The King and I are a one-car family, and have been since we got married 6 years ago.  We don’t do this because we are environmentally minded, or because the Metro rocks here in Seattle.  No, we do it to save money.  And money it saves.  But convenient it is not. 

I rode the bus to work for years.  The King rode his bike.  I can’t remember how many times I’ve asked my friend May for a ride to a Church activity or to run me to the grocery store.  We’ve even borrowed the in-laws extra car from time to time.

Plus now that we are living downtown, we can’t afford the parking for a second car.  As it is we pay $200 a month to park our one car.   

But we’ve managed.  It’s been hard one us both, and hard on our marriage.   (yes, we fight over who gets the car.  It sucks!)  It’s been hard on my friends who always have to drive because I don’t have the car. 

Now that we have Babboo and are building the new house, it’s even harder.  The King has to have the car to drive to the house every night after work.  But we also need to take Babboo to The King’s Mom every morning and pick him up every evening.  And she doesn’t even sort of live by us or the new house.  (This will be easier when we actually get into the daycare center we want, but that’s a few months off.)

The King has been my hero since I’ve been back to work.  He’s driven Babboo to his Mom’s every morning and his Mom has driven Babboo back to the city every afternoon when I get off work. 

This has worked out great for me.  But not for everyone else involved. 

Which means we went to look for a second mode of transportation for our little family last night.

We looked at a new SUV.

I kid. 

We looked at a new scooter for The King to ride to and from the house.  We figured it would be cheap enough to buy, cheap enough to put fuel in, and very cheap to park. 

Unfortunately the dealership only had two models left. Which sounds good, except both scooters were pink.  The King can not pull off a pink scooter.  Heck, I can’t pull off a pink scooter.  Now that I think about it, I’m not sure who can pull off a pink scooter.

They were cute.  Very cute.  But oh so pink. 

I guess Plan B is to get one of the two (or is it three?) Vespa Scooters The King has in storage and put some money into getting them up and running. 

Or I guess we can just buck up and keep doing what we’re doing.  Which doesn’t really work, but is the cheapest option.

Let’s hope this house gets built faster than the last house we built. 

I know it’s raining back East. You guys are having crazy weather. People aren’t able to get into work. People are dying. It’s scary. And super odd.

But here in Seattle, it’s a heat wave. I admit to using that term lightly. Mostly a “heat wave” in Seattle means you don’t have to wear your jacket in June. I totally walked to work on Monday sans jacket. This may have been the first time ever. I kid you not.

But this week it’s hot. Freakin’ hot. As in, please don’t make me wear actual clothes. Of course our AC unit is in the bedroom, which is not where I work, when I’m working from home (like today). Babboo and I are suffering in the front room. The heat from the laptop is making it all ever hotter. It is making me miss the sweet, sweet AC at the office.

I’m pretty sure that any East Coasters/Southerners are rolling their eyes and saying, you don’t know what real heat is.

And you are probably right. Although we did spend our honeymoon in Vegas. In August. Can you say, 116 degree weather? I loved it. (We’ll talk about my Vegas obsession another day.)

For now, Babboo is adjusting to the heat as best he can. I have been forced to dress him a little “country”, as Britney would say. Yes, I have my own little Sean Preston. But’s Babboo much more adorable, right?

I’m thinking that we may have to spend our lunch break down at the pool again. Babboo seemed to like it to much on Monday.

And I might have to have ice cream for lunch.

All you guys on the East Coast, how are you dealing with this rain? Do you feel bad for us Seattleites (is that the correct word?) and the non stop rain we get in the winter months? It gets old fast, doesn’t it?

My younger, more self-absorbed self used to go to the beach or the water park in my little bikini and my tanned body and totally judge Those Moms. 

You know the ones.  They are too busy splashing with their rugrats in the water to be embarrassed about how they looked in a swimming suit.  They didn’t care that their thighs were dimply or that their boobies didn’t really fit into the suit.  They didn’t seem to notice that their belly was saggy.  No, all they seemed to care about were their bratty kids. 

This, I did not understand.  I wasn’t sure how they could walk around in public like that.  I mean, why didn’t they just stay at home?  Who would even think about putting on a swimming suit when they looked like that?  Why not just stay at home, with your kid, and cover the heck up?

Fast forward about ten years to me being a Mom.  A Mom who took their baby to the pool for the first time last night.  And didn’t even think about how I looked.

All I cared about was how freaking cute Babboo looked in his little suit, and how much he loved being in the warm water.  I was too worried about making sure The King didn’t take him in the deep end to care that the younger, much cooler people there were probably judging me. 

We got out of the water, upon which Babboo decided to take a pee on my leg.  I didn’t even care.  Hey, my leg is naked.  It’s cool, pee away.  We dried off and started to walk back into our building.  The King was all shocked and horrified, aren’t you going to cover up before we go inside?

Cover up this totally hot 2-month postpartum body?

Oh yeah, right.  I forgot.  I totally need to cover up.  See, I was just too busy being a Mom to care.

Is this a good thing?  Have I forgotten to worry about how I look?  Do I need to buy more tankini’s?  Or, gasp, a one piece?   

Or do I need to just forget about it and spend even more time in the pool?  Because, damn, it was a blast last night.

Did you catch the weather report for the Seattle area? It’s hot. So very hot. I know, it may not seem hot to you guys on the East Coast or the South. But it’s hot. Believe me. I came into work today merely for the AC. Babboo is at our apartment with a friend and her own little guy. I’m staying at work for 8 hours (no more, no less) and then going home to swim in our pool with my friend. All hail the pool.

In preparation for pool time this afternoon, I had to make sure I actually had a swimming suit available (and not in storage like the rest of my clothes). Yesterday I found my swimming suit mother lode hidden under our bed in a suit case. I spent the afternoon putting on a swim suit mini fashion show for The King and Babboo.

I’m not sure who enjoyed it more, The King or Babboo. You see, both like my boobies.

Babboo kept smiling at me. I may have even seen him give me a little wink. And then he would laugh. He must have thought seeing his Mom in a bikini was a laughing matter. He was probably right.

The King will verify that I tried on no less than about ten suits. Apparently I became quite the bikini collector last year. It may have something to do with the fact that I actually learned how to swim last year, or that we spent 10 days in Mexico.

Let’s talk about our little trip to Mexico.

The King had been talking up “nudidity” since I met him (it’s a word. I promise. I think). I can’t count all the times I’ve heard about his little trip to a nudist resort in California years ago. He says things like, “it makes you feel free!” and “try it, you’ll like it.” That’s when I give him my reasons for not trying it: “I don’t have a perfect body!”, “I am always too cold without my clothes on,” and the best one “who wants to see me naked anyway?” Of course he has all sorts of responses to my excuses. After five years of marriage I couldn’t keep throwing these excuses at him. I would have to experience it first hand. I would have to go to a nudist resort. And I was going to have to like it.So last summer plans were made to visit a lovely resort in Tulum, Mexico that was “clothing optional”. I took “optional” to mean, I’m allowed to wear clothes if I want? Okay-that doesn’t sound too bad. Plus, I get to go to Mexico. And sit on the beach. And sleep in a hut on the beach. I could handle that.

I began taking a little better care of my body in preparation for our clothing optional vacation. That was the easy part. The King bought me lots and lots of skimpy bikinis for my birthday. He figured the smaller, the better. I think his thinking was that I would feel so naked that I wouldn’t mind just taking the darned thing all the way off. The he started to slowly bring me out of my shell around the house. (Although his promises to jack the heat up in the house never came to fruition.)

We planned on staying at the resort for 10 fun-filled and naked days. We didn’t pack much. I mean, if you’re going to be naked, who needs clothes? I had my stash of new bikinis and The King had his three Speedos. (Yes, my husband took tiny little black Speedos. And he looked HOTT in them!)

I told myself I could do this. I could take my top off. I could introduce my very pasty boobies to the glorious Mexican sun. I like the sun, so I was sure they would like it also. It was just convincing the boobies to come out.

I admit it took a few days. Okay, let’s be honest. It took up until the last few days of our trip. (Do I even need to tell you that The King was naked by day two?)

We got up early, grabbed our sunscreen (naked time can’t take place sans sunscreen), towels, and water and headed to the beach. I got comfortable in my seat, got my book out. And untied my bikini top. The boobies had been released.

That’s when the hippies showed up. To do yoga. On the beach. Right in front of my newly naked boobies.

Yep, just me and the twins and a whole group of hippies four feet in front of me.

There’s no turning back. And there’s no acting cool.

Today at the pool, I promise to keep my top on. I promise.

Earlier in the week I started to lose my voice. But I didn’t realize it until I got to work and actually had to speak (before that I just had cooed at my beautiful baby). I immediately could see my coworkers shaking their heads and thinking, damn girl, stay home-we don’t need your lousy germs. But it was too late. I was at work and was going to stay at work. And plus, I felt fine. My throat didn’t hurt. I wasn’t coughing. I just had a sexy, raspy voice.

To be fair it wasn’t so much sexy as it was man-like. Yes, I sound like a man this week. A man who may be going through puberty.

I thought about calling my internet friend HollowSquirrel for the first time and totally freaking her out.

Isabel: (in a totaly man-voice) Hi, it’s Isabel. You Best Blog Friend. I found your number in the yellow pages. I hope you don’t mind…

HollowSquirrel: (totally does mind. voice shaking a little) It’s great to finally get to talk to you. Um, you sound a little different then I imagined.

Isabel: (voice cracking a little) Yeah. There’s something I wanted to tell you. I’m not really a new Mom. I’m a 14 year old boy. And I love you. Please leave Mr. Squirrel and run away with me.

In my mind, this would be hilarious. But I refrained from actually making the phone call. I just thought a lot about it and laughed to myself. I am hilarious.

And now I am sick. I guess the man-voice was a precursor to me being totally sick this morning. I have a fever. I’m sweaty. My throat hurts. I woke up last night feeling sick and worrying about how I was going to take care of Babboo today. Do I ask The King to stay home? No, that won’t work because I have to feed Babboo. Do I call in sick to work? Well, I’m working from home today-so I should be able to get some work done. Right? But I have a scheduled work lunch today. Do I cancel that, or go in my pajamas? That’s totally professional. Especially when I’m wearing a Hooters t-shirt. (I kid you not.)

I guess I will just stay at home today and dream about my throat feeling better. Oh, and I’ll probably eat some of the cookies I made yesterday.

This working from home thing rocks.

Isabel: I just got an e-mail from my sister.  She said she has some friends in Organ that want her and her husband to move there.

The King: (confused) Organ?  Where is that?  Utah?

Isabel: Um, I’m pretty sure she meant Oregon. 

The King: Well, Organ is a real word.  At least we know she knows how to use spell check. 

Isabel: Screw spell check, I’m pretty sure that’s how she thinks Oregon is spelled.