Wes and I were shopping at Costco on Saturday….

(Hold on a minute.  Doesn’t that just sound so adult?  Like something we do all the time?  Because we are down with buying in bulk and totally blasé about the whole thing now?  In reality, this was our fourth trip.  The first three trips we took together after getting our membership were spent having Wes show me around and having me try to cope with doing math and deal with impatient crowds simultaneously)

…and we happened to be there at the same time as Sig Hansen of Deadliest Catch fame.  Sig’s a minor celebrity in Seattle, because that happens to be where he lives when he’s not motoring across the Bering Sea in search of crab.  I hear tell he’s even raised the flag at a few Seahawks games.

Wes and I recently started watching Deadliest Catch and like it pretty well.  Before I’d seen the show, I’d had no idea how they were going to stretch a bunch of guys going fishing into a whole show, but I think they do a good job.  The show’s worth watching if for no other reason than that’s the only place you’re ever likely to see weather like that.

Anyway, Wes and I complete our shopping and, while we’re rolling our 2,000 lb shopping cart full of good bargains out the door, Wes asks if I can handle the cart so he can dash over to snap a picture of Sig.  I acquiesce and stand outside waiting for Wes to return.

Now, I fully admit to thinking it’s interesting to see someone from TV live and in the flesh.  I do not, however, think that all celebrities are created equal.  I mean, I’m sure Sig’s an interesting guy with some fun stories, but do I want to make it a point to walk up to him and shower him with my adulation and thanks?  No, I do not.

Why?  Because the guy’s just doing his job, man.  He’s not saving lives (unless you count bringing his crew inside during storms), he’s catching crab.  Would I go out for drinks with the guy?  Absolutely.  Would I stand in line for hours to get his autograph so I can say I’ve met him in person?  Nope.

There are, however, some celebrities I would love to meet in person.  Above all I’d love to take them out to dinner so I can ask them questions and enjoy their company, but shoot, I’d even settle for a lowly photo op with them.  Here’s my list:

  • Jennifer Lancaster.  I would take this woman out for drinks in a heartbeat.  A perfect day would be spent taking her dogs for a walk together, watching trashy television, then eating too much food and drinking too much wine before watching the Big Lebowski.
  • Matthew Bellamy.  I would pay good money to listen to him play piano live, and then come out for drinks and a rousing discussion about space exploration and revolution.  Ideally, I’d be fantastically rich and he’d come play piano for me in my parlor, after which a butler would serve us drinks on the veranda while he showed Wes a few cool new guitar tricks.

Maybe it’s because I’m tired, or maybe I just lack imagination, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d seriously love to meet in person.  What about you?  Who would you love to meet?  Maybe I can crib from your list…

A Day In the Life of a Stay at Home Mom

Have you ever had one of those days where you worked your tail off and ran around like a crazy person all day, and then when someone asked you what you did that day it all came out sounding like not very much at all?  I kind of feel like that’s every day of being a stay at home mom.

I mean, a typical day looks a lot like this:

  • Baby wakes me up via talking sounds over the monitor.  Walk into nursery to find Aidan smiling and talking to the flying koopa above his crib.
  • Change baby, get dressed, make bed, make breakfast, then feed baby while eating breakfast.  Wipe crumbs off his head.
  • Play with baby for about an hour.  This entails tummy time, reading books, going for walks, staring at the ceiling, running errands, cleaning the house, laundry, etc.
  • First nap time, which can and will only ever happen in my arms.  I spend this hour holding the baby with one hand, reading and not commenting on blogs with my other hand (I hate one-handed typing!).
  • Baby wakes up, change baby, feed baby, play time!
  • Second nap, which can and will only ever happen in his swing.  During this hour I clock into work for what I hope will be a solid uninterrupted hour of working time.  This rarely happens, but I still hope for it every day.
  • Change and feed awake baby, make dinner, welcome husband home, eatdinnerwatchTVfeedbabyputbabytobedshowerbedtimeforme (evenings always go by in a blur).

So, obviously I don’t do nothing.  Why, then, do I never have a response when people ask me what I do all day?  I guess I could say, “I kept a tiny human alive and ran my household like a rock star” but that would probably only result in even more strange looks from those who are silly enough to ask me that question.

Clearly the only people who would ask a stay at home what she does all day are people who have never had babies…

Hello, Mr. Milkman

Wes and I have a milkman.  A man who arrives every Wednesday in a truck that’s painted like a cow.  A man who drops off milk right at our doorstep.  A real, genuine, dyed-in-the-wool milkman.

We just signed up for it, as a matter of fact.  For the last four years I’ve bought our dairy products faithfully at the store, and almost every week Wes has complained about how lame those dairy products have been compared to the dairy of his youth.

I discounted Wes’ greener pastures of youth dairy products out of hand because, well, my family always bought milk at the store.  That’s where milk comes from.  In fact, when I was little, I thought they kept cows in the back of the store behind those swishy doors they always have by the refrigerated dairy section.

So, that’s how it was.  I bought milk at the grocery store and Wes complained.

Then, he went to the farmer’s market all by himself and came back with Information.  Information about the evils of grocery store milk.  Horrifying stuff about how it’s usually months old by the time it gets to the shelf, that it’s so pasteurized that it barely has any nutrients left in it, that it has other growth hormones besides just the rBST kind.

I was summarily grossed out (months-old milk!) and resolved to go to the farmer’s market myself just to see what all the fuss was about.  The local milk farm representative was there handing out samples, so I took a swig.

And oh my goodness.  WHAT A DIFFERENCE!!!

I’ve never been a fan of straight-up milk.  But this milk?  This milk was ambrosia.

Not only was it a lot tastier, but it was nearly the same cost.  And it gets delivered by a milkman!  I was sold.

And that’s the story of how we came to have a milkman.  I just think that’s so novel.  So old-fashioned.  The milk comes in regular old cartons, not glass bottles, but still.  We have a milkman!

Weekend Win!

Aidan at the farmer's market. Of course, Aidan was far more interested in his tasty knuckles than in the fresh local produce.

Aidan at the farmer's market. Of course, Aidan was far more interested in his tasty knuckles than in the fresh local produce.

Can I just say that my husband is awesome?  I can, can’t I?  Because if I can’t, then why the heck am I paying to host this blog?  Down with censorship!

Jeeze, easily distracted much?

All distractedness aside, Wes is awesome.  We spent some seriously fun time together as a family this weekend and it was bliss.  On Friday we decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo in honor of my late father.

My Dad loved Cinco de Mayo (he was a phenomenal cook, and his favorite kind of food to make was Mexican food) and he also loved The Big Lebowski (he loved that movie so much that at his request we carried his ashes around in a coffee can until we could spread them in the ocean), so we whipped up some White Russians and tamales and had a fan-freaking-tastic evening.

Yes, I cried at the end of the movie, and cried even more when we watched the slideshow of his life my aunts made for his memorial.  But, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to cry because you miss someone you love.  It felt nice to spend an evening enjoying the things he enjoyed, and I’m really glad Wes was willing to share it with me.

On Saturday we took Aidan to the local farmer’s market for the first time.  I don’t know what the farmer’s markets are like in your area, but ours is pretty fantastic.  Lots of fun, food, and festivity.

We bought some fresh asparagus, potatoes, and English toffee, and then stopped by Costco to buy some crab-stuffed salmon.  Wes then proceeded to make me a special Mother’s Day dinner the likes of which has not been seen this side of a 5-star restaurant.  De-LISH!

Of course Sunday was Mother’s Day, and it was a lovely time.  Wes gave me an incredibly thoughtful gift and I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you what it is: A silver ring with an amethyst (Aidan’s birthstone).  I wear it on my right ring finger and it looks perfect there.  Such a thoughtful gift!  Now I have a ring to celebrate the day I became a wife (my wedding ring) and a ring for the day I became a mother.

Now it’s Monday.  And I’m kinda sad.  It was such a fun weekend, why did it have to go and end?

Finger Punch

The following may shock some of you, because it’s real, yo.

Wes and I don’t always agree.

I’ll give you a moment to fan yourself with your lace kerchief before I continue.  Do you need a fainting couch?  Perhaps some smelling salts?  No?  Ok, onwards!

Wes and I were chatting while falling asleep the other day when an Issue emerged.  Something we didn’t agree on, and now we’re seeking couples counseling via the Internet.

The Issue was over whether or not a poke can be considered a finger punch (you know, like a punch but with just the one finger instead of the whole fist).  I’m a strong proponent of the idea that yes, a poke can be considered a finger punch.  No one would ever say finger punch over poke, of course, because finger punch is a lot more work to say, but regardless of its expediency I still argue that poke = finger punch.

Wes thinks this is pure drivel.  He refused to explain how a poke could intrinsically differ from a finger punch, simply stating that I was being silly and should go to sleep.

I’ll not let this rest, though.  I need resolution.  So, even though you guys normally side with Wes when we do polls, I’m going to open this up to you to help us decide.

[poll id=”17″]