There and Back Again

Home again, home again. Now that I'm done traveling the United States and waddling through a myriad of airports, I can sit and collect my thoughts. There's not a whole lot going on upstairs - I sort of feel like I'm getting really dumb, I can't even finish sentences anymore - but I did keep track of interesting moments during my trip to Minnesota for Jake's wedding. Jake is my brother in law; Danielle is my new sister in law. Hooray!

So, the list of Great Moments:

• When we arrived, we couldn't get our rental car because they did a credit check. Even though we had oodles of money in our account, our credit is about the same as an illegal immigrant from Panama that used his last rental car to transport drugs across the border. Budget not only wouldn't rent to us, I swear that the woman was searching beneath the counter for a gun. As a result of not getting a car and needing to travel the four hours to Bemidji, Chris (Matt's college roomate and our former groomsman) promptly hopped in his Kia, stocked up on Diet Coke, and we road-tripped it to Bemidji. His reasoning? "I didn't have anything to do today, and who wouldn't want to spend more time with Matt?"

• Tom. Tom gets to be a moment in himself because Tom is easily one of the coolest people I've ever met. He's a goofy dork that's utterly hilarious without even trying. All of Jake's groomsmen were really cool, but none of them captured Matt's heart quite like Tom. I never thought I'd see Matt have a man crush on a guy, but I was wrong. One of the many nights where Matt was blitzed off his little butt, he was rambling on and on in his drunken state when he cuddled up next to me in bed, kissed my cheek, and whispered, "Don't feel threatened by Tom. You're the only one for me." How reassuring.

• We found that Jake can finally say "Hadley" right, but only when he's drunk. It'll be fun explaining to her why Uncle Jake is always so happy. He got so drunk at Bar Night that I went from being introduced as "This is my sister-in-law Geri" to "That's my baby" while pointing at my belly.
  

• Danielle's bridesmaids were a study in cultural anthropology. These were the most immature, fake, plastic-ish twentysomethings I'd ever met in my whole life. Makeup always had to be perfect and they were amazingly selfish. Some of the gems they came up with:
• "I'm not ugly, but I'm cute at least."
• "When I get married I'll just marry for money, then looks. Definitely money first."
• "Danielle, this wedding better not take very long. Keep it quick."
• "I never want to go to the Emergency Room. It's all violent and icky and the workers there are so rude." (Yes. She said this to an ER nurse.)
• When we went out for the Bar Night, they couldn't hang out with the rest of us because we weren't cool enough. Tom couldn't get into a couple bars because of his license status, and they bitched about that nonstop until the rest of us gravitated as far away as we could. One of them tried to ignore me while standing next to me at the bar, as if she didn't know me...so I made sure to exclaim loudly about how happy I was to see her, touch her, and rub my big pregnant body all over her.

• My husband got so drunk at the reception he danced with people waiting for the bride during the dollar dance, pretended to make out with his own brother, tried forcing his sister into marrying Tom - "since that was the only chance of getting Tom into the family" , broke a candleholder by landing on it, and did his first shot of tequila only to promptly puke on the floor and all over the front of his tux. I think he realized I was upset when we got home and he asked, "When we go to sleep, do I get to sleep downstairs with you or do I have to sleep upstairs...?"
  

• As I was hugging my brother in law after the wedding, he whispered, "I'm so glad you came. It made it way more special."

• As I was leaving, Matt's Grandma told me that I was a very pretty pregnant lady.

• Hugging my Mother-in-law goodbye, she told me she loved me for the first time.
  

The Showdown

Some people "play" fantasy football. Some people play fantasy roleplaying games, like Dungeons and Dragons. Some people engage in fantasies that are not meant for a pg-13 blog such as this.

And some people, like me, take too much pleasure in what I call Fantasy Arguments.

My day started like this: Wake up way too early, drive Matt to Best Buy so he can carpool with Angie, and then drive halfway to Ojai (Ojai is the town back in the mountains that's right out of a Stephen King novel. I'm seriously not going to be surprised at all when the Ojai High Prom Queen goes on a killing rampage with nothing but her fundmentalist-soaked brain.) to drop Moxie off at the dog boarder's.

Now, none of this seemed to me that it was going to be stressful or life-altering in any way at the time. Moxie is a good dog and loves to ride in the car, especially because 99% of the time, that means she's going to her favorite place on earth.

The kennel.

I wish I was being sarcastic, but it's true; from the minute I turn into their driveway, Moxie forgets that I even exist. I am relegated to the back part of her brain as "that bitch that tells me to knock it off all the time but shares her apples with me anyway". Her little canine brain has already sped ahead to the fact that soon, she will be basking in the attention of a number of other little dogs, all of whom - or so we've been told - instantly begin following her around the minute she arrives.

That's right. My dog immediately becomes the Alpha at Dog Disneyland.

She also this quaint habit of taking a shit on their pristine tile floor that's just inside the reception office. The kennel is on this huge farm where basically, it's like Lord of the Flies and the dogs get to run wild, with plenty of teenagers to wrestle and fetch with. How they have a pristine anything is beyond me, but leave it to Moxie Bartz to find it and promptly drop a load on it.

When I showed up today, the lady was on the phone. Understandable; she was clearly handling business and seemed a little harried, but she also was surrounded by a handful of yipping, barking dogs. She waved at me a little and I waved back, but I wasn't going to go about talking to her as it was clear she was busy and I wasn't in a hurry.

I was surprised, then, when she started talking to me. She recognized Moxie on sight (always a parent's pride, when your dog is recognized immediately. "Oh, my...it's Moxie.") and chatted at me a minute about her, and then went back to the phone. Okay, I think to myself. She must be on hold or something.

It was right about then that I looked down at my precious companion and notice that she's about to drop her precious load all over the precious floor. I immediately freak out because hey, even at a dog kennel, it's embarrassing when your dog shits on the floor. It's like being the parent of the kid in the Christmas Pageant who screams that he likes poopie in the middle of the Nativity and proceeds to fling boogers at the audience. So needless to say, I was in an urgent state to clean it up while apologizing profusely.

Now, back to my friend. (Up until now, I still consider her my friend.) I thought she was off the phone, or at the very least, able to talk - as she had talked to me not five minutes before. So I frantically ask, "Oh jeez! I'm so sorry, do you have any tissues!?" So that I can clean up.

I am promptly greeted with the announcement, "I am on the phone."

I hope the significance of both italics and bold is not lost on you, dear reader. I am not exaggerating when I say that she was using italics and bold in her very SPEECH. It was not the gentle "Oh dearie, I'm on the phone. I'm so sorry faithful customer, I'll be right with you so I can take your enormous amount of money for letting your dog run around on my farm for a week." It wasn't even the "I'm a little busy, customer. I promise I'll get right with you, if I can ever get off this gosh-darned phone!"

No. It was the nurse-sick-of-stupid-questions (I know that one really well, being a master of it), on the line with the police to get her drunk husband hauled to jail trailer trash, mother who has been pushed to the edge and is about to introduce her children to a bedtime story called "Bathtime with Andrea Yates." She was snapping at me.

In the spirit of that great nineties musical classic, Hold up. Wait a minute. Don't go there, 'cuz I ain't with it.

Some of you may remember my Grandpa. My Papa Loiacono didn't take any shit from anybody, and he had what you might call a temper. Aside from inheriting his dashing good looks, his giggle, and his penchant for lifesavers, I also inherited the Loiacono Temper. Seven months pregnant and wrestling with a Schnauzer that's ready to tear across the open plains, this woman did not just snap at me for wanting to clean up her floor.

In the words of Dane Cook, it was on.

Okay, flash back in: She's glaring me down. She is clearly very, very upset that I spoke to her while she's jawing on the phone. I am very, very, upset that she thinks it's okay to snap at me when all I'm asking for is some tissue or a little baggie. So I reply - and yes, I was snarky - "Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to clean up your FLOOR that my dog was trying to POOP on."

Phone Nazi (we are no longer friends) gives me a look so harsh I'm pretty sure my baby can feel it. She goes on to berate me about how she's on the phone, she's really busy, and can't I just WAIT. By this time I'm ready to jump across her counter and beat her with her own cordless phone. There's plenty of witnesses, sure, but there's also a farm full of dogs that are probably hungry. After she mutters at me for a few moments, all while searching out some wipes, she snaps, "Maybe you could just take your doggie outside to go poopie." Only she says it in the condescending way you'd tell someone, "Maybe you could try NOT being a douchebag for a little while."

I yank the wipes off the counter and reply, as cool as I can manage (At least as coolly as they would've done on Knots Landing, but maybe not as cool as Dynasty), "Yeah, maybe I just will." And Moxie and I go outside, where she poops and I clean up.

While I'm outside, I seethe. I want to take my dog and my money and leave, but I also know that I'm stuck leaving Moxie there. It's the day we're leaving and I have no other arrangements for her (Our friends won't take her anymore. See above, where she shits on floors). So I'm stuck leaving her there, which I know is a good place for her and she loves it, but at the same time, I now no longer trust this woman any more than I'd trust Britney Spears as my nanny.

I go through a moment where I want to march back in and give her what for. Tell her I don't deserve being spoken to like that and who does she think she is? She watches dogs. That does not mean you're the humanitarian of the year. You sell your back yard to people to let their dogs run around. You're a backyard pimp! That's what you are, lady! And I would haughtily pick Moxie up and walk out, head held high.

When I got back inside, working up the guts to say something about how she'd upset me, I find a strange thing. The woman is off the phone and when she talks to me, acts like nothing ever happened. Our little D-Day battle didn't just occur. She never snapped at a guest for wanting to clean up her floor. She's nice and pleasant and ready to take Moxie, and all is well with the world.
For some reason, this just angers me even more. I want to shout, listen here, Sybil. I know you probably forgot your meds today, but don't take it out on me - I'm pregnant, I've got a lot of shit to do today, and to top it off, I have to get on a plane at midnight and fly to Minnesota. What've you got to do today? Watch dogs run around and hope they don't kill each other? Now apologize for snapping at me, take good care of my dog, and don't ever talk to me like that again!"

But I know, as I'm writing the check, that I won't say anything. I just mumble answers and avoid her gaze, and reluctantly pass over my dog. Moxie jumps into the backyard without a backwards glance.

Maybe she realized when I went outside (and slammed her stupid door) that she'd been rude. Maybe she realized that we use her kennel at least twice a year for a large amount of time and that we're virtually a promised meal ticket. Maybe she really was sorry for sounding so bitchy and thought that by being super-sweet, it'd make it up to me. An apology would've gone a lot further.

In any case, I left, deflated and impotent in my anger. I still wanted to do something, but I was already gone and I knew I was going to seethe over it. I was halfway home when I realized there was something I could do. I was empowered to teach her a lesson, by God! I knew what I had to do to feel better about the argument - in other words, what I had to do to win! It was all so clear.

I gripped my steering wheel and hissed into the rearview mirror, "That's right, lady. I'm going to blog about you."

I sure showed her.

Yay for chub!

I went to the doctor and I am proud to report that I gained four pounds! Not only did I gain, but the doctor also told me I could safely travel to my brother in law's wedding in August. This has me really excited, because I was desperately bummed that Matt was going without me. I really want to see his family and be there for that special day and now I can be, yay! Must remember to bring mosquito repellent.

As for other news, I'm slightly anemic. My doctor has this GROOVY test where he slices my finger, puts some blood on a little strip, and checks it for my hemoglobin. At least I think it checks HgB and not Hematocrit but I'm not sure. Either way, it's neat. Anyway, I got a new prenatal with more Iron and stocked up on orange juice. Nurse tip for the day: Vitamin C puts the Iron you ingest to work, so don't bother taking Iron if you're not getting dietary Vitamin C, too.

I feel guilty and a little relieved that I'm staying off work until after I pop. It's been causing me anxiety, not being there and yet at the same time, I can barely do a load of dishes or laundry without collapsing on the couch after. Twelve hour shifts in the pit is just not feasible at this point, as my doctor gently reminded me. So I am relieved at the extra time to rest, but at the same time I feel like I'm being lazy or being a sissy. Nobody's really faulted me for staying off, least of all people I work with, but some people have been like "Uh, you're not going back to work..?" My MIL means well but I don't think she understands I'm still getting paid even though I'm not there, I'm not going to get fired, and that I do stuff around the house in turn. I love her to death, but she sort of made me feel even more guilty. Should I feel guilty, or am I just giving myself an anxiety issue?

Dialogue

Matt: "Wanna play a game?"
Me: "What game?"
Matt: "It's called 'Am I Wearing Underwear'." (This is said while he's wearing a towel like a toga.)
Me: "I want you to play 'Get My Ass in the Shower So We Can Go See Hancock'."
Matt: "...Okay, but wanna play a game?"
Me: "No. You're not wearing underwear."
Matt: "You win!"

And he scampers off to the shower. Sometimes I'm jealous because I know Matt's going to be the "fun" parent, and it's not fair because he's insane and that makes a lot of people fun. I can't compete with that!

Craft-o-rama

I have embraced my crafty nature. Lately I've had a desperate need to create stuff, whether it's knitting stuff, embroidering it, or even baking. Matt couldn't be happier; we have a fresh stock of cookies and/or brownies on hand and he's gotten a hot dinner every night for two weeks. So far I've started a cross-stitch blankie for Peanut and I got a GREAT book today on craft projects for your kids. I can't release the name of the book because I was inspired while reading it, and I can't let Amy and Annie figure out what I'm making for their impending spawn. So once their goodies are safely in hand I can tell you all about it. OH THE MYSTERY!

I updated my photo album because someone asked me why it was empty, so I figured pictures would be good. I threw a bunch of photos from our trip to Hawaii on there, and they turned out gorgeous. There's more than one I can't wait to get prints of and frame! I was worried my little camera wouldn't be baby-worthy, but my fears are now at rest; it takes awesome shots and I can't WAIT to start taking pics.

Countdown to leaving in one week for Washington! I am very excited, not only to see family but also because some very old high school friends got ahold of me to ask if I wanted to meet up with them. I'm very excited; I haven't seen these friends in at least eight years.

Definitely starting to nest, I think. Yesterday I made brownies and cleaned up after, only I couldn't stop at just cleaning up what I'd used; I did 90% of the dishes in the kitchen, washed the stove again and was really close to scrubbing the floor before I stopped myself and bolted for the living room. Through it all Moxie (my dog) watched with a helplessly lost expression -- she always looks like that when we clean. Probably because it's a foreign experience for the poor little thing. I've NEVER been a clean person, but things are apparently changing; I don't want my kids to be a slob like I am, so I'm hoping they channel the genes of their grandmothers and are spic-n-span.

Mwahaha, I just can't wait to surprise Annie and Amy with their baby gifts. I have been divinely inspired and forever after, I will be known as the Cool Cousin. I cannot WAIT. You better brace yourself!

p.s. I made meat sauce with my Grandma's recipe and my whole house smells like her kitchen now. Ahhhhh.

The Jig is Up

Okay, I made it two years. Almost three. Enough is enough, I can finally admit it.

I hate living away from my family. I hate the stupid palm trees and the stinky cauliflower smell and the bratty little shits that live next door. I hate the neighbor's cat and I hate all the rich people and their shiny SUVs and I hate having to battle with black mold in my toilet because I live beside the ocean. I hate the ocean and I hate the low tide smell and I hate the eighty bazillion oil tankers off the coast. I hate that I have to plan visits well in advance just so I can hang out with my cousins and aunts and uncles and grandma and mom when before I could just walk next door. I hate that I totally took for granted that I had family that wanted to hang out with me all the time and now I live a thousand miles away and can't.

Okay. I feel better, sort of.

I'm noticing that I'm starting to get that nesting instinct. Nothing seems to be clean enough, and while I don't have an enormous amount of energy, I have just enough to boss my husband around. He's helping - he's taken charge of the kitchen at least - and the rest of my stuff I'm slowly getting rid of. It's funny; whenever I think "man, I need to take this stuff to charity", the Rescue Mission calls me. Swear to God! EVERY time, they call like they can read my mind. So I'm pitching all this crap we've managed to accumulate, like the eagle statue and the eight million pairs of pajama bottoms and the fake daffodils.

Since I don't have email addresses, when is Amy having her c-section? My mom and I are trying to coordinate a day/evening to go to the Tri-Cities to live it up with the Landonis. I don't care what your married names are, you're still "The Landoni cousins". Deal with it. So if you guys could let me know when would be good or let my mom know, etc, that'd be awesome. We're having a baby shower on Sunday, July 13th but I still want to spend more time with you guys, so let me know. It seems sort of early for a baby shower, probably, but I don't have anyone down here that's going to throw one, so we're doing it at home. I'm hoping that people come and show up, I really don't care about presents.

Little Kicks

Sometimes I like to just lie on my bed and feel her kicking around inside me. She likes to do a lot of stuff in there, especially after I eat stuff she likes; I like this image that she pulls on her cord like a doorbell and yells, "More chili dogs, Mommy!"

She still likes to play games with Matt; every time he tries to feel her kicking, she runs and hides. He talks to her to try and coax her out, but to no avail. She's already a tease, great.

Lost three more pounds, so Doc said I can't go back to work until I learn how to get fat like a big girl. I guess that's okay, because it means I can go home for a longer period of time. I'm going to be in Washington from July 6th to July 18th now. Matt and I are thinking of moving to Billings, Montana so Mom and I are going to go check it out. We're thinking of moving there for four reasons: 1) It's cheap; 2) It's not SoCal; 3) It's exactly midpoint between his family and mine, both being within driving distance; and 4) It's not SoCal.

My Grandma seems to be settling in with Britney well, except that Britney can clearly get away with murder. I called her the other night to see how they were doing, and Grandma was letting her chew on her slipper. I don't know who Britney thinks she is, but when I was a kid, I never would've been allowed to do that. I better not hear her be called patata.

She also told me all about how the new yard is coming in, and I'm glad because she sounded happy and I bet it looks very pretty. A little part of me, probably the nostalgic part, already misses the pool. I have so many happy memories of that place with family that part of me is a little misty-eyed that peanut won't have the same. But at the same time, I never would expect my Grandma to have to keep it up, because pools are probably expensive. All the same, it's a sad sort of moment when a chapter of your life closes, even when another one is being written.