Potty. Trained?

It's a real question of how to phrase the title of this post. It could maybe be potty? Trained. A definitive answer. I'm just a little unsure yet. Rosalind has been totally out of diapers for two weeks or more. Even at night and nap. There have been a few accidents but ones that make sense. She was out of our care, playing with other kids, just didn't make it in time, etc. Then in the last couple of days she has gone really out if her way to tell us she had to go potty. Like, running to the door while playing in the sprinkler and yelling at us to get her out of the shower. That's dedication. So anyway, she seems to have crossed some sort of mental threshold that makes her know she doesn't want to go in her pants. That seems important. I think I'm going to call it. Trained! It seemed to easy. The pacifier is another story.
So, now seems like as good a time as any to discuss cloth diapers. I might be a little behind. Did we do it? Did we quit? Yes and yes. We cloth diapered for one year. When Sergio spent six months in Helena the system fell apart. He was the washer of the diapers. For the most part it was fine. The downsides were that the diapers eventually lost a bit of absorption and Rolo only produced more all the time. They also took on a bit of staleness after awhile. The positives were that they were not any grosser than any other diaper, they were super cute, reusable and FREE. Between breastfeeding, cloth diapers,and a midwife, Rolo could have been a poster child for the fictional magazine I just made up, My Bargain Baby! For six months, Rosalind was pretty much free. It worked well with our underemployed lifestyle. Pretty much as soon as I was employed she weaned and when Sergio got a job out of town she went to disposables. Oh well.
So, do I recommend the hippie, organic, granola approach to babies? Sure, but mostly because it's cheap as crap.

My 26th birthday...for the 4th time.

One of Sergio's talents is planning parties/gifts. Now, he only really gives parties and gifts to Rosalind and I now, and my nieces and nephews at Christmas, but I knew him even before we dated and saw what he gave former girlfriends, and he was good even then. It's a little distressing because I am never able to match it for his birthday. In fact, last year I was really proud of myself for arranging for our friends to all go to dinner and ordering a Boston Creme Pie. I honestly don't remember if there were any other parts to his birthday. He makes gift giving really hard, so I can't take the blame for that one. For example, a week before Father's Day he texted me that he had bought some shoes and that would just be his gift. What am I supposed to do with that?

Anyway, the point of all of that is to say that Friday was my birthday. Sergio planned a birthday that was targeted exactly at me. We went to a friends house for drinks and dinner, while watching the first part of the last Harry Potter movie (as none of our friends had seen it). My friend Nikki provided yummy...I can't spell the correct term so we'll go with...appetizers. Sergio had gotten sliders and mac n cheese (the best on the planet) catered from one of our favorite restaurants. Then he brought out the cake he had specially designed for me. It's the tiny details, like the dot in the date, that show just how much he thought about it. Apparently he also considered buying me some Potter gear to wear to the movie that night, but luckily chickened out. I'm not so much for the dressing up.

We arrived at the 10 pm showing of Harry Potter 3D at 9 pm. We were the last people inside the doors in the line that had already formed. That put us in the first third of the line. People are crazy. We got good seats and the movie was great.

So, yeah, I kind of like my birthdays to resemble those of pre-teens, but the fact that others will join me for that shows I have a good husband and good friends.

P.S. I also really appreciated all the texts, e-cards, and Facebook messages. It made cheer camp go by faster to have new stuff to read all day. Have I mentioned I am coaching Jr. High Cheer this year?

Our Last Six Months

Our Last Six Months

A New Bed

In an effort to ensure that Rolo never sleeps in a structure anyone else has, Dawn and I built this bed. It maintains the visual aesthetic that Dad and I were going for in her crib, mostly modern and entirely hardwood, yet still feels toddlery, though it is a twin bed. It is not done, the rails will be painted white, but I like it.

New Developments

So, for those of you that had ever expressed interest in one day seeing the little farmhouse that we were fixing up, sorry. We sold it. And moved. We're very quick. Blink and you'll miss us!
While there are any number of reasons we decided to sell (possum!) we really just could not get used to how far away from everything we were. We now live in a tiny yellow cottage smack in the middle of Fayetteville. It is an experiment in that tiny house living Sergio is so fired up about. Actually, it is a very good size for us.
It's crazy how fast we acclimated to being back in town. In fact, we periodically have to encourage each other to make that loooooong drive back to the house to move the rest of our stuff. Tomorrow is our last day to get it all cleaned up and moved and we are having to argue with ourselves that the new owners probably don't want the broken down shelves still in the living room or the box of yearbooks in the storage room. It's so far away.
So there you go. We moved and I have yet to find even one dead rat or live possum in the kitchen. I feel pretty good about that.

Summer Art Fun or Preparing for War

Irritating Dawn

Good morning all,
I thought I'd post something unrelated to Rolo, well, only Rolo tangential. I'm very into the idea of tiny or small homes, to Dawn's eternal chagrin, and I thought I would put some of my favorite ones here for some feedback. Why should you care? Because Rolo would have to live in one of these if I ever build one, see, Rolo tangential.







This is an 800 sqft. 2 Bed 1 Bath, obviously modern.











The floor plan is very simple and symmetrical, but where would you put the TV?














I really like the look of this house but it's really too small.









This is the living room, all of it, again though, where does the TV go?

I think I could convince Dawn we should here, appeal to Dawn's inner 9 year old and you're usually good.





Anyways, this post was going to be longer and full of great homes, but arranging the pictures and such is hard and I'm lazy.

Memorial Day Weekend

We decided last Thursday night that it would be a good idea to drive to New Orleans on Friday afternoon. This might explain why it took Sergio and I over half the trip to realize that we needed something cooler to wear than jeans and then to find somewhere to buy those items. New Orleans is super hot and humid. I vaguely recall this from the first three times we went there.
We went with our friends Sam and Nikki and dropped Rosalind with Sergio's parents on our way. There were plenty of kids in New Orleans and I think there is a lot of good stuff for them to do. Walking down Bourbon Street with them is not one of those things. Especially when it is after midnight and the kid is asleep in the stroller and the parents are both drunk. I'm not usually one to judge other parenting styles, but I feel pretty confident in that one. Seriously though, what is it you want your 6 yr old to take in on Bourbon St.? The bars, the drunk people, the naked pictures, the live almost naked girls in every doorway, the smell of old pee/vomit? The only thing a kid should see on Bourbon St. is the amazing group of break dancer guys. That's it. If you want them to see the history, the architecture, the street performers, etc. you can take them down, um, ANY other street. The end.
So anyway, we walked around, drank some here and there, rode the trolley out to the Garden District, and shopped. But who are we kidding? Let's talk about the food! I love New Orleans and the food is my number one reason. This time we went full tourist and almost every meal we ate required a 30-60 minute wait in a long line down the street. We started with Po'Boys at Parkway. It is about two miles outside the French Quarter and we caught it on our way in before we parked the car for the weekend. It was under 6 ft. of water during Katrina but you wouldn't know it now. Shrimp Po'Boys with sweet potato fries covered in gravy(debris). Amazing. Sadly, they didn't offer oyster Po'Boys. Only downside.
If you go here, avoid the line and go to the bar. You can sit in any available seat and order from there. Lesson learned.
Beignets at Cafe du Monde. In all the times we had gone we never tried this. It is always covered with people. This actually ended up being our shortest wait time and there is a giant shade tree almost the whole way. They have it down to an art in there and it helps that there are only about six items on the menu and five of them are drinks. Totally wonderful. Even though it is outside and lots of people are crammed together the fans really work and the iced coffee is yummy and helps with the heat as well. Beignets are like a donut and funnel cake and good bread all at once, but better.
Lunch at Mother's. This was our second longest wait time but felt the longest because it was midday and there was no shade at all. BEST FOOD EVER! Totally worth it. I'm sure everything is good, but the best deal at lunch is the lunch red beans and rice. You get red beans and rice, a meat, and two sides for $11. It says you only get one side but you get two. I recommend getting two sides of greens. I wish I had. And even though it is the best deal you really don't need the additional meat. The red beans are cooked with sausage and ham. The greens are cooked in ham. The cabbage is cooked in ham. And not just a little either, enough to feed you and a friend. Go here, eat this, but don't piss off the lady that let's you in the door and tells you where to stand. She's frightening.
Dinner at Acme Oyster House. Sergio is really the only raw oyster eater among us, so when this ended up being our longest wait I think we were all a little unsure it was worth it. Since we had a lot of time in line we made friends with people all around us and they assured us it was more than worth the wait. Without these people we would not have known to try the chargrilled oysters and the dinner would have been wasted. But since we did know, it was delightful. Sergio still got raw oysters and said they were great. I will take his word for it. I like the taste but unpleasant things happen when I try to eat a raw oyster. Gagging, yacking things. But the chargrilled!!! Oh dear. They were something to behold. Covered in lemon and parmesan cheese and grilled and charred! SOOO good. I could have eaten 12 alone. Or more. That would have been expensive. Instead I just picked every shell clean and dipped bread into all the leftover juice and nibbled at the burnt edges like a crazy person. I will not be showing a picture of the oysters, though. Turns out you can't take a pleasing picture of oysters under red lights. It looks like the something unpleasant already happened.
La Fitte's Blacksmith Bar for Cazerac's. Disclaimer: I didn't drink one of those and nobody else liked them. However, if you want an authentic drink from the nation's oldest bar, a cazerac is your best bet. Your other option is a Ramos Fizz, which might be good but sounds awful. It involves lemon juice, egg white, milk, and alcohol all in one glass. ugh. A cazerac is mostly whiskey that they make smell like licorice. Two of the most divisive flavors all at once. The smell was not pleasant, the bar was. Lit only by candlelight, a jukebox, a good bloody mary with pickled green beans. A very pleasant place to be.
And that concludes our tour of New Orleans for now. I could go on about other stuff we like. The tiny independent bookstores, the Anthropologie store, Royal st., how some drunk person dressed up the lamps in our hotel hallway with all their clothes, how the fire alarm went off twice on our last night there and we had to evacuate the building. And more! But anyway, just go to New Orleans in the early spring or late fall and eat to your hearts content. It's a good time.

So True.

The following is a poem(?) from Tina Fey that I read on a friend's blog and couldn't help but share here. It's pretty perfect. I tried to comment this on their blog but blogger wouldn't let me, so I'll just say thanks here.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

P.S. Just realized this is our 500th post. Weird.

Surprise?

About two minutes ago Sergio opened a kitchen drawer filled with hand towels to find a baby opossum. We put the whole drawer outside and the little guy crawled back in after a few minutes. So now what? And furthermore, where is the mother?