A girl and her dog

My dog, my friend

I got a the worst possible call this morning from Midnight's vet.  He's been to see the vet four different times over the last couple of months due to blood in his urine and has been on four different antibiotics, none of which have been of any help.  So, this morning, I dropped him off to have a urinalysis and bladder x-ray done.  I went to work thinking about how I was going to pay for surgery or other expensive treatments that may need to be done.  And then, a few hours later, The Call.

The first thing the vet said was "I have bad news."  He then proceeded to tell me that Midnight had a massive tumor in his bladder.  He couldn't do a urinalysis on him because his bladder was full of blood.  He went on to explain that tumors of this type are usually malignant and generally, when they get this large, it means they've likely begun to spread the cancer to other parts of the body.

"OK" I said, still not fully understanding the enormity of what the doctor was telling me.  "What do we do now?  What are the next steps to take"

"You need to start saying goodbye"

My heart stopped beating.

"He will be in a lot of pain, there are no treatment options for canine bladder cancer.  You need to start saying goodbye."

"How long are we talking about here?"

"Weeks. Maybe days."

I left work shortly after having a mini breakdown at my desk and crying into my keyboard.  I went straight to the vet to pick up my dog.  When I got there, I sat down with the doctor and he showed me the x-ray. It didn't look good.  This thing was enormous.  Taking up over half of Middie's bladder.  The doctor explained to me that this was definately advanced.  The tumor is massive. He said that even from the external examination he did this morning, he could tell the tumor had grown from last week when Middie was in last.  The x-ray didn't surprise him.  I spoke with him at length about what I can expect, what will happen to Midnight in the next few weeks.  He told me he'll loose weight (he's been loosing weight steadily for a couple of months now, that I was crediting to diet dog food, apparently it was this cancer), he'll stop eating, he'll stop socializing with the family. He'll get grumpy, he'll be reluctant to move around much.  He'll vomit.  In essence, he'll be miserable.

I was given a couple of medications to take home with me.  To manage the pain and make Midnight more comfortable.  On the way home, I bought him a cheesburger and fries at McDonald's, but he only ate 2 fries and half of one bun and then threw it all up.  I gave him his pain meds and after fidgeting around and panting, he's now snoozing next to the sofa. He wasn't acting this miserable this morning, so I'm betting he's just sore from all the poking and prodding that was done to him today.

But still, I'm left to make the hardest decision.  I have to decide when enough is enough.  I have to decide how miserable I'll let him get.  It won't get better.  He will only get worse.  How bad is bad enough to let him go?  When will I look into his big brown eyes and say "Yea, you're ready buddy.  I won't let you hurt any more."  Maybe tomorrow? Maybe next week? It's hard to say. In the mean time, I'm trying to say goodbye to my best buddy, and I feel like my heart is being ripped out.

Because I just can't stop talking about my boobs

So much so that I've actually added a new category just for posts about my boobs. 

Lefty just can't seem to get with the program.  I stopped nursing over two weeks ago and Righty, well, I think after all the nipple trauma Righty went through in the early months, she was more than happy to dry up immediately in fear that I'd change my mind and want to start up again.  Lefty on  the other hand, always the over achiever, has been running non stop like a leaky faucet.  In fact, Lefty's been soaking through breast pads like crazy.  Just 15 minutes ago I looked down to find my shirt had a wet spot 2 inches in diameter right on my left boob.  And, I'm at work people!  At work, apparently competing in a wet t-shirt contest.

Weekend update: Jamie Socializes!

Over the weekend I attended a neighborhood BBQ.  Being "socially challenged" as I am, my attendance at this event was quite the big-to-do for me.  Especially considering there was a soccer game that night and I chose to go to the BBQ instead. Alone.  Without my husband there to shield me from the social trauma that is my attempting to make small talk with people I barely know.  Well, I wasn't technically alone, I took Alex with me, but he wasn't much help, even if his conversational skills are somewhat better developed than mine.

Part of the reason I thought I should go to this shin-dig was because it was being held, literally, right in front of our house. John did not feel the responsibility to attend that I did, and he happily left for the game leaving me at home frantically slicing watermelon for the potluck.

The BBQ was to begin at 5:30, but I thought I'd be fashionably late, and walk out the door at 6:00.  Of course, I was ready for the BBQ at 5:00 and I spent the hour peeking out my front window blinds to see how many people were already arriving.  Finally I installed Alex in his stroller, packed his diaper bag with formula, baby food and diapers (because apparently I thought being way out there in my front yard is too far to walk to Alex's bedroom for a changing.)  I picked up my gargantuan platter of freshly sliced seedless watermelon and walked down my driveway and into the party, dropping slices of watermelon the whole way.

I had a surprisingly good time. My neighbors are fantastic.  Not like other neighbors we've had, who forever avoid eye contact after they find out we're not members of "The Church".  These neighbors genuinely like us and after the obligatory "are you Mormon" question we got from everyone when we first moved in, have continued to smile and wave and make small talk about the weather when we're out in our yards or taking the baby and dog for a walk.  There are also a couple other non-Mormon neighbors on the block, so we're not the only ones.  Given that we live within one block of two LDS churches, it's unusual that there are several of us in the area.

The highlight of the BBQ was getting to reconnect with a couple of old friends from grade school that I haven't seen since I was 13 years old.  I grew up in a neighborhood close by and went to the schools in our current neighborhood.  There are several families that still live there from when I was a kid, and their grown children came out for the party as well.  I found myself sitting around with these old friends, now women with families, reminiscing about our childhood and giggling about rumors of the boys we used to like and how some of the popular girls are now fat (I was always chubby, so I haven't changed much).  It amazes me how we all turned out.  One of them is a stay-at-home-mom with four kids and looking forward to having two or three more.  The other has two bi-racial boys with different fathers and only sees her current husband on the weekends because he works out of state.  Another is a recovering meth-addict and single mom.  My favorite quote from the evening "Oh yea, I remember your house had that huge painting of a naked lady" (my parents were hippie / artists who loved nudes.  Had them all over our house.  This was a point of much embarassment for me during my childhood, though now, I'm wishing I still had the nekkid lady painting, it would look fantastic in my bedroom.)

I enjoyed visiting with the other neighbors as well. Since I've become a mother myself, I find it surprisingly easy to hold long detailed conversations about breast feeding, episiotomies and funny poop stories.

In the end, the BBQ was a great sucess and I am very glad I skipped out on the soccer game to go. I made some new friends, and reconnected with old ones.  The only downside is that I think I've tapped out my social reserve and I'll be avoiding any future get togethers for at least another six months or so until I fully recover from all the socializing I did this weekend.

Speedy

Here he is demonstrating two of his tricks.  Speed crawling and standing up.

Download alex_9_months_001.mov

The big decision

"I'm going to do it"
"I think you should"
"Really, because I want to do it"
"Then do it"
"Are you sure?"
"Yep"
"Maybe I shouldn't"
"Do whatever you want"
"Then I'll do it"
"Ok"
"Are you sure I should do it?"
"Yes, I'm sure"
"You're just saying that because you don't think I'll do it"
"No I'm not"
"'cause I am. I'm going to do it"
"Do it"
"I don't know, should I really do it?"
"Just do it already"
"Ok, I'll do it...maybe"

...to be continued

Five reasons I can't take a conference call from home without a babysitter

1) eebee baby is only entertaining for 15 minutes

2) Alex likes to bang on the glass door at Midnight and scream.  Loud.

3) Mistakenly thinking I'd muted the phone, I said to Alex, "Did you just poopie?"

4) After making absolutely certain I've muted the phone, I promptly forget and launch into a 10 minute explaination of my progress on the project, which I have to repeat when I finally realize no one heard me.

5) Even though Alex is no longer watching eebee baby, I keep singing the theme song (again, forgetting to mute the phone) "eebee eebee eebee eebee baby.  eebee eebee eebee I love you..."

Breaking News!

Well, we may have Alex's first official word, and guess what?  It's Mama!  WOO HOO!!

Now, Alex has been saying "Daddy" and "Dada" for quite a while now.  But he's never really associated the word with John, he just calls everything "Dada".  He'll sit on the floor playing with his toys saying "dadadadadada" for hours.  So there have been times that he's called John Dada or Daddy, but it was never really clear that he knew what he was saying.

A couple of days ago, Alex was on the bed with John and I was getting ready in the bathroom.  Alex crawled to the foot of the bed and said, clear as day "MAMA!"  Both John and I figured it was a fluke, but last night, I left Alex upstairs with John while I went downstairs to switch the laundry and Alex was standing at the baby gate and yelled "MAMA!"  The rest of the evening and this morning, whenever Alex wanted me, he'd say "Mama". 

John, who is the judge and jury determining Alex's first words (because I'm inclined to believe "FFfffsssssbababappppsptttt" is actually Alex saying "Five more banana crunchies please") has declared Alex's first official word to be "Mama"  and I have to tell you, my heart is so full and big right now there's a visible bulge in my chest.

Ridiculous amounts of cuteness

"Monkey?  Where?"

"I have the bestest Daddy ever!"

I'm torn.  Who's cuter? Auntie or Nephew?

Unexpected side effects from breastfeeding

"Are you cold?"

"No"

"Are you sure? You look like you're cold."

"Oh that.  Apparently, they always look like that now."

Zzzzzz

The Boy kept us up all night long screaming like a banshee.  He went to bed last night fairly early, fell asleep in my arms with a bottle in his mouth at 8:30.  That seems to be the trend these days, bath, bottle, bed.  He's also been sleeping all through the night more and more often, so imagine my surpise when I am rudely awakened in the middle of the night by screaming in the next room.  I brought him to bed with us, which usually makes him pass out for the rest of the night, only last night, he screamed, and screamed, and screamed... Then Midnight decided to start drinking (loudly) from the toilet, and my boobs hurt (stopped nursing on Saturday), and Alex was screaming, and I thought I was in some crazy nightmare.  John kept telling me that I was keeping everyone awake by yelling at the dog.  But I didn't feel like I was yelling.  I was confused.  And tired.  And frustrated.  And in pain. And my baby was screaming and my dog was drinking out of the toilet and my boobs were throbbing...

Finally around 4 am we got everything sorted out.  Thanks to John of course.  He let the dog out, got Alex a bottle and came back to bed and held both Alex and I until we both calmed down and fell asleep.

John and I woke in the morning (after 30 minutes of "snooze" hitting) like zombies, moving around the house in a daze while Alex was his happy perky little self. I took him on our morning walk this morning and he "sang" and squealed at the horses the whole time while drinking his breakfast bottle.  At least one of us is in a good mood this morning.

Addictions

I can't stop sniffing Alex's head, or nibbling his little tic tac toes, or tracing his eyebrows with my finger.  I can't get enough.  I am completely addicted.

The Budding Artiste

Alex tried his hand at painting today and I have to say, the kid's got promise.

He was very serious about his art, rejecting the standard use of a brush, opting instead to use his hands to create his masterpieces.  I had to draw the line at using his mouth and tounge though. I hate to stifle a creative genius, but I really felt it was for the best.  Here are a couple of my favorite "Alex Original Works"

I love the use of color in this piece.  The way the yellow, red and green are carefully woven together to create the beautiful explosion on the page.

This is my favorite piece, the colors he's chosen create a cool and serene feeling.  He's brilliant!

Five things I love about him

In honor of John's birthday and Father's day this weekend, this five is about him:

 

When I was single I literally had a list of all the things I wanted in a mate.  Mostly they consisted of things that were opposite traits my ex had, like "not gay" and "not a complete turd".  There were other basic things; he has to be nice, he has to love me, he has to want children, he has to be smart... John has all of those things and much more to offer me.  He has qualities I never knew I'd want in a husband and these are some of the things I love most about him.

1) He always thanks me for everything I do for him.  Things I wouldn't think deserve the appreciation.  "Thanks for doing the dishes Honey", "Thanks for telling me to go golfing, I had fun", "Thanks for getting takeout", "Thanks for washing my boxers", "Thanks for letting me watch Deal or no Deal"...  I have never felt more appereciated.

2) He makes me believe that I'm pretty.  Just the other day he said "I was checking you out in the rear view mirror on our way home from the game.  You're pretty and I'm glad you're my wife"

3) He is funny.  That was on my original list, but I never expected this level of funny.  John is a born entertainer.  He's goofy, he's silly, he's really good at physical comdedy.  I can't even count the number of times he's kept me up laughing hysterically in bed when we really should be sleeping.

4) Living with John is like living in a musical.  He could break out into song and dance at any moment.  It really makes things more interesting

5) He's a hottie.  I think John is the most attractive man to walk the face of the earth.  I love his hair, I love his eyes, I love his build, I LOVE his butt... Most people know about my mad crush on Derek Jeter.  Well, #2's got nothin' on John.  I'd pick John over Jeter any day of the week.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, off to work I go

When I left on maternity leave to have Alex, I had little doubt in my mind that I would come back to work full time.  Sure, I wondered how I would feel about leaving my son, but I knew, deep down, I'm a worker.  I have been consistently employed (part time or otherwise) without a break for thirteen years.  I lied to my first employer, Chuck-a-Rama where I worked as the "salad girl", by telling them I was 16 (I was 15) in order to get the job.  I would continue lying to subsequent employers about my age until I turned 21 and was working for a small software company. 

I loved working.  I loved the freedom and independence getting a regular pay check every month gave me.  I loved being able to develop parts of my personality that I don't have in my home life.  At work I'm much more confident and agressive.  I'm able to make big decisions on the fly and I like the feeling of being percieved as stong, smart and capable.  At home, I'm more wishy washy.  I'm a softy.  I'm much more likely to go with the crowd, not make waves, and be more emotional.

I enjoyed every single second of my maternity leave.  Being home with my son was amazing, and I loved having the opportunity, but as my three months ended, I got antsy.  I was ready to go back to work.  I wanted to feel like I did something productive during the day.  I wanted to accomplish something other than feeding and changing a crying baby.  I wanted to feel like I was doing something right.  Work is easy.  I could do my job with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.  Going back to work seemed like a cakewalk compared to being a full time mother.  Being at home, I was terrified all the time.  What if I'm not feeding him enough?  What if he's not getting enough mental stimulation?  What if I'm not a good enough mother?  When comparing raising a child to writing technical documents and test plans.  Work seemed like a break.

And then there's the financial issue.  I make a good living at my job.  My boss is understanding, having five kids of his own, he's very good about letting me go home if there's an emergency or a doctor's appointment.  Having a good job, with flexible hours and a great paycheck... how can one say no to that?  Espcially when one has a mortgage and living expenses.  Not to mention saving for retirement and The Boy's college.

So work won.  And for the fist few months, it really wasn't too hard.  I'd miss Alex, sure.  But I'd go home and he'd be the same baby I'd left in the morning.  But now, now he's changing.  I'd drop off my little belly scooting baby at 7:30 and pick up a hands and knees crawler at 5:00.  I'll call on my lunch hour to find that he's pulling himself up to standing.  On any given week day I spend four hours with my son.  FOUR!  One hour in the morning before I drop him off for the day and three hours at night before he goes to bed.  I'm a part-time parent.  This is unacceptable.  But I don't know what to do about it.

I feel like I'm dying a little bit every day when I drop Alex off at my mother's and I watch him as she takes him inside.  That sounds dramatic, but that's exactly how it feels. I often cry on my way to the freeway every morning, usually by the time I get to the interchange I've calmed down.  I'm not raising my own son.  And though I know without a doubt that my mother is doing an excellent job, it doesn't negate the fact that that job should be mine.  I try to make up for my absence on the weekends by scheduling the crap out of Alex's days.  We go to My Gym for a Mommy & Me class.  We go on walks at the park.  We go swimming.  We go to the store and buy pinwheels and stuffed monkeys and play for hours together on the floor in the family room.  Usually we'll take afternoon naps together because I can't bear to not have him near me.

Maybe once Alex becomes a bratty toddler leaving for 10 hours a day won't be so painful for me.  Who knows.  But now, I miss him.  I really, really miss him.

Se habla Espanol?

It's become somewhat of a joke in our house that I'm trying to teach Alex Spanish.  This wouldn't be so funny if I could actually speak Spainsh.  I took 3 years of Spanish in school and even participated in a class trip to Mexico when I was 14, but to this day, my grasp of the Spanish language is limited to singing La bamba.

John on the other hand, speaks fluent Spanish due to his spending two years preaching the gospel according to Joseph Smith in Costa Rica.  Problem solved, you'd think.  John can just teach Alex Spanish.  No dice.  John doesn't want to teach Alex Spanish.  In fact, John doesn't like to even talk about the fact that he speaks Spanish.  Yes, John is a closet bi-lingual.  You'd never know unless you come home from work unexpectedly and catch him watching Telemundo or hear him singing Spanish love songs in the shower. 

John also doesn't think that teaching Alex a second language is necessary.  He wants Alex to learn English first.  I (and all of the Baby's First Year books) disagree.  I (and the books) feel that Alex is in a unique stage right now, his brain is in a state of active learning, particularly learning language.  Now is a prime time to introduce him to not only his primary language, English, but other languages as well.  I (and the books) feel that raising Alex to be bi-lingual will help him to be more well rounded and aware of other cultures.  I (and the books) believe that being bi-lingual as a child will help him to learn other languages in the future.  And I (and the books) recognize that the ability to communicate well in multiple languages will give him many advantages as an adult.

So, it's up to me to teach Alex Spanish.  Alex and I have been watching "Bi-lingual Baby" several times a week.  So far I can say:

• Por Favor y Gracias (Please and Thank You)



• Cuantos manzanas? (How many apples?)



• Dos manzanas. (Two apples)



• La nina come la manzana. (The girl eats the apple)



• Un globo rojo. (One red balloon)  This phrase came in handy the other day at a restaurant and the waitress happened to give Alex a red balloon.

I have a terrible American accent.  I use hard r's and d's and I can't for the life of me roll my r's.  But I'm trying and that counts for something I think.

I have an excellent opportunity to better my Spanish skills the next few weeks due to the World Cup games on TV.  Many of them are broadcast in Spanish, so when we watch the games, I like to try to repeat what the announcer is saying and see if I can guess the meaning.  This isn't really working out too well.  Last night we were watching a replay of the Italy / Ghana game and I saw that the guide on TV said "Copa Mundial"

"What does 'Copa Mundial' mean?"
"I'll give you one guess"
"Ummm, Monday cops?"

Silence.  I look over at John and he's trying to stifle a laugh

"Honey, what are we watching?"
"Italian soccer?"
"Honey."
"Oh, World Cup!!  Copa Mundial.  World Cup"

Later in the game, an Italian makes an incredible goal.  The announcer yells "GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL"  Then continues yelling something that I hear as:

"GO ASSHOLE!  GO ASSHOLE!  ASSHOLE!  ASSHOLE!  ASSHOLE!"

"Does the announcer not like Italians?" I ask John
"What?"
"Why is he calling that guy and asshole?"
"Honey, he's saying golaso. Awesome goal!  Awesome! Awesome!"
"Oh"

Yea, I'm talking about my boobs again

I'm going to do it.  I really am this time.  I'm going to wean Alex.  Well,  Alex is pretty much weaned, I need to wean  myself.  I've been threatening to stop breastfeeding since Alex was one week old.  When Alex was three weeks old I was sure I would be the first woman to die from breastfeeding.  When Alex was four weeks old I thought my nipples would fall off.  When he was six weeks old, one of them did.  Well, it didn't really fall off, but all the skin fell off and it looked like a tiny little hamburger patty on my boob.  By the time Alex was three months old we had finally gotten the hang of nursing.  My nipples were so tough you could take a chainsaw to them and it wouldn't hurt.  Then, when he was five months old, he grew teeth.  I decided I would wean him at six months, but when the time came, I just wasn't ready. I was worried that if I stopped nursing, I would loose the one thing that makes me stand out from everyone else in his life.  I was worried that we would somehow loose that bond that we'd had. Now I am ready.  I think.  Alex is only nursing twice a day now. I'm not pumping at all anymore during the day and I finally feel that Alex and I have a real connection that isn't through my boobs. 

There are things I will miss about it.  I can't deny the intimacy of breastfeeding.  As odd as it may seem, there is nothing more primal, more natural feeling than having your child nurse.  He could be driving me absolutely crazy getting into things and eating carpet fuzz, but when he settles into my lap to nurse, he's my baby.  My sweet, perfect baby.  I think he likes the connection too.  He wants to stare at me the whole time.  Usually I'll be watching TV while he nurses and he'll yank on my hair like "Mama, look at me, we're supposed to be bonding here!"

Then there are the things I won't miss: Engorgement, leaking, bruised nipples from Alex biting me, ugly nursing bras...

And there is the thing I'm most afraid of:  National Geographic boobs.

In the end, I will really miss breastfeeding. I want to cry just thinking about the last time I'll nurse him.  But, I really feel like it's time.  My goal is to be done at 9 months.  He's bigger now, practically a toddler.  He's eating three solid meals a day and I don't think he's really getting much benefit from breastfeeding anymore, not enough to continue anyway.  I feel ready to have my body all to myself again.  My body has been an Alex-incubating, Alex-feeding machine for 18 months now and I think it's time to have it be just Jamie's body again.

The New Dillier.net

Oooh, I am so excited about my groovy new blog! I'm such a geek.

You may have noticed that www.dillier.net now points you here.  Most of the feedback I've gotten about Dillier.net has been about my blog, so I thought I'd save ya'll a click and just direct you right to the source.  I have links on the left to all the old Dillier.net pages and will keep them around a while.  I will probably just post new pictures in photo albums here at Typepad (on the left) rather than update the old photo gallery.  I spent a good portion of the weekend fiddling with this site and I think I've finally got it the way I want it. For now.  I don't think I'm going to import all of my old Blogger posts just yet. I did transfer June's posts over, but if you really want the old stuff, you can just go to The Old Blog.

Shiny and new

Welcome to my new blog space!

I have broken up with Blogger.  We just weren't right for each other anymore.  I was ready for more commitment and options.  Not to mention I find this blog to be much better looking.  In the next few weeks I'll be moving all my stuff from Blogger and unpacking here at Typepad.  I'm not sure how it will go, breakups are always so awkward.  I have high hopes for this new blog.  I want to categorize my posts so any archived ones can be easily found. I plan to post more frequently and hopefully with more interesting content.  This blog and I also hope to get a domain of our own someday.

So, until I get all settled in here, you can refer back to my old posts at: http://jamiedillier.blogspot.com/  I will be changing the link at Dillier.net to point to this blog shortly and any new posts will be done here.

I appreciate your patience while I get setup!

Jamie

Five nicknames I have for Alex (and why)

1) Butters - it started out with me calling him Peanut, then Peanut Butter, then Butter Ball and Buttery Bear and now... Butters
2) Ally - or Ally Bear, Ally Butt or Ally B'Gally
3) Sugar Pie - or Sugar Lips or Sugar Pot
4) Monkey - the kid is a monkey. He loves to swing around by his arms or hang upside down, he can use his feet just as well as his hands. I also call him "Monkey Butt" when he has diaper rash.
5) The Boy - because, well, he's a boy.

The things I do because I love him

I’m still trying to redeem myself with John after having been so bitchy. John, being the sweetest husband alive, has already forgotten that I was bitchy and hasn’t asked even once for me to make it up to him. But my conscience keeps telling me that I was mean, so I have to be extra-special nice to him.

Yesterday I think I may have redeemed myself for any wrongdoings I’ve ever done in my life. I participated in an activity that I feel is wrong on so many levels. I put aside my squeamishness and did something with John that he’d always fantasized about. I still feel a little dirty.

I watched Deal or No Deal.

The Season Finale.

With…

Wait for it…

Special guest Celine Dion.

Oh, the humanity!!

I don’t think I can adequately express my hatred toward the game show Deal or No Deal. I hate it. Oh, I hate it bad. It makes me feel all angry and prickly inside. I end up yelling obscenities at the TV the entire time.

When a contestant is hemming and hawing about how tough it is, and they don’t know what case to pick, “maybe 17, or 3, oh, what to do, what to do!” I scream:
“JUST PICK A DAMN CASE, IT’S RANDOM! PICK A CASE, IT DOESN’T MATTER!”

When Howie Mandel is about to have the busty blonde open up the case after all the buildup of what case to pick and he says “Ok Candy, open the case…when we come back!” and points at the camera, I scream:
“HOWIE, YOU BASTARD, YOU RAT BASTARD!”

When the banker calls Howie, and he actually acts like he’s having a conversation about an offer, I scream:
“HE’S JUST TELLING HOWIE HOW GOOD HIS MOTHER WAS IN BED LAST NIGHT”

But last night I wanted to make my husband happy. Last night I offered to watch Deal or No Deal with him with minimal screaming, fully knowing that it was the season finale and Howie-no-hair-but-the-fluff-under-his-bottom-lip Mandel would stretch it as far as it could go and try to create some sort of suspense each time the show would break for Viagra ads. I knew they’d pick a contestant that would be annoyingly perky and indecisive about her case picking. What I did not know was that they’d pick Casey the perky school counselor who’d given the entire studio pink “Team Casey” towels to hold up. What I didn't know was that Casey's husband was so excited about his wife being on this stupid game show that he was in constant convulsions and all he could say was "I love you Casey" while looking like he was about to pee his pants. What I didn’t know was that they’d pick Casey, who despite her cute shoes, is a huge Celine Dion fan. I didn’t know that Howie would, on at least 3 occasions, ask Casey to serenade the banker with crappy Celine Dion songs a cappella. I did not know that they’d actually have Celine Dion participate in the show via satellite from her

Las Vegas

show.

By the end of the show I was exhausted from holding in all the snarky comments I could have been screaming at the TV. But it was worth it, John was happy, smiling and satisfied and really looked like he could use a cigarette. Sometimes, you just gotta take one for the team.

Project Hot Mom - Week 3

So, the exercising thing is going quite well. The first week I went to Curves four times, last week I went three times and I fully intend to go four times this week. I’ve already gone twice already. I’m also still taking Alex on walks at least 3 times a week. Unfortunately, I’ve had cut out my afternoon walks at work because it’s just too hot, and I come back into the building drenched in sweat like I’ve been out pig wrestling or something.

Going to Curves is pretty much as cheesy as you’d think it would be. Chubby middle aged women with no rhythm in their matching velour sweatsuits pumping their arms as they march in place “feeling the burn”. Sometimes they’ll do special little moves, like a step kick while waving their arms around crazily. Some will do the twist. If you’re really lucky, someone will use the hula hoop in the center of the circuit. That’s always fun to watch. Admittedly, I hated it the first week. The workout is a good one, and more often than not I wake up the next day with sore muscles. But I couldn’t seem to shake the “I don’t belong here” feeling. The next week was better, I even started to see some people my age. This week I’m actually enjoying it, and I caught myself doing little dance moves on the “running in place” pad.

I haven’t been doing so well on the food front however. Yesterday was the first day I was actually successful in eating only “allowed” foods. Of course I tried to cheat. I tried to sneak a bag of peanut M&M’s into our cart at Costco, but John found it and made me take it back to the candy aisle. On my way to return the offending bag, I passed a table piled high with chocolate doughnuts. I almost cried.

I’ve weighed myself both at home and at Curves this week, but I’m not sure of my progress. My home scale says I’ve lost 6 pounds, the Curves scale says I’ve gained 1 pound. I’m inclined to believe the Curves scale because I expected to gain a little after starting a resistance training program because of the whole “muscle weighs more than fat” rule.

666

All you hexakosioihexehontahexaphobics had better take a sick day today.

Debitchification

I am so looking forward to Saturday. I've been a stress ball lately. Work stress, Mommy stress, Wife stress... For the last few weeks or so I've felt like I've been slowly crushed by 1000 pounds of responsibility and obligation and haven't enjoyed much of anything about my life. Which really sucks because I've got a pretty awesome life with lots to enjoy.

This week my stress has come to a head and I've reacted to it by becoming incredibly bitchy. Especailly to John, who remains the epitome of a loving and caring husband, even as I bitch at him. Last night I bitched at him about the state of our storage room (overflowing with crap) and this morning I bitched at him for not offering to pick the baby up from my mom's so that we can make it to the baseball game on time tonight. I'm not mad at John. Not at all. It's just that he's the only person who I can safely bitch at. So, the poor guy takes the brunt of my stress-bitching, and bless his heart, never bitches back.

But, I've got a plan. I'm going to spend Saturday afternoon debitching at a day spa. I've made a deposit on a 3 1/2 hour debitchification package that is guaranteed to debitchify my body and mind. I shall emerge from this debitch process a new woman, completely unbitched and happy.

At 11:00 I will begin the process with a 50 minute Swedebitch Massage. This traditional massage is perfect for relieving tension, calming the mind, soothing aching muscles, and improving flexibility while creating a profound sense of relaxation.

At 12:00 I will enjoy a 90 minute Spa Pedicure. This refreshing pedicure includes a tea tree debitch soak, callus bitch smoothing, nail shaping, exbitchiating sugar scrub, and heated foot mask. The treatment is followed with a soothing foot massage, skin softening paraffin dip, and polish.

And finally at 1:30 I will be treated to a relaxing, stress-relieving scalp massage with essential oils, stylists will create a look designed to fit my face shape, maintenance needs and new un-bitchy personality.

Five useful things John brought with him when we moved in together

1) A bath mat
2) A clothes hamper
3) A dry erase board
4) One frying pan
5) Several boxes of Listerine