Everybody's pregnant. Have you noticed? Even my baby brother, is about to become a daddy. Makes me kind of sad and sort of half-way wish that maybe I could sort of have another, and then I snap out of it and realize how much I like not peeing my pants when I sneeze, and the mood passes.

And I've started shopping for a new aupair today, which totally sucks, because the one I have now is the best ever and I totally don't want her to leave. I mean, she actually calls herself "the queen of the butterflies" and if that isn't the person you want watching your kids, I just don't know who is. And as I'm shopping for aupairs, I started thinking "let's see, I'll need to do this again for hmmm, let's count...3, 4, 5 more years at LEAST. 5! Do you know how many years that is? And suddenly, I don't want a new baby anymore.

though I never officially entered the nanowrimo, I kind of half-assed started writing a novel that month...yeah, sort of like how I do everything else in my life. Eventually I printed certain parts of it, and began carting it around in my bag, in the hopes that I'd find a spare moment in my day in which I could change/add/re-do those parts I had printed. Well, one of those pages happened to be a part where the woman in the story was talking about a man she had just met and included cheesy romantic novel prose as in "drinking in his masculinity" and other nonsense.

My husband was snooping and found that page last night. At 1:30. In the morning. At which time he woke me up and accused me of having an affair. Now, my brain doesn't function all that well during waking hours not to mention when I'm sound the fuck asleep, so I'm pretty sure my response came out like "no, you put the toast in the pocket", which, as I can clearly see now, makes absolutely no sense, but then neither does reading someone's piece of crap partial "manuscript" and leaping to the conclusion that it's true.

FYI honey...if I take the time to type something and then take the time to proof read it and make corrections, it's probably a story, and not some super secret diary, K? Oh, and by the way, stay the hell out of my bag.

Everything lately has been reminding me of the past. Today, on a McDonalds bag, no less, there was a reference to the River of No Return. Idaho. Middle Fork of the Salmon River. Chris Porter. He was so charming and I fell in love with the strum of his guitar and the smooth harmony of his voice. It was his eyes that scared me the most…the way they looked right through me, into my soul, or my heart, or that place inside where no one is allowed. A doctor that lived like a Spartan. Happy with just a guitar and the sweet sounds and smells of the river, he was unlike anyone I’ve ever known. I refrained from flirting as he was a friend of my sister and I was unwilling to confront all the uncomfortable ness that a fling would ensure. And I was married.
But for 7 glorious days I hovered around him like a moth on the front porch light. Just to sit next to him and breathe. We watched the Aurora Borealis and the eagle in flight. We pounded the rapids and pounded the beers and sang songs until we were too hoarse and too tired to remember the words. And is it my imagination, or was the sky bluer back then? I would have stayed forever on the River of No Return. I would have stayed forever in my sleeping bag next to the fire. I would have stayed forever in his eyes. He was magnetic and powerful and sexy in his own way. And the pictures I have to remind me of that week in no way do him justice. The pictures couldn’t possibly capture the magnitude of the mountains, the crashing of the waves, the weight of the sunlight, the intensity of the stars, the roar of the silence or the passion in the man.
And though I would love nothing more than to close my eyes and re-live the memories of what was potentially the best week of my adult life, there are conferences to attend and dinner to cook and little babies to be tucked into bed, and I’ve just no time to wish away today in remembrance of an easier time. But if I had the time, I’d spend it trying to evoke the joy and passion I felt those few short days. The contentment I felt, the confidence, the love, the elation. I’d spend it recalling how I was no surer that the world was good and beautiful then I was when I stood in the middle of the river and inhaled the splendor of the untouched landscape surrounding me. And though I love my home and all of my possessions, and I often wish for more and better, I would give it up in a second to live in Stanley and be surrounded forever by the majestic perfection that is Idaho.

During the day, I struggle under the weight of my eyelids, but when darkness falls I find myself terrified to close my eyes. I’ve become painfully aware of the passing of time, and find myself clinging in desperation to each moment as it slips through my fingers. Willing myself to remember. Willing myself to appreciate. Willing myself to keep it together. But the time passes and each day blurs into the next and at the end of the week I’m left with a haze of unremarkable moments when I know in my heart that there was so much more there. So much more I’m overlooking, or forgetting, or missing. And the time, it just keeps passing. Weighed and measured by lost chances, missed opportunities, action not taken, words that cannot be taken back, and those that were never said. And the thought of all I’m missing, all I’ve missed and all I’ll never know, tugs at my mind and threatens to pull me under.

I can’t quite explain it. Unfulfilled. Unmotivated. Unsure. Incapable. Unhappy.

I have this feeling inside that I can’t put my finger on. I haven’t been writing only because I haven’t been much to be around. I have this sort of empty sensation deep in my pit that I just can’t seem to shake. Nothing terrible has recently transpired. Nothing earth-shattering or mind numbing that I can blame this recent case of melancholy that has swallowed up my world and made me quite unbearable to be around. Maybe hollow hits it. Vacuous. Void. Vacant.

I don’t mean to sound pompous or vain, but this life is not the life I thought I’d have. And maybe this is part of it. Not that I don’t have an enormous amount of blessings in my life, and I don’t intend to sound ungrateful for the gifts I’ve been given. I am blessed. I am aware that I’m blessed. But there’s this feeling of unease I have. A feeling of not living up to my expectations. A feeling that I should have been more. Better. Important. Worthy. And of these, I feel none. I feel as though here, I’ve failed. I feel mediocre at best. Pedestrian. So I laugh out loud, if only to keep from crying, and I pretend that I’m here, if only to keep from being found, and I hope that people don’t notice that I haven’t been heard from in months.

Yesterday's kickboxing class was side swiped by a migrane. Crap. I actually took my med's fast enough that my migrane went away about 1/2 way through the day, but it always makes my stomach feel a little wobbly and I figured throwing up on the mats during the jump rope portion of class would not be appropriate 2nd class etiquette. So I called my hubby and told him I was coming home instead cuz I didn't feel well. Got home and hubby said "I'm tired, I need to lay down for 10 minutes" OMG. Hello? I'm the one that doesn't feel good and YOU need to lay down? So I said, "since you didn't make dinner for the kids, you can lay down while I make dinner and then I'm going to bed". I finished dinner, woke him up, and he said "be out in a minute". But what he meant was "be out in an hour and 1/2". Jerk.

This fish

I was reading back through the last few days of "this fish" (see links) and in one post she compared herself to a weather forecast...Neurotic with a chance of sane.

And even though I'm totally not as hip as her, and I don't live in NY with a funky life full of adventures and friendships and subway rides and cats with cool names and a great job and a grasp on all the proper etiquette as well as the knowledge of when said can be tossed aside and a sexy wardrobe and a level of contentment with her body...when it comes to the weather forecast, it's like we're twins or something.

I finally made it to kickboxing. The class is run by a guy that actually is a champion kickboxer, he's got like 22 knockouts, and a zillion wins. He's, thus far, undefeated...pretty impressive. Anyway, it's a pretty "hard core" program. He's not into cute little "tae bo" routines or cd's mixed with songs at the same tempo. He's there to teach you to be a fighter.

So...the first 20 minutes of the class was...jump rope for 2 minutes, 15 pushups, 15 sit-ups, repeat two more times; run in place 45 seconds knees up, 30 seconds slow shuffle, 45 seconds fast, 15 pushups on knuckles, 15 situps, repeat three more times. Then we were on our backs, feet 6 inches from the floor. He punished us there...small kicks, large slow kicks, 1/2 way up and back down to a count of five, small circles, reverse direction, large circles, reverse direction, then it was over to our belly and into "plank". Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

So, I was pretty much dead by then. Next, you got a partner and sat across from them. First your partner did 10 pushups w/you counting, then you did 10. They did 9, you did 9, they did 8, you did 8...all the way to 1 and then back up to 10.

Then you get the pads. One partner has focus pads, and the other has gloves. He picks a combination (usually 3 punches, a duck, and then 3 more punches), and you do the combo as many times as you can for a 3 minute round. Then you do "burners"...jab-cross into the focus pads as fast as you can for 30 seconds. And then 30 more seconds. Then you do the 2nd combo of the night, and 2 more burners. Then you switch pads and places and the next partner does it. Then you do 50 jumping jacks, and the first person gets the gloves again. Next is two more combinations, only these have kicks in them and are each followed by 3 sets of burners. Then you do 50 jumping jacks and then you go home and try not to throw up.

I weighed myself this morning and was down 2 pounds. Yes, I know it isn't real weight loss, but hey, sweat much?

I have this food problem lately. I stare at the fridge and nothing looks good..not even the tub of cool whip, so I don't eat. Then I sit here at work STARVING. Yesterday, I ate two chocolate chip cookies, and a piece of pizza. All day. I know this is not smart. I know this is the wrong thing to do. Yet here I am, Monday morning at almost 11 and I've had a 1/2 piece of swiss cheese. What is my problem? I'm not doing it to "punish" myself, which I have done in the past, for being fat, or not working out, or whatever. I'm just totally uninterested in eating. The worst part is, I'm breastfeeding, and now I'm not making enough milk. You'd think that would put me back on the right track. But you'd be wrong.

Oy. I gotta go get something to eat.

My daughter looks like shit.

Over the last two weeks or so, I've been noticing that she looked pale, with red-rimmed eyes. At first, I thought, well, here we go. Here comes strep-throat, or an ear infection, or a sinus infection....it never came.

Each day she's gotten a little paler, and she's developed big black circles under her eyes.

I took her to the doctor today, and he agrees with me. She does not look good. He took some blood and said we'll hope its anemia, but we'll check for everything else. Me, being the anxious wreck that I am, of course knows that "everything else" means leukemia or neuroblasphoma, or something equally as horrible that I would just prefer my five year old doesn't have, thank you very much.

So now I wait. And try to pretend to be productive at work. But mostly I just watch the clock and wonder if it's too early to call and see if the results are in. I don't want to be a pest, but this is my daughter. My light. My laughter. My heart.

Let me preface by saying that I really do love my new boxer. Really. I do. But I'm two minutes away from hanging her up by her cute little doggy toenails. She just refuses to be housetrained and it's driving me crazy. She is so sweet and so cute and if she pees on my carpet one more time I'm going to have a melt down.

I mean, I know she's smart, because she figured out how to ring the bell to go outside, which she does 85% of the time. But, the other (let's see...100% - 85%), yeah, 15% of the time she either sneaks downstairs to the basement and goes there, or she runs upstairs and does it in the hallway. Oh, and yesterday she had just come in from outside and we were playing in the kitchen, and then she walked around to the other side of the island where I couldn't see her and peed there. I'm losing my mind. This morning, she was obviously tired because she didn't feel like going all the way up the stairs, and instead peed on the fourth from the bottom. And husband has even less patience then me and is pissed. Excuse the pun.

Also, she still "occasionally" pees in her kennel. She won't do it for 2 weeks, and then all of the sudden she'll do it. Last time, I took out her pillow, cleaned the kennel, laid down a towel, and put her in it. In the middle of the night she started barking, so I went to see if she needed to go outside...nope. She'd peed on the towel and wanted me to come remove the wet one.

Someone out there has got to have a tip for me...the poor, tired of cleaning up pee, owner of a dog that refuses to adhere to the house rules.....

Today I find myself unable to muster the motivation to hit the gym. I was going to go at lunch, and now I can't really go, or by the time I got back it'd be time to go home, and that's not cool. I'm still holding out hope that I'll do something tonight, but I haven't got a full night's sleep in about forever, so I'm feeling really exhausted today and all I want to do is take a nap. Maybe it's my body's way of telling me I need a little rest, but I feel guilty nonetheless.

I emailed a local kickboxing school to ask about rates and times. It's kind of far from my house, but it's a total badass school and it might be worth the drive. I'll keep you posted.

Today I am wonderfully sore. four days of working out after months of a sedentary lifestyle will do that for you. And oh, the pain, feels so so good.

My puppy is slowly, and with much confusion, learning to sort of walk on a leash. The best way to a boxer's brain is through their mouth, apparently. As long as I have a fist full of smelly treats, she's just happy as a lark to be wearing her harness.

The shirt I'm wearing today has slightly shorter sleeves than usual, and I'm distressed at the fact that you can see my PATHETIC FARMER'S TAN. I spent most of the summer pregnant and in HUGE clothes, hiding my once toned arms as they became flabby, and now I look like Bubba from the corner dairy farm.

I must go grocery shopping tonight. I hate going on Fridays, but we're getting low and I don't want to eat cookies just because there's nothing else. I've been so good this week. The only cheat I've had was some chocolate graham crackers last night, which really isn't all that bad if you consider the amount of JUNK I've crammed in, in recent months.

I've decided that ediets, on their default setting, is just too damn complicated. I mean, in a week, they give me 6 different meals for 6 days. There's just no way I'm making 36 different things each week, so I've been tinkering with it a bit. I've now got it changed to breakfast being my choice, the four meals in the day the exact same all week long, and then a different dinner each night. Might sound boring, but I find it much easier to make lots of one thing then one of lots. Plus, the first week I bought raspberries for a meal, and by the time I got to it on the plan they'd gone all mushy and greenish. Not cool. Now I just have to pick 4 things I like and then find a dinner, and since all the dinners have to be "family" friendly as well as "EFL" friendly, that narrows the search a bit. But I love that once you have it all figured out, they print you out a shopping list. That way I just have to add the stuff I need for the kids, and I'm off to the store.

So far, it's been worth the $20 it cost me...just to keep me away from the bad stuff I normally binge on.

This morning, hubby and I had our physicals for our new life insurance policy. I’m switching life insurance, because the old company I worked with made me mad, and yes, I am immature enough to switch companies just because my panties are in a bunch. The old company had my life, house and car policies…and got a ton of my money each year. One time, I paid two car policies at the same time, and while the exact total should have been like $190.98, I rounded up and paid them $191. Well, even though I put the payment slips into the envelope, they couldn’t seem to figure out that I was paying both policies, with an extra $.02 to apply somewhere. Hell, they could have even kept the 2 pennies and had a party, for all I cared, but since they weren’t smart enough to do that, they applied the whole amount to one of the cars, and let the other one lapse without ever contacting me. Smart. So, long story short, I was mad, and switched companies.

Anyway…last night, all of the sudden, my hubby started feeling really sick…he started sweating really bad and got nauseous, and he said he felt like his heart was beating really hard and really fast…and all I could think was “I’m pretty sure that if he has a heart attack tonight, they’re not going to give us our policy”.

Fast forward to the middle of the night…I heard something in the kitchen, so I woke him up and said “someone just took the lid off the peanut butter jar”. Because obviously my mouth has a mind of it’s own at 2:30 in the morning, and what that really meant was “I think one of the kids is sleepwalking and is in the kitchen…go check”. He, being equally coherent at that time of the morning said “but the bubbles are in the cabinet”. What? Okay, so the noise kept going, and I had woken up a little more by then, so I said “I think the dog got out of her kennel.” To which he angrily replied “I put the cat in the mailbox this morning”. So I kicked him, and he woke up and said “what? Was I snoring?” and I said “the dog is loose in the house and is drinking out of the toilet”. He said “no, that’s the cat”, and I said “I’m pretty sure that’s not the cat”. And I was right…the puppy got out of her kennel and was running through the house, drinking out of toilets. But she didn’t eat the peanut butter so that was good.

And then I had a dream that I was Madonna’s nanny and housekeeper, and I had to keep going to all these stores with her to find clothes for her daughter, and she had horrible taste and me and the kid hated all the clothes she picked out.

Well, the large, purple harness turned out to be the right size after all...I put her in it this weekend, to get her used to it, and it didn't seem to bother her at all. No frantic scratching or twirling in circles trying to get it off. Of course, she's very fast, and a little bit slippery, so it took me about 45 minutes and 73 treats before I got it fitted, over her head, leg through the hole, strap around her belly, and snapped.

My kids immediately wanted to put her on a leash, so I said sure, just don't pull on her or she'll get nervous. They went to the front yard and in 12 seconds she'd turned herself completely inside out and escaped the harness. Then she merrily ran zig-zags up and down the sidewalk with her tongue out the side of her mouth singing "catch me if you can"

I may have to try the pinch collar. It's the only thing I've ever used that a boxer couldn't slip it's head out of.

On the bright side, I finally got my act together and MADE IT TO THE GYM on lunch break today...and guess what? The building is still standing, no major emergencies occured, and everyone is just swell. Did I mention that I tend to worry too much?

I spent lunch at the petstore AGAIN today.

today it was in search of a harness for my collar-hating new boxer. She doesn't just hate the collar. She HATES the collar. You put it on her and she sits and scratches and scratches and scratches, and then pretty soon she's got a big lump on her neck from all the scratching, which she scratches until she looks deformed. Or like she's got a bad case of lymphoma. Neither of which is good. The first time she did it, my other boxer had just died of lymphoma, and me, thinking the worst, burst into tears...she's only 3 months old! She can't have it already! It wasn't lymphoma, it was all the damn scratching.

So, being the ever responsible parent, she hasn't had a collar on in two months. I thought I'd try a harness instead, with the added benefit of keeping her from strangling herself or popping off the leash and running away. She's fast.

So today, I went in search of a harness, because this dog has got to learn how to walk on a leash yesterday, or I will never get to run with her, which I don't REALLY want to do, but I also don't really want my ass to look like this, so what can I do. Here's where the smart part comes in. Last night I told myself "oh yeah, don't forget to measure her chest"

Did I do it?

You would think so, but no. So I stood there in the petstore going "well she's about this big...does that help?"

I wanted to get a medium because it came in pink, but I went with a large purple one in the hopes that if it is too big, I can just rubberband it shorter. Because, you know, I probably won't be back to the petstore till like Sunday, and I can't wait and just buy it then when I know her size...

I want it NOW, Mommy!

My sister taught me how to drive a stick-shift. I was 16 at the time, and she had a little red escort, and I'm pretty sure we were driving back from seeing her horse. I remember sitting at a red light, and the corner of Adams and Tienken, where there's just the smallest hint of a hill. I was so worried that I was going to roll backwards and smash her car. I was so worried that I was going to lurch forward and stall. I was so worried that I was going to let her down.

It was the first time, that I can remember, that I felt like someone believed I could do something new. That I was capeable of being more than I already was. It was a strange feeling for me...the girl that had come to terms with the fact that she was nothing. Growing up I was never as "smart" or "thin" or "pretty"as my sister. I was never as "good looking" or "talanted" or "funny" as my brother. I was an afterthought. I was an inconvienence. I always kind of felt like a foreign exchange student living with a family that tried their best to tolerate me, but never really gave a shit if I was there or not.

My sister was not my friend. She hated me. She admits it freely now that she did. She wanted to be an only child and I ruined that. But she was only a little girl trying to stay on the right side of the family, so I don't hold it against her. My brother was not my friend. But that was probably me, already convinced I didn't deserve kindness, that pulled away from him. He doesn't hold it against me.

But that day...She had gone away to college and we had suddenly gained a brand new relationship. Removed from eachother, we cautiously reached out and touched hands. And we began to like the person at the other end. She took me out to the barn that day, and on the way home, she asked if I'd like to drive. I said no...I couldn't drive a stick, which in my mind meant that I never would...I never could. But she insisted, and there I was, behind the wheel praying "God, please don't let me stall". I stalled, and mentally ducked my head waiting for the insults to start flying. They never came. She said "take a deep breath, push in the clutch, start it again, and this time remember to give it a little more gas". That was it. No name calling, no exasperated sigh, no dissertation on all the ways I had failed. She just gave me permission to try again.

I had no idea how to take that.

But I did it. I drove a stick. I still, when I can, drive a stick. It makes me feel powerful, and capeable, and loveable. Silly, but true.

Today my sister and brother and I are the best of friends, and I am so grateful to have them in my life. And when my life seems out of control and I start to think that I will never be happy again, I just take a deep breath, push in the clutch, start it again, and give it a little more gas.

Thank you sissy.

Just so you know, string cheese tastes way better when you remember to take it out of your cooler bag and put it in the fridge because you didn't put any ice in your cooler bag because you have a fridge sitting right there in your office. Instead I left it in the bag, right next to the apple that would probably taste better cold too.

No, I did not eat the apple, I had a Fast Break instead. Thanks for asking.

I finally found time to get my hair chopped last night...she took off 5 inches and I still have enough to pull back into a ponytail...I guess I let it get a little longer than I thought. It feels SOOO much better now...healthy and less frizzy.

My new MRP was delivered to my house today. Of course, I'm at work, which means I have to wait to open it till I get home tonight. :( I'm like a kid at Christmas...if I know there's something on the way, I can't WAIT to open it. I know. Excited about an MRP? Insane. But it's a BOX people. One that came in the mail and is addressed to me! Very exciting stuff!

I talked to a girlfriend of mine today that I haven't talked to in 4 months and haven't seen in over a year. I thought she had written me off or something, but as it turns out, she's in a bad place (marriage) and is so so sad. It's horrible. She's probably the nicest person in the whole world and I hate to hear that she's so sad. No Fair. I want to make it all better, but there's really nothing I can do, you know? I mean I can listen and "be there", but when you get to that bad place, the only one that can change anything is you...and that's a really hard thing to do. She said she's lost 30 pounds, which is great, but she lost it on the "hey I'm so stressed out that if I try to eat anything I'm going to puke, so I guess I'll just sit here and chew off my fingernails" diet, which is no good. She wants to start BFL again, but just can't get motivated. Been there. Oh wait, that's where I am now. Not for the exact same reasons, but they're not entirely unrelated.

Oh bloody hell.

I made a huge mistake in my checkbook and now I'm screwed. There is nothing that makes me feel more stupid then bouncing checks.