Dear Loyal Readers,
I’ve nothing to post today. I’m crabby. I’m tired. My fetching bum knee is messing with me. My husband works 60ish hours a week and, while I’m happy he is employed, our home is neglected. This is wearing on me. Shit is literally falling apart. Our yard is a mess! The grass is way too long and there’s dog poop everywhere. We just need one of those pink flamingos in the front yard to complete “the look” we are going for.
Disorder messes with me. I need things in their place. I need a place to put things. I need to vacuum, mop and spray my Lavender Vanilla Febreeze (best scent ever- I want to bathe in it) in order to feel happy. I need a nice, orderly yard. My mind is jumbled.
This would all be a thousand times easier if my toddler and I were having some fun. Alas, we are not. Instead, we are having battle after battle after battle. She does not want to eat. She does not want to use the potty. She does not want to brush her teeth. She just wants to throw fits. Yesterday, I strapped her in her booster seat to make her stay in the corner for time out. I then went outside, where I was 100 percent certain my neighbors could hear her screaming. I wanted them to see me so they would know I was not beating the living daylights out of her. All this was because she did not want to brush her teeth! I felt like I should run up and down the block screaming, “I’m not beating her! She is possessed! Send a priest! We need an exorcism!” Holy shit, there’s a reason that don’t come out as toddlers…
In summary, it’s been a rough couple weeks. I suppose I should look on the bright side-my friends are coming over tomorrow and there will be alcohol! I’m going to drink a lot of it! I may order a keg just for me. BYOB, bitches! Happy Friday!
Love,
Jessie
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Bring On the Polyester Slacks
I feel old. I’m stuttering and stammering in social situations because I have nothing to talk about besides my tot. Most people, surprisingly, do not really want to hear about this all day. I always swore I would never be that person who could only talk about her kids. I read magazines and try to keep myself otherwise engaged to purposely avoid becoming like this. I fear I am one lame-ass person these days.
I need to liven up a bit. I’ve been a bit down because I feel like a stuffed pig. I feel ugly and unattractive and for some reason, for me, this equates to feeling old. I am only thirty-one years old! I’m hardly on my death bed!
Let’s talk about the reasons I am feeling elderly (I’ll do this in a list because we all know how much I love lists):
1. My bum knee. I haven’t even wanted to speak of this because it angers me so. I am trying to exercise like a mad-woman. For two weeks my knee has been bothering me! If I do nothing for a day or so, ice it and take ibuprofen, it starts to feel better. As soon as I resume my workout, the pain starts again. I’m frustrated and impatient! I need to get physical.
2. My gray hair. I hope I don’t need to elaborate on this one.
3. I’m suffering from the inability to keep my eyes open while reading. WTF? I love to read. I can’t actually read anything because my effing eyes are always closing! I am in a very strict book club. If I don’t actually start reading the books, I could be kicked out! This is one of my few monthly social obligations! I need this. Help!
4. One of my only social obligations is my book club.
5. I prefer staying home and making dinner to going out. It costs too much, the food is never great and I could probably make it better at home.
6. Someone called me ma’am the other day. Little fucker.
7. I have to wear my reading glasses to see the computer well.
8. I drink coffee at night to stay awake and it does not work! Shit, I am old. This is serious.
9. Crow’s feet. Also, little fuckers.
10. Recipes. I’ve begun sharing them with the World Wide Web. I’ve also started asking my friends to share their recipes with me.
11. I have no desire to go “clubbing.” I actually never really did. But, my extreme lack of interest in that is alarming me. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of identity crisis and have a strong desire to wear skin tight black pants, tall shoes and a skimpy tank top? I don’t. Also, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for blinding anyone.
12. I need a lot of sleep. I function best when I get seven or eight hours per night. I also go to bed at almost the same time each night and rise at about the same time every morning. Lame.
I think that completes my list of elderlyisms. Thus far, in my life, I’ve been totally okay with aging. I did not freak out when I turned 30. I think, actually 31 was way worse. But, I’ve always said I would age gracefully and someday get a boob job…
I fully understand the alternative to aging. I do not want that! I just feel a little blah these days. I say this as I’m icing my bum knee and drinking coffee! I can’t imagine why I would feel old. Excuse me, I hear some whippersnappers making noise and my child is napping! I have to go yell at them! Bastards!
I need to liven up a bit. I’ve been a bit down because I feel like a stuffed pig. I feel ugly and unattractive and for some reason, for me, this equates to feeling old. I am only thirty-one years old! I’m hardly on my death bed!
Let’s talk about the reasons I am feeling elderly (I’ll do this in a list because we all know how much I love lists):
1. My bum knee. I haven’t even wanted to speak of this because it angers me so. I am trying to exercise like a mad-woman. For two weeks my knee has been bothering me! If I do nothing for a day or so, ice it and take ibuprofen, it starts to feel better. As soon as I resume my workout, the pain starts again. I’m frustrated and impatient! I need to get physical.
2. My gray hair. I hope I don’t need to elaborate on this one.
3. I’m suffering from the inability to keep my eyes open while reading. WTF? I love to read. I can’t actually read anything because my effing eyes are always closing! I am in a very strict book club. If I don’t actually start reading the books, I could be kicked out! This is one of my few monthly social obligations! I need this. Help!
4. One of my only social obligations is my book club.
5. I prefer staying home and making dinner to going out. It costs too much, the food is never great and I could probably make it better at home.
6. Someone called me ma’am the other day. Little fucker.
7. I have to wear my reading glasses to see the computer well.
8. I drink coffee at night to stay awake and it does not work! Shit, I am old. This is serious.
9. Crow’s feet. Also, little fuckers.
10. Recipes. I’ve begun sharing them with the World Wide Web. I’ve also started asking my friends to share their recipes with me.
11. I have no desire to go “clubbing.” I actually never really did. But, my extreme lack of interest in that is alarming me. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of identity crisis and have a strong desire to wear skin tight black pants, tall shoes and a skimpy tank top? I don’t. Also, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for blinding anyone.
12. I need a lot of sleep. I function best when I get seven or eight hours per night. I also go to bed at almost the same time each night and rise at about the same time every morning. Lame.
I think that completes my list of elderlyisms. Thus far, in my life, I’ve been totally okay with aging. I did not freak out when I turned 30. I think, actually 31 was way worse. But, I’ve always said I would age gracefully and someday get a boob job…
I fully understand the alternative to aging. I do not want that! I just feel a little blah these days. I say this as I’m icing my bum knee and drinking coffee! I can’t imagine why I would feel old. Excuse me, I hear some whippersnappers making noise and my child is napping! I have to go yell at them! Bastards!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
What's For Dinner, Bitches: Installment Three
Tonight, we will be enjoying this recipe from Real Simple. Bread is a huge fan of paprika and pork. I am a huge fan of things that require little prep and effort. Yes! I’ll let you know how this is.
I recently discovered how fantastic Real Simple's recipes are. They include calorie count and really are "real simple." As I learned last week, when I attempted to make my own spaghetti sauce (as in not from a recipe), I should not make up my own recipes. This was a huge disaster because I over-salted it. I almost never add salt to anything and for some reason, on this particular day, I thought salt was necessary. It was terrible. I finally threw it all out yesterday. What a huge waste. So, until I get over this, I will be sticking to recipes.
Happy Hump Day, y’all!
I recently discovered how fantastic Real Simple's recipes are. They include calorie count and really are "real simple." As I learned last week, when I attempted to make my own spaghetti sauce (as in not from a recipe), I should not make up my own recipes. This was a huge disaster because I over-salted it. I almost never add salt to anything and for some reason, on this particular day, I thought salt was necessary. It was terrible. I finally threw it all out yesterday. What a huge waste. So, until I get over this, I will be sticking to recipes.
Happy Hump Day, y’all!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Another Reason I Don't Belong In Society
I love Target. I’m just going to come right out and say it. If I get an evening to myself, I’m probably going there. I have to look at just about everything in the store. I need ample time to peruse. I especially love the stores that have a Starbucks in them. Then, I can enjoy a Chai Latte while I bask in all that the Red Dot Boutique has to offer.
I have a system. I have to look at the bags and accessories, followed by the clothes and workout gear, clothes for Bird, shoes, household cleaners (just to make it an official work-related excursion), toiletries, cosmetics, books and lastly food (almost everything is less expensive at Target). Of course, I often get led astray by the other bargains within the store but I never leave without looking at all of the above mentioned sections. It is crucial to cover all ground; I don’t want to miss a deal.
When I’m at Target, alone, I’m in the zone. I don’t want to text or answer my phone. I’m not thinking about anything other than what a great deal something is and how I can justify buying another pair of shoes. Last week, as I was browsing the shoes, I heard a little voice say, “Do you like these shoes?” Thinking nothing of it, I carried on until I heard it again. I realized the voice was talking to me! Someone wants my fashion advice? Really? Sure enough, there was a cute, little mom asking for my help. Alright. I will oblige. Us moms have to stick together, you know.
She says, “My son hates these shoes but I like them what do you think?” Her son is about six. I’m thinking you’re probably better to take his advice since he actually sees people on a daily basis. They were cute shoes (I read magazines, I know these things). I told her I liked them. She proceeds to tell me that she’s just a busy mom. She doesn’t have time to make outfits but she doesn’t want to just run around in Yoga pants all the time. I happen to be wearing Yoga pants. While, I’m not “running around” in them currently, I did run earlier and shower afterwards which is WHY MY HAIR IS ALSO WET. I point this out to her. She says, “Yeah, I just came from my kickboxing class.” Totally goes over her head that she’s possibly offending the person she’s asking fashion advice from. Whatever. Obviously, she thinks I’m okay-looking or else why would she ask for my opinion.
Then, she whips out another pair of shoes and asks about them. I should so charge for this shit. Nope. I don’t like them. They look like Birkenstocks but the strap has sequins. This is not a good look for most people. She proceeds to tell me again that she’s just a busy mom. I’m like, well, I heard you the first time but maybe you want to talk. I don’t see a lot of people every day; I have no coworkers so I am eager to make a new friend. So I start to tell her about how I understand and, again, she starts to tell me that she’s a busy mom! I’m not good with people. I get nervous. I’m much better here behind my computer. The things going through my head are frightening me. My palms are sweating. I don’t want to talk anymore. What do I say? She thinks I’m crazy. I’m just looking at her nodding, smiling and gesturing to my Yoga pants and wet hair. I’m chanting to myself, “Just be agreeable.” Nodding and smiling and sweating…I hate when strangers talk to me! Again! She’s reminding me again that she is busy! I’m all is this the part where I say Amen? Alleliujiah? Praise the Lord? Busy moms! Amen! Should I sing? Chant? Throw rice at her? Oh, God, it’s too much! I can’t help you anymore! Ask the six-year old! I’m out. It’s hard being a social reject. I’m backing away.
The best part about this is that I obviously did not learn my lesson. We worked on cleaning out our basement yesterday so I didn’t shower until late in the day (who am I kidding I never shower until later these days). I needed to get out of the house so I went to Target. You’ll never guess what I was wearing? Did I have wet hair? Check! I can't help it! I have wavy hair! It looks better if it air dries...
I have a system. I have to look at the bags and accessories, followed by the clothes and workout gear, clothes for Bird, shoes, household cleaners (just to make it an official work-related excursion), toiletries, cosmetics, books and lastly food (almost everything is less expensive at Target). Of course, I often get led astray by the other bargains within the store but I never leave without looking at all of the above mentioned sections. It is crucial to cover all ground; I don’t want to miss a deal.
When I’m at Target, alone, I’m in the zone. I don’t want to text or answer my phone. I’m not thinking about anything other than what a great deal something is and how I can justify buying another pair of shoes. Last week, as I was browsing the shoes, I heard a little voice say, “Do you like these shoes?” Thinking nothing of it, I carried on until I heard it again. I realized the voice was talking to me! Someone wants my fashion advice? Really? Sure enough, there was a cute, little mom asking for my help. Alright. I will oblige. Us moms have to stick together, you know.
She says, “My son hates these shoes but I like them what do you think?” Her son is about six. I’m thinking you’re probably better to take his advice since he actually sees people on a daily basis. They were cute shoes (I read magazines, I know these things). I told her I liked them. She proceeds to tell me that she’s just a busy mom. She doesn’t have time to make outfits but she doesn’t want to just run around in Yoga pants all the time. I happen to be wearing Yoga pants. While, I’m not “running around” in them currently, I did run earlier and shower afterwards which is WHY MY HAIR IS ALSO WET. I point this out to her. She says, “Yeah, I just came from my kickboxing class.” Totally goes over her head that she’s possibly offending the person she’s asking fashion advice from. Whatever. Obviously, she thinks I’m okay-looking or else why would she ask for my opinion.
Then, she whips out another pair of shoes and asks about them. I should so charge for this shit. Nope. I don’t like them. They look like Birkenstocks but the strap has sequins. This is not a good look for most people. She proceeds to tell me again that she’s just a busy mom. I’m like, well, I heard you the first time but maybe you want to talk. I don’t see a lot of people every day; I have no coworkers so I am eager to make a new friend. So I start to tell her about how I understand and, again, she starts to tell me that she’s a busy mom! I’m not good with people. I get nervous. I’m much better here behind my computer. The things going through my head are frightening me. My palms are sweating. I don’t want to talk anymore. What do I say? She thinks I’m crazy. I’m just looking at her nodding, smiling and gesturing to my Yoga pants and wet hair. I’m chanting to myself, “Just be agreeable.” Nodding and smiling and sweating…I hate when strangers talk to me! Again! She’s reminding me again that she is busy! I’m all is this the part where I say Amen? Alleliujiah? Praise the Lord? Busy moms! Amen! Should I sing? Chant? Throw rice at her? Oh, God, it’s too much! I can’t help you anymore! Ask the six-year old! I’m out. It’s hard being a social reject. I’m backing away.
The best part about this is that I obviously did not learn my lesson. We worked on cleaning out our basement yesterday so I didn’t shower until late in the day (who am I kidding I never shower until later these days). I needed to get out of the house so I went to Target. You’ll never guess what I was wearing? Did I have wet hair? Check! I can't help it! I have wavy hair! It looks better if it air dries...
Friday, April 23, 2010
Is This How Romeo Impressed Juliet?
Yesterday, despite it only being about 50 degrees, we decided we had to have ice cream. Actually, it was frozen custard to be exact. We were in the area where we used to live and just had to hit this place that has the best EVER.
We huddled in our car with the heat on. I was also using my heated seat; life is good when your ass is warm and you’re enjoying a tasty, frozen treat. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, Bread, the lovely man that I wrote about yesterday, um, how shall we say, broke wind. I immediately began to gag and rolled down the window. He apologized and about 10 seconds later put the window back up.
Bread: “Why are you frowning?”
Me: “Because you did that and the heat is on and then you put the window up.”
Bread: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put the window up. I thought it was gone.”
Me: “It wasn’t gone. The heat was on. I feel like I’m going to vomit. Actually that wouldn’t be a bad idea because then it wouldn’t go straight to my thighs!”
Bread: “You’re welcome.”
Me: “For what?”
Bread: “Helping you with your eating disorder.”
Me: “I hate you and I’m so going to write about this.”
Approximately three minutes elapse.
Bread: “I’m holding it in for you and I’m getting a stomach ache.”
Me: “Oh, geez.”
This happens on a day when, over dinner, Bread told me he was flattered by all the nice things I said about him. He asked why I didn’t write about all the bad stuff. I told him it was because the good overshadows the bad. I am beginning to rethink that statement after he tried to suffocate me. I take it back! I take it back!
We huddled in our car with the heat on. I was also using my heated seat; life is good when your ass is warm and you’re enjoying a tasty, frozen treat. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, Bread, the lovely man that I wrote about yesterday, um, how shall we say, broke wind. I immediately began to gag and rolled down the window. He apologized and about 10 seconds later put the window back up.
Bread: “Why are you frowning?”
Me: “Because you did that and the heat is on and then you put the window up.”
Bread: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put the window up. I thought it was gone.”
Me: “It wasn’t gone. The heat was on. I feel like I’m going to vomit. Actually that wouldn’t be a bad idea because then it wouldn’t go straight to my thighs!”
Bread: “You’re welcome.”
Me: “For what?”
Bread: “Helping you with your eating disorder.”
Me: “I hate you and I’m so going to write about this.”
Approximately three minutes elapse.
Bread: “I’m holding it in for you and I’m getting a stomach ache.”
Me: “Oh, geez.”
This happens on a day when, over dinner, Bread told me he was flattered by all the nice things I said about him. He asked why I didn’t write about all the bad stuff. I told him it was because the good overshadows the bad. I am beginning to rethink that statement after he tried to suffocate me. I take it back! I take it back!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Let's Talk About the Dough
I have wanted to talk about my beloved husband since I started this here blog. It’s been a lot easier to talk about the insanity that is parenthood. The truth is: I’m not really sure where to begin. Are there words to describe a person who deals with all this crazy every day and, is not crazy himself?
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I Work Hard For No Money
There are many things in life that I’m just not that good at. I’m okay with most of those things. Although, I do wish I had learned to break dance and that I’d mastered the art of roasting Cornish game hens (Martha Stewart would so not be proud; this is not a “good thing”). Alas, we cannot all be perfect. I am trying my best.
What am I good at you ask? Funny, that’s just where this post was going. I am a stellar multi-tasker. This I have down. I have always been like this but motherhood has definitely amplified it. The real reason I excel in this field- I love leisure time! I love to be lazy! I love my shows! I love books and magazines! I love getting at least seven hours of sleep per night! The more I get done throughout the day, the less I have to do in the evening because come about 8 or 9 PM, I’m so hitting the couch.
I think of everything in terms of what else could I be doing right now? For instance, our washer and dryer are in the basement. I feed our dogs twice a day. Therefore, I take laundry with me. I may sort this laundry while Bird, is say, pooping (this is ALWAYS an ordeal). I never go down those stairs empty handed. The bonus to this is two-fold: I keep up on my laundry and I’m getting shit done. Also in the basement is our overstock. I make a mental list of things I need and bring them up when I return. My child eats forever. She does not eat a lot. She just has the attention span of a, well, two-year old so I use this time to my advantage. I empty the dishwasher, sort more laundry, clean up breakfast and/or check my email. I do pretty much anything I can where I can still see and hear her. My dogs need exercise. I need exercise. Bird needs a snack. Winning comb; I throw the kid in the jogger, get myself suited for a workout, throw a tasty snack in a container and off we go.
I have been up since 7:30, the perfect hour to rise I say. I have done three loads of laundry, put away said laundry, assembled the cushions on the chair that I just washed, fed Bird both breakfast and lunch (also ate too), wrote a blog post, cleaned the kitchen twice, played outside, took Bird for a walk around the block to discuss the seasonal blooms, played Princess, read four stories, walked our dogs for an hour (yes, workout) and tried to fix the spaghetti sauce I over-salted yesterday (awful mistake). I’m about to tuck Bird in for her afternoon snooze, do some weight lifting and shower. I may even apply some makeup! What a day this is turning out to be! My child was playing nicely by herself so I seized the opportunity. I feel a bit guilty. But, I only feel a bit guilty.
Have I really mastered this art or am I just a regular person with no skills boasting a useless ability? I say the former! I am proud of my domestic mastermind! There is nothing like Swiffering while making a dreaded phone call to get your pheromones running! Do you really want your pheromones to run in this matter? I’ve no clue but it sounded cool so I went with it…
So, moms out there in America and Canada and where ever you are that you happened to stumble upon my blog, get to multi-tasking! Maximize your leisure time! Make yourself happy so everyone around you will be happy! That’s the biggest complaint I hear from all my mom friends, that they don’t have enough time. What can YOU do to make more time? Think about it. Because we all are familiar with the phrase, “love makes the world go ‘round.” I beg to differ, moms do. We rock!
ATTENTION BREAD: This does not mean I have a ton of extra time. I am not, repeat, NOT lounging all day while you are at work! Please don’t fire me! Or take away my TV…Definitely do not take away the TV. That reminds me WTF, did people do before cable and internet?
What am I good at you ask? Funny, that’s just where this post was going. I am a stellar multi-tasker. This I have down. I have always been like this but motherhood has definitely amplified it. The real reason I excel in this field- I love leisure time! I love to be lazy! I love my shows! I love books and magazines! I love getting at least seven hours of sleep per night! The more I get done throughout the day, the less I have to do in the evening because come about 8 or 9 PM, I’m so hitting the couch.
I think of everything in terms of what else could I be doing right now? For instance, our washer and dryer are in the basement. I feed our dogs twice a day. Therefore, I take laundry with me. I may sort this laundry while Bird, is say, pooping (this is ALWAYS an ordeal). I never go down those stairs empty handed. The bonus to this is two-fold: I keep up on my laundry and I’m getting shit done. Also in the basement is our overstock. I make a mental list of things I need and bring them up when I return. My child eats forever. She does not eat a lot. She just has the attention span of a, well, two-year old so I use this time to my advantage. I empty the dishwasher, sort more laundry, clean up breakfast and/or check my email. I do pretty much anything I can where I can still see and hear her. My dogs need exercise. I need exercise. Bird needs a snack. Winning comb; I throw the kid in the jogger, get myself suited for a workout, throw a tasty snack in a container and off we go.
I have been up since 7:30, the perfect hour to rise I say. I have done three loads of laundry, put away said laundry, assembled the cushions on the chair that I just washed, fed Bird both breakfast and lunch (also ate too), wrote a blog post, cleaned the kitchen twice, played outside, took Bird for a walk around the block to discuss the seasonal blooms, played Princess, read four stories, walked our dogs for an hour (yes, workout) and tried to fix the spaghetti sauce I over-salted yesterday (awful mistake). I’m about to tuck Bird in for her afternoon snooze, do some weight lifting and shower. I may even apply some makeup! What a day this is turning out to be! My child was playing nicely by herself so I seized the opportunity. I feel a bit guilty. But, I only feel a bit guilty.
Have I really mastered this art or am I just a regular person with no skills boasting a useless ability? I say the former! I am proud of my domestic mastermind! There is nothing like Swiffering while making a dreaded phone call to get your pheromones running! Do you really want your pheromones to run in this matter? I’ve no clue but it sounded cool so I went with it…
So, moms out there in America and Canada and where ever you are that you happened to stumble upon my blog, get to multi-tasking! Maximize your leisure time! Make yourself happy so everyone around you will be happy! That’s the biggest complaint I hear from all my mom friends, that they don’t have enough time. What can YOU do to make more time? Think about it. Because we all are familiar with the phrase, “love makes the world go ‘round.” I beg to differ, moms do. We rock!
ATTENTION BREAD: This does not mean I have a ton of extra time. I am not, repeat, NOT lounging all day while you are at work! Please don’t fire me! Or take away my TV…Definitely do not take away the TV. That reminds me WTF, did people do before cable and internet?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Head, Shoulders, Knees and Vagina!
I apologize for my absence to those of you I am keeping entertained (yes, both of you). I haven’t had much time for writing due to constant trips to the bathroom with my two year-old. I’m especially apologetic to those of you who are at a job somewhere; you know who you are and I know how it feels. You need to have a crazy woman’s blog to read in order for you to feel normal. I get it.
So, potty training is mostly over. I don’t know if this is normal or not but I think she’d still go in her pants if I didn’t force her to go to the bathroom every hour or so. I feel okay about taking her in public without a diaper but I have to be diligent in getting her to go potty or else we’ll have a mess. I also haven’t been able to leave the house without the usual couple diapers and wipes. So there goes the freedom of being able to carry a normal-sized purse, at least for now. But, we will save millions on diapers! I swear! I will finally be able to afford that BMW!
It went well and it’s over for now. In that I mean, we got her a damn sandbox after spending an entire Sunday afternoon driving all over the Tri-County Area in search of one that had a lid, wasn’t a piece of junk, and didn’t cost the very million dollars we are going to save because of not having to buy diapers. All this, and then yesterday, she threw the granddaddy of all fits when playtime with said sandbox was over. I’m so using the, “I gave you life,” excuse when she gets older. She deserves it after all these fits. I also want to get one on video to share with her future husband. Don’t mess with me, Kid.
Bird and I have spent some quality time in the bathroom together over the past few weeks. At first, we had to go every twenty minutes or so. Now, it’s significantly less frequent. I don’t know what it is about watching someone else go that makes me have to go, but I swear, every time she goes, I go. I don’t necessarily have to, but I figure I might as well since I’m there anyway.
So, Bird is, I guess, at that age. She has become fascinated, with her parts, my parts and Bread’s parts. Every time I go she wants to get as close as possible. She kept asking, “What do you have?” Oh, geez. I managed to divert the questioning as long as possible.
Now, I’ve always sworn we would be the type of parents who teach their kids the proper terms for their anatomy. This is because, that’s what it is and it is a real word. It should not be awkward or embarrassing. It’s just a damn word. I mean, my mom told me mine was a peeper! A what? Does it have eyes? You’re kidding. I recognize this was a different time when, perhaps, the “experts” had different opinions. But, I swore I would just say it. In fact, I probably should have told her a while ago but I didn’t want to be the mom whose child was running around the park shouting about who has a penis and who has a vagina. That would so not help me in the friend making department…
Sometime Sunday afternoon, after the sandbox shopping trip from hell, Bird barges in on me in the bathroom, again. Bread was home so I thought I’d do something crazy and pee with the door shut! I know. I am still living on the edge. But, alas, my tot had other plans for me since I failed to push the door until it latched. Dammit! So, she walks over, getting as close as possible and asks again, “What do you have?” I pretend like she’s not speaking. Ha! So she keeps repeating it over and over and over. I finally crack. I’m tired, and my privacy has again been invaded (I know, welcome to motherhood). I yell, yell mind you, “A vagina! I have a vagina! And, so do you! Daddy does not have one because he’s a boy!” That, my friends, is how I decided to use the proper words and teach my child about male and female parts. Really. I definitely don’t think I get an A plus for that one. But, at least I got it over with. And she got it! She immediately went running to Bread shouting, "You don't have one! You're a boy!"
So, potty training is mostly over. I don’t know if this is normal or not but I think she’d still go in her pants if I didn’t force her to go to the bathroom every hour or so. I feel okay about taking her in public without a diaper but I have to be diligent in getting her to go potty or else we’ll have a mess. I also haven’t been able to leave the house without the usual couple diapers and wipes. So there goes the freedom of being able to carry a normal-sized purse, at least for now. But, we will save millions on diapers! I swear! I will finally be able to afford that BMW!
It went well and it’s over for now. In that I mean, we got her a damn sandbox after spending an entire Sunday afternoon driving all over the Tri-County Area in search of one that had a lid, wasn’t a piece of junk, and didn’t cost the very million dollars we are going to save because of not having to buy diapers. All this, and then yesterday, she threw the granddaddy of all fits when playtime with said sandbox was over. I’m so using the, “I gave you life,” excuse when she gets older. She deserves it after all these fits. I also want to get one on video to share with her future husband. Don’t mess with me, Kid.
Bird and I have spent some quality time in the bathroom together over the past few weeks. At first, we had to go every twenty minutes or so. Now, it’s significantly less frequent. I don’t know what it is about watching someone else go that makes me have to go, but I swear, every time she goes, I go. I don’t necessarily have to, but I figure I might as well since I’m there anyway.
So, Bird is, I guess, at that age. She has become fascinated, with her parts, my parts and Bread’s parts. Every time I go she wants to get as close as possible. She kept asking, “What do you have?” Oh, geez. I managed to divert the questioning as long as possible.
Now, I’ve always sworn we would be the type of parents who teach their kids the proper terms for their anatomy. This is because, that’s what it is and it is a real word. It should not be awkward or embarrassing. It’s just a damn word. I mean, my mom told me mine was a peeper! A what? Does it have eyes? You’re kidding. I recognize this was a different time when, perhaps, the “experts” had different opinions. But, I swore I would just say it. In fact, I probably should have told her a while ago but I didn’t want to be the mom whose child was running around the park shouting about who has a penis and who has a vagina. That would so not help me in the friend making department…
Sometime Sunday afternoon, after the sandbox shopping trip from hell, Bird barges in on me in the bathroom, again. Bread was home so I thought I’d do something crazy and pee with the door shut! I know. I am still living on the edge. But, alas, my tot had other plans for me since I failed to push the door until it latched. Dammit! So, she walks over, getting as close as possible and asks again, “What do you have?” I pretend like she’s not speaking. Ha! So she keeps repeating it over and over and over. I finally crack. I’m tired, and my privacy has again been invaded (I know, welcome to motherhood). I yell, yell mind you, “A vagina! I have a vagina! And, so do you! Daddy does not have one because he’s a boy!” That, my friends, is how I decided to use the proper words and teach my child about male and female parts. Really. I definitely don’t think I get an A plus for that one. But, at least I got it over with. And she got it! She immediately went running to Bread shouting, "You don't have one! You're a boy!"
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Who Are the People In My Neighborhood?
Since becoming a stay-at-home mom (SAHM), I would like to say that I’ve really gotten to know my neighbors, but that would be a lie. I don’t actually know them; I don’t make friends easily. I have, however, used my vivid imagination to concoct stories about them. This is based solely on my observations of their comings and goings, and well, a few other things that really confirm the fact that I am a nutter. We will get to that.
I feel the need to state that, I am a self-proclaimed crazy person; I believe I’ve mentioned this about a million times thus far. I know this, and, while trying to explain my weird compulsion to figure out my neighbors, I realize I am making myself out to be even crazier. It’s fine. I’m okay with this. Someone has to be on Team Crazy. It might as well be me.
Like I mentioned before, becoming a SAHM opened my eyes to what my neighbors are doing all day. This is because, for various reasons, like the fact that my child takes about an hour and a half to eat every meal, I’m home a lot. We play in the backyard. We take walks. I stand in my front window and stare out; I mean, I notice things.
Based on my intensive research, I believe we have some hoarders on our street. I’ve seen the show on A&E, so, therefore, I am an expert in this field. These neighbors never have much trash. They only ever have lights on in one room. They never have guests. Nobody but Mr. And Mrs. Alleged Hoarder ever goes in. This is a logical deduction, right?
But, wait, there’s more! These people have a plumber at their house at least once every other week. They must have him on retainer. He comes at all hours! He snakes! From the front yard! Always, always, always they meet him in the driveway. I mean, I don’t suppose you have to invite the plumber into your home for a chat but, why? Why can’t he just come to the door? Because nobody ever goes in that’s why.
So, the plumber comes and takes care of business and is usually on his way. This occurred the other day while Bird and I were out creating a chalk masterpiece in the driveway. I couldn’t help but overhear the plumber tell Mr. Alleged Hoarder, “One of these times this isn’t going to work.” What in the hell are these people doing over there?! What are they flushing? I saw one episode of Hoarders where a woman had her water shut-off so she started going to the bathroom in adult diapers and piling them in the bathroom. The bathroom was FILLED with used adult diapers! What are my neighbors flushing, that leads to a plumber having to come so frequently? I am worried. This is traumatic.
I can’t pretend like the fact that I seem to “know” so much about people I’ve barely ever even said hello to is a normal thing. I get that. I’m not nosy. I just see things happening. Bread got out his binoculars for me. I don’t need binoculars. I can see just fine; they aren’t that far away. What I really need is this! Then all my questions would be answered! I could take my research to the next level!
Bread tries to act all innocent. He tries to pretend like he isn’t fascinated by the phenomena happening on our street. He calls. If I’m out, he’s home and something is happening he’ll call with updates. He acts all nonchalant. I’m not buying it! He wants to know! He has an inquiring mind! He is not fooling me! No, no, I will not fall for his act!
Mr. A. Hoarder wears pajamas all the time. He changes as soon as he gets home from work. I understand. I “work from home” so I spend quality time with my elastic-wear. The thing about him is, whenever he’s out in his yard he is wearing men’s plaid flannel pajama pants with his t-shirt tucked in. This is noticeable, especially since the pants rest a little too high, if you know what I mean. I’ve seen people nearly crash their cars when driving by. I once heard another neighbor yell to him, “Hey, I’m like you-wearing my PJs outside!” If you’re going to cause this sort of a plumbing spectacle perhaps you should rethink your wardrobe. Maybe something a bit more muted.
Obviously, I have no clue what is really happening over there. Perhaps they just eat a lot of fiber. I hope that’s all it is. Also, I have been a little hesitant to write on the internet about people who know where I live. What if I become famous when Oprah calls to talk about being a SAHM and they find me? What if they egg my house? What if they chase me to try and scare me? What if they curse my septic? I have to protect my family. Bread has reassured me that by the time Oprah finds me we’ll have moved out of our house. I made him promise or else I wouldn’t post this. In the meantime, I’ll be paying for my Whisper 2000 in three easy payments plus shipping and getting out my camouflage.
I feel the need to state that, I am a self-proclaimed crazy person; I believe I’ve mentioned this about a million times thus far. I know this, and, while trying to explain my weird compulsion to figure out my neighbors, I realize I am making myself out to be even crazier. It’s fine. I’m okay with this. Someone has to be on Team Crazy. It might as well be me.
Like I mentioned before, becoming a SAHM opened my eyes to what my neighbors are doing all day. This is because, for various reasons, like the fact that my child takes about an hour and a half to eat every meal, I’m home a lot. We play in the backyard. We take walks. I stand in my front window and stare out; I mean, I notice things.
Based on my intensive research, I believe we have some hoarders on our street. I’ve seen the show on A&E, so, therefore, I am an expert in this field. These neighbors never have much trash. They only ever have lights on in one room. They never have guests. Nobody but Mr. And Mrs. Alleged Hoarder ever goes in. This is a logical deduction, right?
But, wait, there’s more! These people have a plumber at their house at least once every other week. They must have him on retainer. He comes at all hours! He snakes! From the front yard! Always, always, always they meet him in the driveway. I mean, I don’t suppose you have to invite the plumber into your home for a chat but, why? Why can’t he just come to the door? Because nobody ever goes in that’s why.
So, the plumber comes and takes care of business and is usually on his way. This occurred the other day while Bird and I were out creating a chalk masterpiece in the driveway. I couldn’t help but overhear the plumber tell Mr. Alleged Hoarder, “One of these times this isn’t going to work.” What in the hell are these people doing over there?! What are they flushing? I saw one episode of Hoarders where a woman had her water shut-off so she started going to the bathroom in adult diapers and piling them in the bathroom. The bathroom was FILLED with used adult diapers! What are my neighbors flushing, that leads to a plumber having to come so frequently? I am worried. This is traumatic.
I can’t pretend like the fact that I seem to “know” so much about people I’ve barely ever even said hello to is a normal thing. I get that. I’m not nosy. I just see things happening. Bread got out his binoculars for me. I don’t need binoculars. I can see just fine; they aren’t that far away. What I really need is this! Then all my questions would be answered! I could take my research to the next level!
Bread tries to act all innocent. He tries to pretend like he isn’t fascinated by the phenomena happening on our street. He calls. If I’m out, he’s home and something is happening he’ll call with updates. He acts all nonchalant. I’m not buying it! He wants to know! He has an inquiring mind! He is not fooling me! No, no, I will not fall for his act!
Mr. A. Hoarder wears pajamas all the time. He changes as soon as he gets home from work. I understand. I “work from home” so I spend quality time with my elastic-wear. The thing about him is, whenever he’s out in his yard he is wearing men’s plaid flannel pajama pants with his t-shirt tucked in. This is noticeable, especially since the pants rest a little too high, if you know what I mean. I’ve seen people nearly crash their cars when driving by. I once heard another neighbor yell to him, “Hey, I’m like you-wearing my PJs outside!” If you’re going to cause this sort of a plumbing spectacle perhaps you should rethink your wardrobe. Maybe something a bit more muted.
Obviously, I have no clue what is really happening over there. Perhaps they just eat a lot of fiber. I hope that’s all it is. Also, I have been a little hesitant to write on the internet about people who know where I live. What if I become famous when Oprah calls to talk about being a SAHM and they find me? What if they egg my house? What if they chase me to try and scare me? What if they curse my septic? I have to protect my family. Bread has reassured me that by the time Oprah finds me we’ll have moved out of our house. I made him promise or else I wouldn’t post this. In the meantime, I’ll be paying for my Whisper 2000 in three easy payments plus shipping and getting out my camouflage.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Potty Training 101
Here we are, back at Monday and I wish I had something exciting to post about. I don’t. Unless you consider potty training to be a thrilling experience. If you do, you probably need to seek psychiatric help. Reading my blog is not going to help you with that. If fact, it will probably only drive you further into the perils of your sickness because all I have to offer is a whole lot of crazy.
So, potty training…Have you been there and done that? I’ve been afraid to even mention it because, we all know, when something is going well (yes, I’d say it’s going well) and, you talk about it, all hell breaks loose. But, it’s working. We attended a birthday party yesterday and Bird stayed dry the whole time! Yes!
We started potty training about two months ago, did it for about three weeks and finally realized it was not time. Since then, I have read a bit more about it, and Bird has definitely become more interested. We checked out a whole stack of books from the library and explained (repeatedly) to her that when she no longer needs to wear diapers during the day we will get her a sandbox like the one her friend, Sydney has. In my short time as a parent, I’ve learned that the best way to get your child to do anything is bribery. You better believe Girlfriend is into the sandbox. She talks about it daily.
We’ve been hitting this whole potty training thing hard since Thursday. I’ve heard that it’s best to just stay home and let them run around either naked or, in training pants. We’ve been rocking the Disney Princess underpants. We actually scheduled our entire weekend around this potty training event. That’s when you know you live on the edge; your plans actually revolve around your toddler’s potty training schedule. Yes! No wonder so many people are beating down our door with invitations to social events. Actually, we are super cool so we do alright on that front. Or else we’re just attracting more nutters…
Things I’ve learned in the past three days: I have more patience than I thought I did, my little girl is just as smart (and cute) as I thought she was and, most importantly, there is a use for Urine Gone. Seriously? Have you seen this stuff advertised? Bread and I are always laughing about this. Who has so much of a urine problem that they need to buy a specific product to take care of it? Not only that, but who needed to use the whole product and then purchase a 48 OUNCE REFILL! Holy shit! Er, I mean, holy urine! WTF?
That brings us to Saturday night. Bread and I are making our bed (see previous comment about how exciting our weekends are) and Bird is happily playing dress up in my closet. She’s walking around in my shoes, just having a good old time. And then she shouts, “Oh no! I peed in my shoe! I have to go potty!” Oh, no, you actually peed in my shoe. My brand new shoes that I’ve only worn once! There was a puddle! Where in the hell is the Urine Gone when you need it?
So, potty training…Have you been there and done that? I’ve been afraid to even mention it because, we all know, when something is going well (yes, I’d say it’s going well) and, you talk about it, all hell breaks loose. But, it’s working. We attended a birthday party yesterday and Bird stayed dry the whole time! Yes!
We started potty training about two months ago, did it for about three weeks and finally realized it was not time. Since then, I have read a bit more about it, and Bird has definitely become more interested. We checked out a whole stack of books from the library and explained (repeatedly) to her that when she no longer needs to wear diapers during the day we will get her a sandbox like the one her friend, Sydney has. In my short time as a parent, I’ve learned that the best way to get your child to do anything is bribery. You better believe Girlfriend is into the sandbox. She talks about it daily.
We’ve been hitting this whole potty training thing hard since Thursday. I’ve heard that it’s best to just stay home and let them run around either naked or, in training pants. We’ve been rocking the Disney Princess underpants. We actually scheduled our entire weekend around this potty training event. That’s when you know you live on the edge; your plans actually revolve around your toddler’s potty training schedule. Yes! No wonder so many people are beating down our door with invitations to social events. Actually, we are super cool so we do alright on that front. Or else we’re just attracting more nutters…
Things I’ve learned in the past three days: I have more patience than I thought I did, my little girl is just as smart (and cute) as I thought she was and, most importantly, there is a use for Urine Gone. Seriously? Have you seen this stuff advertised? Bread and I are always laughing about this. Who has so much of a urine problem that they need to buy a specific product to take care of it? Not only that, but who needed to use the whole product and then purchase a 48 OUNCE REFILL! Holy shit! Er, I mean, holy urine! WTF?
That brings us to Saturday night. Bread and I are making our bed (see previous comment about how exciting our weekends are) and Bird is happily playing dress up in my closet. She’s walking around in my shoes, just having a good old time. And then she shouts, “Oh no! I peed in my shoe! I have to go potty!” Oh, no, you actually peed in my shoe. My brand new shoes that I’ve only worn once! There was a puddle! Where in the hell is the Urine Gone when you need it?
Friday, April 9, 2010
Super Mom to the Rescue
Yesterday, bird announced that she was playing “Super Powders.” After an intense line of questioning, we deducted that she was pretending to have super powers. Duh. We asked her what her power was. She told us she was fast. She asked me what my "powder" was. I was thinking MAC? Chanel? What brand of powder do you like? Then reality set in...The best I could come up with, for a super power, was, “I’m loving.” She gave me this look like, “Could you be any more boring?” Lame.
After she went to bed, the thing occupying my mind was what would my super power be? If I could have super powers, would I use them for good or evil? GOOD! All day! Because, as I’ve mentioned before, Karma is a bitch (I promise to someday elaborate on this as I know I’ve mentioned it before).
But for real, I spend all day with a two year-old, there are terrible things happening in the world, and after she’s gone to bed, and I can be alone with my thoughts, adult thoughts, I’m seriously pondering what kind of super power I would have? I guarantee if you ask any male over the age of two this question he can answer you in seconds. I’ve turned it into a bit of a soul search.
I think I would like to be fast too. I wouldn’t want my daughter to be able to outrun me. I also think this would make for an intense workout. I like burning extra calories! This would also help with household chores and getting ready! I would love to be able to fly. We could save on gas. Imagine never having to sit in traffic (not that I really ever do anymore). Is there some sort of super power that enables you to select stylish, flattering clothing from your closet? If yes, I so want that. Lastly, how about some x-ray vision? Not because I actually want it but because I feel the need to have some sort of power that my child will think is cool. There is nothing worse than a dorky super hero.
Now that I really think about it, I’m a mom. I already have super powers. I can watch my child, cook a meal, do laundry, talk on the phone, write a blog post and think about what I’m going to make tomorrow for dinner all at once. If this does not a super hero make, I don’t know what does; I think multi-tasking is severely underrated. I sometimes forget how good I really am! Kudos to me. I've been especially hard on myself this week.
After she went to bed, the thing occupying my mind was what would my super power be? If I could have super powers, would I use them for good or evil? GOOD! All day! Because, as I’ve mentioned before, Karma is a bitch (I promise to someday elaborate on this as I know I’ve mentioned it before).
But for real, I spend all day with a two year-old, there are terrible things happening in the world, and after she’s gone to bed, and I can be alone with my thoughts, adult thoughts, I’m seriously pondering what kind of super power I would have? I guarantee if you ask any male over the age of two this question he can answer you in seconds. I’ve turned it into a bit of a soul search.
I think I would like to be fast too. I wouldn’t want my daughter to be able to outrun me. I also think this would make for an intense workout. I like burning extra calories! This would also help with household chores and getting ready! I would love to be able to fly. We could save on gas. Imagine never having to sit in traffic (not that I really ever do anymore). Is there some sort of super power that enables you to select stylish, flattering clothing from your closet? If yes, I so want that. Lastly, how about some x-ray vision? Not because I actually want it but because I feel the need to have some sort of power that my child will think is cool. There is nothing worse than a dorky super hero.
Now that I really think about it, I’m a mom. I already have super powers. I can watch my child, cook a meal, do laundry, talk on the phone, write a blog post and think about what I’m going to make tomorrow for dinner all at once. If this does not a super hero make, I don’t know what does; I think multi-tasking is severely underrated. I sometimes forget how good I really am! Kudos to me. I've been especially hard on myself this week.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
What Was for Dinner, Bitches: Installment Two
Tonight I made Buffalo Chicken Macaroni and Cheese from my Food Network Magazine. This was delightful. It was spicy but not so spicy that Bird could not eat it. It was the perfect day for this meal since it rained ALL DAMN DAY here.
I will say that I’ve made homemade macaroni and cheese on many occasions. We are big fans. This is by far one of my favorites. It was simple enough, but I felt like it took forever to prep and the cheese did not want to melt. So, if you try it, I suggest cutting the cheddar up very small or shredding it.
Since someone here is dieting (AHEM), I did not follow the recipe exactly. I cut back the butter, used wheat pasta, milk instead of cream (CREAM!!) and lightened up a bit on the cheese as well (honestly, I would have done all that anyway). I also used Pam instead of buttering the pan. Do people really still use real butter or Crisco for this sort of thing? That is insane. Anyway, I lightened it up a bit and it was still extremely delicious. I starved myself all day so this would taste extra good.
Overall, I would give this one a nine. I just asked Bread what he would give it. He says 8.5. I say sleep on the couch, asshole.
I will say that I’ve made homemade macaroni and cheese on many occasions. We are big fans. This is by far one of my favorites. It was simple enough, but I felt like it took forever to prep and the cheese did not want to melt. So, if you try it, I suggest cutting the cheddar up very small or shredding it.
Since someone here is dieting (AHEM), I did not follow the recipe exactly. I cut back the butter, used wheat pasta, milk instead of cream (CREAM!!) and lightened up a bit on the cheese as well (honestly, I would have done all that anyway). I also used Pam instead of buttering the pan. Do people really still use real butter or Crisco for this sort of thing? That is insane. Anyway, I lightened it up a bit and it was still extremely delicious. I starved myself all day so this would taste extra good.
Overall, I would give this one a nine. I just asked Bread what he would give it. He says 8.5. I say sleep on the couch, asshole.
I’m looking at the Woman in the Mirror. I’m asking Her to Change Her Ways.
I have been a mom for nearly two and a half years. I still have not gotten used to this part of me. I feel like every day is an identity crisis. I never know what to do or what to wear. The old me was really into clothes, hair and makeup. The new me can’t always work that into her schedule, or, rather, does not always choose to. This is very difficult for me.
Deciding to become a stay-at-home mom was a tough decision for me in some ways. A lot of people passed a lot of judgment over me and my decision to return to work. Keep in mind that it was a financial decision based on the fact that, at the time, we could not live on only one salary. Part of me was very afraid of what would happen to me. I wondered if I would ever work again. I never envisioned myself staying home; I never even considered it as an option.
Those judgments have scarred me in some ways because I now feel as though I am constantly being judged. I’m sure this was always the case but, for me, being judged as a mother was worse than anything; I was only doing what was best for my baby and my family. I did what had to be done, plain and simple.
There were parts of my decision to become a stay-at-home mom that were simple. I hated my job. My boss was not that nice to me and I had an hour-long commute each way. I hated constantly feeling like I was being pulled in different directions and, most importantly, I missed Bird. So we were able to change a few things around and, voila, I became unemployed. Or, I suppose, otherwise employed.
That brings me to today, a little over a year and a half later, and I’m still having an identity crisis. I used to get dressed up for work. I would wear cute shoes. I wore makeup and tried to do something with my hair every day. Since I worked in an office, as a public relations person, I wanted to look presentable because I would see people and I didn’t want them to think I was a bum.
Now, my number one priority is obviously Bird. Then it’s “keeping a clean house” and taking care of our dogs. I have the intention, almost daily, to workout. Sometimes I get up when Bread does, at about six in the morning. Other days, I plan to do it during naptime or at night. Somehow, this workout messes with my entire day. If I haven’t yet exercised, I never see the point in dressing in “regular” clothes. I end up dressing for my workout. This is almost always a bad move. Because, that will be the day that Bird doesn’t nap and I don’t get my workout. Then, I end up feeling like a bum all day wearing yoga pants, a t-shirt and a hoodie.
I guess that is where my identity crisis comes into play. The old me was put together. I would like to think that the new me is too but, truthfully, I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t like to leave the house wearing my workout ensemble. Usually, if we are going somewhere, I will change. But, if I haven’t showered yet, my hair isn’t done and I’m not wearing makeup, generally, I don’t feel that good about myself. I want to be the put-together mom with the cute shoes, trendy jeans, stylish hair and minimal makeup. Not the sloppy, hair in a messy ponytail, gym-shoes-wearing freak that I’ve turned into, because I know that people are judging me. Let’s be honest here, we all do it. We may not do it on purpose but you always judge a person by the way they look. You make assumptions. I think it’s fair to say that.
Obviously, how I look each day is a choice. If I would choose to get up earlier, I could shower and be ready for the day and end up looking like the mom I want to be (maybe). I’m working on this. It’s hard. I require at least seven hours of sleep a night to function properly. It’s hard to get to bed before midnight because that is when I get to see Bread. Old habits are hard to break.
I look at myself in the mirror and I think I don’t love what I see. I wonder what other people think. When I look in the mirror, I don’t think I see what is actually there -in some ways that are good and in some ways that are not so good. I think, sometimes, that I have scared that old part of me away; the part that knew what to wear and looked good in it. I feel so confused by fashion these days (great, now I sound ancient). I don’t really get what is in. Why doesn’t someone create a line of clothing for moms? I do NOT mean mom jeans! I mean, who wants to roll around on the floor wearing designer clothing? Ha! If you’re living on one income do you even have money for designer clothing? I don’t want to be “just a mom.” I want to be me. In some ways, I resent that part of motherhood that took me away. Probably a lot of people are judging me for saying that. It is difficult to let one aspect of yourself define everything that is you. I love being a mom but, then again, that’s not all that I am. I need to get it together, because I want my daughter to know the old me, the real me. I want to be someone she can look up to. That is, if it’s possible to look up to a crazy, yoga pants wearing, baking nutter with a penchant for magazines and lip gloss. I suppose most things in life are a work in progress. I’m working on it. So tell me, what do you moms out there do? What’s your routine? How do you stay sane (or try to)?
Deciding to become a stay-at-home mom was a tough decision for me in some ways. A lot of people passed a lot of judgment over me and my decision to return to work. Keep in mind that it was a financial decision based on the fact that, at the time, we could not live on only one salary. Part of me was very afraid of what would happen to me. I wondered if I would ever work again. I never envisioned myself staying home; I never even considered it as an option.
Those judgments have scarred me in some ways because I now feel as though I am constantly being judged. I’m sure this was always the case but, for me, being judged as a mother was worse than anything; I was only doing what was best for my baby and my family. I did what had to be done, plain and simple.
There were parts of my decision to become a stay-at-home mom that were simple. I hated my job. My boss was not that nice to me and I had an hour-long commute each way. I hated constantly feeling like I was being pulled in different directions and, most importantly, I missed Bird. So we were able to change a few things around and, voila, I became unemployed. Or, I suppose, otherwise employed.
That brings me to today, a little over a year and a half later, and I’m still having an identity crisis. I used to get dressed up for work. I would wear cute shoes. I wore makeup and tried to do something with my hair every day. Since I worked in an office, as a public relations person, I wanted to look presentable because I would see people and I didn’t want them to think I was a bum.
Now, my number one priority is obviously Bird. Then it’s “keeping a clean house” and taking care of our dogs. I have the intention, almost daily, to workout. Sometimes I get up when Bread does, at about six in the morning. Other days, I plan to do it during naptime or at night. Somehow, this workout messes with my entire day. If I haven’t yet exercised, I never see the point in dressing in “regular” clothes. I end up dressing for my workout. This is almost always a bad move. Because, that will be the day that Bird doesn’t nap and I don’t get my workout. Then, I end up feeling like a bum all day wearing yoga pants, a t-shirt and a hoodie.
I guess that is where my identity crisis comes into play. The old me was put together. I would like to think that the new me is too but, truthfully, I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t like to leave the house wearing my workout ensemble. Usually, if we are going somewhere, I will change. But, if I haven’t showered yet, my hair isn’t done and I’m not wearing makeup, generally, I don’t feel that good about myself. I want to be the put-together mom with the cute shoes, trendy jeans, stylish hair and minimal makeup. Not the sloppy, hair in a messy ponytail, gym-shoes-wearing freak that I’ve turned into, because I know that people are judging me. Let’s be honest here, we all do it. We may not do it on purpose but you always judge a person by the way they look. You make assumptions. I think it’s fair to say that.
Obviously, how I look each day is a choice. If I would choose to get up earlier, I could shower and be ready for the day and end up looking like the mom I want to be (maybe). I’m working on this. It’s hard. I require at least seven hours of sleep a night to function properly. It’s hard to get to bed before midnight because that is when I get to see Bread. Old habits are hard to break.
I look at myself in the mirror and I think I don’t love what I see. I wonder what other people think. When I look in the mirror, I don’t think I see what is actually there -in some ways that are good and in some ways that are not so good. I think, sometimes, that I have scared that old part of me away; the part that knew what to wear and looked good in it. I feel so confused by fashion these days (great, now I sound ancient). I don’t really get what is in. Why doesn’t someone create a line of clothing for moms? I do NOT mean mom jeans! I mean, who wants to roll around on the floor wearing designer clothing? Ha! If you’re living on one income do you even have money for designer clothing? I don’t want to be “just a mom.” I want to be me. In some ways, I resent that part of motherhood that took me away. Probably a lot of people are judging me for saying that. It is difficult to let one aspect of yourself define everything that is you. I love being a mom but, then again, that’s not all that I am. I need to get it together, because I want my daughter to know the old me, the real me. I want to be someone she can look up to. That is, if it’s possible to look up to a crazy, yoga pants wearing, baking nutter with a penchant for magazines and lip gloss. I suppose most things in life are a work in progress. I’m working on it. So tell me, what do you moms out there do? What’s your routine? How do you stay sane (or try to)?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
War! This Is War, I say!
Last week, I took Bird to the library. She was sitting at one of the tables across from an approximately sixty year-old woman and her two grandchildren. When I told her it was time to go, she threw a mini-tantrum. It lasted all of ten seconds. I talked her out of it, thank God. The grandma actually recoiled when Bird started her fit. I just sort of shrugged my shoulders and walked away.
By the time we got to our car, I was mad. Who did that woman think she was? Honestly? She obviously had at least one child of her own, and, based on who she had with her at the library; she has at least two grandchildren. None of your kids ever did that? You’re a liar if that’s what you are going to claim.
I get that listening to a tantrum is not fun. If you are shopping, dining out or relaxing at a coffee shop, the last thing you want to hear is somebody’s screaming child. I get that. One thing I’ve learned is that once your child throws a fit in public the other patrons treat you like you’ve got the plague. The employees act as though, by waiting on you, they are going to catch whatever it is that your child has. How about some sympathy? Because I guarantee you’ve probably been in this situation, or you probably will someday, despite the fact that you know your kids will never behave like that! Believe me, I know, I was you three years ago. It’s inevitable! I promise I’m about to pay for my shit and get the hell out.
And, people are quick to start with the frowns and scowls. I am not one of those people who allows their child to howl all thru the library or the grocery store. We knock that shit off ASAP. Once I can get it down to a dull moan I carry on with my business. But if you Google that shit the “experts” will tell you to leave. Right! Because it only took me 30 minutes to fill up my grocery cart and I have to feed my family tonight, so I’ll just leave and come back in a bit. Screw the experts. What a bunch of assholes! They obviously have no children, or make enough money to pay others to care for them and teach them to behave like people.
That’s it exactly! I’m trying to teach her to behave like a person. Give me a couple seconds to discuss with my less-than-three- year-old how to act grown up. Her having a fit does not make me a bad mother (I know this most days, but on a bad day forget it). What would make me a bad mother is giving in to whatever it is she’s screaming about. Usually, it’s because there is something she wants. So I should just give it to her because she started to scream as a means of getting it? No way. I’m so not doing that.
So, given all my gallant efforts to teach my child how to act like a human being, some random lady at the library, who I will see again because she brings her grandkids to the Tot Reading Hour , wants to make it blatantly obvious that she is judging us? I can think of thousands of times an “adult” has acted more repulsively than my child with her tiny fit. How about the jerks, who disgustingly hover over the free samples at Costco, coughing and sneezing? The lady cut in front of me at Bath and Body Works the other day? You already know about the strawberry thieves. I guess what I’m saying is: overall, my child is not worse than many, many so-called adults. I think all moms need to join together and not scowl at each other during times of tantrum. A united front is what we need! Jessie Domestic, fighting Judgmental Assholes one blog post at a time!
By the time we got to our car, I was mad. Who did that woman think she was? Honestly? She obviously had at least one child of her own, and, based on who she had with her at the library; she has at least two grandchildren. None of your kids ever did that? You’re a liar if that’s what you are going to claim.
I get that listening to a tantrum is not fun. If you are shopping, dining out or relaxing at a coffee shop, the last thing you want to hear is somebody’s screaming child. I get that. One thing I’ve learned is that once your child throws a fit in public the other patrons treat you like you’ve got the plague. The employees act as though, by waiting on you, they are going to catch whatever it is that your child has. How about some sympathy? Because I guarantee you’ve probably been in this situation, or you probably will someday, despite the fact that you know your kids will never behave like that! Believe me, I know, I was you three years ago. It’s inevitable! I promise I’m about to pay for my shit and get the hell out.
And, people are quick to start with the frowns and scowls. I am not one of those people who allows their child to howl all thru the library or the grocery store. We knock that shit off ASAP. Once I can get it down to a dull moan I carry on with my business. But if you Google that shit the “experts” will tell you to leave. Right! Because it only took me 30 minutes to fill up my grocery cart and I have to feed my family tonight, so I’ll just leave and come back in a bit. Screw the experts. What a bunch of assholes! They obviously have no children, or make enough money to pay others to care for them and teach them to behave like people.
That’s it exactly! I’m trying to teach her to behave like a person. Give me a couple seconds to discuss with my less-than-three- year-old how to act grown up. Her having a fit does not make me a bad mother (I know this most days, but on a bad day forget it). What would make me a bad mother is giving in to whatever it is she’s screaming about. Usually, it’s because there is something she wants. So I should just give it to her because she started to scream as a means of getting it? No way. I’m so not doing that.
So, given all my gallant efforts to teach my child how to act like a human being, some random lady at the library, who I will see again because she brings her grandkids to the Tot Reading Hour , wants to make it blatantly obvious that she is judging us? I can think of thousands of times an “adult” has acted more repulsively than my child with her tiny fit. How about the jerks, who disgustingly hover over the free samples at Costco, coughing and sneezing? The lady cut in front of me at Bath and Body Works the other day? You already know about the strawberry thieves. I guess what I’m saying is: overall, my child is not worse than many, many so-called adults. I think all moms need to join together and not scowl at each other during times of tantrum. A united front is what we need! Jessie Domestic, fighting Judgmental Assholes one blog post at a time!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Practical Is My Middle Name
Last year, a bunch of us in my circle of friends turned 30. In celebration, our men planned us a nice little trip to Biloxi, Mississippi. Bread may have had a lot to do with this; this is where, nine years ago, we decided that we did not, in fact, dislike each other and began dating. You see, we started out not really being big fans of each other. Obviously, that has changed. Ah, the memories!
I love the South. I feel like I was supposed to be a Southerner. What's not to love? There is charm, the warmer weather, the deep fried, spicy foods, casinos, the music, the old homes, a place where chivalry is not dead, culture and so much history…
This was our first trip together as parents. The other two couples we traveled with were both (and still are) childless. It was nice to get away and revisit the people we were prior to becoming real, honest to goodness adults with a child. Apparently, the person I was prior to that was a drunk. Because I believe I spent at least two or three days of this trip intoxicated.
I've never been much of a drinker; I don't just sit on my couch and enjoy a glass of wine. In fact, I never enjoy a glass of wine because I just plain do not like it. A classy broad I am not. I enjoy beer, the darker the better. I also enjoy mixed drinks that don't actually taste like alcohol. Such drinks as margaritas or, if you're in the south, hurricanes. Usually, if I drink, I'm probably going to get drunk. My name is Jessie Domestic and I am a binge drinker. Amen. Er, whatever.
Biloxi is about an hour and a half (if I recall correctly) from New Orleans. If you've never been, by all means GO. I love it there so much. I want a house in the Garden District. I want to eat beignets at Cafe Du Monde while listening to jazz. I just love the city and the culture. It's definitely one of my favorite places.
Our group spent some time in New Orleans. We had a lovely steak dinner and hit Rue Bourbon. And, what does one do when in the Big Easy? Easily get drunk, from hurricanes, at Lafitte's. I think everyone in our group would agree that they had the best hurricanes there. And we did sample a plethora of hurricanes that week.
Again, keep in mind this is my first vacation sans the child. I was with friends. We were celebrating on Bourbon Street. The drinks were flowing. At some point, I kind of forgot some things. Bread has enjoyed reminding of these things for the past year. He has especially enjoyed reminding me that I did, indeed, run up and down Bourbon Street, taping people on the shoulder, throwing my arms in the air and yelling, "Woo, I'm some body's mother!" Were you there? Have we met before? Yes, that was me. I also sat on the Styrofoam cooler and broke it. I was the asshole who broke the cooler. But, I had a great time! Even if I didn't realize what a great time I had until Bread reminded me. The next day, I did not feel so great. Consuming mass quantities of alcohol will do that to you. Hey, at least I wasn't pushing my baby around in a stroller while I was getting wasted. We saw someone doing that. And, it was cold! But, I'm not judging.
What a great trip we had! We returned home (obviously). Bread went back to work and I resumed my duties as Domestic Diva. We missed our little Bird but it sure was great to revisit the part of ourselves with not so much responsibility.
It has been a year since we took that trip so I've been feeling some nostalgia lately. It was definitely a good time. You know what is also a good time? Having your child throw up all over you! This happened a little over two weeks ago. It was my first time. Obviously, when she was a baby, she spit up. I’m not talking about this. I’m going to be graphic-there were chunks. I started to gag. I'm sure if you're a mother, you've been there. If not yet, soon. Let me tell you, it was all I could do not to join her in the puke fest. It was disgusting. But, I had a little pep talk with myself. I repeated, "I'm some body's mother," over and over. A practical usage! It's not just for declaration on Bourbon Street. It has much, much more useful of an application. Thank God. "Woo, I'm some body's mother!"
I love the South. I feel like I was supposed to be a Southerner. What's not to love? There is charm, the warmer weather, the deep fried, spicy foods, casinos, the music, the old homes, a place where chivalry is not dead, culture and so much history…
This was our first trip together as parents. The other two couples we traveled with were both (and still are) childless. It was nice to get away and revisit the people we were prior to becoming real, honest to goodness adults with a child. Apparently, the person I was prior to that was a drunk. Because I believe I spent at least two or three days of this trip intoxicated.
I've never been much of a drinker; I don't just sit on my couch and enjoy a glass of wine. In fact, I never enjoy a glass of wine because I just plain do not like it. A classy broad I am not. I enjoy beer, the darker the better. I also enjoy mixed drinks that don't actually taste like alcohol. Such drinks as margaritas or, if you're in the south, hurricanes. Usually, if I drink, I'm probably going to get drunk. My name is Jessie Domestic and I am a binge drinker. Amen. Er, whatever.
Biloxi is about an hour and a half (if I recall correctly) from New Orleans. If you've never been, by all means GO. I love it there so much. I want a house in the Garden District. I want to eat beignets at Cafe Du Monde while listening to jazz. I just love the city and the culture. It's definitely one of my favorite places.
Our group spent some time in New Orleans. We had a lovely steak dinner and hit Rue Bourbon. And, what does one do when in the Big Easy? Easily get drunk, from hurricanes, at Lafitte's. I think everyone in our group would agree that they had the best hurricanes there. And we did sample a plethora of hurricanes that week.
Again, keep in mind this is my first vacation sans the child. I was with friends. We were celebrating on Bourbon Street. The drinks were flowing. At some point, I kind of forgot some things. Bread has enjoyed reminding of these things for the past year. He has especially enjoyed reminding me that I did, indeed, run up and down Bourbon Street, taping people on the shoulder, throwing my arms in the air and yelling, "Woo, I'm some body's mother!" Were you there? Have we met before? Yes, that was me. I also sat on the Styrofoam cooler and broke it. I was the asshole who broke the cooler. But, I had a great time! Even if I didn't realize what a great time I had until Bread reminded me. The next day, I did not feel so great. Consuming mass quantities of alcohol will do that to you. Hey, at least I wasn't pushing my baby around in a stroller while I was getting wasted. We saw someone doing that. And, it was cold! But, I'm not judging.
What a great trip we had! We returned home (obviously). Bread went back to work and I resumed my duties as Domestic Diva. We missed our little Bird but it sure was great to revisit the part of ourselves with not so much responsibility.
It has been a year since we took that trip so I've been feeling some nostalgia lately. It was definitely a good time. You know what is also a good time? Having your child throw up all over you! This happened a little over two weeks ago. It was my first time. Obviously, when she was a baby, she spit up. I’m not talking about this. I’m going to be graphic-there were chunks. I started to gag. I'm sure if you're a mother, you've been there. If not yet, soon. Let me tell you, it was all I could do not to join her in the puke fest. It was disgusting. But, I had a little pep talk with myself. I repeated, "I'm some body's mother," over and over. A practical usage! It's not just for declaration on Bourbon Street. It has much, much more useful of an application. Thank God. "Woo, I'm some body's mother!"
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Subtlety is NOT One of My Strong Suits
Dear Bread,
Jewelry! I like it! I especially like it when it comes in an Easter basket. I think I’ve covered all the bases since I’ve already posted this idea on Facebook. Thanks in advance for your cooperation in this very important matter. I love you; and, not just because you will actually follow through with this, either.
Signed,
Not Afraid to Ask
Jewelry! I like it! I especially like it when it comes in an Easter basket. I think I’ve covered all the bases since I’ve already posted this idea on Facebook. Thanks in advance for your cooperation in this very important matter. I love you; and, not just because you will actually follow through with this, either.
Signed,
Not Afraid to Ask
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