Very quick weekend summary:

• -1.0 lbs. Yay! There’s more to this story, but I shall sum it up this way: Always pee before weighing in.
• The southern living party went well – a couple of friends read my blog on Friday and then did a supriseroo and attended! Awwww shucks. Thanks guys. I’ll never invite you to one of these things again. EVER! I shall also not have a pity party for myself cause now I feel like I guilted them into it. Well, at least I’ll wait on the pity party until it’s over.
• I have pink eye. No doubt, caught from my son. Little impromptu poll on the situation.
  • Should I use my son’s prescription drops for me as well and don’t bother going to the doctor?
  • Should I use my son’s drops until I can get to the doctor and get my own prescription?
  • Should I not use my son’s drops and wait til I get my own prescription from the doctor?

  I won’t say what I’m doing. But I’m just interested in seeing what people think. I wish I knew how to do an actual poll, but you all will just have to write comments. Poor you. Suffering from my lack of technology. Well, I don’t lack the technology, I just lack the motivation. I am lazy.

That’s all for now, except to say that it’s supposed to snow tonight. I love snow. Also, if the government declares that it is closed, I also don’t have to go to work! And I get to charge the day to client leave (as opposed to having to use vacation). GO SNOW!

OOh – also, remind me to tell you the 2 cute kid stories that happened over the weekend. The one with Ethan in the car, and the one with Jocelyn and the milk. Oooh, also Ethan and the napping Jocelyn.

About a week or so ago, I expressed my disgust with my inability to really buckle down in this whole weight watcher’s thing. I debated the different routes I could go to keep myself on track, including telling you all what I had for breakfast, something I’m sure you all would really not care to hear.

Basically, there are 2 plans that one can do on weight watchers. You can do the Flex plan, or you can do the Core plan. The Flex plan is what I was doing last year – in fact, it was the only one availabe at that time. A serving of a food is assigned a point value based on the amount of calories, grams of fat, and grams of fiber. Who knows what formula it uses, but roughly, it’s 50 calories = 1 point with some leeway for bad things (more fat, less fiber=more points) and good things (less fat, more fiber=less points). On the flex plan, you have a certain amount of points you can eat per day depending on your current weight, and then you have 35 Flex points that you can use over the span of the entire week. After your weigh-in day, the week begins again, and your 35 weekly Flex points resets for the new week. It’s a good system with a lot of flexibility built into it (you can eat whatever you want, even use those 35 Flex points all in one day, but then you have to stick to your daily points and nothing over that the rest of the week), but heavy on journaling, which I am not good at.

I should also mention that both plans have daily requirements that one is supposed to have. A vitamin, 5? 6? (I don’t even know *cough* don’t ever make it) servings of dairy, 6 glasses of water, 6 servings of fruits and/or vegetables. One is supposed to include these in their daily intake for a healthy diet. The water is super important – if you don’t drink the water but have a perfect week otherwise, you might not see anything on the scale. Who knows why, it just is. It’s hard to do the water for me, but it’s the easiest thing on the daily requirements. I never get the milk in. I just take a calcium supplement at night instead. Fruits and veggies… Yeah, that also is rare. I have some fruit usually every day but I could go a few days without any veggies sometimes. Sad but true. Back to the plans.

The Core plan is what I was attempting. There is a core list of food which you can eat whatever you like, using your own hunger as a gauge (if you are full, don’t eat! how fancy! how innovative!) You get 35 Flex points per week which you can use on whatever foods you like that aren’t on the core food list. The Core list is made up of healthy, non-processed foods. It is really getting back to a more natural and wholesome way of eating. Bread is not on the core list, you would have to use some weekly flex points for that, but you can have potatoes or rice once a day – they limit it because those foods could be a trigger food for someone looking to snack. Lean meats, non-fat dairy, and of course all the fruits and veggies you could shake a stick at are on the list. Soups, as long as they are broth based and not cream based get the OK as well.

The problem with the core plan is unless you cook all the time, you start cheating. (I should stop saying “you” all the time. It’s me the one doing this, not you.) I do pretty well with the cooking a lot, but it takes preparation, and if I don’t prepare, then I’m going out to lunch during the week and I’m making guesses like, “Well, the turkey breast should be core and all the veggies are ok so I probably just have to count points for the honey oat bread on that sub and they only use lighte mayo so ……” It just goes on and on. I never actually count the extra points, I just figured it was low enough to be within my weekly flex points. The yo-yo weigh-ins told the truth about THAT little myth.

Well this was a long story, but a few people have asked me how weight watchers works, so I thought I’d fill in some of the blanks. The point is, I’ve switched to the Flex point plan this week, and to help me in my efforts, I enrolled in the WW Online E-tools which basically has all the foods you could ever find in a database already assigned their point values and I just have to search for it, and enter it into my online journal. No paper and pencil and looking it up in little books or using the little slide-rule calculator to find the point values. Online does it all, I just have to remember to DO it.

So anyway. That is what I’ve done to get back on track and I am feeling pretty proud of how I’ve done this week. Since I missed last week, this week will be a biggie – I’m sure I gained over Thanksgiving, so I’m hoping I’ve lost what I gained and then some for an official loss this week. I’m looking at that 20 lb goal by New Years, and this is my first big step. Honestly, even if it’s a disappointing weigh-in, I feel like I’m doing well, I’m ontrack and on top of the situation instead of being all, “Oh it’ll work out!” which is never true.

I’m sure I’ll let you all know how it went tomorrow – as well as how my pitiful Southern Living party went as well. I bought some stuff for the party, the makings of some mimosas and bellinis, along with a couple of shrimp plates (very weight watcher’s friendly, btw!) Tomorrow I need to tidy up and vacuum but I’m not going to kill myself over this one. Yes! I have children which means messy house and my walls are bare! BITE ME!

That’s a good motto. I smell bumper stickers.

amy loves toasty socks straight out of the microwave.

To all those desparately awaiting the answer to the relative hard or softness of Plantation Lane… The judge knelt, felt, and proclaimed it to be hard. This was some time after the initial conversation, so unfortunately, the amount of interest in the road’s hardness had cooled considerably. In fact, he was a little confused why I was draggin him out into the road, and even expressed concern for getting hit by a car. As if his mother would let him get hit by a car! Now feel the road, dammit, the Internet wants to know!!

UNFORTUNATELY, the ride after the feeling of the car was hellish in OH so many ways. First, as soon as we were in the car, Ethan started to list several complaints about his body. In fact, he wasn’t even complaining, just informing me.

“Mommy, my ears hurt.”

DING DING DING DING!

“I’m coughing a lot, Mommy.”

“My eye is all goopy, Mommy.

Kid, you had me at “my ears hurt.”

I had the doctor on the phone, a SAINT of a woman whom I now love and adore more than anything. I asked if we could come in, and on hearing the affirmatived, informed her we’d be there in 20 minutes, about how long it takes to get from Ethan’s school to the doctor.

There are basically 2 exits off of 66 to get to our abode, and one of the exits have 2 routes one could take. So all in all, 3 possible ways to get to the main street that has all the developments on it. We took one route. It was WAY backed up by an accident, so then I, so cunningly, so COYLY, scootched over to a backroad which would take me around all the traffic, PAST the accident, and sail us on down to the main drag. All that intrigue, and it was for NAUGHT. The accident, snafu, whatever it was, was still past where we came out, and the cop directing traffic was turning EVERYONE AROUND. Including us.

I will spare you all the rest, but basically, it took us an hour to get to the doctor, with a stop to “water the grass” (IN THE RAIN!! I made sure we were standing DOWNWIND) and a stop to fill the gas tank (No euphemisms there, we really had to fill up with gas, it just sounded like it was slang for something nasty and dirty, but it wasn’t! totally clean here!)

So, finally, at the doctor’s office (who WAITED FOR US, BLESS HER HEART!) we discovered that Ethan was on sick boy.

Ear infection. Conjunctivitis (that’s pink eye, folks) (apparently, these two things often go hand in hand. Who knew? Not me.) Swollen glands. Swollen tonsils. Sore throat. Snotty snotty snotty nose. Slight fever.

My poor boy. After spending forever in the car, and then visiting the doctor, we then wended our way to Target and settled in to wait for his prescriptions to be filled, which was really starting to put him way past his bedtime. Then home, a snack, medicine, eye drops, and bedtime.

Anyway. I spent yesterday at home with Ethan, and James stayed with him today. I couldn’t today, because I got *cough* had to go to DC for some more training, and thus.. sigh… hand to forehead, I just HAD to go to perfect pita. Damn I love that place. I also finally met up with a friend of mine from the place where I temped for a month, and that was nice too. She’s the kind of gal who even when we first met, it seemed like we’d known each other for years, and we talk and the time zips by until I have to skedaddle back to training or be LATE!

Ethan seemed a lot better tonight, still a lot of coughing, and now it has turned all wheezy, which I wonder if I should be concerned about or not. His eye is much better as well. Tomorrow, BACK TO SCHOOL!

I’ll try to update again tomorrow, because this weekend, I am hosting another dreaded party, this time, of the Southern Living at Home, variety. This time, it looks like it’s not going to be that great of a showing, either, which makes me wish the earth would crack open and swallow me up, because you know, throwing a party and having no one come is never a happy thing. Ugh. I’ll be so glad when it’s over. I’m never doing one of these again.

EVER.

amy melts in your mouth, not in your hand.

well, it’s been an interesting holiday weekend.

Let’s re-cap, shall we?

Thursday was Turkey day! Yay! I had this weird depression hanging over me all day, and who knows why, because the night before, we had our first snow. It was beautiful, blanketing the ground, transforming the world into a winter wonderland. If I could write poetry, I’d be plaguing you with some very badly written, I’m sure, poem about it. I just love winter. I love the crisp cool air and the snuggly warm clothes that hugs you all day long when you wear them. Ahhhh. Oh yes. Me and winter could get married and live together for many a long day. Sorry James. I’m eloping with winter.

So anyway. I think the depression started when I woke up Thursday morning and James wasn’t in the bed next to me. Through cold and flu season, this often happens, he often abandons me if I’m snoring or if he can’t sleep or if he’s coughing or if I’m coughing, etc. It usually doesn’t bother me, but on Thanksgiving day, it did for some reason. It’s not just the absence of James next to me, he also takes his pillow, his other pillow, and his blanket. So I wake up and roll over and there’s this yawning abyss of nothing but bare cold sheets staring back at me and I feel utterly alone in the universe without even his pillow to grab and smell to remind me of him. The snow was also gone, like it hadn’t even happened. “HAHA,” it said, “JUST KIDDING!” *sniff*

Second thing to bring me down is the holiday itself. It’s a day dedicated to eating and family, and it was just us this year, which, don’t get me wrong, was nice. However, what is NOT nice, is killing yourself making yummy food just to hear someone say, “I don’t like that Mommy.” Over and over and over again. While you’re making it in the morning. While your putting it in the oven. When it is on his plate and you’ve told him repeatedly that he doesn’t have to eat it, and that one little taste won’t kill him.

I blame his picky father. It’s more convenient than any of the other choices.

Jocelyn, luckily, is at a beautiful stage where she will eat anything. And does, often. While I was cleaning the meat off the turkey later, she kept coming round for a bite every few minutes. She’s a turkey fiend (She also loves the rotisserie chicken from Costco).

So yeah. We should have done like a friend of mine did, and just ate Thanksgiving on the couch during nap time, because I think it would have been better for my morale. I am exaggerating, it isn’t like I killed myself cooking, in fact James was in charge of the turkey, and then we only had dressing and Company Carrots â„¢* as side dishes. While I love this stage of their development, sometimes I just can’t wait until they’re older so holidays like this won’t be just a waste of time.

*Company Carrots â„¢ is my family’s trademarked Thanksgiving day side dish. It’s almost more important than the turkey. My mom used to just tell us that however many carrots we peeled, that’s how much she’d make. Well, we would peel dozens, because we loooooved company carrots. It’s so yummy! Even James likes company carrots. No idea how it got that name though. It sounds like the dish is very old, like from Anne of Green Gables era, and the recipe would only be brought out when company came over for tea or something.

Friday I did some work at home, which was fun and no fun at the same time, and then Friday night I bullied James into going into DC with me with the kids and seeing The Polar Express on IMAX in 3D. It was pretty fun. We took the metro in, (“A TRAIN!!!! We’re in A TUNNEL!! Look, a TRAIN STATION!!” -Christmas will be hard to beat this year) and we walked around the JAM-PACKED Natural History Museum for a bit before the movie. Ethan was a wee bit afraid of the big dinosaur bones, and we didn’t go see the Hope Diamond, which I always like to go check out, and Jocelyn stayed in the stroller, which made maneuvering through the millions of people a bit on the impossible side, but the movie was the prime draw anyway. I’ve seen it with Ethan about three times in the theatre, and James hasn’t ever, so I did Jocelyn duty, and Ethan and his daddy watched the movie in 3D. Jocelyn did pretty well in the movie, with the help of graham crackers and bagels and jujifruits (fruit snacks that we have named “jujifruits”, not the actual candy) I had to take her out in the last half hour, which wasn’t bad, because she had tons of fun spinning around in the wide open lobby and then came running over to me to fall down. She also got some good jumping practice in.

James admitted that it was worth it, even though he was starting to feel miserably sick, just to see Ethan watching the movie which he adored. Grandma has already called me and “dibs” the Polar Express DVD as her Christmas present to Ethan. Kind of a bummer, because I’d have liked to have it in the house before Christmas and watch it up to the big day. So, along with the “METRO TRAIN MOMMY!” ride to and from DC, Friday night was fun, even though poor Jocelyn had to sit in the same diaper all that time because her mother forgot to bring one. Doh. Luckily, Mr. Poop stayed away.

However, Friday night, the real fireworks began. James spent his night in the kid’s bathroom, and I spent mine in our bathroom. He was sitting on the throne, I was kneeling in worship before it’s porcelain white-ness (wondering exactly when the last time I had cleaned in there was, actually). We decided later that it could only have been the turkey day leftovers that we’d had for lunch. I consulted with my mom, and we decided that since the dressing had egg in it, it was probably that. Yes, James and I were mildly food poisoned, and it will make me tread lightly in The Zone henceforth forever after! We weren’t as speedy in tupperwaring our leftovers after the Big Eating Event, and we will be from now on!

I think James got the worst of it (he was pooping all night, whereas I actually puked only once), but it wasn’t pleasant for anyone. Even the kids, especially Jocelyn who remained in her crib Saturday morning until 9am, and in her crib during nap time until 4pm. Luckily Ethan entertained her a bit during that time. Probably reassuring her that no, Mommy and Daddy aren’t dead, they’re just sleeping. Don’t worry, they’re breathing, I was watching. (Not really. Of course, I was asleep, so how would I know what those two talked about.) The rest of the day, they pretty much ran around our immovable tired, feverish bodies while we occasionally called out directives such as, “don’t pull your sister’s hair!” and “No hitting!” and “Your brother is not a punching bag!” and “TIME OUT!” before drifting into sick desolate non-caring again. As long as no one dies or is maimed, they’ll be fine, right?

So Saturday passed in a haze, and generally we felt better Sunday, but even today (Monday) I don’t quite feel 100 percent. The tummy is ok, but now a sore throat and general achey mopey yuckiness* have taken over. Luckily though, it’s liveable, which is good because I don’t get vacation time until I’ve worked at this company for 6 months. Yay.

So that is the Thanksgiving holiday weekend wrap up.

“I’m thankful for my hair.” – quote from Amy, at her eleventh Thanksgiving dinner when everyone had to say what they were thankful for. (I’m never going to live this down anyway, so I thought I’d let you, the Internet, not let me live it down either. Was that sentence grammatically correct? I don’t care anymore. Goodbye.)

* according to my spell checker, “yuckiness” isn’t a word. Isn’t that surpising? “Mopey” is OK, but yuckiness? NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE! “Achey” isn’t either, but that one, I get.

– amy dangles her participles over big, yawning cliffs while hollering, “STAY BACK! I’LL DROP IT!!”

PS – (as if there aren’t enough footnotes going on) My ice just sighed at me. It was interesting.

Not that sort of fantasy.

Sheesh, you people. Get your mind out of the gutter.

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Mimi Smartypants and she mentioned how she does kung fu kicks in the elevator when it is empty. Aside from her, of course. I guess it isn’t actually empty. It’s late. Sue me.

Anyway. I was thinking about how I don’t have any cool things like that, that I do, but tonight as I was sitting here musing on my return to work tomorrow (stayed home with a non-sick Ethan), I realized that I DO have office fantasies.

The guy in charge of our division/office/borg collective, is a very nice man that I’ve spoken with once, on my first day, when he was in his office when the HR lady was showing me around. He was very interested in me and seemed to know about my skills, which impressed and scared me. I wasn’t quite sure who HE was, but the huge office kind of tipped me off that he was probably the highest guy in the office.

Anyway. Back to the fantasy. Every day, many times a day, I trek from my cube to the kitchen, questing for tea bags and hot water to douse them with. Mr. InCharge’s office is not between my cube and the way to the kitchen, but it is in between the kitchen and the front desk, which leads to the hallway which has the door to the ladies room, and I often go through that door because of the said tea bags doused with hot water and sprinked with many many many packets of Equal (if aspartame causes tumors, tell my family I love them). So once every few days, I douse the tea bags, and trot out past the front door to answer nature’s call and then return to the kitchen to retrieve my mug and return to my desk.

So I pass Mr. Incharge’s office, and being the nice guy that he is, his door is usually open. sometimes he’s in there, and sometimes he’s not. Well, every time I pass I have this urge to just go in and plop down on his expansive sofa (as opposed to the chairs opposite his desk where I’m guessing folks usually sit) and just shoot the shit. “Hiya! How’s it going? Do anything interesting this weekend? Me? Oh just a little TV, some gardening, nothing special. OK, Just thought I’d say hi!” and pop up and leave.

It’s really not a big thing, just a fleeting thought that passes my mind when I pass Mr. Incharge’s office.

The other thing I’d like to do, and probably will when I can get away with it, is turn a cartwheel going down the hall. I’m always plotting on when and how I could do this. Once I thought to myself, the adrenaline rushing, “THIS IS IT! THERE’S NO ONE AROUND I COULD TOTALLY TURN A CARTWHEEL.” But then I chickened out with the thought that I haven’t done a cartwheel in years, and I should probably practice at home before taking my act on the road. I think I was also wearing a skirt, so that’d be a good reason not to.

Cartwheels remind me of pre-teen adolescence, back in those golden years when it was still ok to play with your friends, make up stories, act them out, pretend in the backyard, dress up your kittens.. before the abrupt change into teenagers when suddenly you don’t “play” anymore, you “hang out”, you paint your nails, you talk on the phone and you alternate between talking about boys, clothes and tonight’s math homework. My best friend and next door neighbor, Heidi and I did cartwheels all the time. I even had a “thing” where if I was ever in a crappy mood, I would do a cartwheel, and it would make me happy. I loved to do them in grocery stores just to shock people (this one continued on into adolescence though, shocking people doesn’t seem to grow immature with time. or does it?)

So I’m totally thinking about taking that Mr. Incharge thing out in case someone from work finds my blog one day. It’s not like it’s bad or anything, but still. Oh well.

– amy’s turnout was never good enough, but she always had “beautiful hand shape”, and good feet
” amy’s ballet teacher never forgave her for also taking gymnastics, despite the beautiful hand shape and the high arched foot

Tonight is Bunko night. Am I at Bunko night, you ask? No, I answer, I am not.

While bunko is a ton of fun, it just always seems that it goes about an hour after I’m ready to call it a night. This week I’ve been working on a project at work that had to be completed (ish, it’s still in QA) by today. Last night I was up til 12:30pm. I just felt like vegging out at home tonight, so I called a friend to sub for me at Bunko.

Tomorrow James and I are going out with another couple to have dinner at Coastal Flats and then see the new Harry Potter thrillah. The sitter comes at 6pm. Oooh I can’t wait. It’s going to be nice to go out by ourselves. Hopefully we can make this an at least once a month type dealio.

About two weeks ago, Jocelyn was throwing herself on the floor in a tantrum at every little thing that didn’t go her way. This week, it’s been an about face. SO happy, so delighted, so tickled to see you! and you! and that thing over there! and the kitty! KITTY! THOMAS! Pat! Pat! Pat! (patting her hands against her chubby little knees)

Last night was a school night for James, so it was me and the kids. I made some quick PBJs for dinner and after they’d eaten we went upstairs. We (OK, more like I) cleaned up their bedrooms and then I vacuumed them and the hallway. Took about 20 minutes, and then the three of us hung out in Ethan’s room and played with his train table. He got it for Christmas last year and while he played with it a lot, it seemed to come as the Whole! Train! Excitement! was coming down off the initial high. It also didn’t help that his little sister wasn’t even 1 at that point, and would come to the table and destroy whatever he built. So we moved it into his room, but honestly, he doesn’t play in his room that often. The last month or two though, we’ve come into his room and there’ll be something super cute set up. Like, the train tracks will be laid out in a simple circle or figure eight, but he’ll have put one of his books, opened like an upside down V, over the tracks for a home-made tunnel/mountain.

So we were in his room last night and I dug into my brain and actually remembered how to set up the tracks the way they were made to go (with only several pieces left over!) (it’s been a while!). The really amazing part was the realization that Jocelyn is now the right age to be able to play with them. She doesn’t immediately grab the tracks and fling them everywhere, instead she takes a train and tries to run it around the track, complete with “choo choo!” noises. The only trouble we had was when she took some of Ethan’s train (he had all 2,358 train cars hooked up to his engine. He could spare them.)

Sometimes it’s interesting to consider how having children has changed us. Or even just changed me. I like to think that there are some universal changes that happen to ALL parents, everywhere. Parents of the Internet, correct me if I’m wrong, but from those I’ve talked to, I think I’m right:

• all babies and toddlers seem cuter than they did before parenthood struck.This is an important one, because it actually does not take into account whether said child is actually BEING cute. They could be throwing a major tantrum in aisle nine of the grocery store, but they will still be cute. Instead of the feelings of annoyance and frustration, there’s a pang of empathy for the parent, commiseration, and even in the kid’s channeling of Satan Himself, the kid will still be cute. Pre parenthood, one thinks, “They should just drown these creatures so the rest of us can shop in peace.” Post-parenthood, one can’t help but think that the way their lower juts out and the chin trembles just before they launch into the new fit of bawling, and really, they are just pretty cute.
• stories, programs, commercials, snippets from the news, ANYTHING involving children in any sort of danger or trouble cannot be tolerated. This one may be just for mothers, I didn’t see james bawl during the CSI that had the baby die from being left in a car in 100 degree heat. that really happened recently here in the DC area. I cried in my car when I heard it. Sure, I was sad to hear these things before I became a mother, but now, it is heart breaking that such abominations can come to pass.

I’m tired of this list, so I think I’ll stop. But non-parents be forewarned. You baby doesn’t arrive with the warning label: “Having me will and probably already has altered the way you experience anything to do with children.” So I just consider it my act of public service for the day.

OK, a bit scattered of a post, but I’m a scattered kind of gal.

another list for you:

Things Ethan/Jocelyn have done recently that made me blink in surprise and/or smile:

• gotten up out of bed to turn off his closet light*
• informed me the next morning, when I asked him if he turned off his closet light, “Yes Mommy, I didn’t want to waste e-lim-ni-city (electricity) (!!!!! can you beleive he said this? the boy does listen after all!)
• Run after Jocelyn screaming, “I’m going to GET YOU!” while she ran away, screaming in delight
• When James brought some paper towels to the table at the end of dinnertime, said, “Hands, daddy!” and reached out, took the paper towels, and started to “wipe” her hands
• Jocelyn likes to hide behind the rocking chair in her room. It’s like a little ritual. I get her diaper and jammies on, she expresses her delight on having jammies on, “JAMMIES!!!!” and then as I stand up and get her story, she runs behind the chair and WAITS there until I say, “Where’s Jocelyn? Where could she be?” and then she runs out and grins at me, sparkling with excitement from head to toe.
• Sat on the couch where the cat’s tail drooped down from where she was sleeping. Brought her face closer and closer to the fuzzy tail, and then screeched with glee as the tail twitching from said cat tickled her face. Rinse, Repeat, – for 5 minutes.

* This summer we finally got him out of the habit of sleeping with his OVERHEAD light on. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth (us and him) and the closet light stayed on, always, to keep any boogie monsters away (not that I would ever utter such a phrase and put it in his head. we’d never hear the end of it)

I need some tea. I think I’ll go get some.

One thing you may not know about me, is that I like to talk smack.

Of course, I’m not very good at it, so my smack talking is usually pretty lame. But if I drink enough, the urge to talk smack increases. So at our usual poker gatherings, and even at my monthly Bunko game with the suburban neighborhood ladies, I tend to get happy and loose with the, “YOU’RE GOING DOWN, BABY!” “IN YOUR FACE!” and the general merriment of loudly lamenting my own suckiness, if that’s the case.

It’s not so much that I HAVE to win, or hate to lose. I just think that getting all boisterous is part of the fun!

Speaking of suburban neighborhood ladies, I have succumbed to the inevitable and am hosting a Pampered Chef party this weekend. “Pampered Chef?” you wonder. “What’s that?” Well, just think back to when your mom hosted or attended the in-your-living-room tupperware parties where the gals gathered and oohed and aahed over the latest and greatest food storage device, talked with each other and caught up with the various ongoings, and then occasionally bought said food storage devices. Now update it to the present decade, and there you go. I’m thinking about doing my hair up in a beehive, donning an apron, high heels and dishwashing gloves* for the event. If you are reading this and are in the near vicinity, then it is likely that you received an invitation. (If not, then call me! you can come too! come come! dishwashing gloves optional!)

* I actually have dishwashing gloves. They’re pretty neat. I got them because sometime a few years ago I started getting a mysterious rash on my hands after I was working in the kitchen. Once I had them, I was hooked – my favorite time to don them was cleaning out the baby formula bottles. At least when Jocelyn was breast-fed, the breastmilk didn’t smell so bad when you were cleaning the bottles, but damn, formula (especially old formula) is particularly rank. Now, I use them all the time, it’s so nice to not get your hands wet. However, I do have a strange urge to don an apron, apply mascara and wear high heels when I’m wearing them.

Back to Pampered Chef.

I am looking forward to this event with some trepidation. First, it involves people in my home. Not just any people, but neighbor people. This freaks me out. First off, I am not the June Cleaver type, and my household shows it. The friends we’ve known forever know that we’re slobs, and slobs with kids, so I like to think they don’t care or notice, even though they probaby do. But it seems like our neighbor friends always have spic and span houses whenever I drop in with table runners and pictures on the wall and tidy play areas where the toys never venture out or look like a ten children play there instead of just 2 or 3.

I did manage to run the vacuum around the main floor at least once a week when I was at home, and I remember when we lived in our temporary townhouse while waiting for our current house’s completion I had a pretty good weekly routine down for making sure the kitchen floor didn’t develop new and deadly diseases. That routine switched over to “Oh the dog will get it.” and other non-cleaning actions. But even then, and moreso now that I’m working full-time (and the dog is away), our house is in sad shape. It would be even worse if not for James, who always, ALWAYS empties and fills the dishwasher, which is the job I hate most in the world. Even when we do manage to pick up the toys that are scattered EVERYWHERE, they just come out again the very next day, so when I’m tired, it’s very easy to look around, think “what’s the point?” and curl up with a book instead.

But even if all the toys were picked up, floors vacuumed, and surfaces cleared, my house is just lacking that grown up look that the other bunko gals have. Pictures! Fake flower arrangements! Furniture that actually have decorative items on their surfaces other than stacks of unread mail and magazines! Seriously. After attending a few Pampered Chef, Southern Living, Tastefully Simple, Party Lite (that one is candles), and some other parties that I can’t remember the name of, and not to mention Bunko nights, my house just doesn’t match up. I don’t think I have the decorating gene. I am always afraid that what looks nice in the store or magazine is going to look yucky in my home, or won’t turn out to be my style. I think my problem is that I don’t ever really think of myself as grown-up yet. I mean, I do think of myself as grown up, but wasn’t it easier when you could collect all sorts of random shit, stick it up on your wall, and call it good? I’ll have to hunt up a picture of my dorm room. I guess I’d like my house to look nice, but still reflect ME (I guess it could reflect James too) and my taste, and once again, my inner picture of myself isn’t “married 31 year old suburban wife and working mother” but rather, “hip, groovy chick who cares not for responsibility or convention”. And also because I don’t know what I like, rather, I like everything, and thus, I’m afraid if I bring it into my house, it’s just going to look junky instead of sleek and planned.

Well.

This subject is lengthier in this blog than the trepidation is at the upcoming gathering in my head.

The gathering isn’t in my head. The trepidation is. Just to be clear. Didn’t want that sketchy grammar up there giving you weird images of gatherings in my head. Although if I did hold a gathering in my head, I would want YOU to be there. Won’t you RSVP in the affirmative? I must say, the decorations THERE are very nice. Funky and ecletic, but most of all, ME.

I so feel like running out and dying my hair this color today. I shall try to resist.

That is all for today. Farewell kind viewers! All … six of you, I think. I’m not counting James who is contractually obligated to read what I write, if for no other reason to discovery whether or not I’m pissed at him for something that I can’t bring myself to say to him. If I did count him, that’d be seven.

FAREWELL!

* Name the movie! It’s one of my favorites!

It’s storytime!

I am walking down the hall from my cube to the kitchen when I remembered that I wanted to fill up my water bottle. Water = good. So, I turned back.

Then I thought, I can put my lunch in the microwave and THEN come get my water bottle thus saving time waiting around for the microwave to finish. So I turned back toward the kitchen.

THEN I thought about the distance between point A, my desk, and point B, the kitchen, and decided that my progress between point A and point B was less than 50% and thus turned back to head to my desk to retrieve said water bottle.

It was at this point that I realized that I just circled in place like a dog and if I kept this up someone was going to walk by and give me a bone or something so I beat it back to my desk and sat there, peering around the cubicle wall to see if anyone had seen my strange behavior and was shooting me “weird crazy new-girl” looks.

What’s that? Another story? But I just told you one!

Well, all right, but JUST THIS ONE.

The people that design women’s work wear, have no compassion. DO WOMEN NOT NEED POCKETS IN THEIR SKIRTS??? The answer is NO. Err, Yes. What was the question? I need pockets! And yet, none of my skirts have any. NONE. This is my fault, of course, for buying them w/out pockets in the first place, but seriously, if I waited around for pockets, I’d have no clothes. And while the walking in place in a circle thing would have been embarrassing if someone had caught me, I’m guessing it’d have been even more so with no clothes.

So, no pockets. This has led to some drastic changes in my being. For one, my cell phone has always been my mode of telling the time. I haven’t worn a watch since I was in high school. For some reason after the one I wore broke, I just never could find one I liked as much, and then I was used to NOT wearing one, and didn’t like the way they felt. The cell phone is always in my pocket, so if I needed the time, I just fished it out and checked.

So, when I was working in DC, taking the train, taking the metro, walking walking to my office.. Well, I really needed somewhere to stash my phone so I didn’t have to go rooting through my bag looking for it. One would think “Just buy a watch, dumbo,” but seriously, so strict was my non-watch attitude, that it never even occured to me. Until I found the perfect place for my phone – right in the middle of my bra. I would look around covertly and snuggle the phone down in between the boobs. I would walk merrily from office to metro station and be able to check the time with only getting a few strange looks a day. However, the “non-watch” philosophy was quickly shaken to it’s foundations after I had it on vibrate a few times and just about jumped out of my skin when it went off. Now, THAT will wake you up in the morning!

So, I wear a watch now. I searched and searched and found a watch that I could live with. It’s more of a bracelet, a piece of jewelry really, than a watch. It’s awful purty! The lasting effects of the no pockets situation however, is that now I randomly stick things in my bra when I have no where else to carry them. When I drop Ethan off at school, we have a security card to get into the building. Ethan likes to hold it and “beep!” us in, but then I take it and stash it away securely.

Other items that have been known to reside with the breasts:

1. My keys (this one is a daily occurance).
2. Many packets of Equal sweetener (also daily).
3. Spare Kleenex (but not in the usual way tissues are stuffed in the bra, I promise I don’t need them like THAT.)
4. Pens, paperclips, and various small office supplies.
5. Socks (Mine, Ethan’s, or Jocelyn’s. Never James. Ew.)
6. And in the last week, cough drops.

Sometimes when I get undressed for bed and take off my bra, the weirdest things show up that I have no recollection of putting in there. I think all the items are gettin’ busy and multiplying. PARTY IN THE BRA! NO COVER CHARGE!

Ahem.

OK, storytime’s over! Now off to bed!

So this weekend, aside from the inappropriate thoughts in the head of the amy regarding the ballet (why do i love to put ‘the’ in front of everything? I need help.) it’s been chock full of events and personal enlightenment. Friday night consisted of a “Let’s look inside Amy’s head!” experience. It was interactive, complete with waterworks and I’m sure a Tammy Faye Baker look since I was wearing mascara at the time. I got some insight on why I feel all mopey and depressed sometimes and managed to actually convey these things to James, the wonderful man who listens to my neuroses and tells me it will be ok.

I’ve also started contemplating how much is too much to spill here on this blog. While I would like to go the route of full disclosure, it’s probably not fair to those around me, and we all know how full disclosure can sometimes lead to being dooced so I definitely need to draw the line somewhere. I don’t like lines. I’m going to make my line a fuzzy, foggy sort of mist that I can wander into and out of at will. Yeah! Go mist! On the one hand, I could just pass on the funny bits of my life and call it good, but I didn’t start this blog with the intent of just floating through the events and not really delving into ME, and I don’t want to wanker out now. Because let’s face it. I love talking about ME. ME ME ME.

Anyway. To the weekend.

1) Friday night blubbering*

* To my credit, I got this out of the way FRIDAY NIGHT and then was fine the rest of the weekend – I highly suggest going this route in your mental breakdowns.

I volunteered to fold some brochures for work. So Friday night, James is settled in front of World of Warcraft laptopness and I’m settled in to folding brochuresness. So I’m folding away and we’re watching Gilmore Girls when it occurs to me, that if the situation were reversed, if James was doing some meaningless and menial task, I would offer to help him. What is it about me that I would automatically offer to help complete this boring, skin-drying task? James evidently did not have this “must help” gene, because he didn’t offer. Please don’t mistake me. I’m not trying to paint a “how dare he” or a “poor-little-me” picture here. I’m painting the “I am a PUSSY” picture. Why do I feel the need to offer my assistance? And somewhat related, why do I feel as if I must be in control? I don’t think I would paint myself as a control freak, but maybe I am deluding myself and am nuttier than Monica Geller. As the inner peering continued, into the wee early hours of the morning, I unloaded a bunch of stuff on James and he, as always, has come through it all right, with no threats of divorce on the horizon.

Then again, I hear certified mail takes a few days.

I think that’s far enough into the mist for one day. That was probably a toe, stuck into the mist. Maybe next time I’ll get the whole foot in.

2) Saturday morning weigh-in.

Well folks, it wasn’t good! Up 4.8 lbs. This is not good. I knew it wasn’t going to be good, because I pretty much have been eating halloween candy all week and been saying “Oh this one little thing won’t hurt” to all sorts of things for mealtimes. So this will serve as a wake up call for me. I have been doing this for FOUR WEEKS, and my total is -2 pounds. If I am going to meet my New Years goal, it is time to GET TO IT! Just think. If I had lost 2 pounds a week, I’d be down 8 pounds at this point.

Ok, so no more kicking myself. Just time to get busy. And I am. Saturday I do kind of whatever I want, within reason, which has worked for me in the past, but Sunday, I cooked up a storm and made my lunch to bring to work for the week. I cooked and assembled my favorite thing, brown rice, browned onions (mmmmmmm) and browned, diced chicken. I also made up some of that (startlingly yummy, reminds me of the old pot-luck dinners in the church gym) pineapple fluff so whenever James dished up his mountain of chocolate ice cream, I wouldn’t have to look at him and yearn. No working out yet this week. Maybe Wednesday and Friday. And of course, Water Water Everywhere!

3) Saturday Night Ballet.

This is covered territory, but I’d just like to reiterate: Freedom for ballet dancers everywhere!

4) Cox Farms Pumpkin Madness (MADNESS, MADNESS I TELL YOU!!)

We went down the big slides, ventured over to the goats (who on discovering that Jocelyn did not carry food, immediatedly butted her and made her cry) left quickly for the barn with baby pigs, baby cow, and baby chickens and a slide out of the loft which Ethan wanted to do again and again (“BY MYSELF THIS TIME MOMMY!”), watched them drop pumpkins from atop a lofty crane (Ethan loved it, Jocelyn was scared of the noise of the pumpkin hitting the ground), did more slides, ate apples and cider, threw some itty bitty pumpkins, played on the toy train, watched the ponies giving rides and then finally came home.

Regrets: James and Ethan always went first down the slide(s) with Jocelyn and I following, so I never got to see either kid’s face coming down. That would have been great. Also, James forgot the camera. Damn him. Oh well.

5) The afternoon and evening of Sunday TANTRUM HELL.

And it came to pass, that Jocelyn was exceedingly sick. And yay, the girl laid down her head upon her crib, and did not sleep at naptime. The Lord decreed that there be no sleeping, but there would be much coughing, and sniffing and crying. And the Lord looked down, and said, “Let there be screaming. Let there be running away from the parents who wish to console her, they must look upon their spawn and weep for their inability to comfort her.”

Well, a wee exageration, for we did discover a few things that helped her. Distraction. And I’m not just saying, wave a toy in front of her or turn out the Wiggles, because even the powerful POWERFUL draw of the Wiggles only worked for about 5 minutes. I finally tossed her in the stroller and took her around the block in BLISSFUL silence, only to return home, and watch her THROW herself on the ground in a fit just inside the door. She was so tired and so sick that she just hated life, poor girl. Daddy discovered the other distraction and took her to the grocery store where she probably amused herself tossing things out of the cart and watching Daddy run after them. Oh she’s good at that. When they returned, it was late enough to try to carry the distracted momentum into the bathtub, and then into jammies and bed, where she laid and coughed and sniffed and cried some more. It was truly one of the worst days of her young little life, and I daresay ours as well. Some Benedryl and Robitussin finally came through and she did get SOME rest that night. Today, she is much improved, and actually slept very well last night with minimal coughing.

So exciting, full weekend. That’s it. The end.

– amy “I AM A PUSSY!”