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We've been home for a week now...and I'm finally getting back into the swing of things. Back to our morning walks, watering the plants, never-ending picking up after a toddler, kickboxing classes, and some sewing and crafting that I'm really excited about. And juggling that all with actual work-work.
Speaking of plants...
They survived my absence! And not only that, they actually grew!
The tomatoes grew several inches and the Early Girl even has a flower.
I'm so relived. Of course, this is only the first of several times they'll be left to their own devices over the next 5 months...so I'm still worried.
There was one disturbing discovery when we got home, however. I put the peppermint plant in our kitchen window while we were away, along with the cilantro. When we got back, I found that the peppermint had grown to insane proportions, but also had tons of little tiny green bugs all over the stems. I need to do some research but I'm pretty sure they're aphids. I'm so grossed/creeped out. Blech. Anyone have any good advice on how to get rid of them? For now I've just separated it from the other plants.
The lemon tree has lots of open blossoms. I think I need to get some other flowers back there to get some bee action happening. And I still need to fertilize. It's still a bit naked in the leaf department.
Some exciting crafties coming soon!!
It was only a matter of time. And today was the day. Our first episode of Baby Destruction.
Besides the usual ripping up of magazines/books, emptying of drawers, splashing in the toilet, dirt eating, computer re-booting, etc, we really haven't had anything exciting happen. What makes this even funnier (or, worse?) is that both John and I were standing there watching it happen.
And here's how it went down...
John was hurriedly trying to leave for his video shoot and William and I were in the bathroom hindering watching him getting ready. Will got into a bathroom drawer and took out my cosmetic case that contains all of my nail polish (I imagine you've already guessed where this is headed).
This wasn't the first time I had let William play with the polish -- it keeps him busy for quite awhile (his favorite is the red). This time, as I watched him put the bottles in and out of the bag I thought about 1)the fact that the floor is tile and 2)that the bottles are glass. However, I casually chose not to do anything to prevent imminent disaster.
After about 30 seconds, William missed the case and dropped a bottle on the tile. Predictably, it broke, and sparkly black nail polish quickly pooled around his feet. And then he promptly put his hands into it.
Like this, except sparkly black. And broken glass.
The polish ended up on the following:
William's hands, feet, legs and belly
William's shirt (RIP Dino shirt)
John's hands
My hands
The bathroom rug
The bathroom floor
The kitchen sink
The bathtub
After killing a few thousand brains cells each and using half a bottle of nail polish remover, we managed to get the mess cleaned up and John out the door.
I think we all learned a valuable lesson today. Any good Baby Destruction stories out there?
P.S. Speaking of nail polish -- I'm obsessed with this new color I just got. I first discovered it when I had my nails done on my birthday and I had to go buy my own bottle. It's called Lincoln Park After Dark. It is so radical (it's a bit darker than it appears in the photo).
Luckily, this bottle is still intact.
The Golden Princess. Which I am not on.
Wow. What a day. Today my entire family and extended family went on a Mexican Riviera cruise without me. My Grandparents' 50th anniversary is this week and they took everyone to celebrate. Unfortunately for me, they don't allow babies younger than 6 months on the ship. Lame. So, I drove John to LAX to meet everyone flying in from Utah to catch the Princess Cruise shuttle.
I got to visit with my family for a few minutes before they left for the port so that was fun. I was sad as I watched the shuttle drive away with everyone I love in it, leaving me there in front of Delta Baggage Claim 1, but I survived.
The first part of the crazy day started there at the airport. William had a total blow-out. While he was in the sling. Poop was all over him, the sling and the front of my shirt. It was lovely. Luckily I was parked close and was able to get him all cleaned up in the back of the trunk. Then he was pissed and I had to nurse him there in the parking garage. Once he was happy, we finally were able to make the 75 minute drive home.
And then, I locked my keys in the car. Now this has happened to me a few times -- always when I'm with someone else or while I'm on my phone. I just apparently can't be distracted while exiting my car, otherwise I conveniently leave my keys sitting on the seat or something.
So, I was talking to John on the phone and got out of the car, leaving the keys behind. And William. Yep. I locked my baby in the car.
Not a picture of actual roadside assistance.
First I called roadside assistance who informed me that in the case of a child being locked in, I had to call the police. So, I called the police station only to get about a million recorded options but no way to actually talk to someone. Meanwhile, William had woken up and was looking around wondering why he's sitting in a completely silent car.
So, I called 911. 911 is for emergencies, right? Like, if you're having a heart attack or you've cut off your finger or something horrible and urgent, right? Well, the first 5 (FIVE) times I dialed 911 I got a busy signal. On the sixth try, it finally rang and I got a recording telling me that all the dispatchers were busy and to please hold. I was on hold for over 4 minutes. People can die in 4 minutes.
Finally someone took my call and said they were sending out a deputy. Even though William was screaming his little lungs out by this time, I was grateful that at least I wasn't calling with some sort of life-threatening problem.
Thank you, sirs.
Fifteen minutes later a deputy and a fire truck showed up. It took a cop and 3 firefighters about 10 minutes to unlock my door (not that I'm not grateful that they showed up and did it) -- when the roadside assistant guys have rescued me in the past, it's taken him about 7.5 seconds.
So anyway, there I was, looking through the back windshield at my baby screaming hysterically while neighbors watched out their windows at the fire engine, police car, and guys in uniform working on my car. It was definitely a low-point in my mothering career. And I still had poop all over my shirt.
So how was y'alls Saturday?
