Still obsessed with learing to winter sow seeds? check.
Still adjusting to permanently muddy and mischevious puppy? check.
Still spending too much time at work not actually working? check.
Other than that, the whole world is upside down right now. Suffice it to say we have the universe's worst au pair ever right now and it's all coming to blows. We want her out three days ago, she wants out three days ago, and the agency (under federal regulation and quite fussy about actually following the "rules") can't make any final decisions until some head honcho gets back in country on Tuesday. Can you say "living hell"? Can you say "world's most uncomfortable living arrangements"? Can you say "oh my God, thinking about the fact that my little one's are at home with her right now makes me want to alternatively throw up and sneak home to punch her in the throat"? I can't sleep. I've been eating like crap. The closest thing I've had to real food in a week was a hot dog and 1/2 a hot pretzel with cheese at my son's baseball game on Wednesday. I've got the stress headache that just won't quit, and my belly hurts. Joy. I'm having sort of a freak out about the whole situation...not only because I hate her with a molten hot fire of a million hells, but because she's still there and I have to swallow back my vomit every time I see her. Also because there's no way to tell how long it will take before we get a replacement, so what the hell do I do with my kids in the meantime? It's going to be scramble city around here...but you know, I'd rather be stressed out and struggling to find people to help me temporarily, and have to talk my boss into fronting me some vacation days from next year to stay with them, and potentially work all day Sat. and Sun. to make up the hours, then to spend one more night with her under my roof. And my poor husband...not only does he have to put up with the palpable tension at home, and my raving lunacy about the whole situation, but, bless his heart (mark this day in history...I'm about to say something nice about him) he's just as upset/worried/anxious as I am. Normally I'm the one totally over-reacting and acting like a rabid momma bear protecting her cubs, and he's the one trying to reason with me and talk me off the cliff...but this time, we are in total aggreement. Which is not only uncommon, to say the least, but sort of scarey. Like if we both think it's this bad, then it is. We're not supposed to "kick her out" and she's not supposed to move out until after the meeting (Sunday) and the final decision (Tuesday, I hope), but she told the go-between that she had made a friend here locally that she wanted to move in with until they found her a replacement host family (actually, she said she was going to move in because they were going to pay her to help with their elderly grandmother, to which the go-between said, um, no, you're here under contract with the government to be an au-pair, and if you leave here you either go to another family or you go home) and we're going to tell her tonight that she should go ahead and move out now, and just come back for the meeting. Hell, if they call me on it, I'll just say we told her she could go stay there for the weekend, and she misunderstood. She's been playing the damn "Sorry, I no understand" card since she got here and getting away with way too much...it's about damn time we got some use out of it. Hopefully, she'll pack her shit, and I'll be done with her. If she does, I'm throwing a huge party tomorrow and you're all invited. Bring your friends, I'll even pop for the beer.

Ohhh...more flowers! www.wintersown.org will send you 6 free packs of seeds for a SASE!

So, here at work, we needed to get some roofing materials onto the roof...long story short, the city here requires that you put some sort of fencing around the roof air conditioners...they claim it's to make the building more attractive from the highway, but frankly, some of these places have just a chain link fence around them, so it's not like it has to be pretty, and it's not like you're fooling anyone, we still know it's an air conditioner, and who the hell, by the way, has ever driven by a building and said "gee that's a nice place...too bad those air conditioners are on the roof" but whatever. Anyway, so we had a wood fence around both of ours, and when we had storms earlier this summer they blew over and damaged the roof and now we need new ones. We decided to go with a white vinyl trellis mounted on a frame...looks nicer, wind can go through it, instead of blowing it all to hell, and it's a ton lighter then the wood. All good plans. The catch is, everyone here with the exception of me, is terrified of heights. So this morning, I had to stand on a pallet, on the forklift forks, balancing the damn trellis pieces while I got lifted 3 stories in the air. Then I had to maneuver the trellis onto the low roof (over the canopy of the door, sort of) without falling off. Oh, and the hook on the safety harness wouldn't "catch", so I was clutching the forklift with one hand and trying to move the trellis with the other. and it's windy. and the forklift sways. Oy. I'm pretty sure both my hands are bruised...they hurt. One from the death grip on the forklift, and the other from the damn trellis that kept catching on the roof flashing and I had to fight with. Now I have to do it again with all the wood for the frames, and then I have to step over the edging, to stand on the low roof and hand all the stuff up to the top roof. Mind you, my heart hasn't returned to it's standard rate yet and that was 10 minutes ago. and now my hands are all shaky with the adrenaline coursing through me. I'm making them go get me a new safety clip before I go up again though...since I know the wood will take two hands.

In other news...we just can't find any chrysalis from the monarch caterpillars...it's been bumming us out. So last night we emptied out the HUGE Costco pretzel container we've had sitting on our dryer to collect loose change, and turned it into a butterfly habitat. We hope. We put in perilite and potting soil, cut a bunch of milkweed, treated it with rooting hormone and arranged it in there, then we took the only caterpillar we could find last night and moved him into his new home. It looks like it will work pretty good, as long as I can figure out where to put the container where
#1. it will get sun
#2. the little one's won't pop the very sophisticated wax-paper and rubber-band top off
#3. the puppies won't knock over and destroy.

We've already talked to the kids about it (which, right, the kids would NEVER do something I told them not to...ha), so I'm mostly worried about #3. And remembering to keep the potting soil moist, and hoping the milkweed roots enough not to rot. Course if it doesn't, I can just cut off some more and replace...but I'd prefer not to. Being as it's just one more thing I'd have to remember to do, and lately, my remembering-to-do-things part of the brain has been overheating pretty easily.

After all the drama this year with the planting of the flowers and the re-planting of the ones I planted in the wrong place, and the subsequent attack on the flowers by the little innocent puppy and her best friend and previous plant attacking boxer, and the wiring of the yard to prevent another plant homicide emergency, you'd think I'd have just about had my fill of the whole flower thing. But you'd be wrong. I have developed an acute case of winter-sowing-obsession that has apparently taken over complete control of my frontal lobe and made it impossible to get anything else done. It seems, as of late, if I'm not reading about which seeds to try, I'm in the yard searching for seed pods, or at the store snatching seed pods off their end-of-the-year-almost-dead plants, or tromping through the field behind work trying to find seeds on wildflowers. I need professional help. And, *oh!* planning! what am I going to put them in? should I put them in this? or this? and where? over here? my husband thinks I'm crazy, and this time, he might be right.

Oh, and I got a 95 on my first micro test...4 more to go!

Nothing like a pair of jeans right from the dryer to knock you off your feeling skinny high horse. Note to self: Lay off the chocolate, and an extra 30 on the treadmill wouldn't hurt.

In other news, my first big microbiology test is tomorrow night. I'm sort of freaking out a little. I've gone through all of my notes and made study cards, and hope to read the chapters again tonight...so far, without taking notes from the book, I've got about 400 study cards. I think my brain is on fire.

Is it bad that I made my husband get out of bed last night at 11:24 to go search and destroy the LOUDEST CRICKET IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD that was chirping from somewhere behind the table in the living room? Seriously. He was THAT loud. It was actually pretty easy to convince him...I simply told him that neither of us would be able to sleep, since if I couldn't sleep I'd make sure he couldn't either. See? Easy.

It probably didn't help that I also made him go outside 20 minutes earlier to see how pretty the moon looked. I tried to take a picture, but the glare from the streetlights messed it all up. So, no picture for you. But, just so you don't feel bad, here's a pic of the little monarch caterpillar one week after the first picture...they grow up so fast *sniff* *sniff*




Seriously...plant some tropical milkweed somewhere in your yard. I'm having so much fun with this damn thing...Most of the big ones have fallen prey to the birds, I'm afraid, but we still have one big, two mediums, and last night I found probably 6 little babies...no bigger than maggots, hidden between the little blooms. And then, and THEN, we found a ton of eggs that must be ready to hatch, because they were bopping all over the leaf...imagine a leaf with 30 mexican jumping beans (mini beans, of course...the eggs are tiny) all attached. And, the kids think it's the coolest thing ever, thus, by the relative property, I must be the coolest mom ever. It's simple math, folks.

Labor day labor...Project: Girls' room.

The room, including 3 coats of paint on the bed, and a pink glitter glaze on the bed and dresser faces, took me three days to do. I scraped the popcorn crap off the ceiling...I hate that crap. Painted, ceiling and walls, primed and painted the bed (was red wood and black wrought iron), re-did the dresser handles, etc, etc, etc.

The girls love it, and yes, that's little man in the top bunk, but it's not his room...he just loves to be in pictures.

Oh, and I did go back and get a hot pink boa to drape over the white framed picture...just to tie it in with the windows...looks good, I think.

In other news...the au pair we have from Thailand is going on her first vacation. Normally, the au pairs we have had go to visit family they have in America, or they hook up with a couple of other au pairs and go see something together. Not this one. This one met a boy online, when she was still in Thailand, that she chats with all the time. And, yes, she's going out to stay with him for a week. Never met him, but they're "just friends" even though he's offered to pay for her plane ticket and let her stay at his place so she doesn't have to pay for a hotel. Don't these people have Dateline in Thailand? She cannot seem to grasp what a bad, bad, bad idea this is. I've tried talking her out of it, but what can I do? She's 24. She's allowed to spend her vacation how ever she wants. But damn. And she's told me, in the past, that she's a virgin and doesn't "do things" with boys because it would be disrespectful to her parents and she cannot do those things until married. Which is noble, sure, but I find it hard to believe that this guy is not going to expect "something" when he's paying for a girl to fly out to New Jersey and stay with him for a week. Call me a cynic if you must, but I just don't believe there's that many "nice young men" out there anymore that meet people online, flirt with them for a year, invite them down and foot the bill, and think they're just going to sit around and talk and maybe see all the great and beautiful sites in new jersey. So, there's a betting pool going on as to whether she'll come back at all. For all I know, she'll marry the guy to get her citizinship and never be heard from again. If not something worse. Oh, and when I walked past the computer the other day, they were chatting with the webcam on, and he was sitting there with his shirt off. That's a "look at me" if I've ever seen one, and I'm sure he thought he was impressing her/exciting her...not that he seemed to be much to look at. This should be interesting. It blows my mind. I mean, America is not the only place where bad things happen...bad things happen in Thailand too, right? I mean, she's got to realize that this is a potentially dangerous situation, doesn't she?

I always forget just how fast a puppy will grow...Sydney's looking long and lanky lately and it's such a change from the little ball of puff we brought home not too long ago. She's still insane though, so it's nice to know some things never change. She has this really adorable habit (only, not really adorable at all) of standing in her water dish and "digging" and "pouncing" all the water out onto the floor. Oy. Makes for a very slippery surface for the two kids that are always moving too fast to pay attention to such insignificant details as the current floor-slipperyness-quotient. There's a lot of slipping and sliding around the house lately, and much crashing ensues. Not to mention the fact that her paws are always dirty, ensuring that any water that may remain in the bowl once the digging and pouncing has lost its appeal is muddy and gross and even on the rare occasions that she doesn't accidentally step on the side of the bowl and dump the remains onto the floor (which is rare), results in little muddy footprints that are actually quite a handy little map, should one care to track the path of destruction that she has a habit to cause. Squeeky toy fluff here, crumbs from a stolen hot dog there, screaming child and victim of said crime against hot dog here, soggy smelly sock stolen from the laundry room there...it's sort of like my own little daily treasure hunt. It's fun, fun, fun. My DH is convinced she's cross-eyed, but I'm pretty sure it's just a little trick your eyes play on you when you're looking at a dog w/two different colored eyes. Though if she keeps smashing into furniture and door jambs at high speed, I may rethink my stance. DD #1 and I have finally got around to getting her into a harness and we took her and the boxer for a walk on Wed. and Thurs. morning before school. She seems to enjoy it...the boxer, while she loves to go for a walk, seems less than amused at having to stop every 5 steps to let us untangle the puppy. I do believe her herding instinct is starting to rear its head, which results in the said entanglement...she's forever circling around and going over and under the boxer...sort of funny to watch, but it does make the leash handling more difficult.

Isn't that sweet? Like mother, like daughter...she may have gotten her daddy's eyes, but by damn, she got her mother's hair...poor little thing.

And, yes, that IS the exact same hairstyle I'm sporting today...why do you ask?

Earlier this spring, when I was spending all of my time and all of my money on flowers and peat moss, I ran across a "save the butterflies!" foundation. Now, here's a little trivia for you, apparently the Monarch butterfly's caterpillar can only eat milkweed. Thus, with all the new development and the destroying of the natural habitats and such, this particular foundation makes its money by threatening kind-hearted saps like me, who obviously cannot be trusted with a checkbook, that if we don't act now, soon the poor little Monarch will perish. So, being who I am, I sent them a small donation in exchange for a "I love butterflies!" sticker that I gave to my daughter, and three of the tiniest little tropical milkweed plants you've ever seen. Seriously. I took one look at them and said to my husband, "well, these should be dead by June". But, joy of joys, apparently they are less "tropical milk" and more "weed", because regardless of my inability to properly read planting instructions indicating rate of growth and size, and also my penchance for digging up and re-planting things 6 or 7 times, they have flourished! Behold!


And here is a terribly fuzzy shot of the little guys happily munching on the leaves as we speak...


And for good measure, my little $5 hibiscus joyfully blooming in the wrong direction (hint: face the house next time little flower, or I will immediately tear you from your home and replant you facing the other direction at which time you will decide to bloom on the backside again. bitch.)

This is the really not very good picture of the huge snapping turtle that tried to eat my foot. He was much more impressive and scarey in person...just couldn't get a good shot without him attaching himself to me in a very painful and permenantly damaging way.

In other news, The puppy has been so very helpful in the garden. And by helpful, I mean of course, ripping out plants, oh so expensive plants, by the roots and flinging dirt all about. It's spectacular, really. Unless you consider the time and the money and the sweat that's gone into the garden this year, and also the money, and then it's not really all that spectacular after all. So back I go to try and propogate more hibiscus, since that seems to be the only thing I've had any luck propogating, and thinking about what to buy (again) to fill the new, empty spaces. On the plus side, those little paws do a fantastic job of tilling the soil. On the down side, she doesn't till in a neat fashion, and I'll be scooping handfuls of dirt off the grass for weeks. Unless it rains before I get to it. And somehow I've lost my very favorite pair of pruners, so I couldn't even begin the propogating last night and now have to remember to do it tonight after I get out of my microbiology class. In the dark. Sweet. So I had to go out last night and buy another collar for the underground fence to keep her out of the gardens and me out of the loony bin. It only took 3 shocks and now she knows that when the beep is beeping, she'd better turn around. Pretty smart little thing. Now, as long as I remember to put the collar on every morning, most of the garden will be safe. There is one little area that isn't covered, so I may have to dig up part of the wire and run it at a different angle...fun weekend job!! I also made this really nasty smelling potion that I got out of a "backyard problem solver" book that's supposed to keep dogs from digging. All natural stuff, but boy does it ever smell bad...I can't imagine she'll want to be sticking her nose into it. Seems like a lot of work, I know, but she was quickly teaching the boxer that "hey! digging is fun!" and that is one lesson I'd prefer she didn't know, thank you very much. Oh, and I took apart the toilet and fixed it all by myself and it doesn't leak. Talk about a productive night.

ha ha HA!

Kristie, you ROCK!

Right. So every day I've been logging in and trying to post a picture of the new puppy, and blogger just happens to hate me, so, yeah, not going so well. And by every day, I mean, when I remember and then I try 48 times because I'm pissed that that stupid little "image uploading" graphic is only partially loaded on my screen and then I have to close it out and try again and I just keep thinking "okay, one more try" and then that turns into another, which turns into another, which turns into 48, and considerably less work done then was intended at the start of the day. So, red-merle aussie with a "bonus" tail and mismatched eyes. Close your eyes and picture her...no, much cuter than that...okay, better.

I also intended on posting a picture I took of the GIANT SNAPPING TURTLE that was in the middle of the road on my way to work yesterday, but then he became the GIANT SNAPPING TURTLE that had made it into the grass by the time I turned my ride around and remembered how to turn the camera on and got out of the car and found him, and got some really crappy pictures of him in the tall grass, in which one shot I tried to put my foot next to him, for size comparisson and all, and managed to take the picture without any part of my foot showing up in the screen at all, plus only 1/2 his tail and I'm pretty sure none of his head. and then a couple more pictures of various turtle parts that were, frankly, much more impressive in person, when you could SEE my foot next to him for the size comparisson, and then I tried to get him to poke his ugly mug out of his shell by gently kicking him in the ass, at which time he turned into the GIANT SNAPPING TURTLE THAT HISSES AND TRIES TO EAT MY FOOT. It was great fun. I'd show you the pictures, but, you know.

And then today, on the way to work, there were two pretty does in the middle of the street, and I was going to take another picture to not share with you, but then I remembered that I can't share pictures with you, and also, I forgot my camera. Which, interestingly enough, is the exact reason you didn't get to see a picture of the sunflower field when they burst into bloom a few weeks ago.

Too late. Blogger won't let me post a picture, but trust me when I tell you she's the cutest puppy ever.

In other news, I've received my Precision Nutrition kit. I like his approach. I'm not so sure how I feel about the fact that he's trounced all possible excuses I might come up with as to why I don't have time to eat healthy. Who am I without the ability to rationalize my eating blunders? Damn him.

quickly...someone tell me all the good reasons that I do not need another dog

Race for the cure was INSANE! So many people, which is great for the cure, but hard to run in! My hips hurt all day on Saturday, from all the weaving and jumping over stroller wheels! I thought for sure I'd be sore on Sunday (hips and knees) but I felt great...this body must be getting used to running after all! St.Louis bread company was there with cranberry bagels shaped like a ribbon...delish! The girls I ended up going with were really fun, even though they all run a lot faster than me, so I felt like I was either going to throw up or my heart was going to explode the whole time. We talked last night at volleyball and decided to do the local Fourth of July 5K...now I just have to work on getting a lot faster before then! I'm having second thoughts about doing the marathon in Oct...truth be told, I've been having 2nd thoughts for months now. It just feels "lonely" to me, going by myself and all...at first my dh was going to go to watch and we were going to make a long weekend w/out the kids, but now that he's changed jobs, he won't be able to get the time off, so it'd just be me. And though I'm sure I could do it, now it doesn't seem like any fun to me, and it's been difficult to motivate myself to go do those long lonely weekend runs. Especially after my dog decided she doesn't go any farther than 6 miles! So, I don't know. I really feel like it'd be more fun to just stay around town and keep doing little races with my new friends, or even by myself, if they're local. That seems like FUN, and not so much WORK, you know? I don't know what to do, and I'm getting all stressed, and my stomach is in knots...I'm afraid to make a decision either way. Ugh.
dh is off early tonight, and there's no kids sports on the schedule, which means I may be able to go back to kickboxing tonight! It'd be my first time back since I started having all the shoulder trouble in Feb. Hopefully I'll get to go and the arm will hold up just fine.

I hate junebugs. No really, I hate them.

Normally I'm a live and let live kind of gal...except mosquitos. I hate them too. And flies, but only when they're in my house. Oh, and also ants. Okay, maybe I'm not such a live and let live, but that's not my point. My point is, I hate junebugs. They give me the heebie-jeebies like you wouldn't believe. I'm not sure if it's the noise they make bouncing off my windows, or if it's the fact that they divebomb me at 45 mph, or if it's just because they look like they just climbed out of some pre-historic swamp and want to bite me. They're icky. I tell you this only because I was attacked last night by a swarm of junebugs. Do junebugs swarm? I'm pretty sure junebugs swarm. Anyway, we got a new storm door, and as it turns out it's apparently big and scary when you're a dog. So I've been trying for two days to convince my dog that the door is, in fact, a door, and not some horrid monster attached to the house, waiting to pounce and suck her heart out. So, yeah, that's going really great, and I spent 30 minutes holding the door open last night speaking in my stupid dog voice, when the junebugs attacked. The first one landed in my hair...which, frankly, is enough to send me into seizures, and then all his brothers joined in. One hit my neck, one on my upper back, one on my left cheek. So, I did what any rational person would do, ran across the back yard screaming and flailing my arms. Then I picked up the dog (I give up, really I do...she won't use the door on her own) and went inside. About 20 minutes later, I was laying on the bed flipping through the channels when I felt something crawling inside my shirt. Yep, you guessed it. JUNEBUG! I swear I almost had to go to the hospital.

In my research this morning I discovered that "When toasted in hot ashes, the internal body parts and juices of the bug congeal into a nugget of pure golden nutrition. After peeling off shriveled legs, wings, and wing case, the remaining orb of nourishment can be eaten one at a time or by the handful.
Toasted June bugs have a surprisingly sweet delightful taste. The flavor closely resembles thick raw molasses or crudely made ribbon cane syrup. It is difficult to eat just one.
Crushed into fine powder, bug-flour added to hot water forms a rich nourishing drink perfectly suited to victims suffering from anemia, dehydration, and other maladies. If mixed with warm milk, it has a malted milk taste.
However, toasted June bugs should be consumed in measured proportions because of the heavy concentration of protein and fat. If eaten in large amounts, the rich oily meal can result in stomach ache or mild diarrhea." from this really disturbing website. I find it interesting that they claim that it's difficult to eat just one. Mmmmm...Junebug flavored Lay's Potato Chips....

The thing is, looks can be deceiving. I LOOK like I’m in shape. I’ve got nice muscles, an okay body fat, and I’ve used up more of my available brain space on exercise facts, nutritional nuggets of info, and transformation techniques then, frankly, I care to admit. But here’s the thing…my cardiovascular level of endurance is totally in the toilet. It’s a fact about me that I try desperately to hide. I even lie about it, sometimes.

I claim I “used to” run miles at a time. LIE.

I claim I love to run. LIE.

Truth be known, I’m the slowest, most irritable “runner” you’ll ever come across. So it makes perfect sense, then, that I’ve registered for a marathon. Right? Right. See, I was feeling kind of blue the other week, getting close to my birthday, feeling kind of goal-less and plan-less, bummed about my shoulder keeping me from working out, ashamed that I was supposed to be starting a running program months ago w/my friend far far away (we decided to do the same “starter” program on the same days and check in with each other as to our progress), and while she’s on week 6, I’ve not really yet started. Blue. Out of sorts. Crabby. And I’ve secretly always wanted to be good at running. You know, not bad enough to actually work at it, but it’s always kind of been there hanging around in my brain, that I’d like to one day be good.

So, screw the 5K…why give myself a reasonable goal when I can completely obsess and torture myself over a looming deadline and 26.2 miles? That just wouldn’t be me. Unfortunately.

So, it’s kind of strange, this new deadline of mine. I’ve never really (in my adult life) had a “performance” goal. I mean, I’ve had improvement goals (increase my bench press), transformation goals (drop some body fat) but I’ve never had a “by this time I have to run this far” type of goal. And it’s kind of freaking me out. It’s kind of a long time for me to try and patiently, intelligently, improve my performance, week by week, mile by mile. I’m an instant gratification kind of gal. I want it done yesterday. It’s hard for me to wrap my little pea-brain around the concept of today I can run to the mailbox and in just this many baby steps I will be running farther then I commute to work each day. So, the point is, today was day one of my new training program, which at this point consists of running as far as I can without wanting to throw myself into oncoming traffic. Which is not that far, as it turns out. And I’m not yet brave enough to tell anyone that I’m “training” for fear that they might want to run with me one day, and, as anyone who has seen me run can attest, I’m less of a runner than I am an old-man-shuffler. So, do me a favor and don’t watch me run, and if you see me, don’t make eye-contact, and please don’t mention it again, because I’m feeling kind of intimidated and insecure and I don’t need you telling me I should lengthen my stride or turn my feet over faster or stop running on the outside of my foot, because I will curl up into a ball and die if I know that you saw me struggling to catch my breath and trying not to trip over the dog leash and leaving one of my lungs in the gutter on the side of the road.

Aside from the BIG AND LOOMING deadline, I’ve made two other goals. After, of course I figure out #1 how to run without looking like a complete jackass, and #2 I figure out how to swallow my feelings of intimidation. One is to, after being able to completely run 6 miles without dying, is to do a HHH run, and the other is to be in good enough shape to attend the speed clinics my local shoe store puts on over the summer, both without totally embarrassing myself.

does anyone else find it incredibly stupid that I've spent over $200 on seeds to plant in my yard this year and it's not even planting season yet.

I need a seed intervention.

I sold my jeep today. Really, it was silly to hold onto it for so long, I mean, it's not very practical to have a '95 Jeep when, the majority of the time, you're carting around 4 little ones. I guess a part of me held onto it because it was my "toy", and the other part was because it reminded me of the past. I bought it back when I was seperated from my husband. It wasn't a pretty seperation, and none of it was my idea at the time. I was devastated. I was hurt. It was horrible. I had wrapped my whole identity up in being "the wife of" and I had basically lost myself, so when the seperation happened, I fell apart. It was ugly. But, after some time had passed, I started to get my act together. I started taking care of myself. I made some new friends, I re-kindled friendships long forgotten, I learned how to laugh. And I made an astonishing discovery...I'm a good person. I'm a worthy person. I am smart and funny and kind, and I didn't deserve the shit I'd been putting up with. And I didn't deserve what it did to my self-esteem. And I didn't deserve being last in line. And most importantly, I didn't deserve to lose myself. And I started getting better. I started laughing more. I made big and important plans. I made silly jokes. I made lots of cookies. I made my kids laugh and sing and dance. I found myself, and I liked what I found. And that's when I bought the jeep. So I think I've been scared. Scared to let go of the tangible reminder of that time...the time that started off as the worst in my life, but ended up as the best thing that ever happened to me. I've been scared that by letting it go, I'd be giving up the lesson. Scared that I'd be selling my soul in the front seat of a '95 jeep. And it seems so silly, really. To identify so much with a kicky little car that you're scared when it leaves, that a piece of you will follow. So, today, I say goodbye. And I hope the memory I have is enough to keep me from forgetting what terrible and horrible things can happen to a person when they forget to care about themself. And I hope the memory I have is enough to keep me from forgetting how I felt with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, after spending so much time in the dark. I hope I remember that I'm good and kind and funny. I hope I remember to bake cookies with my children and to dance around the kitchen table. I hope I remember to take long walks in the sun and to run so fast I can feel the wind in my hair. I hope.

Oh my god, I'm getting an ulcer. DH is off today and he wants to drill a new hole in the house (our dryer venting is set up really stupid...like it travels 300 feet and makes 14 turns, and is all clogged up and overheated my dryer, so instead of taking it all down, cleaning it and replacing it, and having to repeat the process every 4 months, we decided to just run a vent out the near side of the house, where it should have been done in the first place). Here's the thing though...he's going to screw it up. I hate to say that, but he will, and I asked him not to do it until I'm there, and he's all offended and screaming "I can do it", but he can't. he really really cant. this is totally my department. I mean, last night he came in the house and said "The motor in the miter saw just burnt up right in the middle of a cut" (he was cutting firewood). 10 minutes later my son said "the tv downstairs won't turn on"...DH gets all fired up that everything's burning up, having a total fit. so I said "umm, two things not working at the same time could mean you popped a fuse...did you check the breaker" to which he replied "where's the breaker?" Seriously. this is my department and I don't want him doing this. it's gonna be so screwed up and now my belly's upset cuz it'll take me $200 and 3 weeks to fix whatever he's going to screw up. I need to go cry now.

I got tanked on Friday. I've found that after 4 or 5 vodka's you care substantially less about the pain in your shoulder, that just refuses to go away. At 4:00 in the morning, I got up, took some Tylenol, drank a water and ate a Cadbury Egg. You know, cuz there's nothing better when your stomach is threatening to revolt, then a sugary glob wrapped in a chocolate shell.

So I'm standing at the checkout of Walgreens with a super econo sized box of feminine hygiene products, a diet coke, and a Take 5 candy bar. Now, personally, I would see the hygiene products and the chocolate and figure "well, yeah, that makes perfect sense", but apparently not everyone knows that chocolate is the cure for the pms that ails ya. The lady behind the counter said "oh, are those Take 5's any good" to which I replied "they're my total favorite!". So she says to me "are they like a diet bar?" and then I had to kill her.

First, I thought, maybe I should explain to her that I was going to eat it with a balanced portion of protein so that it would still fit into my nutritional plan, and then I thought, why the hell do I have to rationalize my candy bar to her? Who is she? The calorie police? Bitch.

On Friday I flew into Michigan and spent most of the day at the corporate headquarters of the company I work for.

I haven't been there in a long time...a really long time. And, I think the last time I was there, I was fully and quite obviously knocked up.

Still, exactly how many people can exclaim "you look SO thin!" before you start to think to yourself "why didn't anyone tell me I was a huge lard-ass?"

answer? approximately 18.

This just in: Zicam Nose Spray makes me sneeze. A lot.

That is all.

I seriously cannot stop eating this fucking trail mix. good thing I have like 14 more pounds waiting for me at home.

And seriously? Otter made me pee in my pants just a little. Crop circles and #9 on the top ten list...so funny.

People make things harder then they need to be.

I found the dog a great home...this guy just had to have his french bull put down after 12 years, and has been SO lonely without him...met the dog and in 2 seconds was telling her "come here so daddy can take a look at you"...absolutely fell in love.

So, I called the adoption agency, and he wants me to arrange a time that the guy can come to his office (50 minute drive) to fill out the paperwork. Ok. No. There's got to be a different way. I mean this guy is recovering from a bout of gout (look at me! I'm a poet!), and, frankly, making an appointment an hour away to fill out paperwork is not going to happen. I offered to take the paperwork out to him and then return it to the agency on the weekend when they're here for an event, but the adoption guy is being a jerk about it. Doesn't he want his dogs to go to a good home? You can drive out here to the petstore every weekend, and beg people to take your dogs but then when someone wants one on a Thursday you make him jump through hoops? Oy.

SUCKER.

It's written on my forehead in big black bold indelible ink. I ran into the lady I used to foster dogs for and, of course, they're short foster parents, and, of course, she talked me into keeping a dog until she could find a home. But, damn. She's so flippin' cute!

Is there a particular reason that nine year olds argue about EVERYTHING? It's fucking exhausing.

You know, normal people, when told they'd better hurry up or they'd miss something (say, oh, the bus) would shut up and put on their damn shoes. Nine year olds? They find that a perfectly reasonable time to throw themselves into a frenzy..."I'll never make it in time, you'll be mad at me, I'm gonna get in trouble, I'll be grounded for a year, it's all my sister's fault, she touched my toothbrush, someone messed with my jacket..." in one of those horrible tight whiney voices...

And I woke up this morining thinking it was going to be a good day.

I've watched this 8 times so far this morning. and I'm not done yet.

http://www.planetdan.net/pics/misc/georgebushdrunk.mov

Last night I killed a bird.

I was driving along, minding my own business, 1/2 way through my drive home, and I saw something out the front window. I had enough time to think "what the he..." and BAM it ran right into my windshield. Of course I freaked out, crouched down with my eyes shut and had a little panic attack, because, obviously, I'd completely forgotten about the large piece of glass that would actually keep the bird from hitting me in the head.

It took 10 minutes for my heart beat to return to normal.

You know what they call it when you stand at my front counter and bitch about how our catalog is old and that we don't have a new one out yet and then you give me your credit card to pay for your stuff and the card is declined?

Karma, bitch.

here's a fun little quiz for you...

Q: How stupid does a person have to be to pick up the phone, accidentally let it slip out of their hand, manage to grab it by the cord, swinging it madly in some sort of twitching over-correction which then bonks them in the side of the face right on the eye socket, hard enough to give them a black eye?

A: About as stupid as me.

Just returning from 7 days in Michigan with my family, so my house is trashed with leftover Christmas wrapping and toys galore and now unpacked clothes and snow pants and sleds, and I was just so happy to be home that I left it all and went to bed. Of course, working today, and hockey game tonight, so it may stay a wreck until I get off work tomorrow. At which time I WILL be going to kickboxing, as I haven't been there in two weeks and will miss all of next week as my hub goes to Florida for a seminar.

I think I left Michigan at least 2 pounds heavier then when I arrived, though with all the sodium and none of the water and all of the cookies and cakes and pie and lasagna and more cookies, it feels more like 10. Then today was my day to get back on track, only I remembered that it was the company holiday eat-fest, so, yeah, not so good yet today either. I'm going to attempt to treadmill it tonight, as I've gotten much less brave about running late at night, but we won't return from the hockey game till 10, so I may have to hit it before the game, which means right after work, which is never a good plan with all the kids and the dogs (well, dog, as my other dog had to be put down the week before Christmas) and the kids and the cooking of dinner, and the kids. I was going to hit the gym at lunch, because with all my complaining about how I'm wasting the money and have to cancel the membership and put more into my little collection in the basement, I've yet to actually cancel the membership. But, eat-fest was in full swing and we're a small group and my absence would have been noticed and everyone would call me a scrooge and there's nothing I obsess over more then what people think of me. I know, I know, I'm working on it. Like everything else in my life, it's a work in progress.

So now I've got 3 hours and a little more of work left, and still need to work out and go to Costco and cook dinner and scrape the algae off the fish tank and be done and at the hockey rink at 7:45. Maybe I'll get lucky and the baby will take a late nap and hub can take the boy to hockey instead of it being a family affair. Though then all the hockey mom's will talk about how I'm a terrible mother for missing my son's game. But sometimes you just can't win for losing, you know?

I did something terrible and also awful to my back. And I am MAD MAD MAD, and did I mention MAD. Bah. I've been on a, well...let's call it a "break", since I hate to say "complete binge fest coupled with complete lack of motivation", and was all fired up to be back in the gym this week...workouts planned, goals written, and then BAM. Out goes the back. Bah again.

Reading this today made me laugh right out loud...

"The San Jose Mercury News uses its weekly"How I Stay Fit" columnto talk about how I stay fit. A couple of factual oopses: I do not have "several" marathons to my credit, or even one, and it's not tendinitis that makes it hard for me to climb hills, it's fat. But what the hey. "

fyi I was reading this ---might be a book worth checking out...

oh, and did anyone else get this on their homepage this morning?

http://video.msn.com/v/us/v.htm?g=7170da7d-b0ac-4964-9ffe-37bc17f897c7&t=c2&f=06/64&p=Entertainment_ifilmtop

I so cannot wait to get home where I have a dsl and can actually see it. He's my pretend boyfriend, you know.

Tina, you fat lard, come and eat some ham!

that is all.

Shhhh....don't read so loud.

Just back from a 4 day bender in Vegas with the girls...oy...my body hates me. Took an extra day off work to let my liver detox.

People don't eat in Vegas. Did you know that? I think we ate once a day, and the rest? Liquid calories. Sad Sad Sad state of affairs.

Cute boys in Vegas too...did you know? Oh. My. Cute.

Studio 54. Margaritaville. and 80 bucks for 4 aces at the nickel poker machine. Sweet dreams are made of these my friends...sweet dreams and hangovers.

Memo to hot boy in surfer shorts and flip-flops walking into the gas station:

"No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service"; but for you, baby, exceptions will be made

Right. So, if you're looking to lose about 9 lbs, you can totally do it with a 5 day stint with my friend the flu. Or, more precisely, some flu-type-ailment, since I totally don't do doctors, so it's best not to assume it was actually Mr. Influenza that knocked me off my ass, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was a close relative. Maybe even an in-bred one. It's especially nice if you enjoy lying on the bathroom floor with your head pressed against the tile floor, which I incidentally thought was a whole lot cleaner before I had the opportunity to inspect it at close range, while wrapped in the only clean blanket that made it past the other 5 people in the house that were joining me on my little adventure. But, on the positive side, puking can be quite the ab workout. Just in case you were wondering.

And does it piss anyone else off that if I'd have had this, say, two weeks ago, my weigh in for the contest would have been much more impressive?

So, other than that, things have been status quo. I've backed off the workouts a bit and loosened up the menu, more for mental reasons then anything else, and I'm going to Vegas this weekend with two friends, so basically I plan on taking it easy till we get back. You do know they have buffets in Vegas right? Makes portion control a bit more tricky for me.

Oh, and my husband and I celebrated our 10th anniversary. We went to a fancy schmancy restaurant (4 star, impressed? don't be, we got a gift certificate). I actually had to go buy an outfit, since I'm smaller then my big clothes, and just a touch too big for my small clothes, and then, doing our best to look rather important and impressive, hit the restaurant. We sat in the lounge, which, apparently if you have a fancy schmancy restaurant you call the "living room" and scarfed down on the best mixed nuts I've ever had (mmmm...candied walnuts), got to our table, placed our order for our appetizer (which, from the little I had, was terrible) and were discussing how snobby the staff was (they make their bus-boys wear tuxes) and how we couldn't have been more out of place if we'd have been wearing clown suits complete with floppy shoes and squirting flowers, when my husband started having an allergic reaction to one of the nuts in the mix. Check please.

Get to the car, and, of course, I have to drive, have I ever told you that I HATE driving downtown with all the one way streets, and the people that just walk in the middle of the street paying no attention to the BIG CAR trying to drive and the generally having no idea where the hell I am, because I never go down there, searching what is essentially a dead city for some sign of a Walgreens, or, I don't know, maybe a hospital? Finally found a gas station that had some knock-off brand of benedryl, forced that down my gasping husbands throat, and headed back to the highway to try and find a hospital. He fell asleep and was still breathing, so I decided to drive back to the house where we had medicine...made him take that, and 20 minutes later, he was fine. On the plus side? We called the restaurant to find out what was in the nut mix, and told them why, and they said they were sending us a dinner for two. Hasn't arrived yet, so we'll see.

Okay, like wow. totally. you guys are the greatest, really. and when I win the lotto I will totally buy all of you something pretty and shiny.

For those of you that asked me to pass along the pruning of the arms advice, I will copy and paste below, but know that I got it from the queen of all that is fit, Skwigg, and please give all mad props to her, not me. She totally scares me and I don't want her throwing all her pointy star type cutting implements at my head.

For the one lone soul that wanted to know how I did it...sorry to disappoint, but I can't really give you a weight/rep breakdown. Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm mean. Just kidding, actually, because I changed the workout every week and never wrote anything down, cuz I'm a total spaz. What I can tell you is that I hit them hard, usually twice a week. I picked a weight that seemed heavy, and then kept upping the weight till I couldn't do anymore. I did super-sets, I did drop-sets. Lots and lots of drop-sets. Most of the time I was so sore I wanted to cry and most day's I planned on doing something completely different then I ended up doing. I took creatine. I ate more then I "should" have. That about sums it up. I can give you some ideas on how to shake up what you're doing, if you want, but as for what I did, it was kind of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants combined with keep-em-guessing, and just really made sure it was as heavy as I could go, and then a little heavier.

Okay, for the rest of you...here's the re-print of the advice Skwigg gave me...

You know how people say that most women don't have the genetics to get big and bulky? I think that I do. I think that if I wanted to be a professional superfreaking hulk, I'm one of the women who could pull it off.For me, getting my arms smaller and tighter had more to do with supplements and diet than changing my training. I started looking like an oak tree for two reasons... maybe three reasons.1) I was taking creatine. Big, volumized, hulking muscle cells. Stop taking it and they shrink a bit. Oddly, I have been able to maintain my strength. It takes several weeks to get rid of a creatine pump. So, you don't notice right awaythat you're getting weaker. Then, it's nothing dramatic. It just feels like you're having an off day. You know, like when everything is harder than it should be. If you force yourself through that, and keep lifting what you were lifting, your strength stays.2) I was eating A LOT of carbs. Great for getting big. Great for strength. Great for having lots of glycogen packed into your muscles. Not so great for looking like a dainty little thing. Have you noticed that women who really diet down tend to have small, flat looking muscles? They don't have that full, rounded look that you get when you're well-fueled and lifting heavy. Well, I had that look. I had the blown-up-with-a-bicycle-pump phenomenon.3) I let my body fat get too high. If you combine the creatine pump, with the carb fullness, with a layer of fat, suddenly you're an oak tree.So, supplement-wise, I got off of any muscle-builders and cell volumizers like creatine, glutamine, methoxy products. Nutrition-wise, I went back to letting my protein run higher than my carbs. I'm not low-carbing, but a typical day mighthave 140-160g of protein, 100-120g of carbs, and a whole lot of healthy fat. For me, that's how I lean out. It gets rid of the extra layer of pudge on my arms and it takes some of the fullness out of the muscles themselves.In order to keep my freak genetics in check, I'm already training my whole body 3 times a week. That's exactly what you're NOT supposed to do if you're trying to get big. So, it's what I do to keep things under control. It works well for a couple of reasons.1) You're burning a lot of calories doing a total body circuit routine. That helps keep your body fat in check.2) There isn't enough time in a 40-60 minute total body workout to do 4 exercises per body part and multiple sets. You end up naturally backing off on your muscle-hulk intensity. You're doing maybe one or two exercises per bodypart, and maybe 1-3 sets per exercise. You don't necessarily drop the weights,you're just not doing as many sets and exercises for each muscle group.3) By working all your muscles every 48 hours instead of once or twice a week,there isn't a hell of a lot of time for recovery and growth. You end up being more of a wiry endurance type than a bulky pumped type.I didn't change my cardio at all. I do 20 minutes of intense intervals 3 times a week. I do 30-60 minutes of moderate whatever-suits-my-mood a few days a week.Usually, just walking.Now, being a total nutcase, I even have pictures that illustrate my arm anxiety.On the left is Kelly Ryan, who is a fitness competitor, not even a bodybuilder.I always thought I wanted to look like Kelly, but you know what? Even she is too big and pumped, especially pre-contest. In my weird little heart, I know that's not really what I'm shooting for. I want to look more feminine than that. I want to be strong looking, but really sleek. So, on the right, we have Danielle Edwards. She has some very fit arms, but they don't look like they're about to explode. People wouldn't run screaming from her if she wore a strappy tank top to the mall. She looks more like a gymnast or a dancer than a Russian powerlifter.So, there you go. Everything you ever wanted to know about my arm hang-up. :-)Skwigg

Now, I couldn't get the pictures to copy and post, but you can look up Kelly and Danielle on the web. I agree with Skwigg, I'd rather be closer to Danielle, thus the change in routine. Oh, and BTW, I won most muscular and 2nd overall! Still haven't picked up my gift basket, since I know only 1st place got the cruise and now I'm in no big hurry.

Tree trunk arms and the bloat of a 4 day binge

So, I finally got the nerve to post a picture after my contest from hell at the gym. Yes, I know my arms are huge. Thanks for noticing. Luckily Skwigg gave me some good tips about how to prune my arms back to a less-freaky size. I would like to point out, for the record, that I started eating immediately after weigh-in and haven't stopped yet, so I have a bit of a carb bloat going on...I was tighter at the end of the contest, but my hubby had the camera at work and didn't bring it back till last night...thus the delay. Also, do you have any idea how hard it is to flex, and take a picture without your arms shaking? The flex is much more impressive in person, when I can concentrate on actually flexing instead of trying to hold the camera still enough that I don't look like you're driving by me at 80mph. In the mirror, I can totally see my upper chest muscles, but I couldn't seem to capture it on film...must need more practice.

Oh, blog, how I've missed you...

Well my contest at the gym is officially OVER and let me tell you, the end couldn't have come too soon for me. We get the official results on Tuesday, so I don't know where I came in, place-wise, but here's the scoop:

1.5" off chest
1.5" off waist
3" off hips

8# lost
bodyfat reduced by 9.4%

Not bad for 10 weeks...

The first thing I did, after weigh-in, was go to the grocery store and buy a piece of carmel turtle pie. Okay, two pieces, shut up. I ate them both while waiting in line at the bank. Now my belly hurts.

I realized on the way back that this was the first time in 10 weeks that I didn't even flip the box over and glance at the nutritional stats...I made sure I threw it away in the dumpster in the way back of the parking lot, just so I couldn't dig it out later and obsess over it. I know me all too well.

This contest at the gym could possibly be the worst thing I've ever done in recent history. Talk about unearthing dormant eating disorder type behavior. I've become obsessed with the scale. Seriously. I can tell you what I weigh before my shower, after my shower with my hair in a towel, after I'm dressed, before the shoes and after, right after I get home from work, in my jammies, long and short pair, and right before I go to bed. And sometimes in the middle of the night. It's a bad bad thing.

Twice this week I found myself at 1:45 am standing in the kitchen eating cookies basically in my sleep.

As further proof of my loss of sanity, I actually cut into a grapefruit at lunch yesterday and thought to myself "dammit! This was supposed to be a ruby red!" instead of thinking "a grapefruit? You've got to be fucking kidding me"

I love the personal training. The workouts are interesting and difficult and I'm really enjoying that part of it. Unfortunately, I'm having a hard time motivating myself to do the extra cardio I really need to do, being as it's like 108 out every freaking day and that just doesn't make me feel like running much.

And I really feel like I'm not eating enough. I'm shaky and tired and cranky all the time and tired...did I mention tired? But I'm so afraid of adding food (see problem with the scale above). So then I go for 4 days or so feeling tired and cranky and shaky and tired and then I have a breakdown and eat 1/2 a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Not that I did that today or anything...stop looking at me like that.

So the battle continues. And though I'll be sad when all my personal training sessions are over, and I really can't afford to continue them (time or money), I'll be so happy when the "contest" is over and I can just get back to feeling a little more normal.

I had a chicken breast and a kiwi for lunch, because today I am trying to be good, because tomorrow I have to try and make friends with the scale. but I have not had ONE glass of water yet because I just don't damn feel like it, which means I have like 6 hours left in the day to drink a gallon. slosh.

And, since I'm on the path of goodness and light, I worked out twice yesterday. TWICE. Which should totally make up for the drinking of the hurricanes and the eating of the deep fried alligator and the cake, the glorious cake. And today I am paying for it with all the terrible tiredness and the aches and ouch I didn't know I had a muscle there. But, regardless, I must venture to the gym today after work, because of the goodness and light path, and because of the damn scale that I would love to back over with my truck. Or drop out a window. Or drop out of a window, and then back my truck over it. Three times. So tonight I will be doing cardio, please think of me while you're enjoying your evening... but I can't do high intense, because my back still sort of hurts from the kickboxing I did a week ago, whereas I was completely off balance, but threw the hook anyway and cried all the way home. So tonight I will be on the damn treadmill for what will surely seem like fucking forever, to try and burn the same amount of calories that a quick 20 minutes of heart stopping vomit inducing high intense could have done. Woe is me.

Now I must go eat my pria bar (the non-barf flavored one) and drink 8 gallons of water.

I'm a lover, not a fighter.

I took my first sparring class on Friday. There was this really nice NHB fighter there that I was fighting, and though I learned a lot, I spent most of all of my 3 minute rounds being yelled at. You see, I have this problem. I DON'T want to get hit in the nose. Anywhere else? Don't care. Nose? I'll run screaming. So, as usual, I manifested my issues onto those around me, and everytime I threw a punch, I aimed for the pad on his forehead. It wasn't "on purpose", and really, I didn't even know I was doing it, but then even after he pointed it out I couldn't seem to bring myself to hit him in the face. Even when he dropped his hands and said "HIT me!" Bam...my glove hit the pad. So then he thought he'd pop me in the face a few times, but, see, I was smart enough to pick the really really stupid looking headgear that has a catcher's mask, so, no problem, didn't bother me a bit. Oh, and FYI, don't care how stupid it looks, I will ALWAYS wear that one, because, hello, nose.

then we put on leg pads and kickboxed. Which was fun, but everytime I throw my rear round I apparently drop my hand. I know this because, everytime I threw my round rear, he'd punch me in the head. After the 3rd time I said "guess I'm dropping my hand, huh?" and he said "yeah, I knew you'd figure it out".

By the time I was fighting my last round, I was tired, and as such, my aim left a lot to be desired. So, during that round, I managed to actually hit him in the face (instead of the headgear) three times. But, like I said, I have issues, so it went something like this

me: BAM (shot to the nose)
me: "Oh, Sorry!"
him: "you're not supposed to say you're sorry. You're fighting"
me: "right"
me: BAM (nose again)
me: "OMG I'm so sorry (dropping hands)
him "Don't DO that" (hits me in the face, since my hands are down)

Repeat.

Oh, and I managed to hurt my back, throwing a hook when I was off balance. But, it's feeling much better today, so hopefully no harm done.

We leave for vacation tomorrow...so I can't go this week, but I'm totally going back. Maybe one day I'll even land a punch without feeling guilty.

Had my 2nd personal training session today.

1st, let's talk about the scale. I lost 1.5 lbs, which for me is like "yeah!", but she totally YELLED at me. she says I'm taking too many "liberties" with the diet she gave me and that everyone that is following her diet is losing weight much faster than me. She said I lack an adequate level of commitment. Ouch. I thought I was doing okay, and I'll certainly take a 1.5 lb loss over a gain or a stall any day. Plus, I thought that was a pretty "healthy" weight loss goal-wise. Anyway.

She worked my ass off, again (oh, if only that could literally be done in one session!) but she forbids me to kickbox on a day before I see her, because she said she's not getting enough out of me since I'm tired from the night before. I can see her point there...I was killer sore this morning and EXHAUSTED (couldn't possibly be exacerbated by her strict diet though), so after next week, I'll be changing the day I see her. but then she told me I'm one of her strongest contestants, so are you not getting anything out of me or am I strong...make up your mind lady!

So, I sort of already cheated at breakfast (had 1/2 a bagel) but I did it on purpose because I was so tired from last night, but other than that, I'm going to follow her diet EXACTLY for the next week (even though I sort of don't agree with all of it) and then see where that gets me. Then she can't yell at me if I don't lose "enough", because then I can be like "hey, it's your diet" and get all up in her grill and stuff. Oh, except I forgot that I'm a total sissy when it comes to confrontation, so I probably won't.

well, we're wrapping up week one here at contest central...I haven't weighed in yet (that's tomorrow morning w/trainer) but I did somewhere between really pretty good for me and not too terrible awful. I did 4/5 cardio workouts (I get really lazy come the weekend...have a hard time motivating myself to run after cleaning the house and mowing the lawn and oh, there's that not getting any sleep due to the 3 year old with the ear infection and all) I pretty much did the 3/3 weight workouts, only the last one was less a weight routine and more a weighted power 90 circuit, due to the fact that the crappy gym I work out at by my house is closing in Aug. and in preperation for closing in Aug. has decided to close on the weekends...yeah. convienent as hell. Upside: I joined a new gym today. As far as food...I did really really well till Friday. Lowering my carbs, though not as much as she wanted me too, but not eating any refined carbs at night. Then, Friday night, I was so exhausted and crabby I just wanted to cry. Fix? 1/2 a bagel with my chicken. NOT on her plan, but oh so much better then 1/2 gallon of cookie dough ice cream, no? Then Sat. the ear infection hit (3 year old, not me) and it was a rough day. I ate "clean" for most of the day, but only managed 3 meals, and then had a breakdown at 11:00 pm and ate 12 peanut m & m's. And, might I point out, how sad it is that I not only ate them, but I counted them first. Sunday, I woke, after the 15 minutes of sleep I got, with good intentions. Had a healthy b-fast, and then somehow managed to forget to eat until 4:00 that afternoon. I know. I'm broken. Did manage to eat clean at 4:00, and again at 8:00 so that's good...right? right? Today...so far, so good. Gotta grab something now and head off to kickboxing.

Onward to week 2.

Yesterday was my first day with my new trainer. And, incidentally, a night that I was going to kickboxing. My first clue as to what I was in for should have been when my trainer said “gee, I feel really bad about kicking your ass on a day that you’ll be back in a few hours for kickboxing…but I’m going to anyway”. Her idea of the “cool down” after so many squats and leg presses and jump squats and pushups with one hand on a step and step up’s with dumbbells and shoulder raises and curls, was to walk on the treadmill for 15 minutes. Oh, and did I mention it was at an incline of 15 and speed of 3.8? Yeah. Holding on for dear life THE. WHOLE. TIME. We talked about nutrition a little, but I’ve been doing a loose bfl for so long, that I kind of knew what she was talking about, so it didn’t take long. She does want me to pretty much cut out carbs in the afternoon, which I don’t think is going to fly with me. I get low on carbs and get all mean and headachy. And, she doesn’t want me to have any red meat for 10 WEEKS. Impossible. I’m a total carnivore, hate me if you must. Plus, I was raised by hillbillies so frankly she’s lucky that I don’t roll my protein bars in butter and cornmeal and deep fry them in bacon grease.

This morning? I woke up with legs of lead. Lead on fire. Molten lead. With other heavy stuff on fire mixed in. I briefly considered driving to the gym to throw rocks and sticks and large heavy pointed things at her, but I wasn’t sure I could push the brake pedal. So I fought my way down the stairs and wrestled the dog into her harness and hit the road. Her expectations are for me to do at least 5 days of high intensity cardio, which I figured was completely out of the question, you know, because of all of the lead and the fire. However, luck was with me, and, as it turns out, the uncontrollable sobbing as each foot hit the ground really does a lot to raise your heart rate.

Moving on.

After my two sessions yesterday, I arrived home a little after 8 and as I flopped like a rag doll onto the couch I said to my hubby “If I don’t sleep like a ROCK tonight, there’s something seriously wrong with me”. so, yeah, like I needed any clarification, of my serious wrongness, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me. By 2:30 I wanted to poke my eyes out. Again, though, luck was on my side, because I finally fell asleep around 3:15 and I didn’t have to get up to let the dogs out till 5:03.

Today will be long. Lead and fire, my friends, lead and fire.

Okay. 1st, my mom's partner finally died. I guess it wasn't easy either, but I didn't ask for any details, cuz she's taking it really hard, of course. Anyway, my point is, all of us kids have plenty of reasons to hold a grudge against my mother due to past "issues"...too long to explain, we'd be here all day...but while my siblings all continue to hold said grudge, I've been the one kid that has tried to let bygones be bygones, and continue a relationship, strange though it may be, with my mother. She's a weird bird, trust me. ANYWAY...since her partner died, I've been calling her usually 3 times a day, just checking up on her, offering that she should come down and stay with me for a bit, just to get away, etc. My brother? hasn't called her, says he won't. My sister, hasn't called her, says "why? I've got nothing to say". Me? On the phone, all the time. Point of the story, you ask? Well, I sent a gift basket to her for the "celebration of life" (read: wake) that she was having...you know one of those fancy ones with all the eats, and I signed the card from me and my hubby, my sister and her hubby, my brother and his wife, my dad and my stepmom, and all the grandkids. The day she got it she called to ask me if I saw the lovely basket my SISTER sent. I'm telling you I can't win. I've always known who the favorite is, but COME ON.

Last Monday, I signed up for a contest at my kickboxing gym...10 week transformation. I've kind of gotten bored with working out and burnt out on the bfl eating, so I thought this would be a good kick in the pants. So, my "trainer" was supposed to be Matt, and he was supposed to call me on Tuesday to set up a time to take my stats, run me through my 1st workout, and set up my workout/nutrition plan. Tuesday: no call. Wednesday: no call. I called at 3 and Kevin, the manager said "oh, Matt was out Tues., his wife had surgery, he got your paperwork today, and I told him to take special care of you...he'll call you later today". Okay, I can live with that. Wed. afternoon: no call. Thursday: Johnny calls...I'm your trainer...let's get you in here next wed. for stats and start. I was like, NEXT wed? that's like putting me a week and 1/2 behind! But, that's the best he could do, so fine. Whatever. Thursday night I just happened to be at the gym for kickboxing, and I saw Gretchen...head organizer of the contest. She says...NO...we need your stats before the weekend, can you run in for a minute on Friday, get your stats, and if you have time do your 1st workout? I was like YEH! then I'll only be a week behind...totally there. So Friday, I drive the 40 minutes it take me to get there, and JOHNNY DIDN'T SHOW! Okay. I'm now slightly aggravated (read: pissed). I talk to Kevin who wants me to come in Saturday, which I decline because there's no way I'm schlepping 4 kids to a gym that far away and then paying 5 bucks a head for their daycare. So, they schedule me for monday with Diane instead. Only on my way this morning, there's an accident on the highway, and my 40 minute trip took me 2 hours. Fuck. So I get there and she's already left. Gretchen went ahead and took my stats, which was good because their scale says I'm 2# lighter than my scale, and bad because I'm 27.5% body fat. Oy. But, she couldn't run me through a workout, because 1. she's a judge, and it wouldn't be fair for her to have a client in the contest and 2. she had a regular client waiting. So still no workout plan, and no nutrition plan, and I'm beginning to think someone just doesn't want me to do this contest.

End of rant. You may resume your regularly scheduled programming.

yeah, I know. It's been awhile. It's not that I don't love you, it's just that I've been busy/boring/unable to think of anything to write about. So here's a quick update, and I'll probably think of a million things I forgot to tell you, so, sorry in advance.

1. I almost punched my husband in the throat this morning because he set our alarm clock for 4:44 am, and then fell asleep upstairs. meaning: I had to get up at 4:44 am this morning, walk up 15 stairs and find his ass to wake him up. NOT pleased.

2. My brother's company is transfering him back home. Jealous much? Plus, they pay for re-locate, if his house doesn't sell in 30 days they take over payments, if his house does sell in 30 days, they give him 3% for not having to take over the payments.

3. But he has to have his dog put down, because it "snapped" and tried to kill everyone in the vet's office, so that sucks. (no, it's not the first time, but it's the first time that he did it with my brother there...they've been keeping him away from people and trying all sorts of training, but obviously there's something wrong)

4. My mom is gay. This is nothing new, but a preface to #5

5. My mom's lifepartner is dying. this is nothing new either...she's been fighting cancer since 2003, but it's like any minute now.

6. My vacation is 34 days from now, and I'm SO not ready for the beach. Do they sell liposuction in a bottle yet?

7. Work has been really really crazy, and we've been totally shorthanded and this is where I usually find my time to post, so I hope it gets better, since we just hired a new girl.

8. The new girl is 17, but, um, way younger than that. Like didn't know who Dolly Parton was young. Like sometimes skips instead of walking young. Like didn't know what West Point was, cuz she's "like totally not from around here" young. She just graduated on Tuesday.

9. My new aupair is homesick. And my kids drove her so crazy yesterday that she really really really wanted to go back home.

10. Oh, and she crashed my car this week. For the third time.

11. My 4th turned one. My 2nd turned six. Two parties, 4 cakes...insane amounts of chocolate calories.

That's all I can think of right now...

I was in third grade the first time I fell in love. A crushing, choking kind of love that left me speechless and trembling, hiding behind the lunchboxes under the bench in the coat room. And though, for the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the teacher I spent 5 days a week with, I’ll forever remember the name Mike Donahue.

He was a sixth grader, cool, composed and ultra-popular, and me? I was a frightened bunny, always scouting an exit and ready to bolt at a moments notice. But, oh, how I pined for him. Many a recess was spent sitting on top of that strange metal contraption. You remember the one…the ½ sphere set in the ground, that you could climb on, or over, or hide beneath when the urge would strike. But I never hid. I would perch myself on top, and pretend as hard as I could that I was aloof, and important, and precious…all the time stealing glances toward the blacktop where he played basketball, or tether ball, or just leaned, ever so handsome, against the side of the red brick building. I remember this, as clear as it was yesterday, and I can still feel that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, knowing how far our worlds were apart. My first love, and my first, want that for which I cannot have. I vaguely remember a time or two when he chased me round the swing set, and the way it set my heart on wings; to be noticed, to be acknowledged. To run and laugh until my breath was gone and my cheeks were set rosy by the whip of the wind and the pain of my shyness.

At the end of the year, after many days of stress and worry, I finally worked up the nerve to ask him to sign my autograph book. Which may or may not be true, for as the years have passed I can’t recall if I actually asked, or if he, knowing the effect he had on me, asked if he could sign it. But I do remember the signature. And I do remember the way I so carefully dog-eared the page in a slightly different way then all the rest, so that I could find it on a moments notice. And I do remember tracing the flowing lines of the letters with my third grade index finger, and thinking how close I felt to being someone at that moment. And oh, the hearts I would trace with my finger, around and around. Never daring to defile the actual page with lead or ink…it was enough to imagine it there, to know it could have been there.

Many years later, my sister ran into him on the campus of MSU. Now “Dr.” Donahue, and she reminisced, and laughed, and caught up on years that had passed, and then, and then…he asked about me. He said he could still remember how everyday he would find me in the lunchroom, and come to say hello. He said he knew he could count on three things. I would never make eye contact, I would blush a bright red, and I would always offer him the dessert my mother had packed in my lunchbox. He said he always thought I was cute, in a third grade sort of way, and that my incredibly excruciating shyness was endearing. Almost as endearing as my willingness to hand over my ho-ho’s and twinkies, and cookies, and ding-dongs.

And though now, I can sort of somewhere come up with a hazy recollection of that lunch time routine, until she mentioned it to me, I had completely forgotten. And I guess, in a way, it just goes to show, that not only will a girl never fully outgrow a case of the bashful’s, but if she’s the type to, as a third grader, give and give and give, just on the off chance that it will make someone like her, she probably always will be.

All better. But still so tired. It's been so long since I've actually had a full night's sleep, it should really be a crime. Did not workout AT ALL for I think 2 weeks...Timeline for the size 4's not looking so good. I did, however, do a leg workout and go to kickboxing last night, so I'm sufficiently exhausted today, in addition to the sleep deprivation previously mentioned. It might even qualify as dog-tired, which, I imagine is the state of complete oblivion that my boxer slips into as she lays on her side and snores loud enough to shake the siding.

Two days ago I was laying on the floor playing with the baby, and then she got up and knocked over the vacuum cleaner I had next to the couch, and the handle hit me right on the bridge of my nose. Two black eyes later, and holy crap my face hurts. I didn't hear a crack, which is good, because I've already broken my nose twice and then had it re-broken when the 2nd doctor didn't set it right, and all I've got to say about that is freaking ouch, okay? I swear, if I would have heard a crack, I'd have pulled an office space on that stupid vacuum.

Bronchitis almost gone...Am starting to breathe again...Thank God for the Z-pack!

Last week was pretty much a bust. I wasn’t feeling well, so I spent the most of the week curled up with comfort food feeling sorry for myself. I did get the flowers planted, plus the others I bought looking for a star magnolia, and the third batch I bought when I went back to get mulch. That I need more of. It’s never ending. My dad and step mom and sister and niece flew in on Friday…my dad and step mom have never yet been to the house, and haven’t seen my kids in a year, so it was about time. My brother, his wife and their new baby drove in to meet us so we spent the day together. It was really nice to be around family. I forget sometimes how much I miss living near anyone. And I forget how much it squeezes my heart to say goodbye. Of course, Thursday I was a nervous wreck, because to say that my step mom is a neat freak would be an understatement. Of the century. Don’t get me wrong, my house is “neat”…just don’t open anything. No. seriously. Step away from the cabinet. What I really need is crazydogmama to come and organize me. God knows I’m completely incapable of doing it myself. So Friday was this beautiful day of beer and laughter and family and it went off without a hitch. Everyone had a great time and it was one of those feel-good kind of days. Course, I didn’t get to hold the baby…was still feeling a little under the weather, and didn’t want to pass it along, but other than that, great stuff.

Saturday I woke up without a voice. Not a sound. Not a squeak. Nothing. Still don’t have it back, which makes work interesting. Though not as interesting as trying to keep my four kids in line the rest of the weekend. There was a lot of foot stomping and hand clapping. Like that Marxx brother that didn’t talk…harpo? Yeah, that was me. Honk honk…stop hitting your sister.

I’ve also determined that when I’m completely wrecked from a night of no sleep (pre-step mom house inspection) I should not be allowed out in public. I went to the grocery store, just barely conscious, and did my shopping. Now, I’m a cheapskate, mostly because I’m always broke, so I go to the store that charges you less, but you have to bag your own groceries. Not usually an issue, because usually I go through the self checkout, and they happen to have the bags right there. This night, however, the self checks were closed and I was forced into a slow moving line. Finally made it through, paid for my stuff, and walked out the door to the truck. No freaking bags. Shit. So I load up the soda and water and milk…stuff that doesn’t need bags, and I sneak back in the side door, snatch a handful of bags and run out with my head down….no eye contact. I’m bagging, I’m bagging, I’m bagging…shit. Not enough bags. Side door is now closed. Shit. I have to go in the front door. Sneak in, grab way to many bags, and get the hell out of there. Worst grocery store trip since the time my daughter threw up in the cereal aisle.

See. This is what happens in my world. I'm going along, feeling swell, decide not to workout on Monday because I want to plant the pretty flowers I bought, and WHAM. I get sick. So now it's Wednesday, I haven't worked out yet this week, I've been eating nothing but comfort food, sneezing, coughing, and feeling sorry for myself. AND I still have a porch full of flowers that must go into the ground tonight before they all die and I kick myself in the ass for wasting more money. Oh, and I accidentally bought a few more today at lunch that I just couldn't live without. It's a sickness. The first step is to admit you have a problem.

And, by the way, I hate Paula Abdul. "Oh, Constantine, I LOOOOOOOVE you so much, oh, I'm just addicted to you...oh, blah blah blah"

Things I will do when I win the powerball jackpot tonight...
1. get my lawn graded and sodded. It's terrible. This will be my first full summer in this house, and something has got to be done. I mowed the lawn on Tuesday and by the end wanted to shoot someone. It's really clumpy and there's holes, and I'm pretty sure it's mostly weeds, cleverly disguised as grass. Bad.
2. buy new carpet. Oy.
3. and new furniture. perhaps some without the green marker and old blood stains from my five year old's last nose bleed (I TOLD her not to play football in the house) and blue gogurt stains.
4. breast lift ('nuff said)

Today, I have decided, is the perfect day to boycott. Though I am usually quite motivated to work out on Mondays, today it is supposed to be 80 and I’ve decided that I’m not spending any time in a hot and smelly room. Just not doing it. And I refuse to feel guilty about it. Okay, who am I kidding. I feel guilty, and will most likely blame this day and my lack of fortitude for most of my future transgressions, including, but not limited to, not fitting into my size 4’s on the timetable I have previously deemed appropriate.

But today, I am going to take advantage of the first gorgeous day of april and take a little lunch time run to the home depot. On the menu? Flowers, grass seed and fertilizer. And when I get home from work today at 5:15, I will be elbow deep in topsoil and daffodils. Because some days, a girl needs not only flowers, but to feel her hands in the dirt.

***update***
I got some lovely flowers in yellow and red and white...forgot the seed and fertilizer, but do love to support my local farmer's co-op, so may swing by on the way home from work. Oh, and now suddenly I have a sore throat and throbbing head. Yeah me!

Memo to the muscle head in the skin tight shirt:
When using the ONLY Smith Machine in the gym, could you please actually USE it? The fact that I wanted to use the machine for my chest workout today is completely beside the point. I was in the free weight room for a full 15 minutes doing bi, tri, and shoulders; and during said time you did nothing but flap your jaws with the guy who cleans the room. You may have all day to sit around and talk at the gym, but some of us are on a schedule. You may have 12” and 200 lbs on me, but I’ll cut you.

P.S. You’re not that hot. Get over yourself.

Memo to the couple in the matching track suits:
You’re adorable, we get it. Please stop flaunting. Is it really necessary to sit across from each other on alternating machines for EVERY set? And two people sitting facing each other on the same bench doing different exercises? Really not necessary kids. Don’t worry…with your matching outfits and your matching I-pods with the matching earphones that you leave dangling around your neck, we know you’re a couple, K? you really don’t have to hold hands between exercises, and use “baby” as every third word.

Memo to self:
Don’t wait for the yapper to finish with the Smith Machine by doing tri, bi, and shoulders, or you’ll be blown for chest when you finally decide you’ll have to use a machine if you want to get any chest in at all. And stay away from the double mint twins…they make your stomach turn.

I fought with a headache all day yesterday and was almost rid of it by kickboxing. So, when I arrived to the gym with 40 minutes to spare, I thought, I'll just close my eyes and listen to the radio for a bit and see if it helps my head even more...

35 minutes later I woke up.

What the hell? I must have fallen asleep in like 2 seconds, all bent over in a weird position with my head on my jacket and the truck still running...woke up with 7 minutes to get changed and wrap my hands.

maybe I should try to go to bed a little earlier.

On our walk last night, my 10 month old Boxer saw her first ever rabbit, and instincts being what they are, immediately decided “I MUST HAVE IT”. It’s a damn good thing I had a good grip on the leash, because she shot like a bat out of hell across someone’s yard, hard enough to pull me completely airborne, just barely landing on my feet about 5 ft. from the sidewalk, where my little foray into flying began. Quite the heart thumper, as I usually don’t have the coordination that God gave a cockroach, and was, while airborne, sure that I was about to do a header into the big mud puddle. She, on the other hand, thought it was great fun.

My new aupair that’s supposed to be here in April, was denied her visa by the American Consulate. Now I have to spend tomorrow morning on the phone trying to figure out why she was denied and if/how we can get her approved. Things like this make me want to punch someone in the throat.

my husband scheduled my son's hockey practice for tonight. TONIGHT. my kickboxing class night. gee, I've only been going almost every monday night for 4 months, yeah, I can see how that'd slip his mind.

Oy.

So I went to the gym at lunch instead, which is good, but not the same. plus, when I was on the angled leg press, I got this horrible stabbing pain on the lower, inside part of my right knee cap. enough that I almost yelped out loud and had to stop. weird. my knees have "hurt" before, but never a STAB like this was...hope it was just a fluke.

food has been a-ok today...even found a way to steer clear of the birthday cake in the breakroom so far.

I figured it out today, and I have 15 weeks to be a smokin' hottie for my husbands family reunion in New Orleans. Not that I feel like I have to impress anyone there, but I do intend to look good on the beach while I'm avoiding his family at all costs.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Normally I try not to think about my birthday, because usually it sucks. Like the one year, I was in the army and stationed in Texas and three days before my birthday I got a card from my mom. "happy birthday...blah, blah, blah, your sister took first in the horse show, blah, blah, blah, your brother is doing so well in school, blah, blah, blah, wish we could see you for your birthday, blah, blah, blah, oh, yeah, I'm divorcing your dad."


Then there was the year that my dad and his new wife flew down to Missouri to see me...I had just moved here with the company I work for, I didn't know a soul, and I was lonely. They said they wanted to sleep in a bit and that I should call them at 10 am and we'd go celebrate...I called 27 times. They never answered. Turns out the wife decided she wanted to go down to the casinos and see downtown, so they did it without me. They didn't get back till 8 pm. Just in time for me to drive them back to the airport.

There was the year I turned 21...Went to the bar, boyfriend got drunk, and I spent all night making sure he didn't aspirate on his own vomit.

Then there was the year that both my parents forgot. They called 4 and 7 days later, respectively, and said they supposed they just got so busy that it slipped their minds.

Then there was the year that my husband decided that this was a pretty good time to tell me he didn't love me anymore and thought we should divorce.

So, I try to ignore it. Really, can you blame me? But, this year, my 5 year old is obsessed with birthdays...She's been counting down mine for the last 14 days. Every morning she comes in the room and declares "only __ more days till your birthday mom!" and I try to act excited. She and her dad are going to try to make me a cake...Ought to be interesting...So I've been banned from returning home tonight right after work. Good excuse to go to kickboxing, though.

Oh, and my sister sent me the Dog Whisperer book and DVD, which is totally cool, because my dog needs professional help in a bad way.

Matter of fact, this has been the best birthday so far, that I can remember, mostly because nothing terrible has happened yet. We'll see what tomorrow will bring, but I'm feeling slightly optimistic, which is new for me, when it comes to birthdays.

Apparently I’ve begun hoarding food again. I didn’t really realize it until I opened a drawer this morning in the bedroom and found a bag of Hershey’s kisses. Then, when I was getting the new box of salt off the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet, I found three twix bars and a package of airheads.

I know it’s all a throwback to the years I spent sitting on the closet floor eating cake mix straight from the box, in the dark. An escape from the two women I lived with that, despite my athletic build and demanding sport schedule at the time, felt inclined to pepper me incessantly with insults and predictions that one day, the way I ate, I’d be “as big as a house”.

I also know that it’s a pretty clear sign that something in my head is amiss. Though, this time, there seems to be no one thing I can put my finger on, that would trigger this sort of self comforting behavior that normally occurs when I’m feeling quite at the end of my rope.

On the plus side...I got my other new pair of running shoes last night (I'm trying two different to check if my feet are fat enough to warrant the "wide" width) and my new this fish shirt yesterday! Two boxes on the front porch...both for me! I love boxes on my porch. It makes me feel happy on the inside.

the shoes fit fine. though I still can't decide which width is best.

the shirt...well, that will fit as soon as I'm done breastfeeding.

So, I got home at 5:20 last night. My husband grabbed the oldest and took him to hockey practice, and I sat on the couch to play with the little 3. The baby was hungry, so I fed her, and then she was sitting next to me playing quietly. All was well. At 5:35, my other son looked at the baby and said "EWWWW!", at which time I looked over just in time to see her puke all over herself, two couch cushions and the entire right side of my body. I grabbed her, ran for the bathroom, stripped her, stripped me, cleaned her, cleaned me, left her banging on the side of the bathtub in joy, grabbed all the clothes, threw them in the washer, and got out some towels to clean the couch. One minute into my cleaning frenzy, my oldest daughter came out and said "mom, the baby pooped and it's all over your carpet." I ran back into the bathroom to find out that not only did the diaper leak, but that she had stood up and sat down and stood up and sat down and stood up and sat down in 5 different places, allowing the *ahem* leakage to cover a more thorough area. Okay. So I cleaned her again and changed her again and put her, this time, in the bedroom, emptying out all the bottom drawers of the dressers in joy, while I added this set of clothes and towels to the puke load already started, and brought out the hand held carpet cleaner to clean the carpet in the bathroom. Bathroom finished, I took the cleaner out to the family room to clean the couch, only to find that my very old dog had accidently peed in the middle of the room. Okay. Dogs outside, start to clean the pee, baby's crying. Take her upstairs and put her in her bed for a nap, go back down, clean the carpet, spray with natures miracle, clean the couch twice, and, since it's out, try to clean the blood from a football throw gone astray, from three day's ago, that by the way, still won't come out. Baby's still screaming in her bed, so stop by the laundry room and add the two towels I've been cleaning with in with the puke-poop load. Go upstairs to get the baby. Find that her entire outfit and all of the blankets are covered in poop (no wonder she couldn't fall asleep). Change the baby, clean the baby, change the sheets and blankets, take downstairs and add to the load in progress, starting entire load over again and setting to pre-soak. Run a bath. Bathe the baby. Dry the baby, dress the baby, take the baby into the family room and sit in the rocking chair because the couch is wet. Rock the baby until almost asleep, at which time she pushes away from you, looks at you, smiles, giggles just a bit, and pukes on the front of your shirt. All by 6:30.

How was your night?

Dear lady in the checkout line with the missing tooth,
I realize that you may not have anything else to do tonight, but I'm sort of in a rush, so if possible, could you please double check the sizes of the 14 shirts you are buying BEFORE it is your turn at the register? Additionally, could you please refrain from saying 'what'd that ring up as?' for each of your items, being as there's a little display that shows you the cost right there in front of your face? And while we're on the subject of cost...if something rings up as 4.99, and you think the sign might have said 4.97, could you please not make the cashier do a price check for 2 cents? Here's a nickel, keep the change. Frugal is one thing, this is another. And when the cashier says "I'll just change the price" please don't INSIST that she do a price check so that you can pay the right amount, because I may have to punch you in the throat. Oh, and the 4 people behind you in the ONLY register open really don't care who you're buying the 5 different pairs of shoes for, or where, in the country they live. Buy a whole fuckload of shoes if you want, just be done with it already. And please don't stand there and ponder if you really want the red shirt you picked out, or if maybe you should go exchange it for the blue, after the checker has finished ringing you out and is, much more patiently then me, waiting for you to pay. And speaking of paying, could you please not be the slowest check writer on the face of the earth EVER. And, is it necessary to try and reconcile your checkbook right there on the little belt while the rest of us roll our eyes and try to keep from screaming? Please, just take your packages, and walk away. Please.

your cooperation would be appreciated.

have you ever felt like the universise is conspiring against your efforts to get in shape?
Let's recap the last 2 1/2 weeks, k?

me: alright! It's Monday and I can't wait for kickboxing

universe: oops, look at that, I'm going to have this girl hold the pad weird and you kick off center, and wow, look at the 14 shades of purple I've managed to turn your foot...nice limp, dork.

me: Well...tuesday...hmmm, can't fit my purple foot into my shoes... I know, let's go to the gym on lunch and do upper body

universe: ring, ring...yes, hello, this is the nurse at school...your son has a 102 fever and you have to come get him.

me: Wednesday...staying home with sick kid...still can't fit foot in shoe, I guess I can get to the gym before they close at 9, as long as my husband gets home from work on time

universe: hey, let's try 2 kids with strep and schedule a meeting for your husband that he forgot to tell you about.

me: thursday. Okay. Me. Gym. Today. Going. Two sick kids or not.

universe: how about 3 kids with strep. Still going? Okay, how about at 3 pm, you suddenly come down with a 102 fever.

me: I hate you universe. Friday...all four kids now have strep...oh yeah, and me too. I'll be in bed if you need me.

universe: I win.

me: Monday...still sick. can't go to class...

universe: ha ha.

me: Tuesday...cough cough. I really shouldn't be at work.

universe: yeah, but you need the money

me: Wednesday...almost feeling human...maybe I'll go for a quick walk tonight

universe: did I forget to tell you? you're husband's got strep now and you have to watch the kids so he can go to bed.

me: Thursday...feeling good...at least I'll get one day in this week

universe: here, have a migrane.

me: screw it. let's try again next week.

universe: see you then sucker.

me: Monday...yeah...kickboxing!

universe: alright...I'll throw you a bone.

me: yeah! and look, my new running shoes came in! That means I should totally run tomorrow morning!

universe: see. you shouldn't have pushed me. Now the baby has the stomach flu and you'll be up all night rocking her, because she won't lay down, and keeps barfing.

me: did I mention I hate you? Tuesday: So. Tired. No. Sleep. Can't. Function.

universe: told you. I win again.