Comin' Awful Fast

GOAL: Get this post written in 40 minutes or less without being distracted by evil facebook and/or random meaningless pages (have you not been to awkwardfamilyphotos.com?) so I can get more than 6 hours of sleep.

For once.

Not that anything exciting or terribly interesting happened today, but I have a compulsive need to document the inane details of my life. Psychologists might say I'm trying to add meaning to my existence by projecting importance on unimportant events, but they also say stuff like "id" and "you talk too much" and I've never paid attention to either of those...so ONWARD!

I busted out of work not a minute past 5 (just call me Accounting...haha, I JEST) so I could make it to daycare by the sacred 6 o'clock, after which all children turn to pumpkins. Adam had an away football game, ironically in Hometown where I work, so I passed the football field on my way home to pick up Ryan.

It was such a nice day out again that I decided Ryan should quick eat supper so we could go for a stroller ride. For those of you who don't have kids, "quick" leaves your lexicon the minute you become a parent. Parenting gives new meaning to the phrase, "T-t-t-t-today, Junior." I have no idea what movie that is from...all I know is that it isn't Tommy Boy because it is one of the few phrases we use in our house that isn't. If you created a pie chart of all quotes used in our house, it would probably look like this:

Getting supper for Ryan has become a bit of a challenge now that he is supposed to be eating food more challenging than Stage 2 Baby Food (good-bye, Easy) but hasn't hit that magical 1-yr mark where more things are fair game.  He can't really eat what we're eating all the time because my menu plan for this week includes three choices:
1. Potato Chowder (which he hates and scrapes out of his mouth like he accidentally started chewing cotton balls, dryer sheets and tin foil)
2. Spicy Beef Stew (which is too hot and spicy, even for me and would burn his mouth)
3. Whatever else you can find (e.g. Fruit Loops or Pizza Rolls)

He usually ends up with some weird combination of colors, textures, and temperatures that ultimately end up being smashed together, stuffed in his mouth, then retreating to the pocket of his bib.  One night it might be a starter of Cheerios (he is not patient) followed by a Watermelon chunk appetizer, a main course of toasted cheese squares with yogurt, and an after dinner game of "Drop the Sippy Cup".  That's a good night.  It should be no surprise that he is thriving on odd combos since his mother has been known to dine on Honey Nut Cheerios with steamed broccoli or popcorn shrimp with chocolate milk.

We finally took our walk with the dog and he pointed, babbled, and waved throughout the stroll. He loves taking off his hat and feeling the wind in his hair but looks like a rumpled old man by the time we get home. I think it's time for his first official hair cut (coming soon!)

Nika was none-too-cooperative as she felt the need to run for most of the walk, causing me to have to hang on to the stroller for dear life, lest she take off with Ryan into the sunset. She also has the annoying habit of feeling the "urge" approximately one half-block from home. And once that train has left the station, there is nothing you can do but sheepishly wait with your grocery bag on your hand, ready to pick up her business off the Lutheran church lawn (SORRY!), tie it up, and take it home to the garbage. It's humbling, really, to have to pick up after another animal's excrement, especially one that has no real purpose of being raised in your home other than your own supposed enjoyment. The cycle is insanity. 1. Buy dog food. 2. Feed dog. 3. Wait for nature. 4. Pick up dog food in its more "fully processed form."  I literally pay money to pick up poop.

It was not always this way, my friends. There was a day about a dozen years ago that someone paid ME to pick up poop instead of the other way around. And I had a skidloader, not some measly plastic grocery bag that SURPRISE! may or may not have a hole in it. I'm still a little bitter that the minimum wage didn't get raised until I got my first non-minimum wage job, so I'm pretty sure I was cleaning out freestall barns for about $6 but it's better than paying $54/bag for food that you're eventually going to have to pick up while trying not to gag.

We hurried home quickly because GLEE! and Biggest Loser! Premier Week! The conspiracy of network TV to cause every 20-something in America to immediately regret not having TiVo!  I refuse to allow myself the luxury of TiVo because I am a cheapskate, although it would probably be useful for those few shows that fall before Ryan's bedtime and are impossible to watch on Fox online because the buffering is enough to break the spirit of even the hardest-core Gleek who missed last year's season finale.  These two aren't the best shows to have on while Ryan is awake, so it was a good thing Adam came home to play with him. Although early exposure to fitness coaching and show tunes have been proven to turn out some of the best football players or people who get beat up by them. So, win-lose. Or win-win-win, as Michael Scott would say as he moderates a dispute between Oscar and Angela over a "babies playing instruments" poster.

We're right on track with that quotes pie chart (see title if you you're wondering where the green slice is), but not on track to get to bed on time so I'm going to hurry HURRY up and say the night ended with my deciding the dishwasher wasn't full enough to justify running it just to avoid washing 5-part baby bottles by hand so I, in my infinite wisdom and quest for efficiency, decided to bake rhubarb muffins at 8:30 just so there were enough dishes to run the dishwasher. The muffins sank in the middle and the edges stuck to the pan, as always, but they were still delish. Both of them.

And they sure beat the chowder.

G'night!