I don't usually make a big deal out of trying to make New Year's resolutions, mostly because I know myself too well. I tend to set these big, grandiose plans and then crap out half-way through. Or I don't even start. Then I go through the guilt and all that jazz, and it's just not too much fun. (Also? I know I'm late to the game on the New Year post. Good thing "be a better blogger" was not my resolution or I'd already be a massive fail, only 7 days into 2011.)
So, this year I am going to do something different. I'm just going to make a list of things that would be good to work for or do. That way, there's still a goal but there's less pressure to attain those goals. And if it's one thing I love, it's setting the bar low, then breaking my arm as I pat myself on the back for soaring over it.
Seven Things I'd Like To Do In 2011
1. Take 3 months off work, still get paid for the first 6-8 weeks and maintain my health insurance for the entire duration. - This one is looking pretty good. Some people much more formal than I would refer to this as "maternity leave" or "FMLA", but I'll let them go on with their fancy selves while I pretend that it's a vacation. I'll deal with any shattered illusions after the fact.
2. Birth only one baby. And not get pregnant with another one. - If you're my friend on FB, you already know about this goal. If I fail on this front, I'm 175% certain we'll be making my parents' home our long-term address.
3. Lighten up. - I don't know what happened, but something stole my sense of humor this past year. I can't seem to write anything funny, and I don't laugh as much as I should. I don't understand me. I'll go a long time without laughing, and then D will be watching America's Funniest Home Videos (which I usually hate to my core) and I'll laugh forever at a video of a bird flying into a window. And they'll take 3 commercial breaks and I'll still be laughing at the bird video. I think all my funny gets pent up and then is released at inappropriate times. So if I could just lighten up a bit and laugh more regularly, maybe my funny will return.
4. Participate in a marathon relay. - Something about being pregnant makes me really motivated to start running. There's a marathon (or half marathon, I don't know) relay in October in my area, and it's divided up into really unfair and inequitable legs. One person has to run something like 7 miles, another person has to run 5.5 miles, another one 3.5 miles, etc. There are 5 runners in all. I want to do this. My mom said she'd do it with me. We have three other women in mind whom we plan to invite to run with us. Too bad for them, I've already claimed the 3.5 mile leg. I don't know why I want to do this as I've previously despised running. But I think it would kick ass to be able to say that I ran 3.5 miles, especially because I currently get winded from climbing the stairs (I blame the pregnancy for this).
5. Get in the neighborhood of my goal weight. - In order to do this, I'm going to have to first abandon my completely unrealistic idea of getting down to my wedding weight. It would be nice if this somehow happened, but let's be honest: my wedding weight is not a maintainable weight for me. If I could be within 5 pounds, however, I would be happy with that, and I think I could maintain it without feeling like I'm constantly on a diet. To do THAT, however, I'm going to have to really get on board with the idea that Weight Watchers is actually a lifestyle change and that once I lose the weight, it won't be a good idea to go on a week-long binge which results in gaining back hard-won pounds. Suck.
6. Adjust my attitude about my job. - I am already on this path. Being home with L for almost 2 weeks straight has led me to realize that I may not, in fact, be cut out to be a full time stay at home mom. Maybe I could handle part time. Regardless, I am slowly seeing that the job I have, while it may not be fulfilling or inspiring or entirely satisfying, is a legitimate and genuine gift. I am blessed with fair pay, great health insurance, a flexible schedule, and understanding bosses. And the more it dawns on me how great this job actually is for a mom, the more I am able to be thankful for it. So one of my goals for 2011 is to continue along this path of gratitude. (Would you listen to me? Not even on maternity leave yet and I'm already starting to sound like I watch too much Oprah.)
7. The word "gratitude" in number 6 inspired me. I want to adopt a "Grattitude". - I love making clever word play. Love it. When my kids are old enough, I'm going to reward the crap out of them when they can make a clever or witty play on words. That's just a side note. But yeah, I want a "grattitude" (attitude of gratitude). I am freaking blessed, people! And it's time that I stop always complaining about it. Something tells me that when I can stop focusing on the negative and start focusing on the positive, a lot of the negative is just going to fade away. So Mission 7 for 2011 (hey it even rhymes!) is to get me a grattitude!
And on that happy note, this is Pollyanna, over and out.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
A minor meltdown
You know what the funny thing about pregnancy is? That it eventually comes to an end. And you know what awaits you at the end of pregnancy? A kid. I know this seems basic, but after a brief but frightening conversation with my 22 year old brother during which it came out that he had no clue that a woman doesn't get her period during pregnancy, I'm just not sure what everyone knows or doesn't know.
Any woman who has kids can attest to to fact that God totally designed the 3rd trimester to be so uncomfortable that you are willing to go through anything (even labor) to be done with being pregnant. This is how I felt when I was pregnant with L. I was huge and uncomfortable and ready to be finished.
Only this time, I'm not sure how to feel. It's not that I'm not uncomfortable. I am. Actually, within the past 48-72 hours or so, I've gone from feeling pretty good to "Wow, not sure I can last for 7 more weeks like this". When I got home from work Tuesday night, I took off my coat and said to D, "LOOK at my belly. Seriously, try to honestly tell me that it has not grown today." And he looked at me like maybe it was a trick and warily said, "Yeah, you do look bigger today." And then he shielded his face with his hands and waited for me to get all hormonal and angry at him. But I didn't, because I was happy to hear that I wasn't just crazy and that my belly had, indeed, grown out of nowhere.
I've also suddenly developed the waddle. I thought I was going to get away without it this time, but no go. Again out of nowhere, I can't walk normally even when I try. It's strange to me that I was actually aware of the onset of the waddle this time, because with L, D had to tell me that I was waddling (and even then, I denied it). And last night, the little one was hanging out so low in my belly that it was actually painful to walk. My mom thought I had hurt my ankle and was limping.
And while I am having trouble sleeping these days, my arms, legs and hips are having absolutely no problem in that department. Just when I can manage to comfortably arrange myself on my 4 regular sized pillows and 1 body pillow, one of those body parts chooses to go completely numb on me, forcing me to switch positions.
So with these and a few other complaints, you would think that I would be ready to just be done being pregnant. But honestly, I'm not so sure.
It's definitely true what all those women say: you do forget the pains of labor and delivery pretty quickly after it's all over. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I forgot about it immediately, but it wasn't like the memory of those awful contractions was keeping me up at night 3 months later.
However, lately I've been finding that the memories are returning, and it seems to be directly proportionate to how far along I am. The further along I get, the more I remember. It also doesn't help when I watch shows about pregnancy and babies being born. Actually, I'd say that watching those shows does the opposite of help. I used to cry when I saw babies born because it was such an emotionally poignant moment. Now I cry and slam my legs together and think, "I don't wanna". So, in a rare moment of rational thinking, I decided not to watch these shows anymore.
But aside from the labor part, I'm getting really freaked out about the actual "having a newborn" part. Well, no that's not exactly it. More like, I'm getting really freaked out about the "having a baby and a very active toddler" part.
Not like I wasn't freaked out about having a baby when I was pregnant with L. But when I was pregnant with L, I had the advantage of being blissfully unaware of what was about to happen to my life. I thought to myself, "Yeah, it will be hard, but how bad can it really be?"
And you know what? I'm not going to sit here and be one of those moms who tries to scare the crap out of any first-time expectant mother and be all like "Oh my gosh it's sooooo hard, you're going to be sooooo tired and soooo overwhelmed and you better sleep now because you won't be sleeping when the baby comes." Because yeah, it's hard, but it's not impossible.
And there's something to be said for experience and actually knowing what is about to happen and having the perspective to know that whatever hell you feel like you're going through at some particular stage is only temporary. So that makes me feel a little better. But I don't have any perspective or experience with raising two very small children, and that scares the crap out of me.
Thinking about having to return to "dread time" - when you're ready to go to bed at 10 or 10:30 and the baby decides it's time to wake up and stay awake until 2:30 - is scary for me, because this time, I won't have the luxury of sleeping until 9 or 10 when the baby gets up again. This time, I'll have L crying to get up at 7:30 or 8, and he won't care that I was up with the baby until 2:30, and then again around 5:30. He'll want to get up and play. And he's not content to let me sit or lay on the couch and observe him. He wants active participation, people! He wants me to show him approximately 158 times that the tractor is, in fact, still in the book next to the dump truck. And he's now down to one nap a day, which doesn't happen until noon or so.
Forgive me if I start to panic a little bit. But maybe now you can see why I'm not in a great big guns-blazing hurry to evict this kid from my uterus. Because as uncomfortable as I am right now, I know in a very real way that this baby is currently as low-maintenance as she'll ever get. A very irrational side of me thinks that I might not mind being pregnant for just a little bit longer. (Please, whatever you do, do NOT remind me that I said that when I'm 4 days overdue and a raging bitch, complaining to anyone who will listen that I just want this kid out of me! It's for your own good, I promise.)
Even though I'm starting to freak out, I know I'll do this. Sometimes, that's what parenting is - just doing it. I totally understand now why, when my pre-motherhood self would ask new parents how they did it, they'd shrug and say, "You just do."
Even if you think you're the kind of person who absolutely needs no less than 8 hours of sleep every night. Even if you think that you're the kind of person who'd sooner climb the walls than listen to a baby scream for 4 hours straight because nothing you're doing is working. Even if you think you're the kind of person who is too selfish to put someone else first all day, every day.
Somehow, you just do it.
Any woman who has kids can attest to to fact that God totally designed the 3rd trimester to be so uncomfortable that you are willing to go through anything (even labor) to be done with being pregnant. This is how I felt when I was pregnant with L. I was huge and uncomfortable and ready to be finished.
Only this time, I'm not sure how to feel. It's not that I'm not uncomfortable. I am. Actually, within the past 48-72 hours or so, I've gone from feeling pretty good to "Wow, not sure I can last for 7 more weeks like this". When I got home from work Tuesday night, I took off my coat and said to D, "LOOK at my belly. Seriously, try to honestly tell me that it has not grown today." And he looked at me like maybe it was a trick and warily said, "Yeah, you do look bigger today." And then he shielded his face with his hands and waited for me to get all hormonal and angry at him. But I didn't, because I was happy to hear that I wasn't just crazy and that my belly had, indeed, grown out of nowhere.
I've also suddenly developed the waddle. I thought I was going to get away without it this time, but no go. Again out of nowhere, I can't walk normally even when I try. It's strange to me that I was actually aware of the onset of the waddle this time, because with L, D had to tell me that I was waddling (and even then, I denied it). And last night, the little one was hanging out so low in my belly that it was actually painful to walk. My mom thought I had hurt my ankle and was limping.
And while I am having trouble sleeping these days, my arms, legs and hips are having absolutely no problem in that department. Just when I can manage to comfortably arrange myself on my 4 regular sized pillows and 1 body pillow, one of those body parts chooses to go completely numb on me, forcing me to switch positions.
So with these and a few other complaints, you would think that I would be ready to just be done being pregnant. But honestly, I'm not so sure.
It's definitely true what all those women say: you do forget the pains of labor and delivery pretty quickly after it's all over. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I forgot about it immediately, but it wasn't like the memory of those awful contractions was keeping me up at night 3 months later.
However, lately I've been finding that the memories are returning, and it seems to be directly proportionate to how far along I am. The further along I get, the more I remember. It also doesn't help when I watch shows about pregnancy and babies being born. Actually, I'd say that watching those shows does the opposite of help. I used to cry when I saw babies born because it was such an emotionally poignant moment. Now I cry and slam my legs together and think, "I don't wanna". So, in a rare moment of rational thinking, I decided not to watch these shows anymore.
But aside from the labor part, I'm getting really freaked out about the actual "having a newborn" part. Well, no that's not exactly it. More like, I'm getting really freaked out about the "having a baby and a very active toddler" part.
Not like I wasn't freaked out about having a baby when I was pregnant with L. But when I was pregnant with L, I had the advantage of being blissfully unaware of what was about to happen to my life. I thought to myself, "Yeah, it will be hard, but how bad can it really be?"
And you know what? I'm not going to sit here and be one of those moms who tries to scare the crap out of any first-time expectant mother and be all like "Oh my gosh it's sooooo hard, you're going to be sooooo tired and soooo overwhelmed and you better sleep now because you won't be sleeping when the baby comes." Because yeah, it's hard, but it's not impossible.
And there's something to be said for experience and actually knowing what is about to happen and having the perspective to know that whatever hell you feel like you're going through at some particular stage is only temporary. So that makes me feel a little better. But I don't have any perspective or experience with raising two very small children, and that scares the crap out of me.
Thinking about having to return to "dread time" - when you're ready to go to bed at 10 or 10:30 and the baby decides it's time to wake up and stay awake until 2:30 - is scary for me, because this time, I won't have the luxury of sleeping until 9 or 10 when the baby gets up again. This time, I'll have L crying to get up at 7:30 or 8, and he won't care that I was up with the baby until 2:30, and then again around 5:30. He'll want to get up and play. And he's not content to let me sit or lay on the couch and observe him. He wants active participation, people! He wants me to show him approximately 158 times that the tractor is, in fact, still in the book next to the dump truck. And he's now down to one nap a day, which doesn't happen until noon or so.
Forgive me if I start to panic a little bit. But maybe now you can see why I'm not in a great big guns-blazing hurry to evict this kid from my uterus. Because as uncomfortable as I am right now, I know in a very real way that this baby is currently as low-maintenance as she'll ever get. A very irrational side of me thinks that I might not mind being pregnant for just a little bit longer. (Please, whatever you do, do NOT remind me that I said that when I'm 4 days overdue and a raging bitch, complaining to anyone who will listen that I just want this kid out of me! It's for your own good, I promise.)
Even though I'm starting to freak out, I know I'll do this. Sometimes, that's what parenting is - just doing it. I totally understand now why, when my pre-motherhood self would ask new parents how they did it, they'd shrug and say, "You just do."
Even if you think you're the kind of person who absolutely needs no less than 8 hours of sleep every night. Even if you think that you're the kind of person who'd sooner climb the walls than listen to a baby scream for 4 hours straight because nothing you're doing is working. Even if you think you're the kind of person who is too selfish to put someone else first all day, every day.
Somehow, you just do it.
Friday, December 31, 2010
In and Out for 2011
There are some things that I hate, that just irritate me to my very core, and yet I can't stop subjecting myself to them. Like the idiotic comments that people make on news articles and on Yahoo's Shine page. Seriously, many of those comments make me worry for the future of the human race.
More specifically, and the point of this post, is that I'm addicted to lists that come out around New Year's that talk about the "Best Of" the year we're finishing up or things that were "in" in the year that is closing that are now "out" and things that will be "in" for the upcoming year. I guess the "Best Of" lists don't really bother me that much. Sometimes I'll read them and wonder why a certain thing or event was included or left out, but for the most part the don't stir up much of a reaction. It's the "In and Out" lists that drive me nuts.
I think my main problem with these lists is that I really resent the implication that I need some faceless (and often nameless) writer telling me what is cool or not cool, like I'm supposed to immediately discard anything on the "out" list and promptly adorn my life with everything on the "in" list.
There was a feature insert in the paper from today that included one such list. I could give a sarcastic and snarky response to every single item on the list, but there was something like 40 comparisons and I think it would just end up getting redundant. So here are the highlights.
In: Jeggings Out: Bell bottoms/flares - Ok first of all, I don't think bell bottoms have truly been "in" since I was in junior high, and even then, not so much. Second of all, don't even start with the jeggings. They look good on maybe 2 people in the whole world, and I don't care how "in" they are - no one wants to see my flat, wide mommy butt in jeggings. (You see, newspaper author, one of the keys to writing a good piece is knowing your audience. You might want to work on that.) Finally, don't try to tell me that flared leg pants are out. A tastefully flared leg is going to do way more for my body than an airtight jegging ever will, and I will rock my flares even if you think I'm "out". So there.
In: Cell Phone Cameras Out: Digital Cameras - Seriously? Digital cameras are out? I'm going to take a wildly uneducated leap here and say that I'm pretty sure the cameras on our phones are digital, so strike one for lack of accuracy. Strike two is because there is no way I will ever believe that a camera phone can take as good a photo as a real camera. And strike three for the sheer idiocy of this statement.
In: Neighborhood Bistros Out: Chain Restaurants - I am ALL for buying local, supporting local entrepreneurs, keeping the money in the neighborhood, etc. But try to tell me that it is "out" to eat at Olive Garden and you're looking at a punch in the nose.
In: Teen Designated Drivers Out: Drunks - This must be the one that Captain Obvious wrote. And also, Captain Vague. (Is it possible to be obvious and vague at the same time? I didn't think so, but this one proved me wrong.) Are they trying to tell me that if I want to go out and get drunk (which, believe me, I do. I want to get drunk real bad but I've been pregnant for the better part of my recent life and it's just not possible right now.) that I should get a teenager to be my designated driver? Is it saying that if teens are going to get drunk, they should have a designated driver? Either way, I'm thinking they're saying that drunk driving is out. To that, I'll offer a big, fat DUH!
In: Purple and Jewel-toned Cookware Out: Matte Gray Cookware - Oh yeah, I forgot that part about me being rich and having the luxury of buying new cookware every season in the latest trendy colors. For some reason, I thought I was the opposite of rich and I also forgot that the cookware I do have is total crap and that I've wanted new cookware since I first pulled the crappy cookware out of the box after I got married. So I've been using the same crappy cookware for over 3 years, but yeah, this brilliant list has inspired me to go out and buy purple pots and pans. I mean, not that I wouldn't buy purple pots and pans, but what I'm trying to say is that this one is just stupid.
In: Red Bull with anything Out: Four Loko, aka "Blackout in a Can" - Hello, List? The nineties called, they want their reference back. Something tells me that the author just wanted to say that Four Loko is out and they really couldn't come up with something comparable to put as the "in". I love how they are telling me to drink Red Bull with anything, as if Red Bull is the latest and greatest earth-shattering invention in the drink market. And honestly, I could just drink four beers then down a couple Red Bulls and it would have the same effect as a Four Loko, so I just beat you at your own game, List. And you won't have anything to say about it because you told me that Red Bull with anything is "in".
In: Cork Wine Pub Out: Detroit's Breakfast House and Seldom Blues - I've never been to either of these restaurants, so it's not like I have a pre-existing loyalty or anything. But seriously, how pissed would you be if you were Detroit's Breakfast House and Seldom Blues?
In: Tax Breaks for the Rich Out: Empathy for the Poor - In fairness, I'm sure this was meant to be sarcastic and/or tongue in cheek. But it's already difficult to translate sarcasm in print, and the fewer words you have to work with, the more likely you will be taken seriously. So this just makes the author sound like an a-hole.
In: Velvet Out: Corduroy - Crap, there goes my entire summer wardrobe.
Well, there you have it. The worst of a really bad list. But I've got to run, it's time for me to go drink a Red Bull and buy velvet jeggings in purple and jewel tones. Don't worry, I'll be sure to take a picture for you all with my phone's camera while I'm eating at the Cork Wine Pub.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Christmas is coming and my eyes are beginning to twitch
Right around Thanksgiving every year, I get all giddy and little-girl excited for the holidays. Since my extended family is so large and since there are so many other people who are far more capable than I, I never have to live in the fear and stress of actually hosting Thanksgiving. Therefore, I'm able to happily bring the rolls and enjoy not having to deep-clean a house in preparation for dinner for 30. Also, I don't have to make a turkey. Which is good for everyone.
Pretty much every Thanksgiving of my married life has been the same. I eat, I visit, I enjoy. And I bask in the delight of the coming Christmas season. In theory, Christmas is my favorite time of year. I like the colder weather because I can wear cute sweaters and pants that hide my ever-expanding butt. (Side note: Having been pregnant in both summer and fall/winter, I vastly prefer winter so far because it's a lot easier to look chic and polished when you're working with pants, rather than capris and skirts that show off your pregnancy-induced cankles and varicose veins.)
I love the lights and the snow and the hot cups of apple cider. I love buying gifts for the people in my life, and I especially love searching for the gift that I just know will make their day. I love the wrapping. I love the baked goods (refer back to expanding butt). I love the music. I love the decorating and the parties and the friends. I love, love, love it.
In theory.
But sadly, theory and reality don't often seem to match up. Need an example? Ok, in theory, laying out clothes for the day for myself and L the night before saves time. Simple, right? In reality, morning comes and I dress myself and L in the clothes I've laid out the night before. Then I give L his banana and sippy cup of milk. L turns his sippy cup upside down and pounds the spout on his highchair tray until pools of milk form. When he reaches across the tray for his banana, he soaks his sleeve in said milk pools. Then, he mashes the banana in his hand, puts it in his mouth and smears it in his hair and on his face.
In reality, instead of being 5 or 10 minutes ahead because I've pre-selected his outfit, I'm actually 15 minutes behind because I have to once again wrangle his squirmy, uncooperative body, take off the now dirty clothes, mourn the fact that those perfectly clean clothes are now relegated back to the overflowing laundry basket, search for new clothes (which, depending on how long ago laundry was done, can take a significant amount of time - thus the PURPOSE of setting out clothes the night before) and somehow put them on L's person. And if I'm being honest, reality also includes hastily smearing a wet paper towel over his face, hands and hair and combing his mysteriously golden locks over the places where the banana was a bit more stubborn.
So there's just one example of how "theory" and "reality" don't even out. Back to the point.
Around Thanksgiving, I get all swept away by the "theory" of December. In theory, I'll have endless evenings where I can sit with D, warming my hands on a mug full of hot, delicious cider, talking and cuddling and watching Christmas movies by the glow of the fire and Christmas lights (aka my definition of bliss). In reality, every second of every day seems to be booked to the gills, leaving no time for fire gazing and cider drinking.
This year is particularly mind-boggling. I know it seems obvious why I would be much busier this year - I have a one year old. But really, I can't blame it on L. D and I made a commitment to each other that we would not get carried away with the unnecessary hullaballoo of the season, especially since L won't remember it. We aren't going berserk buying him tons of gifts. I saw this little rhyme someplace online - "Something to play with, something to read, something to wear, something you need" - and D and I agreed that it was a great way to keep ourselves in check. So we bought L one thing to fall under each category and that was that.
And even still, this year seems to be nothing short of pure madness. D and I don't buy each other a ton for Christmas, and we try very hard to stick to a feasible budget. (Actually, we kick butt at sticking to our Christmas budget, and I had to throw that out there because it's just about the only budget we somehow manage to stick to and I want to pat myself on the back a little.) And every year seems to follow a pattern. Right around Thanksgiving, when all the sales start showing up, D will usually decide that he never buys himself anything and that right before Christmas is the perfect time to go out and get himself a few things he wants. Right before Christmas. Right when I want him to give me a list of things he wants so I can buy them for him as presents. Knowing this about my husband, I usually can just go out and buy him whatever I want him to have, since he seems to think that it's a-ok that he is his own Santa.
This year, I finally saw fruits from all the nagging and teasing I subjected D to about his habit of buying himself presents at an extremely inopportune time. D has not bought himself a single thing. But not really because he listened to me; more-so because he couldn't commit to wanting anything specific. So instead of doing what I usually do and making my money stretch as far as possible at my annual outlet shopping trip with my mom, I waited until he could tell me what he wanted, thinking it would be a bigger gift that would use most of his budget.
And do you know what he wants? A wallet. That's it. A wallet. That's all he could come up with. So now I'm scrambling to not only figure out what else to get him, but also find the time in which to do it. No small task. I literally had to pull out my calendar this morning, grab some paper and do a good deal of creative planning. And basically what I could come up with was shopping on the 3 lunch breaks I have between now and Christmas that do not have meetings or appointments or work lunches scheduled. Now if I could get those 3 hours in one chunk, it might be productive, but having them spread out over 3 different days? Not so much.
And the decorating the house and putting up the tree? Unfortunately, it's become something my mom and I are trying desperately to "squeeze in". We both had to come together and enforce an iron-clad blocking off of this Sunday afternoon (in addition to the baking I need to do in lieu of gifts for my bosses and co-workers) because if we don't do it then, we seriously doubt it will happen at all.
Which makes me sad, because decorating for Christmas has always been one of my most favorite things to do. So I'm vowing to myself that it will be a cheerful, enjoyable time. I'm going to make sure there's Christmas music playing and a ban on any Grinchy moods will be enacted. No irritation, frustration or general unhappiness allowed. And of course, hot cider will be made. We will have fun decorating the house for Christmas if it kills us.
Then there are the Christmas cards. I actually really wanted to do Christmas cards this year, but the universe seems to be working against me in this one as well. I had planned to do a photo card with a printed message on it so that I didn't have to do anything but stick the card in the envelope and address it.
But that means there has to be a good, holiday-ish photo to use, and since there was no way in the world I would ever get D to agree to professional holiday pictures, it would be up to us (us = me) to come up with something. Unfortunately, our camera is one small step up from a rock, and the quality of pictures it takes is not so good. Further unfortunately, we don't have the $600 it would take to buy a semi-decent SLR camera that takes better pictures. And perhaps most unfortunate of all, I can't even find the crappy camera that we already own. Needless to say, all of this combined with the fact that it's already December 7 means it's not looking good for the Christmas cards this year.
This morning at work, I realized just how stupid I've been rendered by all the hustle and bustle (and I mean "stupid" as literally as possible). I have a new boss (and I know I'm not allowed to talk about work because I don't want to lose my job, but I have to say - you know those distant "Hallelujah" choruses you've been hearing and you can't figure out where they're coming from? Yeah, it's me.) and it's been a little crazy for me trying to help him get settled into our office.
One thing I had to do was order him a wall clock. So the clock comes this morning and I'm taking it out of the package and getting the time set and everything. And I get it to the right time but the hands aren't moving. And I'm looking all over the clock, trying to figure out why the heck it's not working, and I'm reading the little pamphlet that came in the box, trying to see if there's a special tab I have to pull or some magic words I have to say to get it ticking. And I'm getting pissed off that the pamphlet doesn't have any instructions on how to set it or how to get it going, because it's not like it's common sense or anything.
Want to know why the stupid clock wasn't working? It didn't have a battery in it. I. Am. An. Idiot.
I am going to make a conscious effort to take it a little bit easier and not put so much pressure on myself to get everything done. What gets done gets done, what doesn't, doesn't. This is usually the attitude I adopt approximately 2 or 3 days away from whatever event is stressing me out, when I'm completely fried and my brain is on overload and I'm ready to burst into tears at the smallest thing. But I'm going to adopt it early and give myself a break.
I want to enjoy Christmas this year, and every year in the future. I don't want to be the scary mommy who yells and self-medicates with cheap wine from Kroger. (Well, I don't want to be the scary mommy who yells, anyway.) So I'm resolving to be more go-with-the-flow, less crazy lady from the Target commercials.
We'll see how it goes.
Pretty much every Thanksgiving of my married life has been the same. I eat, I visit, I enjoy. And I bask in the delight of the coming Christmas season. In theory, Christmas is my favorite time of year. I like the colder weather because I can wear cute sweaters and pants that hide my ever-expanding butt. (Side note: Having been pregnant in both summer and fall/winter, I vastly prefer winter so far because it's a lot easier to look chic and polished when you're working with pants, rather than capris and skirts that show off your pregnancy-induced cankles and varicose veins.)
I love the lights and the snow and the hot cups of apple cider. I love buying gifts for the people in my life, and I especially love searching for the gift that I just know will make their day. I love the wrapping. I love the baked goods (refer back to expanding butt). I love the music. I love the decorating and the parties and the friends. I love, love, love it.
In theory.
But sadly, theory and reality don't often seem to match up. Need an example? Ok, in theory, laying out clothes for the day for myself and L the night before saves time. Simple, right? In reality, morning comes and I dress myself and L in the clothes I've laid out the night before. Then I give L his banana and sippy cup of milk. L turns his sippy cup upside down and pounds the spout on his highchair tray until pools of milk form. When he reaches across the tray for his banana, he soaks his sleeve in said milk pools. Then, he mashes the banana in his hand, puts it in his mouth and smears it in his hair and on his face.
In reality, instead of being 5 or 10 minutes ahead because I've pre-selected his outfit, I'm actually 15 minutes behind because I have to once again wrangle his squirmy, uncooperative body, take off the now dirty clothes, mourn the fact that those perfectly clean clothes are now relegated back to the overflowing laundry basket, search for new clothes (which, depending on how long ago laundry was done, can take a significant amount of time - thus the PURPOSE of setting out clothes the night before) and somehow put them on L's person. And if I'm being honest, reality also includes hastily smearing a wet paper towel over his face, hands and hair and combing his mysteriously golden locks over the places where the banana was a bit more stubborn.
So there's just one example of how "theory" and "reality" don't even out. Back to the point.
Around Thanksgiving, I get all swept away by the "theory" of December. In theory, I'll have endless evenings where I can sit with D, warming my hands on a mug full of hot, delicious cider, talking and cuddling and watching Christmas movies by the glow of the fire and Christmas lights (aka my definition of bliss). In reality, every second of every day seems to be booked to the gills, leaving no time for fire gazing and cider drinking.
This year is particularly mind-boggling. I know it seems obvious why I would be much busier this year - I have a one year old. But really, I can't blame it on L. D and I made a commitment to each other that we would not get carried away with the unnecessary hullaballoo of the season, especially since L won't remember it. We aren't going berserk buying him tons of gifts. I saw this little rhyme someplace online - "Something to play with, something to read, something to wear, something you need" - and D and I agreed that it was a great way to keep ourselves in check. So we bought L one thing to fall under each category and that was that.
And even still, this year seems to be nothing short of pure madness. D and I don't buy each other a ton for Christmas, and we try very hard to stick to a feasible budget. (Actually, we kick butt at sticking to our Christmas budget, and I had to throw that out there because it's just about the only budget we somehow manage to stick to and I want to pat myself on the back a little.) And every year seems to follow a pattern. Right around Thanksgiving, when all the sales start showing up, D will usually decide that he never buys himself anything and that right before Christmas is the perfect time to go out and get himself a few things he wants. Right before Christmas. Right when I want him to give me a list of things he wants so I can buy them for him as presents. Knowing this about my husband, I usually can just go out and buy him whatever I want him to have, since he seems to think that it's a-ok that he is his own Santa.
This year, I finally saw fruits from all the nagging and teasing I subjected D to about his habit of buying himself presents at an extremely inopportune time. D has not bought himself a single thing. But not really because he listened to me; more-so because he couldn't commit to wanting anything specific. So instead of doing what I usually do and making my money stretch as far as possible at my annual outlet shopping trip with my mom, I waited until he could tell me what he wanted, thinking it would be a bigger gift that would use most of his budget.
And do you know what he wants? A wallet. That's it. A wallet. That's all he could come up with. So now I'm scrambling to not only figure out what else to get him, but also find the time in which to do it. No small task. I literally had to pull out my calendar this morning, grab some paper and do a good deal of creative planning. And basically what I could come up with was shopping on the 3 lunch breaks I have between now and Christmas that do not have meetings or appointments or work lunches scheduled. Now if I could get those 3 hours in one chunk, it might be productive, but having them spread out over 3 different days? Not so much.
And the decorating the house and putting up the tree? Unfortunately, it's become something my mom and I are trying desperately to "squeeze in". We both had to come together and enforce an iron-clad blocking off of this Sunday afternoon (in addition to the baking I need to do in lieu of gifts for my bosses and co-workers) because if we don't do it then, we seriously doubt it will happen at all.
Which makes me sad, because decorating for Christmas has always been one of my most favorite things to do. So I'm vowing to myself that it will be a cheerful, enjoyable time. I'm going to make sure there's Christmas music playing and a ban on any Grinchy moods will be enacted. No irritation, frustration or general unhappiness allowed. And of course, hot cider will be made. We will have fun decorating the house for Christmas if it kills us.
Then there are the Christmas cards. I actually really wanted to do Christmas cards this year, but the universe seems to be working against me in this one as well. I had planned to do a photo card with a printed message on it so that I didn't have to do anything but stick the card in the envelope and address it.
But that means there has to be a good, holiday-ish photo to use, and since there was no way in the world I would ever get D to agree to professional holiday pictures, it would be up to us (us = me) to come up with something. Unfortunately, our camera is one small step up from a rock, and the quality of pictures it takes is not so good. Further unfortunately, we don't have the $600 it would take to buy a semi-decent SLR camera that takes better pictures. And perhaps most unfortunate of all, I can't even find the crappy camera that we already own. Needless to say, all of this combined with the fact that it's already December 7 means it's not looking good for the Christmas cards this year.
This morning at work, I realized just how stupid I've been rendered by all the hustle and bustle (and I mean "stupid" as literally as possible). I have a new boss (and I know I'm not allowed to talk about work because I don't want to lose my job, but I have to say - you know those distant "Hallelujah" choruses you've been hearing and you can't figure out where they're coming from? Yeah, it's me.) and it's been a little crazy for me trying to help him get settled into our office.
One thing I had to do was order him a wall clock. So the clock comes this morning and I'm taking it out of the package and getting the time set and everything. And I get it to the right time but the hands aren't moving. And I'm looking all over the clock, trying to figure out why the heck it's not working, and I'm reading the little pamphlet that came in the box, trying to see if there's a special tab I have to pull or some magic words I have to say to get it ticking. And I'm getting pissed off that the pamphlet doesn't have any instructions on how to set it or how to get it going, because it's not like it's common sense or anything.
Want to know why the stupid clock wasn't working? It didn't have a battery in it. I. Am. An. Idiot.
I am going to make a conscious effort to take it a little bit easier and not put so much pressure on myself to get everything done. What gets done gets done, what doesn't, doesn't. This is usually the attitude I adopt approximately 2 or 3 days away from whatever event is stressing me out, when I'm completely fried and my brain is on overload and I'm ready to burst into tears at the smallest thing. But I'm going to adopt it early and give myself a break.
I want to enjoy Christmas this year, and every year in the future. I don't want to be the scary mommy who yells and self-medicates with cheap wine from Kroger. (Well, I don't want to be the scary mommy who yells, anyway.) So I'm resolving to be more go-with-the-flow, less crazy lady from the Target commercials.
We'll see how it goes.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The one in which I explode celeb gossip everywhere
Ok, I know this is not a celebrity gossip blog. It's supposed to be a blog about how I work and I'm a mom and I write memos and all that.
Unfortunately for you all, you are a captive audience (if the word "captive" means that you could literally click the 'x' in the right-hand corner at any time and stop reading the words I write that occasionally form sentences and make sense). Further unfortunately for you all, I suffer from a severe shortage of people in my daily life who care as much as I do about celebrity gossip. Scratch that, I suffer from a severe shortage of people in my life in general who care as much as I do about celebrity gossip. And reality t.v.
So because of this shortage, you are now going to suffer. Because I'm having lots of thoughts about lots of celebrity gossip right now and D literally could not care less and anyone that might care a little, tiny bit is working right now or otherwise unavailable. Or they don't exist. You decide which. Either way, this post is going to be a big, old jumble of what I think about current celeb gossip. Merry Christmas early!
Jake Gyllenhaal and Taylor Swift: I am calling BS and blowing this shiz wide open. This is huge for me. Normally, I tend to be very trusting of relationships with evidential proof (such as canoodling caught on camera and run on the cover of US Weekly). I'm not so trusting that I'll believe what Star Magazine prints, but I assume it's only a matter of time. Anyway, despite my very trusting nature, I can't bring myself to believe all these shenanigans about this alleged relationship between Jake (29) and Taylor (20).
For one thing, though I don't know him personally, I feel like Jake is something of an intellectual. Not saying that Taylor is not, but there's a huge difference between an intellectual 29 year old and an intellectual 20 year old. And I can't really imagine what they talk about.
For another thing, Jake's last girlfriend was Reese Witherspoon, a 34 year old, divorced mother of two. They were together for a long time (long according to Hollywood standards, anyway - like 2 or 3 years, I think). Taylor's last boyfriend was Taylor Lautner, the 18 year old guy from Twilight who makes grown women feel guilty for being attracted to a kid who could still technically be attending high school. I don't even think I need to expound further on this one, it speaks for itself.
Finally, Taylor's new album just dropped and Jake has a new movie that either just came out or is coming out this weekend. Nothing like the free publicity a "relationship" can give. Bam. Case closed.
Mariah Carey is Pregnant: Ok, so maybe I'm stretching it on the "current" part, since this is relatively old news. But even though I'm not a super huge fan of Mariah Carey, I am happy for her. I know she's struggled with fertility issues and miscarriages and has been talking for years about how she wants to have a baby. Having been there myself, I found myself really pulling for her to get her wish and get pregnant.
And when she was photographed stepping out in a dress from A Pea in the Pod this summer (yet still denying she was pregnant), I knew she must be pregnant because when you've been trying and trying to get pregnant and have had miscarriages and all that, you try not to even look at - let alone wear - maternity clothes. I was happy when she finally confirmed the rumors that had been swirling for months, and am happy for her still.
And lucky for her, if anyone tries to pull any of the "just wait till the baby is here" crap on her to rain on her parade, she can laugh in their faces and introduce them to the 3 or 4 baby nurses she's hired to help her so she can still get her beauty sleep. And even further in that train of thought, she probably pays people to only say nice, happy, positive things to her, so she probably doesn't even have to deal with those "friendly" warnings.
Kim Zolciak is Pregnant: Ugh. Someone please stab me with a pencil. If you don't know who Kim Zolciak is, I am both sorry and happy for you. She's a Real Housewife of Atlanta, and a big, hot mess. (Also, I realize that my writing about her here gives her credit as a "celebrity", but please know that even I am aware that labeling her as such is a huge stretch.) She already has two daughters who are something like 13 and 8, and they are both SPOILED with a capital SPOILED. Kim is a train wreck who is so clearly a gold digger that she's about 2 seconds away from getting a custom neon sign to hang over head that reads "Sugar Daddies Welcome".
Her latest victim is a 25 year old NFL-er whom she met while filming an episode of Real Housewives. Kim claims she is 32 (I'd like to see some ID, please), so it's not a huge age difference, but still. You gotta feel a little bad for this guy. He's young, obviously naieve, and most of all, an idiot. Judging from the fact that she's managed to stay un-pregnant during her years-long relationship with her mysterious married boyfriend, I'm willing to bet at least $5 that Kim got pregnant by this football dude on purpose. Maybe even $10. Bottom line: she is icky.
Two of Kate Gosselin's Kids May or May Not Be Expelled from School: This whole situation just makes me sad. I've tried to watch Kate Plus 8 a few times, and all it did was make me want to punch Kate in the solar plexus (yes, I had to look up how to spell "solar plexus") so I had to stop. Watching her flirt with the guys who were power washing the siding on her house while simultaneously ignoring her children (or yell at them when they tried to talk to her) was too strong a trigger for my vomit reflex.
The thing with Kate is that I really feel for her sometimes. If you go back to the original episodes of Jon & Kate+8, she really was a different person back then. She was harried to be sure, but she seemed much happier. She was slightly more easy-going, a little bit fatter and decidedly more badly dressed. Jon was less of a douchelord robot back then, too, so I'm sure that helped matters. But it seemed like once she got her free tummy tuck, everything started going to her head. And we, the American people, witnessed the crumbling of her marriage from our couches.
So yeah, maybe she shouldn't have put her kids on tv like that, but I am not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing if put in her place. I mean, probably not, but still. If someone from TLC came up to me and told me that they wanted to film my life and pay me lots of money that would ensure a certain amount of financial security for my suddenly huge family, I might have a hard time saying no to that.
Anyway, in addition to getting long-winded, I'm also getting away from the point of all this. Her children are acting up in school. It is painfully obvious that they don't even know what to do with themselves in all this backlash and hoopla about their parents' divorce and the fact that their entire lives have been viewed by millions and are organized into episodes rather than years. And what does Kate do? She runs to Entertainment Tonight to give them an interview about all the details.
I think it would be better for those kids if Kate would just pull the plug on all this TLC business, take her kids out of the limelight, and go back to being a nurse. Meanwhile, she should milk douchetastic Jon for as much child support as she can get. Will this mean a significant cut in their standard of living? Absolutely. But I'm pretty sure Jon is a walking billboard for Ed Hardy, so that has to generate some type of solid revenue. And anyway, I personally know lots of families who have more children and waaaaay less money, and they do just fine for themselves. In fact, their annual income is probably about what Kate spends on tanning and personal trainers. You know, the real bare necessities of life. Clearly, I could keep going on this one. I could probably dedicate an entire series of posts to what I think about the Gosselins, but I am going to force myself to stop here on this one.
The Kardashians in General: What can I say? I love them. I know you probably think a lot less of me now. I'm sorry. They are famous for being famous, and I have to respect that about them. They're not annoyingly famous for being famous like Heidi and Spencer (both of whom I hate down to the very core of my cold, bitter heart). They are entertainingly famous for being famous. They have created a huge empire out of just being who they are. I watch their show (yeah, I admitted it!) and I love it (so there!). They make me wish I had sisters.
I am obsessed with them. I want Kourtney to drop Scott once and for all and move on with her adorable son Mason before it's too late and Scott raises Mason to be just like him. I love Khloe and Lamar and want them to have lots of babies and stay married forever. I want Kim to find some hot star of some type and settle down and be happy. Ideally, she'd settle down with Reggie Bush because, for some reason, I just like the two of them together.
Jessica Simpson is Engaged: This makes me happy. I like her. I loved Newlyweds and was truly sad when she and Nick called it quits. Jess has endured some hard knocks from the media about her weight, and that automatically endears her to me. Finally, a celebrity who ACTUALLY struggles with her weight. Not like those annoying waif biotches who are all like, "Oh my gosh, I eat soooooo much all the time, I just have a high metabolism." Whatever.
Whenever Jess would get into a relationship (I suspect her of being a serial monogamist), I'd hope against hope that it would work out for her. And whenever the relationship would inevitably go kaput, I'd be sad for her. So even though I also strongly suspect the timing of this engagement (since Nick Lachey coincidentally also got engaged the week before), I will push those concerns from my mind and just be happy that she is hopefully happy and in love.
----
And that's all I've got right now. I hope you weren't too bored. I promise not to make this a regular occurrence, but out of consideration for my dear husband, I decided it would be best for our marriage if I got all this out to the dark abyss that is the internet instead of subjecting him to my thoughts and being met with a disappointing, "I. DON'T. CAAAAAAAARE."
I can't promise I won't do this again, though, so every time you stop by my blog, it will be like Russian Roulette. Will you get a blank or will you get a bullet? There's only one way to find out.
Unfortunately for you all, you are a captive audience (if the word "captive" means that you could literally click the 'x' in the right-hand corner at any time and stop reading the words I write that occasionally form sentences and make sense). Further unfortunately for you all, I suffer from a severe shortage of people in my daily life who care as much as I do about celebrity gossip. Scratch that, I suffer from a severe shortage of people in my life in general who care as much as I do about celebrity gossip. And reality t.v.
So because of this shortage, you are now going to suffer. Because I'm having lots of thoughts about lots of celebrity gossip right now and D literally could not care less and anyone that might care a little, tiny bit is working right now or otherwise unavailable. Or they don't exist. You decide which. Either way, this post is going to be a big, old jumble of what I think about current celeb gossip. Merry Christmas early!
Jake Gyllenhaal and Taylor Swift: I am calling BS and blowing this shiz wide open. This is huge for me. Normally, I tend to be very trusting of relationships with evidential proof (such as canoodling caught on camera and run on the cover of US Weekly). I'm not so trusting that I'll believe what Star Magazine prints, but I assume it's only a matter of time. Anyway, despite my very trusting nature, I can't bring myself to believe all these shenanigans about this alleged relationship between Jake (29) and Taylor (20).
For one thing, though I don't know him personally, I feel like Jake is something of an intellectual. Not saying that Taylor is not, but there's a huge difference between an intellectual 29 year old and an intellectual 20 year old. And I can't really imagine what they talk about.
For another thing, Jake's last girlfriend was Reese Witherspoon, a 34 year old, divorced mother of two. They were together for a long time (long according to Hollywood standards, anyway - like 2 or 3 years, I think). Taylor's last boyfriend was Taylor Lautner, the 18 year old guy from Twilight who makes grown women feel guilty for being attracted to a kid who could still technically be attending high school. I don't even think I need to expound further on this one, it speaks for itself.
Finally, Taylor's new album just dropped and Jake has a new movie that either just came out or is coming out this weekend. Nothing like the free publicity a "relationship" can give. Bam. Case closed.
Mariah Carey is Pregnant: Ok, so maybe I'm stretching it on the "current" part, since this is relatively old news. But even though I'm not a super huge fan of Mariah Carey, I am happy for her. I know she's struggled with fertility issues and miscarriages and has been talking for years about how she wants to have a baby. Having been there myself, I found myself really pulling for her to get her wish and get pregnant.
And when she was photographed stepping out in a dress from A Pea in the Pod this summer (yet still denying she was pregnant), I knew she must be pregnant because when you've been trying and trying to get pregnant and have had miscarriages and all that, you try not to even look at - let alone wear - maternity clothes. I was happy when she finally confirmed the rumors that had been swirling for months, and am happy for her still.
And lucky for her, if anyone tries to pull any of the "just wait till the baby is here" crap on her to rain on her parade, she can laugh in their faces and introduce them to the 3 or 4 baby nurses she's hired to help her so she can still get her beauty sleep. And even further in that train of thought, she probably pays people to only say nice, happy, positive things to her, so she probably doesn't even have to deal with those "friendly" warnings.
Kim Zolciak is Pregnant: Ugh. Someone please stab me with a pencil. If you don't know who Kim Zolciak is, I am both sorry and happy for you. She's a Real Housewife of Atlanta, and a big, hot mess. (Also, I realize that my writing about her here gives her credit as a "celebrity", but please know that even I am aware that labeling her as such is a huge stretch.) She already has two daughters who are something like 13 and 8, and they are both SPOILED with a capital SPOILED. Kim is a train wreck who is so clearly a gold digger that she's about 2 seconds away from getting a custom neon sign to hang over head that reads "Sugar Daddies Welcome".
Her latest victim is a 25 year old NFL-er whom she met while filming an episode of Real Housewives. Kim claims she is 32 (I'd like to see some ID, please), so it's not a huge age difference, but still. You gotta feel a little bad for this guy. He's young, obviously naieve, and most of all, an idiot. Judging from the fact that she's managed to stay un-pregnant during her years-long relationship with her mysterious married boyfriend, I'm willing to bet at least $5 that Kim got pregnant by this football dude on purpose. Maybe even $10. Bottom line: she is icky.
Two of Kate Gosselin's Kids May or May Not Be Expelled from School: This whole situation just makes me sad. I've tried to watch Kate Plus 8 a few times, and all it did was make me want to punch Kate in the solar plexus (yes, I had to look up how to spell "solar plexus") so I had to stop. Watching her flirt with the guys who were power washing the siding on her house while simultaneously ignoring her children (or yell at them when they tried to talk to her) was too strong a trigger for my vomit reflex.
The thing with Kate is that I really feel for her sometimes. If you go back to the original episodes of Jon & Kate+8, she really was a different person back then. She was harried to be sure, but she seemed much happier. She was slightly more easy-going, a little bit fatter and decidedly more badly dressed. Jon was less of a douchelord robot back then, too, so I'm sure that helped matters. But it seemed like once she got her free tummy tuck, everything started going to her head. And we, the American people, witnessed the crumbling of her marriage from our couches.
So yeah, maybe she shouldn't have put her kids on tv like that, but I am not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing if put in her place. I mean, probably not, but still. If someone from TLC came up to me and told me that they wanted to film my life and pay me lots of money that would ensure a certain amount of financial security for my suddenly huge family, I might have a hard time saying no to that.
Anyway, in addition to getting long-winded, I'm also getting away from the point of all this. Her children are acting up in school. It is painfully obvious that they don't even know what to do with themselves in all this backlash and hoopla about their parents' divorce and the fact that their entire lives have been viewed by millions and are organized into episodes rather than years. And what does Kate do? She runs to Entertainment Tonight to give them an interview about all the details.
I think it would be better for those kids if Kate would just pull the plug on all this TLC business, take her kids out of the limelight, and go back to being a nurse. Meanwhile, she should milk douchetastic Jon for as much child support as she can get. Will this mean a significant cut in their standard of living? Absolutely. But I'm pretty sure Jon is a walking billboard for Ed Hardy, so that has to generate some type of solid revenue. And anyway, I personally know lots of families who have more children and waaaaay less money, and they do just fine for themselves. In fact, their annual income is probably about what Kate spends on tanning and personal trainers. You know, the real bare necessities of life. Clearly, I could keep going on this one. I could probably dedicate an entire series of posts to what I think about the Gosselins, but I am going to force myself to stop here on this one.
The Kardashians in General: What can I say? I love them. I know you probably think a lot less of me now. I'm sorry. They are famous for being famous, and I have to respect that about them. They're not annoyingly famous for being famous like Heidi and Spencer (both of whom I hate down to the very core of my cold, bitter heart). They are entertainingly famous for being famous. They have created a huge empire out of just being who they are. I watch their show (yeah, I admitted it!) and I love it (so there!). They make me wish I had sisters.
I am obsessed with them. I want Kourtney to drop Scott once and for all and move on with her adorable son Mason before it's too late and Scott raises Mason to be just like him. I love Khloe and Lamar and want them to have lots of babies and stay married forever. I want Kim to find some hot star of some type and settle down and be happy. Ideally, she'd settle down with Reggie Bush because, for some reason, I just like the two of them together.
Jessica Simpson is Engaged: This makes me happy. I like her. I loved Newlyweds and was truly sad when she and Nick called it quits. Jess has endured some hard knocks from the media about her weight, and that automatically endears her to me. Finally, a celebrity who ACTUALLY struggles with her weight. Not like those annoying waif biotches who are all like, "Oh my gosh, I eat soooooo much all the time, I just have a high metabolism." Whatever.
Whenever Jess would get into a relationship (I suspect her of being a serial monogamist), I'd hope against hope that it would work out for her. And whenever the relationship would inevitably go kaput, I'd be sad for her. So even though I also strongly suspect the timing of this engagement (since Nick Lachey coincidentally also got engaged the week before), I will push those concerns from my mind and just be happy that she is hopefully happy and in love.
----
And that's all I've got right now. I hope you weren't too bored. I promise not to make this a regular occurrence, but out of consideration for my dear husband, I decided it would be best for our marriage if I got all this out to the dark abyss that is the internet instead of subjecting him to my thoughts and being met with a disappointing, "I. DON'T. CAAAAAAAARE."
I can't promise I won't do this again, though, so every time you stop by my blog, it will be like Russian Roulette. Will you get a blank or will you get a bullet? There's only one way to find out.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
First Birthday Parties......Again
I've officially earned my Girl Scout badge in throwing 1st birthday parties. And it's not even over yet. I'm earning another one this weekend because it's L's First Birthday: The Sequel on Saturday. And even though The Sequel has not happened yet, I already feel like it's taught me so much about what I did wrong the first time around.
Let's briefly recap, and you, too, can learn from my experiences. (Unless otherwise stated, it can be assumed that everything in the "wrong" category was done for First Birthday: The Original. Everything "right" will be done/has been done for First Birthday: The Sequel.)
Wrong: Stress out about decorations. Spend hours scouring the internet (with special attention paid to Etsy) looking for cute, unique themes that no one in your circle of family/friends has recently used and then torture yourself by trying to figure out ways you can duplicate the adorable and professional-looking decorations yourself for cheaper.
Right: Order 1 dozen balloons from Party City in a specific color scheme, buy streamers that match and call it a day.
Wrong: Research every cake bakery in a 30-mile radius to try to find the one that can best-match the vision in your head. It's helpful if the people at the bakery can also read minds, since you'll likely have great difficulty communicating the vision in your head. Try unsuccessfully to convince your husband that it is not uncommon, immoral or just plain wrong to spend $200 on a birthday cake for a one year old. Drag out the entire process for so long that you eventually realize you don't even have time to commission a professional cake and resign yourself to making cupcakes. But promise yourself that you'll decorate them with your fancy piping gun and envision how impressed everyone will be that you made those delicious, professional-looking cupcakes.
Have an emotional breakdown the night before the party when the frosting is too thick for the piping gun so you'll just have to spread it on in the old boring fashion but the cupcakes are still a little crumby on top so you just end up ruining half of them and they look like hell. Half-heartedly select the least-terrible looking cupcakes to display in the cupcake trees and put the remaining cupcakes on a tray out of sight.
Right: Plan to make cupcakes from the start. Realize in advance that homemade cream cheese frosting will be too thick for the piping gun and let yourself off the hook by purchasing store-bought whipped frosting. Assume that they will come out looking terrible and be happy and surprised when they don't look that bad after all.
Wrong: Convince yourself that, because you are punking out and not serving an actual meal, you need to make some kickass appetizers that both look incredibly impressive and taste like little morsels of heaven. Comb every recipe and cooking website you can think of for said appetizers, and try not to think about the fact that you are spending your monthly grocery budget on ingredients for party snacks. Get stressed out by the thought of trying to prepare all these appetizers and the worry of "what if they aren't good?" and cope by ignoring the food entirely.
Have a panic attack three days before the party when you realize that you were ultimately successful in your mission to passive-aggressively forget about the food and frantically go back online to re-find all those recipes. Get 100% overwhelmed and defiantly relay a mental message to your guests that they'll be getting cupcakes and taco dip and they'll like it, and if they don't they can leave. Still manage to be crabby and surly and stressed beyond definition the day of the party as you prepare the significantly narrowed-down menu. Be mean and snappy to your husband, mom and brother as they simultaneously try to help you and not set you off like the minefield that you are.
Right: Ask your mother-in-law what she thinks we should do regarding food for the party. Happily and heartily agree with her when she suggests ordering in party subs. Do not prepare any other food, in the realization that people love subs and no one will ask to your face why there was not more food. Further realize that no one will likely ask why there was not more food behind your back, either. Enjoy the knowledge that the hours before the party can be spent relaxing and sucking a bit of weekend out of your Saturday morning instead of running around like the proverbial headless chicken.
So just a little bit of my hard-won wisdom for you today. It should come as no shock that I'm feeling much more at ease and relaxed about The Sequel than I felt about The Original. I might actually be able to enjoy it rather than having to race to the bathroom to practice deep breathing, tone down my crazy eyes and paste a happy smile on my face.
And to my family, who put up with my psycho-ness and didn't even say a word about it after the party was over: thanks. I can't imagine how psycho I would have been if you hadn't been around.
Let's briefly recap, and you, too, can learn from my experiences. (Unless otherwise stated, it can be assumed that everything in the "wrong" category was done for First Birthday: The Original. Everything "right" will be done/has been done for First Birthday: The Sequel.)
Wrong: Stress out about decorations. Spend hours scouring the internet (with special attention paid to Etsy) looking for cute, unique themes that no one in your circle of family/friends has recently used and then torture yourself by trying to figure out ways you can duplicate the adorable and professional-looking decorations yourself for cheaper.
Right: Order 1 dozen balloons from Party City in a specific color scheme, buy streamers that match and call it a day.
Wrong: Research every cake bakery in a 30-mile radius to try to find the one that can best-match the vision in your head. It's helpful if the people at the bakery can also read minds, since you'll likely have great difficulty communicating the vision in your head. Try unsuccessfully to convince your husband that it is not uncommon, immoral or just plain wrong to spend $200 on a birthday cake for a one year old. Drag out the entire process for so long that you eventually realize you don't even have time to commission a professional cake and resign yourself to making cupcakes. But promise yourself that you'll decorate them with your fancy piping gun and envision how impressed everyone will be that you made those delicious, professional-looking cupcakes.
Have an emotional breakdown the night before the party when the frosting is too thick for the piping gun so you'll just have to spread it on in the old boring fashion but the cupcakes are still a little crumby on top so you just end up ruining half of them and they look like hell. Half-heartedly select the least-terrible looking cupcakes to display in the cupcake trees and put the remaining cupcakes on a tray out of sight.
Right: Plan to make cupcakes from the start. Realize in advance that homemade cream cheese frosting will be too thick for the piping gun and let yourself off the hook by purchasing store-bought whipped frosting. Assume that they will come out looking terrible and be happy and surprised when they don't look that bad after all.
Wrong: Convince yourself that, because you are punking out and not serving an actual meal, you need to make some kickass appetizers that both look incredibly impressive and taste like little morsels of heaven. Comb every recipe and cooking website you can think of for said appetizers, and try not to think about the fact that you are spending your monthly grocery budget on ingredients for party snacks. Get stressed out by the thought of trying to prepare all these appetizers and the worry of "what if they aren't good?" and cope by ignoring the food entirely.
Have a panic attack three days before the party when you realize that you were ultimately successful in your mission to passive-aggressively forget about the food and frantically go back online to re-find all those recipes. Get 100% overwhelmed and defiantly relay a mental message to your guests that they'll be getting cupcakes and taco dip and they'll like it, and if they don't they can leave. Still manage to be crabby and surly and stressed beyond definition the day of the party as you prepare the significantly narrowed-down menu. Be mean and snappy to your husband, mom and brother as they simultaneously try to help you and not set you off like the minefield that you are.
Right: Ask your mother-in-law what she thinks we should do regarding food for the party. Happily and heartily agree with her when she suggests ordering in party subs. Do not prepare any other food, in the realization that people love subs and no one will ask to your face why there was not more food. Further realize that no one will likely ask why there was not more food behind your back, either. Enjoy the knowledge that the hours before the party can be spent relaxing and sucking a bit of weekend out of your Saturday morning instead of running around like the proverbial headless chicken.
So just a little bit of my hard-won wisdom for you today. It should come as no shock that I'm feeling much more at ease and relaxed about The Sequel than I felt about The Original. I might actually be able to enjoy it rather than having to race to the bathroom to practice deep breathing, tone down my crazy eyes and paste a happy smile on my face.
And to my family, who put up with my psycho-ness and didn't even say a word about it after the party was over: thanks. I can't imagine how psycho I would have been if you hadn't been around.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
What moms are really thankful for
Ok, I confess - I stole the title of this post from an article I saw on Yahoo. I was hoping for a light article about the little things that make us mommies happy, but it turned out to be more serious things about being happy for a husband whose cancer is in remission and coming to terms with/loving your postpartum body.
So I thought I would take it upon myself to write about the more trivial things that makes this mommy of a one year old (!!!) and a half-baked bun in the oven happy.
Toddler-safe items that keep your kid occupied for longer than 30 seconds - Up until very recently, this item for L was an empty Quaker Oats container. L looooved that thing. He would put anything that would fit into it (including but not limited to: my cell phone, my shoe and the remote to the tv), then try to put the lid back on.
He also loved to chew on the lid, which is what ultimately what led to the demise of the good old Quaker Oats container. Though sturdier than I initially thought, the cardboard in it was not designed to withstand hours of baby gumming. And once the lid was gone, L was no longer interested. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we'll be able to replace it any time soon because I'm pretty sure I could eat oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day for two weeks and still not finish an entire container of Quaker Oats.
Diaper/clothing changes that don't require the SWAT team - I'm not talking about the contents of the diapers (since I'm pretty sure we'd need a HazMat team instead of the SWAT team for that). I'm talking about the physical process of changing my child. It has quickly and easily become one of my least favorite things ever. Despite any and all attempts to distract L with toys, songs, games, whatever I can think of, he hates being pinned down. And he protests by screaming as if being tarred and feathered, in addition to flopping all over the place and acquiring Hulk-like strength out of nowhere. So when I can change his diaper and/or clothes without having to call for back-up, it's that kind of simple pleasure that can completely turn around a bad day.
The random sleep-in - This is especially glorious when it falls on a weekend day (read: almost never). That Saturday morning when I wake up with the sun streaming through my window, listening to the sound of silence. I roll over to peer at the clock and see that it's 8:15. The angels burst into a joyful chorus as my well-rested head flops back on my pillow and I bask in the peaceful world of half-sleeping/half-awake until I hear L start to stir in his crib. And then I just lay there and listen to him babble and play, seeing how long I can wait him out until he starts crying. That, my friends, is the dream.
The reality: The random sleep-in occurs on a Tuesday morning. I've slept through both my alarms and I wake with a jolt to see that I should be arriving at daycare to drop L off at that very minute. L, my alarm who will not be ignored, is passed out cold in his crib, and I curse the fact that I have a job that requires me to arrive at a certain time, thus further requiring me to go against old wives everywhere and wake a sleeping baby. These are the days that I'm not so thankful for the random sleep-in. But we'll file it under the thankful category anyway.
The smiles and good mood when there should be a melt-down - This happened to us recently, at L's birthday party. I had been running around like a bat out of hell for two days trying to get everything ready for the party that I promised I wouldn't stress about. I had reached and surpassed my breaking point and was snapping at everyone in sight (and maybe picked a humongous fight with D, which possibly was so loud that my mom and brother turned on the football game at top volume so they wouldn't hear us). L had only napped for 45 minutes, and even though he was in an ok mood, it looked like all systems were gearing up for Mr. Cranky-Pants who cries and fusses whenever the slightest thing does not go his way.
But it turns out, my kid loves attention. I already kind-of knew this, but I don't think I knew the extent. Once everyone arrived, he was in his element - smiling, waving, clapping, dancing. I'm sure it didn't hurt that we let him eat his weight in cake. It was an enormously pleasant surprise, because I'd already been mentally preparing the apologetic way I'd say to our guests, "I'm so sorry for the tantrums. Someone didn't get a good nap today. And neither did L."
Note: This scenario especially applies for places like church and restaurants. When your kid is on his best behavior in these kinds of settings, it's nothing short of awesome.
When all the socks from the dryer have a mate - I'm sure people other than moms enjoy when this happens. Socks have got to be the most annoying piece of clothing in the world to wash, especially baby socks. They are tiny and seem to get lost far more frequently than adult socks. I hate them. So it's no small thing for me when I am folding a load of laundry and do not have a single baby sock unmatched. I think this has happened a total of one time so far. No small thing, indeed.
Offering new food and having it be accepted - In the latest "my kid is my husband's clone" news, L is turning out to be a rather picky eater. Just like D, he has a limited repertoire of preferred foods, and he seems to be hellbent on sticking to them. It's actually really easy to remember: if it's a carb or if it's cheese, it's all good. Bonus points if it's a cheesy carb, a la mac and cheese. Also accepted are sweets, but that is so obvious that I almost didn't put it here, and it doesn't count because we don't give him much in the way of sweets anyway.
This kid confuses the heck out of me. He literally one day ate almost an entire can of spaghetti-o's on his own, then the next day took one bite of spaghetti-o's and gave me the "OHMYGAWD WHAT IS THIS CRAP?" face. Color me confounded.
So when I can get him to eat something outside his norm, it's a feeling of victory that is hard to describe. This past weekend, I offered him chicken at dinner. And this was some good chicken. Like, the best. Juicy and grilled to perfection. Yum. I pretty much proposed to the grill master on the spot, but since he's my bff's husband, it just wasn't meant to be. But since it did not pass the checklist of approved foods (the opposite of a carb, nary a speck of cheese to be found, and no sugar in sight), L wouldn't even touch it. So mama started wrapping his chicken in garlic bread. And wouldn't you know, it is possible to outsmart that kid every once in a while. He ate like 10 bites of chicken. Score one for the good guys.
Figuring out how some crazy baby gear contraption works - Parenthood in general comes with a huge array of crap that needs to be unfolded, folded down, put together, taken apart, etc. ad nauseum. And every single thing claims to be "easy". You know what I did this weekend? I had to put L's high chair in the van fully upright because I could not figure out how to fold it down. Even though I've folded it down before, more than once. Even though I'm the one who successfully assembled it in the first place. And my friend couldn't figure it out either. So we just loaded it up as it was. And when my friend's husband was able to fold it down for us before we left their house, it was disproportionately exciting for me. I shouldn't have been so happy that we were able to get that highchair folded down, but I was.
So really, with parenthood, it's the little things that we are thankful for. The small victories and sloppy graham cracker kisses and hysterical baby laughter are what gets us through the public meltdowns and tantrums in church. Sure, there's the deeper stuff to be thankful for too, but that stuff happens less frequently. My day-to-day energy tank is filled up by the little things.
So I thought I would take it upon myself to write about the more trivial things that makes this mommy of a one year old (!!!) and a half-baked bun in the oven happy.
Toddler-safe items that keep your kid occupied for longer than 30 seconds - Up until very recently, this item for L was an empty Quaker Oats container. L looooved that thing. He would put anything that would fit into it (including but not limited to: my cell phone, my shoe and the remote to the tv), then try to put the lid back on.
He also loved to chew on the lid, which is what ultimately what led to the demise of the good old Quaker Oats container. Though sturdier than I initially thought, the cardboard in it was not designed to withstand hours of baby gumming. And once the lid was gone, L was no longer interested. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we'll be able to replace it any time soon because I'm pretty sure I could eat oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day for two weeks and still not finish an entire container of Quaker Oats.
Diaper/clothing changes that don't require the SWAT team - I'm not talking about the contents of the diapers (since I'm pretty sure we'd need a HazMat team instead of the SWAT team for that). I'm talking about the physical process of changing my child. It has quickly and easily become one of my least favorite things ever. Despite any and all attempts to distract L with toys, songs, games, whatever I can think of, he hates being pinned down. And he protests by screaming as if being tarred and feathered, in addition to flopping all over the place and acquiring Hulk-like strength out of nowhere. So when I can change his diaper and/or clothes without having to call for back-up, it's that kind of simple pleasure that can completely turn around a bad day.
The random sleep-in - This is especially glorious when it falls on a weekend day (read: almost never). That Saturday morning when I wake up with the sun streaming through my window, listening to the sound of silence. I roll over to peer at the clock and see that it's 8:15. The angels burst into a joyful chorus as my well-rested head flops back on my pillow and I bask in the peaceful world of half-sleeping/half-awake until I hear L start to stir in his crib. And then I just lay there and listen to him babble and play, seeing how long I can wait him out until he starts crying. That, my friends, is the dream.
The reality: The random sleep-in occurs on a Tuesday morning. I've slept through both my alarms and I wake with a jolt to see that I should be arriving at daycare to drop L off at that very minute. L, my alarm who will not be ignored, is passed out cold in his crib, and I curse the fact that I have a job that requires me to arrive at a certain time, thus further requiring me to go against old wives everywhere and wake a sleeping baby. These are the days that I'm not so thankful for the random sleep-in. But we'll file it under the thankful category anyway.
The smiles and good mood when there should be a melt-down - This happened to us recently, at L's birthday party. I had been running around like a bat out of hell for two days trying to get everything ready for the party that I promised I wouldn't stress about. I had reached and surpassed my breaking point and was snapping at everyone in sight (and maybe picked a humongous fight with D, which possibly was so loud that my mom and brother turned on the football game at top volume so they wouldn't hear us). L had only napped for 45 minutes, and even though he was in an ok mood, it looked like all systems were gearing up for Mr. Cranky-Pants who cries and fusses whenever the slightest thing does not go his way.
But it turns out, my kid loves attention. I already kind-of knew this, but I don't think I knew the extent. Once everyone arrived, he was in his element - smiling, waving, clapping, dancing. I'm sure it didn't hurt that we let him eat his weight in cake. It was an enormously pleasant surprise, because I'd already been mentally preparing the apologetic way I'd say to our guests, "I'm so sorry for the tantrums. Someone didn't get a good nap today. And neither did L."
Note: This scenario especially applies for places like church and restaurants. When your kid is on his best behavior in these kinds of settings, it's nothing short of awesome.
When all the socks from the dryer have a mate - I'm sure people other than moms enjoy when this happens. Socks have got to be the most annoying piece of clothing in the world to wash, especially baby socks. They are tiny and seem to get lost far more frequently than adult socks. I hate them. So it's no small thing for me when I am folding a load of laundry and do not have a single baby sock unmatched. I think this has happened a total of one time so far. No small thing, indeed.
Offering new food and having it be accepted - In the latest "my kid is my husband's clone" news, L is turning out to be a rather picky eater. Just like D, he has a limited repertoire of preferred foods, and he seems to be hellbent on sticking to them. It's actually really easy to remember: if it's a carb or if it's cheese, it's all good. Bonus points if it's a cheesy carb, a la mac and cheese. Also accepted are sweets, but that is so obvious that I almost didn't put it here, and it doesn't count because we don't give him much in the way of sweets anyway.
This kid confuses the heck out of me. He literally one day ate almost an entire can of spaghetti-o's on his own, then the next day took one bite of spaghetti-o's and gave me the "OHMYGAWD WHAT IS THIS CRAP?" face. Color me confounded.
So when I can get him to eat something outside his norm, it's a feeling of victory that is hard to describe. This past weekend, I offered him chicken at dinner. And this was some good chicken. Like, the best. Juicy and grilled to perfection. Yum. I pretty much proposed to the grill master on the spot, but since he's my bff's husband, it just wasn't meant to be. But since it did not pass the checklist of approved foods (the opposite of a carb, nary a speck of cheese to be found, and no sugar in sight), L wouldn't even touch it. So mama started wrapping his chicken in garlic bread. And wouldn't you know, it is possible to outsmart that kid every once in a while. He ate like 10 bites of chicken. Score one for the good guys.
Figuring out how some crazy baby gear contraption works - Parenthood in general comes with a huge array of crap that needs to be unfolded, folded down, put together, taken apart, etc. ad nauseum. And every single thing claims to be "easy". You know what I did this weekend? I had to put L's high chair in the van fully upright because I could not figure out how to fold it down. Even though I've folded it down before, more than once. Even though I'm the one who successfully assembled it in the first place. And my friend couldn't figure it out either. So we just loaded it up as it was. And when my friend's husband was able to fold it down for us before we left their house, it was disproportionately exciting for me. I shouldn't have been so happy that we were able to get that highchair folded down, but I was.
So really, with parenthood, it's the little things that we are thankful for. The small victories and sloppy graham cracker kisses and hysterical baby laughter are what gets us through the public meltdowns and tantrums in church. Sure, there's the deeper stuff to be thankful for too, but that stuff happens less frequently. My day-to-day energy tank is filled up by the little things.
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