Posts Tagged ‘ Wayne Sanchez ’

Wayne Sanchez–The Biggest Loser

Tuesday, October 18th, 2011

He's So Svelte!

I may be more excited about this news that when Fia took her first step.

I took Wayne Sanchez to the vet today to get his travel papers for our upcoming move. He has lost, (drum roll please) 4.3 pounds!! I mean, for a cat that was 18.6 pounds, that is nearly 25% of his body weight. I hereby declare Wayne Sanchez:

THE BIGGEST LOSER.

I had the vet weigh him on 3 different scales to be sure. I even went as far as to ask if it’s possible his morning poo weighed 4 pounds. I simply couldn’t believe that just by cutting down a little bit on his dry food over the past year could cause that weight loss. I haven’t had that kind of luck with past cats.

Of course I still couldn’t carry him in his Sherpa bag, so he rode to the vet in the stroller while Fia was in Spanish class. When I picked her up, Wayne went in the basket underneath and we all strolled happily home. In the rain. On the cracked sidewalks. Me pushing about 50 pounds of weight. Him yowling. Fia fussing.

He is in the Sherpa Bag--In The Stroller

Have I mentioned that I’m a bit burned out of city living? That I’m so excited about having a house and yard and car in LA? Which leads me to my latest NYC working mom theory

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Fia’s Food Dilemma–Part 2

Sunday, October 16th, 2011

I begged Phi to take over today. He lasted 30 seconds. Argh.

I have become a circus performer. Ever since I wrote a few days ago about Fia’s finicky eating, I have taken in your comments like a sponge. My best luck from your tips so far has been the art of distraction. It is exhausting. I dance. I sing. I bark like a dog, moo like a cow, chirp like a bird. I ask her to color. To rip up paper. To bok like a chicken in her highchair. All the while, I shove the food in her mouth. I move from one distraction to another about every 2 minutes. Because it’s about then that she says “All Done.” And  I don’t believe her. Usually I’m right. A new distraction gets a new round of eating. I sweat. I go on all fours. I jump. But, it’s working.

Our kitchen has been shipped to LA so we have little to cook with. So the other day I took her to a restaurant. There, since I was a bit embarrassed to hop on one foot like a monkey, I distracted her for 20 minutes with a squirt bottle of hand sanitizer. She kept saying more, I’d squirt, she’d rub her hands together, I’d shove food in her mouth, she’d ask for another squirt. Granted it was the alcohol-free kind, but I kid you not, I went through about 300 squirts. Probably got at least that many calories in her stomach. And lord knows, she had the cleanest hands in Brooklyn. I think I’ll get a water bottle next time and pretend it’s sanitizer.

My resume is going to get updated this weekend. The first line will say Animal Imitator/Circus Performer. Hopefully in a few months, she’ll just eat on her own and I can take that line off. But for now, I’m going to embrace the 3-ring circus that is fast becoming my life. (Wayne being the 3rd ring, as he hungrily eats her crumbs).

The Svelte Scavenger

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LA House Dilemma Solved–For Now

Monday, October 3rd, 2011

It's Not Perfect, But We Can Caulk

Last week I wrote about my high “skeeve out” factor when it comes to bathrooms and kitchens. Phil found an amazing house in LA but I was freaked out that the bathrooms weren’t new. I had him and the realtor go back and take close up pictures of the tile, grout, caulking, etc. Between the two of them, I received 25 still pictures and 18 videos. Am I demanding? Yes. But I’m pregnant. I said that I was going to get all I could out of Little Leroy while still in my belly. And I am. If I weren’t pregnant, I think instead of a lease, Phil might have handed me divorce papers. But he knows that right now, and right after this baby comes, a happy Jill = a happy family.

And guess what? I’M HAPPY! We settled on the house. A 1920′s English cottage. Super cozy, yet spacious. Impeccably furnished and it oozes character and history. So I can put off pretending to be a suburbs person in a McMansion sans personality for the time being (that was the other house we were looking at). And I think the sinks and caulking look fine. If not, his dad can tweak it when he visits.

As for the move, well, I guess we’re leaving in about two and a half weeks. We just found a tenant to sublet our NYC pad. All this happened in the last 2 days, so we haven’t even figured out an exact moving date yet. We haven’t booked flights. I haven’t gotten Wayne Sanchez his travel papers. It must be the good pregnancy hormones, because without Xanax/Ambien, I should be freaking the f–k out. But instead, I feel calm. I made a list. I have a plan. It will all get done.

In the meantime, here are a few pics of our new digs. So excited!

The Living Room--With a Grand Piano!

We Have a Yard!! What a Treat!

I Can't Believe I'll Have an Office!

 

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I’m Having A…..

Thursday, August 25th, 2011

BOY. Working titles: Little Leroy.  Wayne Sanchez Junior. Baby Oops. Found out at 11 weeks when we got the CVS results back.

Fia Gets a Brother

Fia Gets a Brother

I knew from the moment I got pregnant that it was an XY. I am usually not one of those people with a second sense for this sort of thing. But somehow I just knew.

When the genetic counselor called to tell us that the chromosomes looked normal (whew), she asked if we wanted to know the sex. Yes!  I had rehearsed this moment for the past 2 days. I know she is going to say boy, but maybe just maybe, she’ll say girl.

Nope. My instincts were right. Boy. Oh boy.

If I’m being honest, there was a moment of disappointment, of mourning. Maybe it’s because I think we have a better chance of another great baby if it’s the same sex as Fia. Maybe it’s because I wanted her to have a sister. And maybe it’s because I am already so familiar with her.  Change is scary.

There’s also a nagging fear with a boy: the most modern of medicine still can’t test for Autism and the rates are so much higher with boys. My husband’s nephew is severely autistic, which I know adds to my worry. But I know there is nothing I can do about it, so just like this “unexpected” pregnancy, I am going with it. I have to. I’m grateful for the tests we could do. And if something is wrong, we’ll deal.

In the weeks since the CVS I have wrapped my head around “boy” much more. Boys love their mammas. They are big snugglers. And puberty will probably be easier to deal with.

But in the meantime, do I really have to look forward to a penis peeing on me when I change his diapers? That doesn’t sound like very much fun.

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Elmo, Babysitters and BlogHer

Thursday, August 4th, 2011

A World Sans Elmo

A WORLD SANS ELMO

I barely put my foot down in San Diego today for the BlogHer Conference when my husband called me. He sounded so serious.

“I think we need a new babysitter.”

My heart tightened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, but you have something to blog about with sitters again.”

Oh dear lord, not the Sitter Chronicles again, I thought.

“What happened?” I said almost frantic.

“She lost Elmo.”

The world screeched to a stop. I felt dizzy. Saw bright lights. My brain turned fuzzy.

“OH NO!!!!!!!!” I screamed.

“Yep,” he says, “It’s true.”

This is a substitute sitter who we’ve only used once before. My regular sitter had to cancel at the last minute and with me going out of town; I had to scramble to find a replacement. I emailed her a list of stuff to be aware of last night, and one was Fia flinging her shoes off while she’s in the stroller. I’d hate to loose an expensive pair of stride rites. (I left this morning before she came and was completely freaked out about not being there in person to drill everything into her. Namely, no texting while strolling, stay on top of Fia at all times, don’t let her have pacifier during the day…you know the usual control freak issues of moms–or at least this one.)

But because she was so focused on Fia flinging her shoes, she didn’t notice the little red monster being hurled out on the street. She retraced her steps, but was too late. Elmo was gone. G-O-N-E.

I blame Phil. He should have told her not to take her monsters out of the house. This is what happens when mama leaves town. Things go south. Elmo becomes homeless.

As I type, Phil and Fia are on the way to the toy store to buy a replacement Elmo before bedtime (didn’t happen, see picture). Hopefully this is the biggest thing I will worry about while I’m out here for 3 days.  I’d really like to enjoy this conference of entrepreneurial women, maybe learn a thing or two, and sleep in!! So please sitters/husband/and Wayne Sanchez–I’ll even include you–Take care of my baby. And her accoutrements. In the words of our annoying, talking Sesame Street book, “See You Sooooon.”

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