so i have been very excited about taking the girls downtown chicago friday morning for the live broadcast of the today show. i would like to get my face on national television before i die and i figure these two cute babies of mine are just what i need to catapult me into the spotlight. earlier this year, tj and i built a shitshack igloo with our friends and got it featured on the 11:00 news. (we know someone who knows someone that is banging the weather chick.) that 15 second clip was all i needed to catch the bug - now i'm dreaming big... like, today show big.
other than the igloo debacle, i've only been questioned by a news reporter one other time. nathan howard from wdtn came up to me outside of krogers to ask me what i thought about "this crazy warm weather." by "crazy warm weather" he was referring to the 60 degree march day that we randomly get in ohio every single year, and every single year people talk about it like jesus himself has blown hot air onto the chosen people of the miami valley. then they all update their facebook statusus about it... but i digress. anyways - the reason my answer never appeared on the noon report was because either: a) i asked him if i needed to have a bra on to be on tv or, b) my nipples were poking out of my shirt. (60 degrees is warm, but it's not that warm.)
i have been on the radio a few times when i worked at the car dealerships in high school and college. Those places are swarming with radio dj's on the weekends who give away concert tickets and other freebies to lure the public to the salesmen. i never could understand how people could show up for an umbrella and leave with a damn F1-50. every once in a while they would ask me to make the on-air plea with the public and i obliged every single time. nothing warmed my heart like begging the good folks of our community to come get a free nickleback cd and then watch them walk away with a 72 month lease on an '02 mercury sable. "oh that doesn't happen!" you might say. yes it does. ask my husband.
but, back to the today show: we have all of our supplies ready to go to make the oh-so-necessary sign. everyone who gets good air time in the crowd always has a good sign and i've come up with a great one. between that and that cute babies, i'm for sure going to get my 15 seconds of national fame. what does my sign say? well, you'll have to wait and see. for those of you that actually have a life, i will be sure to update with pictures and a crappy quality video of me taping my dvr playback.
**spoiler alert** just look for the crazy screaming lady and her two children with the sign offering al roker a diaper.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
blue balls
just to recap my health, briefly:
miscarriage 2009
baby #1 2010
hospital stay for post-partum hemorrhaging 2010
miscarriage - D&C for 4 month fetus 2011
emergency removal of gallbladder 2011
emergency removal of appendix 2011
tooth extraction 2012
c-section baby #2 2012
now to recap, briefly, t.j.'s:
sore elbow from too much damn golf 2011
man cold 2012
for those keeping score: i'm down 2 organs, an incisor, vaginal elasticity, and a set of perky tits. t.j.'s down a night of men's golf league.
i feel like my body needs recovery time. i have designated 2013 as the year that larissa stays out of the hospital. i'm not going to need any one's assistance to go pee and i'm not going to have to fart in front of a nurse to gain permission to go home. i am swearing off anything requiring anesthesia; to which t.j. suggested i go on the pill. to which i suggested he go to hell. i'm 32 damn years old, i'm not going on the pill - unless it's a valium washed down with pinot noir.
so, i have given my husband a deadline for a vasectomy: march 1st... or as i like to call it: v-day. v-day was announced when london was approximately 32 seconds old. i told him there was no excuse - especially after i found out about "vas madness," in which urology practices offer special rates during college basketball's final four tourneys. t.j. usually spends march madness sitting in front of the t.v., not getting laid, and crying, so this is perfect.
he has many ways of deflecting talk of v-day including: getting mad, getting quiet, getting nauseous, and his latest... getting baby fever. yep - you heard me. t.j. has decided that the easiest way to avoid v-day is by planning another birthday. he was very convincing in his stance; so much so that i conceded. i agreed to let him out of v-day in hopes for getting the little boy he has always dreamed of.
when i find out who he's having it with, i'll provide an update.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
keeping my cool
when i was younger i often wondered at what point my dad decided he would stop listening to music created after 1982. with each peter gabriel hit that blared through the speakers of our 1988 chevy safari i would re-commit myself to a lifetime of top 40 and sports cars. i didn't know when people faded from cool to parental, but i was never going to allow it to happen. i solemnly swore to never have jeans that covered my belly piercing; which was an easy thing to do since i made the pact to never, ever, ever - under any circumstance - shop outside of the junior's department.
now that i've become a mom, i am constantly evaluating and scrutinizing the actions and behavior of t.j. and i to make sure we are staying steadfast on the cool-ometer. (see, the fact that i just used the word "cool-ometer" shows that i slip-up every once in a while.) i live in a juxtaposition of being a great parent without seeming like one. every time i use the phrase, "because mommy said so" i justify it with a pair of purple skinny jeans. when t.j. and i have immature conversation like this recent string of text messages that took place while he was out of town for business, i revel in our hip-ness:
sometimes the fact that i'm horribly annoyed by the tourette syndrome caused by justin bieber's hair style makes me fear that i'm starting to lose touch. but just when i start to feel this way i tell myself it's going to be alright; one day when roz and london accuse me of being not cool i will reassure them i'm the bomb and drop a hook from whoomp there it is while flashing my tramp stamp. they wouldn't know cool if it hit them in their face - which is what i may do because i'm the parent here.
now that i've become a mom, i am constantly evaluating and scrutinizing the actions and behavior of t.j. and i to make sure we are staying steadfast on the cool-ometer. (see, the fact that i just used the word "cool-ometer" shows that i slip-up every once in a while.) i live in a juxtaposition of being a great parent without seeming like one. every time i use the phrase, "because mommy said so" i justify it with a pair of purple skinny jeans. when t.j. and i have immature conversation like this recent string of text messages that took place while he was out of town for business, i revel in our hip-ness:
 |
| look how cool we are |
t.j.: "sitting here working. bout to blow up this hotel printer"
lars: "better than blowing up the hotel"
t.j: "better than blowing up"
lars: "better than blowing... someone"
see, discussing innuendo about homosexual relations is so much cooler than talk of balancing checkbooks and preschool drop-off. and every time an exchange like this takes place i am reminded of how relevant we have remained in today's pop culture.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
oh boy
when i was at my last OB appointment before having rozlyn there was a mom in the waiting room with her little boy running all around crazy like all toddlers forced to wait at an OB office act like. acting all stressed out from having to actually get up from her chair she looked at me and asked "do ya know what your having yet?" with a proud smile i answered, "yeah - a little girl." she then wasted the next 10 minutes of my life to explain how lucky i was that god had given me a sweet, perfect female instead of an unruly hell-on-wheels little boy. what i didn't know in that moment was that was only the first of numerous times i would have to endure a mom of a boy(s) tell me how much harder they have it in life than me because i was a mother to a precious girl(s).
since that day i have seen countless bruises and scrapes used as living illustrations to coincide with the outrageous stories explaining why i should be so thankful to have a girl. according to every mom of a boy, my daughters will NEVER be as rambunctious or accident-prone as their sons. as i hear story after story after story of experiences that ONLY mothers of boys get to have in life i can't help but laugh: see, if it weren't for having a vagina, i was a little boy when i was growing up.
i can show you the scar on my chin from ryan egleston stopping my back tire at about 20 mph resulting in a perfect flip over my handlebars. my left leg has a scar on it from my ten year old self's decision to hop onto a harley davidson that hadn't cooled and melted off the top layer of my skin. while i had heard of dressing up barbie dolls, my only preference for pink was neon grip tape for my skateboard. and while i could have joined the girls in the neighborhood as they rode their hello kitty bicycles, i preferred trying to burn the retinas of innocent civilians driving down our street with my laser tag gun. then there is that time i convinced andy sparks to slam the door shut with a piece of floss perfectly knotted around a doorknob on one end and my bottom left incisor on the other end. (one lesson in life i will no doubtedly teach my girls is that if you must remove teeth with a slamming door, make sure it is the front teeth - the sides and molars are a bit finicky - and a tad painful.)
last week at mcdonalds playplace there was a Super Boy Mom (SBM's have 2 or more boys) who was appalled at my decision to let my precious little 2 year old girl play in the big part of the jungle gym reserved for 3 and up. (gasp!) i explained to SBM that we were frequent guests of the big play area and that roz had no fear. after what seemed like an eternity of listening to SBM make comments about roz not being allowed in that area, i finally told her to worry about her own kids. her response was "WELL DON'T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN SHE GETS TRAMPLED BY ONE OF MY BOYS!"
i won't go into detail, out of fear of embarrassing my mother, but i will say that the words "bitch" and "playplace nazi" may or may not have slipped out of my mouth. these words that i may or may not have used resulted in SBM attempting to storm out of the play area talking about my lack of class and my truck-driver mouth. however, before she could go she had to round up her boys; which would've been easier if roz didn't have her second-born child in a headlock in the ball pit.
roz got extra ice-cream that night - more than most little boys eat in a month.
since that day i have seen countless bruises and scrapes used as living illustrations to coincide with the outrageous stories explaining why i should be so thankful to have a girl. according to every mom of a boy, my daughters will NEVER be as rambunctious or accident-prone as their sons. as i hear story after story after story of experiences that ONLY mothers of boys get to have in life i can't help but laugh: see, if it weren't for having a vagina, i was a little boy when i was growing up.
i can show you the scar on my chin from ryan egleston stopping my back tire at about 20 mph resulting in a perfect flip over my handlebars. my left leg has a scar on it from my ten year old self's decision to hop onto a harley davidson that hadn't cooled and melted off the top layer of my skin. while i had heard of dressing up barbie dolls, my only preference for pink was neon grip tape for my skateboard. and while i could have joined the girls in the neighborhood as they rode their hello kitty bicycles, i preferred trying to burn the retinas of innocent civilians driving down our street with my laser tag gun. then there is that time i convinced andy sparks to slam the door shut with a piece of floss perfectly knotted around a doorknob on one end and my bottom left incisor on the other end. (one lesson in life i will no doubtedly teach my girls is that if you must remove teeth with a slamming door, make sure it is the front teeth - the sides and molars are a bit finicky - and a tad painful.)
last week at mcdonalds playplace there was a Super Boy Mom (SBM's have 2 or more boys) who was appalled at my decision to let my precious little 2 year old girl play in the big part of the jungle gym reserved for 3 and up. (gasp!) i explained to SBM that we were frequent guests of the big play area and that roz had no fear. after what seemed like an eternity of listening to SBM make comments about roz not being allowed in that area, i finally told her to worry about her own kids. her response was "WELL DON'T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN SHE GETS TRAMPLED BY ONE OF MY BOYS!"
i won't go into detail, out of fear of embarrassing my mother, but i will say that the words "bitch" and "playplace nazi" may or may not have slipped out of my mouth. these words that i may or may not have used resulted in SBM attempting to storm out of the play area talking about my lack of class and my truck-driver mouth. however, before she could go she had to round up her boys; which would've been easier if roz didn't have her second-born child in a headlock in the ball pit.
roz got extra ice-cream that night - more than most little boys eat in a month.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
i HATE sausage
tj got me tickets to a bulls game for my birthday - hopefully he won't be too surprised when i give him a divorce for christmas. i'm not sure what i would expect... here's just a few other gems from the past 13 years:
christmas 1999: a gym membership. according to him it wasn't because i had gained weight. according to the membership card i was 5'6 and weighed 120 lbs. either he was an idiot or he filled it out when i was in 4th grade.
birthday 2002: a scarecrow on a piece of plywood with a basket of mums attached to it. this would've been a great gift if i was 62, didn't live with my parents, and enjoyed shopping at craft fairs.
valentines day 2003: fresh off the scarecrow he redeemed himself with a pair of size S hooters sweat pant capris. i'm not kidding.
christmas 2007: cooking pans. he obviously didn't find out from my dad what happens to a man that buys his wife kitchen shit for a major holiday.
mother's day 2011:
(that last one was left blank because that's what i got... nothing. but, he made up for it this mother's day by going golfing all damn day.)
well, i gotta go now and eat the breakfast he made me... egg and sausage omelettes.
christmas 1999: a gym membership. according to him it wasn't because i had gained weight. according to the membership card i was 5'6 and weighed 120 lbs. either he was an idiot or he filled it out when i was in 4th grade.
birthday 2002: a scarecrow on a piece of plywood with a basket of mums attached to it. this would've been a great gift if i was 62, didn't live with my parents, and enjoyed shopping at craft fairs.
valentines day 2003: fresh off the scarecrow he redeemed himself with a pair of size S hooters sweat pant capris. i'm not kidding.
christmas 2007: cooking pans. he obviously didn't find out from my dad what happens to a man that buys his wife kitchen shit for a major holiday.
mother's day 2011:
(that last one was left blank because that's what i got... nothing. but, he made up for it this mother's day by going golfing all damn day.)
well, i gotta go now and eat the breakfast he made me... egg and sausage omelettes.
Friday, October 12, 2012
not an easy solution
i ran out of contact solution and was surprised i couldn't find anymore because the last time i bought it was at costco, so i figured i was good 'till at least 2014. contact solution is one thing i'm super quick to run out and replace; however, when you have two kids under two, there is no "super quick" about anything. making a trip to target for saline actually requires more logistical planning than a royal wedding.
the first thing i like to definitely do before leaving the house is feed london. i'm all for breastfeeding in public, but since i'm not in college anymore, i do try to reduce the amount of times i publicly flash my nips. the next thing i do is pack roz's "snacks." homegirl needs a 4 course buffet available to her in the car at all times. the hard part of this is getting the entire food pantry packed into the diaper bag without her seeing me pack it. in order to do this i give her random "missions" that she finds fun to distract her: "roz, go count pieces of dog food... roz, go find a christmas tree in your bedroom... roz, go see if you can move the couch...
we get loaded into the car and head out. we had been in the car for approximately 27 seconds when roz drops her damn juice cup. my choice is to either stop and get it for her, or listen to her frantically say "juuuuuice" 754 times over the course of our 15 minute trip. i pulled over and warned her that if she were to drop it again she would be out of luck - fully knowing that if she dropped it, my ass would be pulling over. (london can't stay asleep during a juice tangent, and i like london asleep.)
i pull into target and london decides it's time for a growth spurt and that she needs to eat again. i hop into the 3 inch space between the two car seats and start to feed her. while i'm doing this, roz decides she has to get out of the car seat. now. now. right NOW. i explain to roz that mommy is feeding sissy and that when she is done we are going to go look at toys. won't that be fuuuuuuun? doesn't matter. roz is red in the face and trying to houdini out of the straps - which then start to strangulate her neck because something in that small brain of hers doesn't tell her to stop leaning forward once air restriction occurs. i'm trying to undo her car seat with my left hand while keeping my right boob nice and still for london's second lunch in 45 minutes.
we make it inside. because it is such an ordeal to run a single errand, i had a small list of other things i could get while there. as i'm looking for kiddie toothpaste i hear london blowing that second lunch out of her ass. roz starts giggling and says "poof!" i pick up the toothpaste and decide to go ahead and take the girls to the bathroom to change london so we don't have to rush through my shopping list. london is fed and changed and decides to snooze. as soon as she drifts off, i hear roz grunting:
me: "ohmygodroz, are you pooping?"
roz: "poof."
me: "well, that's awesome. couldn't you have poofed when your sister did?"
roz: "no."
roz is changed. i have all of my stuff in the cart. we are ready to leave, except i did want to look at shoes for roz real quick since london was still sleeping. i get roz out of the cart so she can try a pair on. i didn't like how they looked and went to take them off - well... apparently she loved them and felt it was unnecessary to take them off. what occurred over the next 10 minutes... well, i won't go into detail, but let's just say that at one point roz was laying flat in the middle of target like a starfish screaming her head off as i told her monsters were going to come and eat her unless she stood up in the next 2 seconds. next thing you know, london is awake and letting the 3 people inside of the store who weren't already aware of our presence know that she was pissed off. really pissed off.
we are on our way home. you-know-who drops her damn juice cup again. as i'm trying to explain to a 22 month old what "karma" is, you-know-who #2 decides that her 95th percentile stomach needs fed again. we get inside the house: roz has her juice, london has my boob... and i forgot my damn saline solution.
the first thing i like to definitely do before leaving the house is feed london. i'm all for breastfeeding in public, but since i'm not in college anymore, i do try to reduce the amount of times i publicly flash my nips. the next thing i do is pack roz's "snacks." homegirl needs a 4 course buffet available to her in the car at all times. the hard part of this is getting the entire food pantry packed into the diaper bag without her seeing me pack it. in order to do this i give her random "missions" that she finds fun to distract her: "roz, go count pieces of dog food... roz, go find a christmas tree in your bedroom... roz, go see if you can move the couch...
we get loaded into the car and head out. we had been in the car for approximately 27 seconds when roz drops her damn juice cup. my choice is to either stop and get it for her, or listen to her frantically say "juuuuuice" 754 times over the course of our 15 minute trip. i pulled over and warned her that if she were to drop it again she would be out of luck - fully knowing that if she dropped it, my ass would be pulling over. (london can't stay asleep during a juice tangent, and i like london asleep.)
i pull into target and london decides it's time for a growth spurt and that she needs to eat again. i hop into the 3 inch space between the two car seats and start to feed her. while i'm doing this, roz decides she has to get out of the car seat. now. now. right NOW. i explain to roz that mommy is feeding sissy and that when she is done we are going to go look at toys. won't that be fuuuuuuun? doesn't matter. roz is red in the face and trying to houdini out of the straps - which then start to strangulate her neck because something in that small brain of hers doesn't tell her to stop leaning forward once air restriction occurs. i'm trying to undo her car seat with my left hand while keeping my right boob nice and still for london's second lunch in 45 minutes.
we make it inside. because it is such an ordeal to run a single errand, i had a small list of other things i could get while there. as i'm looking for kiddie toothpaste i hear london blowing that second lunch out of her ass. roz starts giggling and says "poof!" i pick up the toothpaste and decide to go ahead and take the girls to the bathroom to change london so we don't have to rush through my shopping list. london is fed and changed and decides to snooze. as soon as she drifts off, i hear roz grunting:
me: "ohmygodroz, are you pooping?"
roz: "poof."
me: "well, that's awesome. couldn't you have poofed when your sister did?"
roz: "no."
roz is changed. i have all of my stuff in the cart. we are ready to leave, except i did want to look at shoes for roz real quick since london was still sleeping. i get roz out of the cart so she can try a pair on. i didn't like how they looked and went to take them off - well... apparently she loved them and felt it was unnecessary to take them off. what occurred over the next 10 minutes... well, i won't go into detail, but let's just say that at one point roz was laying flat in the middle of target like a starfish screaming her head off as i told her monsters were going to come and eat her unless she stood up in the next 2 seconds. next thing you know, london is awake and letting the 3 people inside of the store who weren't already aware of our presence know that she was pissed off. really pissed off.
we are on our way home. you-know-who drops her damn juice cup again. as i'm trying to explain to a 22 month old what "karma" is, you-know-who #2 decides that her 95th percentile stomach needs fed again. we get inside the house: roz has her juice, london has my boob... and i forgot my damn saline solution.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
i'm joining a fight club
well, i've hit the 6 week mark of post-partumhood which means i'm able to start working out again. i've spent the past 3 years of my life pregnant and/or in surgery recovery - the only exercise regimen i've been on in the past year is moving from my bed to the toilet without assistance. i hate exercising, but i have to stay somewhat fit to keep up with my ironman of a husband.
when i agreed to marry tj he was "husky" and ate 4 mixing bowls of cereal in the morning. i was naturally anorexic. immediately following our wedding my metabolism came to a halt (probably stunted by all the boxed wine and fried zucchini) and tj decided to become bruce jenner. (the decathlete bruce jenner, not the i-look-like-a-burn-victim bruce kardashian.) t.j. became part of some running club where regular marathons weren't good enough so they ran 32 mile "ultra-marathons." in honor of this, i switched to "ultra-light" marlboros. every time t.j. came home with another blue ribbon i'd drink a pabst.
when i agreed to marry tj he was "husky" and ate 4 mixing bowls of cereal in the morning. i was naturally anorexic. immediately following our wedding my metabolism came to a halt (probably stunted by all the boxed wine and fried zucchini) and tj decided to become bruce jenner. (the decathlete bruce jenner, not the i-look-like-a-burn-victim bruce kardashian.) t.j. became part of some running club where regular marathons weren't good enough so they ran 32 mile "ultra-marathons." in honor of this, i switched to "ultra-light" marlboros. every time t.j. came home with another blue ribbon i'd drink a pabst.
now with the girls here, t.j. doesn't have time to run 3 hours a day, so he gets up at 4:45 every single morning of his life and does the insanity workout. if you don't know what the insanity program is, let's just say it very aptly named; it is most definitely insane to wake up every day to a black man screaming at and abusing you. i'll tell you two people it didn't work for: me and tina turner.
so i've decided on turbo jam and boxing. if you have ever witnessed turbo jam, you'll understand my wanting to take boxing. when i look this stupid in the basement, t.j. will laugh at me. when t.j. laughs at me, i will want to be able to kick his ass. since most of you can't laugh at me doing turbo jam, let's laugh at this poor lady turbo jammin' it up in beast mode:
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