You know it’s been a slow weekend when the most exciting things you have to blog about are your (awesomely) new clothes rack and the fact that you were able to use a $5 off coupon for it.

Look, it’s a new stainless steel drying rack. Gone is our ghetto wood one that is held together with pieces of miss-matched yarn and staples.

But look, it’s so new and shiny and pretty and cost way more money than a drying rack should cost. I don’t care. I like to think of it as an investment in my future.

Okay, so I like to hang my clothes up to dry. Whether it’s true or not, I believe it makes my blacks stay blacker longer and my clothes not shrink too much. Again, it’s an investment in my future. The only items I actually put in the dryer are the basics you know, underwear and towels. And maybe a blanket or two. But that’s it. I hang dry everything, even Babboo’s pajamas and onesies.

On the days that I actually have time to do laundry my apartment is full of clothes drying. The doorways have pants hanging on them, the chairs have jackets lying over them, and then there is the actual drying rack. I am able to use every available (and not so available) space to hang out clothes on. Even Babboo’s little socks find a space in the spots that can’t be used for anything else.

My friend Ann hates this. She says that only poor people hang dry their clothes. You see, my friend Ann is one of twelve kids. They were poor growing up. I mean with twelve kids, you would have to be poor. Ann said she hated always having crunchy jeans because her Mom would hang them to dry in front of the fireplace. So now that Ann’s an adult, and isn’t poor, she insists on using her dryer for everything.

I understand Ann’s logic. When I was younger, we were pretty poor too. Sure, we didn’t have twelve kids. But both my parents went back to college (which cost money) and we raised most of my dad’s siblings (which costs even more money) (and which I should really blog about one day). There were certain things that we did because we were poor that I just can’t bring myself to do now that I’m an adult.

For instant, I never buy squiggly soup. I don’t care how cheap it is or how good it tastes. I will forever associate it with being poor. We used to eat this all the time. Of course we didn’t know it meant we were poor. We liked it. We never went hungry.

I also remember my mom buying the hot dogs from the gas station when they had them on special for 4 for $1.00. We thought that was a real treat. Guess what, I still like (all beef) hot dogs. Um yeah, but I don’t tend to buy them at a gas station. Ewwwww.

My Mom used to buy me shampoo and conditioner by the case. I would go through it like candy. Remember, this was back when I had my very long, very not-pretty hair (click to see picture). My parents couldn’t have afforded a more expensive brand. So I used Aquamarine and was happy as could be. (Dude, it worked just fine and was like .99 cents. You can’t beat that.)

But yeah, I wouldn’t buy Aquamarine these days. It would be like the penny that Christopher Reeve finds in the 1980 time travel romance film Somewhere in Time that catapults him back to the present day and forever parts him from his One True Love of (young) Jane Seymour.

What I’m saying is that it would be like high school all over again. And not in a good way.

So tell me, are there things that you won’t do because they remind you of when you were younger, or poorer, or immature, or just worse times?

———

CALL OUT TO EVERYONE IN THE SEATTLE AREA:

Okay, so my best friend May just called me. Her husband, who hates his job more than I hate squiggly soup, just put in his 2-week notice. Which means they are going to move to Reno if he can’t find another job before the end of the summer. (We’re going to pay him to do some work over at our new house.)

They will stay in Washington if he can find a new job. Pretty much ANY job that pays more then $12.00 an hour. Seriously, he isn’t asking much. He is very computer savvy, but is a clothing designer by trade. Don’t worry, he doesn’t plan to stay in the clothing designing business. So really, any job.

Please tell me you have a job for him so that May will stay in Seattle and continue being my best friend.

Please.

(does it help that he’s nice and good-looking? Oh, and he speaks Portuguese. But that doesn’t mean much.)

I read this story yesterday about a woman who, for her 80th birthday, celebrated by displaying the quilts that she has made in her life. This woman started making quilts when she was 12 and has made over 1,000 of them.

That’s a lot of quilts.

It is also an amazing legacy to leave behind to her family and friends.

While discussing this story with (the recently knocked up) Frema, she told me that she didn’t even own a quilt. Sure there was the afghan that she started years ago, and the one her mom had started to show her how to make one. But that was it.

I was shocked.

Mostly not only have I made many o’ quilts, but I own many o’ quilts. The first quilt I remember receiving was one my grandma made for me for Christmas when I was about 8 years old. It was made out of scraps of material, mostly pieces from clothing my mom owned as a kid. I remember her pointing out pieces to me and telling me what piece of her clothes it belonged to. My favorite was the material from her swimming suit.

I have longed believed that quilting is one of those skills that is beginning to be a lost art. Along with skills like cross stitching, crocheting and knitting. I hate to think of a time when there won’t be people around who can teach us these skills.

I began to think about all the blankets that we received as gifts for Babboo. I knew there were a lot of them, but it wasn’t until I got them all out to take pictures that I realized just how many of them we have.

Not even counting the store-bought blankets he was given (traitors!).

Here are the 5 blankets that are actual quilts. (#2 was actually quilted for me at my baby shower by my friends and family and finished up by my Mom and Grandma.)

Below are the blankets that are actually considered afghans. I hate to admit it, but while taking the pictures I realized I don’t remember who made #1 and #4. #2 was made by my friend Aly and #3 was made by my friend in real life that found (secret) blog last week.

Before Babboo was born, my Mom started to make these little blankets where you crochet around the edges. Um yeah, her and my Grandma made me a little too many of them. (Notice how #2 matched the one made at my baby shower.)

And then, you know, because Babboo didn’t have enough of them, my Mom made this new one for his first birthday last week. See how it’s Seattle themed? I love that. Babboo’s name is also embroidered on it. How cute is that? (Very cute, that’s how cute.)

To prove that I’m a good Mom, I had to make a few of my own. Of course my Mom taught me how to do the edging thing that she loves to do. It’s fun and easy and I really should make more then just this one. (I mean, hello, baby shower gifts!)

I lost count at how many Babboo actually owns. But look at this pile. There has to be like 35 quilts there. Or 15.

Either way, there are a lot of them.

What’s so great is that these were all hand made. Every stitch with love for my little guy. I don’t use any of them, of course. I’m afraid of ruining them. Even though everyone said “don’t be afraid to use this. I want you to use it.” But still, afraid.

I look forward to the day that I can point out each blanket to Babboo and tell him who made them and how much they loved him even before he was born.

Until then, they’ll stay in the box under his crib.

So tell me, am I the only one that owns this many quilts? I know I can’t be the only one.

————–

Remember how I promised to post more pictures from the birthday weekend extravaganza? Well, here you go.

We went to the zoo on Saturday. Babboo loved the fish and could have cared less about the elephants.

I promise he liked the cupcake. I uh, sort of, forgot to take it away from him and he ate the entire thing. Oopsie. Starting this year out with a bang.

We didn’t waste any time with traditional birthday hats. Our boy, being The Son of a King, got a crown. He even was a sport and wore it while he opened his gifts.

(just a few more over at Flickr.)

I got a call from my little brother during the day last week. I was at work, so I put him into voice mail. A few hours later the same thing happened. That night, when I had a second, I called him back. I sort of knew what he was going to tell me, so I wasn’t in a hurry to call him back. When I finally did, it went something like this:

Isabel :(to little brother) Hey, I saw that you called me a few times today. What’s up?

Brother: I just wanted to tell you that you’re gonna be an aunt again. We’re having another baby!

Isabel: That’s great news. Congratulations. Well, Babboo is getting into stuff. I’ll talk to you later.

I’m very happy for them. They have a little girl who is 6 months older than Babboo, and I love her guts. She’s a little doll. I also really like my brother and his wife. My sister in law stays at home and my brother makes just enough money for them to live and not have to eat Ramen for dinner every night. My brother and his wife are quite a bit younger then I am, plus they’ve only been married a few years. Not to mention that my brother doesn’t really have a secure future with his job.

I just didn’t know what else to say to him on the phone. The thought of having another baby is, well, a thought I don’t have at this point. I’m still trying to figure out the one I already have.

A few weekends ago we went to visit some of our favorite friends. They had just had their third little girl and we wanted to drop in and see how thing were going for them. Things are going great for them. The wife stays at home and the husband seems to make a bazillion dollars at his job. They have enough money for a great house and have been all over the world.

Last night my best friend May came over with her little girl. We had a great time making dinner and watching our kids play together. An hour or so into our evening, she told me she was pregnant again. They’ve wanted this for a long time, so it’s wonderful news for their little family. May stays at home and they seem to live okay off of what her husband makes.

One of my other close friends, Smelly, is awaiting the birth of her second baby any day. Smelly (who doesn’t really smell) stays at home with their little girl and they live by the hair of her chiny-chin-chin on what her husband makes.

We have some friends that are newly married, who both work, and don’t have any kids yet. Come to think of it, we have quite a few friends that don’t have kids yet. We also have some friends that are in the middle of a nasty divorce (as opposed to those awesome divorces you keep hearing about?). We even have some friends where the wife works and the husband stays home with their two kids.

I’m starting to see a trend here. The trend being that The King and I don’t have any friends that are in the same situation we are. I don’t have any friends that work full time while their (one) child is in daycare. We don’t have any friends that are in the same financial situation we are. We don’t have any friends that like the same things we like. We for sure don’t have any friends that can afford, or have the desire to travel with us.

I talked to my mom and dad about this phenomenon this weekend. My dad informed me that I’d never find any friends that were in the same position we were. Either they wouldn’t have any kids, or they’d have tons of kids. Or they’d be richer or poorer then we were. Or they’d hate to travel or only like to travel inside the country. You know, just something.

I wish I had a lady friend that I could meet for hot cocoa and just talk about what it’s like to bust my butt at work everyday and then race to daycare to bring my son home and then try to catch up on laundry, cleaning, cooking dinner, watching my stories, all the while trying to have quality time with my Sweet Babboo. Oh yeah, and be a contributing member of a marriage that I want to be successful. Let’s not even talk about keeping up on relationships with friends and family and the love and devotion I feel towards my Church and the other members. (Service work, I wish I had more time to give to you!)

I’ve been lucky enough to have some wonderfully positive role models here on the interweb. I’ve felt a very deep connection to Erika ever since we were both pregnant and due to give birth to little boys within days of each other. Erika works full time and understands what it’s like to drop your baby off at daycare while all the while knowing that you just aren’t the type of mom who would deal well with being a full time Stay at Home Mom. HollowSquirrel also works away from home and has a little boy just a few months older then Babboo. So again, she knows.

The crazy thing is that while I wish we had friends that fit into our little pie chart, I don’t really have the time or energy to work at finding these friends. The thought of making more friends makes my mind race with thoughts of trying to work in phone calls and outings and getting to know you dinners out. I just don’t have time for it. I have enough friends. Friends that I truly like. I just don’t really have that same connection with.

So tell me, is this bad? Should The King and I make more of an effort to find friends that are a better fit for us? Does this mean we have to lose the friends we have? The friends we truly love. And where would we find these new friends?

And more importantly, is it okay that some of my closest girlfriends preside in the little computer screen in front of me?

I just wish they could come over for hot cocoa every now and again.

————–

And in case you missed it, I helped out Amalah with the Advice Smackdown today. The topic? Bikini waxing and why you should all go and get one. Now.

Sometimes I can open up my Write Post page on my blog and just start typing away without having to think much about what I’m going to write about. I can always tell you about how The King and I are still sleeping in the front room. Or I can tell you about the new house. Or I can always tell you about how cute Babboo is. Or about how goofy I am. And I can always write about TV.

Today I opened up my Write Post page and I can’t type. It’s not that I don’t have anything to tell you about. Oh no, dear interweb, that is not the case. I have plenty tell you about. Remember, my family was in town this weekend. So yes, I could have posts for the rest of the week. But I am stopping myself from talking about it. And it’s hard.

I want so badly to tell you about my older brother and how he manipulates every situation in favor of himself. Or how my cousins seem to be less than 100% healthy. Or about how my parents stayed home with Babboo on Friday and invited a few friends over. And then let one of them take a nap in.my.bed. The bed that I’m not even sleeping in. (I don’t know about you, but I don’t like other people sleeping in my bed.)

You will be proud of me though. I didn’t just sweep my feelings under the rug like we do in my family. Instead I told my mom how I felt about it. And she (seemed to) listened. We had a nice dinner out where we talked about my feelings and about other members of my family. It was good for me. It made me feel better. And it rejuvenated me enough to spend Saturday with them at the zoo.

So instead of telling you all about this last weekend, I present you with pictures from Babboo’s 1st birthday party at The King’s parent’s house.

So what do you think? Should we open presents first and then serve the cake or serve the cake first and then open presents?

The King didn’t care what we did first. Just as long as he could have a glass of O.J. The only problem was that he just couldn’t get the damn screw top off. Poor guy, I guess that’s what happens when you spend most of Saturday at the new house digging trenches. I guess that’s cheaper then renting a machine that will do the digging for you.

Now you sort of, but not really, know how my weekend went. So tell me, how did your weekend go?

Early in our marriage The King and I set up some guidelines of places we would never eat at:

1. Denny’s
2. Taco Bell
3. McDonalds

Now we know that from time to time I slip and eat at McDonalds. Last Friday was one of those times. The King and I were out shopping for some new jeans for me and decided to stop at the local food court a quick dinner.

While we were waiting in line to order I noticed the girl in line ahead of us. She was alone and looked to be about 17 or 18. She was heavy set and disheveled looking with a pink mohawk and smeared make up on her face. She was wearing pants with chains and pockets and too much fabric. Her black t-shirt was too big for her and I noticed how dirty it was, not to mention the amount of holes in it. She wore an over sized hoodie over her shirt. She looked like she might be homeless, although I didn’t think she was.

She kept looking at Babboo in his stroller playing with his little book.

“How old is he?”

“He’ll be a year old this next week.”

I could tell she wanted to talk to me, but I wasn’t sure why.

“I had a little girl two days ago.”

This statement shocked me so much that I didn’t know how to respond. It came out of nowhere.

“Wow. Two days ago?”

I looked around to see if I could see her baby.

“Where is she?”

“She over there with my boyfriend. He’s changing her diaper at that table.”

I looked around some more, but still couldn’t see them. The King said he did. And yes, in fact, a diaper was being changed on the table at the food court.

I was instantly taken back to when Babboo was two days old. We were still in the hospital. I was learning how to be someone’s mom. We were just beginning to adjust to being a family.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel like crap.”

I asked if she had had a c-section. She told me she hadn’t, but that she still wasn’t feeling too hot. I understood what she was talking about.

“When did you get out of the hospital?”

“Just this afternoon.”

“How do you like being a mom, so far?”

“It’s cool. I like her.”

My mind was racing. I wanted to tell her so many things. I wanted to shout that it will get better. It will be even more amazing. You will get more sleep. You will know what your baby wants even before she does. You are going to love it.

Of course I didn’t say any of these things to her. I didn’t hug her, even though I wanted to so much. I just stood there deciding what to order for dinner.

She got her food order and went back to her table where her two day old baby, her boyfriend, and a whole group of kids were waiting. I watched them the entire time we were eating our food. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

I wondered what her story was. Where were her parents? Had she taken a class on parenting? Did she know what resources were available to her? Are there even resources even available? What was going to be become of her? What was going to become of her baby? Was she going to love her enough? Would she be able to take care of her baby? Who was going to take care of her? Would her boyfriend stick around? Would he be able to help them?

I wanted to tell myself that I felt confident things would be okay for this new mom and her little girl. But I’m not confident that they will be. I know how worried I was when Babboo was first born and I have a supportive family, a loving husband, and 31 years of knowledge under my belt. I wonder if because this girl is so young that she doesn’t know to be worried. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Here’s hoping they’ll be just fine.

——

Want to read about my latest New Thing? Head over to my other blog for pictures. And blacked out eyes of co-workers (who is single, and hott, and looking).

Babboo is a year old today. It’s been an amazing year and nothing I could say would be an accurate desciption of the amount of love we have for our little guy. He has changed our lives and made us better people.

In honor of this special day, I finally present you with the birth story, that I should have posted a long time ago.

Click to read the story and see a video of his first year on this earth.

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