Showing posts from March, 2010
Cletus the Used to be Fetus is six months old. And he can sit up. On his own. And reach for toys. Using both arms. And he can roll over from his back to his belly. And then push his torso up using his arms. And hold himself there ! Looking at him you would only see this precious bundle of smiling joy. You'd have no idea that there was a time when his arm looked "off." Where his head looked "not right." When there wasn't much movement. When there wasn't any strength, just a whole lot of limpness. Miss Heather has been our saving grace. She demands consistent workouts, everyday stretches and pushing Cletus beyond what he would rather do. Thank you, Miss Heather, and to all those wonderful, patient people who dedicate their lives to helping others. We appreciate all that you do!
I attended a Women's Health Fair last night with a dear friend of mine. Which was great because (1) I am a woman and, (2) I am a big fan of fairs. Except this one had some sort of "health" theme going on which clearly meant no cotton candy or funnel cakes. I was ok with that because - just in case you don't happen to know, Burger King sells Funnel Cake Sticks which are unbelievably glorious in my opinion. We were handed one of those eco-friendly bags to load up with all those goodies notoriously handed out at events like this. Things like papers, peppermints and well, more papers. You know, papers advertising super healthy things like botox treatments and breast augmentation services. At the orthopedic surgeon booth there were 3D bones and super cool pens. And I mean super cool pens. Not Bic cheap. (No offense, Bic. I use your products consistently because I'm poor and I can afford your kinds of pens.) My point is, I wanted one of those pens. The un-Bic one.

One Hot Feisty Mama!

I have got to be the luckiest girl in the entire world! I am so giddy with excitement I can barely stand it.... Why? you ask. Well let me tell you:  I have won and will have delivered to my front door very shortly -- Feisty Mama Salsa ! Do you even understand? I will walk a thousand miles for this salsa. I will actually trample people I love dearly in a mad attempt to get to a jar of their Really Sassy Salsa. I will take my big bag of tortilla chips and my bottle of spicy veggie blend and hide out in a basement closet while my children are sleeping just so I don't have to share. I will put it on chips. On tacos. On baked potatoes. I will stir this salsa in with Macaroni & Cheese (oh, yes, you have got to try that!) and in with tater-tot casserole. The ways this salsa can be used is endless. And so delicious ! If you haven't already, you need to get yourself a jar now. I mean right now . Stop reading. Order. And then you can come back. I'll wait for you. Welcom

Shape Up or Ship Out (which might be easier on a boat and all)

Uh, yeah. So I may have crossed over to the dark side. I just spent $105 on a pair of shoes. Not just any shoes, mind you. These are the Skechers Shape Ups . Designed to tone and strengthen and improve my posture. Mind you, they won't do much of anything if I don't strap them on an walk a hundred miles, but it's a proverbial step in the right direction. I hate spending money to try to lose weight. I think it's foolish. Eat healthy, walk, run - that doesn't have to cost much at all. I thought that until it was ME that had to try to lose the weight. This baby weight does not want to leave me. It loves me as much as the baby himself. I, however, do not love it. The weight, people, not the baby. I love my baby. Save your hate mail for a different post. Once I made the decision that I would get the shoes for added help while walking I felt good. That was until the negative stigma met up with me at the store. If you've never seen these shoes they're, well, obv
I wasted a cheery wave on someone completely undeserving. This bugs me because I do not cheery wave on a regular basis. I slightly nod if I know you. I plain wave if I like you. But my cheery waves are usually reserved for the innocent: like children under the age of six. So here I am walking out of work, bags hanging off one arm, cell phone to my ear happily chatting away, and a car at the stop sign honks not once, but twice. It's the end of the work day, I'm on the phone making fun plans with V, so in a weakened state what do I do? Smile happily and cheery wave. I cheery wave to the car at the stop sign. The car whose driver has done nothing but make it her recent life mission to say completely inappropriate things to me in front of my children. Who has accused me of horrible, horrible things. I cheery waved at a woman who honestly doesn't get it. (How many times have I witnessed the oh-so-innocent, "How would I know she'd get her feelings hurt if I told her I

All in the name of a weekend.

This weekend was a busy one. I like those. They make me feel like I have purpose of some sort. But, since I'm old now, I can only do them once in a while. Because, well, if I do too many busy weekends then I just feel old. And that I should up my dosage of One A Day Vitamins. Friday night was good. We went and saw Diary of a Wimpy Kid as promised to Dotter. I ate a gazillion pounds of buttered popcorn. She refused to sit by Big V (because he talks through the movies and it's annoying and embarrassing). Big V got a super large soda and wouldn't share when we ran out. (Probably getting back at us for the whole "you talk too much" accusation.) Saturday was our family's St. Patrick's Day party which is my second favorite event of the year, next to our Halloween party. Let's face it, any family can get together for Easter or Thanksgiving... but it's only the coolest families that gather in green to eat corned beef and cabbage when they're not


I am so giddy with excitement I can barely contain myself. It doesn't help that I've consumed my weight in m&m's this afternoon -- I can't tell if I'm experiencing a severe sugar rush or I'm seconds away from having a stroke, one thing for sure I am not missing my plans tonight. No siree! Tonight is Family Date Night. Also known as The Perfect Excuse To Consume Double My Weight In Popcorn Night. Big V and I are taking Dotter to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid . (The Jelly Bean can't be bothered with this silly outing. She has real friends. Very cool friends. They watch movies with PG-13 ratings or above only. And take pictures of the movie screen with their cell phones and send picture texts of Robert Pattinson to their other equally-cool-but-unlucky-because-they're-not-at-the-movies friends.) Truth be told, I could care less about this kid's diary, the only thing I want is my special salt shaker and an IV drip of butter. I'm extremely territor

And the Guilty Shall Remain Nameless (ahem, Burger King)

Yes, I get that you need to eat lunch, too. I understand that it must be very difficult to smell that lovely charbroiled food you hand out through the drive-thru all day long. What I don't get is why you feel you have to eat at the drive-thru window where customers might be able to see you. What I don't understand is why you feel it necessary to lick your fingers while looking out the window at my car . You know there's a person in that car, right? I mean, the car wasn't there a second ago and now it is, so a fair assumption is there is a driver inside that car. The car you're looking at. While you're shoving food in your face. And lapping at your hands. Perhaps the driver could even be considered a valued customer. One who probably isn't blind. (Because she can drive a car , moron.) Meaning she can see you . Yes, I know it probably goes on at every restaurant in America. Employees get hungry, grab something quick to snack on, slather it in sauce, and

So close... yet so far away...

I promised Big V I wouldn't make disparaging remarks about the Devil Dog anymore. He was all like, "people think my dog is aggressive and destructive now" and I was all like "but your dog is aggressive and destructive" and he was all "yeah, but they didn't know that until you told them." Of course he was right. (But I still think eventually everyone would've found out anyway when there was a giant hole in the exterior wall of our home and we'd have to explain how the Devil Dog chewed out his escape route.) I asked if it were acceptable to speak in hypothetical's instead and he just rolled his eyes and sighed really loud and I'm pretty sure that meant he's okay with it. So, hypothetically speaking, let's say someone came home and announced they found a home for their crazed aggressive, destructive devil dog. And that same person packed up dog toys and bones and food and the kennel.... and even put the dog itself in the t
I am fortunate to get together with some really great friends on a regular basis to do the stuff women generally do together: eat, drink, and laugh. There's really not much to it at all. Easy-peasy. The most energy is spent trying to figure out which drink to order. And then I got invited to Ladies' Night. At a gym. To climb a wall. Of rocks. A rock climbing wall? I can just see myself now, grasping on for dear life by my fingernails, wine glass gripped in between my teeth, trying to find some form of footing... I used to be athletic. Surprisingly so. I could run 7 miles without much effort on a regular basis. My arm strength was my best asset. (Which practically saved my life when I was in the Army. Do you know how many times snarky people get dropped by a drill sergeant? A lot. I have repressed memories of hours worth of push-ups, but that's a story for another day.) I used to run up and down stadium stairs because I enjoyed working out. That was years ago. Today I&

Is it me?

Is it wrong of me to salivate every time I catch an episode of  The Real Housewives or 16 and Pregnant? Because, seriously, my life is so good compared to all that drama and watching those shows remind me of that little fact. And I enjoy that. Sure, years ago a film crew could've followed me around watching me wipe my tears after my boyfriend who impregnated me (I'll just call him El Diablo) finished a mad rant about how horrible of a human being I was... to be certain I was just as foolish as the girls on 16 and Pregnant (except I was older) and I have managed not to behave like those fancy-schmancy rich-without-a-clue women on the Housewives. Watching these shows I can't help but think, "wow, I've come so far." So keep the disfunctionality coming! It makes me feel so normal .

Again with the Daylight Savings Time

Seriously. What is the point of this constant clock movement? Spring ahead. Fall back. Spring ahead again. Fall back once more. Hey, everybody! Let's Spring ahead one more time. How about KEEPING YOUR HANDS OFF THE CLOCK! Unless they devise a way to automatically change every clock and wristwatch that I might possibly come in contact with, I want no part of it. I'm convinced Daylight Savings Time was created by some guy who experienced an unbalanced amount of bullying in his childhood. In order to "get back" and everyone who had wronged him, and in a desperate effort to feel "in control," he decided to make us endure time changes. Do you know what it's like to wake up and think its 8:00 only to find out the cell phone says 9:00 but the oven says 8:00 and the computer says 9:00 and the car says 8:00? It's like slipping into crazy, that's what it feels like. And just when you thought you got it under control you go to work the next day and think 

Protect & Serve

One of the offices I get to visit happens to share a lobby with the police department so we get to hear things like this: Little Old Lady :  Excuse me, Officer. I was cleaning my house and found a gun. Police Officer: A gun? Old Lady: Yes. I don't want it. Can I bring it here and give it to you? Officer: Well, uh, we don't really accept things like that. Old Lady: Well, what should I do? Take it apart and throw it in the dumpster at work? Officer: Yeah, you could do that. Seriously?


What do babies eat? And when? As in, Cletus will be 6 months in a week and we just tried rice cereal this weekend and I can't remember if children aren't supposed to have any clue on how to swallow, because he certainly cannot get it figured out. I know he is a lagging behind kind of kid... he just started grabbing toys and he finally flipped over to his belly (then gets stuck) but he is drinking like a banshee (assuming banshees consume ridiculous quantities of liquids) and the nanny was all, "I got some free samples and just  happened to get these three small jars of organic apples and pears and - look! It says " from 4 months " right on the label! I didn't know if you wanted them for later... you know, when you're ready to have him start food" and I was all, "Oh, that's totally cool because we love  free stuff!" And then I drove off to work wondering if we should be up to steaks and potatoes by now and what age did the girls sta

Staying Informed

The reason I love the Big V so much (and I mean LOVE) is because he truly is a "hand's on Dad." He is always looking for things to do with the baby. He pours over recreation department programs, sifts through newspapers and even asks strangers if they have any suggestions. Imagine his excitement when he came across a print edition of something (he) called "Community Dads" while we were visiting a local church. V was uber excited about the possibility of finding all sorts of things he and Cletus could do together (not to mention having something to read to distract him from whatever was being said up front). Being the supportive partner I am I asked him to quick pose for a picture, which he gladly obliged. And then... Uh, honey. That's "La Comunidad." It's a spanish newspaper. Not really about Dads. Needless to say, he had to listen the whole time . (Guess who wished they would've taken a foreign language in high school.)