I Like To Move It Move It

Hello Blogstalkers,

So maybe you've noticed if you've tried to comment lately that you are no longer allowed to do so anonymously.  This is because I was getting approximately one million SPAM comments a day and while my filter was snapping most of them up before they actually posted, I was still getting an email per comment, as I do with each and every comment anyone makes on this site.

And sometimes it would get annoying in the morning to see that I had 317 emails alerting me to blog comments and be all like, "I've gotten popular overnight!" and "No time to check these emails, must just quickly send letter to husband to let him know I'm a sensation and he should prepare to be recognized in the streets"... and then realize that 300 of the emails were SPAM comments informing me on the subject of things like lubrication.**

And that one of the other 17 was a reminder email that I had sent myself the night before that said, "Still not famous huh?" and "I certainly hope you didn't freak out about being famous again this morning only to realize you were just being spammed.  Because that would be embarrassing for you."

Which all just meant that instead of my day starting with toast smeared with nutella and marshmallow fluff, like a morning should start, it began with me shouting "If you don't stop with these hateful comments I'm going to block you altogether!"  To myself.

**And not even useful things about lubrication.  Because that week the dogs were both sick I could have used a good lube tip or two.  Like "If you are having someone coming over to your house to measure for blinds today you probably should remove the KY (which I use for temperature taking), bowl of boiled chicken and iPad tuned to Curious George from your kitchen counter lest the blinds person see it and think you eat cold chicken, watch monkey cartoons and then do sex things.  THAT IS NOT THE LIFE OF A STAY AT HOME MOM, SIR.  I mean, I wish.

But anyway, I digress from the original purpose of this post.  Which was to tell you about what happened yesterday.  Namely, I was unpacking the last couple of boxes in the basement from when we moved this Spring and I came across this:


So of course at first I was intrigued and quickly opened the white box to see what was inside.  Was it potatoes?  No it was not.  It was photos.  The brown box was correctly labeled and also held photographs so this was not an ol' switcheroo situation in which Ryan tried to prank me by putting his potatoes in the box labeled photos and vice versa.

So after that I took a step back and considered the situation.  At first I was like, "If there are photos in both of these boxes then where are the potatoes?"  And then I was like, "It's shameful to be your brain sometimes, you know that?"

But as I eventually figured, one of two things was going on.  Ryan had written potatoes on the box to try to be funny or Ryan had been trying to write 'photos' but was caught up thinking about dinner or something and had accidentally written 'potatoes'.  I was so sure it was the second one that I called Ryan to the basement and laughed at how dumb he is to his face.

I was all, "That's your new nickname! Ryan Potatoes!" And in my head I was making plans to gather the dogs and Fiona into our bed the next morning and jump on him and shout "MASHED POTATOES!"

Until he pointed out that it wasn't his handwriting on the white box.

It was mine.

At first I tried being defensive.  "Don't try to blame this on me, POTATOES."

But eventually I had to admit that I was indeed the one that had done the writing.

And I can not for the life of me remember why. (I'm blaming it on the fact that I was tired because of the new baby.)

But it did give me some inspiration for future moves.  Because I'd really like to see how a team of movers would react if all the boxes were labeled things like: "Left Socks" and "Rap Music CDs (Box 3 of 7)" and "Mouses - Computer" and "Mouses - Other" and "Lauren - Science Medals" and "Ryan - Science Medals - This Box Is Empty".

But for now, I'm off to bed.  Ryan and I both have early alarms tomorrow morning.

Mine looks like this:

Tater Tot.


Ryan's used to look like this:

That is a glare, not dust.  

Now it looks like this:

(As explained by THIS POST and THIS POST)
Poor poor Potatoes.

The Time's Come To Play, Here In My Garden of Enchantments

Happy 99 Days Until Christmas Blogstalkers! (But I promise no Christmas posts for a quite a while yet)

I know!  It's almost Back To Yule time.  Practically time for me to start warming up the ol' Fa La Las and for Ryan to start googling "Egg Nog Recipe, Lots of Alcohol".

As exciting as all of that is though, first we have more pressing holidays to discuss.  Namely, Halloween.  Remember when I laid out my plan to get Ryan into the spirit of things?  Well today I thought I'd give you a brief update on how it's been going.

Let's jump right in then.

Sometimes Ryan rides his bike to the train.  His lock is very high tech.  It makes beeping noises and I think it has a small computer inside of it.  Computers can be hacked though so I decided to up his safety game with a new bike lock.  Because sometimes a tried and true method is the way to go.

There.  That'll keep out dirty hackers.

Add caption
Dirty hack-sawers, maybe less so.


Two Saturdays ago Ryan decided to bring Fiona to her very first Northwestern Wildcats football game.  It's always important to wear the appropriate gear to these games.


So I got Fiona dressed while Ryan went to get himself all outfitted.  I could hear him singing the Northwestern fight song to himself as he marched to the closet to grab his lucky hat.


Then I heard him stop singing.

He didn't wear either hat.  I can understand that maybe the small top hat was too formal for this particular occasion but I saw no problem with the other hat.  It was even the right colors.
 Each night, after Fiona is abed and dinner been cleared away, Ryan and I invariably end up watching terrible television (Hello Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Camp) and I invariably end up forgetting my glasses upstairs on my dresser.  And I am always like, "Ryan be a lamb and get my glasses for me."  And then he usually does.  Sometimes he pretends like he's not going to do it and I have to be all, "I'll time you, see if you can beat your time from last night,"  Then he'll run as fast as he can upstairs and grab the glasses and scamper back down while I think, "Ryan is such a child.  I wish he would be more of a grown up like me sometimes."  And then he's all, "How fast was that?"  And I'm like, "Uhhh one minute?"  And he's all, "Damn, same exact time as yesterday."

One night last week, this is what he found:


Because he is still pretending that this game I am playing does not exist, he just brought my new glasses down to me.  And then I had to wear them all night.  And pretend like I was just wearing my regular glasses.  Which was really hard because I can not see anything without my regular glasses.  It took a lot of commitment. Ryan is always saying I need to be more committed (or something like that) but it turns out he's wrong.  I have commitment in spades, RYAN.

Duckface Groucho Marx Selfie.  It's a new thing everyone is doing.
Also wearing those glasses made it difficult for me to not quote Groucho Marx all night.  Like when I went to bed I was all, "Ryan, I'm off to sleep.  I've had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it."  And he was like, "What? That was rude.

But moving on,

Ryan gets up in the middle of the night almost every night when an alarm goes off to tell him that something or other is happening with the financial markets.  He blearily heads to the bathroom to get a drink of water and wake up a little before heading to the computer.  Last night I waited until he was asleep then set my trap.  Sure enough at three-something AM, an alarm trumpeted and Ryan stumbled out of bed into the bathroom.

And then he was all, "Ahhh what the!? It went in my mouth a little!"

Sleepily from the bed I mumbled, "That's what she said."
To better see what he was dealing with, he flipped on the light.  And then I heard a delicate whimper-scream that should only ever come out of the mouth of like..an Elizabethan porcelain doll.  It was all, "Gaaaa hoooo".

Because this:

I put it at exactly his eye level too, so it basically just turns his face into a skeleton face.
I've also scattered tiny ravens where he will definitely see them.



Replaced his keys.


Got him a new water bottle.  (And some Autumn-y beer.  I was feeling a little bad for him that day.) 


And one day I spent an hour doing this to all of our hanging pictures:








Oh and tonight?  I've installed a clapper on his bedside light.  I''ll have to tell him about it of course.  "Darling I did it for your peace of mind.  This way no ghouls or skeletons or other things that go bump in the night can catch you in the dark again."  Then I'll wait until I see him about to clap to turn his light off.

And I'll quickly be all, "Da da da da."  Before his - (*Clap Clap*)

And with the light off I'll whisper, "The Addams Family!"




P.S. Can't get enough of me?  Then check out my writing elsewhere.

An article about important things like lying, and candy.

Mostly Wordless Wednesday - Scare Tactics

Hi Blogstalkers,

As you all know very well, Ryan is a cantankerous sort of person.  I have suspicions that he is getting more ornery as the years pass and I have moments where I drift into a daydream about our future and us growing old together and it is the movie Dennis the Menace.

Usually he reserves holiday-dyspeptic attitude for Christmas but this year he's a special kind of crotchety and he's being rude about Halloween as well.  He's being total pumpkin grinch.  Or a "grumpkin" if you will.  He's all, "Why is there candy corn out already!?" (IS IT REALLY!!! OH MY GOSH!!!) And "Did you seriously already buy candy corn?" (I should have bought stock in candy corn I bought so much candy corn)  And "Why is there a bowl of corn on the cob on the coffee table?" (So NO type of corn is appropriate then RYAN?)

So I've devised a way to get him into the Autumn Holiday spirit.  Out of niceness and nothing else.  If instead it makes him fume then that is entirely his problem because I am just doing this to be nice.

Though I suspect, and so far I have been correct about this, that he will just totally ignore the entire thing and pretend like nothing is happening.

So here's the plan:  Every day, starting with September 1st and continuing on until October 31st I will replace one item that Ryan uses daily with one fall or Halloween themed item.  Let me explain a little bit better with pictures.

September 1st:

He sometimes does crossword puzzles or sudoku on the train.  This is the only writing implement I left in his bag.
September 2nd:

His bedside table.  I saw him give this one a side eye but he kept his mouth shut.  He definitely now knows that something is up though.
 I have TONS of ideas but because this is a 61 day project I'm starting out really small and building slowly.  Here's a glimpse of some of my extensive research. (AKA going to Target and Homegoods all the time.)

New soap dispenser.  For scaring away germs.


"Ryan could you get the garage swept today?"


He wears t-shirts every single day.  It would be a shame if all his t-shirts were dirty at the same time except for these two t-shirts and maybe another t-shirt that makes him look like a teenage mutant ninja turtle. (I have to think this one through though because it could backfire and just result in an entire day with no shirts and I couldn't say anything about it.)  

 
 To replace his dinner plate.  Just his.  I also have a small glass pumpkin with a lid in which I could absolutely serve his soup.  And like maybe a beaker of some sort for a glass?



To replace his alarm clock.  (On the weekend of course, can't have him missing his train and then bothering me all day with his opinions on which neighborhood hooligans we need to watch out for on Halloween in case they get ideas about TP-ing our house.  We have one tree.)

 To store his spirits.  He'll probably use them a lot in the coming months.


 As an alternative to a lamp on his nightstand.  "Ryan can you please blow out your light, I'm trying to get some sleep."


For TP-ing our house.  It should be easy.  We only have one tree.



He likes to snack on peanuts, almonds, etc. and so I always make sure we have some in the house and keep them for him in a special bin in the pantry.  I could remove them and just put this in the bin.


For picking him up at the train station (as Fiona and I often do) after it starts getting dark early.  We walk so obviously we will need a lantern to guide our way.  For safety.



So what do you think?  Any ideas for me?  I need tons of ideas.  (Of course I'll share the execution of all of this with you as the weeks go by.)

P.S. Don't feel too bad for Ryan, I make him loads of tacos and cookies to make up for my absurdity.  It's an unspoken agreement but I'm pretty sure he's fine with it.

Charmed, I'm Sure.

Hello Blogstalkers.

Pulling inspiration from the fact that schools are starting all over the place right now, I thought we could play a little game today.

You know how sometimes in a new class a teacher or professor would make you go around the room and say your name, something interesting about yourself and like...something you were excited to learn this year?  And how that was the worst because you had severe social anxiety issues and also this was goddamned calculus and you were not excited to learn any of it?

And then it was your turn and you were all, "Umm my name is Lauren and I guess I'm excited to learn how to graph parabolas." And the teacher was all, "You should have learned that in Algebra a couple of years ago."  And then you were all, "Yes, well..."

And the teacher was thankfully about to move on to the next student but then remembered you had not said anything interesting about yourself so because they were rotten they came back to you to complete your introduction and you got flustered and were like, "I don't know! I get strep throat a lot?!"

At which point the teacher moved on and in your head you were all "Oh good job LAUREN.  Looks like yet another year with no boyfriends."

No? That was just me then?

Well anyway.  We're totally going to do that today.

Because of how fun it is.

A sort of reintroduction if you will, since I've been blogging so irregularly with the pregnancy and the baby and the everything else.

I'll start.

Hi, I'm Lauren Rae.  I'm 30 years old and have a 7 month old daughter named Fiona Violet.  Here is a picture of her:


I no longer get strep throat a lot because I had my tonsils removed when I was 21.  I still do not have any boyfriends.  I do have one husband.  His name is Ryan.  Here is a picture of him:


Here is a picture of the two of them together.  

He's not one for shirts.


Ryan and I got into a small verbal skirmish yesterday after he was in the shower and his friend texted him asking if they were still on for dinner and I burst into the bathroom and relayed the message to Ryan and asked him if he wanted me to respond.  "Just say something I would say," he told me. So I texted "Hump gump turkey sandwich."  Which apparently, was unhelpful and "didn't sound like him at all."  So then I texted like five more people "Who am I being? Hump Gump Turkey Sandwich" and all five of them responded with "Ryan, obviously."  So I think we all know who won that argument.

I am a voracious reader and through reading have acquired a pretty good vocabulary.  Ryan is always trying to find words in the books that he reads that I can not define.  Earlier this year he called me and was like, "I think I've finally found one...jodhpur."  And I was like, "Seriously RYAN, that's pants.  I mean, I have always expected that due to lack of exposure to them, you wouldn't know much about shirts.  But I was hopeful you'd know things about pants."  At which point, all frustrated that he had failed to foil me yet again he shouted, "I'm sorry I don't know more about pants!" and then more quietly, "I have to go, I'm at work."

He used to just text me these words but then if I ever took too long to respond he would think I was googling the definition.  Then he would rush home from work and check the search history on the computer to make sure I wasn't cheating.  So then I started googling things like "What does the name Ryan mean? Does it mean dumb?," and "How do I tell my husband that basically the entire back of his hair is turning gray?"  And sure enough one day, after he'd texted me the word 'scrim' (which is like a group of trees) and I'd taken too long to reply, I heard him clicking away on the computer.

"Oh HAHA Lauren, you're just hilarious," he called when he found the search history.  But then later I found him trying to look at the back of his head in the mirror.  

When we were looking for a house this year, we saw one where the backyard simply would not work for us.  "Hmmm I don't know about this yard," I said to Ryan, "I feel like it would be nice to have a good scrim of trees in the back so that if you wanted to traipse around in like, jodhpurs and nothing else, the neighbors wouldn't complain."

Sometimes I feel bad for my husband.

Other times I think he probably brought this on himself.

I love pasta and new notebooks and Calvin & Hobbes and magic.  I dislike tea and visible electronic cords and the summer and pedicures.

I spend a lot of my free time rescuing the tiny frogs that jump into my storm drain every time it rains.  Once my next door neighbor saw me doing this and let me also rescue the frogs in his storm drain.  Then he was like, "You must be an animal lover huh?" and then we had a really good conversation about animals.

Later that week Ryan was all, "Did you try to convince the neighbor that "Wildebeest" is pronounced "Wild Beast" with a silent E and that a group of them is called a "Ye Olde"?"  And I was like, "Maybe I did that, I can't be certain.  Why?  Did you check his internet search history?  Was he googling about it?"  And then Ryan left me alone.

And now I'll leave you all alone. 

Because it's your turn to tell me about you.  What's your name?  What's something interesting about you?  Spill Blogstalkers, I'm listening.  

P.S.  Sometimes I write places other than this blog.  This is one of those sometimes-es.  Two of those sometimes-es actually.



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