As a Catholic, I am currently involved in the season of Lent. This is the time of year when we are supposed to participate in prayer, fasting, and self-denial to commemorate the 40 days of temptation that Jesus spent in the desert before his death and resurrection. So, what that boils down to is basically not eating any meat on fridays and for me, giving up chocolate.
I said, GIVING UP CHOCOLATE. Ok, now do you get it? For me, that is HUGE! (Normally I give up something easy like sex, but as we all know, that is seriously out of the question this year.)
This morning, I was giving my niece a ride to work and she handed me a delicious looking brownie smothered with frosting. I politely declined (well, I think I said, "You thoughtless, God-less heathen, don't you know I gave up chocolate for Lent?" or something like that.) She looked at me a bit frightened and said, "Aren't you worried that you are going to be an even bigger Bitch than normal????? I mean, we NEED chocolate."
She totally gets me.
I figured if anything was going to help fat girl shed a few pounds, it would be by eliminating chocolate from the diet. And, boy, was I right. Now, all I have left to eat in the house is brown rice and strawberry slim-fast. I should be a size 2 by next wednesday.
However, I may be doing the whole fasting thing a bit wrong. I really wanted to start the Holy Season off right this year, so I tried to be very symbolic with my food choices on Ash Wednesday. I drank only red wine ("blood of Christ") and ate only bread ("body of Christ.")
My Mom had to pop my bubble by telling me that 3 loaves of italian bread smeared with olive oil and butter and 2 bottles of wine was really overdoing the whole sacred ritual thing. She proceeded to tell me "now Jenny darling, you have been drinking too much wine lately. I understand that a glass of red wine does have some healthy benefits, but, sweet pea, I have seen your recycle bin, and I am quite certain you are overdoing it a bit. Just because you refer to it as the "blood of Christ" really doesn't make it holy and it certianly isn't okay to drink by the gallon."
You know, I always like to think if you are going to do something, you should really give it your all.
Anyway, I wanted you all to be aware that for the next 40 days I may be a bit edgy. Anyone coming near me with brownies, hershey kisses, or the faint smell of cadbury mini eggs should fear for their lives. According to my estimates, I should pull through this Holy Season a good 40 pounds lighter. Pray for me . . . no really, pray for me . . .
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Fountain of Youth
I woke up this morning with another wrinkle. It runs from the corner of my eye down my cheek. It is a long wrinkle and runs perpendicular to my other wrinkles. Seriously, this is getting friggen ridiculous. I understand that I am getting older and all, but I have been moisturizing religiously since I was 15. I have tried every cream, lotion and potion know to man, but nothing seems to be slowing these suckers down a bit.
I have to confess that I purchased a very expense bottle of "miracle cream" recently. This was the most I have ever spent on lotion by far, and I was quite suprised at how small the bottle was. I think there must be liquid gold inside. I thought for sure there would be an armed guard to escort me out of the store, but the clerk didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Apparantly they sell a lot of this stuff. Anyway, this was guaranteed to give you younger looking skin or you would get your money back. So, it has to work? Right?
Well, I guess you could say I have younger looking skin. I have broken out like a pubescent teenager. I haven't had this many zits since 9th grade. Perhaps this is what they were refering to as the guarantee to make you look younger. The acne is hiding my wrinkles, I guess.
I am not at the point yet where I would pay for botox or anything, I'm still to cheap for that. But if someone was handing out free samples, you bet your booty I would be the first one in line. Anyone know any plastic surgeons I could be good buddies with?
I have to confess that I purchased a very expense bottle of "miracle cream" recently. This was the most I have ever spent on lotion by far, and I was quite suprised at how small the bottle was. I think there must be liquid gold inside. I thought for sure there would be an armed guard to escort me out of the store, but the clerk didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Apparantly they sell a lot of this stuff. Anyway, this was guaranteed to give you younger looking skin or you would get your money back. So, it has to work? Right?
Well, I guess you could say I have younger looking skin. I have broken out like a pubescent teenager. I haven't had this many zits since 9th grade. Perhaps this is what they were refering to as the guarantee to make you look younger. The acne is hiding my wrinkles, I guess.
I am not at the point yet where I would pay for botox or anything, I'm still to cheap for that. But if someone was handing out free samples, you bet your booty I would be the first one in line. Anyone know any plastic surgeons I could be good buddies with?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Jennifer is now friends with Patrick Dempsey
I have a slight addiction to Facebook. If you aren't on Facebook just sign up already. I'll totally be your friend. And if you don't know what facebook is, um, where have you been???? No, seriously, it's like an online yearbook of sorts. You can reconnect with anyone and everyone you have ever known. But, you have to approve them first before you can be "friends." So, there is very little risk of getting cyber stalked. And, you can deny friendship at any time. It's very cool. And, if I can do it, anyone can.
I signed up to Facebook last fall to look up a potential job candidate at the store. I had no clue that you had to be approved to look at their info. So much for try to do some anonymous snooping. I filled in the least amount of info as possible to get the account up and running, and literally within 24 hours I had 41 friend requests. Yeah! I have friends! I'm still totally popular.
Well, about a month ago, I was feeling all nostalgic (Ok so I was pretending that I was 19 again) and I went back on Facebook to look up old friends. I even downloaded some pictures. (It may have taken me three days and my profile picture MAY be a picture of me from last summer that deceptively makes me look thin and wrinkle free, but hey, it IS me, and my ass may be the size of the titanic but my face is still thin. Therefore, only head shots please.)
So, I have been busy looking for friends all over the country. And, once they approve your friend request, you can look at all their info and pictures. So you can totally snoop without them even knowing. It's so cool. I was dying to know who had gotten fat and who was going bald. But, as far as I can tell, I am the only fat and bald person I have come across. Bummer.
Facebook will also make suggestions of "people you may know." It's usually the younger brother of a high school friend or someone who went to the same college or something. But, a couple of weeks ago Patrick Dempsey popped up my "people you may know." What?? Patrick Dempsey? Could it really be? Upon closer inspection it certainly was a picture of McDreamy in some sort of racing suit. Weird, eh?
The funny thing is I actually met Patrick Dempsey about 10 or 15 years ago. (Sorry, I can't remember how old I am anymore so dates are really irrelevant to me.) It was at a restaurant in LA called Joan's on third which was right down the street from where I worked. We were both in line at the counter, and when I looked at him, I had that feeling of "don't I know you?" So, I kept discreetly looking at him trying to figure it out. However, he is an eye contact maker, so I was busted immediately. He attempted to make some small talk because the line was like 10 miles long. But, when he talks to you, he looks you right in the eyes, and it's kind of intimate in a weird way. I really don't know how to explain it. But, you literally can't take your eyes away.
As we continued to chit chat, I realized that he was the lawnmower guy from Can't Buy Me Love. I totally used to have a crush on him! He looked pretty much the same, but his hair wasn't as curly. Wow, now we are chatting in the deli line. How cool is that. He came in with a much older woman who was saving them a table outside. I was trying to be all cool and conversational now because I remembered who he was. So, I made the observation that it was so nice of him to take his mom out to lunch. He smiled and informed me that the woman was his wife. (He wasn't wearing a ring because I had already checked that.) "You're so funny" I say. I'm clearly being flirty Gerty at this point. Maybe he'll offer to buy my lunch or something. "No, that really is my wife" he says while staring right in my eyes. "Um, ok, sorry" I say as I start chewing on my shoe so I can put my foot in my mouth. She had to be at least 50. How should I know?
Needless to say, I bought my own lunch that day. But, maybe he remembers me from that day. Perhaps I am the girl from Joan's that he has never forgotten. We had 2 Facebook friends in common, so maybe we are meant to reconnect. Naturally I clicked on the "people you may know link" and sent him a friend request. He doesn't have to accept it right?
Within 12 hours I had a message that "Patrick Dempsey has confirmed your friend request." So, now we are pals. I'm certain he must be checking out all my info, regretting that he let me get away that day. But, I have already made it very clear to him that I am happily married now. You snooze, you lose McDreamy. Sorry 'bout that.
But, I have one person that has denied my friend request, and seriously, my ego is bruised. He was my first real boyfriend in high school, but, we like broke up in 11th grade. Um, what's up with THAT? He is friends with everyone else from High School. He is happily married with like a gazillion kids. I'm happily married with a gazillion kids. I mean, it's Facebook for crying out loud what the heck does he think I am looking to do?? I am just trying to rack up as many friends as I can. I thought we were friends. DENIED. Ouch. But, I'm over it already. After all, I have Patrick Dempsey.
So, in the spirit of Elle Woods, I am championing you all to be my friend on Facebook. It's super fun!
I signed up to Facebook last fall to look up a potential job candidate at the store. I had no clue that you had to be approved to look at their info. So much for try to do some anonymous snooping. I filled in the least amount of info as possible to get the account up and running, and literally within 24 hours I had 41 friend requests. Yeah! I have friends! I'm still totally popular.
Well, about a month ago, I was feeling all nostalgic (Ok so I was pretending that I was 19 again) and I went back on Facebook to look up old friends. I even downloaded some pictures. (It may have taken me three days and my profile picture MAY be a picture of me from last summer that deceptively makes me look thin and wrinkle free, but hey, it IS me, and my ass may be the size of the titanic but my face is still thin. Therefore, only head shots please.)
So, I have been busy looking for friends all over the country. And, once they approve your friend request, you can look at all their info and pictures. So you can totally snoop without them even knowing. It's so cool. I was dying to know who had gotten fat and who was going bald. But, as far as I can tell, I am the only fat and bald person I have come across. Bummer.
Facebook will also make suggestions of "people you may know." It's usually the younger brother of a high school friend or someone who went to the same college or something. But, a couple of weeks ago Patrick Dempsey popped up my "people you may know." What?? Patrick Dempsey? Could it really be? Upon closer inspection it certainly was a picture of McDreamy in some sort of racing suit. Weird, eh?
The funny thing is I actually met Patrick Dempsey about 10 or 15 years ago. (Sorry, I can't remember how old I am anymore so dates are really irrelevant to me.) It was at a restaurant in LA called Joan's on third which was right down the street from where I worked. We were both in line at the counter, and when I looked at him, I had that feeling of "don't I know you?" So, I kept discreetly looking at him trying to figure it out. However, he is an eye contact maker, so I was busted immediately. He attempted to make some small talk because the line was like 10 miles long. But, when he talks to you, he looks you right in the eyes, and it's kind of intimate in a weird way. I really don't know how to explain it. But, you literally can't take your eyes away.
As we continued to chit chat, I realized that he was the lawnmower guy from Can't Buy Me Love. I totally used to have a crush on him! He looked pretty much the same, but his hair wasn't as curly. Wow, now we are chatting in the deli line. How cool is that. He came in with a much older woman who was saving them a table outside. I was trying to be all cool and conversational now because I remembered who he was. So, I made the observation that it was so nice of him to take his mom out to lunch. He smiled and informed me that the woman was his wife. (He wasn't wearing a ring because I had already checked that.) "You're so funny" I say. I'm clearly being flirty Gerty at this point. Maybe he'll offer to buy my lunch or something. "No, that really is my wife" he says while staring right in my eyes. "Um, ok, sorry" I say as I start chewing on my shoe so I can put my foot in my mouth. She had to be at least 50. How should I know?
Needless to say, I bought my own lunch that day. But, maybe he remembers me from that day. Perhaps I am the girl from Joan's that he has never forgotten. We had 2 Facebook friends in common, so maybe we are meant to reconnect. Naturally I clicked on the "people you may know link" and sent him a friend request. He doesn't have to accept it right?
Within 12 hours I had a message that "Patrick Dempsey has confirmed your friend request." So, now we are pals. I'm certain he must be checking out all my info, regretting that he let me get away that day. But, I have already made it very clear to him that I am happily married now. You snooze, you lose McDreamy. Sorry 'bout that.
But, I have one person that has denied my friend request, and seriously, my ego is bruised. He was my first real boyfriend in high school, but, we like broke up in 11th grade. Um, what's up with THAT? He is friends with everyone else from High School. He is happily married with like a gazillion kids. I'm happily married with a gazillion kids. I mean, it's Facebook for crying out loud what the heck does he think I am looking to do?? I am just trying to rack up as many friends as I can. I thought we were friends. DENIED. Ouch. But, I'm over it already. After all, I have Patrick Dempsey.
So, in the spirit of Elle Woods, I am championing you all to be my friend on Facebook. It's super fun!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Going to hell
I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell.
Last week, the kids were off from school for a winter break. Unfortunately, it was too freakin' cold to send them outside to play, so they stayed inside climbing the walls, and literally driving me INSANE. So, to say that I was looking foward to Monday is a gross understatement.
I literally found myself a bit giddy on Sunday night, and I started counting down the hours 'till they were back at school.
So, at 12:03 am on Monday morning when I found myself holding Ace's head over the bathroom sink while he expelled his mac'n'cheese, well, I was just a little bit depressed. Of course one of the kids would have to be sick on the first day back. Of course. Heaven forbid I should actually feel sorry for my poor child that is wretching 3 weeks worth of food out of his system. Instead, as I held a cool cloth on his forehead, I couldn't help but feel just a tinsy bit sorry for myself. Yes, I know, I'm very bad.
I called on Paco for reinforcement. Since Ace was still half asleep, I couldn't quite get him over to the toilet and he managed to plug the sink. And, for those of you without kids, well, mac'n'cheese looks exactly the same on the way down as it does on the way out. So, Paco had the lovely task of scooping out noodles from the bathroom drain while I got the ginger ale.
I prepared a puke bucket, got a glass of ginger ale, and got Ace all snug and settled back in his bed. I finally crawled back into bed at 1 expecting to have a very long night.
Miraculously, I didn't hear another peep from Ace for the rest of the night. He slept all night long, and woke up Monday morning in a great mood.
Ace tends to be a bit dramatic, so I was fully expecting the sad face and the tales of woe. I naturally assumed that he would want to stay home.
However, he started getting around like he normally does, and got himself dressed and brushed his teeth. When he went in to make his bed, he saw the puke bucket on his nightstand and asked me if he had been throwing up.
"Um, what honey? We're you sick? Do you remember being sick?" I ask in my sweet Mommy voice.
"No. But, why is the puke bucket by my bed. I think I dreamed that I was puking." He replies.
"Oh, well, maybe it's there from the last time you were sick or something. Dreaming of puking sounds more like a nightmare don't you think?" I say.
(Technically, I did not lie. It was his idea really, and I just, well, went along with it. Maybe he DID dream about throwing up. And, the puke bucket COULD have been there for a while, even though I had just put it there the night before. It COULD have been there longer. Really, it could have.)
He ate a full breakfast, wasn't running a temperature, and seemed to be fine, so off to school we went.
I dropped them off at school at 7:49, and went off on my merry way.
I fully expected a call from the nurse's office. But, to my relief, no call ever came.
When I picked him up at 2, he was fine and full of energy.
He had did his home work, had dinner, took a shower, and was in bed by 7:30.
Woooo-hoooo! Crisis averted. God will fogive me this one, right? I'm not that bad of a person, right? I mean, technically, I really didn't do anything wrong. He seemed ok, so it could've been a one time thing.
Wrong.
At 10:30 Ace came out of his room and started vomiting again. Fortunately for Paco, this time he made it to the toilet. But, Seriously????? AGAIN???!!!!!
We got him settled back into his bed with the puke bucket and ginger ale yet again. And, miraculously, he slept through the night for the second time.
I went into his room at 5:15 to check on him, and since he was sleeping soundly, I decided to clean up his room a bit and I removed the ginger ale can and the puke bucket. We wouldn't want him to wake up to a messy room, now would we?
He woke up at 6:05 got himself dressed, brushed his teeth, made his bed, and even made his own breakfast. I was walking on pins and needles waiting for him to mention last night's episode.
Nothing. He didn't say a word. And, since, he didn't mention anything, I didn't feel it really necessary for me to bring anything up either.
I am quite certain this gives me a one-way ticket on Satan's express. However, as I sit here at work, sipping hot coffee, listening to soothing music and checking out all the latest the internet has to offer, I feel that maybe, just maybe, it could be worth it.
Last week, the kids were off from school for a winter break. Unfortunately, it was too freakin' cold to send them outside to play, so they stayed inside climbing the walls, and literally driving me INSANE. So, to say that I was looking foward to Monday is a gross understatement.
I literally found myself a bit giddy on Sunday night, and I started counting down the hours 'till they were back at school.
So, at 12:03 am on Monday morning when I found myself holding Ace's head over the bathroom sink while he expelled his mac'n'cheese, well, I was just a little bit depressed. Of course one of the kids would have to be sick on the first day back. Of course. Heaven forbid I should actually feel sorry for my poor child that is wretching 3 weeks worth of food out of his system. Instead, as I held a cool cloth on his forehead, I couldn't help but feel just a tinsy bit sorry for myself. Yes, I know, I'm very bad.
I called on Paco for reinforcement. Since Ace was still half asleep, I couldn't quite get him over to the toilet and he managed to plug the sink. And, for those of you without kids, well, mac'n'cheese looks exactly the same on the way down as it does on the way out. So, Paco had the lovely task of scooping out noodles from the bathroom drain while I got the ginger ale.
I prepared a puke bucket, got a glass of ginger ale, and got Ace all snug and settled back in his bed. I finally crawled back into bed at 1 expecting to have a very long night.
Miraculously, I didn't hear another peep from Ace for the rest of the night. He slept all night long, and woke up Monday morning in a great mood.
Ace tends to be a bit dramatic, so I was fully expecting the sad face and the tales of woe. I naturally assumed that he would want to stay home.
However, he started getting around like he normally does, and got himself dressed and brushed his teeth. When he went in to make his bed, he saw the puke bucket on his nightstand and asked me if he had been throwing up.
"Um, what honey? We're you sick? Do you remember being sick?" I ask in my sweet Mommy voice.
"No. But, why is the puke bucket by my bed. I think I dreamed that I was puking." He replies.
"Oh, well, maybe it's there from the last time you were sick or something. Dreaming of puking sounds more like a nightmare don't you think?" I say.
(Technically, I did not lie. It was his idea really, and I just, well, went along with it. Maybe he DID dream about throwing up. And, the puke bucket COULD have been there for a while, even though I had just put it there the night before. It COULD have been there longer. Really, it could have.)
He ate a full breakfast, wasn't running a temperature, and seemed to be fine, so off to school we went.
I dropped them off at school at 7:49, and went off on my merry way.
I fully expected a call from the nurse's office. But, to my relief, no call ever came.
When I picked him up at 2, he was fine and full of energy.
He had did his home work, had dinner, took a shower, and was in bed by 7:30.
Woooo-hoooo! Crisis averted. God will fogive me this one, right? I'm not that bad of a person, right? I mean, technically, I really didn't do anything wrong. He seemed ok, so it could've been a one time thing.
Wrong.
At 10:30 Ace came out of his room and started vomiting again. Fortunately for Paco, this time he made it to the toilet. But, Seriously????? AGAIN???!!!!!
We got him settled back into his bed with the puke bucket and ginger ale yet again. And, miraculously, he slept through the night for the second time.
I went into his room at 5:15 to check on him, and since he was sleeping soundly, I decided to clean up his room a bit and I removed the ginger ale can and the puke bucket. We wouldn't want him to wake up to a messy room, now would we?
He woke up at 6:05 got himself dressed, brushed his teeth, made his bed, and even made his own breakfast. I was walking on pins and needles waiting for him to mention last night's episode.
Nothing. He didn't say a word. And, since, he didn't mention anything, I didn't feel it really necessary for me to bring anything up either.
I am quite certain this gives me a one-way ticket on Satan's express. However, as I sit here at work, sipping hot coffee, listening to soothing music and checking out all the latest the internet has to offer, I feel that maybe, just maybe, it could be worth it.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Sven Again
Boy is Sven pissed at me. I signed on today, and apparently it has been 9 days since my last Wii Workout, and, um, I kinda gained 3 pounds. (This may or may not be directly related to the 2 bags of Cadbury mini eggs I polished off in the last 3 days, but, in my defense, they only come out at Easter time and I am giving up chocolate for Lent, so my window in which I can savor these chocolate wonders is very small, therefore, I have been inhaling them by the truckload.)
Anywhoo . . .
I log onto the Wii Fit, and the nice little machine informs me that I have taken a step back and that the only way to see results is to stay focused yada yada yada. It made my Wii person even fatter, and I think she split her pants too.
Then Sven comes on. (His pony tail still freaks me out) Sven starts to lecture me about the importance of fitness, and how I really need to stay commited, and he's there for me, blah blah blah. But, I swear when I turned my back I heard him call me a fat cow. Ouch. Some guys just can't take rejection very well.
I put in a good 20 minutes of arm shaking, and now Sven is all back in love with me telling me how great I did, and that I'm back on track.
I'm a little concerned about the 3 pounds I gained. After all, I only have another week left of Cadbury mini-eggs. I've been thinking and I figure if I cut my hair, trim my nails, shave EVERYTHING, take off all my jewelry have a healthy BM, empty my bladder and strip down to my skivvies that I should be back to my fighting weight. I'll let you know how that goes.
Anywhoo . . .
I log onto the Wii Fit, and the nice little machine informs me that I have taken a step back and that the only way to see results is to stay focused yada yada yada. It made my Wii person even fatter, and I think she split her pants too.
Then Sven comes on. (His pony tail still freaks me out) Sven starts to lecture me about the importance of fitness, and how I really need to stay commited, and he's there for me, blah blah blah. But, I swear when I turned my back I heard him call me a fat cow. Ouch. Some guys just can't take rejection very well.
I put in a good 20 minutes of arm shaking, and now Sven is all back in love with me telling me how great I did, and that I'm back on track.
I'm a little concerned about the 3 pounds I gained. After all, I only have another week left of Cadbury mini-eggs. I've been thinking and I figure if I cut my hair, trim my nails, shave EVERYTHING, take off all my jewelry have a healthy BM, empty my bladder and strip down to my skivvies that I should be back to my fighting weight. I'll let you know how that goes.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Itchy Pittsy
I have been having a problem lately with itchy armpits. I'm not sure if it's the weather, my water, my deodorant, or all of the above. So, I have been dabbling with various experiments to see what might be the cause.
I've tried not shaving, and that lasted 10 minutes. Can't do pitt hair. Sorry
I've tried not using deodorant. Sven even commented that I was a little gamey during my last workout. So, that's no good.
I've tried using moisturizer after I get out of the shower. I think it actually made me more itchy.
Today I tried using a different deodorant. I used Paco's deodorant, as that was the only other kind in the house. I think it's adidas fresh action or something like that. Very manly.
Every now and then I'll be doing something and I get a subtle whiff and I get that feeling that I'm standing too close to a very attractive man. The smell is masculine and spicy, and, um, I'm kind of turning myself on.
Weird . . .
I've tried not shaving, and that lasted 10 minutes. Can't do pitt hair. Sorry
I've tried not using deodorant. Sven even commented that I was a little gamey during my last workout. So, that's no good.
I've tried using moisturizer after I get out of the shower. I think it actually made me more itchy.
Today I tried using a different deodorant. I used Paco's deodorant, as that was the only other kind in the house. I think it's adidas fresh action or something like that. Very manly.
Every now and then I'll be doing something and I get a subtle whiff and I get that feeling that I'm standing too close to a very attractive man. The smell is masculine and spicy, and, um, I'm kind of turning myself on.
Weird . . .
Mourning a loss
My blogging will be sporatic for a while. I am mourning the loss of my beloved lap top. I will inform you all about the services when I know more.
Thanks for your patience and understanding.
Thanks for your patience and understanding.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Potty Wagon
I have a confession to make. I drive a mini-van. Yes, I know. I used to be the person who picked on those who drove the “family wagons” and the “grocery getters.” However, I have been forced to humble myself to the fact that my sporty car days are over and a mini-van is going to be my ride of choice for the next 10 years.
I shudder every time I have to get into the darn thing. But, I must admit it is quite handy. I can fit 17 kids, 2 dogs, a weeks worth of groceries, and 2 circus clowns with absolutely no problem. However, I just can’t escape the feeling that when I drive down the road that there is a large neon sign attached to the top of the car saying “I am a mom, hear me roar!”
At least my hubby allowed me to get the upgraded van with the leather heated seats and the DVD player, so at least I can think I’m a bit sporty while I’m driving. But, the stickers stuck on the inside of the windows and the fruit snacks mashed in the carpet really don’t help much with that.
And, if it’s not bad enough that I drive a minivan, I have been driving a very dirty minivan with 2 large dents in it. (One from the darned grocery cart boy at Sam’s Club, and the other from my inability to see a large 25’ steel girder. Oopsie) I am so numb to the fact that I drive a minivan that I often don’t really look at the darn thing. I kind of hide my face and get inside as quick as possible. It is because of this that I missed the words written on the side of my van until after I had driven it around for several days.
You see, my boys are obsessed with potty humor. They think burps and farts are quite possibly the funniest things on the earth.
My middle son, Kade is especially transfixed with all things potty. He is quite a brilliant child, and as a kindergartener, he can already read at a 4th grade level. And, he can write. As evidenced by the words etched in the dirt on the side of my van.
I first noticed this as I came out of my Dr’s office, and I noticed an older gentleman standing by my car door. He shook his head, smiled, and walked away. I wondered what could wrong with my car, so I took a closer look. And that is when I saw this . . .
I was a bit mortified. But what could I do? It is really quite fitting that not only do I drive a mini-van, but a potty wagon. Perfect. The circle of life is now complete.
On a side note, Paco saw a pick-up truck drive by him this morning with the words “fart” “fart” “fart” “fart” “fart” written all over the side. It is so nice to know that we are not alone . . .
Friday, February 13, 2009
Friday the 13th
I am having one of those days, and I’m sad to say, it is only 6:59 am.
I have already faced packing 54 valentine goody bags, icing 60 heart cookies, chasing 1 naughty dog, tripping over 1 ginormous dog and spilling coffee down my front, 1 child mini-meltdown, 1 husband mini-meltdown, 1 spilled houseplant, burnt toast setting off the smoke alarm, and one major child melt-down.
I would like to take the time to wonder if perhaps I am really trapped in another dimension, and living in the twilight zone. But sadly, this is not anything other than the average day in my life.
However, I did a Mommy No-No this morning, and I feel like the most horrible person on the planet. My head is hung low, and I am wallowing in shame. I have crossed the forbidden threshold of really bad parenting. (I usually just hang around the doorway, but today I actually walked through.) You see, I made my son cry.
Let me explain . . .
My day began at 3 am with the arrival of my son Trey into my bedroom. He had a coughing fit and woke himself up, so naturally, he needed to sleep in my bed. Well, this child has the weirdest sleeping habits, and he actually burrows himself all the way under the covers at the foot of the bed. I always wait for him to fall asleep then I have to dig down and pull him out so he doesn’t suffocate. Then, he will usually burrow himself in my side and continue sleeping like a champ.
However, what I realized at 3:14 am is that my son really needs his toenails trimmed, and I now have Freddy Kruger markings running down the length of my body.
Needless to say, I never went back to sleep.
At 4:45, I gave up and went out to make the coffee and finish getting all the kids Valentine goodies together. In the span of 15 minutes, I had half my morning chores completed. Ooh, I feel Mother of the Year coming on.
By 5:15, hubby and I were enjoying a hot cup of coffee while watching the morning news. We chatted, exchanged pleasantries, and he kindly offered to take the kids to school for me today. I was off to a wonderful start.
By 6 am the kids were dressed, and heading into brush their teeth and make their beds.
My oldest son was singing “I have to go pee pee” to the tune of “You down with O.P.P.” because he has a bad habit of getting song lyrics incorrect.
By 6:30, they were all sitting down to enjoy a hot breakfast, courtesy of Mother of the Year.
By 6:45, all hell had broken loose.
My oldest son threw his football into my houseplant (it was intercepted he said) and spilled it from one end of the kitchen to the other. On my way over to assess the damage, I tripped over my dog Sally, and spilled hot coffee all down the front of me. As I was cleaning the coffee and potting soil, another son knocked over the tray of iced heart sugar cookies that I had been up to 11 pm decorating and smashed them to smithereens all over the floor.
As I swept up my culinary masterpieces and tossed them in the trash, I sent the boys downstairs to get their coats and shoes on. 5 minutes later, I go down to find 1 boy wearing summer sandals and a bike helmet, and 2 boys whacking each other with light sabers, without any coats or shoes on.
To say I was frustrated is an understatement. At this point, I was waiting for my head to start spinning and projectile vomiting.
I helped all the children get their coats and shoes on, and was trying to usher them out the door. Two made it to the car. But, my middle son, Deuce, wasn’t moving. Apparently, I had tightened his shoelace too tight, and he was sure his foot was going to fall off. I took the shoe off, did a 10 point inspection, and re-tied it three times, and still he wasn’t satisfied. Exasperated, I told him he was just going to have to deal with it today because he was going to be late. He told me I was the worst Mom in the whole world.
I opened the door, handed him is backpack, and told him that if he didn’t like the way I did things, then he could find somewhere else to live. I shut the door behind him, and immediately started cleaning up the stray coats and toys that seem to have exploded all over the room.
3 Minutes later, the door opens, and my handsome hubby is standing in the doorway with a sobbing 6 year old giving me the look. Crocodile tears are streaming down Deuce’s face, his eyes are bright red, and he is crying so hard that his shoulders are shaking.
“What happened?????” I say. I am naturally assuming some sort of physical pain from a fall on the ice or a stray football.
“Deuce is hurt because you don’t want him anymore.”
Oh . . . ugh . . . oh . . .ah . . . CRAP. This is all my fault. I did this. I AM the worst mother in the whole world.
I try to explain that I was frustrated, and that of course I love him no matter what. That seems to do the trick, and off they go. But not before the ‘ol hubby gives me another look over his shoulder. Thanks for that sir. We all know that you are perfect. (Eye twitch)
So, here I sit, in a quiet house, feeling like the lowest form of parent on the planet, wondering if I should go out and buy him the four-wheeler that he has been asking for for 3 years, when it dawns on me. Today is Friday the 13th AND it is a full moon. So . . .
It doesn’t count. My Bad Mommy spell doesn’t count! It really wasn’t me. It was a WereMom acting up from deep inside. I AM in the twilight zone. Wooo-hoooo! It wasn’t my fault! I am being influenced by the supernatural. I knew it.
So, now, I am off to scavenge a sugar cookie from the floor to enjoy with my coffee. (Hey I spent a LOT of time on those, so SOMEONE should enjoy them, right?) Happy Friday the 13th.
I have already faced packing 54 valentine goody bags, icing 60 heart cookies, chasing 1 naughty dog, tripping over 1 ginormous dog and spilling coffee down my front, 1 child mini-meltdown, 1 husband mini-meltdown, 1 spilled houseplant, burnt toast setting off the smoke alarm, and one major child melt-down.
I would like to take the time to wonder if perhaps I am really trapped in another dimension, and living in the twilight zone. But sadly, this is not anything other than the average day in my life.
However, I did a Mommy No-No this morning, and I feel like the most horrible person on the planet. My head is hung low, and I am wallowing in shame. I have crossed the forbidden threshold of really bad parenting. (I usually just hang around the doorway, but today I actually walked through.) You see, I made my son cry.
Let me explain . . .
My day began at 3 am with the arrival of my son Trey into my bedroom. He had a coughing fit and woke himself up, so naturally, he needed to sleep in my bed. Well, this child has the weirdest sleeping habits, and he actually burrows himself all the way under the covers at the foot of the bed. I always wait for him to fall asleep then I have to dig down and pull him out so he doesn’t suffocate. Then, he will usually burrow himself in my side and continue sleeping like a champ.
However, what I realized at 3:14 am is that my son really needs his toenails trimmed, and I now have Freddy Kruger markings running down the length of my body.
Needless to say, I never went back to sleep.
At 4:45, I gave up and went out to make the coffee and finish getting all the kids Valentine goodies together. In the span of 15 minutes, I had half my morning chores completed. Ooh, I feel Mother of the Year coming on.
By 5:15, hubby and I were enjoying a hot cup of coffee while watching the morning news. We chatted, exchanged pleasantries, and he kindly offered to take the kids to school for me today. I was off to a wonderful start.
By 6 am the kids were dressed, and heading into brush their teeth and make their beds.
My oldest son was singing “I have to go pee pee” to the tune of “You down with O.P.P.” because he has a bad habit of getting song lyrics incorrect.
By 6:30, they were all sitting down to enjoy a hot breakfast, courtesy of Mother of the Year.
By 6:45, all hell had broken loose.
My oldest son threw his football into my houseplant (it was intercepted he said) and spilled it from one end of the kitchen to the other. On my way over to assess the damage, I tripped over my dog Sally, and spilled hot coffee all down the front of me. As I was cleaning the coffee and potting soil, another son knocked over the tray of iced heart sugar cookies that I had been up to 11 pm decorating and smashed them to smithereens all over the floor.
As I swept up my culinary masterpieces and tossed them in the trash, I sent the boys downstairs to get their coats and shoes on. 5 minutes later, I go down to find 1 boy wearing summer sandals and a bike helmet, and 2 boys whacking each other with light sabers, without any coats or shoes on.
To say I was frustrated is an understatement. At this point, I was waiting for my head to start spinning and projectile vomiting.
I helped all the children get their coats and shoes on, and was trying to usher them out the door. Two made it to the car. But, my middle son, Deuce, wasn’t moving. Apparently, I had tightened his shoelace too tight, and he was sure his foot was going to fall off. I took the shoe off, did a 10 point inspection, and re-tied it three times, and still he wasn’t satisfied. Exasperated, I told him he was just going to have to deal with it today because he was going to be late. He told me I was the worst Mom in the whole world.
I opened the door, handed him is backpack, and told him that if he didn’t like the way I did things, then he could find somewhere else to live. I shut the door behind him, and immediately started cleaning up the stray coats and toys that seem to have exploded all over the room.
3 Minutes later, the door opens, and my handsome hubby is standing in the doorway with a sobbing 6 year old giving me the look. Crocodile tears are streaming down Deuce’s face, his eyes are bright red, and he is crying so hard that his shoulders are shaking.
“What happened?????” I say. I am naturally assuming some sort of physical pain from a fall on the ice or a stray football.
“Deuce is hurt because you don’t want him anymore.”
Oh . . . ugh . . . oh . . .ah . . . CRAP. This is all my fault. I did this. I AM the worst mother in the whole world.
I try to explain that I was frustrated, and that of course I love him no matter what. That seems to do the trick, and off they go. But not before the ‘ol hubby gives me another look over his shoulder. Thanks for that sir. We all know that you are perfect. (Eye twitch)
So, here I sit, in a quiet house, feeling like the lowest form of parent on the planet, wondering if I should go out and buy him the four-wheeler that he has been asking for for 3 years, when it dawns on me. Today is Friday the 13th AND it is a full moon. So . . .
It doesn’t count. My Bad Mommy spell doesn’t count! It really wasn’t me. It was a WereMom acting up from deep inside. I AM in the twilight zone. Wooo-hoooo! It wasn’t my fault! I am being influenced by the supernatural. I knew it.
So, now, I am off to scavenge a sugar cookie from the floor to enjoy with my coffee. (Hey I spent a LOT of time on those, so SOMEONE should enjoy them, right?) Happy Friday the 13th.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
If I were President
OK, so the conversation I had with Paco about him running for office has really gotten me to thinking. (I know, you can see the smoke. Ha, ha.) I think I would make an excellent politician. I would be brutally honest, up front, and make logical decisions. I’ve run a business; I know how the sum of all parts makes up the whole. I think I’m fair and reasonable. I think I would totally rock a Presidential wardrobe. I could easily be the President of something, right?
If you had the power of the President, what would you do? Seriously? I have been putting quite a bit of thought into this and I have compiled a list of what I would do as President. (Everyone could still call me Mrs. P. Isn’t that cute?)
1. I would make an application process for parenthood. I don’t think everyone should be allowed to reproduce. You have to jump through hoops and get a complete background check to get a business license, but anyone can have a kid? (Someone like me for instance, may have their application flagged.)
2. I would make all insurance, gas, and utility companies be not-for-profit. Don’t understand why they are making money at our expense.
3. I would have all rapists and child molesters get sterilized. If you can use it like you’re supposed to then you don’t need it, right?
4. I think anyone receiving public assistance should also be given mandatory birth control.
5. I think birth control should be free and available to all. (It ticks me off that Viagra is covered under my prescription drug plan, but I had to jump through hoops to get my birth control covered even though I am taking it for medical reasons. OK, and for my sanity.)
OK, so let me explain a little bit here because obviously you can sense my bitterness. I am a little a P.O. ed about the Dr. in California that treated a single mother of 6 (that has no job and receives public assistance) for infertility and thus she has just had another 8 babies. I feel that since the Dr. took it upon himself to think that this was appropriate medical care, then he or she can also pay for the family’s medical bills and care. Why should this be a taxpayer expense? This woman clearly has issues and now she and her 14 children are going to be on public assistance for the next 20 odd years.
I personally know a woman who abuses public assistance and keeps having children so she can get a bigger tax refund. And it makes my blood boil. Oh that reminds me. . .
6. You should not be able to get a tax refund unless you actually work for any continued period of time.
7. You should not be given a tax refund greater than what you actually paid in taxes. Um, I think I know what might be wrong with our economy. People that are paying in $2500 in taxes are getting $8000 back. Hello???? Does this make sense to anyone? Why are you profiting from paying taxes? And, why doesn’t it ever work in my damn favor????
Yes, I know. I am Bitter Betty. But, I know that my husband and I are educated people with three kids and JOBS. We pay taxes out the wazoo. We (ok, so I) clip coupons to save money. And the government thinks we are ok and they never offer to help us with anything.
But someone with 3 kids, no husband and no job can get free housing, free food, free utilities, free health insurance, free medication, and child support to boot. Nice. She can sit home all day watching a 60” flat screen TV, drinking soda and smoking cigarettes, and use her tax refund to by a Coach purse and Jimmy Choos, and then have the nerve two months later to ask her baby’s daddy’s sister if she has any boots that would fit her son because he doesn’t have any. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
So, anyway, going on . . .
8. I would also create a Politician Security System. (Kinda like Homeland security, but just for politicians.)
I don’t know why someone hasn’t done this already. Doesn’t anyone else wonder where they get all their money? State senators & Congress Reps make around 166K a year. So why doesn’t anyone question the fact that they travel in private jets, own 2 or 3 million dollar homes, have expensive condos in DC and all sorts of investment companies and properties? And remember the guy with 90K in cash hidden in his freezer? I think public officials should be held to a higher level of scrutiny, after all, they are setting an example, right?
9. I would make every telemarketer give you their home phone number when calling you.
10. I would reinstate operators and receptionists and outlaw digital answering systems. When you called somewhere you would speak to a person who would then connect you to another person. No press 2 bull crap. REAL people. Hey, this would create jobs too. See, I’m on to something.
11. I would make any person that has been convicted of road rage have to drive a hot pink car that blares Abba music. (And you know they’re all men so this would really do wonders I think.)
12. I would install breathalyzers as a standard feature in every car. If you’re not sober, you can’t start it. No more drunk driving. Period.
13. I would insist that bills and laws be written in plain, everyday English. No legalese. So the average person could read them and understand them. Then perhaps we wouldn’t be voting to use $6 million of tax stimulus money to fund the preservation of wooden toy arrows. (Oh, yes, that DID happen. I watch me some CNN every day.)
14. I would make EVERY 13 year old boy and girl go through a pregnancy and child care simulator that reflected 12 hours of back labor with no pain medication and the three weeks post delivery with a colicky baby. If that doesn’t turn them off to sex, nothing will.
15. I would also make every husband poop out a red-hot bowling ball with no pain medication. Perhaps they might think again when relaying stories of childbirth as “easy” and “everything went really smooth.”
Oh, there is so much I would do, I could go on all day. And, I don’t want to bore you will all the details. There is just so much crap in politics and government that doesn’t make any sense to me.
We need a woman’s perspective in the President’s seat. And, sorry Hilary, I secretly think that you have a pair of cohonies tucked up under your skirt so you don’t really count. So, vote for me.
Seriously, I don’t have the ambition to run for the phone, let alone any public office. But, if anyone wants my opinion, ya’ll know that I’m happy to share.
If you had the power of the President, what would you do? Seriously? I have been putting quite a bit of thought into this and I have compiled a list of what I would do as President. (Everyone could still call me Mrs. P. Isn’t that cute?)
1. I would make an application process for parenthood. I don’t think everyone should be allowed to reproduce. You have to jump through hoops and get a complete background check to get a business license, but anyone can have a kid? (Someone like me for instance, may have their application flagged.)
2. I would make all insurance, gas, and utility companies be not-for-profit. Don’t understand why they are making money at our expense.
3. I would have all rapists and child molesters get sterilized. If you can use it like you’re supposed to then you don’t need it, right?
4. I think anyone receiving public assistance should also be given mandatory birth control.
5. I think birth control should be free and available to all. (It ticks me off that Viagra is covered under my prescription drug plan, but I had to jump through hoops to get my birth control covered even though I am taking it for medical reasons. OK, and for my sanity.)
OK, so let me explain a little bit here because obviously you can sense my bitterness. I am a little a P.O. ed about the Dr. in California that treated a single mother of 6 (that has no job and receives public assistance) for infertility and thus she has just had another 8 babies. I feel that since the Dr. took it upon himself to think that this was appropriate medical care, then he or she can also pay for the family’s medical bills and care. Why should this be a taxpayer expense? This woman clearly has issues and now she and her 14 children are going to be on public assistance for the next 20 odd years.
I personally know a woman who abuses public assistance and keeps having children so she can get a bigger tax refund. And it makes my blood boil. Oh that reminds me. . .
6. You should not be able to get a tax refund unless you actually work for any continued period of time.
7. You should not be given a tax refund greater than what you actually paid in taxes. Um, I think I know what might be wrong with our economy. People that are paying in $2500 in taxes are getting $8000 back. Hello???? Does this make sense to anyone? Why are you profiting from paying taxes? And, why doesn’t it ever work in my damn favor????
Yes, I know. I am Bitter Betty. But, I know that my husband and I are educated people with three kids and JOBS. We pay taxes out the wazoo. We (ok, so I) clip coupons to save money. And the government thinks we are ok and they never offer to help us with anything.
But someone with 3 kids, no husband and no job can get free housing, free food, free utilities, free health insurance, free medication, and child support to boot. Nice. She can sit home all day watching a 60” flat screen TV, drinking soda and smoking cigarettes, and use her tax refund to by a Coach purse and Jimmy Choos, and then have the nerve two months later to ask her baby’s daddy’s sister if she has any boots that would fit her son because he doesn’t have any. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
So, anyway, going on . . .
8. I would also create a Politician Security System. (Kinda like Homeland security, but just for politicians.)
I don’t know why someone hasn’t done this already. Doesn’t anyone else wonder where they get all their money? State senators & Congress Reps make around 166K a year. So why doesn’t anyone question the fact that they travel in private jets, own 2 or 3 million dollar homes, have expensive condos in DC and all sorts of investment companies and properties? And remember the guy with 90K in cash hidden in his freezer? I think public officials should be held to a higher level of scrutiny, after all, they are setting an example, right?
9. I would make every telemarketer give you their home phone number when calling you.
10. I would reinstate operators and receptionists and outlaw digital answering systems. When you called somewhere you would speak to a person who would then connect you to another person. No press 2 bull crap. REAL people. Hey, this would create jobs too. See, I’m on to something.
11. I would make any person that has been convicted of road rage have to drive a hot pink car that blares Abba music. (And you know they’re all men so this would really do wonders I think.)
12. I would install breathalyzers as a standard feature in every car. If you’re not sober, you can’t start it. No more drunk driving. Period.
13. I would insist that bills and laws be written in plain, everyday English. No legalese. So the average person could read them and understand them. Then perhaps we wouldn’t be voting to use $6 million of tax stimulus money to fund the preservation of wooden toy arrows. (Oh, yes, that DID happen. I watch me some CNN every day.)
14. I would make EVERY 13 year old boy and girl go through a pregnancy and child care simulator that reflected 12 hours of back labor with no pain medication and the three weeks post delivery with a colicky baby. If that doesn’t turn them off to sex, nothing will.
15. I would also make every husband poop out a red-hot bowling ball with no pain medication. Perhaps they might think again when relaying stories of childbirth as “easy” and “everything went really smooth.”
Oh, there is so much I would do, I could go on all day. And, I don’t want to bore you will all the details. There is just so much crap in politics and government that doesn’t make any sense to me.
We need a woman’s perspective in the President’s seat. And, sorry Hilary, I secretly think that you have a pair of cohonies tucked up under your skirt so you don’t really count. So, vote for me.
Seriously, I don’t have the ambition to run for the phone, let alone any public office. But, if anyone wants my opinion, ya’ll know that I’m happy to share.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The Fabulous Bangs
Here is the picture of the fabulous bangs, as I promised. My husband informs me that when I have my hair up and my glasses on that I look like Sarah Palin. So, I will have to post a picture of that next . . .Monday, February 9, 2009
The New Nancy Kerrigan
We had a wonderful weekend of mild weather here in Central NY. It was in the high 40's, and the snow melted and created a wonderful world of mud and ice.
For those of you that are not lucky enough to experience the wonderful winters of NY, I will tell you that this year has been unusually bad. We have had several weeks of brutal cold. So, our little warm spell this weekend was much appreciated.
That was until I attempted to walk to my car this morning. . .
The temperature dropped again, so I was rushing to start the car so it could have time to warm up. I ran out in my jeans, my bra, and my slippers. (I live on a country road, so I had no worries about anyone seeing me, and I was only going to be a minute, right?)
Well, I noticed that the driveway was icy, so I was being extra careful. I didn't quite dawn on me that my slippers could be considered weapons of mass destruction on the ice, so I just trudged along very carefully.
I was about 3 feet from my car door when I attempted a triple-sow-cow-double-toe-loop combo, and landed ass-over-teacups with a loud thud.(Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't register on the Richter scale.) One slipper flew clear across the yard, and I landed about 20 feet behind my van, on my stomach. I'm quite sure I may have set a world record with the amount of in-air rotations that I was able to complete. However, I failed to nail the landing.
At first, I laid still to assess the extent of damage. Everything began to hurt at once, so I wasn't quite sure where to begin. I decided to get up very carefully and see if I was alright.
It was at this point that I remembered I was wearing only a bra, because my stomach had started to adhere to the ice. I yanked myself away very quickly, and gave myself a hickey-looking road rash across my stomach. (How will I explain THAT to the hubby?)
I carefully crawled on my hands and knees back inside the house. And, after a thorough inspection of all my parts, I am assured that they are all still there. However, in the process, I have managed to pull every single muscle in my body. Even my toenails hurt.
So, I am here at work, popping Advil like m&m's, moving like Mr. Roboto, pondering my entry in the next winter Olympics. Perhaps ice-slipper-flipping is better suited for the x-games, but none-the-less, I am sure it will be a big hit.
For those of you that are not lucky enough to experience the wonderful winters of NY, I will tell you that this year has been unusually bad. We have had several weeks of brutal cold. So, our little warm spell this weekend was much appreciated.
That was until I attempted to walk to my car this morning. . .
The temperature dropped again, so I was rushing to start the car so it could have time to warm up. I ran out in my jeans, my bra, and my slippers. (I live on a country road, so I had no worries about anyone seeing me, and I was only going to be a minute, right?)
Well, I noticed that the driveway was icy, so I was being extra careful. I didn't quite dawn on me that my slippers could be considered weapons of mass destruction on the ice, so I just trudged along very carefully.
I was about 3 feet from my car door when I attempted a triple-sow-cow-double-toe-loop combo, and landed ass-over-teacups with a loud thud.(Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't register on the Richter scale.) One slipper flew clear across the yard, and I landed about 20 feet behind my van, on my stomach. I'm quite sure I may have set a world record with the amount of in-air rotations that I was able to complete. However, I failed to nail the landing.
At first, I laid still to assess the extent of damage. Everything began to hurt at once, so I wasn't quite sure where to begin. I decided to get up very carefully and see if I was alright.
It was at this point that I remembered I was wearing only a bra, because my stomach had started to adhere to the ice. I yanked myself away very quickly, and gave myself a hickey-looking road rash across my stomach. (How will I explain THAT to the hubby?)
I carefully crawled on my hands and knees back inside the house. And, after a thorough inspection of all my parts, I am assured that they are all still there. However, in the process, I have managed to pull every single muscle in my body. Even my toenails hurt.
So, I am here at work, popping Advil like m&m's, moving like Mr. Roboto, pondering my entry in the next winter Olympics. Perhaps ice-slipper-flipping is better suited for the x-games, but none-the-less, I am sure it will be a big hit.
Covert Ops
So, my husband says to be the other day, "um, honey, you're not using our real names on your blog, are you?"
"Well, buttercup, yes I am," I reply.
"That's probably not safe, don't you think?" He replies.
"Um, babe, I think we are pretty safe from the 17 women that read my blog. I have all their addresses on the Christmas card list." I say.
"Well, I forwarded your blog link to some of my friends and family, so I think that you should not use our names any more, just to be safe."
Woah - back the truck up - "Excuse me, Mr. Wonderful, but did you just say that you emailed my blog to your, um, family?"
"Yeah," he replies innocently.
"Um, did you actually, READ my blog before sending it to everyone you know?" I ask between clenched teeth.
"No. I don't have time to read." He tells me matter-of-factly.
"Well, stud muffin, I'm sure your parents were very interested in the part where I talked about our sex life."
"You didn't . . " he deadpans.
"Oh yes, buttercup, I went THERE. Perhaps you might actually want to read it before you forward it on next time."
I won't bore you with the details of the next 20 minutes of tongue lashing that my husband laid on me. The gist of it is that privacy is important, he has a reputation to uphold, he is a serious community member, blah, blah blah. I kindly told him that he reputation is still intact, if anything women might look at him with twinkles in their eyes because they know what a stallion he is. And, if he ever DOES decide to run for president, he will certainly get all my Girlfriends votes. (Party at the White House - Wooooo Hoooooo!) Seriously, we did discuss the repercussions of my blog if he were to ever to run for President. Wouldn't I be a superfun First Lady? Imagine the shoes and purses . . .
Anywhoo, the end result of all this is that I will now be referring to my family and friends with assumed names. Code names, if you will.
My first son will now be referred to as Ace.
My second son will be referred to as Deuce.
Son #3 will be Trey. (I couldn't very well call them all Oops, although I did consider it.)
My loving hubby will be Paco, and he will speak with a Latin accent. (Hey, a girl can dream . . .)
My Mother will still be Mother. It's generic enough.
If any of my Girlfriends have special names they would like to be referred to, please let me know before I assign you something terribly exotic.
I haven't decided on my new name yet. I am still working on that one. Oh, the power of a name. I just can't decide. What fun!
Anyway, that is the news for now. I have to go alter all my old posts so that we can run for office . . .
"Well, buttercup, yes I am," I reply.
"That's probably not safe, don't you think?" He replies.
"Um, babe, I think we are pretty safe from the 17 women that read my blog. I have all their addresses on the Christmas card list." I say.
"Well, I forwarded your blog link to some of my friends and family, so I think that you should not use our names any more, just to be safe."
Woah - back the truck up - "Excuse me, Mr. Wonderful, but did you just say that you emailed my blog to your, um, family?"
"Yeah," he replies innocently.
"Um, did you actually, READ my blog before sending it to everyone you know?" I ask between clenched teeth.
"No. I don't have time to read." He tells me matter-of-factly.
"Well, stud muffin, I'm sure your parents were very interested in the part where I talked about our sex life."
"You didn't . . " he deadpans.
"Oh yes, buttercup, I went THERE. Perhaps you might actually want to read it before you forward it on next time."
I won't bore you with the details of the next 20 minutes of tongue lashing that my husband laid on me. The gist of it is that privacy is important, he has a reputation to uphold, he is a serious community member, blah, blah blah. I kindly told him that he reputation is still intact, if anything women might look at him with twinkles in their eyes because they know what a stallion he is. And, if he ever DOES decide to run for president, he will certainly get all my Girlfriends votes. (Party at the White House - Wooooo Hoooooo!) Seriously, we did discuss the repercussions of my blog if he were to ever to run for President. Wouldn't I be a superfun First Lady? Imagine the shoes and purses . . .
Anywhoo, the end result of all this is that I will now be referring to my family and friends with assumed names. Code names, if you will.
My first son will now be referred to as Ace.
My second son will be referred to as Deuce.
Son #3 will be Trey. (I couldn't very well call them all Oops, although I did consider it.)
My loving hubby will be Paco, and he will speak with a Latin accent. (Hey, a girl can dream . . .)
My Mother will still be Mother. It's generic enough.
If any of my Girlfriends have special names they would like to be referred to, please let me know before I assign you something terribly exotic.
I haven't decided on my new name yet. I am still working on that one. Oh, the power of a name. I just can't decide. What fun!
Anyway, that is the news for now. I have to go alter all my old posts so that we can run for office . . .
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Fitness is bad for your, er, my health
Have you ever had one of THOSE days? Ya know, where absolutely nothing goes right? Well, my life seems to be a string of THOSE days.
Take for instance, this morning . . .
I was up at 5. I went out to check on the boys, only to find Ace and Duece already dressed with their beds made. Wow. That NEVER happens. So, I am optimistic that this is going to be a great day. (I ignored the fact that their clothes didn't match whatsoever because, hey, the were dressed, and that means that I don't have to do it.)
I go put on a pot of coffee and start getting breakfast around. We're out of cereal and creamer, so I'm a little defeated, but I'm still optimistic. It's going to be a great day. I can feel it.
I get the food on the table, Paco heads out the door for work, and it's still early. I have 12 full minutes of shower time. That NEVER happens. See, I know it's going to be a great day.
I savor the extra hot shower and enjoy every second.
I get out, dry off, and start getting dressed for the day. It's 7 below today, and I have a bunch of running around to do this morning. So, I am going to dress warm.
I get my bra and undies on, and I see the new sports bra I bought laying on top of my dresser. (You see, my "girls" are so insanely large that I need to wear 2 bras when I jog on the treadmill so I don't get black eyes.) I decide that I will wear the sports bra too for an extra layer, and then I'll be ready to hit the treadmill when I get home after work. And, if it doesn't work, I can take it back to the store while I'm out this morning.
This is where it all starts to go down hill . . .
I bought the sports bra in a size 38DD. My bra size is 36G (Zoiks! I know . . .) But, I thought the 38DD would be close enough. Clearly I don't have enough expertise with sports bras because I was wrong. Very wrong.
Somehow, while sliding the sports bra over my head and down my slightly dewy body, I managed to get the darn thing twisted so tight that it was practically acting as a tourniquet on my armpits. I've got the bra around my chest, below my armpits, but above my boobs. And somehow I've managed to slide it around in such a way that I can't put my arms down all the way either. My arms are stuck over my head, and this damn sports bra is starting to cut off my circulation.
Now, what's a girl to do? I'm literally tangled up in this damn thing, and I can't wiggle it up back over my head. So, I call for back up.
"Um, Ace, can you come help Mommy for a minute?" Silence. "Ace, mommy REALLY needs your help can you please get in here right away?"
A few seconds later I hear the pitter patter of little feet across the hard wood, and I see Ace trudge through the door. "What Mom?"
"um, honey, I'm stuck, can you help me pull this thing off?"
Before I get the words out of my mouth, he tears out the door. The next sound I hear sounds like a herd of cattle running across the hard wood, and suddenly I see three sets of eyes in my room. And, naturally, they are all pointing and laughing.
"Boys, this is not funny. Mommy is stuck. Please help me pull this over my head."
Duece is laughing, and he tells me that he can see my "shakelies." (Boobies to the normal person.) "No you cant!" I yell. "Uh huh" he says. I look in the mirror and see that one of my girls has somewhat fallen out of her harness, I guess with all the tugging and all. And, at the moment, there is nothing I can do about it.
"Stop looking" I yell. "And help me get this thing off!"
So, Ace and Duece are trying to pull the damned bra back over my head, when I feel a thwack on my side and hear a big giggle. I look down and Trey is hitting my muffin top with his hand and watching it wobble. "Mom, you've got jigglies!" he says. "Leave my jigglies alone," I snarl.
But, before you know it, all three boys are swatting at the extra rolls that are protruding from my sides. I can't help but to do the ol' laugh/cry at this point. The boys are tee-heeing and having a blast swatting my jigglies while I am about to lose my arms from lack of blood flow.
Finally, they settle down enough to help me get out of the bra. It takes several good tugs, and all three boys pulling to get it back over my head.
My underarms are bruised, and I feel like I've been power lifting. I don't think I could wave right now I am so sore.
Needless to say, the sports bra has been returned. And, I am waiting for the teachers to start calling me at work. I can only IMAGINE what the boys are saying this morning. I'm sure I have scarred them all for life.
And how is YOUR day?
Take for instance, this morning . . .
I was up at 5. I went out to check on the boys, only to find Ace and Duece already dressed with their beds made. Wow. That NEVER happens. So, I am optimistic that this is going to be a great day. (I ignored the fact that their clothes didn't match whatsoever because, hey, the were dressed, and that means that I don't have to do it.)
I go put on a pot of coffee and start getting breakfast around. We're out of cereal and creamer, so I'm a little defeated, but I'm still optimistic. It's going to be a great day. I can feel it.
I get the food on the table, Paco heads out the door for work, and it's still early. I have 12 full minutes of shower time. That NEVER happens. See, I know it's going to be a great day.
I savor the extra hot shower and enjoy every second.
I get out, dry off, and start getting dressed for the day. It's 7 below today, and I have a bunch of running around to do this morning. So, I am going to dress warm.
I get my bra and undies on, and I see the new sports bra I bought laying on top of my dresser. (You see, my "girls" are so insanely large that I need to wear 2 bras when I jog on the treadmill so I don't get black eyes.) I decide that I will wear the sports bra too for an extra layer, and then I'll be ready to hit the treadmill when I get home after work. And, if it doesn't work, I can take it back to the store while I'm out this morning.
This is where it all starts to go down hill . . .
I bought the sports bra in a size 38DD. My bra size is 36G (Zoiks! I know . . .) But, I thought the 38DD would be close enough. Clearly I don't have enough expertise with sports bras because I was wrong. Very wrong.
Somehow, while sliding the sports bra over my head and down my slightly dewy body, I managed to get the darn thing twisted so tight that it was practically acting as a tourniquet on my armpits. I've got the bra around my chest, below my armpits, but above my boobs. And somehow I've managed to slide it around in such a way that I can't put my arms down all the way either. My arms are stuck over my head, and this damn sports bra is starting to cut off my circulation.
Now, what's a girl to do? I'm literally tangled up in this damn thing, and I can't wiggle it up back over my head. So, I call for back up.
"Um, Ace, can you come help Mommy for a minute?" Silence. "Ace, mommy REALLY needs your help can you please get in here right away?"
A few seconds later I hear the pitter patter of little feet across the hard wood, and I see Ace trudge through the door. "What Mom?"
"um, honey, I'm stuck, can you help me pull this thing off?"
Before I get the words out of my mouth, he tears out the door. The next sound I hear sounds like a herd of cattle running across the hard wood, and suddenly I see three sets of eyes in my room. And, naturally, they are all pointing and laughing.
"Boys, this is not funny. Mommy is stuck. Please help me pull this over my head."
Duece is laughing, and he tells me that he can see my "shakelies." (Boobies to the normal person.) "No you cant!" I yell. "Uh huh" he says. I look in the mirror and see that one of my girls has somewhat fallen out of her harness, I guess with all the tugging and all. And, at the moment, there is nothing I can do about it.
"Stop looking" I yell. "And help me get this thing off!"
So, Ace and Duece are trying to pull the damned bra back over my head, when I feel a thwack on my side and hear a big giggle. I look down and Trey is hitting my muffin top with his hand and watching it wobble. "Mom, you've got jigglies!" he says. "Leave my jigglies alone," I snarl.
But, before you know it, all three boys are swatting at the extra rolls that are protruding from my sides. I can't help but to do the ol' laugh/cry at this point. The boys are tee-heeing and having a blast swatting my jigglies while I am about to lose my arms from lack of blood flow.
Finally, they settle down enough to help me get out of the bra. It takes several good tugs, and all three boys pulling to get it back over my head.
My underarms are bruised, and I feel like I've been power lifting. I don't think I could wave right now I am so sore.
Needless to say, the sports bra has been returned. And, I am waiting for the teachers to start calling me at work. I can only IMAGINE what the boys are saying this morning. I'm sure I have scarred them all for life.
And how is YOUR day?
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Ode to Otis
My dog Otis is naughty. Very naughty. If it weren’t for the fact that he is so friggen’ cute, I’m quite sure I would have given him away by now. (Actually I’ve tried to give him away but no one will take him.) He is a black and white Lhasa Apso, and we have had him for a year and a half. So, he should really know better by now. But, he doesn’t . . .
I put a lot of research into getting another dog. After much thought and careful consideration, I decided on a Lhaso-poo, or a Lhasa Apso/Poodle mix. They were small, kid-friendly, non-shedding, and non-yippy dogs. And he could travel with us. Perfect. I looked for months, and never saw one listed. Ever. Apparently they are very hard to come by. But, one day, my Mom came across an ad for a Lhasa Apso. There was only 1 puppy in the litter, and he was ready to go. So, we decided to take a look.
It was love at first sight. He was the cutest black and white ball of fluff I had ever seen. His fur was so soft and silky, and he was perfectly snuggly. Wow, the perfect puppy. A pure Lhasa couldn’t be that much different from the mixed breed, right?
WRONG.
I can’t tell if Otis is a stupid dog, or if he is such a smart dog that he knows how to just act stupid. For instance, if he does something naughty, oh say like knock over the outside trash can and rip through 2 weeks of garbage and spread it all over the deck, well, the minute you see him, he hangs his head, tucks his tail, and acts like he has done something very, very bad. (And he has the best puppy dog eyes.) If you start to walk towards him, he very slowly rolls over on his back. And, if you yell at him, he pees all over himself. (Like that isn’t just making it worse.)
Otis also likes to run off at the most inconvenient times. Like this morning, when I was loading up the kids for school, he decides to break loose and head for the neighbors. And, he KNOWS this is bad. And I know he knows because he started out slow like he was walking out to his pee tree, and then he looked back at me, looked down at the neighbors, looked back at me, and then bolted off like a bottle rocket. So then I had to trounce through 200 yards of 14’ snow drifts in subzero temperatures to get him back. As I get closer to him, he stops, slinks low to the ground, and hangs his head. I walk up to grab him, and he rolls over and pees himself. Nice way to start the morning.
Otis also has a very bad chewing habit. He likes to chew anything and everything. His favorite snack is $7 Star Wars figures with the occasional $12 Power Ranger for dessert. He has a whole bin of his own toys, but he much prefers the more expensive kind that he actually has to get off the shelves. Out of desperation I bought a book on Lhasa Apsos and how to train them, but I am not kidding you when I say he chewed that too. He has chewed cookbooks, magazines, newspapers, and some of Anthony’s homework. Yes, really, the dog did eat his homework Mrs. Teacher.
And if that alone doesn’t make him a naughty dog, it gets even worse. He thinks that Rick’s 70” TV is his personal pee post. If we leave him alone longer than he likes, he will raise his leg and pee all over Rick’s big screen. And, if he’s in the mood, he’ll also leave a nice, steamy pile of pooh right in front of it too. A double delight! He has peed so much in the same spot that it has actually absorbed into the wood and started to buckle at the seams. Nice, eh?
We tried leaving him in the bathroom while we were gone. But, he chewed through all the molding around the door, ate a hole in the sheetrock, and scratched a hole in the wood door. Seriously, he is a very naughty dog.
Oh, and he gets car sick too. I have a huge pile of dog vomit that is forever imbedded in the carpet in my van. I’ve tried and tried, but it’s still there. Dried chunks and all.
He’s a humper too. We haven’t had his kibbles’n-bits snipped yet, so he uses every opportunity he can to let pinky come out and play. He will hump any stray dog, child, or stuffed animal that crosses his path. And he likes to lick himself too. But, I won’t go into detail there.
And he snores. LOUD. Like louder than Rick. I thought it was a practical joke at first. But, I can assure you since he sleeps on my side of the bed, that it is NOT a joke. Apparently, dogs can have deviated septums too. Who knew?
Oh, and if you haven’t heard enough, I’ll tell you about the time he ran away and we had to PAY to get him back. It was this fall, and as I was taking Otis out to pee, he ran off. You know, the usual. Normally he comes back after 15 or 20 minutes, but this time he didn’t come back. So, I got in the car and went driving to look for him, and still no Otis. When Rick got home, he too went out and looked for him. No luck. We called the SPCA and left our information, and then we started making posters. Naturally, the boys were heartbroken at the thought of their precious Otis being away from the house for the night. We had to tuck three teary –eyed kids into bed that night.
The next afternoon, we got a call from the SPCA. Otis had been found about a mile and a half away. The homeowners called the SPCA because apparently Otis was trying to hump their male basset hound, and it didn’t go over to well. And, we have to make the 30 minute drive up to the SPCA to get him. If it’s not bad enough that my dog had to spend the night in the clink, the SPCA made us pay $15 to get him back. Oy.
So, why do we still have our naughty, gay dog? ‘Cause he is cute. Too friggen cute for his own good. For all the times he’s naughty, he’s equally adorable. He really is the cutest dog I have ever seen. He has an under-bite that makes him look really adorable. And, he thinks he is ferocious. If another dog comes in our yard, he will run right up and start barking and acting tough. Like he can take ‘em. It’s really quite funny to watch because usually the other dogs backs away thinking they don’t want to mess with the crazy dog.
And every time Otis comes in the living room, he will grab a toy out of his bin and play with it.
He loves to snuggle too. He will curl up by your feet, and lay contentedly for hours.
He may not be perfect, but he’s OURS. And imperfect seems to fit us quite nicely.
I put a lot of research into getting another dog. After much thought and careful consideration, I decided on a Lhaso-poo, or a Lhasa Apso/Poodle mix. They were small, kid-friendly, non-shedding, and non-yippy dogs. And he could travel with us. Perfect. I looked for months, and never saw one listed. Ever. Apparently they are very hard to come by. But, one day, my Mom came across an ad for a Lhasa Apso. There was only 1 puppy in the litter, and he was ready to go. So, we decided to take a look.
It was love at first sight. He was the cutest black and white ball of fluff I had ever seen. His fur was so soft and silky, and he was perfectly snuggly. Wow, the perfect puppy. A pure Lhasa couldn’t be that much different from the mixed breed, right?
WRONG.
I can’t tell if Otis is a stupid dog, or if he is such a smart dog that he knows how to just act stupid. For instance, if he does something naughty, oh say like knock over the outside trash can and rip through 2 weeks of garbage and spread it all over the deck, well, the minute you see him, he hangs his head, tucks his tail, and acts like he has done something very, very bad. (And he has the best puppy dog eyes.) If you start to walk towards him, he very slowly rolls over on his back. And, if you yell at him, he pees all over himself. (Like that isn’t just making it worse.)
Otis also likes to run off at the most inconvenient times. Like this morning, when I was loading up the kids for school, he decides to break loose and head for the neighbors. And, he KNOWS this is bad. And I know he knows because he started out slow like he was walking out to his pee tree, and then he looked back at me, looked down at the neighbors, looked back at me, and then bolted off like a bottle rocket. So then I had to trounce through 200 yards of 14’ snow drifts in subzero temperatures to get him back. As I get closer to him, he stops, slinks low to the ground, and hangs his head. I walk up to grab him, and he rolls over and pees himself. Nice way to start the morning.
Otis also has a very bad chewing habit. He likes to chew anything and everything. His favorite snack is $7 Star Wars figures with the occasional $12 Power Ranger for dessert. He has a whole bin of his own toys, but he much prefers the more expensive kind that he actually has to get off the shelves. Out of desperation I bought a book on Lhasa Apsos and how to train them, but I am not kidding you when I say he chewed that too. He has chewed cookbooks, magazines, newspapers, and some of Anthony’s homework. Yes, really, the dog did eat his homework Mrs. Teacher.
And if that alone doesn’t make him a naughty dog, it gets even worse. He thinks that Rick’s 70” TV is his personal pee post. If we leave him alone longer than he likes, he will raise his leg and pee all over Rick’s big screen. And, if he’s in the mood, he’ll also leave a nice, steamy pile of pooh right in front of it too. A double delight! He has peed so much in the same spot that it has actually absorbed into the wood and started to buckle at the seams. Nice, eh?
We tried leaving him in the bathroom while we were gone. But, he chewed through all the molding around the door, ate a hole in the sheetrock, and scratched a hole in the wood door. Seriously, he is a very naughty dog.
Oh, and he gets car sick too. I have a huge pile of dog vomit that is forever imbedded in the carpet in my van. I’ve tried and tried, but it’s still there. Dried chunks and all.
He’s a humper too. We haven’t had his kibbles’n-bits snipped yet, so he uses every opportunity he can to let pinky come out and play. He will hump any stray dog, child, or stuffed animal that crosses his path. And he likes to lick himself too. But, I won’t go into detail there.
And he snores. LOUD. Like louder than Rick. I thought it was a practical joke at first. But, I can assure you since he sleeps on my side of the bed, that it is NOT a joke. Apparently, dogs can have deviated septums too. Who knew?
Oh, and if you haven’t heard enough, I’ll tell you about the time he ran away and we had to PAY to get him back. It was this fall, and as I was taking Otis out to pee, he ran off. You know, the usual. Normally he comes back after 15 or 20 minutes, but this time he didn’t come back. So, I got in the car and went driving to look for him, and still no Otis. When Rick got home, he too went out and looked for him. No luck. We called the SPCA and left our information, and then we started making posters. Naturally, the boys were heartbroken at the thought of their precious Otis being away from the house for the night. We had to tuck three teary –eyed kids into bed that night.
The next afternoon, we got a call from the SPCA. Otis had been found about a mile and a half away. The homeowners called the SPCA because apparently Otis was trying to hump their male basset hound, and it didn’t go over to well. And, we have to make the 30 minute drive up to the SPCA to get him. If it’s not bad enough that my dog had to spend the night in the clink, the SPCA made us pay $15 to get him back. Oy.
So, why do we still have our naughty, gay dog? ‘Cause he is cute. Too friggen cute for his own good. For all the times he’s naughty, he’s equally adorable. He really is the cutest dog I have ever seen. He has an under-bite that makes him look really adorable. And, he thinks he is ferocious. If another dog comes in our yard, he will run right up and start barking and acting tough. Like he can take ‘em. It’s really quite funny to watch because usually the other dogs backs away thinking they don’t want to mess with the crazy dog.
And every time Otis comes in the living room, he will grab a toy out of his bin and play with it.
He loves to snuggle too. He will curl up by your feet, and lay contentedly for hours.
He may not be perfect, but he’s OURS. And imperfect seems to fit us quite nicely.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Sven my love, it's over.
As many of you already know, I am not such a big fan of exercise. The only time I run is if someone is chasing me. The thought of doing it for "fun" makes me laugh until I pee myself. I mean, THAT -IS-FUNNY! Running, for FUN?? Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee, hee. Oh, I am wiping the tears from my eyes.
In an effort to make my workouts more fun (or to trick myself into working out without knowing it) I purchased the Wiifit. Oh, yes, I head heard such wonderful things, and as you all know from my Sham-Wow purchase, I am such a sucker.
I conveniently waited until I was home alone to begin my first session. I really didn't want my family to see me stuffed in my sausage suit, because the boys have a tendency to point and laugh. I decked myself in my finest spandex and my new nikes and began the tedious process of making my Wii person. On the Wiifit, there are also some balance and coordination tests, a BMI test, and the dreaded weight test.
As I was attempting some of the balance and coordination tests, a large sign popped up on the screen asking me if I fall down a lot. Hardy, har, har, har. EXCUUUUUUUUUUUUSE ME?? Um, I paid for you, and I could totally skip the sarcasm part. Thanks. So, I continue on and a few minutes later, another sign pops up and asks me if I have trouble walking. Nice, eh? If it's not bad enough that I am doing my best to emulate Jane Fonda, I am here, making an attempt to work out, and I am totally being picked on. BY A MACHINE!!!!!!!!
So, after finishing up all the requisite tests, a cute little Wii person appears on the screen. She is supposed to be the cartoon version of me. She tells me that I am obese, uncoordinated, and quite pathetic really. She estimates my Wii age to be 55. And if that's not bad enough, she gets fat . . . right before my eyes. She goes from this cute cartoony little girl, to a fat, rolly-polly weeble. I think she even got some wrinkles. Ouch.
The good news? My weight makes me eligible to be a linebacker for the Buffalo Bills.
I start out easy doing some aerobics. You follow along with the Wii people, and it's actually pretty easy. I am doing so well that I am awarded a bronze medal for my efforts. Nice. It's great to finally be recognized for my hard work.
I do a few more rounds of aerobics, really stepping it up this time. I accidentally catch my foot on the end of the board, trip, and knock over the end table. Oops, I guess this is why it said to give yourself lots of room. I am scolded on screen and reminded to follow along with the Wii people to keep pace. Ok, I get it.
I slow back down to a more normal pace, and I manage to score a silver medal. Woo-hoo! (My darned hubby has the gold and I am nowhere near his scores, so I give up even trying.)
I move onto some strength training, and it is here that I meet my trainer Sven. (I named him Sven because I envision him to be a part time masseuse slash yoga trainer, and I totally add a swedish accent when I read his onscreen posts.) I decided to go with Sven as my trainer, because I knew that I would totally resent Kitty in her tight spandex with the cute butt. Not the best motivation for me, ya know.
So Sven is sweet-talking me, and I can totally tell he's into me. We start working out together, and he turns to the side and I see what looks to be a 1980's era rat tail hanging down his neck. Ewwwwww. It may just be a stubby pony tail, but still, Ewwwwwwwwwww. I am totally over Sven now. I bet he has B.O. His flirting is just annoying now. I tell him I must go and I log off. I just can't get over the bad do. He's supposed to be all new-agey and yet he is still stuck in the 80's. Oy.
Life gets in the way, and it's a while before I can get log on again. I am reminded of this right of the bat as my trainer yells that it has been 6 days since my last work out. Thanks for keeping track I reply. My trainer also reminds me that obese women are twice as likely to die early. Thanks for that. I appreciate it. Let's make the fat girl run, and maybe I can just die now. You'd love that, wouldn't you Sven? I remind him that he is a video game, and I can unplug him at any moment. Oh, yeah, back off Sven.
I start off with a light jogging exercise. It's a bit easy, so I start picking up the pace. My Wii trainer kindly tells me to keep pace and stay behind my trainer. But, that's just a bit too easy, so I attempt to pass my trainer, and my fat Wii person falls flat on her face. Nice. Even in cartoons I'm completely uncoordinated.
I switch back to aerobics, and because I've been doing so well, I've unlocked a new level. Now, I get to do clapping along with my aerobics. It doesn't sound like much, but somehow manage to trip, fall, land on the dog, and send the little Wii remote clear across the room. I guess it's a sign for me to quit for awhile.
I log on the next day, because I don't want to be yelled at. In a stroke of brilliance, I figured out that if I hold the Wii remote when I walk on the treadmill, I can totally double dip and get lots of Wii credits. Sven is practically salivating because I am walking at a marathon pace. And, I am thinking of how brilliant I am for tricking the damn machine. Yeah me!!
(Oh, I also figured out that if you just stand still and shake the Wii remote up and down, you can fool the machine into thinking you are running. I have unlocked almost everything now that I am working out at a Lance Armstrong pace.)
The good news? I have lost 4.6 pounds, and my right arm is totally getting toned from all the er, running.
The bad news? I have had to break it off with Sven. But, he keeps calling me. . .
In an effort to make my workouts more fun (or to trick myself into working out without knowing it) I purchased the Wiifit. Oh, yes, I head heard such wonderful things, and as you all know from my Sham-Wow purchase, I am such a sucker.
I conveniently waited until I was home alone to begin my first session. I really didn't want my family to see me stuffed in my sausage suit, because the boys have a tendency to point and laugh. I decked myself in my finest spandex and my new nikes and began the tedious process of making my Wii person. On the Wiifit, there are also some balance and coordination tests, a BMI test, and the dreaded weight test.
As I was attempting some of the balance and coordination tests, a large sign popped up on the screen asking me if I fall down a lot. Hardy, har, har, har. EXCUUUUUUUUUUUUSE ME?? Um, I paid for you, and I could totally skip the sarcasm part. Thanks. So, I continue on and a few minutes later, another sign pops up and asks me if I have trouble walking. Nice, eh? If it's not bad enough that I am doing my best to emulate Jane Fonda, I am here, making an attempt to work out, and I am totally being picked on. BY A MACHINE!!!!!!!!
So, after finishing up all the requisite tests, a cute little Wii person appears on the screen. She is supposed to be the cartoon version of me. She tells me that I am obese, uncoordinated, and quite pathetic really. She estimates my Wii age to be 55. And if that's not bad enough, she gets fat . . . right before my eyes. She goes from this cute cartoony little girl, to a fat, rolly-polly weeble. I think she even got some wrinkles. Ouch.
The good news? My weight makes me eligible to be a linebacker for the Buffalo Bills.
I start out easy doing some aerobics. You follow along with the Wii people, and it's actually pretty easy. I am doing so well that I am awarded a bronze medal for my efforts. Nice. It's great to finally be recognized for my hard work.
I do a few more rounds of aerobics, really stepping it up this time. I accidentally catch my foot on the end of the board, trip, and knock over the end table. Oops, I guess this is why it said to give yourself lots of room. I am scolded on screen and reminded to follow along with the Wii people to keep pace. Ok, I get it.
I slow back down to a more normal pace, and I manage to score a silver medal. Woo-hoo! (My darned hubby has the gold and I am nowhere near his scores, so I give up even trying.)
I move onto some strength training, and it is here that I meet my trainer Sven. (I named him Sven because I envision him to be a part time masseuse slash yoga trainer, and I totally add a swedish accent when I read his onscreen posts.) I decided to go with Sven as my trainer, because I knew that I would totally resent Kitty in her tight spandex with the cute butt. Not the best motivation for me, ya know.
So Sven is sweet-talking me, and I can totally tell he's into me. We start working out together, and he turns to the side and I see what looks to be a 1980's era rat tail hanging down his neck. Ewwwwww. It may just be a stubby pony tail, but still, Ewwwwwwwwwww. I am totally over Sven now. I bet he has B.O. His flirting is just annoying now. I tell him I must go and I log off. I just can't get over the bad do. He's supposed to be all new-agey and yet he is still stuck in the 80's. Oy.
Life gets in the way, and it's a while before I can get log on again. I am reminded of this right of the bat as my trainer yells that it has been 6 days since my last work out. Thanks for keeping track I reply. My trainer also reminds me that obese women are twice as likely to die early. Thanks for that. I appreciate it. Let's make the fat girl run, and maybe I can just die now. You'd love that, wouldn't you Sven? I remind him that he is a video game, and I can unplug him at any moment. Oh, yeah, back off Sven.
I start off with a light jogging exercise. It's a bit easy, so I start picking up the pace. My Wii trainer kindly tells me to keep pace and stay behind my trainer. But, that's just a bit too easy, so I attempt to pass my trainer, and my fat Wii person falls flat on her face. Nice. Even in cartoons I'm completely uncoordinated.
I switch back to aerobics, and because I've been doing so well, I've unlocked a new level. Now, I get to do clapping along with my aerobics. It doesn't sound like much, but somehow manage to trip, fall, land on the dog, and send the little Wii remote clear across the room. I guess it's a sign for me to quit for awhile.
I log on the next day, because I don't want to be yelled at. In a stroke of brilliance, I figured out that if I hold the Wii remote when I walk on the treadmill, I can totally double dip and get lots of Wii credits. Sven is practically salivating because I am walking at a marathon pace. And, I am thinking of how brilliant I am for tricking the damn machine. Yeah me!!
(Oh, I also figured out that if you just stand still and shake the Wii remote up and down, you can fool the machine into thinking you are running. I have unlocked almost everything now that I am working out at a Lance Armstrong pace.)
The good news? I have lost 4.6 pounds, and my right arm is totally getting toned from all the er, running.
The bad news? I have had to break it off with Sven. But, he keeps calling me. . .
Monday, February 2, 2009
Cupcakes and caffeine
I apologize for not writing sooner. I had a very hectic bunch of days as my middle child celebrated his 6th birthday. I was so busy with parties, cupcakes, cakes, presents, and the like that I didn't even have a minute to sit down. I am so thankful for the love and support, and the phone calls at home to check on me were greatly appreciated. I will do my best to let you know ahead of time next time I will have a long lapse in my blogging . . .
Friday was Deuce's birthay celebration at school. So, I was up until midnight Thursday making cupcakes for him to take to school. He wanted Dallas Cowboy cupcakes, so I did my best to make Dallas helmets on each of the cupcakes. I was tired, and it was 100 degrees in the kitchen, so my frosting began to melt. So, what I ended up making looked like grey blobs with a pathetic star on the side. (They were so bad that my mother asked if I had let the kids decorate them.) But, I did make them from scratch, so at least they were yummy grey blobs.
Friday was also pajama day in his class. (Which I conveniently remembered at 11:45 as I was finishing up the cupcakes). Since Deuce sleeps in his undies, I had to scramble to find his Christmas jammies, which of course, were dirty. So, at 11:55, I am now doing laundry because I couldn't febreze away the chunks of food on the front of the jammies.
So, friday morning, I am getting Deuce dressed in his jammies for school, and naturally Trey had to wear jammies too. At this point, I am chugging coffee because I am working on less than 4 hours sleep. However, I manage to get them all dressed, backpacks packed, and on to school on time.
I went back home after dropping the kids at school, finished decorating the cake and assembling the 15 goodie bags for the kids at Deuce's birthday party on friday night. Friday was also Deuce's snack day and I was volunteering in his classroom. So, I managed to get myself dressed, and I styled my fabulous new bangs, and I was out the door 15 minutes early.
Naturally at this point I was feeling like Mother of the Year. I'm driving along, thinking about all that I had accomplished in the last 12 hours. I was just about to pin the medal on my chest when I realized I left the cupcakes at home, and I had to turn back and go get them.
Needless to say, I showed up to Deuce's class 5 minutes late, minus the Mother of the Year badge.
The time in his class went great. The kids in his class are so friggen adorable. One young boy, Arthur, even commented on my hair. "Mrs Jen, your new hair is great. You look beautiful." Obviously, I completely swaggered out of the class room at the end of the day. My hair must be fabulous if 5 and 6 year olds notice.
So, I go back home, get all the supplies for Deuce's party loaded and packed neatly in the car. I call Papa Johns and order the pizzas so we can pick them up at 4:30. I am so organized. I have everything ready so that at exactly 4 pm, we can leave for Deuce's party, which is being held at a large indoor playground in Ithaca. (I even put a few beers in the cooler, since it WAS friday night!)
Like clockwork, we are ready to go at 4. We load up in the mini van (yes, I know, I drive a soccer wagon. I still cry every time I turn the ignition.) and off we go. We pull into Papa Johns at 4:20, and I hand Paco and handful of coupons and send him in to get the pizzas. By 4:30, he is still not back. At 4:40 he walks out and tells me the pizzas aren't ready. I kindly tell him to explain to the pizza people that I called in our order at 3 pm, so that it would be ready by 4:30. I told him to tell them if they didn't pull some pizzas out for us PRONTO, that I would be coming in to make a scene.
At 4:45, Paco walks out with the pizzas. Clearly, my reputation proceeds me.
We make it to the ball pit as the parking lot is beginning to fill up with other mini-vans filled with happy 5 and 6 year olds. Nothing is as classy as showing up late for your own party, I say.
The party is a huge success, as the kids get to run around and yell and scream and play. After an hour, I get the kids sat down for cake and ice cream, and I pass out party favors. Suddenly, the room is vibrating from the sounds of 17 kids all blowing party horns at once. What WAS I thinking? After confiscating all 17 horns and "accidentally" throwing them away, I am glad to declare that overall, the evening was a lot of fun. The kids played so hard that they all fell asleep on the way home, and I got to chat with a bunch of cool parents. And Deuce got more presents from his "pretend birthday" that he declared it was "so much better than Christmas!"
Saturday, I took Ace to a play date, Deuce to a birthday party, and Trey to a birthday party. (I still managed to sneak away to buy a case of wine.) Saturday night, we went over to some friends house for game night, and I finished a whole bottle of wine within 1 1/2 hours. Needless to say, we never got around to the games. But, we had a great time. We didn't get home until almost 11, and the kids were completely wiped out.
Sunday, I woke up at 6, and started getting things ready for Deuce's "official" birthday. Since his birthday happened to fall on Superbowl Sunday, I decided just to invite family over for a bunch of munchies. And since I had to go into work for a while on Sunday, I wanted to make sure all the food was ready before I left.
So, I chopped, diced, breaded, and broiled to create a menu of : Chili, breadsticks, onion dip, sausage dip, spinach and cheese dip, sliders (mini cheeseburgers), stuffed mushrooms, chicken wings, onion petals, and bean dip. (all homemade of course). I have timed everything to be ready at exactly 5 pm, when all my family starts to arrive. The food is great, and we finish off with ice cream cake. By the time the national anthem starts, everyone is gone and the kids are in the tub. I get the kids tucked into bed and I settle in to watch the game.
I am snoring by halftime. I wake up just as the game ends with my husband screaming because with the Steelers touchdown, he just won $200. I stumble into bed, only to have my 4 year old join me shortly thereafter. He kicked and talked so much, that I managed to snag a whopping 2 hours of rest.
So, today, I am using toothpicks to hold my eyes open. I am on my fourth pot of coffee, and I don't think I even like coffee. I forgot to put make-up on this morning, and my new $12 "no rise" underwear have risen so far up that I can now taste my wedgie. I am pretty certain that I am actually sleep-typing right now.
And the good news? There's no school tomorrow because of state testing.
I am off to get another case of wine . . .
Friday was Deuce's birthay celebration at school. So, I was up until midnight Thursday making cupcakes for him to take to school. He wanted Dallas Cowboy cupcakes, so I did my best to make Dallas helmets on each of the cupcakes. I was tired, and it was 100 degrees in the kitchen, so my frosting began to melt. So, what I ended up making looked like grey blobs with a pathetic star on the side. (They were so bad that my mother asked if I had let the kids decorate them.) But, I did make them from scratch, so at least they were yummy grey blobs.
Friday was also pajama day in his class. (Which I conveniently remembered at 11:45 as I was finishing up the cupcakes). Since Deuce sleeps in his undies, I had to scramble to find his Christmas jammies, which of course, were dirty. So, at 11:55, I am now doing laundry because I couldn't febreze away the chunks of food on the front of the jammies.
So, friday morning, I am getting Deuce dressed in his jammies for school, and naturally Trey had to wear jammies too. At this point, I am chugging coffee because I am working on less than 4 hours sleep. However, I manage to get them all dressed, backpacks packed, and on to school on time.
I went back home after dropping the kids at school, finished decorating the cake and assembling the 15 goodie bags for the kids at Deuce's birthday party on friday night. Friday was also Deuce's snack day and I was volunteering in his classroom. So, I managed to get myself dressed, and I styled my fabulous new bangs, and I was out the door 15 minutes early.
Naturally at this point I was feeling like Mother of the Year. I'm driving along, thinking about all that I had accomplished in the last 12 hours. I was just about to pin the medal on my chest when I realized I left the cupcakes at home, and I had to turn back and go get them.
Needless to say, I showed up to Deuce's class 5 minutes late, minus the Mother of the Year badge.
The time in his class went great. The kids in his class are so friggen adorable. One young boy, Arthur, even commented on my hair. "Mrs Jen, your new hair is great. You look beautiful." Obviously, I completely swaggered out of the class room at the end of the day. My hair must be fabulous if 5 and 6 year olds notice.
So, I go back home, get all the supplies for Deuce's party loaded and packed neatly in the car. I call Papa Johns and order the pizzas so we can pick them up at 4:30. I am so organized. I have everything ready so that at exactly 4 pm, we can leave for Deuce's party, which is being held at a large indoor playground in Ithaca. (I even put a few beers in the cooler, since it WAS friday night!)
Like clockwork, we are ready to go at 4. We load up in the mini van (yes, I know, I drive a soccer wagon. I still cry every time I turn the ignition.) and off we go. We pull into Papa Johns at 4:20, and I hand Paco and handful of coupons and send him in to get the pizzas. By 4:30, he is still not back. At 4:40 he walks out and tells me the pizzas aren't ready. I kindly tell him to explain to the pizza people that I called in our order at 3 pm, so that it would be ready by 4:30. I told him to tell them if they didn't pull some pizzas out for us PRONTO, that I would be coming in to make a scene.
At 4:45, Paco walks out with the pizzas. Clearly, my reputation proceeds me.
We make it to the ball pit as the parking lot is beginning to fill up with other mini-vans filled with happy 5 and 6 year olds. Nothing is as classy as showing up late for your own party, I say.
The party is a huge success, as the kids get to run around and yell and scream and play. After an hour, I get the kids sat down for cake and ice cream, and I pass out party favors. Suddenly, the room is vibrating from the sounds of 17 kids all blowing party horns at once. What WAS I thinking? After confiscating all 17 horns and "accidentally" throwing them away, I am glad to declare that overall, the evening was a lot of fun. The kids played so hard that they all fell asleep on the way home, and I got to chat with a bunch of cool parents. And Deuce got more presents from his "pretend birthday" that he declared it was "so much better than Christmas!"
Saturday, I took Ace to a play date, Deuce to a birthday party, and Trey to a birthday party. (I still managed to sneak away to buy a case of wine.) Saturday night, we went over to some friends house for game night, and I finished a whole bottle of wine within 1 1/2 hours. Needless to say, we never got around to the games. But, we had a great time. We didn't get home until almost 11, and the kids were completely wiped out.
Sunday, I woke up at 6, and started getting things ready for Deuce's "official" birthday. Since his birthday happened to fall on Superbowl Sunday, I decided just to invite family over for a bunch of munchies. And since I had to go into work for a while on Sunday, I wanted to make sure all the food was ready before I left.
So, I chopped, diced, breaded, and broiled to create a menu of : Chili, breadsticks, onion dip, sausage dip, spinach and cheese dip, sliders (mini cheeseburgers), stuffed mushrooms, chicken wings, onion petals, and bean dip. (all homemade of course). I have timed everything to be ready at exactly 5 pm, when all my family starts to arrive. The food is great, and we finish off with ice cream cake. By the time the national anthem starts, everyone is gone and the kids are in the tub. I get the kids tucked into bed and I settle in to watch the game.
I am snoring by halftime. I wake up just as the game ends with my husband screaming because with the Steelers touchdown, he just won $200. I stumble into bed, only to have my 4 year old join me shortly thereafter. He kicked and talked so much, that I managed to snag a whopping 2 hours of rest.
So, today, I am using toothpicks to hold my eyes open. I am on my fourth pot of coffee, and I don't think I even like coffee. I forgot to put make-up on this morning, and my new $12 "no rise" underwear have risen so far up that I can now taste my wedgie. I am pretty certain that I am actually sleep-typing right now.
And the good news? There's no school tomorrow because of state testing.
I am off to get another case of wine . . .
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