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 . . .

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.

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 . . .

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?

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.

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. . .

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 . . .