Moving Woes

Ken took his dream job last month. His first day was August 9th. He is now working for Wilson Financial Advisors. His dream job is in Salt Lake. Maybe that makes it all the more dreamy. Ken leaves Monday mornings around 5 and comes home Friday nights around 8. Kole and I run amok all week and then hurry and put the house back together Friday right before Ken gets home. No, that’s not true. That would be true under normal circumstances. But our circumstances are abnormal. We’ve got the house up for sale. Because one of these days we’re going to move to Salt Lake and quit all this silly commuting. Since the house is for sale it has to be ready for “showing” at the drop of a hat. Talk about pressure. I’m not a slob. I like a neat house. But I’m not a freak about it. If I miss loading the dishwasher one night- big whoop. If I leave my clothes on the floor- I won’t scold myself. Never have. But now- I can’t. When someone calls to see the house I normally have about an hour to get it ready and to leave. Ready. Ready as in sparkling. Ready as in I can see myself in the stovetop. Ready as in it smells like a summer meadow in here and not stinky diapers. If it was just me that’d be a piece of cake. A piece of crumb cake. But it’s not me. It’s me and Kole and Rusty. So it normally goes something like this.

I just get Kole down for a nap- after caving- and cuddling him to sleep. I scan the premises. Dirty dishes, dirty clothes, dirty diapers. Everywhere. I shrug. Nap time for everyone! Hip Hip Hooray!! Phone rings. It’s Ken. “Someone’s going to come look at the house at 4. You need to be out by 3:45.” I look at the clock. 3:00. I cry. I hang up with Ken and start cleaning up. Fast! Dishwasher done in record time. Grab the vacuum and do the couches and the carpets. Kole still sleeping. Windex the mirrors and coffee table. Brillo the stove. Done. Swiffer. Done. Sweep the steps. Did I roll up the hose after watering the grass? No. Roll up the hose. I grab a Hefty bag and grab all the garbages in the house. In my haste I forget about Kole’s sensitivity to cupboards slamming. I cringe. Kole cries. Maybe he’ll stop. Look at the clock. 3:35. 10 minutes. I better check downstairs. Ken’s bathroom is horrible! Run back upstairs. Grab the caddy, run downstairs, hold my breath, and scrub. 3:45. Kole is still crying and Rusty is barking. I imagine he is telling me the baby is crying. I get Rusty and load him in the back of the car. Yeah, I have to take him too. I go in to get Kole and lock him into his seat. Rusty is bouncing and barking as loud as he can. He thinks he is going somewhere fun. I’ll take you somewhere fun. It’s called the pound! We pull out at 3:52. Not bad.

One time I took the gang over to Tautphaus Park. Kole was sleeping. I was throwing the ball for Rusty-muggins. Kole woke up and started crying. It was time for him to eat. We couldn’t go back to the house yet. I couldn’t nurse him in the car… not with Rusty. I looked around and saw my salvation. A dugout. I guess that’s enough privacy. I tied Rusty up and grabbed a blanket to cover myself. A new low. I was nursing my baby in a dirty dugout. With my crazy dog trying to gnaw through his leash. I felt… homeless. With a stroller instead of a shopping cart.

Man, I need this house to sell.

Talkers Block

It’s strange and slightly unnerving that after you have a baby that’s all you can talk about. I remember getting Rusty 4 years ago. Oh how we fawned over him. One morning me, Ken, and Rusty were all in the bathroom getting ready. (I wonder what Rusty was getting ready for?) Ken and I were swapping silly stories about Rusty. Gushing over how much we loved him. I stopped and asked what we talked about before Rusty came along. We couldn’t remember. That pup monopolized every conversation.
And now, it’s the same with Kole. All we ever say is how cute we think he is. How big of a poop he took and how buttery it smelled. We talk about how he slept and for how long. What he is wearing and what he’ll wear next. Blah blah blah blah blah.
I look at this picture and see him saying: "Can't you losers talk about anything else?"

What did we talk about before Kole?
Rusty?
And before Rusty??
The weather?

Kole doesn’t look like either of us. My mom thinks he looks like this guy:

Joseph B. Wirthlin

I can kinda see it.

I think he looks like this guy:

Yoshi
Are you seeing it? Are you seeing it?

Even though he has yet to take on the physical traits of either Ken or me- he most definitely has inherited our family's personality traits.

For instance:

Kole has a very discerning scowl. He gets that from the Poulsen side. From his Grandpa on the Poulsen side. Bob wears a scowl to think, read, eat, basically live. It’s not mean. It’s just a concerned look. It’s been passed down from generation to generation.

Kole also has a keen sense of being mocked. He gets that from the Bradley side. From his Grandpa on the Bradley side. George will not be mocked. Kole will not be mocked. If you make fun of Kole for crying or fussing or use too much baby talk- he gets quite upset.

Kole can fall asleep anywhere. He gets that from the Bradley side. From his Aunt Jules. I remember Julie being little (and a big girl) and falling asleep all the time. In the car, on the couch, on anyone’s bed. I don’t think she’s ever seen the end to any movie. She always falls asleep. Kole is the same way. If he is comfortable, he’ll close his eyes and sleep. If he is in his stroller, on the couch, on his Boppy, outside, wherever. He can zonk out.

Kole is a snuggler. That he gets from me and Ken. Proudly. He loves to nuzzle in. If that's all he gets from my own genes... That's fine by me.