Oh My How the Time Flies - 2009 The Recap

Oh my god, it’s the end of the year don’t you know it, and what do I have to show for it? Other than a few more wrinkles. The following sums up my year. Holy God I am boring.

January 2009. I spent most of this month in bed on bed rest due to pregnancy. This would be the month I started to grow my second ass. Many would think that the growth of a second ass would be sweet, you know those in circus and carnival circles, or those in a large ass fetish community, but for me, not so much.



February 2009. Still on bed rest. It is here that my second ass really began to define itself. I ate a bunch, I watched a bunch of crappy TV and I attempted to crochet a baby blanket (which remains incomplete).



March 2009. This is the month where I basically went insane. I was off bed rest and expected my second baby to arrive any day as she was due on March 14. Because those assholes at BabyCenter say second babies come bigger and sooner. LIARS. Nine days later, on March 23, 2009, I gave birth to a baby we decided to name Maggie Nicole McCall.



April through May 2009. Not much here. Take care of baby, feed baby, watch baby smile, watch Owen try to kill baby, stop Owen from killing baby. Repeat. Also stopped Maggie from taking up with Somali pirates. Oh, and Happy Birthday John!



June 2009. I return to work after a six month absence. There is no cake. This is good because this month I begin to battle Azzilla by running at lunch on the Embarcadero. Although calling it running is a stretch since I basically walked, jogged and coughed a lung.

July 2009. No idea. Fireworks I am sure. Did continue with the running which actually resembles running. This marked the month in which some lady took me aside when running to tell me about a “sports bra”, yes, obviously my bounce was that bad. Got a new Iphone, I wonder why?



August 2009. Two lovely weeks spent at the cabin where Owen learned how to jump out of his pack and play and I learned how to wail to God as to why he has forsaken me.

September 2009. Maggie is six months, things are easier, life is better, my ass is half its old size. I made this pizza.



October 2009. I turn thirty-six. Three to the Six to the I am old. Can someone please explain to me how I became thirty six years old, because just the other day I was twenty-two at X night at Axis and some guy bought me a Zima with Chambord. Stay Classy, Cassie!



November 2009. Turkey Turkey. Owen decided to get a fever on Thanksgiving, and basically turn into most pathetic toddler ever. I made a turkey and a blueberry pie. Sometimes, I really do wish I could marry me.



December 2009. Since this month is the most fresh in my child having, riddle with inaccuracies and yes I do sometimes to talk to my self so shut the hell up mind, I recall my son turning three years old and having Christmas with five children 3 years of age and under and wine, lots of it. Also Owen’s potty training is taken to a new level, all I want for Xmas is a kid who does not poop in his underwear. Thanks for nothing Santa.



Tomorrow, goals for the new year!

One Love

I think everyone has an idea as to what sort of parent they would be, permissive, strict, middle of the road and everyone has steadfast “I’ll never”s. Some of mine being I’ll never hit my kids (well at least when sober so I can’t remember) and I’ll never try to be the cool parent (because really do I want to be friends with my kids - hell no. I want slave labor). But today I broke one of these “I’ll never”s. Today, I bought my son Owen a tie dye shirt. It is no secret that all things hippie make me angry, to Birkenstock socked feet, to the Grateful Dead, to white people with dreadlocks, to the general retardness of something that happened fifty years ago and should be a glimmer in everyone’s eyes. Again, surprising I moved to San Francisco. And why did I have to buy my son a tie dye shirt with gigantic peace symbol on it? Because his preschool class are being rasta reindeer and performing Bob Marley’s One Love for their holiday show. Yes, 3 year old Rastafarians, singing and dancing to Reggae for Christmas. When thinking of reindeer, I think Rudolph, red noses and holiday cheer, I don’t think of tie dye clad toddlers with fake dreadlocks and antlers signing One Love. But I can't lie, I love that this is happening, even if it means that Owen does now owns a hippie peace shirt. Because let's face it, there are always matches, but not many opportunities for your son to be embarrassed 10 years from now as Mom whips out Rasta Reindeer 2009 for the 1,000th viewing.

Pooping Boots

Yesterday it was a pigeon flying into my head, and today it was an accidental pooping. Yes, you read that right. In God’s effort to humiliate me into being a lard ass, yesterday he summoned a pigeon with the flying experience of a blind man to smack me upside my head, and today he summoned my stomach into a state of rumbling that only creates fear. No motivation to increase speed is bigger than that of a potential pooptastic accident on the Embarcadero. I made it, thank god. This week has also marked not one, not two but six different people telling me how much weight I have lost. An insanely great accomplishment considering I thought that my five months of running was for the caloric intake consumed this past Thanksgiving weekend. Blueberry pie bitches! That being said, yesterday my jcrew boots came (see below) and today I will be venturing to The Gap in order to try on skinny and straight leg jeans so that I can tuck them into said boots. I know people, the fashion! Hopefully I will not chicken out as this once again seems a very “costumey” way to dress, but these boots are quite lovely and I have seen many a gal about town with a largesse more than me do same. And so it continues, my slow crawl out of the coma of pregnancy and baby having into the sunlight of being myself with a new pair of kick ass boots.

OMG

As I was stepping onto the Embarcadero to begin my run up flies a scared pigeon who proceeds to slap its body into the left side of my head. I kid you not. Do you know that pigeons are flying rats? They are. Also did you know that you always think they are going to hit you in the head and you move awkwardly to avoid them, but the don't hit you and you look like a complete jack ass. But my pigeon obviously a lover of the drink, flies and hits me in the god forsaken head. So what did I do? I continued to run while cursing how gross it was and thinking of the bird lice now hatching eggs in my hair. Good lord I hate pigeons. Hate, hate, hate, hate. So now in addition to pooping on me twice a year, they have added "bitch slapping upside the head" to the mix. I need a protective helmet.