It's the most wonderful time of the year

What makes this time of year so wonderful? Is it time with friends and family, or people reaching deep into their pockets to find a little extra something to give back to those less fortunate? Twinkley lights, Christmas carols, or bright-eyed children who still believe in magic? No, what makes this the most wonderful time of the year is hours and hours of utterly craptastic holiday movies on TV. There are tons of them on the Hallmark Channel, ABC Family Channel, and lots of other channels that you probably don't watch unless, like me, you are a connoisseur of truly terrible television. Most of these movies walk the fine line between so crappy I can't watch them and so crappy I can't stop watching. My first of the season, "Love at the Thanksgiving Day Parade," fell into the latter category.

Quick plot summary. Our heroine is a Chicago Thanksgiving parade coordinator. She's a long-time parade-loving purist who reluctantly falls for a consultant who has come to evaluate the city's parade spending. She wears quirky Mad Men-era garb, which we later find out is because she lost both of her parents and her mom's clothes were given away. She's hoping that by buying vintage she'll somehow end up scoring something of her mom's. Except she looks about 20something, so if her mom really died when she was little those clothes would have most likely been straight out of the 80's. But I'm guess a pair of skintight Jordache jeans and a Camp Beverly Hills t-shirt wouldn't have been nearly as charming. Anyway, at the beginning of the movie she is involved in a long-distance relationship with a marine biologist who doesn't appreciate her, and she has a deep, dark secret. She hasn't told him she's, gasp, afraid of boats! So so much for his plans for her to travel around the world with him while he examines otters, or whatever it was. After their breakup she gets drunk, like throwing-up-I-hope-I-didn't-do-anything-stupid-that-I-don't-remember drunk, from one glass of champagne. Fan-freaking-tastic. I can't remember what happens much after that (maybe I was drunk) except Parade Consultant Guy decides that even though it makes sense for the city of Chicago to start charging admission for the parade it goes against the spirit of the event so he recommends that it remain free to the public. He ends up dressing up as the parade's Santa and declaring his love for Quirky Vintage Parade Coordinator Girl. And scene. The best part of this was that it inspired us to go the parade for the first time, and it really was magical.

Good god, I so need to write one of these movies. Maybe it'll help us pay our mortgage, since after 13 showings we still have no renter. The only person we've turned down was a woman with three 50-lb dogs. I counted that as about six toddlers and said no way.
Anyway, back to the movies. I really do think I could write one of these. Much like romance novels, it really comes down to a simple formula.

Your hero(ine) is:
a. a young, perpetually single woman who doesn't believe in love
b. a single mom with a young child who has lost faith in Santa
c. a widower who no longer finds joy in the holiday season
d. orphans

who encounter(s):
a. a penny-pinching scrooge who wants to shut down the parade/town's landmark something-or-other
b. a lost elf who can't find her way back to the North Pole
c. a childless couple who long for children of their own
d. Tori Spelling

After they:
a. save the store
b. deliver presents to underprivileged kids before the clock strikes midnight
c. bring a soldier home on a last-minute holiday leave
d. survive being stranded in a Christmas Eve blizzard

they all live happily ever after.

Casting includes:
a. Beloved 80's TV moms (think Meredith Baxter)
b. That dude who played Randy on "Monk"
c. Melissa Joan Hart
d. Lots of other people you have never heard of

Look for my movie at 3 a.m. on a TV near you next Thanksgiving.

And P.S., if you have not seen Melissa Joan Hart and Mario Lopez in "Holiday in Handcuffs" you are totally missing out.

Things are going to the dogs around here.

We never heard back from great dane guy after I sent him the super-awesome video tour I made of our condo. But we had six showings this weekend, and the only guy to ask for an application so far has a pit bull. Our realtor has seemingly been advertising on muchmaligneddogbreeds.com. Next up, German shepherd!

On a lighter note, the web analytics indicate that at least one person found my blog by searching "middle aged bikini." I think I've found my niche! And a way to make the extra cash I'll need if we have to lower the rent to find a taker for this place. I'll have to go check to see if middleagedbikini.com is already taken and figure out how to monetize it. It beats selling your underpants on the Internet. One of the guys from our volleyball team who does web stuff I don't understand had a previously-worn-panty-seller as a client. I tried to sell Brad on the idea as my money-making stay-at-home mom gig. I wouldn't have to do laundry (just drop 'em in the mail!), I'd always have cute new underwear, and I could probably even write my underpants off as a business expense. Whenever I try to discuss ideas like this Brad just gives me a look that indicates that a) he's not taking me seriously and b) he's wondering how he ended up married to such a nut job. BTW, Happy anniversary, honey!

One of these days I'll get back to updates about Tater. He is sweet, wonderful, and crazy these days. He's not super keen on us dragging all of his toys down the hall every other day to hide them for showings, but he's hanging in there.

Moving...maybe

This photo was taken in 2006, a couple of months before our condo was finished. We managed to get someone to sneak us (along with our friends Paul and Helga) in to take a look around. Our appliances hadn't arrived yet. We had cabinets, but no hardware. Brad and I had just gotten engaged. Look how young we look. And happy. And well rested. I'm guessing we probably slept in until 11 or noon that day. And every other weekend day before that. Sigh. Parenthood ages you more than a presidency.

And now we're most likely moving. This came as a surprise to those who know me well and know that I'm not really one for big changes. Or risk. Or uncertainty. If you ask me why we're moving in person I'll tell you it is because we finally decided we needed more space. When Brad works in the middle of the night he keeps me up. When he tries to catch up on sleep the next day we keep him up. And Tate's stuff has taken over, even though we try hard not to have a lot of stuff. And it's winter and the walls are starting to close in. All of this is true, but the move really came about mostly because I was jacked up on fertility drugs and not in my right mind when we signed the lease. Think this might be grounds for getting out of it? God, I hope so.

We recently did another round of the same treatment that we did to get Tate. (Spoiler alert, it didn't work.) But as part of the treatment you get a big honking shot of HCG, the pregnancy hormone. And that actually makes you feel kind of pregnant. And since I was feeling pregnant I thought maybe I could actually BE pregnant. And if I was pregnant there was no way in hell we could function in this condo with two kids and Brad trying to work. Unless maybe the baby took naps in bathroom and the rest of us all just peed in the lobby bathroom? Anyway, in a ginormous leap of getting way ahead of myself, and despite our doctor giving our treatment only a 3%-5% chance of working, I started looking a little more seriously for places. And then I found one it was hard to say no to. It's a duplex up, 2nd and 3rd floors. It has a shared backyard with people I hope like us (and vice versa). There is a great (at least from what I hear) neighborhood school. It's old, which is why we can (sort of) afford it. The place itself is a weird study in extremes. Super high end stove, but a nail on the back of a door instead of an actual towel hook, and so on. The pantry door is missing, and there are no handrails on the front stairs (we actually are making the new landlords fix this one). But it has space. Lots and lots of space. Did I mention there's a yard? And a pantry, even if it is door-less?

But our tiny loft is our home that we made together. We lounged around on pillows on the floor until we could afford the couch we wanted. We waited over a year to paint since we couldn't reach the high ceilings and couldn't afford painters. We waited even longer to get blinds. Each year we made a new improvement and felt like we were building on something. This year we finally added a super awesome closet organizer. Now someone else might be living here, someone who just considers this a rental and will have no real attachment to it. Our only potential renter so far is a friend of a friend who has a dog. Not just a dog...a GREAT DANE. So basically it would be like having a horse live in our 1,000-square-foot condo. Argh.

I try to think about what is best for Tate, but it's hard to say. He's happy here. He's happy everywhere. I'm sure he'll be happy in the new place too. If he doesn't get lead poisoning from all of the old paint.

So every night I cry and ask Brad if we can just stay here. And every night he reminds me that we've signed a lease but we can see what we need to do to get out of it. So there you have it. We are moving...maybe. I wonder if Great Dane guy would be interested in subletting a duplex with a yard.

What we've been up to (besides ending sentences with prepositions)

I can't believe it has been two months since I posted last. Here is what we've been up to. First Brad planned a surprise trip to Seattle for my birthday. Before you give your sig-o the stink eye because they never plan any surprise trips, Brad historically hasn't either. Somehow he managed to choose the destination and book the airfare and condo without my knowing. Kudos, Brad.

We stayed in Alki Beach, which is just a short ferry ride from downtown Seattle. It was the perfect place to stay with Tate since we were able to break up our sightseeing with plenty of trips to the beach to throw stones into the water and to the local park.






Brad and Tate throwing stones at Alki Beach.

  



I made Brad walk something like a mile uphill to Kerry Park pushing the stroller, but the view was worth it.



  



Tate does Tai Chi (?) in Kerry Park.

  



Why you need to give toddlers a break from sightseeing. Sorry, honey. We learned our lesson.

  

After that we went to Michigan to see our families. We made the cider mill rounds (my parents have one that is less than a mile from their house) and got to spend some quality time with Brad's family too.





Tate with cousins Madi and Tondi at the cider mill.

  



Tate with Grandma and Papa.

 




Tate finally got to meet his Great Aunt Ilene...

  




and Great Uncle Dennis. He put his head on Dennis' shoulder right away, so he either really liked him or just  really appreciates quality cashmere.

   



A dragon, Elmo, and a mermaid at the pumpkin patch.

  



I think Grandma was the only non-grouchy participant in this photo.

  



More cousins and Aunt Amy. Can you tell she and Brad are twins?

 
Other than that Tate started swimming and soccer through the park district. He also has started making some progress with his speech delay. A few of the things they noted in his initial speech evaluation when he was two were failure to use two-word phrases, make animal noises, and refer to himself by name. He definitely does all three now. Some of his cuter phrases are "heh me!" (help me) and "shoo ball" (shoot the ball). He also likes to talk about everyone being "sheepy" (sleepy). He'll say "Mum sheepy, da sheepy, tay sheepy" and we all have to lie down together on the bed or on whatever random pile of pillows ("peh!") and blankets he has thrown on the floor. I really like this game, since I am almost always sheepy these days. Oh, and he knows that letters are somehow part of something called ABC's. Whenever he sees words he says "akey, ahshee," which is his word for a,b,c,d. He has also noticed that the ABC's and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star have the same melody, so he'll often combine the two and sing "Akey, ashee d, d,d, (blah, blah blah blah blah) you are."

He now makes animal noises like crazy (seriously, who know animal noises were some sort of important milestone? When the speech therapist first told me I was like, um, maybe we just don't make animal noises around the house on a regular basis?). And I love it that he thinks all birds quack. He made a quacking noise at Papa's bald eagle statue and at pigeons on the street.

We also took a kids' cooking class today. I'd love to say I signed us up for him, but it was mostly because the class was making pumpkin ravioli and I love pumpkin ravioli. It was really cool to see how much he could do, but also chaotic since he had an attention span of about 20 seconds for each activity. It would have been better if all of the other kids weren't seemingly glued to their seats while mine kept trying to run away, but it was still fun. He got to chop garlic, grate cheese, pick sage from the garden and wash and cut it with a scissors, and mash the pumpkin.

I am sure there is a lot more I'm forgetting. Time is moving too fast and I should update more, but between the part of my keyboard that I spilled the sippy cup on and the letters Tate has ripped off it's pretty rough going when I can't borrow Brad's computer.






How to rock a bikini when you are officially middle-aged: a) dim lighting, b) hide the scary parts under water, and c) distract everyone from your other flaws by sporting an awesome farmer's tan.

  

Yep, he's two...

Tater at 20 months

Tater actually turned 20 months old back on Easter, but I've been so busy chasing him around that I haven't had much time to update here. I'm not sure this physical therapy stuff to help him walk was such a great idea. It is SO much easier to take care of a toddler who can't run away from you!

But seriously, it is great fun to do things with him now since he can show us what he's interested in. He has lots of new "words." I know the baby books say they should have x number of words by a certain age, but does that mean words that other people can understand? I'm pretty sure only Brad and I know what he's talking about most of the time, and even that is iffy. His new words are bottle (bauble), ball (ball ball), balloon (bbbb), book (bbbb), boot or shoe (bbbbb), bye bye, bath, (bah), door (doh doh), cookie (kiki), dog (ninah--no idea why), phone (goo goo--again, no idea why this means phone), keys, elbow, eye, and have it (habbee, habbah). Tate is often surprised to find himself playing catch when he really wanted milk or drinking a bottle when we just wanted to toss the ball around, but other than that we're doing pretty well. And I love that he calls the phone "goo goo" since now I actually have a baby who speaks stereotypical babyspeak. And he can even tell us he wants to go to the park by saying "ninah, ball ball" since that is where we go to see dogs playing ball.

 I know in 6 months this will all be a blur, so just for the record at this age Tate loves playing ball, going to the park, watching dogs, picking up sticks and rocks and putting them down manhole covers, and baths and washing his hands. He also loves throwing things (food, toys). We're working on that. He has a great sense of humor and cracks us up all the time. Not to jinx myself, but he's been a great sleeper most of the time these days. I think he tires himself out running around all day. He hates crafts. Today at our park district class he threw crayons, tried to eat the glue stick, and wiggled around to try to get free and tossed his artwork on the ground. Did I mention arts and crafts only lasts 5 minutes? It was like that last week too, and I'm starting to dread arts and crafts time. He also gives great hugs and kisses when he's in the mood. He loves to make a fort out of a blanket by putting it over our heads. Then he cuddles underneath it and gives me a kiss. It really is the best and totally makes up for the days when I have to put him in multiple (and useless, near as I can tell) time-outs for biting me, hitting, scratching/gouging my face, and other general toddler mayhem.

The Way We Were

My awesome friend Beth watched Tater this past weekend so Brad and I could finally go out and celebrate our anniversary. She had to give me a little shove to get me out the door (literally), but once we were out we had a great time. It was fun to remember what it was like back when it was just the two of us. Going on a date post-baby also reminded us how much more awesome Dating Brad and Sandra were compared to Parents Brad and Sandra.

Here is how our night WOULD have likely gone c. 2004:

9:00 PM: Arrive for dinner at Longman & Eagle (OK, it wasn't there then, but this is hypothetical). Are told that the wait will be 1.5 to 2 hours. Who cares! More time for flirting and witty banter at the bar. Immediately order whiskey cocktails.
9:30 PM: Cocktails gone. Whee! This is fun! Tipsy Dating Sandra talks Brad into sharing a whiskey flight.
10:30 PM: We are shown to our table. Enjoy a leisurely dinner of apps, entrees, dessert and coffee. Oh, and what the heck, Tipsy Dating Brad orders a bottle of wine. We're celebrating, and it's not like we have to be anywhere in the morning!
11:30 PM: Become drunk friends with the hipster foodie guys at the table next to us.
MIDNIGHT: Convince hipsters to join us at Liar's Club for dancing and PBR's. Whee!
2:30 AM: Leave hipsters and head to local 4 a.m. dive bar for a nightcap.
3:00 AM: I'm huuuunnnnngry. Who wants PANCAKES??? Head to Hollywood Grill for pancakes and coffee.
3:45 AM: Come home and pass out, sleep until 11 AM the next day, go out for pancakes. Come home and take naps.

Here is how our night actually went:

9:00 PM: Arrive at Longman & Eagle. Are told the wait will be 1.5 to 2 hours. Crap. Will that work? We don't want Beth to be stuck at our house all night. Decide to put our name in anyway and see what happens. Head to the bar and order whiskey cocktails.
9:30 PM: Uh oh. I realize I haven't eaten since noon and am seriously drunk from one whiskey cocktail. Brad orders appetizers for us as the bar.
10:00 PM: Appetizers arrive. I ravenously and gracelessly eat crostini and cheese and drop a piece on Brad's shoe. He seems a little annoyed.
10:30 PM: We are shown to our table. We've already had our appetizers, so we order entrees. We very responsibly decide to each get a glass of wine with dinner rather than a bottle. We split a dessert, and Brad orders a double espresso.
11:00 PM: Do not become drunk friends with hipster foodies when they start chatting with Brad about his entree. Sober Parent Sandra finds them somewhat pretentious and annoying.
11:30 PM: Arrive home and fall asleep on the couch. Brad is up half the night because of the espresso. No pancakes.

OK, maybe we aren't less awesome now. Just more responsible. But I do miss the pancakes.

Mom!!!

Much like my junior high and high school experience, motherhood has involved me spending my every waking moment thinking about a guy who has no idea what my name is...until today! I've been sick all week with some kind of weird laryngitis-y cold that seemed to get worse last night. I told Brad that if I didn't get to sleep in for once I was going to seriously lose my mind. Note for you non-parents that "sleeping in" is nothing like it was back in our pre-Tate days when we had blissful, uninterrupted sleep until noon on the weekends if we wanted it. Now it means waking up at 7something a.m., going back to sleep with a pillow over your head, and being roused into semi-wakefulness every 15 minutes by the muffled sounds of your spouse dealing with varying degrees of mayhem.

Anyway, after a couple hours of super-nonrestful sleep I opened the bedroom door and heard Tate call "Mom" from the living room. I was so excited that he said my name for the first time that I picked him up and started jumping up and down like a crazy person. And once he saw how excited I was he started laughing and repeating "Mom" over and over again, which led to more jumping up and down and laughing. It was seriously the best morning ever. Not to mention that while I was asleep Brad answered a text on my phone and made a brunch date for me with my friend Beth.

As I was getting ready I looked in the mirror and realized that I'm the person is who Tate is going to forever associate with the word "Mom." It was very cool, scary, and humbling all at the same time. I also thought that Tate's Mom looks like a hot mess much of the time these days. Sorry, kid.

I'm just sitting here enjoying these bon bons and waiting for my massage....

An exchange from a rare girls' night out last night:

WEIRD GUY IN BAR I ACCIDENTLY GAVE MY (REAL) E-MAIL ADDRESS TO SINCE I'M SO OUT OF PRACTICE I FORGOT HOW TO BE MEAN TO WEIRD GUYS IN BARS: "So, what do you do for a living?"

ME: "I stay home with my 17-month-old son."

WEIRD GUY: "Yeah, I don't do sh*t either."

Reflecting on 2011

So much happened in 2011! Tate learned to roll over. And sit, crawl, stand, dance, give high-fives, give kisses to his stuffed toys, and sleep through the night. He got his first 5 teeth. He learned to say his first words (variations on "da da," something that sounds like "open" and "open this," and sometimes something that sounds like "all done"). He started to understand us too. Now when we ask him if needs a new diaper he just crawls down the hall and sits in front of the door to his room. Although whenever anyone asks him to point to Mommy he just looks at them blankly. We'll have to work on that one. He also took his first trip on an airplane, and we had our first family vacation.

We had a lot to celebrate this year. Tate turned 1 in August. Brad turned 40 in December. I'll have to post some photos of that one sometime. I actually let my parents babysit him for the first time so that we could go out and celebrate with a night of Whirlyball and other mischief (turns out Liar's Club is just as much fun as I remembered). My Mom had trouble lowering a sleeping Tater into his crib and dropped him the last little bit or so, smacking his head on the side of his crib. He cried, kept them up, and my Mom now has to go to PT for her injured back (lowering him into his crib aggravated a previous injury). It may have to be another milestone birthday before they offer to babysit again, but we really appreciated it.

We had sad times too. We had some people close to us go through a number of health challenges. We keep them in our thoughts and pray for better days ahead. And I still miss my grandmother very much and think of her often. I still can't believe that last year was our last Christmas together. It hit especially hard on Christmas Eve when I would have normally gone to the candlelight service with her at her church. It still makes me happy, though, that there is a part of her in Tater. And in me too, now that I think of it.

I remember back at the end of 2008 when I seriously considered writing a the following Christmas letter: "Dear friends and family, 2008 can suck it. Love, Brad and Sandra." It makes me very grateful for the past year.