Grace...not.

Last Friday as I filed out the front door to get my water bottle from a car parked on the street, I was waved to by a very nice Rumpke man getting our recycling and from my neighbor across the street. I looked up, smiled, shot my hand up to wave back at both of them and then promptly fell down the front steps. The poor Rumpke man looked in horror and yelled from his truck, "Are you okay?" I shouted back, "Yes, but apparently I can't walk and wave at the same time."

As I got up, I noticed a bloodied knee on one side and a throbbing foot on the other. This wouldn't be so bad if I weren't pregnant and hadn't severely fallen down the steps INSIDE my home back in January, injuring my tailbone. So now I have sciatic pain from the baby, an inch thick scab preventing my right knee from bending, pulled ligaments in my left foot and a tailbone injury that pops up at the least opportune times rendering me to beg for assistance. To say I look like a weeble wobble who had been partially run over by a mini-van would be an understatement. Yes, people. Me and stairs have an issue.

These incidents unfortunately weren't the first. I thought about all the times I had fallen down steps during the last 15 years. I'm remembering these in no certain order... well maybe in terms of pain it caused.

• There was the time I was carrying Christmas presents when I was a college student on Ravine Street and destroyed half the presents I had just meticulously wrapped.
• The first day of classes at UC I walked out of Dubois bookstore and fell down the one step on to sidewalk, saved by my face, but not saving face.
• There was that time on Christmas Eve as we were secretly placing gifts under the tree and I slipped on the wood steps at my in-laws and literally shook the whole house when I landed, waking up my neice and nephew and destroying their visions of sugar plums and Santa Claus.
• I once slid down the steps while holding my newborn daughter, stopping just short of the wall and scaring the bejeesus out of both of us.
• And finally (the only one I was fully intoxicated for) at OU when my roommate, our guy friend and I stumbled home from the bar to the concrete steps in front of our dorm and we fell BACKWARD... from the top. We woke up with a black eye, a gash on our head and most likely a concussion, although I don't remember who had what injury. Hmm, I must have had the concussion.

Aaah, good times.

My husband has been present for most of these elegant displays, or at least in the general vicinity. We are blaming one of two things. 1. I grew up in a ranch house. Steps were never part of my physical space and therefore I never developed the 'coordination' for navigating them. 2. The good Lord blessed me with loose hip ligaments, a slight pigeon toe and gigantic boobs. Walking on an even surface is fine, but you throw those elements in with something that involves balance and coordination and you have the perfect scenerio for an 'America's Funniest Home Video'. If only one had been present last Friday I might be on my way to $10,000 and the source of America's laughter. If only I had been so lucky! Here's to lack of grace. May it one day be followed by a video camera, huge payday and no more injuries!

Debbie Downer

Well, it's May 11th now. We officially put our house on the market 9 weeks ago today. Our original listing was up yesterday but we extended it through the end of the month. Big whoop huh? People have their houses on the market for years sometimes before selling. Well, me... well I hoping for a miracle. In fact, I was pretty sure a miracle was going to happen, especially when that beautiful tudor came on the market a week after ours. I knew it was meant to be. That beautiful house stood on the market for a solid 5 weeks or so. That alone was a miracle considering half of Westwood wanted to buy it, but everyone else was in the same boat, they needed to sell their house first. Of course it went pending to some lucky so-and-so. Today though my heart was officially broken when our backup favorite house went pending as well. So now, if we did by some chance get an offer, there's no place we're interested in moving to (in our price range that is).

Don't get me wrong, we're fine, we'll get by here with 3 kids just fine for awhile. In fact it will take a little stress off not to have to spend my last trimester moving... cause that would be a barrel of fun for sure. It's just I can't help feeling like a big fat failure (no pun intended for the 'big fat' part, even though I'm there for sure). I feel like I could be another line in Alanis Morrisette's "Isn't it Ironic" hit (Don't laugh! That CD changed my life... Ben was so much 'best friend with benefits'... good times in 1995) The point is isn't it ironic that a so called interior designer can't lure someone into buying her home? You know, that sanctuary created with 7 long, drawn-out years of design schooling and years of professional experience. Every other designer I know has had their place sold within 2 months or so, at a decent price. Some in as little as 3 days. Yet here we are, no hope in sight and we're looking at another year and a half before we can give it a go again.

Call it a pity party, please. And pass the Pringles potato chips. Just try not to spit on me as you repeat that phrase 5 times fast.

Honestly though I don't know which part has me in the dumps more. The fact I am an designer who can't sell one of her 'creations' or a mom stuck in a small house with no yard for her kids to play in. I just feel like a total failure. (Oh, haven't I warned you before of wildly shifting hormonal mood swings? Consider this one.) So if anyone wants to send me a nudge of encouragement, big hug or 'get over yourself you big fat crybaby' please do. I'm going to go encourage Isla to play with her poop some more now, you all need something of more substance to read about next time.

If you want a laugh after this Debbie Downer drivel, please view the following link. I wet myself partly because I'm pregnant and partly because it had me laughing in hysterics.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-N3F1FhW4

It made me feel not so bad about blaring 'Jagged Little Pill' in my fly Chrysler Town & Country.

Queen of Turdland

Tomorrow is May 4th.... in my home that means it's Isla's birthday! Or the day she decided to finally fall out of me without anyone being in the hospital room. Thank God I found that call button and was able to eek out 'Umm, I think I need some help please'. Anyway. This is the momentous SECOND birthday. Yes, my sweet angel face has now officially entered the terrible two's. But most experienced parents know this starts much sooner and lasts much, much longer than a year. Today it's like she KNOWS it's her day to officially enter that right of passage where you can be a total turd and people will just chalk it up to being two.

All of a sudden she shrieks like a cat getting stepped on, won't eat anything but constantly tells me she's hungry, ignores what we tell her and thinks it's hilarious to run parking lots with moving vehicles. Oh, and thinks any kind of shopping cart is a boat to which she must abandon ship. Turd, turd, turd.

This might be especially hard because I've been at home with her and we've had a special bond since she was in my womb. Ben lovingly (not really, more like sarcastically) refers to her as my 'third boob'. "Boober's world is going to implode when you have that baby". Thanks hon... let's just add GUILT to that growing list of hormonal emotions. Anyway, it's frustrating to say the least as well as a little sad. No, really it's just frustrating I guess because I'm getting huge and she's trying to take a flying leap from a Target shopping cart into the path of a moving vehicle while screaming, 'FOOD! HUNGRY!' *sigh* Only 2 more years before she becomes manageable...

Speaking of the baby, a few of you have asked for updates and I can give some GOOD NEWS! We had our level 2 ultrasound last Wednesday and everything the last ultrasound tech was worried about turned out to be fine. The little one (now weighing in at 1lb 4ozs) is coming along great and likes to move and shake it's booty. We're getting excited but a bit freaked out now because in just a few short weeks we'll be in the third trimester... otherwise known as 'when Stef gets huge as a house and grumpy as an ogre'. Not so much the celebrated thing, but we all got to pay our dues huh?

Oh crap, gotta go... I just heard Hazelle say, "Isla, do you want me to jump over your head?" Isla said 'Uh huh!' Sugar and spice my ass.

(Note: when I got off here I discovered Isla in the bathroom without her diaper on. She said, "Poop" and pointed to the toliet where a turd was. I was about ready to fall over with disbelief and awe until I noticed that she had actually pooped in her diaper, took it off and picked her poop out and deposited it in the toliet. This was noticed after a saw poop on her hands and on the floor beside a turd which had gotten left behind. She was at the sink bare-butted trying to wash her hands. I can't make this stuff up. I'm going to throw up now.)

And you might wonder why I don't blog more...