Mom to Bee

The other night, Bee started coming down with a little bit of a cold. When Mr. Bee and I checked on her in her room, she was just the most pitiful little thing, whimpering and half-awake.

We knew immediately that she would need to sleep in our bed with us.

And by “immediately” I mean that I had to plead with Mr. Bee that our poor iddy biddy widdle bebe needed our help and she had to sleep in our bed with us.

Reluctantly (because he’s way smarter than I am), Mr. Bee conceded the argument and our bed.

As always, it started off innocently enough…

We laid Bee down in between us in our king-sized bed and told her to rest her eyes and go to sleep.

Then the fun began.

She started off snuggled up to me, but quickly realized that Dad was too far away and scooted her little body across the bed to snuggle up with him.

And then back to me.

And then back to him.

And then back to me again.

There were feet in my back, my stomach, my face, my head…

There were arms in my hair, smacking my face, stuck under my neck…

But somewhere in that mess of toddler sleep-seizures, she began to fall hopelessly in love with me. She would hold my face and give me kisses upon kisses and whisper to me, “Mommy! I love you!!”. Then she’d bury her head next to mine until she decided to start the kiss-love-snuggle cycle all over again.

Eventually, when we realized that she wasn’t ever going to go sleep with us to play with, Mr. Bee had to bring her back to her room, where she promptly passed out.

I’m still making up from the sleep we all lost that night and I might still have bruises from the feet and fists in my ribs, but, man…I loved every single minute of it.

Song title: Smile in Your Sleep by Silverstein

In case you didn’t realize, last weekend was a really important date to children all around the nation.

Daylight Savings. Duh.

Oh, and Halloween, too.

Along with the obligatory ten pounds that I will gain from the twenty metric fuck-tons of Halloween candy we have left over (you’d think with this economy there would’ve been more kids out begging for free shit, right?) comes the obligatory Halloween photos.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that I would lose my virginity blogging license or something if I didn’t post photos of everybody all dressed up and ready to party.

And by “party” I mean “I can’t believe I made the entire family dress up in full costume to go around the neighborhood with Bee and only find like five houses that had their lights on. What the fuck, neighbors?! I did not hunt these stupid pirate costumes on eBay just to have Halloween humbugs keep your lights off and hide in your living rooms when we all know you are home, you goddamn cheapskates.”

Whew.

Now that I got that off my voluptuous I mean, average unless I’m being honest then under-developed chest, here are said photos of my deliciously adorable family:

While all dressed up and, if I’m going to be honest, feeling a bit like a retard being so dressed up and passing out candy to the neighborhood kids, I had a little epiphany.

We all know that Halloween is when your true self comes out. For most women, it’s when your inner (and outer) slut comes out. (FYI ladies: a holiday doesn’t made you any less of a whore.)

For example, I had a couldn’t-have-been-older-than-twelve-year-old come to my house wearing a version of this costume:

I shit you not, I found this costume online under “Tweens”.

Parents: your daughter should never, ever, EVER be allowed out of the house in this costume. Ever.

But that wasn’t my epiphany.

I realized that Halloween is when your true manners come out.

We had a lot of tweenage kids (mostly boys) visit our house last night and I couldn’t believe how ridiculously rude some of them were.

Yes, I expect that a few stupid kids won’t even put on a costume and still expect me to put candy in their garbage bags. Classy. But I last year I had a tons of kids that wouldn’t even say “Trick or Treat”!!

So this year, when a group of douchey tweenage boys came to the door and just stood there, I stood there too.

It was like the great Halloween Stand-off of ’09.

I’m getting pretty good at these stand-off things.

Eventually, after standing there staring at each other for a few moments, I had to say, “Uh, aren’t you supposed to say something to me?” FINALLY, one of the douchebags children are our future said “trick or treat”.

Can I tell you, one boy (in a different tweeny group) looked at the candy I had given him and then looked me square in the eye with a look of disappointment and entitlement and said, “Next time I’ll trick you.”

Really, kid? REALLY?!

I know a fuck more about the legal system and I’ll make sure your little ass is in community service until I’m handing out Halloween candy to your CHILDREN’S CHILDREN!!

Okay, I didn’t say that.

I actually just nervously giggled and said, “heh. heh. Happy Halloween?”

Later, I calmed myself down by watching a few scary movies on the good ol’ TiVo. There were quite a few options on television Halloween night…

I’m still having nightmares.

“The music is played for love, Cruisin’ is made for love. I love it when we’re cruisin’ together…”

Song title: More Manners Please by Markus Schultz

In my short term as a parent, I have learned many lessons.

1. No matter how hard you try or how punctual you were before giving birth, children = tardiness. You just have to get used to it and realize that all the other parents will be late, too.

2. You will end up saying “Because I said so” roughly 8 trillion times even though you swore you’d never say that to your kids.

3. When your (or someone else’s) child gets hurt while doing something retarded, it’s better to laugh on the inside and not out loud. Unless you have cool mommy friends, in which case you’ll all be laughing too hard to judge each other for laughing so hard.

4. Television might not be recommended by your pediatrician, but I assure you that your therapist will recommend it after you go insane from putting that Backyardigans puzzle together for the 850th time. Today.

5. There will never again be “a quick run to the store.”

6. When you repeatedly hear “Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa.” remember not to immediately snap and say, “WHAT?!?!?!” Your daughter could simply be making goat sounds. (Oops)

7. No matter how hard you try, you are never going to be able to force your toddler to eat one. more. bite. unless they want to.

8. More recently, I discovered that, although well-intentioned, it might not always be efficient to accept help from your toddler.

Take a few weeks ago for example. Mr. Bee was assisting me in folding some of Bee’s laundry in the family room. Bee immediately wanted to help and started by fetching clothes from Mr. Bee and mimicking us by shaking out each article of clothing.

Figuring that they had everything covered on their own, I snuck away to do something equally as important. Most likely I was watching my “stories” upstairs while eating bon bons.

When I came back in to the room a while later, this is what I found:

Apparently, Bee has her own style of folding laundry which consists of taking a piece of clothing, placing gently on the floor, and stomping the shit out of it until it’s completely flat. Find a new piece of clothing and repeat until the entire floor is covered.

Maybe #9 should be: Always remember to vacuum your floor before letting your daughter “help” with the laundry.

Song title: Laundry Day by Roger Roloff

Last week’s therapy session, like the week before that and the week before that, was ridiculously insightful.

Fer reals, people. I totally recommend therapy. Not only do you get to fulfill your narcissistic tendencies and practice your stand-up to a captive audience, you also learn a ton about yourself. Because, duh.

So this last week, we delved in to my anxiety and planning tendencies.

What planning tendencies, you may ask? Well, obviously you don’t remember this:

I think maybe some of you made reference to my insane Excel spreadsheets I create in preparation of last Spring’s trip to Las Vegas. Because obviously you didn’t realize that I’m sick. Are you happy with yourselves now?

Well, it turns out that my ridiculous planning techniques are really just a coping mechanisms to deal with my anxiety. Apparently not everyone creates Excel lists and detailed daily itineraries for vacations. Who knew?

Oh, but I don’t stop there. Not even close.

I will even look up the menu for a restaurant that I’m going to in say, like thirty minutes. Because God forbid something catches me off-guard.

That’s when Dr. Crazytown my therapist asked me how I handle surprises.

And then I realized something.

I don’t let myself be surprised. Ever.

If there is even a hint of a surprise in my future, I will research that shit out of that mo-fo until I know every single detail of said “surprise”. Seriously, I will hack in to the tubes of the Internet if I have to. Me and my laptop are not to be trusted.

And it’s totally been happening my entire life…

When I was little I would search my entire house CSI-style from the glitter-embedded popcorn ceiling (oh yeah, baby! 1970′s houses ROCK!) to the cold garage to find my Christmas presents. (Don’t worry, Mom & Dad. I only found the presents once. Or twice…). I was SO excited the year I found the Girl Talk board game!

But I digress.

Some years I would even attempt to unwrap and then rewrap the presents that were already under the tree! Fortunately for my parents (and Santa), I would usually give up because it was far too time-intensive for my busy tween schedule of watching Jem and reading Teen Bop Magazine.

But that’s not even half as sneaky as I can be.

Not only did I find out what my engagement ring looked like prior to the question being popped (which really isn’t that crazy), but I also found out how he was going to propose before he did it. See, Mr. Bee took me to San Francisco for the weekend to propose and to be fair, I didn’t know about that plan before it happened. But I did know about the plan before the San Fran Plan (say that five times fast!).

I was sneaky enough to find out that Mr. Bee had actually planned on taking me on a week-long trip to HAWAII to propose! I was beyond excited!! Of course, knowing that I wasn’t supposed to know was tricky. I couldn’t share my excitement because, well, I wasn’t supposed to know!

Then something horrible happened. Mr. Bee’s work ended up scheduling a mandatory you-don’t-attend-you-don’t-have-a-job kind of meeting during the week that he had planned (and booked) the trip to Hawaii. So he had to cancel everything. And, of course, using my totally inappropriate sneaking and snooping power of deduction, I found out that the trip had been canceled.

I was crushed! But, of course, shouldn’t have been disappointed as I shouldn’t have originally even known enough to be excited! I ended up confessing to my discoveries to a friend in school because I had to tell someone, right?! I needed at least one friend to share my excitement (and disappointment) with!

I finally confessed what I had done to Mr. Bee in preparation for this post. So what if I waited roughly 6 or 7 years to do it?! I never said I wasn’t totally chicken shit. I’m just a snoopy chicken shit.

But something that did surprise me was that Mr. Bee wasn’t at all surprised! I guess he knows me better than I thought…

So, honey, if you ever want to (try to) surprise me again in the future, you pretty much have to be prepared to never, ever leak word of it to me and probably use an email that I have never even heard of before. And you might want to move and change your name, too.

And, dear God, never bring the presents IN to the house.

Because I WILL find them.

Song title: The Element of Surprise by E-40

The great thing about being housebound with illness for an entire week is that you get to spend a lot of time snuggling and playing with your little one.

And by “little one” I mean my daughter. Don’t be gross.

You start noticing all the adorable little quirks she has and hearing all the new words and phrases that on a normal day you’d be too busy cleaning, homeschooling, surfing the internet to notice.

For example, Bee’s favorite new thing to do: storytime.

She has a very specific book that she requires and then she sits down with Mr. Bee and I to tell us a story.

The book she choose? The Final Lecture.

For those of you who haven’t read the book (or watched Oprah. Ever.) The Final Lecture is described as:

On September 18, 2007, computer science professor Randy Pausch stepped in front of an audience of 400 people at Carnegie Mellon University to deliver a last lecture called “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams.” With slides of his CT scans beaming out to the audience, Randy told his audience about the cancer that is devouring his pancreas and that will claim his life in a matter of months. On the stage that day, Randy was youthful, energetic, handsome, often cheerfully, darkly funny. He seemed invincible. But this was a brief moment, as he himself acknowledged.

Randy’s lecture has become a phenomenon, as has the book he wrote based on the same principles, celebrating the dreams we all strive to make realities. Sadly, Randy lost his battle to pancreatic cancer on July 25th, 2008, but his legacy will continue to inspire us all, for generations to come.

It’s funny, it’s sad, but most of all, it’s a book about a dying dad.

Awesome choice, Bee.

For your viewing pleasure, please enjoy Bee reading you a story (transcript below)…

“One upon a time, long ago, that flying rock. That stone step hill. Hmmm, let’s see…Let’s check this page.” (repeat times infinity).

I’m not joking people. She repeats that “story” (which she is totally plagiarizing from a Backyardigans episode. I’m just saying…) over and over and over again.

The other day, she got to page 46 in the book and had no intention of stopping. Then the book got “lost”.

In her spare time, Bee has also discovered a new way of sitting in her favorite chair.

I won’t lie. I had no intention of helping Mr. Bee out of the situation. It was just too damned funny.

Song title: My Little Girl by Tim McGraw

Probably a month or so ago, I won a photo session on Facebook from a wonderful local photographer named Aly Medina at La Luz Photography.

I finally got around to scheduling the shoot and promptly went out and bought roughly one trillion dollars worth of new clothes for the family. I mean, you can’t have a photo shoot without everyone having coordinating outfits, right?

And, by the way, coordinating outfits for three people without trying to look too matchy-matchy is a royal pain in the ass. Just a nice little public service announcement for y’all.

So after buying 8 trillion different outfits (for myself), the family headed up to my old alma mater (Go dawgs! Woof! Woof!) to practice our runway walks in front of the photographer.

Now, due to Bee’s ridiculous crying and tantrums during our photo shoot with Sissy at the beach (and you’d think since Sissy and I hail from the same vagina, that would lend Sissy some sort of street cred with Bee, right? Yeah, not so much…), the day before the shoot I really made a point to prep Bee on what was going to happen.

Okay, basically I told her that we were taking her to the park.

Tomato, to-mah-to, people.

To be fair, I DID warn her that there would be a nice lady there who would be taking our photos and that every now and again we might have to pose and say “cheese”. Was Bee cool with it? Totally.

Until, you know, we got there and she saw the camera.

What happened next was nothing short of a Linda Blair movie.

Sidenote: What the fuck is up with this photo being on the front page of IMDB right now?!

Way to make me scratch my eyeballs out with my toenails, IMDB. Thanks for that.

Speaking of freakishly scary things, Bee was absolutely possessed by the devil.

Not only did she refuse to pose for photos, she basically cried any time she (1) saw the photographer, (2) saw the camera, (3) felt the wind blow, (4) remembered that we weren’t at an actual park, (5) took a breath.

Needless to say, it got old real fast.

But despite my child being fully uncooperative, check out these amazing photos we got! I swear, our La Luz is a freakin’ miracle worker.

Or a priest who specializes in exorcisms.

The jury is still out.

Thank you so much to Aly Medina from La Luz Photography for these great photos! I can wait to place my order and get some hanging up on the walls at home!

Song title: Photo Shoot by Gucci Mane

This last weekend, Mr. Bee and I were honored to witness a wonderful friend of ours get married. The wedding was absolutely stunning.

I mean, it was a little embarrassing for the bride. A beautifully tented reception with an open bar, delicious food, a handmade engraved cigar bar (made by the father of the groom for the event), followed by dancing and a fireworks display? All hosted at the bride’s parents’ home on the water?

Can we say ghetto?

I mean, really people. We were really slumming it this weekend.

We tried to class the place up the best we could, but there only so much two people can do, you know?

I spent days and days searching for the dress I would wear to this event. Ann Taylor? Nothing. Banana Republic? Nothing. J.Crew? Nothing (that doesn’t cost $800 plus an ovary).

Finally I hit Nordstrom and found a dress that not only included the wedding color (purple) but unbeknownst (that’s totally a word right? Fuck you, spell check.) to me until this weekend, was actually the exact wedding colors!

With an outfit picked out and a few days to the big event, everything was going swimmingly until I realized…

It’s August.

As in we-started-trying-to-get-pregnant-NINE-fucking-months-ago August.

It’s actually gone by fairly quickly. When May came along and we had our trip to Vegas, I had expected to be about 3 or 4 months pregnant by then, but hey – now I could drink in Vegas so happy, happy, joy, joy for me, right?

Then came July and I needed to get a colonoscopy. Since you can’t be pregnant and have the procedure, we tried to fit it in to the schedule without missing an opportunity to knock me up. Well, that didn’t work out so well and we ended up missing our window of opportunity (or as I like to call it the “hump like bunnies” window) for July.

And now it’s August.

And I had always just assumed that the dress I would wear to this wedding last weekend would be a maternity dress. In fact, I kind of assumed it would be a LARGE muu-muu styled maternity dress, because (duh) I would be super pregnant by now.

Well, wrong.

And before you go all “Oh. Em. Gee. Things totally happen for a reason.” (because, gag) or “It’s totally because you’re fer reals stressing about it. You should just goooo with the floooow.” (because shutthefuckup, kthnxbei), I have to say that I’m handling it pretty well. Obviously.

Okay, so “Patiently Waiting” might be an overstatement…

But here is something to consider: Since we’ve started trying, which (side note) is kind of an understatement, right? I mean, if I “try” to do the dishes, it doesn’t involve strategic planning, timing, daily temperature taking, charting of said temperatures and it hardly ever requires much lube.*

Anyway, since we’ve been “trying”, not one, not two, but THREE of my close mommy friends have give birth to their little bundles. And at least one other mommy friend just found out that the goddamn Stork will be visiting her in about 9 months.

I can’t help but think that every month that goes by means my Bee and my (hopefully) future Baby Numero Dos will be further and further apart in age. I know it’s not the end of the world (quoting Aunt Becky, “SOME PEOPLE DON’T HAVE ARMS!! BE HAPPY THAT YOU AT LEAST HAVE ARMS!”), but I always thought that three years would be the furthest apart I would want the kids. Sissy and I are three years and one month apart – exactly what Bee and Bebe Numero Dos would be if I were pregnant now – and I just think that timing is perfect.

But, I guess in my heart, I know that we’ll get knocked up with the time is right. (gag. I can’t believe I just wrote that)

The silver lining? I’m really enjoying discovering new wines right now.

So by next year, I’ll either have a baby or cirrhosis of the liver.

Either way, my body will be a mess.

*I cringe on the inside knowing that my dad is going to read that. Hi Dad!

Song title: Patiently Waiting by 50 Cent

I know it seems like I never ever talk about loving my husband, but since today is our fifth wedding anniversary, it seems like I should probably say something nice.

“Something nice.”

Okay, now that we got that bullshit* out of the way, let’s discuss what Mr. Bee and I are doing at this very moment.

Gross, I’m not going to talk about that!

Fuck, I’m gonna have to have sex tonight, huh? Lord, the things I do for love…

But I guess I can suck it up (no pun intended) since we’ll be hanging out here:

And by “Wish they were us” I really meant “I wish we looked like them.” So I’m not walking around thinking some cute model people are totally jealous of us, FYI. But I digress…

So far, I know that we have reservations at this 5 star hotel and will be shopping for our anniversary presents together.

I mean, if there is shopping that is going to happen, especially at Tiffany, you best be knowing that I want to come along!

I also know that we will be having dinner at a restaurant of Mr. Bee’s choice. He made the reservation all by himself and will only tell me these details:

1) The restaurant is within walking distance of our hotel (which great, but Mama’s gonna be in heels AND the hotel has free town car service so this bitch ain’t walking anywhere)

2) It has a Puget Sound view.

3) People eat there. (Although he didn’t confirm that they have utensils, so I am slightly worried.)

4) They serve food. (Which I guess is good since people eat there…)

5) It has a roof. (No joke. This was one of the hints he gave me.)

6) They serve beverages… even alcoholic ones. (Obviously a deal breaker.)

Hopefully I will be reporting back this weekend on our fabulous wedding anniversary celebration!

Or I’ll be too busy selling everything we own to pay for the hotel bill.

What were we thinking?!

* And by “bullshit”, I really mean that every single day I am thankful to be married to such a wonderful man as Mr. Bee. I won’t lie, this last year, with all of our health problems and stress, has been rough, but there is not a day goes by that I don’t wish I was spending time with him.

Thank you, bebe, for taking such good care of Bee and I. I know we are always your priority and that means the world to me. I want nothing more than to spend the next 50+ years of my life creating memories, love and (hopefully only at least one more) babies with you!

I love you.

Song title: You’re Still The One by Shania Twain

At 35, my love, you have become like a fine cheese. Sometimes squishy, sometimes stinky, but I still love and crave you every single day of my life.

If you are this fabulous at 35, imagine was another 10 years will bring! I love you with all my heart and soul.

Last night, while listening to my sister try to convince my 5 year old niece that Idaho is, in fact, known for its potatoes, I recalled the very first trip I ever took with Mr. Bee.

And two of Mr. Bee’s friends.

To Vegas.

Needless to say, it was a fun and eventful trip!

But while looking back at old emails for any good stories from that trip, I found an even BETTER story to tell you, so the Vegas Road Trip story will have to wait for another time.

This is the story of how Mr. Bee and I became, well, “Mr. Bee and I.”

When I first met Mr. Bee, I was dating a guy I had met through a dorm mate of mine in college. We had been dating just a few months when I was introduced to Mr. Bee, a friend of my then boyfriend’s, at a party.

Well, I say “party” but what I really mean is a bunch of nerds getting together to play board games.

But not even party board games like Cranium or Apples to Apples. NERD board games.

Like, seriously, right? Can you picture me sitting around playing games about industry and development? Yeah, me neither.

But then I met Mr. Bee and I have to say that I always knew that something was different about this guy. Unlike my boyfriend at the time, this Bee fellow seemed to actually know how to treat his girlfriend right. In fact, all the boys used to joke that one day Mr. Bee should write a book about how to properly date/treat a girl. God knows, the other boys in the room definitely needed a lesson. Or two. Or a 12-step program.

So I was dating Ex-Boyfriend #1, let’s call him “Derek”, and Mr. Bee was busy dating another girl, who was actually Derek’s cousin.

Confused yet?

Eventually, a year and a half later, I finally broke up with Derek (which is another story for another time, but which includes a whole lot of drama and me making my debut on national radio discussing my love life) and quickly made a rebound to Ex-Boyfriend #2. After that relationship was over, I soon discovered that Mr. Bee had also broken up with his girlfriend.

What I think is hilarious is that I remember the exact moment I found out that Mr. Bee was on the market. The car I was in, the people I was with, and my very first thought being, “Oh, reeeeeeally?”

We were, in fact, in a car making our way to visit Mr. Bee. I don’t know if hormones took over at that point or what, but let’s just say that Mama laid it on T.H.I.C.K.

I had no shame.

None.

I was helplessly and hopelessly after this man who I knew was easily the most fantastic, loving, caring, funny and wonderful man that I had ever met in my 21 years. And while I thought I was using my slick charismatic ways to woo him in to submission, I guess it turns out that I was just shamelessly throwing myself at him.

Eh. Whatever works, right?

Oh, and did I forget to mention that Mr. Bee’s roommate (if you can call it that) at the time was Derek? Uh, yeah. Complicated much?

Add in my man-eater (not literally, people! My parents read this blog! Jesus.) ways, and we had a little bit of drama on our hands.

Well, actually a lot of drama. Because Derek took it upon himself to email our entire group of friends (classy) with a six paragraph email (super classy) that detailed the situation and the acceptable options (wow, really? yes, really). One of the options, of course, was my expulsion from the group. Because, you know, he was mature like that.

While I gasped at the computer screen with my jaw on the floor, Mr. Bee was busy writing a fantastic and diplomatic response to my ex-boyfriend’s tirade. And remember, at this point Mr. Bee and I were only flirting with each other, no relationship had been established.

Despite Derek’s assumptions that Mr. Bee was just “an exceptional friend and human and wouldn’t take all of [Mama Bee]‘s not so subtle advances” (yikes! Was I *that* transparent?), Mr. Bee actually came over four days later to hang out with my roommate and me.

That night, while we sat side-by-side in the darkened living room, watching God knows what on television, that’s when Mr. Bee kissed me for the first time.

I think part of me knew, right then and there, that he would be the last boy I would ever kiss. And he, apparently, felt the same way because he was declaring his love (albeit, in French – thankyouverymuch online dictionaries!) a whooping four days later.

The day after our first kiss, Mr. Bee decided to email Derek and inform him of the developments. What follows is probably one of my favorite emails that I have ever read. Ever.

Derek ~

Forgive me for what I am about to announce. I know it’s chicken shit to do this in an e-mail, but here goes. You’ve been my good friend for a good long time, but I’m going to do something that might jeopardize that relationship. I know you won’t understand my desire to do this nor my motivation, but I assure you that it is a conscious decision that I have made. I also know that you would counsel me to do otherwise, as have other friends of mine. However, all of that being said; if this is a mistake, I am taking full responsibility. If this damages our friendship, I am sorry, but again I take full responsibility.

Derek, I’m gay, and I love you.

No. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up, I intend to go out with [Mama Bee], seriously. We’ve been hanging out a bit over the last week and I’m very much into her. I really enjoy her company and I think there may be potential there. I’m imagining a broad spectrum of ways you could take this, and I’ve certainly been over-thinking everything, so let me know your thoughts. I’ll certainly understand if you’re upset and/or disappointed and I’ll bear the condemnation.

~ Mr. Bee

After we declared our love, so to speak, a friend of ours, who had been on that original horrible email chain, said something that I will always remember. Something along the lines of “The timing is crap, but I think you two could really have something.”

And we do. We really do.

Song title: Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield