Darling, let’s have tea.

My parents have been blessed with two grandchildren with very interesting names, and every time you say Grafton and Thatcher together in the same sentence, something compels you to break out the horrible English accent with a bit of Julia Childs thrown in. You just can’t help yourself. It makes you want to drink tea.

My sister and Thatcher came to visit back in October (I'm a little behind), and there’s nothing English and proper about these two kids. Although, I will say that Thatcher can throw down some food like Julia Childs. Homegirl can eat.

Happy Thanksgiving

Why do we only have one official day each year to give Thanks? I guess it's the one day we all have an excuse to be sappy.

Today I am Thankful for:

1. My sweet boy who turns 1 next week. I'm a super proud Mama, even though he thinks my name is Dada.
2. My wonderful husband, who is slowly teaching me that life doesn't have to be one big routine, and it doesn't end after you have a kid.
3. Leftovers
4. DVR
5. Our wonderful next door neighbors
6. Angeline Pinot Noir (the flavor of the week)
7. Corn. Anything corn.
8. Naptime
9. Garnier Nutritioniste Daily anti-fatigue eye cream
10. FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Sorry Bert.

Do you have something in your life that makes you laugh every time you see it? No matter how much you think about it or look at it, you get the same amount of amusement from it? For me, it’s my neighbor Bert. Well, not actually Bert himself, but a picture of Bert that his wife blew up to 11x17 and posted on their fridge. And it never fails, every time I am over at their house, I look at the picture and laugh uncontrollably. Maybe it has something to do with the amount of wine I always consume while I’m there, but you have to admit, it’s pretty damn funny. There’s nothing better than a good laugh at the expense of someone else.

Thank you, ESPN.

The Story by Brandi Carlile is one of my all time favorite songs. And now it’s on ESPN in a Joe Paterno tribute commercial. Thank you Game Day, for tugging on my heartstrings while featuring an 81 year old man who’s about to keel over and die on the football field at any minute.

Make it go away!

I realize that you officially become a mom the minute you pop out a baby, but at what point do you become a mother? At what age do you become that woman, who points her finger and gives you “the look” and tells you things you don’t want to hear? The woman that everyone under the age of 25 rolls their eyes at?

I always thought it was later in life, when your kids were old enough to be taught a lesson. Like, one day, your kid wakes up and actually starts to take in what you are saying, and you can see that little brain processing the information.

I seem to be taking on “motherhood” way too early. And I’m fighting my best fight, but it’s not letting up.

Case in point:

I work with a young 25 year old. She’s cute and blonde, lives in downtown Austin, dates a hipster guy, and likes to partake in one too many adult beverages on the weekends. And maybe Tuesdays. Anyways, the point is, she’s fun. And last Monday, she comes into work and proceeds to tell me that she and her roommates got a trampoline.

I was appalled at what flew out of my mouth: “A TRAMPOLINE??? What if someone gets drunk, gets hurt, and tries to sue you???”

Whoa, back up. What did I just say? Because it sounded an awful lot like something that a mother would say. And I’m not a mother yet. I’m only 32 and my kid is only 10 months old. I’m the girl that would have too much to drink and think it’s a good idea to jump on the trampoline!! Well, maybe 2 years ago, I was that girl. But still.

Her response? “SHUT UP MOM!”

If I blog it, he will come.

KEVIN COSTNER, KEVIN COSTNER, KEVIN COSTNER!!

What if the Voice calls while you're gone?

You’d be surprised how many blog entries I come up with in my head that never make it onto paper….or computer screens. And they come at the most random times. In the checkout line at Golden Chick, anxiously awaiting my chicken salad sandwich that is TO DIE FOR. Or changing G’s diaper, and in the midst of applying his prescription butt powder so that his rear-end doesn’t get “yeasty” (Yes, yeasty. I don’t make this stuff up.), AHA! a good idea pops into my head. Inspiration comes in all forms, folks.

And while I’m full of good ideas, GENIUS ideas actually, it means nothing if no one reads this thing. So, I’m channeling my 80’s Kevin Costner for a minute, and asking you all to do me a favor.

If you read this, please leave a comment. I don’t care what you say. It can even be mean. Just leave something. Say Hi. Tell me a funny joke. Anything.

If you’re lucky, more of my genius ideas will make it onto the web. If not, then well….the world is missing out. Big time.

OMG, this is so bananas...

We have this rule in our house that if you find money in the washer or dryer, it's yours to keep. I'm hoping that Will accidentally left $495 in his jeans so that I can get this handbag. It's not even a purse, people. Once you hit a certain level of fabulousness, it becomes a 'handbag.' As Rachel Zoe would say, it's so bananas.

shitmydadsays

This is just plain awesome. And I can't even get mad at this guy that he came up with this before I did. My dad would never say this shit.

http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

July Love Story

A few of my favorite things in July:

:: Girls trip to Fredericksburg, TX.

:: This little dude.

:: My Pentax K20D SLR. Turns out, I'm holding it wrong. The only thing I learned in my free class from Precision Camera.

:: Augustana, Sweet and Low

Where's the beef?

I have decided that the easiest way to a healthier me is to slowly cut out everything from my diet that doesn't agree with me. One. At. A. Time. I tried to go cold turkey back in February of 2008 and it was horrible. Impossible. Painstakingly miserable.

The first to go is beef. Oh beef, how I love you. But, you've got to go. I guess the 974 Happy Meals that I ate during my pregnancy are no longer an option.

So far, it's been about 2 weeks and it's going okay. Well, except for the fact that I bought a pound of roast beef from the deli and had eaten 2 sandwiches before I realized I WAS EATING BEEF. Dumbass.

How You Doin'

I have often wondered if babies look like boys or girls strictly based on the clothes they wear. I decided to spare my kid the embarrassment of dressing him up like a girl, so I took this picture.

Yep, he’s a boy. Although, now I’m concerned. He looks awfully comfortable draped in pink fur in a porn pose. Should I intervene now, or wait until he’s 13 and is able to express himself freely as a person? I think I’ll wait. And if the pink fur is still around, I’ll take action.

And you thought it was over between us.

I’m not going to lie. It crossed my mind once or twice that I could easily close this blog down and no one would notice. I would just quit. I wouldn’t have the typical stresses of blogging on my shoulders week in and week out. Not that I know what is so stressful about blogging, but you get what I’m saying. But then I think to myself: I AM NOT A QUITTER!

Wait a minute…yes I am. I quit all of the time.

4th grade cheerleading – Too cheery. Quit.
Girl Scouts – Too much kum-bah-yah. Quit.
High school band – Too dorky. Quit.
Job at Harte-Hanks – HORRIBLE. Quit.
Bootcamp – Too early. Quit.
Junior League – Too snobby. Quit.

But Pimp My Bungalow? I’ll keep going. I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to quit. So, you’re stuck with me.

Pet Peeves and other things that annoy me #4

Andie McDowell

I don’t know what it is about this woman, but just the thought of her makes me cringe. Watching her in a movie is almost as bad as the sound of an alarm clock going off in the morning at the same time your 3 month old kid starts screaming and your neighbor’s yappy little dog decides to get all excited. I’ll even throw in the high-pitched screeching sound of the 1987 minivan that drives by every morning at 6am. It’s her voice, her acting, even the way she tries to sell me wrinkle cream. Clearly, she has wrinkles. I’m not the only one out there that has these feelings. Other people dislike her so much that they’ve created Andie McDowell hate clubs. I don’t have the guts to join. God might be watching.

A holiday isn't a holiday without a little inappro.

There’s one thing you can always count on at a Burleson family gathering - Someone is going to say something completely inappropriate. It’s just a given. And the more wine consumed, the more inappropriate. Break out the whiskey or scotch, and you’d better put on your facemask, because something very crude, rude, and completely uncalled for is going to come flying out of someone’s mouth and hit you right in the face.

At Robin’s 50th birthday weekend, it was Chip. Give the gay boy too many bloody mary’s at breakfast and he starts talking about Jake’s girlfriend’s boobs in front of the entire family in the pool. He doesn’t even like boobs!

Over Thanksgiving, it was my FIL. We were all enjoying a nice dinner that evening, sitting around the table giving thanks, and WHAM! Out of nowhere, an Obama joke flew out of Bob’s mouth that left us all sitting there with our mouths wide open and speechless…..for 0.2 seconds. And then the room broke out in laughter. I never said the inappropriateness wasn’t funny. It’s always funny. Most of the time it’s hilarious. Hilarious and completely inappropriate.

But Christmas 2008 had to top it all. It was Christmas eve and we were all settling in for a long winter’s nap. Ha! Kidding. We were actually exchanging our 5 dollar gifts and partaking in a few too many adult beverages. The last gift was a gingerbread house kit and each couple had 15 minutes to put it together. (I know this sounds very cute, like something Martha Stewart’s family does. Don’t judge.) After 15 minutes of destroying the house with nasty icing and candy, we all brought our houses in to be judged. We were admiring Chip and Noel’s (Chip’s boyfriend) cute little house when Will commented to Noel that the eave was supposed to be over the front door of the house, not the backdoor. (I think Will was just upset that our “mobile home destroyed by a tornado” came in last place.) And all of a sudden, WHAM! Noel responds with, “Well, duh Will…everyone knows we like the backdoor better!”

Ahhh…family. Gotta love ‘em and all of their inappropriateness.

Even dogs can embarrass.

Over the holidays, we took a roadtrip to visit family in Mississippi and Tennessee. Yep, a roadtrip. 12 hours each way. WITH A NEWBORN! While we were gone for 7 days, we had our dog sitter, Kay, keep the boys. She rarely has any issues, and if she does, she calls us immediately. While we were on the way back to Texas, I decided to give Kay a call to see how everything went since I hadn’t heard from her. After the following conversation took place, I have a whole new level of respect for her. And keep in mind that I had just had a baby. Weird things happen to your body.

Me: Hi Kay! Just checking on the boys. I hope everything went okay.

Kay: Everything was great! Well, except for one small incident.

Me: Uh oh. What happened?

Kay: Well….sweet little Jack got into the trash and made a mess.

Me: Oh crap. Was it all over the kitchen?

Kay: Well….no….not exactly. He got into the bathroom trash.

Me: Oh shit. How do you know it was Jack and not Cooper?

Kay: Well….he met me at the door this morning with a used maxi-pad in his mouth!

Get it out!!

Womanizer Woman-Womanizer, You're a womanizer, Oh Womanizer, Oh You're a Womanizer Baby
You You You Are
You You You Are
Womanizer, Womanizer, Womanizer

Maybe no one will notice.

Let’s pretend that I didn’t take a 2 ½ month break from blogging. Cool? There were 4 weeks of house arrest (boring), 32 hours of contractions (awful), the birth of a baby (painful) , and now 12 weeks of maternity leave (overwhelming, exhausting, stressful, hard, and wonderful, all at the same time).

But now I’m back. However, I can’t promise good material until March. That’s when I go back to work and life becomes a bit more exciting, meaning normal. Meaning ADULT CONVERSATION. My life isn’t very thrilling at the moment…sleepless nights, days without bathing, dirty diapers, the never-ending pile of laundry that doesn’t get folded, and lots of pumping. Lots and lots of pumping.

It’s hard to believe, but Grafton is already 7 weeks old on Wednesday. Time has flown by. I only have 5 weeks of maternity leave left and I’m praying that things become a bit easier before I head back to work. If they don’t, I’ll be that lady at the office that shows up late every morning covered in spit up and the unidentifiable baby shit on her shirt. I’ll be the lady with piles of coffee mugs on her desk that never get washed and start to get moldy. The lady who wears the same ugly crap every week and has the oh-so-lovely mom butt, because it’s “easy” and “comfortable.” I used to roll my eyes at “that lady” but now I see how easy it is to become her. I’ve already done a few things to avoid it at all costs. For one, I cut all of my hair off. A little drastic, but completely necessary. And no…it is NOT a mom-bob. I like to think of it as a sexy mom cut. Maybe even a MILF-do. I have also saved all of my gift cards from Christmas for a big fat shopping spree right before I go back to work. On February 25th, the sweats go in the trash and the fabulous comes out!

Oh, and I guess you probably want to see pictures of the kid on occasion. I’ll be posting those too, but along with avoiding That Lady, I’m also going to try to avoid turning PMB into Grafton’s Personal Website. Sometimes, he’s just too damn cute though. So deal with it.