In case you were wondering, I love making food for Fynn, just as I loved making Mad's baby food. (Corey couldn't have cared less about food until around a year, so he just went straight to food.) It's easy, natural. The bananas Fynn eats are never pink (wth?).
I do not, however, love the feeling of Fynn's food on my hands or wrists while I'm feeding her. I was the same way with Mad. It's like being slimed. It practically is being slimed. I do not want to be slimed. On my hands. Clothes are fine, go for it.
The other night Tom brought the girls home after work. It just so happened that I arrived home about 45 minutes ahead of everybody else. Part of my free time was used doing dishes and getting the girls' dinners ready. I also went across the street to check our mail. We received a card from my in-laws with a check "to help offset those rising gas prices."
The mind immediately starts coming up with ideas, dreams, lofty goals for what we could do with the money. One thing was a priority, however, and that was getting oil changes for both cars. Tom's went to the Toyota dealership. Mine went to a local franchise tire shop. They had awesome reviews online (as opposed to either of the Ford dealerships within 30 miles). When I walked in, the two guys behind the counter were friendly... to the point of being charming... and said that my car would be ready in 20 minutes.
Going to a tire shop for an oil change usually means a bit of a wait, so Tom and the girls were in his car, ready to go shopping for each of us with some of the remaining money. With a 20 minute wait, we decided to hang around. On our way back from a jaunt up a hill, Michael called to tell me that my oil change was done, but that my rear differential needs to be serviced and that my tires need to be aligned.
Have I ever told you my theory about extra money? When the money comes, the problems will follow.
The upside? I mean aside from the fact that my girls will be safer travelling up and down the hill each day. Seriously, a couple of young mechanic types being charming. With me. I haven't come across charming mechanics in years. (Okay, my old guys were charming, but they were... you know... old). Yeah. I'm wondering if I just paid $200 to be charmed, too, but in my mind the answer is a resounding no. Stained baseball cap holding back unruly hair. No makeup. Clothes with this mornings bananas, cereal and breastmilk combo all over 'em. Bloated because my period's coming. I mean, these things are all normal for me, but I guess I should have sent Tom in for me. Bua.Ha.Ha.
I recently scouted out local eye doctors. Called one and inquired about the cost of frames. I haven't needed to wear glasses regularly for about eight years or so. When I did, I often allowed myself to be suckered into expensive frames. Those days are gone. I set a limit and don't want to try on anything over that amount. It makes sense to me that I should have a decent selection of lower cost frames in this area (where Tom recently discovered 48% of the population is on welfare, gah!) than down the hill.
I went in and spent about half an hour trying on glasses. (The less expensive ones were in a tray box in the corner, in case you're following my lead.) I go back on the 17th for the exam. After noticing that I had to walk 10 feet to see myself in the large mirror, Tiffany, the woman helping me suggested that I should perhaps not be too surprised if bifocals were necessary. In which case none of the glasses she's holding for me will work. Whatever. Then we talked about how my eyesight has just tanked since having Fynn, and how I'm going to be turning 40.
"Oh. Ohh yeah, that's it. That's the problem. Mm-hmm. It's the big FOUR-OH. Yep. That'll do it."
Again I say, whatever!