Confidence

Confidence is something I'm lacking lately.

I hate to admit it, because it sounds completely shallow (and maybe it is), but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with how I'm looking since the birth of my daughter.

I feel heavy. I feel puffy. I feel unkempt. I feel like no matter what I do, I'm not going to look good. I don't want my picture taken (which is going to really stink in a few weeks when we have family pictures)...heck, I honestly don't even want to go out in public.

The way I move? I swear the only way to describe it is 'lumbering'. I am uncoordinated - more so than usual.

I see other moms who look so put together. Their hair is done in some other style than a thrown up ponytail and it isn't doing the nasty postpartum shedding thing. Their clothes are crisp and actually have waistbands that don't result in a muffin top.

They don't sweat profusely doing mundane things like grocery shopping.

They get time in the day to take care of themselves (I bet they even get to go to the BATHROOM by themselves...jerks!).

I know I have a lot to be thankful for, and believe me, I am.

I would give so much to feel good about myself again. I hate how much my physical appearance ties into how I perceive myself.

But it does. That's an unfortunate fact.

I don't remember feeling this poorly after my birth of my son. After he was born, I went back to work. Though I am thankful I have the opportunity to be a stay at home mama, there was something affirming about having a job outside of the home. I dressed up everyday. I got to speak with adults on a daily basis. My brain was used for something other than housework and playing Thomas the Tank Engine OVER AND OVER.

I guess I can't have it both ways. And if I had to choose, I guess I'd choose to be exactly where I am right now. At home with my children. I know raising them is the most important job I'll ever have.

What needs to happen is me finding a way to thrive in my current situation. And when I figure out how I'm going to do that, I'll let you know.

Right now? I'm going to figure out how to get in a LONG shower. You know, maybe I'll shave my legs AND wash my hair.

Extravagant. I know.

Blame The Social Network

This is one of those posts where I have a million things going through my head but can't settle on one to write about.

My brain won't stop. It started about an hour ago, this unsettled feeling. I don't know why. What happened. Today was a really good day. Only a few meltdowns (from toddler), a birthday party for one of my dearest friend's son. Overall, laid-back busy. If that makes any sense.

After my son went to bed, my husband and I actually watched a movie together, which is super rare. We picked The Social Network - which was fantastic. (And I'm sure they took a lot of artistic license, but has Mark Zuckerberg been officially diagnosed with Aspergers or what?)

When the movie was over, the husband cut out to play World of Warcraft (I'm not even going to start on this...I'm such a WOW widow) and I got REALLY antsy. As in, it's 11:30 and I really should go to bed, but I need to clean the kitchen and put away laundry and start another load and, and, and...

All the while, I'm having a conversation with myself and it's going something like this:

"Wow, that kid is a billionaire and he's like 26 or something.You will be 33 in May. What have you accomplished.No seriously. What?"

And I'm beating myself up in my head while scrubbing the hell out of the kitchen counter.

Listen, it's not like I feel the need to be a billionaire. Not at all. Even though not having to worry about money would be a welcome change.

It's more the principal of the thing. Let's just say the dreams I had for myself when I was fresh out of college have very much gone by the wayside. So much so, I honestly can't remember what they were.

Yes, part of my plans included having a family. But I've never been one of those people that was like 'all I want in life is to be a mom.' It's just not me. I can't pretend that I'm okay with just dissolving into my family, becoming nonexistent.

I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning. I really hate when I get into these funks and start questioning everything. I think about jobs. I think about getting laid off. I think about choosing the wrong college. The wrong major (cause honestly, an English degree without a teaching certificate is really doing me NO good).

Then I tell myself I did one thing right. I picked my husband. That was good. And that wouldn't have happened if I'd gone to another college.

I guess it boils down to the feeling of being purpose-less. Okay, semi-purpose-less (how many hyphens can I fit into one word). I know that my main purpose is being a wife and a mom. And I love that. But then what?

You know, I completely blame The Social Network for tonight's insomnia. Next time I'm totally picking something that will make me feel like a winner.

In fact, I'm putting Joe Dirt on RIGHT NOW.

Back in the Warm Glow of the Internets

Just as I'm all 'Hey world, I'm going to blog more!', my computer goes belly up.

That was two weeks ago. A trojan took me down. I have no idea where it came from. And honestly, I was stunned it got through all the security on this computer. But hackers are assholes. Crafty assholes.

Thankfully, my husband is some kind of IT whiz. And yesterday, he got this hunk of junk back working. I don't know how. Basically it required wiping the entire hard drive and reinstalling eleventy billion updates.

But thank you, husband, for your tireless efforts to get me back online!

You don't know how much your rely on the Internets until you do not have access. I didn't miss stuff like email or Facebook, probably because they're on my phone. But things like banking, bills, SHOPPING. You know, the important stuff.

You should have seen me on cyber Monday. I was climbing the walls thinking about all the unmissable deals I was losing out on.

Tragic.

Now I'm doing a mad scramble to finish my Christmas shopping online. I honestly tried the old fashioned way, but me (pregnant) and my toddler (worst shopping partner EVER) epically fail at at real shopping.

I even went out at midnight on Black Friday. The deals weren't that great, but I was childless and managed to check off almost all of my nieces and nephews.

But it wasn't the same as sitting on the couch, with a cup of tea, clicking away, NOT waiting in line and having stuff just show up on my doorstep.

I'm in my pajamas, unshowered, with coffee. And I'm going shopping.

Internets, I love you and lets not be apart again.

Not to Complain, But...

So I've already gone over the barfing. Which seems to be subsiding (knock wood).

But dude, this pregnancy has been so completely different from my first. Which was mellow and relatively easy.

I think it's a dirty trick. Cause now I have a toddler to chase.

A toddler who likes to run into the bathroom while I'm vomiting and turn the light on and off as fast as he can. Nothing makes barfing more enjoyable than doing it under a strobe.

My first pregnancy, odors bothered me, but not to the point where I'm nearly homicidal over my dogs standing by me (THEY REEK) or where I'm tempted to punch the lady in the grocery store who bathed in White Diamonds.

About a month ago, I went insane and decided I needed to deodorized the carpet in the living room. I used a powder for 'pet odor'. It was described as a 'fresh scent'.

For me, 'fresh scent' brings to mind clean air, fresh laundry, you know, stuff that has a pleasant aroma.

Arm & Hammer's idea of 'fresh' is more like junior high boys locker room...musky and sweaty and foot fungus-y coated in cheap spray deodorant and a touch of Drakkar.

The next week of my life was devoted to getting the 'freshness' out of my carpet. Incessant vacuuming. Then I steam cleaned. Twice.

It's almost gone, but once and a while, it will waft up from places unknown and I want to burn the carpet and all the living room furniture in a big bonfire in the backyard.

So my nose is going crazy. I wonder if I can get my hands on some of that stuff medical examiners smear under their nostrils while performing autopsies?

Just a thought.

I'm Going to Try to Write This Between Dry Heaving (Urp)

Blogging has been on the dead bottom of my list for a while. I've clicked over here, looked around for a minute or two, thought about writing something. left.

It's hard to write about stuff when you've only got one thing on your mind and you're not supposed to talk about it.

But as of today, I'm talking.

I'm pregnant, knocked up, in the family way. About 12 weeks, so just about in my second trimester.

And I am so ready to be in the glorious second trimester. That promised land where you're not supposed to feel like you're dying every waking second. This pregnancy has been NOTHING like my first. My first, I had a little nausea, but nothing that couldn't been soothed with well timed snacks.

This time? Well, I'll put it this way...my OB gave my a prescription for the same nausea meds they generally give to chemo patients. On top of that, unbelievable fatigue - so bad I could literally lay down in the middle of the living room and sleep after only being awake for a couple of hours. And dizziness. And headaches.

It's been the pits, for serious.

But I see light at the end of the tunnel. The other night I told my husband, well, it will end. Maybe not till the baby is out, but it will end (please God, let it end SOON).

Of course, the drastic difference in this pregnancy has led to all kinds of speculation on the baby...IT'S A GIRL. Or, are you sure it's not twins? Yes, I had the doctor triple check. So unless someones really good at hiding, the Nugget is a singleton.

I'm calling it Nugget, by the way. For now.

So, there you have it...I haven't died, though to be honest, some days I've thought the end is near. I won't be such a stranger. Promise.

Now excuse me while I go sip on some damn ginger tea.

This Post is Not About the Duggars. Really.

Since I've obviously hit some kind of rut and have nothing interesting or funny to write about, I'm in the process of a blog redesign. Because I'm pretty sure if my blog looks cooler/cuter I will miraculously be inspired and the words will pour forth and I'll have the popularity of Dooce.

Or not.

But I am redesigning - with help, of course, cause I'm technologically worthless. I'm okay with that. I'm just glad I have friends that have got my back on that front. It's give and take; I keep them honest about punctuation and grammar. It's all good.

If I had to focus in on my 'writer's block' (I seriously hate that term) and figure out what the root cause is, I'd have to say...well...um...

How about this: if I knew, I'd effing fix it? Right?

Some days I have a lot to say, but I have to self censor. Cause honestly, if I wrote everything I thought, you all would think I was crazy. Funny, possibly, but probably crazy and most likely mean and snarky.

I've thought about just letting loose and seeing if I start getting hate mail. I posted ONE TIME, long ago about the Duggars, and got quite a bit of negative feedback. Which was the most bizarre thing - Duggar supporters literally materialized out of nowhere and commented on my blog. Which leads me to believe there is a Duggar army that sits on Google all day long searching for anything Duggar related (which I completely understand, they are kind of fascinating).

I bet I'll get a bunch of Duggar hits just from this post. Watch.

Anyway. I'm trying to figure out my image.

Bear with me.

Right Now

For the first time in a long time, I'm content and peaceful.

My mom is home from Alaska (she's been up there for 7 weeks) - I have a feeling that was the first piece of the puzzle. She lives an hour and a half away, but its nice to know she's THERE, you know? Plus, she has the patience of a saint with my child, who has decided to be Whiney McWhinerson as of late.

He's still cute though. I'll keep him, I think.

So my mommy is home.

My husband and I are getting along really great. Like, actually having fun together. Not that we don't generally get along, but you know, life is stressful.

I've gotten to spend some time with old friends. Ones that have known me since I was in grade school. Something about reconnecting with people that have seen all phases of your life is so soothing.

Especially if they like to laugh.

Summer is winding down. I'm sad it's coming to a close. Not that it's been the best summer...the weather has been less than ideal and I've struggled with so many ups and downs.

But like everything in life, seasons change and we start fresh.

My mother-in-law has finally been placed in her final resting place. It was excruciating for all of us to revisit that grief, but we know now she's where she wanted to be...and that is comforting. Now I hope the healing can finally begin.

The rest of this summer? I plan to soak in as much fun as possible.

Starting now.

A Frat Boy Trapped in a Thirtysomething Mom's Body

The other night I was on Twitter, having a conversation with some girlfriends. Whoever follows me on Twitter, well, they probably think I'm mental. Because I won't go on Twitter for DAYS. Then, one night, I'll have like 50 tweets about random, random stuff.

Anyhow, the other night, the conversation somehow got to drinking (imagine). And I brought up beer bongs. And luges (I had to explain this one...you carve a 'luge' in a block of ice, then pour shots down the luge into a waiting mouth). And keg stands.

Then I made the suggestion that my friends make a beer bong and let their kids do hits off of it with root beer, then have a burping contest.

And with that, I nominate myself for the trashy parent of the year award.

Reading all my drinking suggestions would probably lead you to believe I was (or am) some kind of crazy partier. But I wasn't. For reals. The height of my partying was for about one year in college (okay, maybe two). The rest of the time, I was working 40 hours a week while taking 15-18 credits per quarter. Not a lot of time for fun. Or hangovers.

Still, I seem to have a wealth of information on drinking games/stupid methods of getting obliterated. Let's just say I'm observant. Maybe it's where I'm from. There wasn't a lot to do out in Podunk, WA except drink, go four-wheelin', and get knocked up. None of which I actually DID in high school. Cause I was SO SO SO boring. Not that getting knocked up is a good way to be interesting. Let's just say I wasn't even doing the things to get knocked up.

So, just in case you were following me on Twitter that night, I'm not a raging alcoholic, and I promise not to train my child on the beer bong. I'll wait till he's at least 12.

A Time Where Something Sucking is a Good Thing

A couple of weeks ago I was vacuuming and noticed the little red light come on, the one letting me know that the bag is full.

I was out of bags.

Of course.

Then I got to thinking...I have never owned a NEW vacuum cleaner. Like, ever. Every single one has been a hand me down. And I'm not complaining, not even a little, because this girl loves hand me downs. Big time.

But I had been noticing I vacuum and vacuum and vacuum and there is ALWAYS still dog hair in the carpet. Nasty.

I decided instead of buying new vacuum bags, well, I was just going to buy a new vacuum. Always logical, this one.

After doing quite a lot of research (okay, I sorted by highest stars on Amazon), I settled on a Bissell Pet Hair Eraser.

Promising.

I ordered it up and waited (only two days, love that Amazon Prime!).

And it arrived a few days ago.

You know when the vacuum box has a picture of your pet, you've got a big shedder.

Vacuum Box

Carl - and honestly, I'm kind of pissed at him for holding out on the proceeds from that modeling job.

I know you're just dying to know how well the vacuum worked. (Okay, maybe not. But I'm still going to tell you.)

Ohmycrikey, DID IT WORK.

And? GROSS.

I got this much, out of an 8 x 10 area of carpet. Twice.

Barf.

By the way, this post was not sponsored in any way, shape or form by Bissell, but if they want to pass on Carl's commission check, that'd be fab.

This vacuum? It totally sucks.

B to the ORED

I am bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

Don't get me wrong. There's plenty to do. Plenty of stuff that's no fun. Like organizing and cleaning and laundry and such.

The last six months have been filled with so many highs and lows and things to look forward to (and things that I dreaded) that now I'm just all funned/sadded out. (Do you like how I make up words as I go? Yes, nice work, English major. But let's face it. I graduated almost 10 years ago and that good old degree has not been put to much use. )

So I guess I've turned into somewhat of an addict. An addict who needs something to look forward to - anticipation is my crack. For a long time, I had travel and a race to dream about. Now? Well, for a few months, nada. I do have a wedding to attend in September, very excited about that...but it's in September. I need something NOW. (Megan, can you move the wedding up a few months? KTHANKS!)

Then, after the wedding...uh, Christmas? And if you know how I feel about the holiday season, well, not so much.

I know, a lot of people are telling me HAVE A BABY!

Which is a really good idea, you know, having a kid cause you're bored? Yeah. I like it.

Having a baby is not off the table, but you know, even if I got pregnant today (AND I'M NOT, even if the guy at Costco thinks I look it) , I'd have to wait nine months. Actually, ten. 40 weeks = 10 months.

And then some other people are like, hey, run a marathon. Well. Hmmm. No thanks. The training that goes into a marathon is just not something that would fly around this house. Bye honey, I need to go on five hour training run, catch ya later! Um, no. I do like to see my husband, you know, every once and a while.

Plus? After seeing all the poop carnage during my half? Holy crap. For reals. Those porta-johns would have made a sewage worker cringe.

So yeah, bored. Inspired? Yes. Motivated. No. Not such a great combination.

What to do? Any suggestions are welcome. Except those ideas from the effing spammers, who still think I'm into some kinky stuff.

And Blogger, why in the hell does word verification not work? I'm going to cheat on you with Wordpress, I swear.

Why Can't I Just Not Care?

Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you could just not care? Seriously. Like just walk away, not care, turn a blind eye?

Sometimes, I think my life would be a lot simpler if I had that ability.

Recently, I tried to turn over a new leaf and be more open minded, loving, accepting. To be more helpful and less judgmental.

Because deep down? I like to help people. So I tried my hardest. I tried so hard it made my head hurt and my heart ache. I tried so, so hard.

But, I've come to realize, some people do not want my help. They don't want help at all.

Also? I've realized that no matter how hard you try, not everyone is going to like you. There may be no good reason, but it is what it is.

My personality type really takes issue with being disliked. I've never done well with people not liking me, especially if I dig deep and am really honest with myself and I still can't figure out why they don't like me.

Yes, I'm whining. But I truly struggle with this.

And some days, I really question the value of empathy. Don't get me wrong, I value empathy, but can you care too much? Is it a waste of energy and emotion to make kind gestures towards people who continually throw it back in your face?

Hot Mess

Today is my birthday - I'm the big 3-2.

Woo. Hoo.

No, I'm not all freaked out about getting older. I just don't get so excited about birthdays anymore. I really can't remember the last time I did anything for my birthday except maybe go out to dinner.

Which is fine.

No, really. I promise.

But sitting here today made me think about where I was ten years ago on my birthday. England. Having way too much fun. WAY TOO MUCH. As in, if you look up pent up, goody two shoes set loose in a foreign land with lots of booze in the dictionary, there's my picture.

See?

That's me on the left. Yes, I am standing on a table (I was wearing a miniskirt standing on a table, cause I totally am classy like that). Yes, I am doing 'rock on horns' with my fingers. I can tell you that I remember that night and it didn't end pretty. Oh no.

Did I mention I drank a lot? Yeah. This drink in my hand? It's called a Snakebite and it is pure evil in a glass. In fact, many pubs over there will not serve this concoction because people end up doing stupid things after drinking a few...YOU DON'T SAY. The bartenders never had a problem serving those bad boys up to us silly exchange students.

Which brings me to this day,exactly ten years ago.

The birthday celebration extraordinaire. My twenty-second birthday fell at the end of the school year. I'd made some great friends and we were ready to cut loose.

I decided that I wanted to cook dinner for all my roommates. Nice gesture, no?

Except for the fact that I started drinking around noon. So, by the time dinner time rolled around, let's just say my knife skills weren't so great. I did not cut myself, but I'm pretty sure I grated some knuckle with the parmesan.

We hit the pub, stayed there till it closed, then hit the local disco. I remember pretty much everything that night, which is amazing, because I counted how many drinks I had and I hit 22 between 5pm and 3am. 22 for my 22nd.

Wow. Maybe I should be proud? Or not.

Here is the sole photo I have from that night. It is blurry. Kind of fitting. (OMG, I'm totally drinking peach schnapps.)


There are times I get nostalgic for that crazy time in my life. Cause I've for the most part lived a pretty down to earth, responsible existence.

But for a year (or two) I was a bit of a (FUN) trainwreck. I made it through, unscathed.

That hot mess? I miss her. Carefree, LOUD, probably obnoxious as hell.

But would I go back to that? Um, no. Not in a million years.

This morning, my husband brought my son in to me to snuggle at 7am. He got right under the covers, rolled over and hugged me and said 'I wuv you mommy'.

I'm pretty sure that no birthday party could EVER top that.

Tales from the Hometown

I feel like I haven't been here forever. I have opened up my Blogger account multiple times, stared at the computer, and then closed down wistfully.

Not that I haven't been busy. I have. Mostly mundane, everyday stuff. But also, I had some fun. Like this weekend, for instance.

My brother, his girlfriend (H) and her son are visiting. This weekend, we all headed up to the parents house - some highlights:

* Friday night I accompanied my bro and H to dinner with his friends. At Olive Garden (A side note? I don't think I've ever consumed that much salt in one sitting, ever). Dinner conversation included stories of people pooping themselves. Funny. Even funnier? All recent stories and all said boys men are 28. But I laughed till I cried. I think the margarita helped.

* Later that night I was lectured by one of the guys about how unfair it is that hot chicks are immediately judged as bitches by normal women - like me. He was so fired up about it, I swear he had TEARS in his eyes. Ouch. I'll take it with a grain of salt as he arrived on the back of a SCOOTER, not even a motorcycle, all Dumb & Dumber style.

* Saturday morning I went for a run - my weekly long run for Team in Training. My parents live out in the country - I was SO looking forward to fresh air. I didn't take into account that THEY LIVE IN THE COUNTRY, so I instead enjoyed the stench of freshly sprayed manure. Oh shit, indeed.

* Before said run, I nearly had a nervous breakdown because my GPS watch battery was dead (it turned on in my bag and drained), and I had no charger. I didn't realize I was so dependent on that thing, but I was pretty much rendered helpless. How can I run if I don't have a timer, know my distance, and my speed? Breathe. Breathe. Then I remembered my brother had his iPhone, and there was, thank goodness, an APP FOR THAT. I wrestled the phone out of his hands and took off.

* I ran 6.5 miles. I completely misjudged my distance and by the time I hit the 6 mile marker I was AT LEAST two miles from home. I considered cutting through a field and the woods, but then I remembered where I was, that people have guns, and that I'd probably either sprain my ankle in the field or run into barbed wire or get attacked by a rabid raccoon in the woods. So I called for a bailout. Again, good thing I stole my brother's phone.

* H needed to return some stuff to Old Navy. Upon walking into the oh-so-flattering fluorescent light of the local mall, my darling little bro says ' WHOA! When did you get so gray?' I bought two new scarves and some cardis to make myself feel better. It worked.

* We got pedicures. When I say we, I'm including my brother. I think he *might* have enjoyed it the most considering he nearly fell asleep during the foot/leg massage. P.S. My pedicure is purple for Team in Training (GO TEAM! Even my toenails are on board!).

* Later, on Saturday night, I took H to my girlfriend Rachel's for Rachel's birthday party, an all ladies affair which she entitled 'The Real Housewives of Whatcom County". There was lots of booze, lots of food, and the best part? A Tarot card reader. Oh yes. She was amazing - doesn't do scary readings - tends to make whatever you draw, even death, a potentially positive thing (such as, death can mean you will have your first baby, which is 'death' to your childless self). I won't go too much into it, but my birth and year cards are Emperor/Emperor, which basically means I am bossy and in charge. And I am a 'leader'. And my card for the year is the Hermit, which could mean this should be an introspective year for me. I should write a lot. INTERESTING.

* At the party, I got to catch up with so many friends, some of whom I haven't seen in almost 10 years. Loved it.

* When I told my mom we did Tarot her eyes got really big and I assured her that I wasn't worshipping the Devil or even worse, considering becoming Mormon. (Bless her, she is so cute).

That's what I've been up to, at least some of it...still trying to fit in all my running and desperately clinging onto my sanity (it's a slippery little sucker).

I Can't Stop

For Valentine's Day, my very sweet husband brought me flowers. Which is a very big deal, because:

a) My husband is one of those guys who doesn't 'do' Valentines, because it is a commercial, Hallmark holiday (likely story)...

and

b) Being in the nursery business, he thinks cut flowers are a waste.

But darn it anyway - he done got me flowers!


Okay, not real flowers. They ARE fake, but they are apparently a very huge seller. And, they light up.

Here they are in the light...

And the dark...


(P.S. I'm REALLY hating my new camera, so excuse the out of focus-ness. I'm working on it).

So, two years in a row, he has come through on Valentines, being all super sweet and thoughtful.

What he didn't bargain for, I'm pretty sure, is the crazy ass redecorating bug I caught as a result of his gift.

For some reason, the colors of the flowers (red with brown stems), really spoke to me. As did the Pottery Barn catalog.


I love our new bedding SO MUCH. Of course, my bedroom looks nothing like the catalog, but it sure beats the tired old sage toile bedding we had. Which was nice, but I was freaking tired of looking at it.


Now, I'm kind of obsessing over painting. I'm thinking chair rail. Or an accent wall. I brought home a bunch of paint samples. The red and the chocolate brown were not well received. I can't bring myself to do the gold...or maybe I can...

Today, the new decor received the toddler seal of approval. He climbed right up on the bed, grabbed a book, got under the covers and pulled them up to his armpits.


He's reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Such a literature fiend.

But most importantly, the bedding passed the jump test.


This was imperative.

So, that's the story of how a thoughtful little gift snowballed into a full on redecorating frenzy.

Yeah, I'm not done. I'm eying G-Rex's room and the kitchen. And the bathroom...

'P' Fix

Yesterday, I noticed the 'p' key on my computer was sticky. As in, I had to mash it down with all my might to type a 'p'. Eventually, I avoided words containing 'p'. Logical, no?

Last night I was leading the Tworkout (twitter workout, cleverness!) for the Sisterhood during the Biggest Loser and the 'p' issue was coming to a head. It's probably not advisable to bang a key with your fist, but I was getting to that point.

This morning, I said to myself, 'Self - there has got to be a way to fix this 'p' roblem.' I googled 'how to fix a sticky key.' And a multitude of information poured forth. I chose e-How and within a few seconds, had a strategy. By strategy, I mean I popped the key off with my fingernail, blew the disgusting detritus that had built up away, and popped the key back on.

Yeah, I'm pretty handy like that.

I love the Internet. You can find a fix to ANYTHING.

Like a few months ago, I came home from shopping and realized the store had forgotten to remove the security tag from something I'd bought. GAH. Usually, not a huge issue, but it was something I'd purchased specifically for a trip, and we were leaving the next morning. I didn't have the time to go back to the store for proper removal.

Enter Internet. Within minutes, I'd found a YouTube video demonstrating how to remove security tags using two sets of pliers. No damage to the clothes. Awesome. And probably made for and totally intended for use by juvenile delinquents.

Whatever. It worked.

And the best one Internet fix yet? Homemade salve for dog ear infections (our golden retreiver has chronic ear infections - we've spent probably a grand at the vet - and the vet has yet to come up with a better solution). One tube monistat, one tube polysporin, and one tube cortaid. My cousin actually told me about this one, and I'm about to mix some up and try it - I'm at my wit's end with the vet bills and infection. Poor dog!

See? The internet's for more than blogging and playing Bejeweled...

Resolve

I'm not huge on resolutions, because, in all honesty, I am terrible on the follow through. My craft/office/sewing room is full of unfinished projects. My elliptical trainer now resides at my parents house and is now doubling as an extra closet. There remains a 2 x 8 foot of wall in the kitchen that remains unpainted...two years after we originally painted.

Even now, I'm having a staring contest with all the bins, baskets and organizational products taunting me from across the living room. I went out yesterday, feeling all virtuous. I hit Target and Storables (I want to live in that store. It is everything my inner type A aspires to be). I even picked up brand new cleaning products.

And we're 12 hours into 2010 and my house still looks like Christmas vomited all over. Pine needles, loose bulbs, errant pieces of garland. Ugh. At least I've got the tree outside - but not after dumping 2 gallons of water all over the wood floor. Whoops.

But, I know FOR sure there are two things I WILL do this year.

1) I will complete my Team in Training program and run an entire 13.1 miles in June to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (here's my fundraising page if you're so inclined). I'm doing it with my girls at the Sisterhood, and I could not be more excited. Plus, we've just started an awesome challenge. So many exciting things happening over there!

2) I do my darnedest to blog everyday, here, or at my poor little food blog, which has been disastrously neglected. Not sure what I'm going to ramble on about, but I want to throw myself back into this blog, full stop. If you have any ideas or questions for me, please comment - any inspiration would be so helpful! Mwah!

Okay, 2010, let's do this thang!

All is Calm

Christmas package shipped? Check. (Yes, I lied. Actually, they didn't even ask me if anything was hazardous as I had a crazy monkey child swinging from my arms).

Dark chocolate truffles with sea salt made? Check. Need to give them away, promptly.

Bailey's on ice? Check. I forgot how delicious this stuff is. Num.

Tree decorated? Check. Though half the ribbon has been pulled off courtesy of G-Rex. Gives it character.

Babysitter booked for tomorrow so the hubs and I can have a shopping/dinner date? Check! My father and step-mother in law will be arriving at three so we can do some damage at Toys r' Us. I think we're more excited about going to play than we are about our quiet dinner. I LOVE Toys r' Us. Love.

Good book and cozy jammies? Check. I'm finally getting around to reading The Angels Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I'm only about 50 pages in and it is already delicious. He is a beautiful writer, smoky, mysterious, heady. If you haven't read him, you must. Start with The Shadow of the Wind. Ah-maz-ing.

Tonight, I'm good. Totally content. Now, if I can win my Fantasy Football match this week, I'll be one very happy girl. Fingers crossed.

Oh, the Butter!

Tonight, I commandeered the television and watched Julie and Julia. Yes, I have to take hostile and evasive action to watch a chick flick.

Did I like it? Yeah. Not as much as the book (how often to people actually like the move BETTER than the book?). But let's put it this way: I stayed awake. That's saying something.

Two other things:

It made me feel guilty because I am being so lazy about blogging.

It made me very hungry. I am highly suggestible as far as food goes. I haven't been watching Food Network lately because it is not conducive to weight loss. Top Chef? I love that show SO much, but watching the creation of so much glorious, beautiful, delicious food? Torture.

Julie and Julia even made me want to go out and pick up a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

But that would be like an alcoholic picking up martini glasses, just to have them around. For decoration. Since putting the cookbook into actual use would cause immeasurable suffering around my midsection.

I looked wistfully, angrily at my Weight Watchers cookbook as I was turning the lights off in the kitchen tonight. It was mocking me.

NO BUTTER FOR YOU. No souffle. No omelet. No duck l'orange.

(Okay, not like I'd actually whip any of these up)

On that note, I DID manage to finagle a cookie recipe out of my mother in law that my husband is crazy about. However, the recipe calls for two ingredients I literally had to hunt for: vanilla powder and golden syrup. And once I got home and read the recipe, I realized it is very cryptic about how to actually BAKE the cookies and I had to try baking them several different times. The final round got a 'Well, that's CLOSE.'

Really? REALLY? Whatever. I WILL figure these cookies out.

And that will take a lot of BUTTER.

Home Sweet Home

We're back.

We've been back a few days, actually. The dogs are back from the kennel. Load after load of laundry is done. Summer clothes are put away.

Kauai was GORGEOUS. Relaxing? Well, it was our first experience traveling with a toddler. Let's just say I could have used a prescription for Valium. At least for the first flight. Cause seriously? I just about lost it. I spent the entire six hours trying to keep the G-Rex from kicking the back of the seat in front of him. Yes, he is that tall. He could reach. The seat in front was empty, but you know how the whole row is connected. So the whole row feels the kicking.

And let's just say the couple in front of us was not pleased. Okay, I can't blame them, really. But OH! how I tried to keep my child in line. I don't think they understood that it could have been MUCH MUCH worse. As in dog whistle screeching. Crying on takeoff and landing.

Instead, the dude in front of me gave me the stink eye every single chance he had. Looking back, I should have just let the kiddo kick the hell out of the seat. Because either way, the guy was going to be an ass.

So.

There was that. And other than THAT, our vacation was incredible. We didn't do anything terribly special, but we had a few date nights, I got some quality reading time in, got some sun and we had the chance to spend time with my parents, whom we haven't seen a whole lot these past few months.

I had a chance to decompress, and now I feel like our life and our little family is getting back to normal.

Normal is good. I missed it!

Now? I'm in post vacation let down but luckily, I have Christmas preparations to throw myself into. Granted, I'm not a huge Christmas fan, but I'm going to try this year. I PROMISE.

Eff It Friday

I'm thinking of starting a new weekly post.

I want to call it Eff it Friday. Yup, Eff it Friday. Do you think it'll catch on?

Here's what I say saying eff you to this fine, blustery day.

- Eff you H1N1 or 'Swine Flu'. I'm tired of hearing you non-stop, on the news and from the hypochondriacs in my life. I especially say eff you to the one who insists I actually had THAT FLU a few weeks back. Really? You think you can diagnose me? Hmmmm. Maybe if you'd finished eighth grade, let alone med school, I'd listen. EFFYOU.

- Eff you to my child's pediatrician being the only freaking doctor in my area that doesn't have the vaccine for children under two.

- Eff that my child's appetite has taken a turn for the picky and he will only eat yogurt and I'm out of yogurt and he's screaming for YOOOOOGUTTTTTT!

- Eff the vet that charged us $260 for a yearly checkup and shots for our two dogs. Highway robbery! Plus, eff you to my golden retriever's ears which are apparently damp, rotten caverns that have a continual infection and I have to clean out twice a day. Oh yeah, we had to pay an extra $60 for ear medication. That poor dog. I swear, inbreeding. Eff that I spent more on my dogs' health care than my own this year. I'm NOT kidding.

- Eff that my husband showed my child how to put CRAYONS in his pockets and I'm just waiting to miss one in the laundry. You know it's going to happen and you know heads will roll.

Hmmph.

So, now that I've vented, I'm really just kidding about Eff You Friday. Because as of tomorrow morning, I'm going to try VERY diligently to be as positive as possible. My psyche needs a cleanse.

Or I need a lobotomy.

What are you saying eff you to this week? Am I the only angsty person around here (don't answer that...)?