New Year, Schmew Year

Well, happy 2013 to all of my loyal readers!  I have a long history of loathing New Year's Eve, and this year was no exception.  We started the day by running out for a little family outing to the mall.  I dressed my daughter as Sergeant Pepper, or Captain Kangaroo.  Take your pick.

I now just adore dressing her for outings, and relish in people telling me my child is beautiful, cute, darling, etc.

I am totally becoming Patsy Ramsay.

No flipper yet, so don't get too concerned.

She needs some teeth for that, I've learned.

She cheered on IU in her Bumbo, wearing this little number.

When I put this little onesie number on her, I noticed that it was a little tight as I pulled it down over her head.  When I went to remove it, I was quickly reminded that her head is in like the 90th percentile.

Damn, it got stuck.

Parents, you know this moment, at least those of you with big noggined children do.  

Screaming ensued.

Up, down, which way do I pull it?

I made a split second decision and yanked it off over her head, knowing it had to come off at some point.

I think I removed some of her eyebrows and she may have relived her exit through the birth canal, had she been privileged enough to experience that in the first place.

It was awful.

Baby girl was in pain.

I rushed out to Trinity for consolation, thus cracking her ankle on the door frame.  At that juncture, she lost her sh**.  

Her mother had inflicted some serious pain on her, and she was going to go out of 2012 with a bang.

Lots and lots of screaming.

I nearly cried.

It's one thing to try to console a baby who is crying for some unknown reason.  It's quite another to know it's because you are an idiot mother who put a too small onesie on her giant head and then rammed her into the door casing.

Guilt, I tell you.

Finally, things settled down.

T and I relaxed on the couch.

It was very different from my favorite NYE in Chicago when I famously announced to Courtney and Elizabeth that " I just made out with the band."

Courtney's response, "No, you didn't.  You're drunk and you just went to the bathroom."

Touche.

You know who wasn't sitting around like old farts?

G's grandparents.

Abby and Papi sent this text of the two of them celebrating, Bonefish Grill style.

I love that place.

There weren't gloating at all.

Nope, not one bit.

They even wished us a happy new year!

Pat proves that she is indeed at my favorite place.

YaYa and Bob rang in the new year with their friends.  This crew has been partying together on NYE for the past 30 years.  

Mom reported things got particularly exciting this year, and most of them stayed until 10:30.

Woot.

Stinky hound guarded the beef tenderloin.

So the 60 something crowd (minus Pat who is still hanging in at 59) totally rocked it out.

We spent our eve watching our little lady fist pump, Jersey Shore style.

We are transitioning her out of the swaddle, and she currently is now sleeping feet out, and left arm out.   She gets that left arm going in bed, and either fist pumps or roundhouses it like she's playing in a recreational women's softball league.

The NYE arm got pretty crazy.

She got it going at one point and was squawking and it was a bit like that moment in Roadhouse where Patrick Swayze decides to clean up the bar.

Only she didn't have a knife.

I was asleep by 9:15.

I won't lie about it.

You would know I was lying anyway, and then all blog relationships would cease.

This morning we drank our coffee from the beautiful hand-painted mugs that niece Caroline made for us.

Yeah, they're not dishwasher safe.

Now we have some white mugs.

#1 Aunt failure of 2013!

Happy New Year!!!!

Genevieve Visits the Louvre, I mean IMA

Yesterday was snowy and boring, so Trinity and I loaded up our family of 3 and headed out for some culture.

We took Genevieve to the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

She loved it.  

She gazed at all of the paintings and drooled with amazement over the talent.

Maybe she just drooled.

We got busted in the Asian exhibit for sitting on a bench and bottle feeding her.  A very nice female employee came over and told us she could not allow us to feed her in the exhibit, unless I was breast feeding, then that is permitted.

I wanted to scream DISCRIMINATION in my best Fiddler on the Roof impression.  You know I love to scream things.

Thanks, lady for reminding me of my failure to boob feed my child.

As we shuffled out, I was just appalled.  Trinity explained that it was much less likely for a woman to spray milk from her boob all over a painting than it was for it to spray out of a bottle.  

Whatevs.

I got one picture. 

*Yes, I'm wearing nonpants.  In my defense, I picked up my family after attending a yoga class, but not before driving through Starbucks and then circling my neighborhood repeatedly while talking on the phone to my mother and relishing my alone time.

When we entered the museum, we were greeted and asked if we wanted a map.

Did I want a map?

Apparently the greeter didn't recognize me from my frequent days of wandering through the IMA, hoping to meet my future husband in the European art exhibit.

No one told me then that I wasn't starring in a romantic comedy produced by Nora Ephron.  

Everyone else knows that now you meet your significant other on the interweb.

Or you are set up on a blind date in Nashville, get tipsy and dance the night away at honkey tonk bar while your future husband tries to impress you by doing knee slides across the vacant dance floor.  Then you seductively whisper, "you can stay the night in my room at the Comfort Inn tonight, and not drive back to Manchester."  He happily agrees.  Then you sober up when he's in your room, and totally embarrass yourself by having an awkward conversation where you explain that you're really Sandra Dee, and not Rizzo.

He marries you anyway.

That's not remotely similar to how my love story played out.

It's exactly how my love story played out.

We have such a beautiful tale to tell our daughter when she gets older.

Oh, and to think, I thought of all of this while showing her beautiful art.

Christmas and a Little Privacy...

Well, the response about privacy was overwhelming!

Snarf.

I have received about 18 emails, so I am just incredibly popular.

I actually knew everyone that emailed me, and it is lovely that I have some darling friends who like to read.  I plan on making this private very soon.  I hope to get it done before I go back to school on the 7th.

This is a date that will not be spoken of.

That being said, let's move on to a smorgasbord of Christmas fun.

We celebrated the holiday on Friday evening with my parents and Robeghan.

Genevieve really was not interested in anything that occurred.

She wore pajamas from Aunt Katie.

Mother's tree was up in all of its glory, and Katie was looking over all to make sure it was set.

On Saturday afternoon we were home to have our own celebration of 3, I mean 4.

The kitty was ready to party.

Santa totally fell through on his promise to bring Genevieve a neck.

I am really not sure how her head stays up.

It is like right on top of her shoulders.

We used our traditional champagne flutes that Pat and Eddie gave us for our engagement.

T took this shot of the 3 of us.

Trinity surprised me with St. Germain, since everyone drank the entire bottle I took home for Thanksgiving:)

He reminded me that it is insanely expensive (it's not, at $35), and I should drop the baby instead of the booze if I lost my balance.

He is so funny, you see.

Here I am presenting G with her own cell phone.

Trinity was telling her Santa was on the phone and that he was sorry he couldn't come through with a neck this year.

I got a new purse.

Trinity says I get a purse each year, and it is totally ridiculous.

It is.

We traversed south to Lexington for Christmas to see Trinity's parents and his Aunt Shirley.

Shirl came through with the most loved gift of 2012, a crinkly book that G threw around constantly and tried to eat.

Bumbo for upright sitting.

G has decided upright sitting royally sucks.

She would prefer to lay on her back as if sunbathing all day.

The best gift!

We missed Cousin Caroline, Aunt Katie and Uncle Chip this year for Christmas.

CeCe corralled the horses in Caroline's new stable.

10 bucks says she peed all over that thing.

Our little angel in the Christmas pageant.

Katie and I both played the Angel Gabriel in the Christmas story when we were in 2nd grade.

I was originally selected for the role of Mary, the blessed mother.  It went something like this...as it is as ingrained in my noggin as the donkey kick story.

My entire CCD class was gathered on the altar to receive our parts for the Christmas story.  Father Kent said, "Betsy, you shall be Mary."  My heart went pitter patter.  As a Catholic, Mary is pretty awesome.

I was so honored.

Then he waffled.  "Oh, no.  Betsy, your hair isn't dark enough.  Julie will be Mary."

Say, what?

My hair be too light to play the mother of Jesus?

That stinks as much as sitting in a Bumbo.

So, there I was, an angel.

I have never recovered.

Merry Christmas!

A Little Pondering...

I don't have any pictures to share, and I have been thinking about this silly little blog for quite sometime.  I have been doing it for several years, and it has always been a great outlet for me, and loads of fun to recall stories and write them down.  Trinity always knows when I'm blogging, because I'm howling at my own hilarity.

Lately, I've been pondering the whole privacy thing, since I am now putting Genevieve on here, who is the most precious thing in the world to me.

I even often look at her and say "My Precious" in the creepiest Lord of the Rings voice I can muster.

It was one thing when I posted about my husband and my cat.

Now I have a child.

It's different.

I am not that computer savvy, but I can track some of my following, and I seem to get lots of hits from Russia.

I know no one in Russia.

Not that I don't like Russians.

I especially love White ones, that are served  in a glass.

My point is it kind of creeps me out to think of some weirdo looking at pictures of my baby.

A lot of traffic comes from my sister's blog that she does about my niece.  If you are one of Katie's friends, do let me know!  I love me a Tennessean!  I married one.

So I'm thinking I might go private, if continue at all.

So, since my mother says she can never comment on this blog, and I've had that complaint from a few other pals, I'll ask you to email me.  If you read this avidly, enjoy it, and want to still see things like my cat poop on a regular basis, please email me and I will add you to a reader list.

My email is mizhunt@hotmail.com

If I only get a response from my mom, mother in law, and sister, then I believe I'll be calling it quits on this little endeavor.  I talk to them daily and can email them pictures.

I will let you know on here either way if I'm going private or just going off the air.

I envision a Cosby Show like finale, where I step from the set or something.

So contact me with your thoughts if you read-

A Little Escape

This past weekend was super busy for us.  We went to Chicago on a little one night getaway.  Let's start with the really important stuff first, shall we?

This happened-

Ah, my little fluff of love on my chest, reclining as in days gone by.

G is usually attached to me, so Kashmir rarely gets a chance to reclaim her former throne.

I enjoyed this furry embrace for the 6 minutes it lasted.

On Saturday night we met our pals for our annual holiday dinner at The Capitol Grille in the Conrad Hotel downtown.

Jane and Bob were babysitting, so we went a tad early for a beverage.

Washed out face with really bright lipstick?

Check and done!

I didn't get one of our table with Robby and Meghan, Steve and Allison and Tim and Jamie.

Boo.

On Sunday morning we loaded up on the MegaBus for our 2nd adventure trip to Chicago.  Last year we went over MLK Jr. weekend, the morning after we found out I was preggers.

That trip was a daze.

We just kept staring at each other and saying, "Oh my God" repeatedly.

This year was slightly different.

I was in constant texting contact with Yaya, baby caretaker extraordinaire.

G went on lots of walks with her grandmother.

She rocks the socks as mittens, you know.

She had a lot of tummy time.

I hate the word tummy.

I also hate the words panties, pantyhose, and fresh.

Just so you know.

I have often thought of explaining to G that it is time for her to exercise her neck and back muscles to hold her head up. Instead several times a day I clap my hands together like a seal and squeal, "It's tummy time!"

Motherhood makes me do things that otherwise would make me cringe.

At least I'm aware.

This message made me laugh.

Look at that reflective pose.

Her head looks so tiny here.

It's not.

Yaya brought the diabetic hound for protection.

She was never two feet away from my child.

Mom referred to her as Nana, the dog from Peter Pan who lives in the nursery with the children.

My picture taking was seriously lacking in the Windy City.

We had tea and macarons at the Peninsula Hotel.  Those light and airy treats just make my heart go pitter pat.

Here is a super dark sushi shot.  Heaven forbid I disturb the other patrons with a flash.

One of our rolls had raspberries on the top.

They were divine.

I may have made it to Sprinkles twice during our overnight stay.

Once I used the cupcake ATM.  I wish all ATMs dispensed cupcakes.  I like cupcakes more than money, you see.

My mom sent possibly the best picture text ever.

Sister Katie and niece Caroline made the front page of their local Tennessee newspaper for participating in the Reindeer Run.  Caroline is the one farthest on the left, in a white shirt.  Katie is directly behind her in a black shirt with a matching headband.

You can only see half of Kate's face because her head is down.  Pointing her face towards the ground makes her whole body more aerodynamic, thus increasing her speed.

Either that, or she's had that pitiful stride since she was Caroline's age and fortunately has never seen photographic evidence of it.  Undoubtedly her arms were glued to her sides, pumping furiously. I learned that this reindeer run took place in a parking lot, forcing my sister to literally run in circles for a mile, hot on the heels of several five year olds.

If only I could have witnessed the greatest spectacle in racing...

kindergarteners.

Of course, Caroline won.

Katie did not.

Holiday Happenings and G is 3 months old

On Sunday evening Mom and I attended our first Nordstrom Christmas party.  They kept the store open for cardholders from 6:30-whenever people sober up and stop spending.

It was cray-cray.

Jane and I formulated our plan of attack.  We entered on the 2nd floor, grabbed our first St. Germain raspberry champagne cocktails, and headed straight to the handbag department.  Mom has extensive holiday shopping experience.  Back in 1989, Mom and her friend Suzanne fought back some serious crowds at the local Kmart to procure the latest Batman figures for their sons.  Mom is 6 feet, Suzanne is probably 5'3".  Needless to say, Jane went high, Suzanne went low, and they reunited under a round clothing carousel.  They compared their wares and then set out to barter with fellow shoppers.  As Mom tells it, she said things like "I've got two Robins, I'll trade one for your Joker."  

She's no rookie.

We learned that the Nordstrom party is a tad different from Kmart of 1989.

Basically, the shoppers have loads of moolah and get DRUNK.

We walked in and encountered this va-va-vavoom lady-

So, naturally, this happened.

Hey lady, let my mom get a picture with you, mmkay?

Mom was driving, G was home in bed under her father's watchful eye, so I decided that a cocktail or 5 wouldn't hurt.

Things were going swimmingly, especially as I eyed Valentino purses while stuffing my face with peanut butter cake balls served from a silver platter.

We discovered the cupcake tower of bliss.

We each had 3, I think.

That cupcake girl clearly was unprepared for our level of unabashed gluttony.

Things went awry as I skittled through the cosmetics department back to the bar for another cocktail.

I hit a puddle of champagne on the floor and about went down in front of le Bobbi Brown counter.

I quickly regained my footing and screamed out, "There's champagne on this floor.  Watch out!!!!"

It was similar to my donkey kick proclamation of '87.

Super embarrassing, but not fatal.

  

When we weren't hearing lovely Christmas music, the sound of shattering champage flutes, beer bottles and wine glasses filled the air.  People apparently break things when they drink too much.  They also spill stuff.

I was nearly the victim of such debauchery.  Then I would have been forced to file a personal injury claim against my beloved Nordstrom and hire my brother as my attorney.

Thank God it didn't come to that.

Genevieve is 3 months old on Friday.

I had pictures taken of the two of us as a Christmas surprise for Trinity.  My friend Kathy from high school is a glorious photographer.  I was so thrilled when I got them that 

I gave them to him early.  

Surprises aren't my bag.

I almost always spill the beans early.

I just got so damn excited, especially when Kathy swore she didn't have to photoshop out my grandpa nose hairs or mustache.  They just weren't bad!

Score!

My little nugget just melts my heart.

She is just so precious.

Lastly, we went to the doctor today.

Lady G is 14 lbs, 6 oz and healthy as a little colt.

We have officially retired the 3 month clothing and are on to bigger and better things.

A Whole Lotta Nothing

My lack of blogging directly correlates with my lack of doing anything worth discussing.

I met my pretties for our annual Christmas ornament exchange and dinner.

This is my original crew from when we were all on the first grade team together.  We have had additions and changes, and some of those gals are in here too.  What fun!

G be chillin' in front of the boob tube.

She better be brilliant after logging hours with Baby Einstein.

Kashmir let us know her thoughts on Genevieve's tummy time mat and underwater activity mat area.

I crap on your baby stuff, fools.

What are you going to do about it, jerks?

We've reached a new low.

I'm blogging about kitty turds.