My First Giveaway!

Why am I doing a giveaway now?  *shrug*  Mostly because I've had the loot in my kitchen junk drawer for about 2 months now and it's time for cleaning some stuff out.

What I'm giving away, however, is hardly junk.

How many times do you find yourself at the check out line and realize you don't have your super duper reusable shopping bags?  If you are anything like me, you leave them all at home, then head to the check out line feeling ashamed and like a really bad person.  Then you bring home 17 plastic bags and stick them under the sink as part of your plastic bag collection.

But then I discovered Envirosax.(Angels singing).

This stylish reusable bag rolls up into a tiny, weightless nothing and I can stick it into my purse, diaper bag, whatever, so that I always have a bag with me.  They have a ton of different designs and they are surprisingly affordable.  

Did I mention they are stylish?  

Proof.  

(Note: I only said the bag was stylish)

Double note:  This isn't a sponsored post, especially since yours truly recently posted a somewhat disgruntled post about those types of things..it's a simple giveaway of a cool little thing I thought you might like, because I love you.  Okay, I don't love you, that's creepy, but thank you for reading my blog.

Gosh, Kelley!  How can I win this fabulous prize?

Well, thanks for spelling my name right, and thanks for asking!

First of all, you only get two choices. I'm not a millionaire here, people.   You have to decide if you'd like...

 

the Mai-Tai bag (currently sold out..so very rare and special)

Or, you can be like me and have the blue Chevron bag, called the Marina Bag 3 (also unavailable..do I have good taste or what?)  

 Just decide which of these two beauties you'd rather tote (har har) around, leave a comment telling me that and your email, and bringo!  You are entered!

I'll do the drawing sometime next week.  I know you'll be holding your breath until then..

Good luck! 

***GIVEAWAY ENTRIES ARE NOW CLOSED!******

Boy in a Box

 One day I looked over at Brixton, you know, when it gets really quiet..to see this.  All proud, just hanging out in the chest like nothing.   

 He was pretty excited about it.

 Brixton has a syndrome called, "I-Can't-Finish-What-I-Start."  Like he can crawl into the chest, but not out of it.  Like he can climb up on the couch, but not down.  Instead he just makes the above face and a really horrible wail which means, "Mama do."  Hopefully he grows out of this before teenager-dom hits. 

 Obviously I didn't help him.  Nope, I just kept taking pictures.  Which means he could sit for a moment and contemplate living in this chest forever. 

Until he realized Daddy was in the room and would rescue him. 

When the Dust Settles...

We have a lot of dust flying around us right now.  A thing has to happen for another thing to happen for another thing to happen for an amazing thing to happen.  Sorry.  I can't/don't want to give details on anything, yet, if at all.  I feel like I'm holding my breath all day long, dreaming at all times, and talking myself down constantly.

On another note...

We have our third house showing today.  We've already looked at a few places to rent in case the impossible (??) happens and this place sells quickly.  I've fallen in love with a late 1800s apartment--4 bedrooms, new kitchen, 3rd floor.  We are old house people.  I love the dark wood moldings, the built-in hutches, the doors, the everything.  Except the creaky floors, but I guess there's always got to be a fly in the ointment, right?  We've decided to stop looking because it just hurts. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about trying to set us up for a family portrait, since we don't have a proper (i.e., good) one.  And then the universe sends us this:

 
 Taken when we went to that awesome farm wedding outside of Seattle back in June, I had completely forgotten we even had a picture like this taken.  We are all dressed, all looking at the camera, and the light saturation even blots out my neck creases!  Win!

I'm just taking a moment to blog will sucking down the last of my coffee, watching Al Roker fight against the winds of hurricane Issac, listening to Brixton whine and gearing up to set the house up for the showing.  House showings are so much work.  The house doesn't only have to be clean, it has to be appealing.  You are trying to sell the place, so it's a Big Deal.  I already spent about 3 hours yesterday cleaning/putting stuff away and I estimate I have another 2 hours this morning, plus actually leaving during the showing.  Tomorrow we are having a play date at our house with about 6 other mamas coming so at least the house will be clean!

Have a great ___________.  Any other SAHMs that constantly forget what day of the week it is?



 

When My Favorite Blogs Go "Corporate"

I follow quite a few blogs in my reader, though truth be told, I only really read about 10 faithfully.  Some of us blog purely for ourselves or far-away family, while others dream of making it big--who wouldn't want to get sponsored posts/free stuff/ads going on their blog?  Who wouldn't want to make some side cash to support their SAHM dreams?  (Or put back into their blog--like Deanna--which I think is awesome!)

I know I wouldn't be sad.

But there is another side to it.  Blogs I really, really liked that became big suddenly feel...like constant advertisements.  Every post refers to a brand, linked for your shopping convenience.  Or product reviews, or sponsor posts, or whatever they do to make that dough. 

We get it shouting from us at all angles already--TV, radio, other internet sites, special emails from companies--buy! buy! buy!--and then you want to relax and catch up on your favorite blog and it's like "sponsored post by..."  blah. 

It's a fine line, isn't it?  Because this success that some crave can also alienate longtime readers, you know, the ones that made you popular..

Not long ago I decided to pay for an ad space on a blog.  I'll do this from time to time, especially with blogs I really like, because what's a few bucks between friends?  Anyway, I didn't really LIKE this blog, but the writing style is similar to mine so that's a good way to find some new readers (and in turn, some new blogs to read!). 

One of the "perks" of my ad "package" was a sponsor post (yep, just like the one I complain about above).  I wait, thinking the blogess will certainly email me.  I wait.  I wait.  No email.  "Fine." I think.  "Maybe she's going to visit my blog and write her own take on it."  Again, waiting.  

Guess what?  Month ends--no post. No email.  No acknowledgement. No new readers, in fact, no traffic whatsoever from her site that I could tell.  And probably a big part of that was that she just plain didn't care enough about her "sponsor", a little fish, a tiny fish in a big, big, huge pond.  

That's the part that irks me that most I think about "success."  It's a very false success in this blogging world and it's easy to assume you are so big you can forget about the "little people."  

I just felt like complaining.  Maybe some of you can also relate.  

-The Writer of a Small, but Very Awesome Blog.  

 

A Weighty Issue v.4

I've lost only 2 lbs. since July.  It's no wonder.  I have had lots of bad moments with food.  Because I'm a natural procrastinator, I keep thinking I'll "buckle down" and eat clean for a few weeks before my goal time frame ends.  It never turns out like that though.

However, despite the 2 lb. weight loss, I've lost about 2 inches from around my bod and when I showed Brendan the "before" picture, he said I looked a lot different.  (Maybe he was just trying to be friendly?).

I chalk this up to me mostly concentrating on doing weights when I go to the gym.  I feel like doing more weights versus cardio shows up on me faster, which is motivating.  Plus, when you build muscle, it burns more calories overall.  On a whim, I went to a Zumba class the other night, which left me hobbling with sore legs for the next three days, so I went to another one the other night and yet another this morning.  I also went to a 30 minute abs class, which was fun.  Not so fun now, since my abs are so sore that I can barely sit up to get out of bed.  You don't really realize until it's over, the price your body pays for pregnancy.  

I leave for California in about 3.5 weeks.  I'd like to lose another pound or two before then.  And hopefully not gain them back while visiting with friends and family!  That's the hardest part--not "taking off" from good eating habits, no matter what the circumstances.  

The Great Fish Debacle

I have a void in my heart.  I want another baby.  Another little something to take care of, to love on, to fret about.  That's out of the question, so instead I want a pet.

But we had a pet.  So I can't have one.  Because when you give your pet away, there is a certain period of time that needs to pass before you get another one, lest your friends who knew your pet give you the side-eye and call you a bad pet owner in whispers.  

Brixton really likes fish, as it turns out, and a fish is barely a pet.  So after a one minute discussion with Brendan, I went to the pet shop close to my gym, where I was supposed to be working out instead of buying fish stuff.  

It all started with a goldfish and a small bowl.  It ended with a 2.5 gallon tank and three female bettas, who the shop girl said unenthusicatically, "Yeah, they'll get along."  It also involved a water plant, decorative pebbles, a cave, and a floating log, which the package promised would alleviate fish boredom.  Look, I know it's a sales pitch, but the idea of my fish being bored made me really sad.  Hence, the log.  

I came home from the gym..er..pet shop, all non-sweaty and Brendan was like, "Baaaaabeee...".  I set up the tank, conditioned the water, and placed the cave just so.  Then I released the three female fish into the tank to become best fish friends for ever and ever.

Until one began bullying the other.  And they started fighting.  And I got mad anxiety from it.  And I wasted an entire evening staring at the fish version of Melrose Place instead of investing those precious minutes doing something else productive (blogging??).  

The next day, first thing, I loaded the three lady fish back into their plastic cups, poured the water out of the tank, and took it all back.  I wanted a male betta.  They are so purdy.  And a female, because they won't fight, right?  And he might get lonely.  (I'm so afraid animals feel emotions like lonliness and boredom just like I do).  

I picked out a purdy blue man betta and a red lady betta.  I wanted some flashy colors, since the fish were really for Brixton, not for me (chortle).  And I got a 5 gallon tank.  And another cave.  Boy, this goldfish-in-bowl idea certainly was costing a lot!

According to all the forums, a male betta and female betta have some chance of living in harmony, though breeding must be done under very specific conditions.  "Well, good."  I thought.  I didn't want THAT going on in my house.

Guess what?  The male fish seemed to HATE the female.  I felt bad for her.  She was always hiding, on the lookout, running away.  Until day three.  

When they spawned.

Yes.  It was so gross.  The male blew this bubble nest and then they got all close and I was like, "Um, what are they doing?" and Brendan was like, "Oh, you know."  And I got all embarrassed and grossed out (yes, it doesn't take much).  Brixton would point and say, "Fish!" with his fat little finger extended out.  "Noooo!  Don't look!" I wailed, carrying him away while covering his eyes. 

Then I watched as the female was all "But I love you!" and the male fish would chase her away.  What a jerk.  I felt really bad for her, but what did she expect?  She only knew him for 3 days!

I had to clean out the tank today because some fuzzy stuff was growing on everything.  With it, the bubble nest (gross) was cleaned up.  I have now learned my lesson and will never pair a male anything with a female anything. The female now resides in the tank alone, while the male has moved on to a tall flower vase.  

On a bright note, Brixton didn't notice anything.  He does now point and say, "fish" quite often.  I shudder to think if he were 3 and noticing the fish "copulation."  

Mommy, what are they doing?  Dancing, darling.  Dancing. 

Breaking Up With The Bottle

At night, we put on the soft lights, turn off the loud toys, speak in whispers and smiles. Your pajamas are footed and too tight now.  The warm flannel is starting to wear on the knees from where you've crawled along all these months.

At night, we do what we've always done since you came to us.  We sit together, mother and son, and rock.  I smell your hair while reading the pages of a long-ago memorized story.  I watch the direction of your eyes, taking in the pictures and colors, anticipating the next thing to happen.  

At night, mama turns out the light.  I cradle you, so big now with feet stretching over the side, and nuzzle you into me.  You smile, knowing it's coming.  Your mouth, so full of teeth and words, accepts the bottle, the warm milk lulling you to sleep, yet again.

At night, I rock you.  I memorize your eyelashes, your profile, the softness of your skin.  As I always have, I think about this boy in my arms, the future before us. A man, with dreams and goals, hardships and heartaches, successes and failures.  A man, with his own family, visiting his old mother, the same one that holds him now, rocking.  

At night, when your milky breath becomes steady and the heaviness of eyes make them impossible to keep open, you are never so real to me.  This boy is mine.  With this bottle I have nourished him, put him to sleep, comforted him.  

At night, when you cry for the last time because the bottle is too slow in coming, mama cries too, for it is the last bottle we will share.  

I put you to bed.  And with that, I put the bottle to bed as well. 

Good night to our tradition, founded in necessity, founded in love, our moment alone..  

August Stuff

* Brixton is going to school!  I've convinced Brendan that putting Brix into "school" twice a week will benefit us all.  I'll be able to clean our house myself (bye-bye cleaning lady!), run errands without unbuckling and buckling a toddler, go to the gym more regularly, work on projects in our house I don't have time for, baking and cooking, and maybe even squeeze in a mani-pedi now and then!  Brendan benefits by having a quiet house for two days out of the week, a wife with more balance, and maybe even a better organized life (my goal!).  Brixton...well, I guess this is the part I'm struggling with.  I feel like this will benefit him, but I have tremendous guilt.  When he starts he'll be between 17-18 months old, so not a little tiny guy anymore. He'll be with other little ones his age.  He'll be in a school-like environment, with a schedule, with a curriculum.  

But he's going to cry when I leave him and this is the part that kills it for me.  Anyone else leave their kid at a daycare?  How do I deal with those first few times?


* Brixton's been a sleep machine lately.  Is this a growth spurt?  He wakes up around 6:45.  Naps for 3 (3!!)hours, between 1-4, then demands to go to bed at 6:45 or 7ish. I'm a little bit in awe and just trying to enjoy it.  I watched The Devil Wears Prada the other night..beginning at 7:30pm.  Ahhh..still, I go to bed at midnight. 


*  I've been shopping for Halloween costumes, have you?  I got Brixton's costume last year in August, too.  I guess I just get too excited.  I'm also already plotting Christmas..though this year will be different!  We are flying to FLORIDA to have Christmas with Nana this year and I can't wait for warm weather in winter, sand in my toes (yuck, I actually hate that), good food, and maybe (maybe??) a date night?

* Clarisonic update: Love it!  I got it about a month ago and I use it once a day.  I don't normally use makeup, but when I do I like feeling as though I've gotten all of the gunk off of my face.  And it's so small I can take it with us to California next month!

* Fall's coming.   Football, cream-based soups, holiday planning, boots, scarves, cool nights.  I can't wait!  I have to get on new pair of Target brand fake Uggs.  The last pair I bought was in 2009 and although Brendan scoffed at them, saying I would never wear them (because they are UGLY), I wore the heck out of them.  Plus, they are the perfect slip-on snow boot.  I definitely get my $30 out of them!  I checked out a pair of real Uggs, but I'd feel 5 times worse trashing them after paying that much money.  (Except they felt sooo warm and comfy..obviously real wool in there).  

 

Tuesday Ten

 Do you read Baxtron{Life}?  You should!  It's a great blog and this week Courtney is hosting a link-up where you post 10 of your favorite blog posts--here are some of mine!

10.  Panic

9. I Made a Big Mistake

8.  Skunked by a Craigslist Buy

7. The Worst

6.  A Year With Depression: My Journey With Postpartum

5.  Taking the Bittersweet With The Bittersweet

4.  This Day..

3.  Green-Eyed Baby Monster

2.  Letting Go of the Absolutes

1.  My Son, the T-Rex

Afternoon Coffee Break

Now that we know we are moving again sometime in the *hopefully* not-so-distant future, all my home projects are on hold.  No more organizing, getting stuff "just so."  I'm looking for new places, dreaming of an old 1920s apartment with wood floors and beautiful features.  Only time will tell. 

I don't feel like we did anything this weekend. We didn't.  And that's exactly what this post is about.  Nothing.

Now that the labor pains of fall are coming, it's tolerable to sit outside with a hot drink, such as an afternoon coffee.  That's what we did.  
 

 Brixton much preferred the chocolate milk I made him. 

 

 If I ever doubted this was my child (besides the fact he lived in my stomach), this face would pretty much clear up any questions.  Dork-galore. 

This was the part of the relaxing afternoon that Brixton decided to dazzle us with his spitting skills.  Can't help but laugh/encourage.  He can't walk yet, but you should see him spit!

**Note: He took his first step at the park yesterday. I don't think it counts though unless both of us see it happen. 

 I'm so proud. 

 He mostly looks like his daddy, but he's got my eyes.  I'm clinging to that. 

Moving Boxes Needed

March.

March was the last time we moved.  We hauled our stuff, we unpacked boxes, we hung pictures, arranged furniture, ordered address labels.

March was just 5 months ago.

We just got word the other day that the owners of this place are short selling it.  Like now.  Like I'm taking pictures of the house to sell.  

I'm not upset.  I'm excited.  Yes, excited.

Something always felt off about this place.  I didn't want to move in here.  To start it's too small for us, especially with Brendan working from home and needing a quiet space with a door for himself. The walls are thin and the neighbors are apparently deaf when watching TV at night.  

Nothing seemed to fit here.  I've rearranged the furniture in all the rooms twice, trying to get that feeling of finished.  All my decorating plans fell flat.  I was just uninspired.

Don't get me wrong.  It's a nice place, a very nice place and I have great hopes that it will sell quickly. I just feel like it wasn't meant to be.

I felt trapped here already in March, but a voice inside me said, "Don't worry, you'll only be here until October."  I took great stock in that voice, a voice I've heard before.  Only time will tell whose voice it was--mine or His.  If it was His, we'll be out in October.  If it was mine, well, we could be here months longer.

It's exciting because I know what I want.  An older building on the top floor.  I don't even care if it's a walkup, which it will be, I just don't want anyone on top of us, or next to us if we can help it.  We have to have 3 bedrooms.  More storage.  


Moving again.  Maybe I'll be celebrating 35 in a new place. 
 

Brixton: 15 Months

Brixton,

You are 15 months old.  I wake up feeling recharged and reach for you in your crib, where you stand holding your arms out to me.  We are mirror images of each other, both longing for our morning fix.  Me-coffee, you-milk.  

You talk like crazy all the time and say about 2 dozen words in German and English.  Hearing you say a word for the first time of your own accord is like finding a big nugget of peanut butter in a pint of peanut butter and chocolate ice-cream, my favorite.

Your most used words now are: schoen, shoe, teddy, daddy, 'sche (flasche=bottle), ssssss (heiss=hot), and vroom (car).  I love hearing your little voice and seeing you understand what I'm telling you.

You still aren't walking yet, but you are cruising a lot and even sometimes standing on your own which is alien to see.  Whenever you do that we always make a Big Deal out of it, with cheers and clapping, and you get The Proud Look on your face.  

You are becoming a full-fledged toddler though, complete with tantrums.  Not getting what you want turns into a very angry face, fat baby hands flying everywhere, and lots of drool and tears.  You slap in the face like nobody's business.  You still love to pull my hair, though in quiet moments when you are trying to sleep, you reach your hand up to my hair to run your fingers through it.  I love it/hate it.  Love that it calms you and makes you happy.  Hate that it hurts me and pulls out tons of my hair.  

Lately, you won't eat much, but we aren't panicking.  I make you pancakes and then use a cookie cutter to cut you special shapes and you take two bites and then send them falling to their dusty grave on the floor.  It kind of breaks my heart, but I keep trying to ply you with food at every chance.  

One of my favorite things about you right now is how romantic you are.  You love to love.  You hug and kiss.  And kiss.  And kiss some more.  You kiss stuffed animals.  You kissed my belly button, which was slightly awkward.  You try to kiss strangers or people you've just met.  And you kiss with a closed mouth, which makes a big difference.  Thank you.

For the past few months, Florence + The Machine (Lungs) has been on rotation in our home, and with it of course, that song The Dog Days blah blah blah can't remember the title.  Whenever it was on, which was often, I would scoop you up in my arms and we'd dance.  I would hold your chubby fingers in my hand and we'd spin around the room, jumping, laughing, running out of breath (me), screaming (you).  

Today, we were at a playcafe.  You were playing with some toys at my feet while I sat and watched.  The song came on.  I hummed along, not paying attention.  At least not until you stood up and pulled at me, wanting to be picked up.  Wanting to dance.  Wanting to spin. Recognizing our song.  Will you dance with me mama?

I will always be your dance partner, my love.  

 Naturally posh. Except those dirty fingernails.

 These pictures are from dinner/raspberry blowing time.  A delight sans bib. 

 
 

The 53 Inch Teddy Bear

A few weeks ago Brixton and I took a trek to Costco.  I like going to Costco, but I don't love it.  Normally it's the kind of place where I have to gear up mentally to enter, since I feel like it's part cart-derby, part wallet-drainer.  I've seen people knock into other people just to get a sample of some pizza bagel you zap in the microwave.  Not my scene.

But there we were. 

We strolled around, pleasantly surprised at how empty it was.  I snagged a few samples, something I usually don't do since it's like a mob scene near them.  Brixton flirted with passing women while trying to escape out of the cart.  

That's when we rounded a corner and saw them:

53 inch tall teddy bears. 

Huge.  Fat.  Fluffy.  Soft. Full of teddy bear goodness.

Brixton squealed in utter delight.  "Tedeee"  he said, like he was greeting a long lost pal at the arrivals gate.  We rolled over to them.  I pulled one out and Brixton clung to its neck, kissing it, screaming, making people look our way.  The teddy waved and said hello.  A few more teddies said hi.  Then mean mommy put them back and we started on our way.

Brixton started getting upset.  Luckily, he's at an age where out of sight, out of mind is still in play.  

Today we went to Costco again, this time with Brendan.  We went to get some luggage, since the bag we just bought broke on its maiden voyage.  What started off as a strict "we are only getting luggage" fell down that slippery Costco slope of, "let's grab a watermelon"  "hey, I need 3 lbs. of Gatorade mix"  "do we have any toilet paper?"  Soon our cart was filling.  

And then, we rounded the corner.  You know where this is going, right?

"Look!" I said to Brendan while nodding toward Brixton.  "Watch what happens."

We rolled Brixton over, who, like on command, put on a big show.  "Tedeeee!"  I went to the book section while Brix and Brendan frolicked with teddy.

Again, Brixton was upset when we left teddy, but he mentally let it go.  

He did, but Brendan didn't.

B: "He'd sure love to have that teddy."

Me: "Yeah, too bad it's huge and his room isn't."

B: "Did you see his smile?" 

Me: "Yeah, so cute, huh?"

By this time we were in line.  Brendan got this wild, wild look on his face. I could see his thoughts and they were brown and fuzzy. 

B: "I'll be right back."

Me: "Brendan...what are you doing?" I don't know why I asked.  I knew.

He was gone for a minute.  I thought somewhere between the frozen food aisle and the 10 man tent he would come to his senses.  Surely he wasn't going to buy a $30 teddy bear for his son, especially one that required its own seat belt and possibly its own room.  

He came back around the bend, but was partially blocked by other shoppers.  His hands appeared empty.

But they weren't.  In them was a 53 inch teddy bear. Dark brown.

I couldn't help it.  I grinned from ear to ear.  Brixton saw it and freaked out with joy.  Brendan was the hero.  Smiles all around.

Let me tell you something about buying a 53 inch teddy bear.  You instantly get attention.  EVERYONE was looking at us.  Actually, they'd all look at Brixton hugging the bear, they'd smile, then look at us.  It was embarrassing.  We were those parents today, the ones who can't say no to their kid.  It felt great.

We couldn't.  And here's why:

Have you ever made a crazy purchase for your kid that you couldn't quite justify, but didn't really feel you needed to?  Love makes us nuts doesn't it?

My Week in 16

I've been on Instagram for a few months now, but up until tonight had no idea how to get the pictures out of my phone.  Well, I figured it out.  (Welcome to the 20th century right??  What?  It's the 21st century?  Oops.)

I love taking pictures with my big girl camera, but man, between my wallet, a sippy cup, diapers, wipes, toys, loose change, and trash taking up lots of space in my purse, big girl camera doesn't seem to get out much.

So, like so many others, I capture special moments on my phone.  Or not so special moments, more like just moments.  Or meals I'm going to eat.  Or pictures of myself on good days (and some bad ones just to balance).

I kind of like when people do these Instagram picture things, you kind of get a glimpse into their real life.  At least, I think you do.  You are getting a glimpse into mine, anyway. Like always.

I'll do a post like this every so often.  These pictures aren't really what I did this week, but really since March.  I'm trying to purge them off my phone so I can get caught up.

**I wrote this post about my husband playing his video game.  He's doing it right now while I'm writing this and he keeps dying.  He's getting really frustrated, sighing, holding his hand to his head to "regroup", I think he might Tebow if he finishes this level. Now he's talking out loud.  "How do I get across this trench?"  I feel like he needs a friend.  A friend that would have the answer to such burning questions such as how to cross the trench.  I just sit here and look confused.  

 
1. New shoes.  Modcloth.com
2. This is my daily battle with the kid.  He loves to pull the keyboard buttons off the laptop.  He's always lurking.  
3.  Flying over Seattle. (June)
4. The anti-thesis of the Instagram picture.
5. Going to a wedding. Makeup did.
6. Kind of a family photo.  
7. It was a bracelet day.
8. It's in the reflection.
9. Little big guy.
10. Verboten, and he knows it.  
11.  True.  Very, very true.
12. Me and my side pony.
13. Fish at Whole Foods.  
14. Brixton takes time for reading.  
15. For Deanna. 
16. Our "pool".  He's slightly too big for it so we've upgraded.  

Follow me on instagram!  brixtonmakesthree

Panic

Today I was super on fire for getting stuff done.  I cleaned up, cleaned out, organized, and even had a candle going the whole time.

I had THREE cups of coffee this morning, so weeeeeeeeeee!  I was feeling it.  

Brendan has been out of town for several nights now and around bedtime I always do my house safety/paranoia check.  Doors locked, no weird people looking at my place, alarm on.  A new addition has been to also lock the door handles, not just the deadbolt.  Locking the door handles renders them basically useless from the outside.  

It was around noon.  I had cleaned out the fridge and had a pile of stuff to take out to our recycling bins, located just outside our back door.  I put them in a handy bag, set Brixton up on the floor with his favorite language video, and took the recycling out.  

The door shut behind me with a definitive bang.  And in that moment I realized I had not unlocked the door handle.  I was locked out.  Brendan was gone.  I didn't have a key, (since a hide-a-key in the middle of Chicago is kind of a bad idea), a cell phone, or even a bra on. If you want to know the truth, I wasn't even wearing underpants.  Just my PJ bottoms (thankfully). (And yes, it was almost noon and I was still wearing my PJS.  I know you've been there).    

So, all that was kind of a problem, since my 14 month old baby was in the house without me.

And then a new thought--had I locked the safety gate behind me?  The one that keeps Brixton from falling down the stairs and breaking his neck?

Complete and utter panic.  

Thankfully this morning I let Brixton go out on our balcony and I hadn't locked the door when he came back in.  Our condo is a half-story above ground, so not ground level, but also not super high up.  But, high enough though that I can't even begin to reach the balcony.

I searched around, seriously trying not to freak out and cry.  All I could think about was Brixton crawling through that safety gate and then tumbling down the stairs.

I took an old galvinized metal pot from under our stairs and turned it over.  It was about a foot tall and I'm 5'8", and although I have t-rex arms, I thought if I could just grasp the decorative metal railing on the balcony I could use my mom adrenalin and pull myself over.  

Nope.  Wasn't near tall enough. 

I found an old Ikea table under the stairs.  It was so rickety, but I had to try.  While pulling it out, I knocked over our BBQ and got ashes all over me.  Choking now, envisioning Brixton crying on the stairs, hurt, I started feeling helpless and I started to weep.

I pulled the table out, set it up under the balcony, then set the pot on the table.  Even in my panic I could tell right away this was a bad idea.  f I got hurt, who else was going to help my baby?

I noticed that around a window to our basement level bedroom, the brick stuck out about an inch--for a decorative flair I guess.  Above that was a dryer vent.  I realized if I could get a toehold on the bricks, I could climb up to the dryer vent and then grab the railing.  I still had to use the pot though.  

Let me tell you, the second my hands hit that metal railing, I was pulling myself up like a boss.  No bra and all.  In fact, I've never liked rock climbing, but now I think maybe I have a natural talent I'd never discovered before.

Or not.

I ran through the balcony door and found that Brixton was just where I'd left him: in front of the TV, happily lying on the rug sucking his fingers.  And, the gate to the stairs was indeed closed.  

I went over to Brixton and cuddled him and started crying.  Then I called Brendan and told him the whole story and started crying.  Now I'm telling you, but I'm not crying anymore, Brixton is, so everything is now back to normal. 

Has anyone else ever locked themselves out with their kids inside?  A bad, bad feeling.