Remember back in the day when you took some days off work and you could buy a good book – or bookS, I really really like to read – and do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING? Nope, I don’t remember it either! BUT like an amnesiac with a tingling sensation around past loved ones I’ve got a tiny inkling what that relaxing time must be like.

At the very least I can imagine it as I read Star magazine on the airplane and see all those ridiculous reality-show freaks lying on the beach. I especially hate it when there’s some article like “Here’s How Speidi Lives It Up in Morocco” and the place they show is way nicer than any building you’ve even remotely walked by in. your. entire. sad. life.

Anyway, apparently as much as I explained again and again to my two year old the definition of ‘vacation’ (we even discussed its Latin roots) he did NOT process the info correctly. When I told him this last week would be serene and lazy he misheard me and thought I said “furniture’s a trampoline and be sure to act crazy.”

My spouse and I spent this past week running on energy drinks (because we are GREAT Americans and get wigged out for our country *see picture below* yes, it is real and very creepy but quite effective) and major amounts of coffee, like Med school kids on Ritalin, we focused everything on P; trying to keep him from killing himself or others. I really missed daycare!!!

There would be times where I would fall to my hands and knees, weep with my whole body into my sister-in-law’s couch pillow, screaming “DAYCARE, where for art thou?” And then she would inevitably walk in to see me ripping at her decor and scream for her brother to “remove your crazy ass wife, she’s losing her shit again.” Actually, I have to clarify, if my sister-in-law did walk in on such an act she would: 1) chalk it up to Tonya being Tonya (I like expectations low) and 2) she has a 5 month old so, really, I’m pretty sure she can relate; in fact, she’d probably decide to join me.

Right, right, back to the point. So, in case you missed it, I totally, absolutely yearned for P’s daycare hours. And this made me feel like a terrible, horrible mom. Isn’t a vacation a time when a family spends quality time together and has a shared meaningful experience? But this is not the way it went. Really all I wanted to do was S.L.E.E.P. and then sleep some more. I have a slight cold so this could’ve contributed but I honestly don’t think that was much of a factor.

I think my brain hears the word “vacation” and just shuts down. It has been allowed to do this for 30 some odd years and now all of a sudden it is no longer allowed this break and I think it’s all: “what the hell? You mean to tell me that hour of HGTV and that half episode of Law & Order is all the downtime I get? Screw that you crazy bitch! I’m sleeping!” And then it just shuts off. It refuses to work or engage and since I still have insomnia it’s just my brain tricking me into thinking it wants to go to sleep but then I just lay there for like 5 hours while it laughs at me before finally forcing my eyes closed (sometimes I use duct tape) and then I have to over sleep to make up for those hours I was awake doing nothing. And then my in-laws and my blood relatives all get together and ask my husband if I have some sort of serious medical condition or do I abuse drugs because it’s not right for a woman in her mid-30s to be acting like a moody teenager.

So now I’m back home with glorious daycare, feeling like the shittiest mom on the planet since I should have treasured every moment we had as a family and taken in every little thing my toddler learned while we were away but I guess I fall very short of that. So my therapy appointments are probably going to run over time for a little while…also, I’m pretty sure my family is planning an intervention. 

Do not try and open an old bathroom door after applying lotion to your hands. It is akin to trying to put clothes on a cat. Just make yourself comfortable and wait for someone with a weak bladder to come and let you out.

My father is, in fact, king of the bad puns. P lined up all of his dinosaurs, looked at my father and asked: “where they all going?” My dad quickly chirped: “To the bank…they’re charging.” Thanks, Dad, I feel like we’re visiting Don Rickles on an off night. (As my father says: “have pun will travel”)

If you promise a toddler ice cream to play a joke on grandpa, get that shit in writing! Because, in the end, they will screw you and simply ask granddad for ice cream without carrying out said mission. It’s like dealing with a tiny cast member from The Real Housewives.

Texas is great because they ask for your ID WHENEVER you go to a bar. I know they asked everyone but I like to think it’s because I still look 17.  Texas is not so great though when their Newscasters pimp a coyote-killing gun on the 10 o’clock news. I’m not pro or anti coyote I’m just not sure if that isn’t more infomercial material and less news item.

Flying during turbulent weather with a stomach bug is like gambling in a casino where the house ALWAYS wins and you end up pants-less and wondering where the evening took such a nasty turn.

When asking 3 tweens about their game curfew be prepared for a 5 hour answer that details out all possible scenarios that include parents asleep, parents out to dinner, etc. And then settle in to listen to them expound on the video game before you can even turn on the Xbox. It’s like asking Ann Coulter to detail out how she could be more environmentally conscious.

If you put die hard Harry Potter fans in a ring with die hard Twilight fans, it will, in fact, be the die hard Die Hard fans that will leave the building alive.

Lastly, even if dinner and conversation are in full swing, when great-grandad decides he’s done there’s no stopping him; it’s time to go.  So, say good night, Gracie…goodnight Gracie….

The fact that I’m writing this entire post on my iPhone is just one indication of how things go when trying to take a family “vacation.”

As y’all (I’m in TX afterall) know I’m terrible on planes. There’s medication, meditation, sometimes mediation and certainly resuscitation. Anyway, as my luck would have it our plane was delayed on the runway for an hour and a half. With my 2 yr old hopped up on ice cream that we gave him due to the lateness of the plane in the first place. So, everyone is restless, toddler included. He starts screaming “F***k Mommy! F***k Mommy!” What this really translates to is “frog mommy, frog mommy” but how can I tell a hundred angry passengers this while screaming at my husband “where the hell is that goddamn frog??” And he’s yelling back “how the hell should I know where that f***ing thing is!”

And also the guy next to me is sweating profusely so he’s obviously a terrorist. It doesn’t matter we are sitting in a tin can tube with no AC, this is what the voices in my head are telling me and we all know you MUST listen to those!

But I’ve finally made it to Austin. I kept my eye on that shifty dude next to me the whole plane ride, even when he “pretended” to sleep. I was vigilant and prepared to take action with the plastic spork I got with my meal pre-plane.

Now we are heading to Lubbock (that’s how we roll, we go where the party is) I’ll let you know if anything nefarious is abreast in those friendly skies. Mainly though I just hope we make it home with the same child we started with…we forgot his stroller at home so he’s free as a bird. God help all those poor people at the airport.

I swear I’m not lazy. This was sent from my iPhone. So please pardon my typing. Ok, I am a little lazy. Sue me.

New York City is awesome, but damn expensive.  And I’m having one of those days where I can’t help but wonder IS IT REALLY WORTH IT?  I mean, I love this city – LOVE LOVE LOVE IT.  I can’t imagine living anywhere else.  But here’s the thing, my husband, my two year old daughter and two cats are currently living in a 730 square foot apartment.  I will say that our location rocks.  On our block alone we have one of the best libraries in the city – seriously, I can walk out of my building and directly across the street and into a library that has any book I want.  One end of our block boasts the Brooklyn Museum with it’s fine collection of mummies (they have a mummified cat – it’s crazy), the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and on the other side is Grand Army Plaza and Prospect Park.  We’re also within walking distance to loads of friends – including Tonya et famille.

It’s an amazing place to raise a child.  But we have to work extraordinarily hard to both afford and happily co-exist in our 730 square feet of Brooklyn.  Honestly, we had hoped to move when June was about a year old, but like lots of people, we had to cut back and put plans on hold.  No biggie, we’ll move when we move.  But every once in awhile I throw a big fat pity party and worry that we will NEVER BE ABLE TO MOVE and I’ll be sleeping 8 feet away from my child until she’s 18.  Creepy right?

I can’t help but wonder what kind of room June would have if we moved home to Milwaukee where my parents are, or Atlanta to be near Peter’s sisters. I became obsessed with design blogs when June was born, and here’s a couple of amazing nurseries from a few of my favorites.

Sherri of www.younghouselove.com who just had a baby girl mere days ago designed this super cute modern-yet-kinda-retro room for her baby.  I’m so digging the mobile, which she made herself.

I love the big airy window with the patterned curtains and the funky chair.  Seriously, could I move to Milwaukee?  Sherri and her husband left New York City for Virginia and I dare say they seem pretty happy.

Nicole from www.makingitlovely.com was really creative when it came to using a small and kind of funky space for a nursery.  She’s totally right about pink and brown being a swell combo, and the dark crib looks great with the pale pink walls.

These wooden toys look gorgeous – but I fear with my kid the pretty factor would last about five seconds.  The Eleanor train is super cool though . . .

Any of you out there living in less than ideal space situations?  Seriously, please tell me we aren’t the only ones!

As Mark Twain said, “clothes make the man,” and I have to say, I agree.  One of the first things I noticed about my husband were his shoes (John Fluevog’s with red flames) and his super cool glasses.  I remember being particularly flattered when he complimented me on my new handbag that I had just splurged on at Brooklyn’s refinery.  But lately, because my husband is the uber-responsible family man type, he’s put all his needs on the back burner, and as a result has been wearing the same worn out gap jeans, American Apparel t-shirts and converse high tops for way too long.  His days of shopping for cool vintage shirts and shoes have been replaced by trips to the playground and toddler birthday parties.  Peter always took pride in the way he dressed, and I felt bad that fatherhood was cramping his style.  He also works at a television network which is positively brimming with youth. . . Well Dressed Youth. 

Peter always made sure that I had the time to go buy new clothes after June was born (to be fair, nothing fit and I couldn’t wear maternity clothes forever), but he sincerely wanted me to feel good about myself, and always supported my shopping excursions, trips to the salon to try out another hairstyle or get a pedicure after an especially maddening week with a newborn (as a bonus, there’s a salon in our hood that serves FREE COSMOS).  If he could make time for me to feel good about myself in my messed up state as a new mother, shouldn’t I do the same for him?  I knew he wouldn’t go out and buy new clothes without some major convincing, so I recruited one of the most stylish people I know, my best friend Stephen.  Stephen has pulled off every look you can imagine from lederhosen in the first grade to orange jeans in 1989.  Stephen and Peter spent one afternoon at the mall and my husband miraculously came home with five pairs of pants, four shirts and two pairs of shoes.  This is a big deal since I’m pretty sure he’s been wearing the same pair of shoes since we found out I was pregnant.  It made me so happy to see my husband excited about clothes again. .  . and ready to haul out the ill-fitting and worn out clothes that have been cluttering up his closet.  I did promise he could keep his collection of zombie t-shirts, although now that he has so many actual grown-up items of clothing in his closet, I have a feeling those t-shirts might not make an appearance for awhile.