a [brief] list.

things that annoy me, a thank-god-it's-almost-the-weekend-LIST!

[1]

(from here)

i am so sick of seeing all these "keep calm and _____" prints. keep calm and drink coffee. keep calm and call batman. keep calm and drink wine. keep calm and eat chocolate. do people actually hang these up in their homes? keep calm and chew xanax. i don't know about you, but anytime anyone tells me to "keep calm," i immediately kick it up a notch and begin feeling so annoyed and out of control that that person's safety is in peril.

[2]

photo from here, where you can read about his most offensive statements.

rick santorum. do i need to say any more? why is this creepy nut job running for president? why has anyone voted for him in the primary? why hasn't he seen the light and dropped out? the only thing more terrifying than this bigot campaigning for office in this country is the fact that he can't accept that he is not electable. time to hang up the sweater vest, rick.

[3] people who say things like, "you look so tired." "are you feeling ok today?" "you must be exhausted." "you poor thing, you look run down." SHUT THE EFFFFF UP. i'm EXHAUSTED from dealing with people with poor manners, ahem, you. i feel crappy when my day consists of run-ins with people who can't tactfully interact with others. i am tired of biting my tongue when people like you say stupid shit. dude, i am TIRED. i was tired before i had jack, i was tired when i was breastfeeding and i am tired now. because it is a busy life i lead, and you try fitting working, mothering, wife-ing, reality tv watching, sewing and basement renovations into 24 hours. i figure i'll be tired forever, so you can stop commenting on it. or i'm going to start commenting on how scrunchies are so 1990.

but it's not all bad around here, folks. i discovered some funny things this week, too.

[1] alibi cologne. it's not that i support cheating on one's spouse or going to strip club's behind your significant others' back. it's just that i think this is hilarious. my-car-broke-down cologne or i-was-working-late cologne? funny. i need to get some no-i-wasn't-wasting-time-on-facebook perfume, or maybe some john-i-did-not-spend-the-last-hour-watching-the-real-housewives-of-atlanta perfume.

[2] this twitter. apparently this person told their 82 year old dad that twitter was actually google. so old man types searches into twitter. it's pretty funny. equally funny: ghetto hikes twitter, where a man who leads inner city kids on nature hikes records things they say on their adventures on his twitter.

and, hands down, the funniest thing that happened to me this week: while out of the office, i called my friend greg's office extension, but couldn't reach him. when i got back, he didn't answer again, so i sent him an email, asking a question. he called me back at my extension to answer my question and confirm that i hadn't gotten through to him on his extension. and then he goes, "are you out of the office today?" to which i replied, "no, greg. you called my office extension." i laughed so hard i cried.

a relaxing weekend to all!

the REST of the story.

i often say things that i later reflect upon and realize you should not have said that. sort of like my math skills. you should not have added that. but, to use a senseless phrase to sum it all up, it is what it is. whatever that means.

i was recently reminded, by my husband, of one such incident that occurred a few months ago. jack had been a little sick and had been taking some medicine for congestion, so he was all-around miserable. trying to ease his pain, i started filling up the bathtub for him because no matter what mood he's in, a good soak in the tub always cheers him up.

except this time it didn't. i set him in the tub and he started screaming bloody murder. he'd had a little bit of diaper rash from the medicine, and i figured maybe the bath was irritating it. i pulled him out of the tub to inspect the situation.

and not really sure about everything that was going on down there, i called to my husband, "JOHN! can you please google pictures of baby penises because i want to make sure this is fine."

silence.

"JOHN!?! DID YOU HEAR ME? i asked you to...."

suddenly john was at the door of the bathroom, and he stood looking at me very calmly and cooly. "stephanie, did you just ask me to google baby penises?" he asked.

"yes, i just need to..." my voice trailed off as he interrupted.

"yeah, i'm NOT going to do that." he replied.

and then i realized that it was probably for the best that my husband had refused to search for child pornography on our home computer. instead we reassured ourselves that everything was fine after a quick visit with our doctor.

and now, as paul harvey would say, you know the rest of the story.

the principle of the thing.

this post is not going to be about how i don't get men. (even though, after being with john for 8 years, and being friends with him even longer than that... that's definitely true. case in point: this past saturday. between several moves, i somehow misplaced the cord that connects my sewing machine to the outlet. which hasn't really been an issue because my camera charger cord is interchangeable with the sewing machine one. well, as luck would have it, i left my camera charger at my brother-in-law's in florida. upon our return to snowy iowa, i began panicking. a week, maybe two or even three without my sewing machine? awwww, hell no. so i frantically began researching where i could get a cord overnighted to me. until i remembered the sewing machine store over by target. i placed a call and the kindly woman said that they had a variety of generic cords, so the best idea would be to bring my sewing machine in to check if any worked. i was about to take jack with me to the store when john announced that he had some errands to run. you know, guy errands. picking up deodorant, getting a six-pack, wandering through the electronics section at target. and because john decided he really wanted to get out of the house, he offered to take my sewing machine to the store and get me a cord. as he was about to leave the house, i remembered i needed to return a plain glass vase i had purchased that wasn't right for a project, and i asked him if he could do that, too. he looked at me with a face of disgust. "a vase?" he sneered. "that's girl stuff. you do that the next time you're out." and i just looked back at that masculine presence standing in front of the door, holding that white and teal sewing machine, and i just thought to myself, "awwwww, you can't expect him to do girl shit! there's only so much a MAN can take.")

but like i said, this isn't a post about how i don't always get men. because that much is true. this is more like a last lecture of sorts, a key to the mystical secrets that befuddle and bewilder the common man. or more specifically, my common man - my dear husband.

now when i was thinking about things to include in this diatribe, i was reminded of an incident with my friend, liz. years ago, a group of us girls had gone out on a friday night. after enjoying some drinks, we returned to liz's apartment, and somehow a little shelf got knocked off the wall. and it was late. and we may or may not have been drunk. but regardless, liz knew that shelf needed to be re-hung on the wall. 2 in the morning, 2+ drinks in, it didn't matter. (spoiler alert: the shelf did get back up on the wall after multiple exasperated attempts and an explanation for liz's then-boyfriend, now husband. "it's the principle of the thing!") ok, but so anyway, i think about this moment time and again, not just because it makes me smile, but because i totally would have done the same thing, i totally have done the same thing, and it totally illustrates this phenomenon of which i am about to speak. the whole dumbfounded guy standing there not "getting" what's so important about the crisis of the moment.

you know, they say crazy is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting to get different results. well, in my husband's world, apparently crazy means wringing dishrags out and cleaning the toilet bowl once a week. but it's like, COME ON, john. it's me we're talking about. you know me. you remember every word of songs you've heard once in the opening credits to movies from 5 years ago. you must know that the dishtowel hanging on the stove is not for actual use, right? it's just for show. because it's cute. and under no circumstances are the two decorative shams from the spare bedroom to be used to sleep on. because SOMEONE, and i am not mentioning any names, was laying on those shams while watching the stanley cup finals and that someone's aftershave or face soap or whatever stained those shams. and now they have to lay face down at all times. and in similar fashion, the towel in the bathroom next to the sink is for drying clean hands. it is not for wiping excess toothpaste. or cleaning the floor. or wiping jack's nose. (p.s. there are ghetto towels in the bathroom closet. you can use those for whatever purpose you wish.) and yes, john, it is absolutely necessary to take your cereal out of the box and pour it into the cute decorative containers i have purchased and placed in our cabinet. i understand you think this is an exercise in futility since we are the only people who see what the inside of that cabinet looks like, but a euphoric sense of calm washes over me when i open the doors of that cabinet and i see all the products arranged in an aesthetically pleasing way. which brings me to the bowls on the shelves above the fridge. i know they look curiously like ordinary bowls. and i know you want to grab them off there and throw some chips in, or maybe add some pistachios. but i need you to resist that urge because those bowls, my darling, are actually pieces of home decor that i have painstakingly placed there because they fill up that shelf space in a way that makes me happy. and i can't have you ruining my design project because you want to have a snack. (we have bowls you can use to your heart's content on the shelves below the china cabinet). and speaking of bowls to store things in, i have to remind you: tupperware comes from the store. when you purchase it, it is empty. it does not have sour cream in it. it does not have butter in it. those plastic receptacles are not tupperware, and when they are empty, we recycle them.

[this is where it gets kinda dicey because inevitably john takes these reminders as an affront to who he is. as if me explaining about towels and bowls and home organization is a refusal to accept differences between people. listen, my love, i'm not racist. i'm an OCD perfectionist. there's a total difference.]

john, all i'm trying to get at is that there are rules. and they have to be followed. or there are hormonal, emotional breakdowns. and there might be tears. and gnashing of teeth and eating of ice cream. but facts are facts. and some bowls are for decoration. and not all towels are meant to be used.

hopefully this has cleared up a few issues and explained some things because in the immortal words of my dear friend, liz: it's the principle of the thing.

but you already know all this, john. i know you do.

hugs n' kisses, your soul mate

p.s. next week, perhaps over a romantic dinner and wine, we're going to talk about how far i've come in letting things go and going with the flow. xoxo!

twelve [12] in twenty-twelve [2012].

if i could sum up the single most important thing i succeeded at in 2011, it would have been learning to let go and be. i am trying to savor each moment, ignore the things that are not ideal and be happy for all the good that comes my way. thankfully i have a beautiful 24 pound-ish son that helps me remember to do this when i forget.

"Awareness born of love is the only force that can bring healing and renewal. Out of our love for another person, we become more willing to let our old identities wither and fall away, and enter a dark night of the soul, so that we may stand naked once more in the presence of the great mystery that lies at the core of our being. This is how love ripens us -by warming us from within, inspiring us to break out of our shell, and lighting our way through the dark passage to new birth." -John Welwood

in the spirit of continuing to evolve and grow and change, i have been thinking (for the past three-ish) weeks about accomplishment, and specifically, those things i'd like to accomplish this year. i decided on twelve, got out a piece of paper and wrote them down with a red felt tipped marker because that felt more official. (sidenote: i also put them in the drawer next to my bed and somehow john found them and made his own revisions. this is why we can't have nice things!) i am re-creating the list here in the hopes for some accountability.

without further ado...

[1] take a trip with john. when we were on vacation, he mentioned that we should go away, just the two of us. and then he said it again. and then a third time. third time's a charm, mr. fueger. sometime over the course of the next 11 months and 1 week, we will embark on an adventure sans child. i promise.

[2] get family pictures taken.

[3] run a few 5k's. i didn't want to put something down like "go to the gym 4 times a week" or something. because i knew that i would have those weeks when it would be all i could do to walk up the stairs to my office. that's just how my life is. rather than beat myself up about it, i just want to be realistic. i want to get more exercise than i did in 2011. amen.

[4] plant an adventurous garden. we had our first garden last summer and we enjoyed some peppers, beans, peas and tomatoes. i'd like to try some interesting varieties this year... maybe eggplant? only time will tell.

[5] re-do the basement and make a playroom for jack. this is currently in progress as i type this, and please lord, let it be complete by december 31.

[6] save more money.

[7] visit my in-laws' new house in ohio. currently planned for memorial day weekend.

[8] read more for pleasure.

[9] cook one new recipe each month.

[10] build something for jack. when john and i made the workbench for jack (and yes, i'm aware that it was nothing mind-boggling, but it was our first attempt at using power tools to create a child's toy!), it was really rewarding to work together to create something... then watch him enjoying it. i'd like to do that again sometime this year... maybe with a refrigerator to go with his play kitchen? or maybe a child's sized picnic table?

[11] take a family vacation this summer. even if its just a long weekend trip somewhere, i want to go somewhere, just the three of us. i loved family vacations when i was a kid, and i treasure those times with my parents and siblings as some of my favorite memories. i want that for jack.

[12] go camping. because we have a really nice tent. and we haven't used it for a couple years. and that's a shame.

jack's first shower.

alternate titles for this post included: "where did that poop come from?" (the discovery channel version) or "on my knees, sniffing around: the tale of a sunday morning gone wrong" (the nightline special title) or "poop: the untold story" (the mtv special title) or "he had to poop" (the lifetime title).

it being several weeks into 2012, i've been trying to put together a list of things (twelve things, in fact) that i'd like to accomplish this year. not resolutions per se, which is not to say that i think i'm above resolutions or that i don't need them... far from it... it's just that i wanted it to be a little bit more general than all that.

anyway, that's what this post was going to be about... my twelve things. and then one very interesting thing happened. so that's what this is about instead.

jack and i were doing our usual weekend "what should we make for breakfast" dance when i realized i didn't have the right ingredients on hand to make our go-to buttermilk pancake recipe. not to be deterred, i tebow'ed it at the last minute, and modified a french toast recipe, which jack seemed to really enjoy. so i gave myself a mom point, sat down with some coffee and was about to eat a piece of the toast i'd prepared while jack played on the floor. and then i smelled it.

the unmistakable odor of the bowel movement of a child who is no longer a baby, but approaching toddler-dom. talk about loss of appetite. i scooped jack up to head down to the laundry room to grab a clean diaper out of the dryer. he had been in a disposable since we have some to use up from vacation, and i had used the opportunity to strip my cloth diapers. as i took a few steps toward the basement door, i stepped in... a pile of poop.

except that i didn't realize it at first. between jack and the dogs, i have to be honest with you, there are often piles of unrecognizable substances on my kitchen floor. and i guess i assumed that i had stepped on a piece of jack's french toast that he had thrown to the dogs. except that i realized it was not quite the right consistency, and i looked down to inspect and realized: AHHHH the horror! poop in between my toes!

but i am carrying my son down the basement stairs, and i cannot very well drop him and clean my foot, and so i suck in my breath very hard and yell, "ewwwww, shit!" to which jack replied, "DIT!" "no, no, no, don't say that, mommy is bad," i'm mumbling as we reach the bottom of the stairs, and i set him down. i hobble to the bathroom to wash the poop off my foot, wondering how the hell poop got on the floor, and who is responsible for this? jack? kingsley? gracie? (the dogs?) meanwhile, jack has been carrying some tools from his workbench around, and he opens the toilet in the basement bathroom and triumphantly throws them all inside.

i pick up jack and survey the scene. the fit of the disposable diaper on jack is not as tight as i would like, and it appears that a load of poop escaped the side. i don't quite know how, but what i can see is that there is poop all over his legs and the inside of his pants. i then make the executive decision that jack is going to enjoy his first shower. i plop him in the basement shower stall and spray him off... and he laughs and giggles, loving the whole experience.

when he's all clean, we head back upstairs and i get down on my hands and knees to find the original source of the poop. i'm sniffing and crawling and trying to be thorough about the whole thing. jack thinks this is some kind of a game in which mom tries to be a dog/horse/pig, so he begins to crawl behind me and make exaggerated sniffing noises, too. he's laughing and giggling and you see, this is like my son's best. day. ever. he got to enjoy a romp in a sprinkler and gets to play the animal game with mommy.

i am thoroughly confused as i can't find the original place where the poop was dropped. i do have a jute rug in my kitchen, the color of which is eerily similar to that of the poop, so i carefully inspect every inch, squinting intently and sniffing as i go. jack is really loving it at this point, hysterically laughing and pretending to pet me as i crawl around. as i make my way to the other side of the kitchen, jack hugs me and mimics my sniffing. we both sit on the floor laughing... because what else can you do in such a shitty situation? hahaha, ohhh, the things john misses when he decides to sleep in on a sunday.

one of my twelve things? laugh at myself, especially in the midst of moments like this one!

eye of the storm.

i don't truthfully understand why everyone is making such a big deal about this impending 4-6 inch snowstorm. i mean, there's a veritable shitstorm in my office on the daily, and i've never called in on account of it.

ohhh, i kid, i kid. i get it. i wish i could be home enjoying the snowstorm, too. but i can't. (ahem, the whole shitstorm thing).

but let me just say: it's really not fair that kids get snow days and adults don't. i mean, when you're a kid, your life is pretty much like one big snow day. me? i'm in dire need of a snow day. i want to be sitting on my couch, in my pajamas, shouting "UH-UH, no you diii'int get back with kieffer, jenelle!" while john slowly dies a little bit more inside. not to mention the fact that i would make myself a very large mug of hot cocoa + peppermint schnapps and sip on that throughout the day as well. and i would eat spoonfuls of alcohol-infused whipped cream. and i would snuggle with jack. and read books. and remember that scene from the final season of sex and the city, where that drug-addict socialite falls out the window, and the snow starts falling after the funeral. i always think of that scene when there are snowstorms. yes indeed, i deserve a snow day, and i would enjoy the shit out of it. these kids these days. so ungrateful for the blessings of snow days.

anyway, this is my ode to you, snow day. you blessed, magical, unicorn of my past. i never appreciated you when i received you in abundance and now that you're gone, i mourn the loss of you with a heavy heart. amen.

keepin' it real.

to clarify: after reading my post from earlier today, you might get the impression that i'm trying to pretend that john and i are something that we're not. we are by no means that perfect couple who remembers to buy each other flowers on their anniversary or who write each other long love notes (yes, i do have a homemade valentine from him, circa 2005, that reads, "you give me boners.") but anyway, i am (often) struck by how lucky i am and how good i have it, and so i document the moment with a blog post. but most of the time? most of the time, we're more like this.

john: are you going to help me with the basement tonight? or are you going to waste time on facebook?

me: [in as exasperated a tone as i can manage] john, i am not on facebook. i am working! [pause] please, don't come over here because i'm working on stuff that's privileged and i don't want you to accidentally see. [nonchalantly x's out of facebook.]

john: ok, but seriously, are you coming down there to help?

me: i've got a lot to do. but i did write a blogpost about you today. I LOVE YOU!

john: that does not qualify as helping.

me: it was a very nice post. you should read it.

john: i already have. i get your blogposts sent directly to my phone.

me: wait, what? you do?! that's so sweet!

john: of course not! i've never read one of your posts in my life... and i don't plan to start. and if you're not going to help with the basement, i'm going to decorate it however i want. you might just as well call me TOM because it is going to be MY SPACE.

whew! that's more like it.