Basking in Barry's Glow

As B commented in my last post about Audrey falling asleep clutching her very own Barry Manilow glow stick, I have these pictures to share from our recent trip to Portland with the Morrises (more details and pics to follow soon, I promise).

Barry ManILo(w)veMyHusband

Maybe you think that your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend loves you more than my husband loves me, but I'm here to tell you that you're wrong. So wrong. For Valentines Day Matt surprised me with tickets to see Barry Manilow (I love you, Barry!!!) at the Staples Center. I couldn't have been more thrilled. Glow sticks were handed out. Then promptly waved in the air with excitement and anticipation as the lights went down. And then, Barry was among us, bathed in a cloud of smoke. He writes the songs that make the whole world sing, you know. Thank you, Bug, for the wonderful gift. I love you!

Sickos

In response to B's recent post on her pet peeve about sickies going out and infecting the innocent, I, too, have noticed that this seems to happen a lot more these days, with people bringing their kids out even though they are sick or very recently were sick. As in, "Oh, poor Timmy woke up spewing vomit this morning, but by lunch we were all going stir crazy being inside, so here we are! Happy birthday!" The other place I notice it big time is at work. When I came down with a head cold just days before my wedding last March after not one but two coworkers (one of them a fellow manager who usually complains about people coming in sick) showed up at the office with hacking coughs and sneezing, I was beyond pissed. When I issued an offhand complaint about it to my boss later, he said "If everyone stayed home when they were sick, we'd never get any work done!" Uhm....and we do get work done when the nastiness is spread through our tiny office like a stink bomb and two days later twice as many people are honking their noses, coughing up their own toenails, and infecting their friends and family at home so they then have to eventually call in sick to care for their own children? (Keep in mind that this is the same brainiac who said this to me recently. I also caught the barfing/diarrhea flu from him last year when he came to work with it insisting it was a reaction to his vitamins. Uh huh.) So this is one of my biggest pet peeves, too. Of course, I also understand the temptation to go out or have someone over when I'm sick. I know I've even done it before. The fact of the matter is it sucks to be sick, it sucks to be alone in your misery, it sucks to be lonely and bored in bed or on the sofa when all your friends are out at an event. So it's easy to justify to yourself that you're no longer contagious because your phlegm is now more "dandelion gold" than "spring green" or that the fever you thought you had an hour ago was really just a freak early-onset menopausal event. But then you do go out and suddenly everyone you know is sick with it and instead of being comforted in your misery, you're even more alone in your suffering because everyone's too busy refilling their humidifiers, barking like dying seals, and blogging about you being an epicenter of germiness or a nasty Outbreak monkey to pay you any mind. So is it worth it? No. But we still love that sick little monkey. Ever so much.

Super Bowl Blowout, aka Germapalooza 2008

Sunday afternoon, 7 innocent friends and 2 lovely babies gathered in our home to 1) stuff our faces with dips and chili cheese dogs, 2) imbibe, 3) gab, and 4) watch the Super Bowl (in that order, just about). Much fun was had by all, especially Jacob who had a ball showing off his stair-climbing abilities . . . . . . Matt, who just loves having his picture taken (can't you tell?) . . . . . . B, who managed to enjoy a quiet reading moment with her baby . . . . . . Audrey, who discovered that loving on Jacob made all the adults in the room fall into fits of oohing and awing . . . . . . and Denise who could hardly contain herself, having not one but TWO footie-pajamaed cuties in her house. But as we all laughed and munched and cheered for the Giants, little did we know that an enemy was in our midst. THE AFTERMATH (can you guess who was the epicenter of germiness?): Note for future post topic: Why was B spared? Is she an alien from another planet?

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I know I should be glad that my chauvinistic and nearly 80-year-old boss likes me. He dotes on me, gives me privileges he wouldn't extend to anyone else, and for the most part lets me do what I want. But along with that I have to accept that he views me as a granddaughter, needing his constant protection and interference so that I don't get trampled in this mean old working world. I swear, sometimes he has to restrain himself from patting my head and pinching my cheeks. Today he actually told me--no joke--not to "worry [my] pretty little head" about something. As I told Matt later, I wanted to strangle him to death with my bra strap. I may pull the "I'm a delicate flower" act with my husband all the time, but at work? Not so much.