare to cover impending return to maternity leave
- Snowmageddon (twice - once resulting in a tree falling on my house)

Among others.

Y.G.G. (And if you don't know what that stands for, you should)

That would be Yo Gabba Gabba.

Tonight, we will be seeing the magic live.  Live!  DJ Lance in the flesh.

Maybe some people reading this are professional people with no kids.  Maybe you have kids, but they are too old to watch Yo Gabba Gabba.  Or, perhaps you have kids but you (gasp!!!) don't watch Yo Gabba Gabba.  You're probably thinking, why should I continue reading this crap post?  Maybe you've stopped reading already. 

Why?  Only because Yo Gabba Gabba it is the most unbelievable, entertaining, creative, educational, college student stoned enjoyment to have ever graced the television.  This is no Blues Clues, people.  It's bizarre.  Eccentric.  Odd.  So odd, in fact, that it can be nothing but brilliant.  If you find yourself saying, "Who thinks of this crap and what are they smoking" multiple times over a thirty minute episode, you know your time is well spent. Oh, and Braden loves it too.

Pic of the Week - Embracing Mediocrity

As I wrote about a few weeks ago, I've been taking an introductory photography class.  The last class is tonight, and I have to say I am sad about it!  I have really enjoyed learning something new, and more than that, having a place to go where I can talk to adults and space out if I want to.  Despite class ending, I am thinking I want to make photography my new "hobby."  You know, where I tote a big camera around parks on the weekends and start taking pictures of inanimate objects instead of just my kids.

But there's a problem. 

I'm really not that good at it.

For a while, I thought it was something I could learn to be good at.  It's all technical right?  But the more I learn, the more I am realizing it is more of an art than a science.  And artistic talent is NOT something I've been blessed with.  Not at all.

This past weekend, our class took a field trip to Union Station and then walked around the Capitol area.  We were sent off to take original, artsy photos, and I was at a loss.  I am completely lacking in creativity!  Angles, leading lines, unique perspective - it's all lost on me.  But, I had lots of fun anyway.  And here's one of my mediocre artistic attempts:

Where the magic happens, people. 

I have decided that I don't necessarily need to be good at something to make it my hobby, as long as I enjoy it right?

In fact, mediocrity is a relief.  Who needs all that pressure from a hobby?

AP Math

Up until my junior year in high school, I never put that much effort into school.  I would get A's and B's, but I actually didn't care that much about my grades.  I wasn't really challenged, and I didn't care to be challenged either.  I was more into boys and lunch time and talking on the phone for hours each evening (thank God I grew up before Facebook).

I had always taken AP Math classes, and my junior year I signed up for AP Precalculus.  Within the first week or so, it became clear that this was not going to be so easy peasy.  I did the homework as required and studied for quizzes and exams in study hall, but it didn't cut it.  For the first time in my academic career, I was failing.  Failing!  I was humiliated.  I remember asking to go to the nurse during one class right before the teacher was about to pass back test results, because I was so ashamed.  After about a month, I went to see my guidance counselor and told her I wanted to transfer to the Honors class instead.  She approved it, and within a few days, my schedule was changed.

Then something weird happened. 

Pic of the Week - A Nine Foot What?

I guess we shouldn't have been surprised - what do you expect from a Georgetown Cupcake wedding?

Yes, that is a 9 foot wedding cake.  Made of little cupcakes. 

And that's how I gained three pounds during a weekend away.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

A Phase

As I sit here at my computer listening to Casey babble about in his bed when he should be napping, a sad realization has struck me:

Soon, in the not so distant future, Casey will give up his morning nap.  And my luxurious mornings, complete with coffee and bed and the Today show and blogging, will be a distant memory. 

But that's not all.  Also, in the not so distant future, Braden will be giving up his one and only afternoon nap.  And then I will have no break in the day.  AT ALL. 

This scares the crap out of me. 

Right now, even with these two breaks in my day, I consider my day pretty damn hard - much harder than my days in biglaw.  I am exhausted.  When the boys are up, and I'm not preparing meals or cleaning up from meals or dealing with various toddler demands, I'm on a constant quest to entertain them and find activities.  Some days are easier than others, but all days, an immense amount of energy is exerted, and I yearn for my boys' naptimes.  Yearn for them!  

A Celebrity Wedding

The wedding I went to this past weekend was pretty unbelievable.  Over the top.  Extravagant.  But what do you expect from a celebrity wedding?  Well, maybe not Hollywood A-list style, but close to it. 

Have you ever seen that show on TLC, DC Cupcakes?  It's a reality show following the two sisters who own Georgetown Cupcake, which is a cupcake store chain in DC (soon to open in Manhattan).  The cupcakes are pretty amazing, but that's neither here nor there.

Well, my husband happens to work with the guy who married one of the sisters.  I know, it's weird, right?  A guy who is engaged (now married) to a reality TV star/owner of hugely successful cupcake chain chooses to spend his time in biglaw marking up credit agreements and taking notes during conference calls?  I can't imagine he's yearning for the partner track, but what do I know?  And anyway, that's also neither here nor there.

We got the invitation to the wedding last spring, and my first reaction:  We're there.  Nevermind I had never met the bride or the groom.  The wedding was in Santa Barbara.  At the San Ysidro Ranch.  It was being filmed for the TLC series (it will air in November!).  Um yeah, we're going.  My husband took a bit of convincing, but the tickets were booked in short order.  And so began the countdown to my first celebrity wedding. 

Never Again...

Will I take a red eye flight.

You know when you are booking a flight, like six months in advance, and you are weighing all of your options?  Cost, time, connection, etc.  And a flight comes up that is maybe $30 cheaper, but it is a red eye flight and you will get to your destination at 5am having had no sleep at all.  And you think, come on, I should save money, I can hack it for just one morning.  Because it's all conceptual at that point and the pain that you will endure and feel on that morning is in the distant future and hey, maybe it won't be that bad.

Yeah, that's kind of what happened to us. And yes, it will be that bad.  Much worse than you can imagine, actually.

We thought, oh it will be nice to have all day Sunday to spend in LA.  We can drive the Pacific Coast Highway and frolic on the beach hand in hand with "Something Tells Me I'm Into Something Good" playing in the background.  Sure, we won't have a hotel room or place to sit or lay down or use the bathroom, and there is a large chance we'll have a painful hangover from the night before.  Nevermind that.  We will be on vacation!  Without children!

Never again.

I got nine hours of sleep last night, and I still feel like I got run over by a truck.   I really wanted to do a heartfelt post, about how amazing the wedding was, about how I could potentially appear on a reality show episode in November, about how I got a drunken job offer, about my thoughts on post-kid travel, etc. etc.  But I can't.  I'm just tapped out.

Hopefully tomorrow.  

Until then, today promises to be a long one.