I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t miss out on the biggest blogger event of the century this past weekend.  Apparently all the cool people went.  Maybe next year I’ll be braver and go….

The King and I (sarcastically) laugh about how things always work out for our friends.  It seems like we’re the ones busting our butts and working hard for everything we have, while all of our friends sit back and have things just given to them.  I mean, we’re driving one car and they’re being given cars.  For free.  It just never seems fair.

Look at me, I’m feeling all sorry for myself. Which is never pretty.

But really, we work hard.  And things come harder for us.  Nobody’s giving us anything.  On paper that sounds like the best thing.  It makes us appreciate what we have, blah, blah, blah.  I mean, I know that we’re better off for it.  I figure people don’t give us stuff, because they know we can handle things on our own.

Does it sound like I’m tying to convince myself?  Because I sort of am. 

So we had this baby back in April.  Maybe you’ve heard me talk about my Sweet Babboo.  We love him, we really do.  I love him.  He’s amazing. 

Motherhood suited me.  I liked being a Mom.  It came, uncharateristically, naturally to me.  I walked around with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.  I started my sentences with “my baby is so perfect, he…”, and gushed over his awesome sleeping habits. 

Babboo took to breastfeeding so easily.  He rarely ever had a diaper explosion.  He liked bath time, and loved being in the car.  He also loved to shop and would be so great for hours in his stroller as I drug him all over downtown.  He rarely cried.  And if he did cry, I could always console him.  The King and I never thought twice about taking him with us wherever we went.  Babboo’s probably eaten in more restaurants in his first 2 months of life then I did in my first 15 years of life. 

What we had was the ideal baby.

For the first time in my life I felt like I was doing something right. I felt blessed that things were going so well for us.  I knew it was a lot of luck.  I knew things weren’t going well because of anything I did.  The King and I often talked about how this whole Parenthood thing was the perfect match for us.  We even said that we should have done this years ago. 

Then things changed.

Babboo decided that he didn’t want to sleep through the night anymore.  He decided he wanted to wake up two or three times a night.  Something he didn’t even do when he was a newborn.  How could he need to eat at night when I know he can go without it?

And the crying.  The crying is a new thing. And it cuts like a knife. 

He cries in the middle of the night, he cries in the morning, he especially cries when I’m trying to work from home.  Yes, the working from home thing isn’t working out so much.  And then there’s the whole thing about the daycare bumping us off their list.  We’re hoping to be able to get him into daycare sometime in September.  Which doesn’t seem that far away, but it really is.  Especially when we’re driving Babboo back and forth to The King’s Mom’s house 3 days a week. 

I dread the days I work from home.  It would just be so much easier if I could go into work and get my 8 hours in and then go home and give myself 100% to Babboo.  So much easier.  But again, on paper working from home is the best thing.  I know it’s better to be with my son for a few days a week.  I just can’t actually get any work done on the days I’m home.  I’m too busy trying to get him to not cry. 

The King and I are trying to decide what’s the best solution for this.  And is there any solution?  We can’t ask The King’s Mom to give up her life and watch Babboo 5 days a week. That’s too much to ask.  We don’t have a daycare we can take him to.  And let’s face it, we’re poor.  We can’t afford much.

We went for a walk this weekend and ran into a young lady from Church.  She works at a kid’s store in the mall.  We started talking and getting to know her.  Then she informed us that before her and her husband moved to Seattle she was a nanny. 

The light bulb goes off.

A nanny, you say?

“Would you be interested in maybe, sometime, if you can, watching Babboo a day or so a week?”

She said yes.  She would love it! (who wouldn’t?)  When we talked to her more about it at Church yesterday, she even said that she wouldn’t charge us.  She’ll do it to help us out.

“Not charge us?  We would never ask you to do that!  Never!”  (but it sure does sound good!)

As it stands, she works 4 three hour shifts a week at the kid’s store.  We thinking we’re just tell her to just quit that job and we’ll pay her the same (or more) and she can watch Babboo a few days a week for us.  Hooray. 

We’re taking her and her husband out to dinner tonight to get to know her a little better and to familiarize her with our apartment.  Tomorrow will just be a “test run” for both her and Babboo. 

Sounds great, right? 

Except that this awesome couple is only here for 3 more weeks.  They’re just here for the summer while the husband has an internship.  Crap.

Then we’re back to square one and no solid plan.

And I’m back to feeling miserable about myself and trying to figure out how I can be the super wife, mom and employee that I want to be.  I don’t know how all you women do it. And do it so well. 

What’s your secret?

The last two days have been draining.

The daycare we picked for Babboo originally said we could get him in full time sometime in the middle of August. In the mean time The King’s Mom has been watching him 3 days a week and I’ve been working from home the other 2 days. This system is not ideal, but has been working. Only because I know it’s temporary and that eventually Babboo will be closer to our home. I’ve been counting down the days until we can get Babboo into daycare and we won’t have to drive him back and forth to his Grammy’s house.

The daycare called The King yesterday. I’ve been trying to think of a funny way to tell you about this. But I can’t think of anything funny about it. Plus, it makes me too sick to think about.

Here’s the thing; they bumped us off their waiting list.

Apparently they have a contract with a certain employer which means they offer them first pick when there’s an opening. Said employer needs our opening. Said employer is taking our opening. They are stealing it from our precious newborn’s tiny little mitts. They ripped it right out of him hands. And it hurt.

They told The King not to worry. They would “crunch the numbers” and get us in sometime in September. September, which is NOT August. And really, how does a daycare “crunch” numbers? Either they have an opening or they don’t. And if they did have an opening, wouldn’t we already have that opening instead of driving back and forth to The King’s Mom’s house?!

How can I not worry about this? How can they pass up on our little guy? Our sweet little guy that will be such an asset to their crappy, stupid daycare? (I’m trying to make myself feel better by degrading them. I learned that technique in junior high.) They want my money to take Babboo? Heck, they should be paying me to allow them to watch him.

The director of the daycare said they would call The King back in a few days and let him know what Babboo’s start date will be. I am literally sitting on the edge of my seat. Patiently waiting. How can a measly daycare (see, I’m doing it again) control me like this? All the while planning on taking gobs of money from me?

(Let’s not talk about the fact that our original first pick daycare called me on Monday to let me know that they had an opening. They wanted to know if we still wanted it. I shrugged it off and told them that we found another daycare and would be starting in a few weeks. Yes, I gave up our spot. I didn’t know what was to come on Wednesday. Oh the irony kills me.)

What else has been emotionally draining to me? (As if this wasn’t enough…)

My little sister, who I love with all my hear (even if she does stomp on my heart from time to time) instant messaged me today to tell me that she and her husband are still thinking of moving to Oregon so he can go to culinary school. Oregon, which is only three hours away from me. Which means I could seriously see her every weekend. My sister, every weekend. I would be so happy. She could be around when Babboo takes his first step, or has his first birthday. I could be around when she decides to get pregnant. We could go shopping together and take vacations together on the Oregon Coast.

They’ve been talking about this move for years, so I’ll believe it when I see the moving truck. But still, it makes me happy. I admit to having my hopes up.

To add to this, I got an e-mail from my bestest friend from junior/high school, Marci. (Marci is the only person I know in real life who knows anything about this blog. She is also a lurker and won’t leave comments. Let’s see if we can convince her to finally leave a comment today.) Marci told me that she and her husband are meeting with a mortgage broker this week. Apparently they are thinking of selling their wonderfully perfect house. She said something about a proposed freeway going in over their house.

Then Marci said that her husband is thinking of taking the job transfer that his company has been begging him to take for years. A transfer to Seattle. Seattle?! Wait, I live in Seattle. You and your husband and three gorgeous kids would live here? In Seattle? Where I live?

My heart is pounding just thinking about it.

I immediatley wrote her back and told her she’d better not be kidding. Because I can’t take a joke like that. Moving to Seattle?! Where I live? Near me? In Seattle?

See how excited I am? I can’t even think straight.

My sister and my best friend. Possibly, maybe, could sort of happen to at some point maybe move closer to me.

Screw daycare. Marci can just baby-sit Babboo.

Hurry and get your house sold. And help my sister pack while you’re at it. I’ll even fly there and help you both pack. And I’ll totally make a “For Sale” sign for your house. I guarantee it will sell.

There is nothing like having a baby to make you feel old. It’s not really a bad thing, but it has got me to thinking about when I was younger. Before you know it, I’m going to start all of my sentences with “when I was your age…” To be honest, I already start most of my conversations that way.

I’ve gone to a lot of concerts in my day. More so in my past then in my present. The first concert I went to was when I was 15 and I went to see NKOTB. (Does calling them NKOTB make me cooler then to call them New Kids on the Block? Probably not.) I don’t know who was marketing The New Kids (is that cooler?) but they did a great job. I got my ticket when I was a freshman and they were hugely popular, but they didn’t actually come in concert until well into my sophomore year, when they were no longer popular at all.

My friend Jamie and I had tickets together. And although NKOTB weren’t popular anymore, we were still mildly excited to go to the show. My Dad was even nice enough to drive us around the venue earlier in the day in hopes of actually seeing one of them. (I wanted to see Joey. Because he was oh, so dreamy.) I’m not sure why we thought one of them would just be walking around the parking lot at the auditorium, but we did. Of course we didn’t see anything, and we were surprised that we didn’t.

Our other friend Marci (Hi, Marci) had tickets, but she wasn’t sitting by us. So had some older, much cooler friends that she as going to sit with. Rumor even has it that one of the girls she went with got up on stage during the show. AWESOME.

I don’t remember who opened for NKOTB, or even what songs they sang. I remember two things; we sat behind a pole and the energy in that place was electrifying. Jamie and I were so hyped the entire time. It wasn’t that we loved seeing NKOTB; we were just high on the energy. I remember Jamie and looked at each other during the show and promised to go to as many concerts as we could. We were hooked on the energy.

I went to school on Monday still a little high from the show. But still smart enough to know not to brag to anyone that I actually paid to see NKOTB (okay, my Mom paid-but still). I vividly remember sitting in art class and hearing some of the ultra-cool seniors making fun of anyone that had gone to the NKOTB concert over the weekend. I played it as cool as I could and kept my mouth shut.

(We were on the A/B schedule at my high school, so I only had art class every other day. I was so in love with one of the senior boys that I would wear my best outfit on the days that I had art class with him. The other days I didn’t have to worry about it as much. Of course, he never even looked at me. Jerk)

I stuck to my promise and went to as many concerts as I could after that. As a poor high school student I didn’t actually have any money to pay for tickets. My Mom would buy them and I would have to baby-sit or mow the lawn to work off the money. The second concert I went to was Ringo Starr. (I find it hilarious that I follow the horribleness of NKOTB with an actual Beatle.)

Word got out that I loved concerts, so some guy friends of mine started taking me to different ones. My friend Vance (again, I kill myself with my non lack of coming up with pseudonyms) took me to see the Steve Miller Band. Another friend took me to see Fugazi. (The King and I figured out that we were both at this concert, but wouldn’t meet until 10 years later!) I even got a co worker to buy me tickets to see the Smashing Pumpkins if I promised to give him a ride there.

Even as a poor starving college student I managed to still see concerts. During this time I saw pretty much any band from the Sixties that was still touring. Most of them I saw more than once. I admit this was during my “too much tie-dye too little make-up” phase.

After college I met Aly and things really started to heat up. We saw everybody. Some I remember, some I don’t. The first night we hung out we saw Lords of Acid and My Life with the Thrill Kill Cult. I know we also saw Beck, Bush, Cake, Quicksand, Foo Fighters, Korn (more than once, but I swear I’m not a fan), and Everclear (we even hung out with them). During this time I took my little sister to her first concert. We saw the Beastie Boys. Such a better first concert then NKOTB. I had to prep her on the standard rules for concert going. Mostly to just ignore all the people smoking pot around us. But she just couldn’t take her eyes off them. Maybe she was a little young to be there. Oopsie.

I never severed ties with my hippy roots. Being a huge Beatles fan, I have managed to see Paul McCartney twice. I went with The King’s Mom both times. I wish I could have gone with Marci. We were together in spirit. Marci and I did manage to see John Denver before his untimely death (I saw him twice). I also saw Simon and Garfunkel a few years back. I totally sat by myself. I didn’t care. I would have sat alone and gone naked if I could just see my beloved Paul and Art harmonize in person.

The King and I have even seen a few shows together. I promised to see Tony Bennett with him in exchange for seeing Bon Jovi (which was actually a really depressing concert. I have never seen so much acid wash in one place. And it was the year 2003!) I’ve gone with him to a few other shows, most of which I can’t even remember the names for the bands.

Right before Babboo was born I got fearful that life was almost over for The King and me. So the last few weeks before I went into labor we saw both Rhett Miller (THREE times) and Belle and Sebastian.

Jurassic 5 was in town last week. I know The King really wanted to go. But there was no way the both of us could abandon our Sweet Babboo and see them. I know he was disappointed. Maybe we’ll go next time they’re here.

To be honest I’m not even sure who’s going to be in concert next. I wonder what my 15 year old self would say to that. She probably would be mad that I hadn’t kept up my promise to see all the shows I could. She would probably roll her eyes at me when I said that we preferred being at home with Babboo right now.

That’s okay because I’m still embarrassed that she saw The New Kids on the Block.

I’ve been trying to post this post all morning. I didn’t have a lot of time to do it, so I was trying to be fast.

And then Wordpress kept eating my post. And the post was was originally “I need to hurry and get working” became “I’m only going to spend ONE MORE HOUR trying to get this to work and then I’ll get some work done!”

I think the problem was trying to post pictures. So instead of pictures today, you’ll get links to pictures. Ohhh…that sounds fun. Right?

It’s all about mixing things up here at hola, isabel.

So The King knows a guy who is a team mascot for a living. This guy dresses up in big furry costumes and hypes up the crowd.

We passed someone on the street this weekend that looked like this friend of his. It wasn’t him, but it got us talking about him.

The King: He’s such a small guy.

Isabel: He has to be tiny to do the tricks that mascots do. I mean, he has to jump off a trampoline and make a basket during the half time show. That takes a small person with agility.

The King: But have you ever been on one of those costumes? They’re hot inside!!

Isabel: You’re asking me if I’ve ever worn a mascot costume?! When and why would I have ever worn a mascot costume? (thinks for a second) Why, have you?

The King: I’ve worn one once.

Isabel: You have?! I don’t think I even want to know the story behind that one.

(see picture of the new house here)

In other non costume related news, the new house is really coming along nicely. Framing continues even though its like one million degrees outside. I feel terrible that the framers are working in this heat. They drink Red Bull all day long. I guess that (and the 10 cans of chew) keep them going.

(see picture of Babboo here)

And in other non house, non costume related news; someone found his toes this weekend. Babboo kept trying to get them into his mouth. Good thing he wasn’t able to since his feet were all stinky and sweaty from being so hot this weekend.

We’re surviving the heat out here. Sort of surviving it. I came into work today merely for the AC.

The question is, are you guys surviving the heat? Because I know it’s hotter for you guys than for us!

Hi Jezer.

I’m following your lead and posting pictures of my shoes. I thought I didn’t have time to dig shoes out of the closet and then take pictures of them, and then load them to the site, but if Erika can do it then so can I (her baby is only a week older than Babboo).

I also heard a rumor that Liberal Banana will be posting her shoe pictures on Friday (she also swears to be posting “how to apply your make-up so you don’t look like a nerd” pictures this weekend.) Of course I am waiting patiently for both posts.

When talking about shoes I must share the Shoe Rule The King started at our house. Shoes must cost you a dollar a day. Meaning that if a pair costs you $50 you must wear them fifty times. Any amount after that, you’re making money on them. And that, my friends, is awesome. The King ends up making like $200 off of his shoes. Me? Not so much.

Jezer wants to see everybody’s shoes. That’s easy enough. So let’s get started:

My new awesome, but totally old lady shoes. They are the kind of shoes that I could wear everyday and never get sore feet from. I just bought them on sale, so I totally plan on getting my dollar a day out of them.

These are the shoes that I end up wearing to work more then I care to admit. They are a few years old. I think I’ve probably made about $20 on these bad boys.

I bought these shoes when I was first pregnant. They were to be my “staple” black pair for work. Notice how high they are? Not very good for a pregnant women. I think I’ve worn them to work once.

And these are the shoes that I actually ended up wearing my entire pregnancy. Can you see the jacked up heel? Yeah I got stuck in the elevator. Totally stuck. I thought I was going to die. I may have even yelped.

Look, black shoes. Are you seeing a pattern here?

In an effort to mix things up a bit, here is something with color. I got these last summer. They were bought with the intention of NOT getting my dollar a day out of them. At this point I think they’ve cost me about $30 each time I’ve worn them. The King bought them for me for a trade. I got the shoes and he got something from me. That’s all you need to know.

These are the infamous shoes that I had to fight Amalah and Nap Queen for. HollowSquirrel was giving them away to the first person who wanted them. That was me. They were given to me with strict orders that they can only be worn with boot cut denim. Don’t be mad, but I’ve worn them with slacks. I heart them.

These shoes have been like a good lover to me. They feel good, they were cheap, and they have taken me all over Europe 3 times. The first day I wore them was in Amsterdam. I was silly and wore them with the wrong socks and they totally hurt my feet. I cried because I thought my European Vacation was ruined. Instead of letting them win, we bought me some new socks, said a prayer, and went on our merry way. Ever since then they have treated me with nothing but respect. I will die when they leave me.

I love these shoes. They have been worn only once in a play we did at Church a few years ago. I don’t even have to tell you what the play was, right? I love these shoes and will keep them in my closet forever. You never know when they might come in handy. See how they sparkle?

And to end this fun, yet totally boring post, here are the shoes I am wearing this very second. (Please don’t make fun of my toes. Yes, I know my second toe is bigger then my actual big toe. The King wants to puke every time he looks at them!)

The gold flip-flops go perfectly with my new shirt. The new shirt that I got for 97 CENTS at Old Navy last night. (Today it was on sale for 50% off, so I could have totally got it for cheaper!) In this shot I’m trying to pose like Paris Hilton. Does it work? Do I look blond and pencil thin? Good.

Now it’s your turn. Let’s see your shoes.

(Make sure you let Jezer know you posted or she’ll be super mad. And you don’t want to make her mad. You never know what she might do to you.)

Thanks for all the music suggestions for my free download. I hate to admit that I still haven’t used it. But I will. I promise. First I have to listen to a sample of the new Paris Hilton song.

Do you know what is the perfect way to cope with a baby that’s been crying all day? Crying all day while you’ve tried to get some work done at home?

You take yourself out on a date.

So that’s what I did last night. I treated myself to a night on the town. And by “night” I mean, I snuck away just long enough to see a movie.

I knew this might be my only chance to do this for a while, so I wanted to choose my movie wisely. I decided to see The Devil Wears Prada. I read the book years ago and remembered liking it. Plus I was pretty sure The King wouldn’t ever want to see it. And also? I think Anne Hathaway is super sweet.

Do you know what is not a good movie to see when you already feel like a frumpy mom?

You guessed it. A movie about super skinny, gorgeous women in designer clothes who live in NYC and visit Paris during Fashion Week.

While the movie was good, it made me feel worse about myself. Especially when I was watching it whilst enjoying a tub of popcorn all by myself.

I went home afterwards determined to wear my make-up better. I wanted the same smokey eyes as Andy. I even thought about getting bangs cut straight across. (See, I have a very intense love/hate relationship with bangs.) I wanted fabulous accessories. I wanted to wear my highest heels.

Guess what I’m wearing today at work?

You guessed it (again). All black shirt, all black pants. And my new Aerosoles. Nothing screams “hott new Mom” like Aerosoles. Blah.

I swear, it’s my uniform. And it isn’t pretty.

So tell me, what do you guys do when you’re feeling in a rut, but are too poor/too busy to actually purchase a new wardrobe.

I’m thinking that I should learn how to make my own jewelry and use it to better accessorize my existing wardrobe. Or what about going to Sephora to get my make-up done? Has anyone done that? Is it free? Tell me more.