this story will go down in hiss-tory

Well, do I have an update for you. It's as if the universe knew I needed some blog material. 

JUST LAST POST I shared about Matt's childhood corn snake and wrote that "He "escaped his enclosure" and was never seen again. I think about that missing snake every time we go to his mom's house, half-expecting it to sense a reunion and slither out of a vent or something."

Well, a few months ago,  my mother-in-law's longtime next door neighbors moved, and her boyfriend bought the house. He's been fixing it up to turn it into a rental property, and would you look at what he found while he was working there this weekend. 

Or should I say, WHO he found. 

Matt's (dead) corn snake. Missing since the summer of 2000. Steve tore down some drywall in the kitchen and there he was. We laughed about it all weekend. 

I asked Matt if he thinks the snake just slithered down the steps and out the front door on this way to the neighbors, and Matt said very matter of factly, "Probably. He had to get out somehow."

Steve also found a snakeskin in the basement, so the snake was alive in the neighbors' house long enough to shed his skin at least once, and make it from the basement to the kitchen. The whole situation is equally as hilarious as it is gross. What are the chances that Matt would lose his pet snake, assume it never to be seen again, but lo and behold it had slithered to the neighbor's house and made a new life for himself, only to be found TWENTY FOUR YEARS LATER when Matt's mom's boyfriend buys the house. 

The blog basically writes itself.

After we got this hilarious news, we kept on with our typical Saturday routine of stopping at the club for happy hour. 

By the club I mean Sam's Club. 

And by happy hour I mean the 4:00 samples.

We hit the jackpot with samples this week. It's not every Saturday they have sugar cookies, popcorn, AND tiny cups of lukewarm vegetable lo mein. And I would know, because we go every Saturday. 

After we got our fill of samples, we headed over to get a rotisserie chicken, and all I have to say about that is that anyone who thinks the Taylor Swift tickets were a hot item has clearly never tried to get a rotisserie chicken at Sam's Club on a Saturday afternoon. It's like lions stalking their prey. 

We saw the growing crowd of customers as we approached the chicken counter, and Matt and Christopher joined them to wait for a fresh batch. Joey and I decided to make another lap for samples, and when we got back the woman who was standing next to Matt burst out laughing because Joey yelled "DADDY! CHRISTOPHER!  We found the best samples! Smoothies and REAL LIVE ORANGES!"

It's not every day you get to see a REAL LIVE ORANGE.

Anyway, we got our chicken and on our way out, we passed an endcap with majorly discounted toys. There was an army set with a jeep, a tank, and an airplane that shoots missiles. It was marked down to the low, low price of $13 and because Matt is a sucker and our children are spoiled, he put it in the cart. 

They got it all set up when we got home and the boys spent the evening shooting missiles, or as Joey called them, drill bits. They have less than stellar aim and by dinnertime three drill bits were lost and the fourth was stuck under the oven. After dinner I straightened out a wire clothes hanger and lowered myself to the floor to fish out the missing drill bit aka missile. 

As I laid down and shoved the clothes hanger under the oven, I thought, Dear God please don't let there be a snake under here. 

I didn't see a snake, but what I did see was almost as frightening. It looked like no one had cleaned under the oven for about three years. Which makes sense because no one has cleaned under the oven for about three years. 

I retrieved the missile, as well as a marker, a baby spoon, a few toy dishes from the kitchen set, and about 4168 cheerios. Just as I was about to sit up, I heard Christopher behind me gleefully say "TA-DA!!!" and then I heard crunching. 

I told him to open his mouth where I saw he'd found the prize of a piece of dust covered Cap'n Crunch that was quite possibly as old as he is. 

Which is gross. 

But at least it wasn't a snake. 

the ants go marching one by one, hurrah?

Something that will not surprise you about Matt is that he has been talking about getting an ant farm for years. It's been an unfulfilled dream of his.

Another unfulfilled dream of Matt's is to get some sort of reptile for the boys. Growing up, Matt had two beloved lizards, Ozzie and Harriet. He also had a snake, whose name he cannot remember. He has talked fondly about feeding crickets to the lizards, and- prepare yourself- mice to the snake. Although he admits that after a while, the novelty sort of wears off. Ozzie and Harriet lived good long lives, but I'm sorry to tell you that the unnamed snake didn't have the same fate. He "escaped his enclosure" and was never seen again. I think about that missing snake every time we go to his mom's house, half-expecting it to sense a reunion and slither out of a vent or something. 

Anyway, Santa must have put Matt on the nice list this year because what appeared under our Christmas tree this year but our very own Uncle Milton's Giant Ant Farm. The boys didn't understand what they were opening, but I don't think the wrapping paper was even completely off before Matt was placing his order for the ants. We didn't know exactly when they would arrive, because apparently ants can't be shipped when it's too cold, which puzzles me because don't they live outside? In any event, I got this message from Matt a few weeks ago. 

Sure enough, later that day we received a package that said LIVE CREATURES OPEN IMMEDIATELY with two test tubes full of ants inside. I can only imagine what the mailman thought. So far we've had ants, ladybugs, and honeybees delivered via US Mail. I honestly wouldn't blame our mail carrier if he asked for a new route.  

I asked Matt how much we had to pay for the ants and he said they cost $6.99, but that was really just shipping cost. The actual ants themselves were free with the purchase of the ant farm! What a bargain!

Matt popped those suckers in the fridge to slow them down a bit before the big transfer, while I tried not to think about the fact that we spent at least $50.00 and the better part of the summer and fall attempting to eradicate the ants who invaded our kitchen. And now we were paying $6.99 and providing housing and food for those same ants to live on my kitchen counter.

When the boys got home, the ants were good and tranquilized, Matt said we had to provide food for them so he tossed an apple slice and a few goldish into the container because if a diet of apples and goldfish is good enough for our children, it's good enough for our ants. 

He put the boys on the counter so they could get a good view, dumped the ants in, and well, that was the big excitement of the day. 

Joey was eager to check on them the next morning. And while they had definitely been busy digging tunnels, Uncle Milton was overselling it a bit when he claimed we could watch ants "dig tunnels, build bridges, move mountains, and so much more!"

There's not more to it, let alone SO MUCH more. They're ants. 

And I'm sad to say there is one other claim that Uncle Milton made that I found to be false. And I'm sorry to say, it's this one. "BREAK RESISTANT AND ESCAPE PROOF: A self-locking device that makes it escape-proof and provides easy access for feeding and giving water to the ants."

On Friday evening, the boys were having movie night and I was cleaning up the kitchen. As I wiped the counter near the ant farm, I spotted not one, but two ants, crawling away from the ant farm as fast as their little legs could carry them. I immediately squashed them and the boys came running in. 

Matt said "okay, who opened the lid?!" and Joey said "well, it must have been you. Christopher and I can't reach it and Mommy doesn't touch it."

Matt insists it wasn't him, but he's the only one in the family who has had a snake AND ants escape. 

So all I have to say is, we're never getting a reptile. 

And that's an (ant) hill I'm willing to die on. 

and now i'm back, from outer space

Tap, tap, is this thing on? 

I can't believe I haven't written a blog post since 2021. But, I thought I'd pick up where I left off and share a follow up on our bathroom! When I last wrote about it on November 6, 2021, here's what it looked like. 

At the time, Joey was newly two years old and we were expecting a new baby that January. 

Fast forward to today. Here is a photo of the bathroom this morning. And there's the baby, who is now two years old himself. 

Listen, I don't know whether to laugh or cry about this. A few times I have considered just putting up some drywall and turning it into a closet, but then I remind myself that I don't actually want to share a bathroom with three boys for the rest of time. 

Since we moved in, we've renovated the entire house. This is the last room. So I know, that in the wise words of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive. 

Although perhaps these words of Gloria's are more appropriate for the situation:

It took all the strength I had not to fall apart

Kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart

And I spent oh-so many nights just feeling sorry for myself

So while the bathroom situation hasn't changed since I last wrote, our family has! Joey was 2 and now he's 4. In my last post I wrote, "Sometimes I have to blink several times and make sure it's really a tiny two year old in dinosaur pants standing in front of me, and not a middle aged boss man," and aside from the fact that he's outgrown his dinosaur pants, that exact same sentiment is true to this day. 

In fact, just last night, I was sound asleep when I sensed a presence in my room. I opened my eyes to see Joey standing about three inches from my face, just silently staring at me. I blinked a few times and then said, "Joey? Are you okay?" 

He said very matter-of-factly: "Hi Mommy. I need to see you in my room."

Okay, boss. 

I shuffled behind him to his room where he told me that he'd come down with a stuffy nose in the middle of the night. He proceeded to explain some sort of complicated situation that involved him walking back and forth to his dresser to get tissues, although he had moved his trashcan next to his bed for easy tissue disposal.  But, he was wondering if I had any ideas of where he could put his tissue box so he didn't have to walk across his room every time he needed one, because that was simply unsustainable. 

There I had been, snoozing away in the next room, and he was up and about setting up a little infirmary for himself. 

Joey doesn't have a bedside table, so I suggested he put a few tissues under his pillow and he loved that idea. I tucked a few under the pillow, gave him a kiss, and went back to bed. 

A little while ago, I was putting him down for his nap (yes he's 4.5 and still takes a nap PRAISE THE LORD) and I noticed his pillow was a little bit lopsided. When I straightened it out I saw that he'd really taken my tissue idea and run with it. 

So anyway, Joey's great. He loves fishing, trucks, and trains. He started pre-school this year. He's taking a four week karate class which is hilarious and he's starting T-ball in the spring. He chooses chores over playing, and he loves rules -- following rules, making rules, enforcing rules.

And then we have Christopher! He turned two in January. For the first year of his life, I actually felt like I was cheating or missing something because he was the world's best baby. He barely cried, he went with the flow, the sweetness just oozed out of him. He also spit up 475 times a day for the first 9 months of his life. All the clothes I wore during those nine months were completely ruined and my rugs and couches will never truly be the same. But still, absolute easiest baby ever. 

And then he turned about 15 months old and we realized we have a bit of a drama queen on our hands. He has a temper and a short fuse, and can fake cry with the best of them. But he's also absolutely as sweet as can be and FUNNY. He loves to get a laugh, even if it means he has to yell "I love poopy butts" in the library, or worse - church- to make Joey giggle. And when he's being mischievous, or trying to get out of trouble, those big blue eyes are a get out of jail free card with. Matt always says when it comes to Christopher, I'm like Larry Krasner, the Philadelphia district attorney who is, let's just say, light on punishment. I can't help it. He's the cutest, sweetest boy. He loves animals, soft things, any and all food, and music, and we think he's just the greatest. 

So anyway, that's the update. I have really missed writing this blog, and I've also missed how I viewed the world when I was writing regularly. I was always on the lookout for the funny aspects of mundane, everyday situations, or trying think of ways I could creatively tell a story. So I'm going to get back to it this year. And lucky for me, I live with three people who make me laugh multiple times a day. 

Here's a little teaser for the next post. 

We got an ant farm. 

the day that went off the rails

Joey was scheduled for an appointment at the allergist at 8:45 this morning. He's allergic to eggs and milk, and the only meat he eats is Tyson dino nuggets, and are they really even meat at all? Basically we are raising a tiny vegan. 

Anyway the plan for this appointment was to feed him pudding and see if he reacted, or if he is growing out of his milk allergy. I made the pudding last night, and actually made a second batch for myself because I'm eight months pregnant and it looked delicious. I took the morning off work, and decided that if he passed the test we'd head to Trader Joe's on the way home and buy all kinds of dairy products to celebrate. 

Unfortunately, we never made it to the allergist, because the poor guy woke up with the stomach virus. Matt and I told him he could lay on the couch and watch TV all day, which delighted him. We got him settled on the couch and I turned on his favorite show, Stinky and Dirty. It's a cute show about a trash truck (Stinky) and a digger (Dirty) but here's a word to the wise, if you're going to say "Stinky and Dirty" to your Comcast voice remote, make sure to really enunciate "stinky." Because if the remote hears "Kinky and Dirty" you will get more than you bargained for on the results screen.

Anyway we were about three minutes into the episode when an error message showed up on the screen. Turns out there was a nationwide Comcast internet and tv outage. Now, Matt works for Comcast and I know better than to bite the hand that feeds you and pays the mortgage, but that was not the best timing. 

Joey and I went for a walk to get some fresh air and Matt took advantage of the internet outage and the inability to do his actual work, and he went to go to a plumbing store to try to find a part to fix our dishwasher, which broke last night because of course it did. Luckily by the time we got home from our walk the internet was back on. However, the tv was tuned to the Hallmark channel, which was showing a black and white movie. I told Joey "Look! The tv is fixed!" and he took one look at that black and white movie and said, "No Mommy, TB still broken."

The next few hours are kind of a blur but I'm pretty sure they involved doling out small morsels of club crackers and doing laundry. Joey took a good nap and when he woke up I naively thought we might have been lucky enough to get away with a mild case of the stomach bug. And then between the hours of 3:00 and 6:00 pm I found myself making deals with the Lord. 

Joey's had the standard childhood sicknesses - RSV, croup, lots of colds, a case of hand, foot, and mouth disease unlike anything you've ever seen, and even a surgery.  However, I have met my match with the stomach bug. Yikes. 

He was pretty sad that he couldn't eat any dinner, and I tried to sneak mine discreetly so that he wouldn't feel bad that I was eating and he wasn't. But he totally called me out, and said "You have chicken in your mouth." I admitted that I did, and prepared for him to ask for something to eat too, but all he said was "Don't talk with ya dinna in ya mouth."

I know every parent thinks their kid is the smartest, and I'm not saying he is a genius or anything, but I do wonder at least once a day where he learns this stuff. I've never told him not to talk with his mouth full, and clearly I do not lead by example when it comes to that particular area of etiquette. 

Sometimes I have to blink several times and make sure it's really a tiny two year old in dinosaur pants standing in front of me, and not a middle aged boss man. That little boss was exhausted by bedtime, and after one round of I've Been Working on the Railroad, he practically ushered me out of his room. 

Between the ongoing bathroom renovation project (have I mentioned we are renovating our bathrooms?), the broken dishwasher, and the stomach bug, our house is a complete wreck from top to bottom.

Instead of cleaning it up, I pulled a Scarlett O'Hara and decided "I'll think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day."

And also like Scarlett, I decided "As God is my witness, I swear I'll never go hungry again" and made myself a bowl of chocolate pudding, since we have 47 servings in the fridge. 

Maybe I can convince Joey to watch Gone With the Wind tomorrow. The broken black and white version, of course. 

our wedding vows should have said "in good times and bathroom renovations"

Well, we are currently in the midst of renovating our bathrooms. File this under, it would have been easier to move.

(Both bathrooms. There used to be a wall in between.)

 

I needed a little reassurance that this too shall pass and that I won't be showering at my mom and dad's house forever, so I dusted off the old blog to read through some posts about previous home renovation projects that we have survived. 

It seems like the general theme surrounding renovations is that they take much longer than originally expected, and are accompanied with a trip to Urgent Care for a tetanus shot, as evidenced by the two passages I wrote below about our kitchen reno.  

----------------------------------------------------

Here I am again to talk about my kitchen.  I apologize in advance if you're as sorry about reading kitchen posts as I am writing them.  When we started the kitchen renovation it was Labor Day, and we said we'd probably be finished by Thanksgiving, but FOR SURE by Christmas.

Well those same fools are now well past Easter and just hoping things wrap up by Memorial Day.  

Matt and I were discussing the ideal vs the actual timeline the other day, and he said, "Well, there were just a few aspects that I didn't expect."

"Like what?" I asked.

"For starters, I didn't expect Christmas to come so quickly."

And this one...

Well, the kitchen is finished. After 8 months. 35 weekends. Hundreds of trips to Lowe's. And 1 trip to Urgent Care for a tetanus shot.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We have two full bathrooms and one half bathroom in our house. We renovated the half bath during the Covid lockdown last year, but have totally ignored the other two bathrooms since we moved in six years ago because they've been holding strong since Eisenhower was president. They've seen 13 total presidential administrations and if it's not broke, don't fix it.  

Although some (namely Matt) would argue they were broke. For instance, the master shower door stopped closing two presidents ago and since then I just fashion a makeshift clamp with a wet washcloth to keep it mostly shut while I shower. 

Matt's been talking about renovating the bathrooms for a while now, but I was reluctant to give my stamp of approval because all I saw was dollar signs and a big headache. Turns out I was pretty spot on. But what sealed the deal for us to do them now was the fact that Oh Baby Darling #2 is coming in January, and we figured it was better to go through a major bathroom renovation project with one child still in diapers, as opposed to a potty-training/ed toddler and a new baby. 

All that to say, Matt promised me that one of the bathrooms would be fully operational at all times, and that he'd take a week of PTO and could easily knock out the hall bathroom in that time. 

I'm here to tell you that we are two weeks into this saga and I just repacked my shower bag to schlep to my parents' house for the 14th time. Reminds me of the old days of 2006 in Mifflin Hall when I'd squeak down the hall in my shower shoes with my caddy stocked with more Garnier Fructis products than you can imagine. But instead of getting dressed in my finest outfit from Forever 21 to go drink jungle juice from a questionable Rubbermaid container afterwards, I now come home in my stretchiest maternity pajamas for a wild evening of trying to heat up a dino nugget without setting off the smoke detector and convincing Joey to eat half a molecule of a vegetable.

Also, the promise of maintaining one fully operational bathroom went out the window sometime between 9:00 a.m. last Monday and noon, which is when I looked out the window to see the master bathroom toilet in the dumpster. 

I got home with Joey and he saw the old bathtub in the driveway. "HEY!" he yelled, "Daddy moved my tub!"

Last Friday evening, I'd just gotten out of the shower (have I mentioned yet I've been showering at my parents house?) and I had a text from Matt that said "drill through the finger," accompanied by a photo of said finger. I rushed downstairs and my mom said Joey could stay at their house while I went home to assess the injury. 

What I saw when I got home was a finger that, well, looked like a drill went into it. I said to Matt, "Well, obviously you need to go to Urgent Care." He didn't even try to fight it and say he'd be fine. He just said, "I guess I'll go get my wallet."

I drove us over there and waited in the car while he ran in, because did you read the part about me wearing my stretchiest maternity pajama pants? It ended up taking TWO HOURS and he got a tetanus shot, a prescription for an antibiotic, and a bandage. 

As we drove home he said "It seems like every time I attempt a major project, I get an injury. Changing the brakes in my truck? Sliced my wrist (that particular injury required surgery).  Kitchen? Nail gun to the leg. Bathroom? Drill to the finger."

He's had more tetanus shots than anyone I know. 

Our neighbor stopped over this morning while Matt was starting day four of tile that he originally thought would take one day. Our neighbor said, "So what's exactly been the slow part? All of it?"

That would be a yes.

And don't get me wrong, Matt is working so hard. He did all the demo by himself and the trash weighed 4220 pounds, and I can't even take credit for one ounce of it. Although I will think twice the next time I complain about taking the trash from the kitchen to the outside trashcan because SMALL POTATOES. And he's been working from 7:30 in the morning until 6:00 at night, barely stopping for lunch. But it's just really easy to watch a few episodes of This Old House and say "Oh I'll be able to knock the tile out in one day, two days tops" and not as easy when you're actually doing it.   

I'm trying not to think about the fact that the master bathroom is still completely gutted, the house is filthy and dusty from construction, Christmas is in less than two months, and I'm eight months pregnant and this is what the nursery looks like. 

Instead I'm trying to focus on the fact that these are the last two rooms in our house that had yet to be remodeled since we moved in. So, assuming we survive this, we have no more major projects ahead of us. 

Today Matt finished tiling the shower, and grouted most of it. I was so excited that I went to the store and bought a shower curtain rod and a shower curtain, and was just about to unearth my shampoo when I googled how long it takes grout to cure. 

At this rate, we might be on to our next president before this is finished. 

more words than i ever thought i'd write about fish

Hello. It's Monday, and my hip hurts. I wish I could say it's from all the workouts I've been doing, but the truth is, I think it's because I hopped a little too enthusiastically when Joey and I were listening to the party freeze dance song for the 478th time this past week. 

I did get one workout in last week. Well, it wasn't so much a workout as it was a leisurely walk around the neighborhood because the temp hit 48 degrees for one glorious day, and it felt positively tropical. I wore leggings and my snow boots, since the sidewalks were slushy, and while we were walking Matt said to me, "Well, you are just the epitome of fashion."

Except he pronounced epitome as if it rhymed with metronome. But still, I appreciated the sentiment. 

Aside from our walk, the other big excitement from last week was that we got new fish, and by some miracle of nature and a bottle of Tetra Safe Start, they're still alive five days later. This was our third attempt at buying fish, from the same store, and the same employee helped us who had helped us a few days before. Matt asked her a question, and she said, "Remind me what kind of fish you already have?"

And Matt said, "Oh, we don't have any fish."

MAYDAY, MAYDAY. SHE REMEMBERED US.

She looked at him with the most quizzical look, but thank goodness she didn't look us and our terrible track record up in the system. We ended up with three tetras and three guppies. Did you know that guppies can give birth every thirty days, and have TWENTY TO FIFTY baby guppies each time?  We sure didn't.

Once the fish lived for a few days and we were pretty confident that the water conditions were finally optimal, we headed back to Petsmart to get just a few more because we are gluttons for punishment. Also because that twenty gallon fish tank Matt bought when he was overly optimistic about fishkeeping was looking pretty empty with six tiny fish. 

While Matt waited at the fish bowl, Joey and I walked around to see the animals. We have worn out the tile in Petsmart this pandemic, making at least two or three trips a month since about May. It's the perfect place to go, because it's never very crowded, Joey basically thinks he is at the zoo, and I'm not tempted to spend any money. 

So the two of us made our usual route from the cats, to the doggy daycare, wound around to the birds, and finished up with the hamsters. By the time we got back to the fish tanks, Matt was watching as tiger barbs were put into a bag for us, "because Joe likes tigers."  I know a thing or two about fish, and one of the things I know is that tiger barbs fall into the semi-aggressive category. The employee told us they'd for sure go after our prolific guppies, so she dumped them back in their tank and suggested another variety of tiny little fish. 

We got six of the kind she suggested, and as of this writing, we can only find three. We know that one got sucked into the filter, but the other two have disappeared. We can't find them anywhere. We are hoping the tetras ate them, which is a weird thing to say, but better than the alternative, which is that they are lost somewhere on my brand new carpets.

Matt told me the news of the lost fish this morning over breakfast, and we both agreed that we are DONE getting fish. This aquarium is closed, which the exception of the incalculable number of baby guppies headed our way. 

And speaking of our new carpets, after breakfast Matt and Joey went downstairs to play, and I followed a few minutes later. When I got into the family room, I noticed what looked like vacuum lines on the carpet. "Wow, did you vacuum?" I asked Matt. "Thanks!"

"No," he said, "I just dragged my feet back and forth on the whole carpet so that it looked like I vacuumed."

He was not kidding. He even demonstrated his method for me. 

"What on earth would make you think to do that?" I asked him.

"Well I was sitting here with Joe and realized the carpet is still new enough that it works. It's like our couch. Don't you remember when we first got it, and the material (it's a suede type material) was so new and I wrote 'boob' on the side with my finger?"

I know this will shock you, but I don't have any recollection of Matt writing boob on the side of our couch. I just hope my in-laws didn't see it. 

That is really the height of class and sophistication. 

Or should I say, the epitome.

animal house

Well, the last post around here was about Joey being born. We just sent him off to college this weekend, so time sure flies.

Just kidding. But he does turn 18 months old in a few days which means he's no longer my sweet little tiny baby, but instead a toddler who never stops moving and is obsessed with baked beans, his train set, and his grandparents.

My mom says Matt and I have a crush on him, and we totally do. She also says that one of these days the crush will end, but it hasn't so far. Although tonight he told me to "SHH" when I started to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, so that day might be coming sooner rather than later.

Anyway, since my last post was about Joey's arrival, I thought it was only fitting for my return post to be about the newest addition to our little family.

Or, should I say additions.

Let me explain. 

A few weeks ago, Joey spent the day at my parents' house because we were getting new carpeting, and he  took quite a liking to my dad's beta fish. I mentioned this to Matt, and we talked about the fish for a day or two, and then that was the end of it. 

Or so I thought. Until the Fed Ex truck stopped last week and dropped a twenty gallon fish tank on our doorstep. 

I didn't know the theme of our week was about to be, go big or go to Petsmart. 

Repeatedly.

Matt excitedly brought the tank inside and told me had the perfect spot for it, on the low console table underneath our television.  It was almost like for a moment he forgot that we live with a very curious and determined toddler, who would only need about 3 seconds to throw a toy into the tank and/or splash fish water all over our aforementioned brand new carpet. 

So Matt carried the tank up to the upstairs bedroom that he is using as a makeshift pandemic office. He filled the tank with water, and after we picked Joey up from daycare, we took a trip to Petsmart to buy our new family members. We chose eight fish and some fancy tank decor, including bright blue stone, some plants, and a very realistic sunken ship to make the fish feel right at home. 

Now, I don't necessarily have a background in marine biology. In fact, I have degree in what my dad calls the very lucrative field of English. But I told Matt he needed to float the fish bag on top of the tank and let them acclimate slowly to the water. Matt doesn't have a background in marine biology either, but he used his computer forensics degree to determine my advice was fake news, and dumped the fish right on in. 

We went downstairs and then checked on them before bed. Joey excitedly ran right over to the tank to watch them swim around. Just kidding. He gave the tank half a glance, and then handed Matt the laser level so Matt could shine the laser pointer on the rug and Joey could crawl around chasing it and roar like a dinosaur. Listen. When you have a toddler during a long winter and a global pandemic, you get pretty creative with your pastimes. And that happens to be one of our favorites.

But I looked at the tank while the boys played with the laser and growled, and everything appeared to be going swimmingly. Sadly things changed overnight, because Matt took Joey upstairs to feed the fish the next morning, and walked back downstairs and said, "Well, they're all dead."

HATE TO SAY I TOLD YOU SO. 

That afternoon, we made the drive of shame back to Petsmart. We decided that if the same employee was working at the fish tanks, we would just breeze right back out the door and try again another day. But as luck would (or wouldn't) have it, it was a different employee. We got four fish, and when we paid, the cashier asked me if I would like a bag.  "No thanks," I told her, "this one will be fine."

Spoiler alert. It was not fine.

Hindsight is a plastic shopping bag. 

We headed back home and I held the fish on my lap.  I even took their photo as we drove, those little fish were safe with me!

We pulled into the driveway, and Matt got Joey out of his car seat. I stood on the driveway with my fish bag, looking at the snow that had fallen the day before and thinking about how I heard someone say that it was so cold outside the snow was actually squeaky. I thought about other words I would use to describe freezing cold snow, and it was at that moment my English major heart betrayed my marine biology one, because I heard a splash at my feet. I HAD DROPPED THE BAG OF FISH. 

Matt immediately jumped into action, which was good because I was kind of shocked and thinking about words I would use to describe cold snow. We managed to scrape three of the poor fish off of the driveway with my Giant keychain bonus card and get them back into the bag, which had popped but had a little water left in it. We couldn't find the fourth fish, and at the moment Matt said, "If he fell into the snow, we are losing time to save him," we saw him under the bottom of my boot.

Well, we saw half of him. 

I ran inside (kicked my fish boots off at the door) and dumped the three survivors into a Ziploc bag. Matt took my advice that time, and floated the bag in the tank. We gradually added fish tank water to their bag. We checked the temperature. We sang them lullabies, said a prayer to St. Francis, and went to bed.

Matt headed back up first thing in the morning to check on them. And then came back down with the news, "All three, dead."

Matt immediately ordered a water testing kit from Amazon, because surely the fact that we are amateur fish owners who DROPPED THE FISH ON A FREEZING COLD DRIVEWAY had nothing to do with their demise. When it arrived this weekend he headed up to the tank to test our water. He came back downstairs and said matter of factly, "Well, we have extremely hard water. The fish need it to be 60, and ours measured 180. I think we need to get a whole house water softener. And it just makes sense to replace the water heater at the same time."

That $8.00 water testing kit just cost us just north of two grand. 

We should have just gotten a dog, it would have been a fraction of the cost. 

My brother, who has had several successful aquariums in his day, suggested that we get a bacteria starter to put in the tank for several days before we add any more fish. So back to Petsmart we went, yet again, to get the bottle of bacteria. I don't know why we had to pay ten dollars for bacteria when I'm pretty sure I could have opened the fridge and found some moldy produce that I bought weeks ago with the best of intentions. But instead we shelled over our cold hard cash and came home and dumped some in. 

We figured that had to do the trick. Sadly, when Matt headed upstairs to his office to work this morning, I heard him say, "Oh man, what happened to my fish tank?"

It was so cloudy, it looked like someone had poured a gallon of milk in it. I decided to just hope things worked themselves out, and walked into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, where I saw this on the counter. "What's on the blue plate?" I asked Matt. 

"Oh that?" he said, "it's just a sugar cake that I'm making for my bees. I think they're about to run out of honey and this will give them the carbs they need to make it through the winter. I have to keep adding layers every few hours so don't touch it."

Did I mention we have also gotten a bee hive?

And people say kids are high maintenance. 

oh baby darling

Well, I'm back and I have a baby.

Joseph Matthew was born on August 21st at 11:23 pm.  He was 6 pounds, 14 ounces, 19 1/2 inches long, and absolutely perfect.

Having a baby is funny because the moment the baby is born and they put him in your arms, the nurses start asking you all kinds of questions about him as if you should know the answers.    At one point I actually thought to myself, "it really seems like they should be asking his mom these questions" and then it dawned on me that I AM THE MOM.

It was a strange feeling because part of me felt like I had no idea what I was doing, and part of me felt like I had known him forever. 

Speaking of strange, babies have a strange life.  Joey had a doctor's appointment last Monday, and he was asleep when we left our house.  He didn't wake up until we got to the office, and when he did, he screamed his head off.  Could you even imagine going to sleep in your house, fully clothed, and waking up completely naked on the scale in your doctor's office? I would cry too.

Joey's birth was fairly uneventful by textbook standards, but as far as my standards, it was arguably the biggest event of my life.

I was due on Saturday, August 17th. 

Saturday came and went.  No baby. 

Sunday came and went.  No baby. 

You know how people say there are things they want to ask God when they die?  The first question on my list would be why did you make pregnancy 40 weeks instead of 38?  The very beginning was tough for me, but weeks 14 to 38 were a total breeze (and for that I am SO thankful).  However.  Weeks 38 to 40 were the absolute longest of my life.

(In case you're curious, the second question I would ask is can you please point me towards the scientist who invented the epidural? I would like to thank them.)

Anyway, Monday came around and I had a doctor's appointment at 4 pm.  The doctor basically said take your time packing that bag and scheduled an induction for 8 DAYS LATER.

But, when I was getting ready for bed that night, I noticed my back hurt worse than normal.  I didn't think much of it until I noticed that the pain was coming and going, and it was pretty bad.  I expected labor pain to be in my stomach area since that's where the baby was located.  Up until that moment I was blissfully unaware of the torture that is back labor.

I tried to sleep Monday night but wasn't very successful.  After tossing and turning all night, I finally got up at 4 am and laid on the couch.  Matt also got up, put on his new shirt that he had been saving for delivery day, called out of work, packed his bag, and made a big batch of french toast.  All before the sun rose.

I called the on call doctor, but since the contractions weren't yet 4 minutes apart, the doctor said  I couldn't come to the hospital.  Monday was brutal.  Monday night was even worse and Tuesday was worse yet.  I felt like I was going out of my mind.  I couldn't sleep.  I couldn't stay still.  I could hardly eat.  Tuesday night I was in absolute agony, so I called my doctor's office when they opened at 9 am Wednesday morning.  I asked to speak to a nurse and I think she heard the tears and desperation in my voice because she said in a calming, soothing voice, "Why don't you head on over to triage?"

We were on our way within ten minutes.  All along my plan had been to vacuum the house right before we left for the hospital, because everyone knows newborns care deeply about clean carpets, but my beloved Dyson didn't even enter my mind at that point.

We got to triage and it just so happened my favorite doctor was on call.  He examined me and made me walk the halls for an hour and when he finally said he was going to admit me, I shed a few tears of sheer relief.

We got all set up in the delivery room and I got an epidural toot suite because I was not trying to be a hero.  Our nurse was named Octavia and I LOVED her.  She asked me if I was hungry and I said yes, because all I'd had to eat in the last 24 hours was a piece of toast and a turkey corn dog, and oh yeah, about one hour of sleep. 

Well, according to Octavia those aren't prime conditions under which to deliver a baby, so she brought me a tray filled to the brim with jello, water ice, and chicken broth and told me to EAT UP AND TAKE A NAP.

Once I got the epidural, I felt exactly NOTHING.  It was glorious.  Matt went to the pizza place down the road and brought back dinner for himself, and I sipped my broth and we watched the Phillies game and took some cat naps.  It was actually kind of fun and relaxing.  Until I remembered "Oh yea, I actually have to deliver a baby at some point."

I won't get into the nitty gritty details, but once they broke my water, things started moving quickly. 

I had given Matt strict instructions before we arrived at the hospital that I wanted him to stay well north of the border, if you know what I mean.  Well, Octavia really threw a wrench into my plans when she said, "Okay Dad, come on down here and hold Mom's leg." 

Octavia! Couldn't you station him well north of that area and have him focus on something totally nondescript like my ear or my elbow?

I will never forget the look on Matt's face as his eyes darted between me and Octavia.  Who was he supposed to listen to?!  In the end he followed Octavia's directions, and that was probably good because, as he said, "Octavia and I basically delivered that baby ourselves."

He's not kidding.  Despite running on just a corn dog and some jello, I only pushed for twelve minutes and my doctor didn't even make it to the room for the delivery.  An OB resident whose name I don't even know technically delivered Joseph.  At least that's what they told me.  Part of me thinks they just said on the intercom "Anyone with an M.D. please come to labor and delivery STAT."  It could have been a podiatrist for all I knew and I'll tell you what, at that point, I did not care.

The resident was also about 25 years old which felt slightly weird to me.  There are two professions where I want the people to be well into their 40s, and preferably in their 50s.  And those professions are my OB/GYN and airline pilots.

Anyway after twelve minutes, thanks to a young podiatrist, a corn dog, and an oxygen mask, Joseph was born.

One minute he wasn't there, and the next moment, there he was.  The little baby that I dreamed about for the last nine months and in many ways my entire life, and suddenly he was laying on my chest,  looking up at me with his big, dark eyes.

It probably sounds cheesy but I loved him the minute I saw him and I love him more every day.  I am so excited to get up every morning and take care of him.

Matt was home for two weeks after Joseph was born, and I don't know what I would have done without him.  He made sure I ate three meals a day for two weeks.  He would take my breakfast order every night and when I woke up in the morning, he would have cooked whatever I asked for.  He changed more diapers than I did.  We spent hours just staring at Joey and talking about him nonstop.  I didn't know you could spend your entire day talking about a baby who pretty much sleeps, but we did. At night we would sit on the couch and watch The Office and pass Joey back and forth, back and forth.  It was like a little dream world. 

And then Matt had to go back to work.

We had a few rocky days to start as we figured things out.  One day I sat on the couch and pretty much one or both of us cried.  I had to call my mom with an SOS and she came to save the day and hold a crying baby so I could shower.  

But now, almost two months in, we have totally gotten into our groove.  I know what Joey likes and doesn't like and he has started smiling and engaging and I just talk to him all day long.  It's a great setup because I love to hear myself talk and he is a captive audience.

The three of us have lots of adventures ahead.  And if the future is anything like the last 8 weeks, it's going to be pretty great.