I was talking to a friend recently and she commented how she couldn't wait for 2013 to be over because it sucked. Just a lot of commotion and not enough joy. And that is exactly how I feel. It seems when I reflect at the end of the year I always think of the bad things and how I want the next year to be better. Which I guess is sort of human nature?
I was super duper looking forward to selling our house this year that we had been in for 9 years. And WE DID IT! Do you know what happens when you sell a house that you have been in for any length of time? You have to pack. And there is so much packing that in order to do it properly you should take your time and think about it and sort things and be practical and get rid of things. Since Workaholic and I are champion procrastinators, you just know that didn't happen. Packing up a 4100 sq. ft. house into boxes sucked. Especially since the house was empty when we moved in and it was FAR from empty when we moved out. Workaholic wasn't (isn't) quite as willing to part with certain things like I was (am).
For example, all the furniture we inherited or took in as hand-me-downs so we could fill our big new house? He wants to keep. Or not just give away. I say, "Let's become Craigslist's best client." Bedroom furniture, office furniture, living room furniture, rugs, toys, bedding sets, and more I would be happy to part with in a big fun bonfire. I know it sounds stupid, but I'd rather not have a matching bedroom set of dressers that I don't like than have mismatched pieces of furniture that I do. AND, as it turns out, Workaholic and I have quite the different taste in...well, everything.
As a result, the story-and-a-half much smaller house that we bought has things in it that I really like. And a basement full of crap that I don't. Don't get me wrong, there are also things down there that I like. Kitchen gadgets that don't fit in our new cabinets, kid's clothing, Christmas decorations, Halloween costumes, fine china, and toys that I swear we'll bring out and the girls will play with them. Then there are other things...like Workaholic's dozen boxes of paperwork on I-have-no-idea-what, boxes of wires that belong to electronics that don't exist anymore, and OH-EM-GEE THE EMPTY BOXES. We have at least 20 LARGE cardboard boxes that are piled into a corner. This does NOT include that pile of broken down cardboard boxes that are in the same corner. There are also random assorted piles of wood and tools and sawhorses and electronics that actually DO work. And let's not even talk about the boxes (that I packed) of meticulously packed toys that were no longer played with that were unceremoniously ripped open and the contents tossed all over the basement. I walk down there and it is so overwhelming I just turn around and go back up the stairs.
Common sense and a host of hoarders experts would say that you take the big project and break it down into small projects and tackle them one at a time. A while ago I found out I have this lovely personality flaw trait called the "all or nothing". Which means if I don't think I can do it immediately and do it perfectly, then why even attempt to do it at all? I've been this way as long as I can remember and I have no idea how I graduated from college. With a somewhat decent GPA. Almost the only time I can get any type of large project done is when Workaholic is there pushing me. His unending energy and relentless desire to get everything done (and done perfectly) makes it almost impossible to just sit around. Not to say that I work as hard or as long as he does, but at least I do put in some time and energy and amazeballs, I get shit done!!
Our new home has very few decorations hung up and the Christmas decorations are half-assed at their best. And were mostly done over last weekend. I'm not a decorator at heart and I definitely cannot imagine what an entire room should look like based on one piece of furniture. I'd hire an interior decorator but HOLY SHIT THEY ARE EXPENSIVE. Their hourly rate doesn't sound bad, until you have them put in a few hours at your house and a few more shopping and all of the sudden you are looking at a couple paychecks worth of services.
Anyway, so that is where we live. The house we moved out of was perfectly decorated because I hired someone to make it look perfect for the real estate listing, and the new house is a scattered physical rendition of my brain.
The house that we were in and that we are in now is only a part of why I am looking forward to 2014. In between houses we decided to live in the cottage in Michigan for the summer. I commuted an hour-and-a half to work twice a week, while Suky and the girls spent the summer on the lake. And Workaholic came up on the weekends. Let me repeat that...Workaholic came up on the weekends. So during the week I got little sleep because of the commute and the working and the fact that my daughters didn't like sleeping in their own room or going to bed at a decent hour or not waking in the middle of the night to come in and crawl in bed with me which then woke me up. On the weekends family and friends were there and FUN ENSUED. (It really did.) Then they went home and I drove to work and finally caved and let the girls sleep with me all the time just so I could get more than 2 hours of sleep at a time. Even with Suky there, the stress level was at an all time high. She missed her friends and working out at her gym, the girls and I missed Workaholic more than we ever thought possible, and then there was a host of other things happening that added to the fun. As much as I was looking forward to living at the lake for the summer, I honestly can say that it will never happen again unless I have a) a drastic personality shift, b) a promise of 8 uninterrupted hours of sleep every night, and 3) an exponential increase in energy. So...when pigs fly. (insert smiley face here)
2014 is going to be an awesome year for a multitude of reasons. We are "settled" into our new house. Which is smaller and much more manageable. We WILL get the basement cleaned up and out. The house that my father-in-law and brother-in-law and husband are building will be finished by Memorial Day. (It better be.) I will continue to work on my all-or-nothing personality and therefore hopefully will be able to more fully enjoy every moment. Good or bad. Stressful or not.
I'm not really into making New Year's resolutions because they are crap and I never keep them. (See aforementioned personality flaw.) And I am not making them this year. This year is going to be a continued resolve of the things that I have worked on in the past. I may have fallen off the bandwagon, but damn if I'm letting it go on without me.
I was reading through some old blogs over the past few weeks and realized that last year was a pretty tough year for me. Us. Me and Fonz, that is. I mean, I lost him, he hurt his foot (again) and got an ear infection (again). I am so infinitely happy that this year is going much, much better. Even though I gave up Coke and it was a two week detox. Not kidding. Even a little bit. There was nausea and crabbiness and general misery. My pants fit better, and even though I am not doing well in the food category, I am trying to make better choices.
A couple of weeks ago I took Fonz down to see Dr. Nadene so she could do something about his foot. The hole in his toe never really healed from last summer, and now when he walked he would leave little red spots all over my hardwood floor. Super annoying. He had began to limp a little more recently, and I noticed that his back end had given out more than usual. Dr. Nadene decided to amputate the toe, a decision that did not surprise me in the least. But then, while prepping his foot for surgery, she realized that he was also missing a toenail on the same foot, and it was all gnarly looking. So she decided to focus on that instead. Since he has been home, the limping and falling has greatly decreased and had the most adorable bandage on his foot. I think that, for now, we have resolved one issue. Eventually though, that damn toe will have to come off. Have I ever mentioned how much I wish we had pet insurance on him??
Do you see the heart? And the K? And the flowers? I love Dr. Nadene and her peeps.
One night, we got a shit ton of rain. Over the past month, I had stared into my back yard at the dead yellow grass. There was barely a green blade to be found. It was so icky looking that I had absolutely no desire to go pick up the poop that litters the whole entire yard. But then the rain came. And I looked out one morning and THERE IS GREEN GRASS GROWING! It happened! Spring is here!! AND NOW?? The whole damn yard is green. And the grass cutting guys showed up right on time. It looks friggin' beautiful.
The appearance of spring has made me ruminate over our family. Fonz is getting older, but he is still strong and young at heart. Kale is also getting older, more mature, but still insanely food obsessed. I recently got the name of a local certified behavior specialist in hopes I can elevate his level of awesomeness before everyone sees us again for the summer. No promises, but if I have someone I have to be held accountable to, the more likely I'll actually follow through on his training. He has big shoes to fill, and it doesn't happen overnight. Sampson is, well, Sampson. He is in and out all throughout the day and comes home every night. He is a big boy at over 11 lbs, yet still expects treats whenever he comes in the house. Like, "Hey, I came home, right? Gimme candy." I was so fortunate as to open the door the other morning and found his first present of the warm weather season for us on the back porch, a lovely robin. Dead. Under our patio table. In my screened in porch.
The biggest change, obviously, has been in the girls.
Sam is now a mature little four year old. Going on fourteen. She rolls her eyes and sighs and tells us that she hasn't been to school in nineteen years. She loves to say the word truth, but has little idea about how to use it correctly. She treats the dogs and the cat and Charlie exactly the way I do...which means she scolds them when they piss her off. It is so cute, but yet...you are not their mom!
The other day she was telling me "I swear that the toy was under the seat in our car. I swear it was!" She has the memory of an elephant. Of course she always has, but it drives me crazy when she overhears us say that someone died and a week later she asked how and why that person died. I also had no idea what to tell her when she asked me exactly HOW does the baby get in the mommy's tummy?
Her favorite activity is to watch You Tube videos on the iPad or play games on Workaholics old phone that he just gave her. She has to take it everywhere. "Wait mom! I forgot my phone!" (Oh boy.) Don't worry, it isn't actually a phone anymore, more like an iTouch. Another one of her favorite activities is to play with her Barbies and Littlest Pet Shop toys. She watch videos on YouTube where a little girl acts out scenarios with her toys, and then Sam runs and plays with hers. I'm assuming she is mimicking, but since she doesn't want us to watch what she watches or listen while she plays, I'll just keep that as an assumption. She loves anything baby...her favorite Free Willy movie is number three. She calls it the "big Jessie" movie, because he is older. But she mainly likes it because at the end, Willy's girlfriend Nikki gives birth. Like, actually gives birth. Workaholic is grossed out by the scene, but Sam loves it. Alternately, in many movies, she says her favorite scene is the one in which someone dies. Like in Pocahontas? When Kokoum gets shot by Thomas and he dramatically falls into a stream, dead? Yep, her favorite. I'm not quite sure what that means, although I am guessing it is the one which has the most impact on her so she has no idea how to handle her feelings.
She also has developed modesty and she notices what people think of her. Both of which make me infinitely sad. The modesty is expected, but I am just afraid it is because she doesn't want to be laughed at. Which I know because she has told me so. She goes to pre-school two days a week, and now that it is April, I think she is quite ready for summer break. She just doesn't want to go anymore. She also LOVES to help. As long as it is her idea. Since her fourth birthday she has taken to saying no when I ask her to do a task, like let the dogs in. It depends on my mood as to how much I push that issue, also how fast she turns around and walks away. I don't like chasing kids, too tiring. I am trying VERY HARD to have patience and try to impress upon her how it feels when she is rude to me or others. Sometimes I feel like she is just trying to be "cool." At four years old. But maybe this is the girl drama that everyone always talks about. Starting at four. years. old. (Actually, it really started at three, but has kicked into high gear lately.)
The things that have come out of her mouth over the past few months have been priceless. I wish I have written more of them down.
"Daddy, put that knife down before you hurt yourself."
Sam was talking to Sook after having lunch with Sook's sisters and dad. She asked her, "Why did your dad give you up? Does he not want you anymore?"
I have to preface the next story by saying that we do NOT talk about salons and manicures and pedicures a lot in our house. If ever really. And it is in the context of "I really want to get a pedicure." We also don't talk about people of different races and stereotypes, as I am very conscious of how impressionable our kids are. That said, Sam got taken to get her finger and toe nails painted once. It was months ago. Yesterday, she and Sook were sitting down to play nail salon, and Sook lined up all the colors and told Sam that she was going to paint her nails, she just needed to pick the color. Sam responds with, "OK, but can you pretend to speak another language and not English?" O.M.G.
Sam also is teased mercilessly by Workaholic. Actually, both kids are. Sam just has a more direct way of dealing with it..."Daddy, I've had enough." I love how little kids have no concept of time. Sam will often say that she hasn't been to see grandma in 13 weeks, even if it has only been two. She is slowly learning that when we go away for the weekend, it is for 2 nights and 3 days, and it does seem like she really understands that. When we recently told her that we may be moving to a new house, she was extremely concerned about leaving her doll house and her fairies and Sook. Once I promised her that everything was coming with us (God help me pack), she became very excited and wants to know the color of the new house and her new room. So I guess that means she might be able to handle change well? Hopefully better than me. She is forever telling stories that she makes up as she is telling them. Usually they involve her panda bear and his mom and dad and brothers. She makes up pretend friends who have names that change all the time, and are half of one name that she likes and half of another name that she likes. Although that is only for girls, the boys names she chooses are strictly the names of the little boys that she plays with, the sons of my friends.
In general, she is a beautiful, incredibly smart 4 year old who never. forgets. anything. Yesterday she brought up when Oma fell down the stairs when she was carrying Charlie. And how Oma cried. She was two. I have a feeling she'll be spending a lot of time in therapy when she is older.
Charlie. Oh Charlie. Our fearless little girl. Here is her climbing up on the counter.
Normally she can do it in 2 seconds flat. I need to get her in some sort of tumbling or gymnastics class, she is forever jumping from a table to the couch. Or from the couch to the floor. Or from the bed to the floor. When we went and visited Uncle T at his boat store, she climbed up onto one of the Mastercrafts and hopped from the open bow to the open bow of the boat next to it. While it really was only about 6 inches of open air, it was a good 7-8 feet in the air over a concrete floor. Talk about a heart attack.
Her talking is getting much better every day. If you ask her to do something, she'll say "Of course mommy." While she often speaks in whine, she gives the best hugs and she is really hard to resist. She has this terrible habit of whipping things over her shoulder. Done with a toy? Throw it back. Digging through the toybox to look for something? Toss all the toys in the way over your shoulder. The higher and farther they go, the better. It isn't unusual for her to whip something across an entire room. While is actually is pretty good at picking up, she is definitely her father's (and grandfather's) daughter in that it has to be her idea. Otherwise crying ensues. And she is a master at producing crocodile tears.
Charlie revels in playing the little sister role. One of her favorite activities is to take something that she knows is near and dear to Sam at that exact moment and run. Sam plays along with her game like a puppet, screeching and chasing her through the house while Charlie laughs manically. She can be kind to Sam though, and it is in those little moments that I know that we're doing something right and they really do loves each other. I love to hear, "Here you go Sam" because it means that my little Tyrant is actually being thoughtful and mindful of her big sister's feelings.
Neither girl seems to be enamored with the animals, although they each love to feed the dogs. In Charlie's case, that means both putting Kale's dog food out for him and also feeding him her food from her chair. She is not so fond of sharing her food when he takes it right from her without her consent though. I guess I get that, but I always tell both girls that if they don't want the dogs to bother them while they are eating, then they should SIT IN A CHAIR AT THE TABLE INSTEAD OF WALKING AROUND. Just my little attempt at instilling common sense.
Long story short, my girls are growing up. I hate that when parents of grown children tell you to enjoy it because before you know it, your babies are adults are right. I'm trying to savor moments and remember the little things...hence the reason for this post. Enjoy some pictures of my little (growing-up-fast) little girls. And yes, Charlie did get herself up on the banister.
With my new found independence from Coke, I still have yet to find another source of energy. I know that I need to eat protein and all that crap, but I'm just not into the new rhythm yet. The mornings are the hardest, I lay in bed and dread getting up. I never know what to eat, although I know what I should eat, I don't want to do that.
This morning I had a couple of errands to run that shouldn't have taken too long. So I hopped in the mommy-mobile and headed to Tar-shay. While checking out, the door to the entrance for just the carts was stuck open and a brisk freezing cold breeze had me and the cashier shaking in our North Face jackets. Putting my purchases in the car proved to be even worse than checking out because the wind coming out of the north was now whipping my hair in a frenzy of five degree, 20 knot wind gusts. I clearly remember seeing my phone in the front of the cart and I totally thought I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket because I remember thinking that I should zip the pocket but I wouldn't because I would be in the car in 5 seconds. After that I went to the dry cleaners and then to the vet to pick up some meds for the 4 leggers. (HOLY CRAP $$$!!!) I was so proud of myself that I was getting so much accomplished in such a short amount of time.
It was getting out of the car at the vet that I realized the phone was nowhere to be seen. I didn't immediately panic, it surely had to be somewhere. (As in, somewhere close to me.) After I gave my soul to the devil so my dogs won't get fleas or heartworms, it slowly dawned on me that my precious iPhone was not in the car. Anywhere. It was not in my pockets. It was not in my purse. It was...lost. *gasp* And that started the slide down the hill of happiness I had been on.
I still didn't panic even when, after returning to each store, the phone stayed missing. I combed the parking lots, thinking that perhaps it fell out of my conveniently unzipped pocket in my rush in and out of the wind. It wasn't until I got home and called Apple that I panicked. Apparently there is an app for when your phone goes missing. It's called Find My Phone. Of course it is. It is even installed in your iPhone when you purchase it, so all you have to do is activate your iCloud and WHAM...you can find out exactly where your iDevice is at any given moment. The geniuses at Apple know the population of the United States well.
As it turns out, I never activated that app, nor my iCloud. I didn't have the serial number of the phone, so Apple themselves could not track it. Verizon was absolutely no help either. Basically, I was screwed. The nice CSR at Apple gave me my last option...retrace your steps. (BTW, mad props to Apple customer support. I was on the phone for a total of 15 minutes for them to tell me that I was screwed. She tried hard, I could tell, but I gave her nothing to go on. Had this been, um, coughComcastcough, it easily would have been three times as long.) Apple customer service withstanding, I went into full on panic mode. The calm rational part of me ran off and allowed the mean thoughts to creep into my head, "You are such a dumbass, how could you lose your PHONE? Workaholic is going to be soo pissed, yet something else you have lost or destroyed.If you weren't rushing like you knew you were you wouldn't have lost it." I thought of all the pictures on the phone, the numbers, the appointments....everything that was on there. I HAD TO FIND IT.
So I did things the old fashioned way. I retraced my steps. I went back to the parking lots and the stores. I walked out in the now zero degree wind chill to check the carts in the parking lot at Target. And in a final, desperate attempt, I went inside to customer service.
*angels sing and the heavens opened* They had my phone. A wonderfully nice lady turned it in after finding it in the cart. A lovely lady who was concerned that someone would be absolutely lost and panicked because they were missing a limb, along with half of their brain. I practically skipped out of the store in my excitement. I was back on top of the hill, on top of the world really, and I managed to make that last the rest of the day. Now if I can figure out how to keep myself energized without giving myself a heart attack...
There are
times in your life where you look back and say, “Oh…that is what was going on
with me.” Like when you have a newborn and PPD, and you look back four years
later and think, “So THIS is how I was supposed to feel. I wish I would have
reached out more back then.” Or once your new puppy is housebroken and has
stopped chewing up your shoes; and the infant that you already had when you
acquired said puppy is now feeding herself; and your husband isn’t working 100
hour weeks. I look back and think, “WTF was I thinking? That was a lot of shit
to deal with in a short span of time!” That is how I feel about last week. I decided to
go with the meal replacement plan. It sounded ideal. Easy as pie smoothies (did
you know that pies are actually not that easy to make?), bars for meals, bars
for snacks, and a yummy sensible dinner. I also decided that on the
EXACT SAME DAY I would give up Coke. Did you hear that? I would GIVE UP
COCA-COLA CLASSIC. It wasn’t a conscious decision in that I said, “As of 5pm on
March 8th I am finished drinking my most favoritest carbonated
beverage in the whole entire world. No, I just didn’t have any at home. On Saturday,
day one of the meal replacement plan, I was hyper-focused on eating healthy and
following “the plan”, so going to McDonald’s drive-thru for a treat wasn’t
exactly high on the list of things that I wanted to do. I mean, sure…I WANTED
to go, but then I figured taking a nap was just as good. And it was. Sunday
wasn’t much different; I treated the caffeine headache with Excedrine and lazed
around all day. Monday was more of the same, except while laying around, I also
worked on my laptop.
Part of the
plan is to make smoothies for breakfast and either lunch or dinner, with two
scoops of flavored protein powder mixed in. I thought, “Oh! This will be great!”
And then I actually tried making a smoothie with my new blender that I only spent
$53.99 on. Yeah…not so great. I wound up fighting with the ice or frozen fruit
most of the time (I lost one battle, my kitchen and my clothes and the ceiling paid
the price…did you know that berries stain?), and the other times I put in too
much of something disgusting and I had to choke the damn thing down, and then struggle all day to
keep it down. By Thursday morning, I’d had it. All week I had been nauseous and
could barely get out of bed. The thought of fighting my blender was too much to
bear for the powder-tasting concoction that I was whipping up. I was exhausted,
felt like shit, knew I had been complaining to my co-workers entirely too much,
and was questioning the meal plan decision. As it turns out, easy as pie also
tastes like shit. And therefore isn’t easy as pie.
The only
good thing about my days were the evenings. Most days I was too nauseous to eat
anything, so by dinnertime I was starving. And I could give a shit what I ate.
Leftover sour cream and cheese enchiladas? Yes Please! Leftover lasagna? Hand
it over! Toasted ham and cheese sandwich? I am drooling. Food had never tasted
so good. The best thing about the whole week though was that I did not have a single
Coke. NOT ONE. I did not celebrate that victory as much as I should have. Thursday
night rolled around and it was time for bed. The girls had been extra energetic
lately; cabin fever is reaching its pitch. In other words, I wanted to strangle
them. Actually no…that isn’t true. I wanted to lock them in a soundproof room
and leave them in there for 24 hours. Someone else could make sure that they
had food and bathroom breaks and diaper changes. And whatever the hell else
they wanted. (THIS toy, to paint, THAT sippy cup, MOM!! CHARLIE PUSHED ME!!) I
was ready to snap. I think the girls finally got the hint and lay down to
listen to me read the ONE book I begrudgingly agreed to….5 Minute Princess
Stories. (Five minutes my ass.)
After the
stories were read I tucked in my little angels and tried to leave the room. I
still felt like shit and just wanted out. I wanted to go watch an adult show
(like NCIS or Parks and Recreation…not that XXX stuff you all are thinking) and
play on my phone. I wanted to snuggle my favorite yellow blanket and hide from
everything that was bothering me. And then I heard the little voice, “Mommy,
snuggle?”
Sigh. The
guilt. Oh the mommy guilt. I agreed to snuggle with my little girls and fetched
my yellow blanket and iPhone. I nestled myself in between the girls and wrapped
myself in the coziness that is my yellow blanket and Workaholic's blue blanket. I turned on
Candy Crush Saga and began trying to beat level 65 for the hundredth time. Charlie was
the first to snuggle up close. She was the one who wanted me in bed with them
in the first place, so I wasn’t really all that surprised. She loves to watch
my phone when we’re in bed at night, the lights turned off, no TV on, the glow
of the screen illuminating her beautiful long eye lashes. It doesn’t matter if
I am playing a game or on Facebook or reading Scary Mommy Confessions, she puts
her little head on my shoulder and presses up next to me as close as she can. A
couple of minutes later Sam crawled out the cave she had created for herself
under the covers and did the same thing on my other shoulder. Before too long I
heard the long steady breaths of little kids dreaming as only little kids dream.
For all the drama before bedtime, they were out like a light once I got them to
hold still.
I put down
my phone and stayed there a while, taking it all in. The soft chirps of the
sound machine in the background, the heat from two little bodies pressed up
against me, the quiet that resonated throughout the rest of the house. At one
point Sam, in her slumber, began stroking my arm and Charlie reached up and
laid her little hand on her face. The softness of their skin when they are
clean and being gentle always makes me pause. These are my two little girls. At
the end of the day, I can come home and burrow myself in their arms, caress
their soft hair and live in the moment. I can stop thinking about how tired I
am and how hungry I am and wonder if I just go throw up would it make me feel
better. Life at its simplest. The purity of kids is never more apparent as when
they are sleeping. I eventually made my way to my bed, desperate for a good
night sleep.(only to be awoken at least twice by my little angels).
Friday
morning came and I was more tired and nauseated than ever. The cycle was
starting again. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t, because we had a doctor
appointment to make in Chicago. I had to push through. It was when I sat down
in the passenger seat of the van where I finally caved. I couldn’t take it
anymore. I forced Workaholic to pull into McDonald’s for ONE Coke, and threw in
some fries for good measure. By Saturday
I had decided to give up on the meal plan because the thought of that powdery
smoothie made me want to vomit. The nausea was starting to go away, and pizza
and beer on Saturday night with friends made things much, much better. By Monday
the nausea had pretty much disappeared, and I was eating healthier but not
eating any of the meal replacement food.
Looking back, I realize that drastically
changing my diet at the same time as giving up the caffeine and fake sugar that
I depended on every day was probably not the smartest thing to do. I was having
full on withdrawal. Even though I supplemented with Excedrine, my body was
PISSED OFF that I would take away the yummy deliciousness that is high fructose
corn syrup. I can’t believe that I was so hard on myself. Giving up pop (or
soda, depending where you live) is a HUGE accomplishment. Screw those
disgusting protein bars and smoothies that piss me off. Screw the “guilt-free”
snacks of raw carrots, celery, and broccoli. Screw feeling guilty and ashamed
that I “can’t do it.” Fuck. This. Diet. I. Gave. Up. Coke.
My ultimate
goal is to have more energy and lose weight and be a happier person, without
meds. I am going to do this. But I have to take baby steps. Really little baby
steps. Teeny tiny baby steps. Coke is my first. (OK, so quitting Coke is like a
baby taking its first step and falling down the stairs. It hurts, but no reason
to stop!) Daily fast food is my next. I am trying to only eat out twice a week…that
includes lunch AND dinner. This will be a huge fete for me as well, seeing as
how a month ago I probably ate out a dozen times a week. I wonder
what I will think a year or two from now when I look back. Will I think that I was
getting my life in order? Or will I think that I was crazy for trying to quit
all of the things that I loved? Only time will tell!
I haven't blogged in a while, mainly because I was insanely busy at work. Workaholic didn't understand what I meant by that, because his every day is what the first 15 days of 2013 were for me. It sucked, because I had to think SO MUCH. I would get home, and yes, I would usually leave work on time because I had to go in on the weekend anyways, and it would be 5:30 and I would ask if I could go to bed. I was always told no, which is crap, but whatever, I'm totally over it. (or not)
So I am just sitting here in my basement trying to think of something awesome or random or stupid to blog about. And the only thing I can think about is how I don't understand how young girls get pregnant by accident in this day and age. I mean, seriously. With the internet, and the internet, and of yeah, the INTERNET, there is so much information available on how not to make a life changing whoops. In the past year or so, two ladies in their early 20s that I knew pretty well were incredibly shocked when they found out that they were pregnant. It was a joke in my house that we were going to offer to give lessons on exactly how to get pregnant. Not how not to get pregnant. But HOW to get pregnant.
So here goes.
First of all, if you want to get pregnant and are on the pill, then don't take it at the same time every day. Because in order for it to be 99.5% effective, you have to take it at the same time every day. If you miss a day, or two days, or better yet three days, your chances for getting prego increase.
Secondly, if you are on birth control and want a baby, go on antibiotics. Because that little white pill is useless against the medicine meant to make you feel better. If you don't use back-up protection, then trust me, you will be feeling a LOT worse soon.
Third, there is a rhyme and reason to your bodily functions. If Aunt Flo is reasonably predictable, then there is a good solid week where you need to be extra super duper slutty. (or careful, if you actually are trying to prevent becoming with child.) If not longer. Really, anytime between 8 and 17 days after the first day she arrives are your go days.
Condoms are for losers. At least losers who don't want to become parents.
Oh, and just as a side note, the pill and the ring and the shot are all great at preventing babies. They are not so great at preventing fun stuff like chlamydia and herpes and HIV. Just sayin'.
So yeah, there you go, a step-by-step tutorial on how to get pregnant. Remember, the younger you are, the easier it is.
***Disclaimer, I don't really want 16 year olds or anyone who isn't married and/or financially stable to have kids. Because kids are a lot of work and cost a lot of money. For other side effects, please see www.scarymommy.com.
I love your store. Truly, I do. If you had an opening for a person who shopped and delivered someone's order, I would totally do it. Like Peapod. But better, because it is Target, so, you know.
There is rarely a complaint that I have with you. The store I go to always has sufficient lanes open, is clean and well-stocked, and I never feel as though I'll be shot in the parking lot. Even in the dark.
I do, however have two tiny little complaints. Well, one is minor, the other one...you're messing with my feelings Target. And that's just not cool.
The first is that I wish you had larger carts. Not for everyone, of course, but for those who walk into your store knowing that they'll spend a couple hundred dollars on large paper products and other various household necessities and groceries. Kind of like how the grocery store has those little carts for when you are going to pick up just a few things, but...bigger. Can you get working on that? K thanks.
The second is that you shouldn't try to trick your customers. It's not nice. Let me explain.
Every couple of months, I go to Target and am thrilled to see that several of the things that I buy are on sale. But they just aren't on sale. If you buy two of certain kinds of items, let's say Bounty and Charmin, you get a $5 gift card to use on your next purchase! Yes! Saving me money and bringing me back to spend more! Genius! It makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside when the cashier says, "And you have earned a $5 gift card, here you go." I tuck it lovingly into my wallet right next to my RedCard. (Oh by the way, thanks for the additional 5% off every time I check out. I have gotten so used to it I almost asked the cashier at the grocery store I sometimes frequent why my total didn't go down once she was finished scanning. Now that would have been awkward.)
I was thrilled today when I went in to get my usual stock of paper towels and toilet paper when I saw that the $5 gift card was ON! Yes! I shoved the 18 pack of Bounty onto the bottom of my cart and headed for my Charmin. I'm a tad particular about my Charmin. You see, I like the blue kind, but I don't like it when the roll is so big it doesn't fit in my little toilet paper holder in my guest bathroom. So I always get the double roll, as opposed to the mega roll. The mega roll is just kind of ridiculous. I always get this particular combination of Bounty and Charmin to get my gift card, and each aisle had the little red and white cards in front of the products telling me that there was a special. Since I do it all the time, I didn't think to look at the little black print on the little red and white card that was in front of the toilet paper. I knew how this worked.
Fast forward to check-out. The lovely cashier scanned the paper towels, and then the toilet paper, and moved on to the next item. Wait, wait a minute...where is my gift card? I want my $5! They always give it to me when the second item is scanned. That's just how it works! When I asked her about it, she told me that the Charmin wasn't one of the qualifying combinations with the Bounty, but instead I could get a free Charmin Freshmates. Um, no. I don't want a Charmin Freshmates. I want my $5 gift card.
Why the change Target? WHY? I've been getting this gift card for as long as you've been doing it, and I always get the exact. same. products. If you didn't want to include the 24 double rolls of ultra soft toilet paper, then why run another special at the exact. same. time? So people will grab the usual and not find out until the get to the check-out, where there are four very impatient if not-too-bright customers waiting behind me?? (What? It was obvious how much I was buying, why get in line when half of my cart is still full? You have to know it's going to be a while.) I feel tricked, deceived, and kind of dumb. I don't like feeling dumb. It's like you knew I would just grab the same products and be forced to buy them even though they are not on sale once I got to the check-out. And, to top it all off, I didn't even get my free Freshmates!
I know what you are going to say. Read the fine print. Easy enough, but as a mom of two two-leggers and three four-leggers and a husband whose nickname is justifiably Workaholic, you can't expect me to read the fine print on the same special that I have always indulged in! . go to Target alone for a mini-vacation, not to squint my eyes and attempt to do math in my head. That's just no fun.
So can you do me this tiny little favor? Just keep the good old specials the same? Don't make things so difficult. Keep us busy moms in mind. And make some bigger carts. Please and thank you.
I'm taking the leap. The huge, ginormous leap. It's like going from having two boys to two girls. From having two dogs to two cats. From two scoops of chocolate to two scoops of vanilla with chocolate syrup.
I'm replacing Droid with an iPhone.
Two years ago, I started working from home part-time. In order to do so, I was required to get a smart phone. Workaholic had a Droid, so I got one too. I quickly became one of those people that is staring at their screen, laughing out loud at seemingly nothing, telling people how my new phone was the greatest thing since ice machines.
I took pictures, was/am constantly on facebook, and joined Twitter. I was/am a texting machine. I actually understand why people have entire conversations via text. I can't explain it, but I totally understand it.
In short, I loved my Droid.
And then, a few months in, things started to go awry. I would hit the screen, and nothing would happen for a second. And it would randomly turn off and reboot. And sometimes, when I would be texting, it would stop typing. It was more than annoying, it was super annoying.
And then, it almost stopped working completely. Calls were dropped, texts were impossible. I just couldn't take it anymore. I called them, and they sent me a replacement. A refurbished replacement. So...that was awesome.
And the refurbished replacement had the exact. same. problems. as my old one. They weren't immediate, it took about a week for them to kick in. So I called again, and I was sent another refurbished replacement. Which has...let's say sufficed, for the past year or so.
But now, NOW, I get to join the legions of people who cried when Steve Jobs died. The ones who tweeted, "RIP Steve Jobs" from their iPhones, while working on their iMac, and listening to music they bought off of iTunes. So yeah, maybe I'm a little late to join the party, but baby, I'M HERE!
There are lots of things I don't remember from when my babies were newborns. The first time they smiled, the first dirty diaper, the first time Charlie slept through the night.
I do however, remember the first time Sam slept through the night. I had heard all these stories from moms about how the first time their firstborn slept "through the night" (which typically means 6 hours or more), they would jerk awake and rush to see if the baby was still alive.
That didn't happen for me.
I was at my parent's house, and it was about 6:30 in the morning. I heard her cry, looked at the clock, and all I thought was, "Please, please sleep a little longer." It had been 7 1/2 hours. I should have been ecstatic, but instead I was really sleep-deprived. Luckily for me, Sam continued to sleep through the night, until about...oh...the past few months.
In those precious times, bedtime was a joyous occasion. We had a good routine with Sam, and she was pretty easy to put down. Bottle, swaddle, bed. As she got older it was bottle, books, bed. Sometimes Workaholic would put her to sleep and we would enjoy a nice, quiet couple of hours before going to sleep.
The reason I say those were joyous times is because before and after those times, bedtime is the worst time of the day. Worse even than getting up in the morning. My kids seem to save up all of their energy for after dinner, at which time they run screaming around the house, tickling and tackling each other, stealing each others toys, and generally being wild animals.We've tried to set a routine...sometimes a bath, then brush teeth, get into pajamas, read books, snuggle, sleep. Oh how we have tried.
The past few weeks have been, well...hell. Take tonight, for example. Workaholic is working, so it is just me. I give them a 20 minute warning, at which Sam protests. Charlie says, "OK!" only because I think she likes to say that word. When I announce it is time for bed, Sam starts whining and asking for things, and Charlie bolts. I chase her down, drag her into her room, and wrangle her into a diaper and PJs. I turn on the sound machine, turn down the lighting, and we read books. At least five every night. And then I tell her that we can either rock and snuggle or she can go to bed. At which she tells me no.
Eventually she wriggles out of my arms and climbs into bed. This is where the hell begins. (as if the fighting beforehand wasn't bad enough) We've gotten into a terrible routine of putting her in bed, me walking out, her getting up, me putting her back into bed. After about 15 times of this, she starts to get really upset. This isn't a game she wants to play anymore. She has figured out that I will rock her if she is insistent enough, and cries hard enough. I'm talking the can't-breathe-sobbing-pathetic cry that toddlers do that sort of break your heart. And it also sorta makes you roll your eyes because you know that they are just tired and WHY THE HELL WON'T THEY JUST GO TO SLEEP??
So I rock her, and then tell her that it is time for her to go to her bed. She goes willingly enough, and a few seconds after I walk out of the room, the crying begins again. And the getting out of bed, getting put back in bed routine starts too.This can be a cycle, I might give her more than one chance to rock and snuggle if she gets upset enough. I figure if she is crying THAT hard, there is no way she'll calm down enough to sleep. (I think I need to get a harder heart.)
Tonight, the process took and hour and half. AFTER we went into her room. AN HOUR AND A HALF PEOPLE. I could be watching valuable television, or posting witty things on facebook, or blogging for goodness sake. I could be trying to regain my sanity after a crazy day.
I am all for spending 30 minutes on a bedtime routine. But seriously, 90 minutes?? And that is just Charlie! Let's not even talk about Sam! The best part of the 90 minutes is when I came out of Charlie's room to see that Sam had fallen asleep waiting on me. In my bed, of course, but at least she was asleep. And this isn't the first time it has taken this long.
Sam's biggest complaint is that she "is not tired" and that she wants to sleep with us. Yes, we have caved more than I would like to admit and let her sleep with us. It started out as a necessity of staying in beds that weren't ours. Then it turned into her begging every night. And if she doesn't get her way (yes, we do say no most of the time), then she will often get up at 4 or 5 in the morning and want to come in and "snuggle" with me. (read:push up against me until I fall out of the bed)
So not only am I not getting my alone time at night, but I am getting woken up almost every night by at least one, if not both kids. I'm not sure how to handle this. I need my sleep. I NEED MY SLEEP. They don't get sugar or juice at night, and I am limiting how much they watch the iPad and TV. It doesn't seem to be helping.
Does anyone have any other suggestions? I just don't have it in me to fight both kids at night and it seems ridiculous that I have to. Maybe this is just karma being a bitch.
The leaves are changing and falling off of the trees. The air is crisp, the wind cool, the rain cold. The days are shorter and it seems as though a lot more of them are cloudy days. I used to hatehatehate this time of year.
When I was little, I lovedlovedloved it. I "helped" rake the two billion leaves that fell in our yard from the giant oak trees that surrounded our house. I warmed myself by the fire when we burned them, or helped my dad drag the tarp loaded up with wet leaves to dump "over the hill." (only Woodcliff Acres residents will understand that) We carved pumpkins for Halloween and went trick-or-treating in the dark. I was a kid, and it was awesome.
A few years ago, I wrote an essay in my hometown newspaper about driving up a certain hill at a certain time of year, and how it would just take my breath away. The myriad of colors in the trees surrounding the river would brighten even my darkest day. That hill, those colors, they mean home to me.
But somewhere along the way, I started to dislike fall. All it meant to me is that the leaves would fall off the trees and there would be barren emptyness for the next 6 months. The promise of snow usually wasn't enough to pull me out of my funk, for there was far too little and far too much time inbetween. It would be too cold and too dark to go to the park after work, or even go for a walk down the street. Mornings were darker, harder to get out of bed, and cooold.
A couple of years ago, I realized that I really, really hated fall.
My neighbor loves all holidays. LOVES. I mean, she even decorates for Valentines Day. But fall and Christmas decorations are by far her favorite. As I admired her bales of straw and colorful mums and the adorable pumpkin arrangements that she and many other people set in front of their homes, I admonished myself for not decorating. I chided myself for being a lazy homemaker. But it always seemed just too overwhelming. I told myself that "next year" I would purchase corn stalks and gourds. "Next year", I would put up Christmas lights. Next year, next year, next year.
But I am on medication now. Better medication for me. I have started a gratitude journal. Do you know what that is? Every day, you write down 5 things that you are grateful for. Every day. And you can't. ever. repeat. Like, ever. The very first thing I wrote that I was grateful for was trees whose leaves turn red in the fall, and not just brown and fall off. It really is the little things in life that are the big things.
For the longest time, I thought that my kids were supposed to "provide" me with those little things. But now I know that I am supposed to provide the little things. I am the one who has to notice the beauty of the trees, the refreshing crispness of the air, the way Kabo loves to sit outside for hours because it is so comfortable for him. I am the one who makes decorations happen, no matter how little or extravagant. And then I get to admire the decorations as an accomplishment for myself and an addition to the neighborhood.
And with that, all of the sudden, my kids are more adorable, more precious, and even funnier to me. Their excitement is invigorating. It reminds me of my youth and makes me excited to make memories for my children. (I seriously cannot wait until the girls are big enough to rake leaves. That job really sucks!)
By taking notice of the trees with red leaves, instead of the ones whose leaves have already fallen off and are bare, I am slowly, ever so slowly, starting to think positive. No longer do I dread the -20 degree days. Instead I look forward to hot chocolate by the fire. No longer do I dread the hustle and bustle of Christmas, instead I think of all the great deals I will get shopping online! Instead of thinking that I will continue to gain weight and be unhealthy for the rest of my life, I know that if I continue to make little changes, one day I will lose weight and enjoy the effects of *shudder* exercise. (Obviously, that day isn't quite here yet.)
For now, I am definitely enjoying seeing MY bales of straw, corn stalks, mums, and little-girl arranged pumpkins every time I pull into my driveway. (And Indian corn! Who can forget the Indian corn!) I am excited for Sam's field trip to the pumpkin patch tomorrow. I just know that the next 3 months are going to be better than they have been in a long time.
I was all set to you give you folks a lovely post about sunshine and lollipops, but then the debate happened last night. More specifically, the comments on facebook and twitter happened last night. And so fuck it, I've got shit to say, and I haven't had a good rant on here in a damn long time.
This is a point where I'd like to tell anyone who is offended by profanity or bluntness to either brace yourself, or click that little red X on the top right hand corner of your screen.
This is also the point where I should mention that I know little about most issues. I know pretty much what the major news outlets tell me, and by that, I mean the networks of NBC. I can't help it, it's just the channel I watch the most. I have not made up my mind who to vote for, and honestly, that isn't anybody's business. I just know that there is no one person out there who represents everything I believe in, so I have to pick the next best thing. (Me being the best, obviously.) And I am not trying to start a political debate, I am more pissed off by the assholes out there putting words in each candidates mouths and completely skewing what they said.
So I watched about 10 minutes of the debate. I saw a woman stand up and ask about AK47s, and what was the plan to do about them.
President Obama stood up and gave a nice speech about enforcing the laws already on the books but also protecting the 2nd Amendment. 1 point for Obama.
Gov. Romney stood up and said many of the same things that Obama did. They seemed to agree on this issue. And then he went into how the reason for gun violence and murders is the degradation of society. And we need to fix that, and one of ways to do that is to strengthen the family unit. 1 point for Romney.
And then I went on Twitter, and someone said, "I missed the debate and just heard someone say that Romney said that single moms are responsible for gun violence?"
Are you seriously kidding me? Way to put a fucking spin on it, mysterious someone.
No, Romney said in the nicest possible way that the fundamental family unit in the United States has been breaking down for a long time. And with that breakdown, morals and values are lost.
Studies prove (I think) that a two parent household (on average) is optimal for children. (And I personally don't give a shit if it is two parents of the same gender...as long as they are two people who are invested in raising productive citizens. Did you see the kid from Iowa give a speech on gay marriage in the Iowa House of Representative?) So what Romney is saying is that more people need to be in committed relationships (like him and Obama and, you know, Ellen) when choosing to have children, so they have help in instilling morals and values and all the good shit parents are supposed to teach their kids.
I am not saying that single mothers aren't fantastic. They are fucking superheros, in my opinion. But I also bet that those same single mothers would say that it is really fucking hard to raise kids by yourself and it just isn't possible to be everything to everyone. There isn't enough time in the day nor enough energy in one human to do that. And if they had the option to have a partner in raising those kids, someone responsible and moral to help financially and emotionally and logistically, those single mothers would jump at the chance. Because being a superhero is fucking exhausting and they just want what is best for their kids.
There may be some people out there (I don't know where) who deny the breakdown of society. They might think that we are advancing and being more open-minded and politically correct and all that bullshit. Here is the thing. Morals and values. I'm not talking about your stance on gay marriage or abortion or welfare or tax cuts. I'm talking about the Golden Rule..."Do unto others as you would have them done unto you." And if you have really low self-esteem, another good moral is to simply respect the life, liberty, and property of others.
Respect. Why can't we fucking respect one another?
I remember being in middle or high school the first time I heard the phrase, "Respect isn't something that is given, it is earned." I was like, "Oohhh...yeah. Totally."
And you know what? That phrase is bullshit. It was made up by someone who probably had a lot of people beat them down in life. And I'm sorry about that. But the number one moral that kids should be learning nowadays is that everyone deserves respect.
I was going to say that until a person does something to lose your respect, then it is OK to do whatever. And then I realized that is bullshit too. Just because someone pisses you off doesn't give you the right to pull out a handgun and shoot them. Even if you have a permit for the gun. I guess as Jesus said, "Turn the other cheek." Or as my father-in-law would say, "Be the better person."
If all people in all societies would treat each other with respect, there would be a lot less war. A lot less murders. A lot less rapes. And I bet a lot less divorce. No one should be treated like shit just because. Because they are white, or black, or gay, or straight, or Catholic, or Jewish, or an illegal immigrant, or really old and driving below the speed limit on the interstate.
Have respect for others. Have compassion for others. Treat others as you would want to be treated. It may not be as fun as mocking someone behind their back or telling someone else to fuck off, but it really is better for all of humanity in the long run. This isn't a new concept. (See Jesus quote above.) But it seems more and more people believe the "Respect is not given, it is earned" quote, as opposed to believing in following the Golden Rule. And no one seems to like where this country is headed, so why not try something different?
So to all those assholes who are skewing every word that comes out of the candidates mouths...STOP IT! Seriously, just tell me what I need to know about each guy's stance on each issue, and quit going for ratings. Otherwise we are just going in circles, like a dog chasing his tail.The dog is getting older, and before you know it, he'll be dying and everyone will be like, "Shit, what happened to the United States, the most powerful country in the world?"
Sam has always been a talker. Charlie...not so much. Well, she likes to talk a whole lot, in French. Or something else that we just do not understand.
The other day, while at the park, Sam fell running on a piece of playground equipment. She whacked her head on a metal bar in the process. When asked if she was OK, her response was, "Yeah. If I would just watch where I am going, things like that wouldn't happen!" OK...way to give yourself a lecture.
While forcing the girls to clean the playroom last week, Sam was literally walking in circles talking to her "friend" on an old cell phone. Which we seem to have in abundance in our house. When I told her to get off of the phone and help clean, she said, "MOM! Sshh! I'm talking on the phone!" And ran out of the room. Where I had to chase her down and rip the phone from her clenched little fist while she fought me and then threw a crying fit. SHE IS THREE.
Everytime Sam gets in our nanny's car, she goes on and on... "Your car is so much smaller than our car. And you don't have a TV in your car like we do, because we are lucky." "I've had a rough day." "Mom, I can do it because I'm bigger than Charlie. I'm the big sister." "Mom, Charlie is crabby today. I think we need to get her to bed early tonight." Actually, just think of anything that a teacher would say to her students or a mom would say to her children, put it in a squeaky little girls voice, and you have it...a Sam-ism.
As far as Charlie goes...well, let's just say that she is a little more stubborn and defiant than her generally well behaved older sister. Some of her favorite phrases...
NO! I DON'T WANT TO GO TO BED! Mm-hmm.(Instead of saying Yes, she says this in the cutest little girl voice ever.)
Beep-Beep Kale! or Beep-Beep Kabo! (just depends on who is in her way)
Soo-kee (her way of saying our new nanny's name)
I WANNA GO BYE-BYE! I DON'T WANNA GO BYE-BYE!! NO! I WANNA DO IT!! Mo-om...I wanna watch George!
I wanna go potty. (usually said either after she has peed in her diaper or while I am trying to get her ready for bed)
I wanna brush my teeth! Followed shortly by, "I want a vitamin!" (Flintstones really are the best, aren't they? I remember as a kid sneak-eating them, and way more than one a day.)
She is also one of those kids who thinks that if told no, then she has a better chance of getting what she wants if she just ASKS FOR IT LOUDER. Which, you know, totally works.
Fortunately for me, both girls have sort of potty-trained themselves. It is not an overnight process, or even a three day process. One day, Charlie just ran and peed in the potty all by herself. Then she started taking her diapers off because she just couldn't stand them after she peed in them. (Sometimes, not all the time. Which is why I am not pushing the potty training thing.) After she peed on the floor a couple of times, I started taking her to the bathroom about once an hour. Which actually works great. (It doesn't work great when daddy is in charge, and the timing is not quite right, and suddenly Kale is being accused of peeing on the carpet.) I've heard that potty-training girls is way easier than boys, and I totally get it. Sam was super motivated once she made up her mind, and Charlie likes to be just like her big sister. I just don't understand why she doesn't give herself lectures when she misbehaves.
Do you know where my husband is right now? Well, he's lying on the bed, but that is not where he wants to be. He WANTS to be at the Home Depot.
This isn't news, people. According to him, the Home Depot is the funnest place on earth. That's right...on EARTH.
Let me backtrack. A few weeks ago, our darling little Charlie started climbing out of her crib. Which meant that instead of playing quietly by herself for hours every morning, she rolls out of bed as soon as the sun comes up. And toddles her little pee-filled diaper into my room and climbs up onto my bed. On top of me. Effectively waking me up. And I am always too tired and lazy to take her back to HER bed, so I let her sleep the rest of the night (morning) with me. Except I never really sleep because all I can smell is pee and ew and I really should change her diaper but if I do that I might as well get up and I don't want to get up because I am so warm and comfy. Well, I was warm and comfy until someone woke me up and took over the middle of the bed effectively shoving me to the edge almost to the floor and on top of Kale.
This has happened every morning for weeks. WEEKS people. I have complained to everyone on facebook and twitter more than once about how I will never ever ever get a full nights sleep again. Like, ever. The sun wakes up Charlie every morning since her vertical blinds only half exist, and so she feels as though she must get out of bed and bother snuggle me.
Last night, our darling child also got up at 3:30am. So I rocked her until she was ready to go back to sleep and fell back in my bed. So let's just say I was NOT thrilled when I heard the turn of her door knob. Yes, I wake up now when the DOOR KNOB TURNS. And next thing I knew, she was next to me. I did the first thing that came to my mind, and something I should have done weeks ago.
I kicked Workaholic. And told him to take her back to bed.
And you know what? He did. He did so gladly. Well, maybe not gladly, but willingly. I only had to kick him and tell him once. I drifted back to sleep for the whole 45 minutes I had left before my alarm went off.
She was still asleep when I left for work.
Tonight, Workaholic said to me, "You know what? Charlie wakes up every morning because of the sun. I'm going to run to Home Depot after dinner and pick up some blackout vertical blinds."
Are. You. Kidding. Me.
This is the exact same thing I have said to him every. single. morning since she turned two and started crawling out of her bed. As soon as it became his problem sleep disruption, he was aaalll about finding the solution.
Sheesh. Men.
I just love when my husband fulfills the stereotype. It makes me smile. Even when I want to smack him upside the head.
In the spring, I took a look at my calender and kind of went, "Oh shit." We have a lot of plans. The plan was to be busy little bees all summer, and then I decided to top it off by painting the inside and outside of my house, de-cluttering, and completely rearrange everything. I may or may not have lost my mind.
Between my cousin, a friend, and my brother-in-law getting married, that took care of 5 weekends. I had visitors planned for a few others, so really, my first truly free weekend would be in August. Maybe a lot of people live like this, especially once their kids get older, but this was my first time having such a busy summer. It was weird. Really, I'm NOT that popular.
Right about the time I realized all of our commitments, we decided to send the girls back to daycare. This involved a lifestyle shift in that I now was responsible for getting them up and out of the house every morning, instead of just me getting to work every other day showered and dressed on time. (The other days I work from home, shower optional.) So, yeah. Everyone else does it, but for me, it was a really rough transition.
I backed my van into Matt's van, twice. And then I took off my side mirror with a mailbox.
I lost my camera. The one that simply cannot take a bad picture. The best camera EVER. And then I found it. And then I broke it.
I lost my wedding rings. Yep, you heard right. My wedding rings. And also the ring that Workaholic gave me on my 21st birthday that I wore every. single. day. I remember the last minute I saw them, but there was a lot of movement in between now and then, and well, let's just say that I have not given up hope.
So it really should not have come as much of a surprise to me when I lost Sampson.
We were at the lake. It was late. I was exhausted. It had been a long couple of weeks. I just wanted to go home. The house was a disaster. Workaholic and I looked at each other, and he said, "You know what? I have to come back here tomorrow night. I'll just clean up then."
He was leaving in the morning, and I left shortly after he agreed to clean. This was no time to let him change his mind! Sampson had gotten out and I was too tired to look for him before I left. We agreed to leave him in Michigan for the few days that I'd be gone, besides...Workaholic would be back that evening.
That Monday was hard. I was exhausted, the girls were exhausted, life felt even more out of sorts than normal. So Workaholic came home to help me that evening instead of going back and cleaning. And that is when he told me that he left Sampson outside.
"Umm...why would you do that? I hope he is there when we go back!"
He wasn't. I had been gone three days.
A feeling of dread overwhelmed me. I just knew that a coyote had gotten him. Workaholic just knew that some little 8 year old girl had found him and hid him in her closet so her parents didn't know that she had taken in a cat. He encouraged me to walk through the nearby woods and put up flyer's around the trailer park that is behind our cottage. "He'll come back."
That was 6 weeks ago.
At our small lake, someone writes a newsletter that gets delivered to all lake residents on Fridays during the summer. I kept telling myself to put a LOST CAT ad in the newsletter, but also thought, "What is the point? Even if someone has him, most people in the trailer park don't get it and I already put out lost cat flyer's. He's gone. Yet another thing I lost."
But then a guy lost his turtle. His turtle. And he put a LOST TURTLE ad in the newsletter. And I thought, "What the hell? Might as well give it a try."
So I sent a picture and ridiculously descriptive ad to the editor and waited. A whole week.
On Friday while at work, my cell phone rang with a number I didn't know. And they left a voicemail. HE'S BEEN SPOTTED! And then I got another call from a number I didn't know. HE HAS DEFINITELY BEEN SPOTTED!! And then a third and a fourth call came. The fourth call was the jackpot. Not only had this girl seen him, but she had played with him regularly and recently. Apparently the extremely friendly portion of my ad was the clincher.
On Saturday morning, I went and picked him up. He had tuna breath and I swear is fatter than when he left. Apparently he didn't go into the trailer park, he went through the woods and headed south, visiting anyone who would have him. And lots of people saw him, and played with him, and fed him. The young teen girls who captured him and handed him over were giddy with excitement. They'd seen him a lot over the course of the last few weeks, and were so happy that he had a home to return to. I was just hoping it really was him and I wasn't bringing home the wrong cat again.
For the first couple of hours after we got home, he was a bit skittish. And to be honest, I really don't know where he was. But then I found him on Sam's bed, and petted him for a few minutes. I wanted to hear his squeaky purr. (have yet to hear it) After that, he came out and parked himself on his spot on the couch and didn't move much for the next 36 hours. I guess sleeping while out in the forest all alone may not be that easy. He needed a good long nap.
I cannot tell you how happy and relieved I am that my family of seven is all back under one roof. (Well, sort of. We got home last night and Sampson ran out the door tonight. I guess he just couldn't handle not having a taste of the wild. Even after a 6 week walkabout.)
Even though Sampson disappearing was pretty much Workaholic's fault, I still felt like I shared some of the blame. It was something else that I lost. But he is back! And he isn't broken! (that I know of) I know that we can't keep him inside all the time, he just won't have it and would be miserable if we forced it. But I hope that from now on, when he takes off, he can either find his way home or at least I try a little bit harder to look for him. He's a part of our family and I'm so grateful to everyone who helped him get back home.
I have had a whirlwind of a few weeks. In the last three weekends, I have been lucky enough to see six people profess their never-ending adoration for and to each other.
They will love, honor, and cherish each other through sickness and health, for richer or richer, and the women will obey. (OK, maybe no one actually said obey, but you know the guys were thinking it!)
After the final wedding, I realized that there are a few key things that need to happen in order for a guest who is also a parent to have fun. That and there are just some songs, that no matter how much you think they are just SO CLICHE, that absolutely should be played at a wedding reception. (It just isn't a real celebration until you have line danced.)
1. If you are a parent, either leave your kids at home or hire a nanny to come with you. Yes, that's right...I said HIRE A NANNY. That means that it isn't just Gail and Workaholic, it is Gail and Workaholic plus one. During dinner, you get to eat. After dinner, you get to mingle and chat with people that you only see at weddings and funerals. And during the dance portion of the evening, the nanny takes your kids out to the car to watch a movie, pee in the car seat, and then act as your designated driver for the ride home. It is a win-win for everyone! (It is better to hire someone if you can afford it than bring along a family member, especially a grandparent, to act as a babysitter. The guilt factor is just too much.)
2. Now, #1 says to hire a nanny, but really, the best option is to leave the kids at home. An even better option is to hire someone for at least 24 hours, so you can have fun at night and not have to worry about the darn kids waking you up the next day. OR, even BETTER, leave the kids at home with the husband and the dogs and go to an out-of-town wedding stag. Dance like a fool with your cousins and then go throw your migraine up in the banquet hall toilet. (Be THAT cousin who puked in the bathroom.) And then rebound and stay until the very. end. of the reception. And then sleep until noon at the hotel. THAT'S the way to do it.
3. For a wedding to be a real success...open bar. Enough said.
4. Dance. Dance like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. Be a fool. Dance like no one is watching. Because really...no one is. No one will remember how you were dancing, because there is an open bar. (unless there is a videographer...in which case, well...just be aware that you are on camera for the rest of eternity)
5. Talk to people you normally might never talk to. Just plop your ass right down next to them and say hello. You know what? They'll say hello back. And if the conversation starts to get awkward, just scream "I LOVE THIS SONG!" and run out to the dance floor.
6. Be sure to tell everyone how much you love them. Preferably, tell them that you "heart" them. And how they are your most favoritest people in the whole wide world. Be sure to say that to everyone you talk to.
I am sure that I have lots more tips, but basically...eat, drink, be merry. Dance your fool head off.
Speaking of dancing, wedding are the best places in the world for white people to get their groove on. I tried to get several men on the dance floor over the past three weeks, and each time I was told, "I don't dance, I'm white." Whatever.
The following songs are a must...trust me, I'd been to 40 weddings by the time I was 21, so I know.
"Old Time Rock n Roll" - As a little kid, I was the one to request this at each and every one of my cousin's weddings. I swear, there was one time that they played it three times, and that was the best. wedding. ever.
"Love Shack" - Wanna get people on the dance floor shaking their groove thing? There will be shaking and jumping and screaming of the lyrics. Fun will be had.
"Shout" - Yes, Shout. At my cousin's son's wedding, it was decided that not only was it played at the mother's wedding, but also her mother's wedding. The song stands the test of time.
"Summer of 69" - Did you know that Bryan Adams was 9 years old in the summer of 1969? I don't think he was talking about the year when he wrote the song...and everyone knows it.
"Footloose" - Yes, another song from the 80s. But there is nothing like watching a bunch of people standing in a circle on the dance floor kicking their feet out and doing the Willard Shuffle. And knowing exactly what they are trying to emulate. And then running out to join them.
"Wonderful Tonight" - Since most of the guests will NOT be in their prime, they need a break every now and then with a slow song. This one'll get even the laziest of husbands on the dance floor.
"The Electric Slide" - I don't care how corny and 90s it is. Everyone knows it, and grandma will like watching the kids and adults trip over their feet.
Finally, there is one song that is a requirement for me to declare a party a perfect party. I sang this at my own wedding, which could be the reason why I think my wedding was the bestest wedding reception EVER.
"The Devil Went Down to Georgia"
Bonus points if someone hands me the microphone.
I am sure there are a ton of other songs that you MUST hear at a wedding reception. What are your favorites?
