Another "Duh" Moment

So I went to the gym last night, after taking Thursday night off and feeling like I had something to prove after Wednesday's horrific performance. I'd say I kicked some ass, knocking out 26 serious minutes on the stair climber (320 calories burned), then spending 20 minutes on the treadmill (180 calories burned), then 25 minutes of weights, and finishing with another 6 minutes on the treadmill. I don't know what my total was, but I felt awesome.

Today, I spent 30 minutes on the stair climber and didn't feel like I was able to give it as much effort as last night. But immediately afterward, I got on the treadmill, walked for a minute, and then set the pace at a nice steady moderate jog. And started watching the idiots on Fox News discuss the health care bill and how horrible it is that it might actually pass. (Hooray!) The next thing I knew, I'd been running for 20 straight minutes.

Holy shit--20 minutes? I don't think I've ever, in my lifetime, run for 20 straight minutes. Seriously.

So I decided to see if I could go for a few more.

And I did. Then I walked for about 5 and then decided to run the last 2 minutes. Total time, 31 minutes, of which I only walked 6. Go, ME! :)

Amazing how much easier it is to be physically active when you haven't spent the day ingesting all manner of carbs and sugar.

Although, admittedly, it's also easier when there are cute boys to stare at.

Thursday

We are Bob-less again this evening. I made the Executive Decision not to go to the gym tonight (I stuck to my Good Eating Plan today, so the urge to purge isn't quite as severe as usual). Supposedly I intended to fill that hour-and-fifteen-minutes-or-so with things like sewing (I promised my mom a half-eaten chocolate bunny shirt), ironing a shirt to wear to work tomorrow, and painting my nails. The toddler's been in bed for 40 minutes now and all I've managed to do so far is search for a roll of Scotch tape (which I still haven't found), go through my Google Reader, check out Facebook, and type this blog post.

It's really a shame fucking off isn't an Olympic event, because I would totally rock the gold in that one.

I really think a serious binge is highly effective in putting one off shit food, at least for a while. I walked into my office this morning and when I saw the Lamar's box (that STILL had donuts in it), I didn't immediately want one. All I could think of was huffing and puffing my fat ass on that treadmill last night and wondering why the fuck I couldn't get my legs to move. And suddenly, there was nothing I wanted Less than a donut. I didn't touch them all day. Had no desire to, either. I had my skim latte and my oatmeal and my spinach salad and my Greek yogurt with honey and fat-free granola. For dinner, we made tilapia tacos with my fresh pineapple salsa, black beans and rice. And I'm not hungry. And it feels good.

If you're a finger-crosser, please do so--we've got an iron in the fire that could be a very, very good thing if it happens, but we won't find out for sure til next week and I can't say anything more about it before then. Trust me and cross them, please.

I suppose I should go do something productive now. I miss the days when I could do nothing and feel absolutely guilt-free about it.

Whole Lotta Bingein' Goin On

I'm not sure when it started, exactly. I think Monday, when I decided I would forego the Dinty Moore Beef Stew served over buttered maccaroni noodles Ben was serving for dinner, and make a Healthy Choice instead. Yeah, my Healthy Choice was kind of gross, and I ended up having it as an appetizer before digging into a bowl of maccaroni and DMBS.

Then I noticed the baguettes sitting on the counter. Right next to the butter. How convenient. One and a half baguettes later, I stopped.

Yesterday, there was a candy bar.

Today, that asshole man in our office brought in donuts. Donuts. After my third, I stopped.

I went to the gym last night, and didn't notice any problems. Tonight, however, I thought I was going to die. I managed 20 minutes on the stair climber, then moved to the treadmill and started to run. I was planning on running at least 18 of 20 minutes. Fat (emphasis on "fat") chance. I barely managed to eek out 5 minutes at a time, and even though I got through the whole 20 minutes, I walked at least half of it.

Very, very disappointing.

So tomorrow, no 3-donut breakfasts. No candy bars. No baguettes. I'm back on the wagon, dammit.

If there were about 30 more fucking hours in a day, I STILL couldn't get it all done.

Argh.

Today, after Ben got up to go to the gym at that wicked awful hour he does, I got up, used the potty, and almost giggled when I realized I get to go back to bed for a whole hour! Yippee! Never mind the drama that was to come, I had another whole hour to sleep, dammit!

Indeed, Bob woke up (I'm told) more wigged out than his usual. I sprung the news on him last night before he went to bed--admittedly not my best parenting move, but I knew the kid would stew over it from the time he found out til the time we entered the lab, so I didn't want to give him too much advance warning. You know, give him time to run away or something.

So yeah, he was wigging. But seemed to be handling himself well. And he continued to do so, right up til the point we walked into the Little Room, the one with the tray full of tubes and vials and needles and the big trash bin that says "SHARPS only" and the chair with its evil-looking armrests and rubber strap.

I have to admit, I had a moment of being pleasantly surprised by humanity this morning. We got to the lab right at 8am. At 8:07, a very harried-looking woman rushed in, walked back to the reception area, threw down her purse and keys, pulled on a lab coat, and started rubbing her forehead. It appeared she had been out partaking until a wee hour and had started her Friday on a horribly sour note. Please don't let it be her, I thought. Please don't let it be her, please don't, please please please.

You see where this is going, don't you?

To my complete surprise and delight, she was awesome. She was very cool with Bob where so many phlebotomists in the past have been abrupt, brusque, even harsh with him. She kept him from losing his shit, even though when it was all over, we were momentarily afraid he might pass the hell out. (He didn't.)

And then we went to IHOP. Because what better way to soothe a kid's fears over a blood draw than pancakes? Or in Bob's case, stuffed French toast. Which I gained six pounds just ordering.

After breakfast, I stopped at the pharmacy to drop off one of his prescriptions (which I just noticed this morning he was out of). Then I took him to school, where he had (of course) just missed the last bell, so I had to go in and sign him in. Since I was in no hurry, I stopped at FiveBucks and got my iced skim latte. Then hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work I went. I clocked in at 10:01.

At noon, I clocked out for lunch and went to the fabric store. I like shopping for fabric. I don't like going to the fabric store. Simply put, I don't fit in there. I have a day job. I'm under 60. I'm under 300 pounds. I wear makeup and I don't wear sweats unless I'm at the gym. I'm not Amish and I feel strongly that the ladies at the cutting table could cut a helluva lot more fabric if they would stop the fucking chit chat and do their damn job. I ended up wasting 45 minutes and giving up on trying to purchase a few yards of some really cute hippo-printed flannel because I didn't want to waste another 20 minutes of my life waiting for some stupid old bitch to get sixteen different cuts of the same dog-print fleece. Really, lady? Really? Just get the yardage and take the shit home and cut it yourself!

I spent the afternoon drafting a couple of foreclosure pleadings I have no experience with (this should be a real education when I get them back) and finally it was time to go home. Picked up Bob, came home, fed the kids, got Bob shipped off to db's for the weekend, hit the gym, kicked some ass, picked up Chinese, negated all my gym efforts with kung pao chicken, showered...

...and here I am, trying to figure out how to cram my to-do list into tomorrow.

Kill me. Please.

Getting my Head Back in the Game

So immediately after I finished Sunday's post, I got up from the desk, picked up a load of laundry and carried it upstairs to my room, and started folding it. On the way, I let the dog outside. Going up the stairs, I noticed that blindy-"looked-into-the-sun"-spot in my right eye, and waited for it to clear. After about 10 minutes, I realized I was indoors, had no lights on, and had not in fact looked into the sun when I let the dog out. About that time, the blindy blinky light shifted into my left eye and formed an arc around the outer rim, and then I realized--this is a migraine.

Fuuuuuuccccck.

I got my first migraine about a month or two after I started working at my last job. I'd never had one before that, and it scared the shit out of me. I'm sitting at my desk and suddenly wondering when exactly I looked into a bright light and why I can't see. After 15 minutes I started to wonder if I might be having a stroke and maybe I should alert someone to this fact. Another few minutes and my vision cleared, only to be replaced with That. Pounding. Throbbing. Nightmare. that lasted the rest of the day.

Since then, I've averaged one about every couple of months or so, but they're never really debilitating, and they've never lasted more than that day. I've felt mildly hungover the following day, but have always bounced back relatively quickly. And, as I was just bragging to a co-worker Friday morning, I haven't had one since last fall.

Well, this one flat out sucked balls. As soon as I realized what was coming, I went downstairs and slammed a Coke Zero (caffeine) and popped 2 Sudafed and 2 Tylenol. That took the edge off, and I was able to get through about a third of my list for the day, including finishing my niece's birthday pajamas and getting a good start on another custom project. But by the time the boys returned home, all I was capable of doing was holding up the wall on my way to the sofa. And I remained that way most of the evening and into the night. Go to the gym? I can barely make it to my bed.

I got up yesterday morning--still had a headache. I went to work--still had a headache. I came home--still had a headache. I took Bob to Target to get a pair of pants and shoes for his class music show (tonight)--still had a headache. As we were eating Drumsticks around the dining room table, the flashy lights started again and I briefly entertained a visit to the ER because I just couldn't deal anymore, but it passed. Another workout passed over in favor of comforting myself with snacks on the sofa.

I got up this morning--STILL had a headache. And continued to have one all day at work. Which I consoled myself for with chocolate donettes and a bag of Sun Chips and a delightful dinner of Taco Bell. I'm not proud. And then I had to sit through the horror show that was the 2nd Grade Spring Music Concert, and watch while my son became that kid. The one who makes faces, and says rude things to the girls around him, and falls off the risers, and generally acts like a tool while his mom hisses "stop it!" at him over the top of her video camera. And I had to look at Father of the Year until I was able to wrestle that kid out of the auditorium and get home. And then I came home and briefly entertained the idea of going to the gym, and was promptly reminded by a gentle thud..thud..thud in the back of my head that one more night would have to pass before I grace 24 Hour with my presence.

So I read today that a migraine can last "up to 72 hours." That will be noonish tomorrow. I swear to God, if my head still hurts after 2pm tomorrow, I am going to take a fucking hostage.

So Much for a Day of Rest.

Ben took the yunguns to his parents' house, presumably so I could get started on the pile'o'shit I need to get done today. We've been making some changes to the website and traffic is picking up--meaning I need to get off my ass and sew, dammit. I sent out my first order yesterday. It was awesome. Helped that I was really pleased with the end result, too.

Anyway--in addition to the ton of sewing I need to get started on, my mission (should I choose to accept it) also includes:

• laundry (does it ever end?)
• litter box (ditto)
• canceling one of the credit cards I just paid off
• going to the gym
• picking up mushrooms at the grocery store next door to the gym.

Canceling the credit card was fun--but it prompted me to pull my "free credit report" and take a look. I started with TransUnion and they were so bloody slow and so depressing were the multiple collection accounts (all medical bills, and one mystery charge I'm still not sure what it is) that I aborted that mission. I think it's probably best to continue with my current plan of laying low, keeping my head down, paying stuff off or down as best we can, and slowly but surely digging ourselves out of the mud. Of course this would be infinitely easier if someone would start paying child support on a regular basis and/or someone else would get that kickass job offer he's been waiting for--but of course the first is a pipe dream and the second, well, suffice to say I don't get my hopes up in terms of the job market anymore. It seems no one is interested in paying people a decent living wage anymore and the only people doing well are the ones who picked the "right" career path years ago. But I digress...

Anyway, now that I've moved away from financial doom and gloom I can't seem to get motivated to move away from the computer. The sewing machine is right next to it, but I really should get a load of laundry moved around before I settle in. Plus, I'm freezing, so I need to go upstairs and turn the heat up. Not sure when I'll get to the gym, but I will. I'm down at least 4 pounds since I got back in gear 2 weeks ago, and last night I set a new personal best--30 minutes on the Escalator to Hell and I didn't die! Yaaaaay! Spinach salads for everyone!

Can't wait til it's warm enough to ride my bike to the gym. I miss my bike so much, I almost rode it last night but I dare not ride around the more heavily trafficked areas of Gladstone in the dark for fear of being flattened like a squirrel.

Okay--off to work...

Now that that's off my chest...

The husband took Bob to the movies, so it's just me and the toddler tonight. He's chilling on the sofa with some Yo Gabba Gabba right now, and I'm looking forward to his bedtime so I can finally use the restroom.

Today was the day of the dreaded "health screening" at work. Apparently Blue Crap and Blue Shit offers incentives to companies who participate (i.e., give us your employees' stats so we can start charging you based on how many fatties you hire), so our employer in turn gives us incentive to participate ($10 off your premium a month--for $120 a year, I'll spend an hour being lectured by a fat nurse, no prob).

I didn't figure I had anything to worry about--I'm back on my diet/exercise bandwagon and last night weighed in with a 1.5 lb loss this week, heh--but considering I don't go to the doctor unless I'm, well, pregnant, I wondered what might turn up. All they did was calculate weight, height, BMI, fat percentage, total cholesterol, HDL or whichever one the "good" cholesterol is, and blood glucose.

I weighed in at a pound less what I weighed myself last night, my BMI was 23 (which I find high but is in the normal range), body fat was 27% (again, this seems high to me but is still in the mid-range of normal), cholesterol 164, HDL 64, glucose 92, blood pressure 110/68. So yeah, I'm going to live. Unless I get hit by a bus on my way to the gym.

So yeah, I guess I'm on the right track. Even a year ago those numbers wouldn't have been as good. So I suppose I'll buy some more spinach and not revert to Hardees for lunch.

Don't Be My Girlfriend

In my never-ending desire to live within driving distance of an H&M, I visited their website tonight to see if, by chance, one had moved into my neighborhood. I was disappointed, as usual. But I started flipping through the online version of their magazine, and saw something that disturbed me tremendously:

"The Girlfriend Look."

Say what?

"Style-conscious men are raiding their girlfriends' wardrobes."

Sho nuff, the dude pictured front and center is sporting longish hair (nothing wrong with this), a short beard (still pretty rugged), a black tank top (okay), black tight capris and black flip-flops. He's accessorizing with a sporty strand of black beads and a black man-purse.

Heyyyelll no.

Darling, if you're reading this, please understand one thing--I don't give a shit how en vogue it may become, I don't ever want to see you in any of my clothes.

Cuz you'll stretch them the hell out.

Random Wednesday

My coffee tasted weird this morning. I don't know if it's because, during my week of Gift Card debauchery, I got accustomed to the taste of a skim iced latte from FiveBucks as opposed to one from my kitchen, or if it had something to do with the quality of the milk in my fridge. Either way.

I'm trying not to eat and wondering what more I can cut out from my daily food intake. I refuse to give up my occasional indulgences. But I don't seem to be able to get below 125 and that's irritating the shit out of me. I refuse to accept some lame excuse like "you're over 35, get used to it" or something along those lines. But unless I start cutting out all carbs and resign myself to a lifetime of bunny food, I'm not sure what to do.

At least my motivation at the gym is back. Gym Candy has returned and I know it's wrong but dammit, I'm just browsing, I'm not making any purchases. I can't help it he looks just like the dude I had a crush on in high school for like, 15 years. I can't help it he apparently has the same gym schedule I do. I can't help it that watching him do pullups somehow motivates me to give that elliptical machine just a few minutes more of my time. Maybe I should offer him $20 a week to follow me around and ask me "do you really need that?" every time I start to eat something. But that would require him to join my family for dinner, and that would be awkward.

The Yawns

It's 9:36pm. My husband is watching American Idle (yes, I spelled it that way on purpose--I can spell despite my public school education). I'm surfing the web and typing this blog (despite my arms being about to fall off post-weights workout) and thinking about all the crap I still have to do before I can go to bed and wondering how much of it will actually get done.

Wow. The wacky hijinx of the Married With Children life never ends.

Where I've Been...

I said I was going to spend more time on this blog. I lied. I've been spending more time on this blog instead.

I don't intend to get rich (in fact I'll be happy to break even) in this endeavor, but it's sure been fun putting the site together. Fun, too, making stuff to add to the inventory.

Of course, it would be more fun if I had more time to devote to it. Between work, trying to spend quality time with the boys, trying to maintain a 5x per week (at least) gym schedule, trying to make my own breakfasts and lunches every night, trying to get this site up and running--I barely have time to brush my own damn teeth.

And today the toddler's been puking. Grrreat.

Soups to You

Last night, I made Lentil Soup with Garam Masala.

I didn't have chili powder, so I used paprika. I also didn't have any cloves, but I think cloves are gross unless we're talking about sweet pickles, which we are not, so I wasn't upset. And my lentils were green, not red, so the soup, which was a lovely deep red when I put it into the blender, turned a horrific pukey pea green when I took it out.

The taste? Pretty darned fabulous. But it gave me heartburn.

Now I either want to try another squash soup, or pumpkin soup, or maybe even some sort of sweet potato soup. Maybe I should just make a potato leek soup, since we have a shitload of potatoes and a couple of leeks and they should be used before they get bad.

I'm home with the older kid today. I'm off work, he's off school. It's alternately snowy and sunny outside, but it's like, negative 60 degrees. So we won't be going anywhere. We've already had a couple of visitors--very nice guy from Major Home Retailer #2 (whose quote was almost double Major Home Retailer #1's) and Independent Contractor, whose quote was about $250 under MHR#1. Except he says we can't do the job until it's at least 40 degrees out, because it has to be at least that for the caulk to cure properly. At this rate, we won't see 40 degrees until July. But I guess that prevents any impulse buys. I'm not opposed to letting that money sit in the bank as long as possible. Although I'd really like to get the damn windows in post haste.

One of the cats is at the vet for his bi-annual dental cleaning. As expected, they called me relatively soon after he was under anesthesia to tell me he needs at least 3 teeth pulled to the tune of $260. When I finished laughing, I told them "yeah, I don't think we'll be doing that today. Let's just go ahead with the cleaning and go from there." I wouldn't even pay $260 to have three of my OWN teeth pulled at this point, much less my cat. Yes, I love my pets. Yes, I feel like they're family. But to be honest, if one of my children needed a $260 dental procedure, I'd be getting a second and possibly third opinion before laying down that kind of cash. And let's be honest--if the cat were having obvious problems related to his bad teeth, I'd suck it up and put out the money. But he obviously isn't having trouble eating, he doesn't appear to be in any kind of distress, and as long as I can avoid letting him eat damn near $300, I'm going to.

Speaking of things that cost me more money than they're worth (so far), HaveItHandmade.com went live today. :) I'm happy about this, yet scared that my expectations will be far, far exceeded and the site will take off like gangbusters and I'll suddenly find myself with orders I can't stay up late enough into the night to fill.

Goals

The shareholder in charge of my department at work is very into "goals." I don't know if he went to some Tony Robbins seminar at some point or what, but every time you talk to him, he asks you what your goals are.



Anyone who's ever held a corporate job has had to endure some torturous seminar or meeting or training wherein you learned how to set, work toward, and achieve goals. This is old school for an old broad like yours truly. So, that said, here are my goals:

1. Lose 12 pounds by mid-May (we'll call this "Operation 115 By 5/15")
2. Get my hobby website live and operational and at least break even on my costs
3. Get a grip on my seasonal depression.

Now, we take each goal and break it down into smaller, more easily attainable goals:

1. Lose 12 pounds by mid-May (Operation 115 By 5/15)

1. Limit daily calorie intake to 1300 calories
2. Stick to my regular gym schedule - MFSu Cardio 40 minutes, TThSa Cardio 20 minutes, weights 30 minutes
   
3. Take my vitamins daily

2. Get hobby website up and running

1. make some shit and get it ready to post
2. have Ben work out the technical kinks
3. "go live"

3. Get a grip on the SAD

1. eat better, exercise more, and take vitamins
2. remember to take Tylenol PM every night so I sleep

There it is. I could go into further detail than that even, but part of all those is "quit spending so much time dicking around online." So hi ho, hi ho, I'm off to do some sew...ing...

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Hopefully we can make it through without any actual bleeding. But the toddler is wearing on everyone's last nerve, so that may be an ambitious goal.

Last night, around 5:00, I decided I'd had about enough of the screaming. And I had an idea. So I put on my shoes and told Ben, "I think I'm going to go to the gym now."

He looked at me like I'd just announced my intention to run for governor. "What? Now? Really? Aren't we going to eat dinner? What about him?"

I glanced at the toddler to which he was pointing. "He just ate a piece of baloney and half a container of cottage cheese. I think he's good for now. You might give him another snack if he wants one, but I was thinking maybe we could eat a later dinner tonight. You know, that it might be nice to actually eat dinner rather than shovel bites of food in our mouths in between tending to the needs of children. Have an actual conversation instead of listening to children blabber on about nothing or make smartass comments about how our food sucks or just scream and throw their food on the floor."

"You have a point," he said. And off I went.

I suffered through my 40 minutes of treadmill torture, and I made it. Yaaaaay. But it was hard, probably because I've done nothing in a week. But I did it. Not long after I got home, the toddler was off to the tub, and finally, blissfully, thankfully, off to bed.

I'd been obsessing over pumpkin soup since I got a bowl from the Hen House Market salad bar on Friday. It was AWESOME. And I felt I could easily recreate it, seeing as how I own a $400 blender and could puree a cat if I really wanted to.

Alas, there is a pumpkin shortage, and I'm not paying almost 5 bucks for a can of "organic" pumpkin. So I bought a $2 butternut squash instead. Before I left for the gym, I cut it in half, scooped out the guts, put it cut-side down in a Pyrex 9x13 dish, and stuck it in the oven at 350 for 45 minutes. I instructed Ben to just turn off the oven when the timer went off and I would deal with it when I got home. By the time I set about making dinner, the pan was still warm but the squash was nicely cooked and cool enough to work with.

I got out my stock pot and heated up about a tablespoon of canola oil. I sauteed a small yellow onion (chopped), added a little (okay, a lot) cayenne pepper, some thyme, a little cumin, a little ginger. I wanted to add a little sage but I couldn't find it because our "spice cabinet" is an abomination and I can't ever find shit in it. (I found the sage this morning.)

When the onion was nice and soft, I added about 4 tablespoons of diced garlic, half a stick of unsalted butter, and a little more ginger and cayenne. I attempted to scoop the squash out of its peel, but the peel was so soft, most of it ended up going in, too. I cooked that a few minutes, then added roughly 3 cans of chicken broth and let that simmer for a while.

While it was simmering, I put together a kick-ass pizza. We had a thin-crust Boboli in the freezer that worked swimmingly with the topping I put together--5 slices of bacon, cooked til crispy, then crumbled and set aside; one leek sauteed in a tiny bit of the bacon fat; a handful of arugula and a larger handful of spinach, added to the leeks to wilt; about 1/2 cup of light ricotta cheese and maybe a 1/4 cup of feta; add the bacon and mix the whole mess together, spread on the crust, sprinkle with parmesan, and bake for a few minutes.

While the pizza was in the oven, I pureed the soup in the $400 Blender and gave it a taste.

It was fucking delicious. And the pizza? Even better.

We sat at our dining room table, even used the dimmer switch on the light, and listened to some music. We drank beer, slurped soup, ate gourmet pizza. No one screamed, no one asked for a drink as soon as we sat down, no one need more, no one threw their food on the floor or on the cats.

It was bliss.

We've resolved to do this again. Like, every Saturday night that we're down one kid (because the older one goes to bed slightly later). It wasn't as good as dinner out--it was better. Because we didn't have to wait for some dumb server, we didn't have to listen to annoying other people, we didn't have the spectre of "think of all the money you're wasting" looming over us and spoiling our mojo. And I could sit there in my gym clothes all gross and it didn't matter.

But the real high point of the evening was I did it--I created a delicious dinner, cooking by guess and by golly, like I used to years ago. I showed those New Yorkers that I may not have their fancy gadgets or their awesome grocery stores or unlimited disposable income or a nanny, but I still have a tiny kitchen and can use it to create fantastic dishes all by myself.

Because I'm just that awesome.

A Window of Opportunity

We had some dudes come over this morning from a Major Home Improvement Retailer to give us the skinny on replacing our shitty windows. Our house was built in the 50s, and I'm reasonably certain no window has been upgraded since then. Of course our delightful MHIR salesperson drew up a quote with their "recommended" window brand, which comes with the top-of-the-line quality windows and a 20 year warranty to boot. That's all good, but I'm not planning to die in this house, and if we happen to sell in less than 20 years, I'm not really interested in giving our buyers my window warranty and getting little to nothing back on that particular investment. So I had him re-do the paperwork with the standard, subpar, shitty windows, because at this point, we could tape plastic Target bags over holes in the walls and be better off. The end figures were a lot better than I'd originally anticipated, but still about five times what we can reasonably afford. We've decided to go ahead and replace at least the windows in the three bedrooms (one child's window won't open; the other's won't close), figuring that's where we lose most of our heat and therefore, cash. And at least now we know what it will likely cost to replace the windows in the rest of the house, and next year's tax refund is earmarked for that purpose.

I'm still nervous about handing over that kind of cash given our financial situation at the moment. We're surviving--but barely. Our situation is such that in the event of an unexpected major expense, we would be up shit creek sans paddle. We're not able to make much of a dent in our credit card debt, either. I had hoped to have all of that out of the way by the end of this year, but considering I'm spending about twice as much on gas just to get to and from this fantastic new job of mine, it's not going to happen.

And I feel guilty about it all. I feel like I put us in this position because I'm too big of a baby to suck it up and take one for the team. Yes, my last job was dehumanizing, demoralizing and made me want to kill myself on a regular basis--but at least we were starting to make headway at the salary it paid. I'm definitely happier in my current position, but the cash situation is stressing me out to the point I have to wonder...was it worth it?

Ben had an interview at one of his former employer's competitors last week. The prognosis is positive that they will at least call him back for a second interview. He's hoping an offer for a substantially higher salary is a possibility. I certainly hope so. But just like I don't plan our budget around the child support payments that may or may not be made, I can't count chickens that are yet to hatch and feel good about it.

I Don't Like You, Either.

Don't take it personally. I don't like anyone today.

I woke up this morning at 5:25 a.m. when my alarm clock went off. At 5:27 a.m., my husband got up to pee. I stayed in bed and contemplated how much I hate the sound of him peeing. About how much it irritates the shit out of me the way he's obsessed with the toilet in our bathroom, and will stand next to it for no fewer than five minutes every time he flushes it rather than just FIXING IT and being done with it. About how everything he's done for the past week has made me want to hit him over the head with a cast iron skillet, cartoon-style.

It's not him. It's me.

Correction--it's not me, either. It's February.

February!

I don't like myself, either. Last night, the toddler did what non-talkers do instead of saying "no thank you, mother, I don't particularly desire to be held at this moment"--meaning he clawed me in the face and put a nice scratch on my upper lip. It doesn't look like the scratch of a non-talking toddler, it looks like herpes. And I have a healing zit mere centimeters from that spot, so it really looks like herpes. And I need a haircut. And I'm pasty. And dry. And I feel fat as hell. I made it through the workday without sugar, but then I came home and had a Tootsie Pop (thanks, Bob) and 170 calories' worth of Dove bar.

I don't like my kids. We have no babysitters, period, so our opportunities to coexist as adults with any interest in one another are rare and far between. I was thinking tonight what a cold, lonely, "you're on your own" sort of world parenting is in this society of ours, and how if we could just get one evening a week alone without our children, our outlook on the world (and certainly each other) might improve exponentially. I thought about how relaxed and calm our lives would be if we didn't have children--we'd probably both hit the gym on our way home from work, then come home refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to hit the shower, come out clean, and spend a quiet evening cooking up a fabulous dinner together, which we would eat leisurely either in front of the tv (adult programming, not Nick Jr.) or in a dimly-lit dining room. Or in bed. Whatever. You know, like we used to do, when the older child was at his biological father's house and before we decided to spawn one of our own. And so clear was this image of the perfect evening, so simple, so brilliant, in my head, I damn near wept over it.

Then I walked in the house and saw the toddler, butt in the air, attempting to pick up his binky from the floor using only his mouth. And then I remembered how damned sweet and precious and cute he is, and his older brother too. And then I felt guilty. And descended further into my downward spiral of self-loathing.



I found a new food blog today. I'd be in love if not for the fact this blogger also lives in NYC, also doesn't appear to have a full (or part) time job aside from blogging, and has ample time to create some of the most delicious looking things I've seen this side of Dean and Deluca. What the hell? I thought people in NYC lived in tiny little shitheap apartments with $5000 a month rent and kitchens the size of the one in Barbie's townhouse. Apparently they all have better kitchens than even mine, have more gadgets than I will ever own (this one has her own cherry pitter), and have more free time and disposable income than I will ever have, ever ever ever. She probably has a nanny, too.

Bitch.

Oh, February, you suck so bad. When will you end (don't anyone say "16 days" or I'll take you hostage, swear to God) and release me from your frozen grasp? When will you allow my eyes to see daylight once again? Every year I swear I won't make it through another winter, and every year, I do...but it keeps getting harder.

A Sad, Sad State of Affairs

There is a reason why February is only 28 days long. They try to sneak that 29th day in there, but they're only brave enough to do so every 4 years. The reason is simple--if February were any longer, we would all fucking kill each other by the time it was over.

February is, by far, the most horrible of the 12 months. It's cold. It's dark. It's gray. It snows every fucking day. You get slapped in the face the first week with a reminder there's still SIX WEEKS left of this winter drudgery (and then they insult your intelligence by expecting you to believe it's the fault of some Rodent Of Unusual Size). Your kids are off school for Presidents' Day, which is possibly the dumbest "holiday" ever conceived of--yet you are still expected to go to work because real businesses don't close for Presidents' Day. You could, of course, take a vacation day, because who doesn't want to take a vacation day on a Monday in the middle of February? Or maybe you're one of the lucky ones (like me) who work in the banking industry or some government-related job and you're off that day--congratulations, you get to spend the day stuck in the house with your kids! Yaaaaay!

Don't even get me started on Valentine's Day.

Actually, VD (as I prefer to call it) is the one bright spot in this wretched, wretched month. Because my husband and I agreed not to sweat it during our first year together, so the pressure's off. I buy a few cheap packages of valentines for my kids to pass out at school, a bag of Tootsie Pops for the older one to pass out with his, a couple of 3-4 piece candy hearts and a card for each kid, everyone's happy and I'm out 5, 6 bucks tops. And everywhere you go, there is candy. Candy in hearts. Candy in the shape of flowers. Candy in the shape of body parts. Not just candy--CHOCOLATE. Your beacon of light in the fog-shrouded evening that is February.

Yeah, I haven't been to the gym all week. I went on a post-dinner binge tonight that included a few rice cakes, some hard-boiled eggs and a toaster strudel (for starters). I'm pretty sure the last 10 pounds I wanted to finally get rid of is now the last 15 (possibly 17). I haven't been to the gym since Sunday.

Nobody loves me, everyone hates me, I guess I'll go out and eat worms.

As soon as I can find a shovel strong enough to dig them out of the frozen earth.

Mostly Shitty with a Chance of Suck

That pretty much describes our weather. No, we don't have 8 feet of drifting snow on the ground like our compadres on the east coast--but to be fair, it's not like they all live in a climate where that's unheard of. If Florida got 8 feet of snow, I'd feel sorry for them. Well, not really, because they NEVER get 8 feet of snow or any snow for that matter, so on the ridiculous chance of an Act of God wherein they got 8 feet of snow, it'd be pbbbbbbttt on them. But east coast? Nah. Don't feel sorry for them.

Especially not since we have ice. Ice, ice, baby. And just as it wasn't good on the charts, it's not good on the streets, either. And since the temperatures are barely supposed to climb out of the teens until Wednesday, tomorrow isn't looking so great, either.

So I was really good eating-wise all day until I had a Snack Attack around 2:30 and went to the machine. I stuck in my dollar and selected Sun Chips. Reasonable. Except my package got stuck on the little metal corkscrew thingy and I wasn't about to let A DOLLAR go down the tubes. So I stuck another dollar in and got two bags of Sun Chips. I told myself I was going to save the other pack, but I knew damn good and well that bag wouldn't make it to see 3:30.

And I was right.

Then I came home and ate not one but TWO helpings of cheese ravioli with peas and bacon for dinner. Did I mention the chips and pineapple salsa my husband and I munched on while we were cooking said pasta?



And it's cold and shitty enough outside that I don't want to leave the house again. As much as I really do want to go to the gym, it's painfully cold out. The kind of cold that makes you fold in two as soon as it hits you. That, coupled with the icy roads...yeah. Call it a day.

Maybe I should just resign myself to a Bad Eating Day and spend the evening on the sofa, under Super Blanket, eating crap and candy. Except I don't think we have any chocolate. Except my husband could always make me a malt.

Mmmmm...malt.

The Right Direction

Here is today's "Weight Log" from my account at Calorie Count:

Notice the line goes down. As it rightfully should, given I have busted my own balls all week.

Here's to continuing the trend.

Super Sunday

Yeah, I couldn't care less about the Stupid Big Game or the commercials or whatever. Although I'm sure I'll be forced to endure it because I do, after all, live with a dude. So that said, I am looking forward to the commercials. As much as they're paying for them, they oughta be good.

More of that fluffy white shit in the forecast for today. My morning tomorrow is going to suck. Dare I say I'm getting used to it? At least I have a Fivebucks gift card with $16 left to spend, so I can spend that hour-plus in my car with good coffee. It's the little things, you know.

I'm going to go to Target today to spend some more Money I Don't Have. We've got a dude coming out next Saturday to give us an estimate on new windows. I think I'm going to have him break it down to a room-by-room cost. Hey, we're paying $30 for the damn estimate, it's going to be worth my money. At best it looks like we will end up replacing just the windows in the bedrooms this year, but that will be a worthwhile investment for sure. It will be delightful to be able to actually open (and close) our bedroom windows and have fresh air coming in (instead of bugs).

I'm also going to the gym today. It's a straight cardio day. I just hope I can make it a whole 50 minutes.

3 Piggy Opera

Monday evening, I was going through Bob's school bag (and the 9 million pieces of paper the school district insists on sending home even though very few students live in homes without Internet access) when I came across the event calendar for February. I was checking for any news on a talent show (it appears this may be the first year without one) when I noticed an entry for Thursday 2/4 - "2nd Grade Performance - 3 Piggy Opera - 6:30pm."

Say what?

"Bob, is this '3 Piggy Opera' something you're supposed to go to school for?"

(Incoherent mumbling)

Mm-hmm. "I'll email your teacher tomorrow to find out for sure."

Sure enough, a notice had been sent home some time ago, but Bob's mysteriously never made it to our house. The second notice, stapled to his planner by his teacher, came home on Tuesday. Indeed, the 2nd Graders were to be at the school by 6:15 on Thursday to present their program, which they've apparently been working on for the past six weeks.

Bob seemed entirely not thrilled. References to the "stupid pig opera" were made, but no reason for this disdain were offered. Finally, Thursday morning, he admitted to Ben he was "a little nervous."

At first it seemed ludicrous. Bob has always been an extrovert and never known a stranger. Bob has never passed up an opportunity to act ridiculous for a laugh. Bob was in the talent show last year, for pete's sake.

That said, Bob's extrovert behavior seemed to take place during his manic periods, and over the past year, he's been increasingly self-conscious around people he doesn't know. And even though he was in the talent show, I was on stage with him, and even then, he seemed to freeze up more than I'd expected.

We went out for pizza prior to the show, and he was happy and chatty and ate like, well, a pig. When we got to school, he advised me I was to go find a seat while he went to his classroom. I watched him walk down the hall, confident, without any obvious apprehension.

Then I watched as he filed onto the stage with the rest of his class. His eyes scanned the room, and then he seemed to physically shrink a good three inches. Maybe four.

Holy crap--my kid has stage fright.

Still, he made it through, and he certainly wasn't the only kid who looked like he'd rather be at the dentist. Afterward, he was almost giddy with relief at having the whole business behind him. On the way home, he told me the reason he doesn't like to smile on stage is because "I feel stupid."

Today, I got the results from his gifted program testing in the mail. He tested in the 98th to 99th percentile in all but one area, where he tested average. The notice stated the tester felt his actual result would have been higher but he was hampered by either anxiety or just a simple lack of knowledge because of his age. But the part that really threw me--his math scores place him at the 3rd grade, 7th month level. A full year and then some ahead of where he actually is.

If he didn't look just like me, I'd swear he was an alien.

Enough is Enough

Yeah, I know, I said that a couple of days ago. I meant it. I still mean it. So why didn't I go to the gym today? Because my house was filthy, I had a headache, we had to go grocery shopping, and yes, I could still go now, but I'd rather start tomorrow. I know, I know, "start now!" and all that, but really, if I start tomorrow--on Sunday, the "first" day of the week--it will set better in my head. Don't ask. I'm a freak.

But I'm ready to go back hard-core. I've been kind of pussifying my workouts since I got sick in November--I haven't gained any weight back (that I'm aware of, I haven't weighed myself in a week) but I've really just been maintaining. I really, really want to drop that last ten pounds. Not necessarily because I feel like I have to, but because I want to accomplish that goal. I did it before, I can do it again. I want to know I have plenty of wiggle room in all my clothes and not worry about one off week making everything too tight. I want to look in the mirror and think not "damn" but "DAY-UM!" When it's finally warm enough, I want to put on a swimsuit--ANY swimsuit--and not question how I look in it at all. I can do it. Icanarod, Iwillarod, Iwinarod, Iditarod!*

Part of this is going to involve no longer putting every piece of crap food I can find in my mouth. I think my candy binge is over--I left the bowl out last night when we went to bed. Really all that was left were the dregs (Lemonheads and jawbreakers and DumDums suckers, ick), but I didn't intend for the stupid fucking dog to have her way with them. Stupid whore. At any rate, she did for me what I couldn't do for myself (get rid of the candy) and for that, I have to thank her.

I'm also going to try to stick with the gluten free diet as best I can. I really did feel better last week when I was behaving myself. On Friday, when I let the bake sale beast overtake me with a cupcake, a brownie and 2 slices of banana bread, I developed a headache and felt generally shitty the rest of the night. Go figure.

I also need to beef up my workout routine. By that, I mean I need to resume weights and strength training. I will continue my cardio, but I'm going to dedicate myself to weights on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays (Jimmy Buffett's performance schedule).

I think I'm also going to go the route of my husband and start taking a daily photo of myself. I hate, hate, hate how I look in pictures. I don't think I take good pictures at all and maybe if I start taking one of myself every day, I'll start to look better in them. Or I'll just get used to seeing myself on camera.

I just really need to pull myself out of this mid-winter depression shit before it takes over and I drown in a sea of Doritos and self-loathing.

One thing that helped my mood--sort of--I finished our tax returns today. I planned to just get started on them, but once I did, I realized I actually had all the forms and info I needed to complete them. So I did. It only took about an hour (gotta love HRBlock dot com) and it turns out we're going to get a nice little chunk of change back. Nothing major--I thought about putting it into savings, but it really only amounts to a little under a payday for us. Bummer. That said, we're going to investigate replacement windows for the whole house. If we can do it with our refund money and little or no credit, we're going to go for it. I hate blowing a wad like that all in one shot, but dammit, our windows suck ass. Half of them don't open and a few of them won't even shut. I shudder to think how much money we've spent heating and cooling the outdoors because of our shitty windows. So new windows it is. If we can't afford to do it with just our refund money, the plan is to use the money for a few other minor home repairs (a new bathroom sink, maybe new area rugs and an island in the kitchen), pay off a couple of bills, and put a little in savings.

So many things I need to do, so little time. It's overwhelming, indeed.



*Vague Ellen Degeneres reference. If you read "My Point--and I Do Have One", you get it.

Enough is Enough

I have fallen into a rather nasty pattern lately of eating like a pig and avoiding the gym. I feel like a sloth and I'm depressed.

It ends tomorrow. Tomorrow is Friday. The weather's supposed to suck balls. Regardless, I am going to the gym and I'm going to stop eating so damn much.

No More Donuts

My diet plans have been thrown under the bus this week. It started Monday morning when our team lead brought in two boxes of Dunkin Donuts. Two. Boxes. Dunkin Donuts. There's no other donut out there, in my opinion. Even though I'd carefully packed my breakfast and my lunch and already had a Soy Joy bar on my commute in, I couldn't help but stuff one into my face. And another one after lunch. And another one today.



I haven't made it to the gym since Sunday, either.



Did I mention there were also Hostess cupcakes and Doritos last night?

Eh. Tomorrow's another day. This evening, I had legitimate reasons for not hitting the gym, which I won't go into here--but I used the time wisely. I trimmed the too-long lining on a skirt and re-hemmed it, and did a little work on my most recent gaming case project. I've got some other projects I'm itching to get started on, but I need to make another trip to the fabric store before I can get moving on them.

I did get to spend some quality time with the toddler today, and the older one, too. Sometimes it's nice to have a kid on your lap. Even if that kid is damn near as tall as you are.

Lists

Things I wanted to do today:

Laundry - check.

Pick up Bob's prescription - check.

Go to Target and get Bob a pair of shoes (because his "new" shoes stepped in dog shit this morning and the sole is starting to come unglued already, anyway), vitamins, more Soy Joy bars, and Mucinex and Tylenol PM - check.

Make gluten-free pancakes and quinoa pasta for meals at work this week - check.

Get my laundry done - sortof check (it's in the dryer. Close enough.)

Go to the fabric store and spend some money - check. (Now I need to do something with it.)

Go to the gym - check.

It's 1:37pm. Looks like I'm off to a good start, at least.

________________________________________________

It's now 7:24pm, and I need to add a couple of items to the list:

Pick out clothes for tomorrow -

Pack breakfast and lunch for tomorrow -

Start working on content for HaveItHandmade -

Pack Bob's school bag - check.

Do nails - screw it. I'm going to splurge and get a set of acrylics next weekend. :P

The Happiness Project

This morning, while waiting for Bob to get his hairs cut (by a real, live professional--paid child support means no more botched, awful-looking mom haircuts!), I flipped through Woman's Day magazine because there was nothing more meaningful to read. And I saw a blip about Gretchen Rubin, the mind behind "The Happiness Project." It seemed like something I would have an interest in checking out and possibly duplicating, so I messaged the URL to myself. On the next page was an ad for a medication used to treat adult ADHD, and given I'd just messaged myself a reminder for a website, I thought perhaps that, too, was something I should consider.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First things first--this Happiness Project thing. I'm definitely interested. I feel so much lately like I'm just rushing through one day right after another. My weekends feel like so much sand pouring through my fingers while I try desperately to hold on, to eke out just a few moments of fun and/or relaxation and get everything done at the same time. If it sounds impossible, that's because (I've found) it pretty well is. So if there's someone out there who figured out how to be blissfully happy without winning the lottery, and she wrote a blog about it, I'm willing to add that blog to my Google Reader and make time for it.

But I went to the site today and it looks...busy. It looks to me like an overwhelming amount of knowledge. I found my eyes darting back and forth over the various portions of the page, and then I thought of that Vyvanse ad again.

My oldest son has been diagnosed with (among other things) ADHD. During his last inpatient hospitalization, I told the treating psych to not give him Benadryl (their first line of defense against hyperactivity--nice, huh) because he had taken it before for allergies and it not only didn't sedate him, it didn't have much effect on him at all. I mentioned Benadryl has the same non-effect on me--I once took about 800mg of the stuff for a very itchy case of sun poisoning and not only did I not fall asleep, I felt fine. And this doctor said, "you know, that's a sign of ADHD."

Yeah, well, maybe it is. It wouldn't surprise me to be told I had adult ADD. Not so much the "H," which I would consider a blessing--but certainly the A-D. My brain is a whirlwind every day, from the moment I get up until long into the night, a flurry of activity and thoughts that I have no real control over. I get up in the morning and have a certain list of items I must accomplish prior to leaving the house--shower, sinus rinse (don't ask), makeup, hair, dress, make coffee, get Bob up and in the tub, and leave. Sounds simple enough. Yet every morning I manage to see something shiny at some or multiple points and end up largely sidetracked and distracted and end up nearly running out the door because I've gone over my time limit. It takes me forever to get anything done because I'm always doing 999 things at once.

I usually laugh it off by saying I have ADMD -- Attention Deficit Mom Disorder -- that the demands of being a parent AND a spouse AND holding down a full-time job AND trying to make time for myself and some of life's simple pleasures is simply too taxing for any one brain to manage and therefore I am rendered a dingbat. And for all I know, it's the truth. But when I see ads for one little simple dose of amphetamines that claims it can make it all better, I have to wonder.

In the meantime, I will wait til after the kids are in bed and Ben is busying himself taking weird photos of toys and cats to peruse Ms. Rubin's blog. And I will start thinking, in the back of my mind, about what makes me happy.

I know what makes me unhappy--feeling like I'm going to explode every time I eat something. It's getting ridiculous. So I've decided to go back to the gluten-free diet. It's been several years since I attempted it, and given the sheer volume of GF products in the grocery store (the Grocery Store!) now, it might actually be less challenging. I bought a package of Bob's Red Mill GF bread mix today, and made it--making bread was very scary but thanks to my food processor, I pulled it off. Unfortunately, I developed a GIANT air bubble right under the top crust, so my slices look like half a slice under a canopy. So I now have to learn how to bake bread without that happening. The good news is, Bob's mix is really, really good--leaps and bounds better than the disgusting rice loaves I used to get back in the day. Which makes me hopeful--if the availability of GF products has improved in 8 years, perhaps the quality has followed suit.

Being stuck indoors for months also makes me unhappy. So today, when the weather warmed up considerably and the sun started to consider peeking out through the cloud cover, I told Bob to get his ass outside. Then I put boots and a coat on the toddler and took him out, too. He grabbed his lunch box and happily started off down the sidewalk. I followed. Bob got on his bike and came with, and the three of us ended up circling the block. It took about 40 minutes and it was the best part of the month so far. The toddler enjoyed himself so much, coming inside sparked a 20 minute meltdown. I knew that kid and I had a lot in common.

La Familia

My family of origin is irritating the shit out of me.

Without going into details, why must people plan events without first confirming the guest(s) of honor will even be able to attend? And then reschedule at the last minute when they discover their error (in this case, 2 days prior)? Why is it so that only one family member out of 6 (plus respective spouses) works weekends, yet everything has to be planned around that one family member's schedule?

And whatever happened to grandparents who wanted to spend time with their grandchildren and didn't mind driving across town (or to a neighboring town) to do so? I suppose it was different when I was a kid--both sets of my grandparents were mostly retired by the time I was old enough to hang out with them. Grandparents today still have full-time jobs. And some of them are intent on living out the "roarin' twenties" they missed the first time because they were...having kids. Still, asking them to find the time to spend one afternoon out of an entire month or more of afternoons with their grandchildren...doesn't seem like such a tall order to me. Though it apparently does to some people. I appreciate grandparents with jobs are very generous at birthdays and holidays, but seriously--I'd rather my kids got one gift from them per year and were able to spend more time with them instead.

I suppose I'm just tired of my kids getting the short end for no reason other than they're not convenient. Really? Maybe I should pack up the troops and move to Florida (like I've been threatening for years) so they can see just how inconvenient we can be.

Back in the Saddle

The toddler got a rocking/bouncing horse for Christmas this year. It's pretty awesome--bungee technology has replaced the old flesh-catching springs of yore--but for about the first week after the holiday, he wouldn't go near it. Only after Ben demonstrated what it could do and gave it a name ("Rufus") did he show any interest. Now it's fairly common for him to perch on it while watching his favorite tv show.

I felt a bit like I'd climbed back on my own horse today. Going in to work to start Week 3 didn't feel nearly as odd and daunting as it has the past two. It helped that (1) the fog that's been hovering over the metro area for the past week lifted; (2) I washed my car yesterday, and that combined with (1) allowed me to actually see where I was going; (3) I wasn't afraid for my life due to icy interstates; and (4) I'm sort of settling into this new morning routine.

Although I was highly annoyed this morning. Some stupid bird made its way into our furnace and flew out at my face as I walked to the dryer this morning. (Said bird has since been found dead in the basement--thanks, cats.) And speaking of annoying and germ-ridden things, db is back on his "drugs are bad" kick and I had another lovely email from him waiting in my in -box this morning. Uuuugggghhh.

Still, things are going rather well on the work front. And tomorrow they're actually going to spend some time with the whole team reviewing our case management software. Yippee! Maybe now I'll finally really know what I'm doing, instead of just thinking I know what I'm doing.

Out of the Fog

I woke up last night around 10:30, on the sofa, sweating my ass off. And I felt like my normal self. So either I'd recovered from puking, or whatever nastiness had entered my system had finally found the exit. Either way, I was grateful.

I woke up this morning ready to kick ass and take names. And pissed that I lost a whole damn day of my weekend to being puny. Hmph.

Now I'm perusing the Target ad and wondering if I can feed the four of us for the next 15 days on $250...

I have sewing to do, laundry, cooking, grocery shopping. I need to go to the gym later. I have to leave here to fetch Bob at 5:40. I haven't showered yet and it's already 10:22.

Guess I should get moving.

Siiiiiiick

I don't know what happened.

I had a skim latte and a peanut butter granola bar for breakfast. I had a (shitload) of steamed cauliflower and broccoli with a little cheese and some chicken for lunch. I had another granola bar and a small vending machine bag of chili-cheese Fritos for a snack. I also had a couple of Hershey's miniatures. I had a few slices of a chicken/red pesto pizza we made for dinner. And around 7:00pm, when I dropped off Bob, I started seriously thinking "I don't want to go to the gym. I want to go home and lie down and possibly die."

I felt like absolute shit. My head hurt, my stomach hurt, and I could easily have fallen asleep in my car, had I not been responsible for driving it. Still, I figured if I went home, I would lie down, not get up til morning, and feel like a sloth. There was the possibility a workout would wake me up and make me feel better. So to the gym I went.

I got on a treadmill and started walking. It became apparent relatively quickly I would not be doing anything more strenuous than that. I managed to eke out 18 minutes of walking before I decided I needed to get to a restroom STAT and then leave.

Once I got home, I took my place on the sofa with a blanket and didn't move until Ben prodded me and moved me upstairs to our bed, where I huddled in the fetal position until around 3am. At that point, I got up to pee, and while I was seated on the toilet with my pants at my ankles, my dinner decided it wanted to exit post haste. This is a rather unfortunate situation, indeed.

Note to self--our bathroom sink doesn't drain so well, so unless you're certain it's dry heaves, refrain from puking into it at all costs.

After that, I felt considerably better, so I thought perhaps the red pesto just hadn't set well with me and went back to bed, planning on a normal Saturday of grocery shopping, working out, an anniversary lunch with Ben at the Indian buffet, and cleaning the house. Instead, I woke up feeling like I'd pulled an all-nighter--that dehydration headache and achy feeling that usually I only feel after I've consumed mass quantities of hard liquor. Ick. I took a couple of Advil and swore I would sleep it off.

I got up an hour later, showered, dressed, dusted the upstairs, put my face on, and the three of us went to the Indian buffet. I was doing pretty well until I looked down at my plate of vegetable korma and had a sudden flashback to the contents of my bathroom sink c. 3:15am.

Ew.

After that, I stuck with kheer and masala tea. When we got home, I resumed my position on the sofa and stayed there, drifting in and out of consciousness, for the next several hours.

Bleah.

I don't know if I've eaten something that isn't in agreement with the rest of me, or if I've caught some sort of nasty contagion. I just want it to exit my body, post haste.

Another Sunny Day

It's sure looked inviting enough out there today, what with the sun beaming brightly down from the sky. Too bad the Weather Channel says it's only 26 degrees. I'll stay put, thanks.

Words cannot express how glad I am tomorrow is a "normal" day for everyone. Sort of, anyway--Bob will be at db's after school til 8pm, which isn't normal for a Monday (but necessary in light of last Wednesday's storm). The point is, my house will be empty except for dog and cats from roughly 8:00am until 5:15pm. As it should be. Hopefully this return to the norm will put everyone in a better mood. As it is, we've all been pretty on edge today--no major drama, but you can tell there's that general feeling in the air like we could all of us snap at any given moment because we're sick of looking at the family room and the same t.v. shows and each other.

I did get the pictures hung in my bedroom today. I am glad for that. They're not positioned exactly the way I wanted, but they're up, and that's 100% better.

Laundry is getting done...bags are packed and ready...lunches and breakfasts are prepared...emails have been sent to the school...notes have been made on to-do lists...now it's just a matter of getting back to the grind.

I find I get more worked up lately over preparedness than anything else. It's a little ridiculous, because no matter how prepared I am, it never feels like enough.

Cauliflower is roasting in the oven. It smells fantastic. I hope it actually is.

I made pumpkin pancakes again this morning. Here's the best of the batch:

What a Difference Ade Makes

(You won't get that title reference if you're not a "SYTYCD" fan. Don't feel bad.)

So the first week of January has come and gone. As has one of the worst weeks of winter weather (alliteration! yippee!) I've seen in years. As has my first week of my new job.

I'm sick of January, sick of winter, sick of my kids and husband being stuck at home (indoors) for going on almost a month, sick of not wanting to go anywhere or being able to go anywhere because it's too fucking cold and icy and miserable, and sick of driving in this shit. I'm not a speed demon, but I prefer to drive considerably faster than 35 mph on the interstate, thanks.

I think I will like the new job, however. So far, so good. I'm still new and the work is not routine and I'm incredibly freaked out about screwing something up and not realizing it, and I don't think any of my co-workers particularly like me much--but it's only been a week. There was really only one day I wanted to cry, and that was Day 2, and after I went to the gym and ran for 40 minutes, I felt better, and I went in the next day and suddenly things started to make a little more sense.

As is usually the case when there's any kind of change in the routine, I haven't yet figured out quite how to use my time this year. I don't really have much time or access to the internet at work, so I'm finding my presence on certain bulletin boards and social networks and even email is becoming sketchy at best. I want to maintain this blog, though, I just need to figure out when to do it.

I also want to get my sewing site up and running. The trouble is my sewing area is in possibly the coldest spot in our house, and with temps running around -20c lately, sitting in a drafty corner of our family room is not really anything I'm interested in.

The "ARCTIC BLAST!" (as the weather people have grown fond of calling it) is scheduled to end early this week, however--so hopefully, I will find myself having a little more time (my commute will be faster when I can drive the speed limit and not crawl through ice and accidents), a little more energy (I haven't been to the gym as often as I'd like this week because IT'S FUCKING COLD), and a little more insight into how to spend my minutes (as opposed to sitting on the sofa, completely brain dead after a day on a job I don't know how to do yet). Hell, it's supposed to be in the 40s come Wednesday--if that happens, I might just flip my lid and run outside topless. Or not.

I'm also incredibly pissed at Bob's doctor right now. He had a follow-up scheduled the last week of December--when I had vacation time to burn at my old job and he wasn't in school--and the SOB canceled two days before the appointment. And rescheduled for next Wednesday, at the precise time Bob's db father was supposed to pick him up at school. So I called to try to reschedule and no can do, the asshole is booked solid at both offices for like, the next 6 years. And he won't phone in any more refills on Bob's medications until he sees him. WTF? So after I expressed my feelings on the unfairness of it all, the good doctor agreed to a "phone follow-up." Why that wasn't made possible in the first place I have no idea. In the interim, they left a partial refill for one of Bob's prescriptions at the local office and I had Ben and the boys pick it up yesterday.

I looked at it today, and it's the wrong script. Clarification--it's the right medication, but the wrong dose. Bob takes 10mg in the morning, 10mg four hours later, and 5mg four hours after that--total 15mg per day. This dumbshit wrote him for 15mg tablets twice a day. Nevermind this is a stimulant and 30mg/day would send Bob through the ceiling, this is also a class 2 drug and pharmacies will only fill it as written, no substitutions, no nothing. And he's out of it as of...Monday morning, when he goes back to school after 3 weeks off. Ugh. So I figure I'll go ahead and fill it, split the tabs in half, and see how he does on 7.5mg.

Except the pharmacist tells me there isn't even a 15mg dose MADE in this medication.

Shit. Fuck. Screw.

This is at least the third and possibly the fourth time Dr. Dumbass has fucked up one of Bob's prescriptions. And it's never the wrong medication, it's always the wrong DOSE. Which is almost worse, because I don't usually notice until after I fill the shit and start giving it to him and notice the pills look different. At one point, had I not figured it out, I would have cut Bob's dose of one of his key medications in half. We're not talking about aspirin here, where half the regular dose might just be a little unpleasant. This is serious pharmaceutical shit. And for the prescribing physician to be so careless and then cavalier about his carelessness--really pisses me off.

So I think Monday I'm going to try to talk to the doc in charge and kindly explain to him that I work for attorneys so I know how unpleasant a malpractice suit could get, and instead of all that, I'd prefer to just move my son's care to one of the other less assholish doctors in the practice. Considering how most of them react when they hear they're dealing with a lawyer or someone related to a lawyer or someone who has a lawyer for a neighbor, I have a feeling they will comply.

This has also been the first week of our new "Living Poor" situation. So far, so good. I haven't spent any money this week other than $4 on a latte at FiveBucks because I needed a new cup, and $3 to the firm charity committee in exchange for wearing jeans to work yesterday (which is bs, but I didn't want to think about clothes yesterday morning). I also sprung $21 for pizza for our dinner last night because I was feeling generous. But we've been doing really well about using cash for groceries and eating out and as a result, have been eating out less and using what we have in the pantry more. And so far I don't feel horribly deprived. I'm sure that will change when I go back to Target and start getting hit with spring fever and seeing all the cute tchotchkes in bright pastels they have in every aisle, but I will try not to let it get to me and remember stuff can't make me happy.

Yeah. Right. :P

New Year, New You!

Whatever. I was exactly the same yesterday morning when I woke up as I had been the morning prior. Maybe another day older. But essentially unchanged. And I'll be glad when January 15 rolls around--not because it's payday (it isn't for me anymore), but because all the Resolutionaries will have fallen off their respective wagons and returned to their old selves and can stop going on about how it's a NEW YEAR! and a NEW THEM!

I'll also be glad for January 15 because by that time, my new job won't be quite as new, and we'll hopefully all be well over our Holiday Hangover--that sluggishness and mildly depressed state that comes from the long holiday break, most of which is spent hiding indoors because it's balls freezing cold out there. (And you're broke, so you can't do anything anyway.)

I went to the gym yesterday and spent 45 minutes on the elliptical, then for shits and grins (and because the place was very dead), I decided to see what the rowing machines are all about. Mama like. After 2 minutes I had burned 27 calories (according to the machine) and was about to pass out. I can see how this could be an exciting addition to my routine. Cardio and strength all at the same time? Kick ass!

Ben decided last night we should try taking the toddler out for lunch at our favorite Indian buffet, Swagat. I needed to meet up with my parents to give them back the video camera they got Bob for Xmas (which went tits up by 12/28), so I called them to see if they wanted to meet us. Surprisingly, they met us for lunch--I don't think Indian food will hit their top 10 list anytime soon, but they did pick up the tab, which was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. The toddler was even well-behaved and didn't make a mess. I packed his crayon cache in the diaper bag on my way out the door, and I credit it for keeping him entertained while we ate. It caught the attention of a little girl and her mother at the next table, so maybe these things will sell better than I think once the website is up. It caught my mother's attention, as well, and she wants to try to sell them as a fundraiser for some church thing she's involved in. I'd take a $5 hit on the deal, but it might be worth it to get the word out. Nothing like "free" advertising, after all.

I'm going to get out of my pajamas in a few minutes and go to the gym. As much as I'd rather call it a night--it is really that frigging COLD out there--I will suck it up because, well, I'm afraid if I don't, I'll pass out on the sofa before 9:00. And that would be lame. Really, really lame.