Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Indluge me, please.

Like I leave much choice, right?
The sweet thing about the Halloween costume for the baby is how it got finished.
We were getting ready to go to a party this morning with Youngest's home school group. Baby Lily was coming with us and I was trying to finish up her outfit but was running out of time. Uncle Youngest, wearing his "Terminator" costume, sat on the couch and patiently sewed pearl beads onto the baby's T-shirt. Wish I had a picture of that : )

what the 13 year old boy tried to look like . . .


Tuesday, October 28, 2008

File under: "I should probably post something."

I'm super busy right now. A million things to do. All with right-this-very-minute deadlines. Which explains why I'm stopping to do a silly meme : ) Stolen, naturally, from ajooja.

The A to Z Meme. Could I be any more dull?????

Accent: I'm from Seattle. So that would be no.

Breakfast or no breakfast: Breakfast. Usually healthy. Translation: boooooring!

Chore I don’t care for: Dishes.

Dog or Cat: Dog. Kittens are awfully cute, but they become cantankerous, anti-social creatures. There's only room for one of those in this house!

Essential Electronics: Not so much.

Favorite Cologne: Doesn't matter what kind. How I do love a good smelling man . . .

Gold or Silver: Either.

Handbag I carry most often: The cutest red bag I just got a couple weeks ago!

Insomnia: Nope.

Job Title: Flunky Bitch.

Kids: Three. Plus that one sort of adopted one . . .

Living Arrangements: Cramped house. But cozy. And filled with people I love.

Most Admirable Trait: Compassion?

Naughtiest Childhood Behavior: Stealing. From a church . . .

Overnight hospital stays: Five.

Phobias: Used to have a mild case of agoraphobia. Also used to be afraid to open my car trunk and find a dead body.

Quote: "That's what she said!" ~ Michael Scott. And yes, I really should grow up.

Reason to smile: Grandbaby!

Siblings: One older brother who I look exactly like.

Time I wake up: 7:00 a.m. on a workday. Later on a day off : )

Unusual Talent or Skill: I've shared this before--I can throw pizza dough. I can also still do the splits and cartwheels.

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: Sea cucumber.

Worst Habit: Coca Cola.

X-rays: Most recent was my ankle last January. And it still doesn't feel right . . .

Yummy Stuff: Dark chocolate. And maple bars. And Red Vines. OK--busted--anything sweet : )

Zoo Animal I Like Most: Otters.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

looking FLABulous!

Okay. What is it about being over 40 that makes it freaking impossible to lose weight or keep it off once lost?

No. It is not all the Coke I drink.

Nor is it the cookies.

Or the chips.

Shut up! Why are you asking so many questions?

Anyway . . . I have gained back 10 pounds. And lucky me, when I gain weight, it's evenly dispersed over my entire body.

And I'm short. So an extra 10 pounds on me is like an extra 50 pounds on a normal sized, non Oompa Loompa type person.

I can't wear skirts to accentuate my thin legs and take the focus of my tummy. Or don low cut blouses to highlight my long, slender neck and full cleavage, thereby distracting from hips. Nope. I'm pudgy everywhere.

My hair follicles are chubby.

As are my heels.


Hubby continues to have back problems. From his neck to his tailbone.

Oh--and he has always had shoulder, hip, knee, ankle and feet problems. Especially feet. He stepped into a truck the other day and heard--and felt--a pop in his left foot. He can barely walk.

He is a sturdily built man. All muscle. Hard, ripply, muscle . . . sinewy, solid muscle . . . gleaming, powerful, manly . . .

wha? What were we talking about?

Ummm. So anyway. He's built big. And now he can't exercise. And his family has a history of heart disease. I'm a little concerned.

Since his health is on my mind and the prospect of appearing in wedding photos scares the Beelzebub out of me, I've decided we're doing something about this. Right now. Today.

I have declared that hubby shall take up lap swimming. He has declared I can kiss his ass.

I have also decreed that we will both join Weight Watchers On-Line. In fact, I signed us both up today.

But I'm having a bit of trouble with it. Already.

I signed hubby up for the Core Plan option and me for the Flex Plan option. My problem is that I can't find a straightforward list for hubby outlining what food is allowed and I can't find a list for me detailing how many POINTS! common foods have.

There is a "table" for hubby's food, but it's a series of icons that need to be clicked on individually to show that category's acceptable food. [Side note: why is Canadian bacon listed under cereals and grains? WTH?]

Long story short: the site is set up to disallow simple printing or copying and pasting.

With both of our options, we are expected to eat something, plug it into the food calculator and see whether it falls within the limits. This makes very little sense to me.

I do, however, like the Activity Calculator. You enter an activity (say, walking,) the length of time (let's try 20 minutes,) the intensity, (I'm going with low since I was intently listening to my iPod . . . ) and it tells you how many POINTS! said activity is good for (1.)

I plugged in the coordinates for a 30 minute, intense elliptical workout--5 POINTS! Woot!

And then I got to thinking . . .

Turns out that moderately intense sex for 10 minutes is worth, count 'em, 3 POINTS! Brace yourself, hubby--I have a Coke to work off.

And some cookies.

And chips . . .

Monday, October 20, 2008

new photos

I have a couple posts swimming around in my head, but that's all the progress they've made so far.

Instead of writing something entertaining (?) I'll comply with Captain Whitenoise's request for more baby photos : )

uncle is quite fond of this sweet little bundle

This baby is *so* strong! She's already rolling halfway over--it's unbelievable!

lovin her mama

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

and now some happy news . . .

this little guy gave a sparkly diamond ring to Beautiful

technically speaking, it was his father who provided the ring, but Little Guy made the delivery

yes, it means what you think it means

they'll work hard and make a good family

and I'm happy for them

Monday, October 13, 2008

It makes me so mad I just want to throw rocks!

I went to Party City today to pick up a latex "appliance," as the box reads, for Youngest's 'Terminator' Halloween costume.

They had the perfect item for his costume, but nonetheless, I hate going to Party City in October. Because every time I do, it's a guarantee that I'll see insensitive, freaking stupid ass parents with frightened small children.

A couple years ago I saw a mom with a 4 or 5 year old child who did not want to walk down the aisle where the scariest costumes were. "Oh come on," the mother chided.

Stupid damn mother.

Today a little girl pulled away from mom's hand as mom began to walk through the aisles. "Why don't you want to look at costumes?" the mother asked, clearly befuddled--not an idea in her squishy head as to what the problem could be. "Because it's scary," the girl answered timidly. "Oh, no it isn't!" mother insisted. "Look, there's Freddy and Jason and . . . " she rattled off horror movie characters as though that would comfort a kindergartner!!!!


That scene was followed by a boy--no more than 2, maybe 2 1/2--in his dad's arms turning away from what must be shocking sights and whimpering. Dad chuckled. Chuckled!!! As though there was anything even remotely funny about putting terrifying thoughts into his child's head.


Of course these little ones are afraid. Those masks with the gore and disfigured faces hanging next to bloody stumps of dismembered body parts are scary. Horrifying to someone small without much experience or perspective to draw from.

And they should be scary. Tender children shouldn't be so jaded that they can handle nightmare images without concern.

Freaking dumb ass parents.

Yeah. I'm completely judgemental on this subject. I won't even attempt to be diplomatic, understanding or unbiased.

Vacuous, weak-minded, witless douche bag parents . . .

Friday, October 10, 2008

more creative cursing

Since she was 16ish Beautiful has been adept at expressing her frustration through her own creative made-up swear words.

Youngest carries on the tradition.

Knowing I'm not fond of hearing children swear, he has come up with a few replacement words. Like "get your donkey in the car and let's go already!" Clever, no?

Yesterday I was trying to tell him something but he wasn't buying my explanation.

*cough* bell's palsy *cough* was his response.

I'm actually kind of impressed. A perfectly acceptable way to tell mom you think she's full of bullshit without being profane.


Thursday, October 9, 2008

shopping with a boy is a *whole* different thing

Youngest finally got a little of my attention today.

Baby Lily is 10 days old now and because her daddy has been gone for work and Beautiful's roommate accidentally burned the porch off her house while she was in the hospital and then decided it was best if he moved out and Beautiful lives in a bit of a sketchy neighborhood and doesn't like to be there alone, I've been staying with her. A lot. Much to Youngest's dismay.

Today Youngest and I had a chance to go school shopping together.

Yeah, I know. You don't have to tell me that we're well into October and I'm a bit late for school shopping. You don't have to tell me because Youngest has already mentioned it. A lot.

Youngest is 13 now and has some definite ideas about his clothing. He's not too cool yet to be offended at the idea of shopping with his mother, but I have much less sway over what he wears than I used to.

If left entirely to his own, he would wear these. All. The. Time . . .

Shoes are important. Only board shoes or work boots are considered acceptable to the discerning 13 year old boy. Other shoes just aren't cool. Who can argue with that logic?

He's equally choosy about style and color combinations of socks and underwear. He has his reasons. And they're convincing. And I don't argue.

"I will not wear pre-distressed jeans." He informs me. Emphatically.

"Oh? Why is that?" I ask. Naively.

"They're for city boys." He answers. Emphatically.

"Ummmm . . . how do you mean?"

"City boys," he sighs with disgust, "they're not outside working on stuff that gets their jeans dirty and torn. They have to buy them that way. It's fake. I am not a city boy."

I see.

"What about this?" I ask, pointing out what I thought was a hip, non "city boy" jacket. Naively.

"No, Mom," he answers. Emphatically.

"Why not? Just try it on--humor me."

"Mom," he takes the lecturing tone, "it's too fashion-y. I wouldn't be seen in that. No."

All righty then.

He settled on 2 pair of pants and a shirt that fit his stringent criteria. Nobody will ever mistake my son for a city boy, for a boy concerned with fashion or for anything remotely metro.

As long as he's happy.

And not wearing the Carharts . . .

In other news--Lily finally met her daddy tonight. It was a sweet reunion and I left them alone very quickly after he arrived. No pictures of that event. It can wait : )

But these pictures--these are just too cute and must be shared immediately!

sweet, sweet baby

Lily, amongst the lilies

okay, so maybe we got a liiiiittle carried away . . .

Thursday, October 2, 2008

I'm shameless--I know!

I can't help it. This baby is just so precious--as all babies are : )

I can't stop looking at her.

I can't stop making you all look at her : )

Day Four

What sick, twisted bastard would design a baby wipe box with wipes that are perforated and require two hands to tear each wipe free when it's 3:30 in the morning and I can't even see let alone change a poopy diaper and keep her feet out of it and comfort her????

Oh . . . wait . . . is that an opening in the lid allowing me to pull one wipe out at a time one handed?

You are forgiven, O Wipe Box Engineer . . .

But just barely!