weekend update

I would like to dedicate this post to dad, for his unwavering patience and love of the person I am. you said you had fun yesterday and I hope that's true. we will go again, and we will rock, and I will drink ahead of time so I'm easier to lead. I love you. happy father's day.

four years ago, I gave my boyfriend salsa dance lessons for Christmas.

this year for father's day, I finally came through. the only glitch was the salsa class was moved so we had to do swing. actually, no glitch, dad just wants to dance.

so there we were yesterday, ready to dance, after 5 hours of sleep, and no lunch, having forgotten to eat before the 4 hour workshop because of frantically getting the girls ready for the sitter. whew. and dance we did.

at first, dad embarrassed me, which he is very good at doing in any venue with music playing. next, we danced. and this is a problem because he is supposed to be dancing and I'm supposed to be following.

I'm a very controlling person. yes, I'll admit it. I like things done my way. and when it comes to dancing, I have a really hard time letting go. this was okay at first. we were learning the basics and it was good for me to focus on what we were doing. however, I started to notice my sweet husband's frustration with me around the start of hour two. unfortunately for him we were in a public place so he couldn't just yell at me to stop it. I tried to tell him I knew I was not doing a good job at following, that I was trying, that I would stop.

but I couldn't. I don't know why. I don't know if it just was the control freak in me or something more sinister hiding deep enough to remain unnoticed. I tried to tell him everything he was doing wrong, how to fix it, and damn it -- I couldn't just RELAX and have fun.

and here's where I see my perfectionist side collide with the control freak. how did dad ever come to be able to live with me anyway? I had to do it perfectly. we had to do it perfectly. forget that neither of us had ever been swing dancing, or had any sort of dance lesson. that doesn't matter. if I'm going to do something, I do it right. and get really frustrated and upset if it doesn't happen right away.

I guess I thought 4 hours was enough time to become a professional swing dancer. that we are that awesome. that "workshop" means completely proficient and ready for Dancing With The Stars or some shit.

but alas. we are just so-so. but that is what is expected after one lesson. and I'm okay with that. now.

towards the end, I was finally able to relax and let dad lead. and it turns out we are pretty good. too bad this only lasted a little bit since our exhaustion and low blood sugar caught up with us around the same time. we stumbled, we laughed, and we left on a good note with plans to go again.

for the record, I'm 5' 7"

this morning I was lamenting to myself that I had nothing to say, yet I have a blog to update, so come up with something, and it better be good.

and then I remembered that I had to go pee in a cup and give blood for life insurance testing. surely something would occur there to write about.

and it did. and now I'm really mad.

the usual routine went like this: pee, get weight, get height, get blood pressure three times, get blood, see ya.

my routine went like this: pee, get weight, get height, no really get height, get blood pressure three times, get blood, for the love of god get my height, see ya.

here's the discrepancy. since turning 13 I have measured 5 feet and 7 inches. always dead on. never wavering no matter where I'm measured. until about 6 weeks ago when I measured 5 feet and 7 1/4 inches. cool. taller I can handle.

today's results: 5' 6 1/4"; 5' 6 1/4"; 5' 6"

seriously? shrinking? an inch in 6 weeks?!?!

the first two times I thought, this thing must be off. dad was measured here wednesday and also was surprised to hear himself almost an inch shorter than usual. but the third time a different person was brought in to reevaluate.

still not convinced.

so I promptly measured myself upon returning home. and in an attempt to prove to the world my true height, the following photo montage:

photo 1 next to the measuring tape

photo 2, not much better

this is getting funny

put a book on your head, that will help show where you measure up to. right...

okay, like as a kid, put a mark on the wall.

I don't know, that looks pretty close to the 7, right? I used two 60-inch measuring tapes, with this 7 coming off the second. that makes 5 feet and 7 inches. or pretty damn close to it.

now we just have to measure dad. and call the lab to tell them their chart's off and I'm not shrinking.

and I had to add this, because it's adorable.

at least the music was good

sunday we went to the blues festival on the waterfront with some friends. it was 90 out so we slathered everyone in sunscreen, prayed for a spot under a tree, and headed out. upon arrival, hd was on dad's back sporting her cool new purple sunglasses. we met up with friends and while deciding where to go first, beer stand or spot by the stage (beer won), a woman approached dad.

woman: I think your daughter should have a hat on.

dad: oh, thanks for your concern, but she's okay.

woman: no, really, you need to put a hat on your child.

dad: I'm sorry, but don't F***ing tell me how to raise my child. she's fine.

I'm so proud.

the cussing aside, what a man. he's so hot.

and what nerve that lady had. not only is she NOT the mother and/or responsible one for my child, but she has no clue as to our situation. she doesn't know that hd will not wear her sun hat, that we DO own, so we cover her in sunscreen and hope the new glasses stay on for a bit. and it's none of her business anyway. it's not like dad was beating her or something truly horrible. they were chillin', and no sunburning, or even tanning, has occurred on our fair-skinned child yet.

anyway, she wasn't wearing a hat either, and from the looks of her tan, she's got about 5 years to leather-dom.

but I wouldn't tell her that. that would be rude.

hair woes

I was inspired by Mom-101 and felt I should show what dad created last night:

(stapler included for scaling purposes)

dad thinks it's hilarious to take all the dog hair a furminator can remove in 5 minutes on a 70-degree day and put it on your head. this is the dog hair fro, included to embarrass dad.

I wonder how it will grow when the temperature hits 85.

and if you're interested, here is the offending dog:

Weekend Update

I worked last night, my second to last as a MAC waitress. pretty exciting on those grounds alone. definitely won't miss the 10% tips (especially when pregnant!), complaints of cold plates for the buffet, the constant substitutions and incompetent managers. also, for all of you reading who have never worked in food service, many times when the kitchen is blamed for lateness/mistakes/cold food, it really IS the kitchen's fault. if your service is good otherwise, give the server the benefit of the doubt.

we went swimming today. well, dad and hd went swimming. I watched. little p slept. it's been a while since hd was in a pool and it was a little frightening, but this pool has a slide which helps. dad and hd will be starting swim lessons in a couple weeks so we wanted to check the place out. it's rad. portland parks and rec is the best.
another cool thing about portland: our ice cream truck plays Beethoven's "Fur Elise". what does yours play?

why I rock

dad got an offer to geek-out and go see the new Star Trek with a guy friend, and I immediately said no. who's home all day, up all night, and deserves to go see the second theater movie in two years? ME.

but dads need guy time just as I need girl time.

so I'm going to be the awesome wife I am and let him go see the movie -- after the babies are in bed. aren't I great?

(dad: I love you, you rock, and please go have a drink after too -- you do deserve it)