Category Archives: Good times

Red Letter Days

Redux earrings (LOVE), Fossil shirt, JCrew dress, Me Too flats

This is a perfect dress to just laze around with the boys. I bought it a little while ago from J.Crew – on sale, no duh- and have been wearing it pretty often ever since.

Andy and I celebrated our 9th year (married, 12th in general) together a week and a half ago, I was thinking of writing a blog post about how we met. I’m sure you’re all on the edges of your seats! Stay tuned.

My birthday is tomorrow – I’ll be 32 (!) years old. And the next day, my little Rio will be 1!

Eyyyy

This kid, man. He gets into ERRYTHING. Put a blockade in front of him? STILL GETS THE JOB DONE. Every day I tell Andy, “Oh my gosh, he is so smart!” So smart. So STRONG! So cute. How adorable is this: he loves Vampire Weekend. Gets crazy excited when A-Punk comes on. He squeals, and then he grooves.

He loves his brothers unconditionally, following Mad into time out, even though I’m trying to protect him, doesn’t he understand that?! He sits in their laps when mine isn’t available. He steals food from their plates, too. They don’t like that at all. They get pissed! And hey – I’m not gonna lie, I find it HILARIOUS. And one day they too will be chuckling at the memory of Mad sobbing, “Take the cheerio out of his mouth Mama. Take it out!”

We love you Baby Rio, Happy Birthday!

Babel is out today! HOLLERRRRR.

Mums the Ford

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Filed under Family, Good times, KIDS., Rio, Stylefile

I’ll BCing you

One of the things I like most about vacations is coming home. There’s something about seeing our little house with its white picket fence after some time away that makes me feel content. Inside the boys have their own beds, and I have mine and nevermind all that, there’s a stable fucking internet connection. But I loved our short time in Burnaby/Vancouver and Parksville/Victoria (speaking of Victoria, HOMGLOVE). Andy and I had been to Vancouver 7 years earlier as a newly married child-less couple and of course this time around it was all about low key fun – animals and water and sometimes both at the same time.  I met a man at a gas station who wrote 4 places on the back of my receipt that the family and I simply must visit while in Vancouver.  One of the first things that he said was: “You look like the girls from my country.”

I replied “Are you from Eritrea?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Ah. Ethiopia?”
He smiled. “Yes!”
I smiled back. “I get that all the time.”

The four places that he wrote were: Capilano, Cypress, Shannon Falls, Whistler.

“Do these in order,” he said. “And if you go to these places, you know you’ve really seen Vancouver.”

I walked back out to the car and told Andy: “Apparently we haven’t seen the real Vancouver. Let’s do this.”

I Googled them back in our hotel room in Burnaby.

Capilano Suspension Bridge.

Every mother’s dream: to walk with her three young kids across a rickety bridge where you can probably touch the tops of VERY TALL TREES.

True story: if you Google Capilano Suspension Bridge death and baby dropped automatically comes up. If you’re wondering, and you probably are, the baby survived the 230 FOOT DROP BUT NO THANKS BC I GOT THIS.

Cypress and Whistler appeared to be ski resorts (also Nope) and Shannon Falls sounded okay, but we see plenty of waterfalls in PDX so it wasn’t a Shannon Falls OR BUST situation.

We went to the aquarium.

Beluga!

We went to a farm.

There were animals there, trust me.

I never have learned how to pack appropriately for a trip. We spent a week in BC and I probably packed enough for a month. Mostly I didn’t want to trust the promise of sunny weather, so I made sure to pack sweaters and even a pair of tights! To save some room though I packed all flats, which made sense since we’d be doing a lot of walking. Whoops. Apparently my flats are a helluva lot more uncomfortable than my heels? What kind of sorcery is this?! Completely baffled as to why I’m hobbling around in Born flats that are lined with a puffy, cloud like substance and yet feel more like they’re stuffed with rocks. True story: if you Google Born shoes, comfort automatically comes up. LIES! DECEIT!

Notice how my shoes are kicked off? Because those bitches HURT.

On the ferry ride to Vancouver Island, I decided to take a break from being River’s bed and stretch my legs.

“If you go out on the balcony, watch out.” Andy said. “It’s really windy.”

“Sure.” I said, non-nonplussed. I’d encountered wind before, who did he think he was talking to? So, I open the door to the outside world and

HOLYSHITWHEREDIDMYSKIRTGOOHMYGODTHOSEAREMYBLOOMERS

WHOOPSTHEREARETWOOLDWOMENWHOCANSEEMYJUNK

WHYCANINOTHOLDDOWNMYSKIRTITHINKINEEDTWOMOREHANDS

BUTIHAVETOOPENTHEDOORANDCONTINUETOEXPOSEMYSELFHOLYSHIT.

Well, that was awkward. Picture me dusting my hands off and walking away, head swiveling wildly. Some guy was standing just inside the door. I made eye contact and grinned maniacally. He brushed past me.

7 years ago in Vancouver, we ate at a cute 50s diner.

Mmmm, poutine. Gravy, cheese curds, smoked ham and fries. Naturally.

Four days ago in Naiamo, we ate at a cute 50s diner.

Eggs, sausage and toast. The sausage wasn’t as firm as I’d have liked. C’est la vie.

I decided to go outside and feed Rio while Andy paid the tab. I had my hooter hider with me and I sat on a bench in the warm sunshine and got to it. Fifteen minutes go by. A woman walks up to me and says, “Your child is beautiful.”
I looked down in alarm. Was I exposing myself yet again? But no. I guess she found his chubby leg striking. “Oh, you can see him under there?” I asked unnecessarily.
“Well, I can tell you’re a good mom.” she told me.
I didn’t know what to say to that so I said,”Sure,” smiling. Because, let’s face it. I AM a good mom.
“Three gold medals! I just thank the Lord.”

What the

“Hmmm?”
“Bolt. That man. Jamaica. So fast! I just thank the Lord.”
“…yeah.”
“He had nothing. And he just fought for his people. Bolt.”
Do you think I’m Jamaican? I thought. I’m so not.

So I just said as little as possible and nodded my head, relieved when she got up to leave because I really had nothing to contribute. She complimented Rio again, and as I looked down to double check that my hooters were indeed hidden, Rio pushed the fabric aside to say hello. “Such beautiful hair…” she murmured as she left.

Fantastic.

We went to the beach.

Mad is shivering, but I swear the water was nice and toasty.

And so was the sand. Nice and toe-sty.

And finally, Victoria.

Je t’aime.

True story: if you say “Leh Hotel” under your breath some guy will rush over and say, “The H is silent. Lo-tel. Hear the difference?”

We ate bagels and ice cream.

We took the boys to a bug museum where I grabbed Andy’s arm repeatedly because gross:

We all climbed into a telephone booth:

We sailed back to the states:

So long BC!

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Filed under Adventures, Fun and Games, Good times, KIDS., Life, Unhappy Feet

Queen for a Day

Thrifted shirt (Etsy), Fossil cardigan, Atlantic treefox Crown badge

Thrifted skirt (Ladybird’s General Store *sniff*)

Sock dreams tights and socks, Gee WaWa boots

1. So you know when you go to a kid’s birthday party and you try to make awkward conversation with the other parents and fail? Just fail SO HARD? Oh, just me? Right. So, to make a long story complicated: I was talking to the mother of the little boy whose birthday party we were all attending. She mentioned that her father lived on our street, and I said: “Oh, where? It’s a pretty short street.” Turns out he’s our next door neighbor? Weird! We stood there nodding appropriately. This is where the conversation should’ve ended.

“You look like him!” I said.

Andy was shaking his head beside me. “No, it’s her father-in-LAW.” he said and my stomach made a pit stop at my feet. To make matters more awesome, the actual offspring of our neighbor (his son, her husband) decided to check in to the conversation at that moment.

“Oh. Gosh.” I laughed nervously. I had to save myself. “Um, you do look like him though. So I guess you could say you and your husband look like siblings. You know…”Aaaand exit stage left. To Andy’s credit, he just smiled at me sweetly as if to say, “Oh my dear sweet wife, at it AGAIN!”

Yes, when in doubt JOKE ABOUT INCEST. NAILED IT.

2. We went grocery shopping later. As I’m checking out at Trader Joe’s the cashier decides to try and make polite conversation with me. Doesn’t she know that’s a bad idea?!

“So, um…what are you weekend plans?” she asked.

“Well, today I went to a birthday party for a two year old. Awkward.”

“Oh, why was it awkward?”

“Well, you know. Having to make polite conversation with people. I’m not good at it.” Oh, and have I mentioned that I love self fulfilling prophecy?!

“Oh,” she stammered. “Really?”

“Yeah, I have this problem? It involves my foot and my mouth.”

And DONE.

But not really. We continued talking since she hadn’t finished scanning my frozen fruit. And then I tried to walk NOT RUN back to the car.

“You’re the only person I should talk to ever,” I told Andy as I slid into the passenger’s seat.

He smiled, already knowing where this conversation was headed. “What’d you do?”

I told him and he laughed and said, “Oh my dear sweet wife, at it AGAIN!” No, he didn’t. But he gets me. I love him.

3. And I love this show:

4. I’m trying my luck at selling some shoes on Ebay. Check it out if you wear 7.5!

 Toods,

Jen

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Filed under Adventures, Good times, KIDS., Stylefile

Hey there

It’s been a while. I’ve been a little busy. I took two classes this past couple of months, a fiction workshop at the university where I work, and guitar lessons. Both are done for now, I might resume the guitar lessons in January. Re: the fiction class, I feel like I accomplished what I set out to. I had to write, so I did. AND I let other people read and critique what I wrote without curling into a ball whilst I screamed bloody murder. I wanted to, though. Every class session my stomach would get agitated and would grumblegrumblegrumble as loud as embarrassingly possible. Every. class. session. One time people actually commented on it.  I die. So now I am enjoying some down time, which isn’t much with work and parenthood. But still! There is a sliver.

The boys are both changing in leaps and bounds. Mad Miles is almost walking, he’s pulling himself up and crawling and sitting down on his own. He just cut his first tooth, 3 months before Z got his! He loves to yank my and Andy’s hair, he actually pushes my head to the side while he’s breastfeeding to get a better grip. He pulls DVDs out on the floor, and is really good at dumping my cereal all over my lap. He also is fascinated by any room that he’s not allowed to crawl in (kitchen, bathroom).

Z’s vocabulary has doubled. He’s talking in complete sentences. He blesses me when I sneeze and tells Mad that everything is okay when he screams and cries.  He mimics everything! He actually tried to say Pachycephalosaurus yesterday. Both are incredibly needy, and they only seem to need ME. This is very stressful, because I can’t even go to the bathroom without either of them freaking out. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I bought a new skirt at Anthropologie. It has pockets. POCKETS! I would never have noticed it on the website, but I saw it in the store and LOVED it. The material is thick and warm and lovely.

I also got a new pair of rain/snow boots since my awesome pair from JCrew are far too big. They’re Tretorns and green and basically the most comfy things evar.

I recently saw the thing that is New Moon with Meg and Sara. I had to cover my face several times during the movie. It was all kinds of ridiculous. The hungry kissing, the excessive pecs, and Kristen Stewart’s FACE were just too embarrassing. Oh and Edward’s slow motion walk from his Volvo at the beginning. O_O FOR REAL TWIHARDS? I’m also trying to understand why Graham Greene thought it necessary to take on “Drunken friend who dies so that Edward could mistake his death for Bella’s and do something completely cheesy and dramatic in Italy”. There’s GOT to be something better out there for Native actors, right? RIGHT? *looks around* Oh, right. And back to KS: I swear. to God. Probably the most irritating actress ever. Keeps the hair mussing, lip biting schtick on repeat and it has got to stop!

Andy and I are watching the rest of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince tonight. I’m not feeling it just yet, maybe the last half will win me over. The problem could be that I couldn’t understand a fucking word anyone said. British people! Open your mouths and enunciate!!

The End

For next time: the glory of The Room!

//<—I hate you WordPress.

//

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Filed under Funny haha, Good times, Happy Feet, Mad Miles, Movies, My Threads, Z the Mighty

Dry Ice

So I went to Baskin Robbins to pick up an ice cream cake for my co-worker’s twenty-eighth birthday. The woman behind the counter asked, “Are you going to deposit this in a freezer in no more than ten to fifteen minutes?”

I glanced at the clock. “No, I was hoping to eat it before then. That might not happen, though.”

She gave me a look and told me that she could cover the cake in dry ice to keep it cool for a little while longer.

“Great!” I said. You can put dry ice on food? I thought. I didn’t know a lot about dry ice. I still don’t.

“Don’t touch it with your hands and put it directly in the sink,” she told me. For some odd reason, I instantly wanted to put my tongue on some dry ice, and that scared me. I tried not to look too worried. “Okay.”

When I got to the office I opened the box and looked inside. A wee bit of smoke curled up. Cool. But even as I marveled, I knew I had to get rid of that stuff quick. Who knew what I would manage to do with it? Eat it, touch it, whatever you AREN’T supposed to do with dry ice, that’s what I would do. So I grabbed a huge stack of napkins and awkwardly picked up a large chunk to deposit in a coffee mug. All of a sudden there was a ton of smoke coming off of it, a la Tales From the Crypt.  I dropped it back on the cake. I took a deep breath and tried again. I managed to get two chunks in the mug without freaking out. Then the ice started shaking a bit and making a weird noise inside the mug – a high pitched squeak. I yelped.  I found a pair of tongs in the silverware drawer and took the dry ice out of the mug and plopped it back on the cake. I finally decided to deposit the dry ice into a stack of coffee filters and then onto a basket plate. You know, protective layers. I grabbed the basket plate with the tongs and proceeded to walk through the office, out the door, and down the hall to the bathroom making sure to look very casual about my smoking plate of hellfire.

Once I got in the bathroom, I debated putting the dry ice in the toilet and flushing but I kept having images of some unlucky soul with a freezer-burned anus so I scrapped that idea. I decided to put it in the sink. I ran water over the ice to get it to melt quicker. Sooner or later the entire sink was filled with smoke, and the dry ice was vibrating again.  “Yikes!” I scooped it up with my tongs and piled it all back on my basket plate. I stared at it for a second. It wouldn’t stop smoking! I’d throw it outside, that’s what I would do. So I walked for the second time past inquisitive eyes to the trash can out in front of the building. I stuck the plate through the top of the trashcan and tilted it slightly. GOAL. Then I promptly went inside and googled how to properly dispose of dry ice. DO NOT THROW AWAY stared back at me. Whoops. I called up Housekeeping and cautioned them about smoking bags of trash.

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Filed under Funny haha, Good times

All I wanted to do was go to the effing movies

Every time someone babysits my kids I kind of freak out a little. I can count the amount of times Andy and I have left the boys in the care of someone else (not counting daycare) on one hand because we’d rather miss out on date night than worry about one of them freaking out and me/us not being there to soothe him/them. Fun with pronouns! Anyway, when Zain was three months old, Andy’s parents were in town and had agreed to babysit while we went to Andy’s company party. I told my father-in-law to hold Z facing outwards if he got upset and he’d immediately calm down. That little tidbit of information, I explained, was really all he needed. Cut to two hours later when my fil calls us at the party, little Z screaming in the background.

“He’s been crying for an hour nonstop!” my fil said. “I really think something’s wrong with him.”

“TURN HIM AROUND.” Andy coached.

“Oh, hey, it’s working!” my fil yelled (he yells a lot). “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” ARGH. The evening was shot. I kept hearing Z cry in my head long after Andy hung up the phone. My baby was crying for an HOUR?! Poor little guy. We left the party. Did we overreact? Sure. But we were new parents! You know how it is.

So now every time someone babysits for us, I immediately plan for the worst. “If Zain completely flips out you can try A, B, and C…” I basically freak the babysitter the fuck out before the night’s even begun. You know, start the night off on the right foot and all that. Just trying to do my part. Of course, wouldn’t you know it, Z and Mad were perfect angels. I like to think it was the 2 mile walk that I forced us all to take beforehand that left Z tuckered out and complaisant.

So Andy and I made our way to the theatre sweaty and anxious. Our first roadblock, literally, was that the 405-S was closed that day. We kind of knew this, but we hoped that roadwork had finished the day before and decided to take a chance. Which is probably not the best course of action when you’ve only got ten minutes to spare. YEP. We doubled back the way we came and took the super annoying detour route to our destination. I checked my watch. We were going to miss the previews. Meh. I could live with that, since I watch them all on apple.com anyway. We park.  We figure that since it’s Sunday, we don’t have to pay for a parking sticker. NOPE. As of July 31st or somesuch nonsense, the city of Portland decided to bend us all over and … you get the idea. But HUH? We have to pay for parking on Sundays now? WHAT?! Way to suck Portland. So we go to the machine to buy said sticker. It is broken. We go across the street. It too is broken. We go a block over. The sad song continues, until we finally manage to track down a working machine what felt like ten minutes later. Then we book it to the theatre. THE MOVIE HAD ALREADY STARTED. This irritated me to no end. But I moved on and laughed and cringed and laughed some more.

Got back to the car and guess what? A lovely yellow envelope lay beneath our windshield wipers. Every car on the car sported one, their owners having decided that a broken machine meant they got a free pass. NOPE. And when we pulled the ticket from the envelope? We noticed that we weren’t even ticketed for going over our time limit. One of our tags had fallen off. So basically, Mr/s Douchebag  had to have a full set. Can’t have one car without a ticket!

So many shades of lame!

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Filed under Good times, Portland, Rant, Truly?

What's in a name?

This book sucks

This book sucks

Z is obsessed with the alphabet. OBSESSED. He knows at least half of the letters so far (if not more), genius that he is. And you can’t read a book to him without him either cutting you off and insisting that you tell him exactly what EVERYTHING is (even things that I can’t really define….what is that? A thingamajig? Ummm…that’s a shadow.) or incessantly repeating a word until you echo it, even though you thought you’d already moved on. He will not move on unless he’s damn good and ready, and with each utterance of the word his pronunciation gets even more adorable.

“Apple! A-pple! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaapple! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPLE!”

“Yes! Apple. That’s good sweetie. Okay, B is for bus…”

He’s having a hard time with Q since it looks like an O, but I could have sworn I heard something resembling a Q today. YES! I’m thinking of buying some alphabet cards to put on the wall in his room, he’ll love that.

He’s also getting better about calling animals by their names and not simply calling anything and everything a dog. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves: most things are still dogs. Everything in a Dr. Seuss book is probably a dog, since there literally is the lack of a better word. Or it might be a bird. He likes birds. One day when we were on a walk around the neighborhood (FINALLY got a double stroller – I love it!) We had to stop and stare for about five minutes at a crow collecting twigs and stuff for it’s nest while Z screeched “Birrrrd. BIIIIIRD.” The thing finally flew away and Z kept twisting around to look for it so I said, “Bye bye birdie.” to signal that it was time to move on. Now every time he sees a bird he says, “Buh-bye. Buh-bye birdie. Buh-bye.” Precious? Indubitably.

Watch me segue:

Speaking of proper names, I would never have thought Madrox would be so darn hard for everyone to pronounce. Really people? This was an honest to God exchange between me and my step-mil:

MIL: So it’s….Mad Rocks?

Me: Ma-drox.

MIL: Mad Rocks?

Me: Madrox.

MIL: Mad Rocks?

Me: *sigh* Just call him Mad.

FIL: *barks out a laugh* Mad?! Really! Mad? That’s CRAZY TALK.

Um. Yeeeeeeah. I hope he never has a friend named Richard.

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Filed under Funny haha, Good times, Mad Miles, Truly?, Z the Mighty