Posts I meant to write last week

Monday: Our new-found love for the movie Tangled, and its supreme bribery powers to get Maya to behave.
Tuesday: Maya's second birthday. There would have been tears. Oh, and photo of the potty training toilet we're going to start using in the near future.
Thursday: More stuff.
Friday: A preview of my weekend/work trip to NYC.

What I actually did last week, instead of blogging:

Monday: Fell asleep on the couch as soon as Maya went to bed.
Tuesday: Put together one of Maya's birthday presents.Passed out upon completion.
Thursday: Packed for NYC and went to bed early due to a super-early flight the next morning.
Friday: Took a 6 am flight to NYC. Took Maya to Central Park. Napped.

So basically, I slept through blogging. Um, having a two-year-old is exhausting.

Wee WC

As are most things in cosmopolitan cities, living quarters in London are notoriously small and expensive. And my flat in London was no exception. Our apartment was slightly larger than a dorm room and housed three of us.

My bed in particular was in a "loft" space in the room. Because the ceiling height was so high, a loft was created above the rest of the apartment, featuring some beds and a dresser. Unfortunately, this loft was only 4 feet high, meaning I could not stand up while doing important tasks, like walking and getting dressed.

But, I was in London, traveling almost every weekend to another country, and ridiculously happy (save for the heartache I had over Chris, who was so, so far away in Syracuse at law school).

Anyway, as you might expect in a teeny-tiny flat, we had a teeny-tiny bathroom:

Knaresborough Place, London

From Peed to Meet You

The little loo came with some perks, like the ability to pee and brush your teeth at the same time. Or, after a few too many pints at the local pub, you could rest your head on the sink while going to the bathroom.

And in a way, I look back on this bathroom fondly. Not for the size, so much, as for the time in my life: pre-graduation, pre-marriage, pre-parenthood. Days I could piss away as I pleased.

Gone with the Wind

From the history of my toilet posts, it appears that all I do is go out to restaurants. And honestly, my bank account would likely agree.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I met my mom, aunt, sister and cousin out for lunch at Ted's Montana Grill. If you're not familar with the chain, it's Ted, as in, Ted Turner.

There wasn't anything remarkable about the bathrooms (save for the dual-flush technology). So in honor of Ted, I present this pic, fully colorized:

Ted's Montana Grill Naperville, IL

From Peed to Meet You

Things 264-284: High school

First off, I've missed a toilet post, I know. The thing is, I ran into a little problem: I can't find all the photos I took in Europe.

I distinctly remember organizing them all and writing their locations on the back of the photos. I planned ahead. Then, I filed them somewhere. I just have no idea where.

So, one of my projects this weekend is to go through all the negatives from my Europe photos (because, obviously, I still have those), reprint them all, and scan them into my computer.

This is one of the many reasons I need to keep on top of my 365 project. The more I get rid of stuff I don't need, the more likely I'll find the things I actually want to keep.

Anyway, as my last post was on discarding relics from college, I thought it only appropriate to turn my attention to high school:

From 365 things

The high school graduation cap. Not sure what happened to the gown.

From 365 things

From 365 things

Assorted jewelry and jewelry boxes. And no, don't read too much into me getting rid of a pair of Cubs earrings. I just don't wear earrings too much anymore. The Cubs, however, will never be one of my 365 Things.

From 365 things

OK, this was hard. I was in high school during the height of grunge. And these old Chucks were my standby. I wore these shoes almost every day in high school. They were part of my identity.

But you know what? They're old shoes; not a person. I haven't worn them in more than 10 years. They have holes, and the soles are falling out, and honestly? Chucks really aren't that comfortable.

That doesn't mean, of course, that I haven't started eying a new pair.

Things 252-263: College

It's been eight years since I graduated college. I have to admit that I didn't really love college. Sure, there were some high points (meeting my future husband, a few really great friends, London), but the low points sort of overshadowed everything else (losing yer toes will do that).

But more than the whole illness thing, I never really found my clique in college. There were the sorority/fraternity types (loathed them, although I did marry one), the Midwestern hicks (bigots might be a better description), and the hipsters (pretty much the entire j-school). Although most of my friends probably fell into the latter group, I never really fit in there. The judging, the cooler-than-thou attitude, the obsession with Cat Power. No thanks.

Anyway, given this sort of "meh" feeling about college in general, it's a bit of a head-scratcher that I've saved so much stuff from my college years—stuff I really don't need and will never use again, such as:

From 365 things

These class notes and graded blue books (do college students even use these anymore?). I have no idea why I saved these. I suppose I thought I could look back at the notes in my career. But let's face it: The journalism industry has changed quite a bit in the past eight years, and I seriously doubt any of the brilliant insights within will ever help me out. As for the blue books, I assume I held on to these because I aced some really hard final, which meant something to me when I was 23. Now? Eh.

From 365 things

From 365 things

And these relics from one of my internships. Yes, I learned a lot from my days at Pioneer Press, and the experience likely helped me land my first job. But a denim hat and unflattering photo of me in front of a ginormous, ancient computer probably aren't going to help out my career anytime soon.

I'm sure I have tons of other useless keepsakes from college, some I can easily pitch, other burrowed deep in my brain that I'll never be able to shake. And maybe that's not all bad.

Si Oui

August and early September are providing quite a few baby getaways for me and Chris. We started the month out in Galena, and this weekend Chris' parents are coming in town and have requested the pleasure of babysitting Maya nearly round-the-clock for three days.

In addition, a few weeks ago Chris and I took advantage of some free babysitting (thanks sis!) and went out with another couple for some roller derby and dinner. This is a big deal for us. I could probably count on one hand the number of times we've gone out for a nice dinner, sans baby, in the past two years.

The restaurant was Mexique, a French-Mexican spot. The food was incredible, as was the wine—which I consumed after having two beers at derby. Needless to say, a trip to the bathroom was in order, and I had my camera ready:

Mexique Chicago, IL

From Peed to Meet You

Potty mouth, continued

We have another mispronunciation to add to Maya's vocabulary.

When asked: "Maya, what city do you live in?"
Her response: "Fish Taco."

Time out

Let's just pretend the last three weeks didn't happen. Here I am, blogging away, keeping to my schedule. Wee!!

Since my last post (which was mere days ago, right?), Chris and I went to Galena for a little getaway. It was the first time in Maya's nearly two-year history that we've both spent more than 12 hours away from her. And I have to admit that it. was. awesome.

The most amazing part was breakfast Saturday morning. We ate at a leisurely pace, never had to pick up food or utensils thrown on the floor, and even had time to read the paper. All the while, these lovely people kept coming to our table, refilling our coffee and water.

Other highlights include the drive there and back, which didn't contain screaming, crying or shoe throwing, shopping at places featuring breakable objects, and the excessive consumption of alcohol with no fear of being awoken the next day at 6 am by a cranky, poopy toddler.

I cannot express how long overdue this weekend was. If you had told me in the September 2009 that it would be almost two years until Chris and I spent more than a few hours baby-free, I probably wouldn't have believed you. Because really, no two sane adults should ever go that long without a little break.

No dumping

Three years ago, Chris, Rosie and I went camping in eastern Kentucky. We did "primitive" camping, meaning there aren't any campgrounds, RV hook ups, running water, etc. Instead, there's a parking lot and a trail. You hike out to a good-looking spot, clear out some space, and set up camp. We loved it, and Rosie was in doggie heaven.

As you might expect with primitive camping, there aren't really any bathrooms. Just a latrine near the parking lot (which was a 10-minute hike from the campsite.) So, most bathroom trips involved a flashlight and a tree.

Still, this latrine was one of the best I've ever visited. Not for the toilet, but for the decor:

Daniel Boone National Forest Pine Ridge, KY

From Peed to Meet You

Best sign ever. Here's a closer look:

Daniel Boone National Forest Pine Ridge, KY

From Peed to Meet You

Don't you want this sign in your bathroom, too?

Potty mouth

In a little less than two months, Maya will be two. On one hand, I can't believe she's so big already. On the other, I feel like she's already been two for months. She's running and talking and becoming opinionated. We can almost have little conversations with her. It's pretty incredible.

She's at the age, though, that sometimes only Chris and I know what she's saying or what she means. "Choo choo," for example, means she wants to watch Thomas the Engine. "Gaga" means she wants to listen to music (the kid likes Lady Gaga. I have no idea how that happened). And "beer" is what she calls anything adults drink, be it coffee, tea, wine, whatever. To her, it's all "beer" (we are awesome parents).

And then there are the even more troublesome mispronunciations, especially these three: Spoon, which she pronounces "poon"; Grape, which she pronounces "rape"; and fork, which she pronounces as, well... I assume you can figure that one out.

I know this will pass. But until then, please accept my apologies for my foul-mouthed little lady. She can't help it. She takes after her mother. And her father.