The Damn Move

We've been busting our tails getting stuff unpacked and put away because cardboard boxes are not conducive to a peaceful evening with a 2 year old ("What in that box, Mama?  Oh.  What in THAT box, Mama?  Oh.  OK.  Is that Ava's box?  Is that my box?  Can I have that box?").  Really all that's left is hanging pictures and figuring out where we can put breakable stuff so that it's far enough out of reach so as not to prove its breakability but not so far that it might as well just stay in the box.

The move itself was pretty easy.  The movers showed up on time, and they had loaded, moved, unloaded, and placed our furniture by 1:00.  We just kind of stood there and pointed where we wanted stuff to be.  Professional movers are totally categorized as Money Well-Spent, because while it wasn't cheap, it sure was nice to not have to empty any drawers or schlep a couch up the stairs.

So now we're just adjusting to our new digs.  It's awesome.  It's so amazing that I'm waiting for someone to show up and say "Oh, we were just kidding.  You can't live here."  Our neighbors are incredible--Ava's already got the little boy next door wrapped around her finger.  His mom gave us a scooter that he's outgrown, and we were stunned by the offhand kindness.  It was No Big Deal to her, and after 5 years of having assholes and deadbeats on all sides, we were just blown away.  The families on our street all know each other, too, so we're meeting them all.

Ava's got a playroom that has room for her own table and a play kitchen and whatever else we want to put in there.  My commute is now 25 easy minutes instead of 45+ clenchy ones.  Our grocery store was just voted Best of Las Vegas, and it's like a reasonably-priced Whole Foods.  The view out our bedroom windows is of mountains and sky.  We can see stars at night.  It just goes on and on.  

Don't even get me started on having more room--not just more room, but more SPACE in the house.  We evidently had 2300 square feet of furniture in our 1400 square feet--no wonder we were all crowdy!  And while we're on the topic of our 1400 square foot charmer, please say a prayer and bury your St Joseph statue upside-down in the yard, because it's in escrow.  Keep your fingers crossed.

It all feels very normal, like this is where we're supposed to be.  We're still learning how to use the thermostat (OMG it was 65 degrees and blowing cold air this morning) because I think the upstairs one is busted, and it takes me probably 3 tries to find the right lightswitch, but this is probably the best decision we've ever made.  Sure, we've moved to the Land of Black Escalades and Fancy Obscure Purebred Dogs, and sometimes I feel like Marisa Tomei because yeah, I blend. 

Mooooovin' on up!

So one day a couple of months ago, I realized that my commute made me want to kill myself.

Well, not really, but that drive is really a terrible way to start and end one's day.  The daily traffic report was usually just a narration of what was in store for me.  An hour after I left home in the morning, I arrived at my office.  An hour or more after I left my office in the evening, I would get home.  We've been eating dinner at 6:30 every night, and that makes the rest of the evening rushed and hectic.

We're in the northwest part of town, which is lovely, but it's just such a pain in the ass to get just about anywhere.  We started talking about where else in town we could live.  After an exhaustive two-week search, we found a house.  Not only am I shaving 15 miles off my commute (EACH FREAKING WAY), but Rob is knocking 15 miles off his frequent shleps to the airport AND we're gaining 1000 square feet of house.

WIN!

It's happened pretty quickly.  We're likely going to close on the new (to us) house on March 31.  We're looking to move  the 2nd weekend of April.  This means that we have approximately 40 days to put all of our stuff in boxes.  Anyone who knows me knows that I've already started packing.  Anyone who REALLY knows me knows that I have a packing schedule laid out and that I have a spreadsheet of where stuff will go in the new house.  Anyone who has to live with me just shakes his head and lets me go on with my bad self, and he'll thank me in two months when we've executed a stress-free relocation.

So that's the news.  It's very exciting, and we think we've found a really lovely place where our little family can settle and thrive.  It will also be very nice to gain back one entire hour every single day that can be spent doing something other than flipping off assholes in traffic commuting.

Insanity Ensues

So, it's become apparent that we are nuts (it's also nuts that we are parents, but that's another posting...).

It began just like any other Saturday. Breakfast in jammies, assessment of the day to come, and so on. We'll be needing to wash the Honda; that can be our pre-nap outing. While we're out, Rob said, "why don't we go to Petco so Ava can visit the kitties and the fish?" They evidently did this last weekend while I was swilling martinis in San Francisco with the girls, and it was a big hit. All right then.

Petco has adoption events on Saturdays. Just FYI.

So we look at the kittens, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves kittens. And then we look at the fishies, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves fishies. And then we go over to look at the parakeets and cockawhatevertheyares, and Ava gets all squealy etc. etc. etc.

And then I go into the dog grooming area where the Humane Society has two pens set up, one with big dogs and one with small dogs. I don't look at the small dogs (really, why would I?). But I walk over to the big dogs, and I start reading the flyers they have posted on the gate. There's a bassett/beagle mix, which doesn't tempt me because that equals "howls and digs". And there's a shepherd mix, who is cute, but.... eh.

And then there's this other dog hanging back a bit. She's got a friendly face and a wagging tail. And she looks at me.

And I'm a sucker. And I'm in tears. Because I'm a sucker.

I read her story. "Pebbles is an 8-year-old Rottweiler. She is housetrained, and prefers to be inside. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed. She is good with other dogs, cats, and kids. " And I'm a mess. So I wander over to Rob and Ava (over by the fishies...) and Rob sees me and he KNOWS that Something has Happened.

"There's this dog...," I say. "And she looks so sweet. Go see her."

So now we have a dog. Pebbles, the 8-year-old Rottweiler, to be specific.


She's very happy to be with us. She has had a bath and brushing, and lots of water. And some worming tablets (there was some scooting). She's very calm. She's getting used to being here. She was surrendered by her previous family just a week ago--it's likely that they are one of the thousands in town who have lost their home to foreclosure and were forced to give her up when they moved into an apartment or other non-dog-friendly sort of place. She seems like a very good girl.

Ava loves her. Oh, Ava loves doggies so much, and now we have one in our home. I don't think she remembers much about Gracie (oh, poor Gracie...), but whenever she sees a dog, she wants to pet it and touch it and love it. So she's figuring out how to handle having a big (and rather fat) dog to pet and love at her whim. There have been a couple of wrinkly lip almost-but-not-quite-snarls that were the result of Too Much Love and Not Enough Personal Space. We're keeping a very VERY close eye on Pebbles and Ava both. Without being too Dog Whispery, we are already an established pack, and it's important that Pebbles understand her place in it. We think she will.

She's got some habits that we can already tell we're going to have to help her break. She's used to people food, we think, as she was very.very.very.very. interested in everything we've eaten and she hasn't touched her kibble. That explains the 20 extra pounds she's carrying. She's definitely housetrained, and she even knows to go to the door when It's Time To Go Outside. She knows her name, and that's kind of a bummer, because we're not really the sort of people who would name a dog "Pebbles" but whatever. She can be Pebbles if she wants to. She'll lay down and come when we tell her to. That's really all we need.

Right now, she's asleep in the middle of the living room, and she's very snorty about it. The absolute comfort that can be identified from the snore of a happy dog is something that is wonderful to behold. And really, I hated not having a dog. It's only been 6 months since we lost Gracie, and it's been so quiet (and clean, but mostly quiet) without a dog at all. I feel like we did a really good thing today. We'll give her a good home, and in return, she'll be a good dog.

Six Flags Over Vegas

So, recently, Rob and I were pondering how best to utilize our rather impressive, if small, back yard now that we have a child. Back yards exist for two reasons: Dogs and kids. Sadly, we said good-bye to Gracie this past winter. She was old and it was time and we miss her terribly.

However, now we have a back yard that is entirely without doggie bombs. Whatever shall we do with that awesome space? Why, I think we'll establish ourselves as.... THE COOLEST PARENTS IN THE WORLD.

Behold:



Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Our kid has her very own roller coaster.

We have big plans for converting it into a water park during the upcoming Hotter-Than-The-Surface-Of-The-Sun months. This, combined with her Sand and Water Table...


...make her the envy of the neighborhood, and doubtless the hottest playdate location in town.

Spoiled? Nah.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Baby Gear

Yesterday was my shower. I don't consider myself as someone who is into stuff like that. Other people's showers have always been fun, but not generally something that I've really gotten into. Being on the other side of it, in the midst of all of our preparations and the Big Discussions that are happening right now about what's going on and how we'll proceed have put the concept of Baby Shower into a whole new light.

There is nothing as optimistic, as hopeful, as wistful, as sympathetic as a baby shower. Women (not men--more on that in a minute) at all stages of life get together to give not only gifts, but advice and support based on their experiences. They tell stories that have no other suitable audience than other shower guests. The stories are intimate, funny, terrifying, and they create bonds between women who may have not much else in common. You learn things about your friends and their relationships that may not otherwise be revealed in any other situation. Heirlooms are passed along--either cherished family items that you have seen in pictures for years, or something as simple as your friend's diaper caddy basket that she is done with and knows how handy it will be for you.

Men do not belong at baby showers. They just don't get it. Even great dads who are 100% hands-on and they take other dads under their wings and give great advice, have no place at a baby shower. I've been to co-ed showers, both for babies and for weddings, and the men invariably flee into the other room to talk about anything besides weddings or babies and maybe watch some sports. No, showers belong to women.

My guests were my friends who are better sisters to me than my actual sister ever tried to be, my in-laws who have welcomed me into their family, a newlywed wife of just over a month, grandmothers, mothers of older kids and toddlers, mothers who won't have more kids and mothers who just might. They talked about how to get through those first treacherous weeks and what helped them do it. They compared notes (special wipes or regular wipes--there was a moment of tension over this one...) and drank wine and gave me an amazing afternoon.

One of my dearest friends made me a cake out of diapers. I had heard of such a thing, but I thought it was an urban myth. Ro, if you see this, the memory of those two tiers of rolled-up diapers (and bibs and hooded towel) will make me smile for years to come. My friend Kathy came down for the weekend and helped me sort through the gifts and put together a list of what we'll need to pick up (um, we don't own a single bottle...) and what we have plenty of (washcloths). She's going to send down her Pack & Play that will serve as a bassinette for the first few weeks. Tina offered up her expertise on helping me shop for nursing gear, and Katie made a stack of be-ribboned burp cloths that I am hesitant to use but I know they will come in handy. Everyone gave something that struck them as necessary, either by its cuteness (onesies with ladybugs on them? CUTE!), its convenience (a sterilizer that goes in the microwave!) or its faith (a wall-hanging with a prayer on it that will be the first thing seen as you walk into the room).

We probably have about 3 weeks left before the baby is born. We know that we're about to have life as we know it become almost entirely rearranged. We are surrounded by people who are itching to help us get through it. And we can't wait.

No news, but progress is being made.

Last week's appointment was a check up--more for me than for Speck, actually. We checked the heartbeat, which was solid and steady. Most of the time was spent on how I'm doing. For the last 4 months we've been focusing on Speck's health and it was weird to be thinking about my own again. Blood pressure is important right now--if it's too high it can be an indicator of something being wrong, and it can also be a risk factor in itself for all sorts of bad things. Mine is good. She also measured my belly, which can be affected if Speck is growing too large. While we want a good-sized healthy baby (not too big, mind you...), if the baby is growing too quickly it can be a sign of gestational diabetes. We want to avoid that :). But all is well. We didn't find out the sex, as she just used a Doppler to find the heartbeat. I'll have a series of ultrasounds at the perinatalogist this week and we *should* know after that. They make no promises and therefore we don't either.

In other news, we did make our first Big Purchase, as far as equipment goes. We bought a stroller and car seat.

Very exciting, right? Judging by the shape of the box, we're predicting that Some Assembly is Required. Let the fun begin!