Raise Your Hand If You're Old and Fat!!

It's official.  I am old and fat. 

While waiting for the shower to warm up, I always get my clothes out for the day.  Nevermind that I do this in the nude and have to watch myself pass by my extremely LONG bathroom mirror to get to my closet.  Sorry for the visual, but ANY-way...

This morning, as part of my usual shower ritual, I went to my closet for something to wear.  While hunting, it occurred to me that everything towards the end of the closet has an elastic waist!  Since the end of the closet is closest to the door, the clothes in that area are those which are worn most frequently.  I have to laugh so that I don't cry because elastic-waist pants have always symbolized old age to me.

Mind you, my pants are still stylish (I think); they're mostly yoga pants.  However, they still have elastic in the waist!  I've finally gotten to the point where a zipper and a button are just too much work.  My once taut tummy is now more like a big, soft pillow making anything other than an elastic waistband very uncomfortable.   Ahhh...so now my wardrobe consists primarily of pants and skirts that do not bind. 

What's next?  Orthopedic shoes for my aching feet?!?!  If I start bedazzling everything in the closet, have me committed IMMEDIATELY because I've turned into my grandmother.  The woman never wore orthopedic shoes, but she did cut small slits in the sides of her Keds to keep her bunions from hurting.  I remember laughing at her until my side hurt every time she wore those crazy shoes.  If I'm not mistaken, she bedazzled them as well.

It just pisses me off, really, because I am the same age as Demi Moore and even younger than Valerie Bertinelli.  I bet neither of them have an entire wardrobe of elastic-waist pants.  Hell, they both still wear freakin' bikinis to the beach!  I, on the otherhand, have recently invested in a Mommysuit.  Ya know the one.  It's a one piece suit with so much spandex in it that you have to refrain from drinking while wearing it.  Pulling it down to pee is absolutely out of the question. 

My wardrobe observations actually produced an epiphany.  Why don't I get off my big, fat ass and fight mother nature??!!  I don't have to wear elastic.  Demi and Val (we're JC buddies) don't!  Hell, I've been sparing with mother nature for some time now by coloring my hair and using sunscreen.  Why don't I quit with the sissy punches and spank that ass?!?!

As a result, I've set myself a goal.  By the time we get out for the summer, I will have lost 35 pounds.  I will SCHEDULE (have to or it won't get done) my workouts and will go a minimum of three days each week.  Once I've reached that goal, I will buy myself a BIKINI and actually wear it!  I know it sounds crazy for an old lady like me, but I am not scared.

It's AMAZING what a little sunlight can do for your attitude...

Just Say "No" to a New Year's Resolution!

I hate the New Year.  Really, I hate New Year's resolutions.  I always feel like such a failure because I can never stick to them.  But not making a resolution makes me feel like a failure, too.  Every year it's the same old thing.  I give up chocolate, then Easter comes along.  I start exercising, then I get bored or too busy.  I start eating more veggies, then I get gassy.  Blah, blah, blah...

My mom used to always give up ice skating on Howard Avenue.  Since I grew up on the Gulf Coast where it rarely ever snows much less gets iced over, she was able to stick to her resolution.  I always considered it a lame attempt at not making a resolution at all.  Why bother?!?!

Yet here I sit here agonizing.  Maybe my attempts are even sillier.  Who freakin' cares, really?!?  Why do I get so anxious?  Why am I such a psycho about having a resolution?  When did I become so dogmatic about things?!?  Maybe I'm just OCD.

Regardless, I am in a funk because of the whole New Year's resolution thing.  I don't want to feel like a failure, but what is the alternative?  I guess I could start with a more positive attitude.  That would be great and all, but after 40 years of failing it's kind of hard. 

Maybe I could change the terminology.  The word resolution is so...definitive.  I looked it up in the dictionary for some synonyms.  The alternatives like resolve, determination, perseverance, tenacity; strength, fortitude seemed even more forceful.  Unfortunately, try really hard, but it's okay if you fail does not define the term.  My conundrum prevails.

Ugghhh...  I think a lack of sunlight is affecting my brain, and I'm suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Hey, I have an idea for a New Year's resolution...  Why don't I resolve to move to Aruba.  It's not called One Happy Island for nothing!

A Piece of Humble Pie

I feel like falling to my knees and giving praise.  I am the luckiest person in the world!  I have a great husband, two wonderful and healthy children, a job that I love, a mortgage that I hate (but at least I have one), awesome friends, and so much more.  Don't get me wrong; I haven't gone and gotten all sappy.  Nor am I feigning supreme spirituality.  However, I did just get slapped in the face by reality. 

Today, I "interviewed" the sweetest, most humble little cleaning lady.  It was all my husband's idea, but a friend of his turned him onto a cleaning lady whose price could not be beat.  Now, if you know me at all, you know that I could careless whether or not we have a clean house; thus, I am indifferent towards the concept of a cleaning lady.  My husband, my current housekeeper, DOES have a dog in this hunt (so to speak).  He was excited about the prospect, and asked if I'd meet with her.  Whatever...

She came by to meet with me, and just to get a feel for what we needed.  In the 45 minutes she was here, she gave me a rundown of her entire life.  Now this wasn't a speech along the lines of "Poor, pitiful me!  My life sucks!"  Instead, it was a sweet lady telling a sad story smiling all the while.  I told my husband that by the time she left, I was nearly in tears and wanted to give her a great, big HUG (and a great, big check!).  Seriously, I was looking around thinking "Am I on Candid Camera or something?" 

This lady has more than just a few problems; yet, she was able to come across as pleasant and happy.  She has no education, no job, no money, poor health, no insurance, a dead spouse, a young child, a disabled child for whom she is responsible, an unemployed son living with her...the list just goes on.  Even the most heart-wrenching movie on the Lifetime Channel can't compete with this lady's life.  All the while, though, she just had this positive attitude.

She didn't seem to be looking for sympathy.  Nor did she seem to be looking for a handout.  She just seemed like a very honest, open person who wanted to talk.  So there I sat.  Listening.  Typically, not my role in most conversations, but I'm glad I did.  I am glad I met her, and I am glad that she will be cleaning my house.

She definitely made me a believer.  She could have been a bitter person with nothing nice to say about anything.  I don't think anyone would blame her.  Instead, she chose to get up this morning with a smile on her face and roll with the punches.  After all, it's Christmastime.  Upon leaving our house, she was headed to Walmart to buy presents for her nephew with cerebal palsy. 

I liked her style.  And I certainly learned a very valuable lesson today.  I needed it too.  I was on the verge of shipping my kids off to daycare for a little break.  We stayed home and destroyed the house together instead!  :)  

Karma Is a Bitch!

I can't hold back the blog any longer.  I have been deliberately avoiding my blogspot for fear of what I might say.  I want to protect the innocent; but the guilty need to be exposed for the SCUM that they are.  There is really nothing worse than a woman scorned EXCEPT for her very PISSED OFF friends!

My dear friend, Lovely, (not her real name but how I think of her) has been married to Ego (should be his real name) for over twenty years.  They have three awesome children, great jobs, a mortgage, and a dog.  At 40, they are living the American Dream.  Life is good!  Right??

The week after Thanksgiving, Ego comes home to tell Lovely that he doesn't want to be married anymore.  He's met someone else TWO WEEKS prior, and he wants to pursue her.  Furthermore, he wants to continue living at the house since he can't afford another housing bill.  Oh, and by the way, let's not tell the children.

Are you FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME?!?!?!  He wants to "break up" after 20 plus years??  He's willing to give up his family for a little CRUSH??!!  According to him, he and Hester (remember her from The Scarlet Letter?) hadn't even slept together.  Right...and I'm the Queen of England.  Puh-leez!  Asshole!

He's since moved in with Hester.  As it turns out, she has a fabulous job at the local record store.  And she's not some young, part-time stripper/part-time student either.  No!  Apparently, she is some 40 year old loser with three children of her own!  Let's see how much SHE loves HIM when he all he has left in life is her love and the clothes on his back.

Seriously...  Let's put all emotions aside, and do a little financial analysis.  For simplicity's sake, let's say that Mr. Ego makes $75K a year before taxes and expenditures.  That's roughly $6K per month.  Only, now, Lovely gets about $2K of that.  Oh, and the mortgage will probably be another $2K.  Of course, he will have to keep insurance for his kids so let's take away another $400.  And I'm fairly certain that Hestor won't allow him to live rent-free.  Let's add another $600 a month for that.  He's down to $1,000 a month and that's before he even rolls out of bed in the morning.  That doesn't include any debt he has either!  According to my calculations, he'll need a 2nd job to afford his new CRUSH! 

Maybe she can get him on at the record store...  I'm not sure they are looking for an IMMATURE, SELF-RIGHTEOUS, SELF-ABSORBED, SELF-CENTERED, NARCISSIST like Mr. Ego, though.  Ain't Karma a bitch?!?!?!?

Move Over Jim Carrey!

I think my son is probably going to be famous one day. Seriously... All my posts lately have been about him. Today is no exception.

Last night, his preschool had their Christmas program. He looked so handsome and grown up. I'd love to post a pic (this one is from last year); unfortunately, my husband was rushing me out the door (as usual), and I forgot my camera (again -- as usual). I only hope that my friends got a few shots and are willing to share.

Regardless, there he was in his Sunday best ready to sing his heart out. His class was the first to perform. As they entered the stage area, I saw him looking around for me. He was grinning ear to ear, and very excited. He'd been practicing so hard! He knew all the words and all the dance "moves."

Let me preface this story by saying that my little man is C-L-U-M-S-Y, clumsy. He wears glass and is nearly blind as a bat. He still hasn't adjusted to his glasses either. He is near-sighted so he gets a bit off-kilter when he looks down at his feet. "Watching his step" is literally a task for him.

Having said all that, where do you think they placed him on the stage??? Yep, you guessed it! They put him on the top of the risers. If you know anything about risers, the steps are not very wide. They are definitely NOT wide enough for an energetic dancer like my son.

So they placed my son at the top on this very narrow step. Like I said, his class was first. There performance included two Christmas songs. The first song was a very lively number, and Eli was getting into it. He was a dancin' and a singin' away! It was one of his best performances. He was so proud...until he fell off the freakin' stage!!

Yep, he was dancing like his daddy with his arms and legs just a flailing when he went off the back. He fell behind the curtain! My sweet little boy went down like a shooting gallery target! And the rest of his class just kept on singing!

I'm a bad mom because I couldn't help but laugh. However, I did run up to the stage to check on him. Hopefully, God will consider that some kind of consellation.

When it first happened, he didn't make a peep. However, by the time I reached the stage there was full-blown crying going on. I hugged him and kissed his boo-boo, but he was still crying. Finally, I asked him if he wanted to get back out there with his class and sing. With a tearful whine, he said "Yes, ma'am."

He stopped crying and got back on stage. He even went back to that same top riser. Of course, this time his teacher stood behind the stage with her hand on his back. His dance motions were a bit less animated, but he finished his performance nonetheless. And the crowd cheered him on...

For the finale, all the students got on the stage to sing. This time he did not go to the top riser. Instead, he went to the very front by the microphone. He was determined to be a star! Even when the teacher moved the microphone away, he followed it. His determination was even more apparent when another little boy tried to sing into that same mic. Each time the other boy got near, my son would stretch his arms out and push him back. We nearly had a UFC match on that stage.

All in all, it was a good time. Between my son dancing and falling, my friends' son singing LOUDER than any other child in the school, and the fight for the mic, I laughed until I cried. Christmas just doesn't get any better!! It's certainly a night I'll never forget. I wonder what he has in store for us when he performs again at his daycare program this Friday night???

One more letter to Santa... <3

So in my last post I talked about how sweet my little boy is... Well, today I am nearly speechless. His sweetness factor just went up tenfold. I have never been so proud of him as I am right now. And if he continues in the same direction, he will probably get his heart smashed into a million pieces in high school then finally make some pretty girl an extremely lucky wife. I am not kidding. I am in awe of his ability to think of others.

I always thought that little kids were self-centered and only feign interest in others because that is what they are taught to do. Like when I made him apologize to his sister for throwing my shoe at her... I doubt he was really sorry, but I want him to be well-mannered (even when he acts like a heathen) and to understand that it is not okay to hurt others. I thought that the empathy trait would develop much later in life, though.

Apparently not so. This morning Eli was acting quite determined and stubborn. He got up at 5:00 a.m. and was hell-bent on going to the mailbox by himself. He just HAD to mail yet another letter to Santa. He said that this letter was very, VERY important. He even made his dad put a Christmas stamp on it.

There I was in bed feeling annoyed because he got me up so early. I laid there thinking, "Great! He needs something else??? Like the 500 other things he listed in his last letter aren't enough?? How in the world do we pay for this? We've already spent 50 gazillion dollars on Christmas. He already has EVERYTHING available for purchase on toysrus.com. Now what?" Needless to say, I was not being a sweet, affectionate, oh-how-cute mom.

After some stern reprimands, my husband finally relented. He addressed the letter to Santa (aka Daddy at Daddy's work). He got himself dressed then got Eli dressed and headed to the mailbox with that very important letter. By this time, I'd gotten up and into the shower. When I got out of the shower, my irritability turned to curiosity. I had to know what was so important. So when he came back from the mailbox with his dad, I asked him what was the important item added to his list.

I nearly cried when he answered. My sweet little boy asked for the most thoughtful gift I could ever imagine. He said that he wrote Santa and asked him if he would go to heaven and pick up his grandma then leave her at our house on Christmas Eve. I gave him the biggest hug ever after that.

As you know, my mom passed away over the summer. This is our first Christmas without her. While my son did not get to spend much time with her, he has fond memories of her. He still thinks about her and talks about her often. It makes me sad that he never got to know her like I knew her as she was sick his entire life. It makes me even sadder that his time with her was so limited. If only Santa could grant him that wish... Unfortunately, I think he might be a little disappointed.

Christmas 101: Lesson #1 - It Is Good to Give!

We love Christmas at our house! My son especially loves Christmas! I've never seen a kid who loves a holiday more than his birthday, but mine does. He loves presents -- the more the better. Even more, he loves OPENING presents. Oftentimes, the excitement he displays prior to actually getting the darned gift open is climatic. The gift itself is only a nice byproduct of the gift opening experience.

While I really enjoy seeing him so happy, I have been trying to make him understand that the joys of Christmas come from the giving and not the receiving. (Anyone who has successfully taught this lesson to a four year old, I need your number.) I have tried to stress the importance of being humble and the value of sharing. As a result, I had both of my kids take a gift request from the the Junior Auxiliary/Carl Perkins Christmas Tree.

My son chose to give to a little boy, and my daughter chose a little girl. I let them choose the toy, help me wrap it, and put the gift under our tree. (My 3 year old daughter is still trying to figure out how she can acquire that gift instead of the needy little girl for whom it was purchased.) The whole process was very sweet, and I think my son understood...kind of.

Today, E wanted to play Santa. All by himself, he put on a red Christmas shirt, some red shorts, and his red and black snow boots. My kids are always pretending and dress up nearly every day. This get up was nothing out of the ordinary, and I really didn't think much about it.

After putting on his Santa get up, he asked if he could go out outside. Obviously, I said no since it's rainy and 40 out there. He got so upset with me, and went into this lengthy explanation of why it was so important for him to go outside. I'm embarrassed to say it, but I let him go on the porch just so I wouldn't have to listen to the whining not really understanding his mission. At least his dad made him put on a pair of black sweat pants under the shorts. Of course, mom had to convince him that the sweat pants looked like the boot covers Santa wears. He bought it and conceded.

He wasn't out there long before I realized why it was so important for him to go out. Beforehand, he filled a box with some toys he doesn't play with anymore. He then went outside on the porch, and began yelling at the cars passing by. He wasn't having much luck, so he asked me to make him a sign. The sign said:

Free Toys from Santa Eli!

He took his new sign out to the porch and taped it to our front door. He continued to chant "Ho, ho, ho! Come get your free toys! Free toys here!"

After a little while, our next door neighbor came outside and took him up on his offer. He was so proud of himself. He gave some of his toys to the little boys visiting next door. The smile on his face was worth a million bucks! And the generosity in his heart was PRICELESS!

Eerie Coincidence or Fate?

I don't know why I haven't blogged in awhile. I've certainly had lots to talk about. I guess finding the time is the hard part. Today, though, I am sitting in a condo in Biloxi while my husband and kids are at the park. There's absolutely no noise. Peace. And. Quiet. That never happens! But that's not really what I wanted to talk about...

Nope. Instead, I'm having a little sentimental walk down memory lane. I talked to one of my very BEST friends from college today. I don't think we've spoken in probably 10-15 years. We just recently reconnected via facebook, and I am thrilled to have her back in my life. Seriously, I don't know how I could let all those years pass without talking to her. We were thick as thieves back in the day. No one in the world could make me laugh like she could.

We did so many crazy things, and I've often considered writing a book. But I'm not sure anyone would believe me nor do I think that some of our "escapades" should be documented for fear that one of our children would one day use the old adage, "Yea, but you did such and such when you were my age." No sir-REE, Mister! Ain't nobody leaving here without singing the blues... Or, at least, stealing a Muddy Waters cassette from a taxicab driver in New Orleans. No, I'm not losing my mind; that was for insiders only. (Do you remember that, Lizzie?? Was that the same night we joined the band on Bourbon and played the scrub board and spoons?)

Ah... I have so many memories. Don't worry, Liz. I won't elaborate; I'll just spark your memory. Like Kenny Sumrall. Or chasing MTV to Daytona Beach and listening to Rick Springfield. Oh, and how about that time in Jackson..."Is this your friend? Well, then do something with her!" What about the time they had to pull the door off the bathroom at Ropers to get me out? What was that guy's name that work there? You know, the one you had a crush on that bought his clothes in the pre-teen department at Gayfer's? Do you remember the time I thought Brett Favre and his friends stole my Bon Jovi coat? How about "Ladies, if you're not gonna dance, get off the dance floor!" It's a wonder we are still alive. And it's even more hilarious that we both have children who rely on us. LOL!

What's weird is that as I strolled down memory lane, it dawned on my that many of my BFFs over the years have the same exact NAME! Isn't that strange? They are all named LIZ or some variation. Lizzie M. (or Lizzie L. now) was my BFF in college. Liz R. was my BFF when I moved to Tennessee. My newest BFF is Liz H. who also happens to be a coworker. Not only do they share the same name, they are all so much alike. They are all HIL-AR-I-OUS! I've had so many great times with all of them. There is nothing like a friend who can make you laugh, especially on those days when you feel like crying.

I don't know if they know how much I treasure them. I hope they do. Each one has helped me keep my sanity through lots of crazy times. I hope that my daughter will find good friends like the ones I've found. Don't get me wrong; not all are named Liz. I've got Aimees and Aprils and Beckys and Beths and Carolyns and Collettes... I could go down the entire alphabet. I really wish I could name them all, but I'm afraid my "alone" time is limited. I just hope my daughter is as blessed! There's nothing like a good girlfriend!

I hope all of my girls have a wonderful Thanksgiving! Liz H., don't forget about me next week when you go to the gym. You know my fat butt won't do it alone! And you know I'm eating because willpower is not my friend!

Signs from God

I think God keeps sending me signs. I know He works in mysterious ways, but I've never really been a witness to His work. Don't get me wrong; I'm not looking to get struck by lightning. I know He does great things through prayer and faith, but I've never felt that he was speaking directly to me. Until now...

Call it Karma, call it God, call it Order in the Universe. I'm not sure what to call it, but I've always been a believer that nastiness towards others will only lead to even greater nastiness to oneself. Take my daughter, for example. She is my difficult child. She is stubborn, hard-headed, persistent, too smart for her own britches, contrary... I'm sure many of you are grinning as you read. I know, I know... I just described myself. This is exactly my point. I dished it out, and now I'm getting it back from my own.

This is what I mean by God and His signs. Or maybe God and his way of aligning the cosmic energy??? Ya see, I am obsessed the way people look! I am forever comparing myself; and, I am miserably falling short, to say the least! Seriously, I have so many friends who look freakin' amazing! And not just amazing for a 40+ something either! I'm talking Demi Moore HOT! In fact, many of them look better than they did when they were younger. I cannot get over how well they've aged.

Now to me... I can't complain about the wrinkles because I think I've been blessed with pretty good genes. I have a few crows feet and a small furrow on my brow, but nothing serious. I'm fairly satisfied with my face (although my neck could use a little LIFT!).

It's my body, though. Or their bodies, I should say. Honestly, scrub-board flat at 43 years old??? Are you kidding me? Oh, not me -- no, I definitely do NOT fit into that category. But some of my friends do. I have one friend who has a picture of her in a bikini posted on her webpage. She's actually OLDER than me. I think she's 44 or 45 years old!

I recently found another who could seriously do Bow Flex commercials with Chuck Norris. Her body is definitely far better looking than Christie Brinkley's. Flat abs, incredibly toned legs and arms, nice and perky boobs, beautiful white teeth... I could go on, but I won't. Let's just say that I will not be standing next to her in any reunion pictures.

I know folks are probably getting tired of hearing me whine about how out of shape I am. Hell, I'm tired of my whining! But I feel so hopeless! I've gotten so out of shape. No amount of exercise and dieting can help me. Besides, I don't want to be 84 before I finally get down to a size 6 again. I want to have a good body RIGHT. NOW!!!

Sorry for the rant... The ADD kicked in. Now where was I? Oh, yea. I think God is repaying me for all the times I made fun of fat people. God doesn't like ugly. He didn't like me being such a wench. This is my punishment. I'm doomed to be the fat friend among all the pretty, skinny bitches.

Can't They Stay Little Forever???

So it's fall break, and I'm at home spending some quality time with my kids. They definitely feed my bipolarity. In one moment, there is complete chaos with lots of screaming and carrying on. In the next moment, all is fun and giggly to the point of peeing in my pants. They are so unpredictable, yet extremely entertaining, at this age.

My oldest is 4, soon to be 5. He loves to dress up in costumes and pretend! Lately he's been on a pirate kick. He wore a complete pirate costume to the zoo the other day including his sword and compass. No, it wasn't Zoo Boo -- he just wanted to wear it, and I didn't want to break his little heart. Of course, he received lots of stares and comments. He didn't care, though. He was in character.

My youngest is 3, soon to be 4. She is B-O-S-S-Y (like her mom)! She and I have a weird relationship. We butt heads quite a bit, but we have a connection that the boys don't understand. She makes me crazy and makes me want to kiss her all at the same time! She's too smart for her own good, and is very nurturing. She mothers her brother constantly (even when he doesn't want her to).

She, too, likes to pretend. She is ALWAYS a mom, and even has make-believe "kids." She's puts them in their carseats, rocks them in their cradle and mends their boo-boos. She's even named them - Sprinkles and Minnie.

I wish I could bottle this age because I know that I'll probably forget what this feels like once they start school. Once peer pressure starts impacting their every move, all things will change. It will break my heart the first time E decides that wearing his pirate costume to the zoo is not cool. I'll be so sad when G stops trying to mother her brother because her friends HATE boys. Why do they have to grow up so fast???

I'm not very good at keeping those crazy baby books updated. Hopefully, though, this blog will be around forever to serve as a reminder. Here are some things my kids said or did today that made me laugh out loud:

E: Mom, no school today. We're on Frog Break!

G: It was really loud in that movie-k-nator.

G: But I wanna hear "Waking Up in Vegas." (This isn't as funny coming from a 7 year old, but she's only 3 and already know Katy Perry!)

E: In his pirate coat and a BK crown, he danced and sang Phineas & Ferb's "Backyard Beach" in the middle of Burger King. (He knows the words too!)

G at Walmart: Can we go to the kindergarten? (That's the Garden Center for those of you who don't speak G-nese.)

E: Mama, you have a Judy-Booty! (If you know Judy, you know it's not a compliment.)

Beware of Heather in Munford, TN!!!

My world has been so crazy lately! Blogging has really been the furthest thing from my mind! However, I feel it is my duty as a cyber citizen to protect my fellow internet comrades from the e-commerce predators out there.

I have been on the phone for the past 2 1/2 hours trying to determine the origin of the 300 WhiteSmile charges on my credit card bill!! If I weren't so damn mad, I'd probably be too embarrassed to tell the world about it. My online shopping compulsion often gets the best of me. This time it kicked my ass!

Back in July, I was on the internet doing some research. I don't know what the heck for...maybe the meaning of life? Or how to be a successful bulimic? Who knows. While perusing the volumes of information on this nebulous subject, I came across Heather's blog. It caught my eye because she claimed to be from Munford, Tennessee! Since that is my area, I wanted to support a fellow blogger. The blog even has a picture of Heather, a cute girl around 25-30ish. The blog was entitled, "Heather's Very First Blog: A blog about living life & staying young."

The blog started off with some talk about how she'd done a lot of research and found some pretty clever ways to stay young and healthy. She added that the blog was totally her friends' idea. Then she proceeds to talk about these teeth whitening products that she discovered. She even uses BOLD letters and several exclamation points !!!!! to report that she got some secretive promotional code in order to get the products for free.

I know what you are all thinking... "Oh, LB... How could you be so dumb? I can't believe you fell for that!" I can't believe it either. As an eternal pessimist, I am always looking for the catch. What made Heather so believable was her insistence that you use two products combined. She wasn't selling one product for one company. She was actually saying that you had to use the two products from two different makers together to get such fabulous effects.

In my eyes, she must be legit. After all, Coca-Cola doesn't recommend that you mix Pepsi with Dr. Pepper for a more robust flavor. You don't see Nike telling you that their shoes really look much better when worn with Reebok socks. It's ridiculous to think that two competing products in the same market would work together to lure unsuspecting consumers into their evil marketing trap.

WRONG! The whole freakin' thing was a hoax. Heather (or whoever she is) probably isn't from Munford. They probably figured out where I lived from one of my many internet searches and included that detail into "Heather's" story!!!! Furthermore, there are NO two different companies! On my credit card bill, both of the products were billed under the same name but from different parts of the country.

Because I had to pay a mere $1.95 for shipping and handling, those bogus companies got my credit card info. (When will I ever LEARN???) Ever since receiving my FREE samples of these teeth whitening products, my credit card has been hit with over $200 in charges! After several phone calls, I was able to return some of the product for a refund. Only the "refund" has yet to hit my credit card statement. In addition, I was unable to receive a refund for part of the products.

Apparently, though the two companies act as one when billing, they are not one when it comes to refunds. Now the company that I finally got a response from is saying that the other charges were from a completely different company. However, they "conveniently" had access to the other company's phone number. When I called company #2, they informed me that my grace period had expired. WTF??? I'd been talking to company #1 during the said "grace" period believing that it was also the recipient of the funds received by company #2. Since I'd canceled with company #1, I assumed (bad word; bad idea) all was hunky-dory!

Are you still with me? My head is on fire right now, I'm so mad! The bad thing is I honestly do not know what to do about it. Instead of refusing to pay and disputing the charges with my credit card company first, I went to the company itself and tried to handle it. That was my first mistake. Ya see, the credit card company isn't going to give me a refund for something that I've technically already paid the bill for.

Moral to the story??? If I find Heather in Munford, I'm going to kick in those freakin' sparkling white teeth! Here's a link to her blog:

http://www.heatherswhiteteethblog.com/

and if you see her, get me on the 411... Her ass is mine!

Nanny 911

Okay, so you remember my previous blog about my MIL and her lack of babysitting skills?? She "sat" (I use the term loosely, yet literally) with my kids while my husband and I went to my reunion festivities. She did a horrible job, and I could not wait to ditch her vowing "NEVER, EVER again!"

It never fails. I always end up eating my words....

Back in July, my husband and I made plans for a quick overnighter to a St. Louis Cardinals baseball game for our 7th anniversary. We asked some friends to keep our kids, and let them spend the night. They said "sure," and my kids were excited. Mama and Daddy were excited, too, because we honestly thought it would be a much more difficult task. My kids don't really "spend the night" since they are only 4 and 3 years old. But these friends are the Godparents to my children so I was okay with it.

Mid-August rolls around, and the friends had to cancel. One of their children was in an out-of-town ball tournament. Their family would be in some po-dunk town in Middle Tennessee that weekend.

WHAT??? I was freaking out because I really wanted to get away, but I really had no babysitter. I thought about one of the teenagers I trust. After all, it would only be for one night. Something in the pit of my stomach stopped me, though, since the term, trusted teenager, is an oxymoron.

Yes, I trust our regular sitter for a few hours. No, I do not trust her for an overnight trip. There is no telling what kind of things could happen. I can just see me watching TV in St. Louis when the regularly scheduled programming is interrupted by this breaking news:

Teens Throw Kegger -- 3 Yr. Old Caught on Camera Playing Quarters and Doing Keg Stands!

I just could not take that chance.

Fastforward to three days before our anniversay. Still no babysitter... My husband called the MIL. Of course, she was free. Of course, she'd watch our kids. (Of course, she'd sit on her fat tookus and eat everything in our house.) Uuuggghhh!!!! At least I wasn't the one asking. I have my dignity!

As suspected, it was disasterous. I wish I'd have taken pictures of the aftermath. Not only did she call us every 20 minutes to report that our kids were little monsters who needed Nanny 911, our house looked like a tornado had been through it. She was there for 24 hours! What the heck happened???

Her dog (the one that she claims is COMPLETELY house broken) left feces in my son's room. There were crumbs all around the recliner where she'd plopped herself and probably stayed the entire time. My daughter was wearing plaid on plaid, and not even in the same color spectrum. There was an ungodly smell in the kitchen from a milk cup left sitting in the sink. My toilets looked like Port-a-Potties. My kids had not had their teeth brushed. And they were filthy!

I just pray that no one reports me to D.H.S.! I knew that she was incapable of caring for them properly; yet, I let her stay with them any way. I knowingly subjected my kids to such horrific living conditions and sub-standard hygiene! Even worse, they probably sustained long-term emotional scarring from all the mental abuse!

I felt so bad, I took my kids to Target. I can't take back that 24 hours, but maybe a little bribery will deaden the pain.

Nanny 911... If she does call, I'm reporting her to the Fashion Police!

I Give Up!

Have you ever had one of those days where you just want to crawl up in your bed, throw the covers over your head, and cry like a baby??? One of those days where no matter what you do is right? One that, regardless of all the good work you do, you are blinded by your mistakes?

Today has been one of those days. Hell, this month has been one of those months! No matter what I do or say, it all gets twisted into something it is not. Maybe I am crude, but I am so sick of everyone's sensitivity! Honestly, why do some folks take themselves and everything in their lives so seriously??? I just cannot take it anymore!

If there was a way to just give up, I'd do it right now. If I could just drop out of society and live off the land, I'd be all over it. If I could quit life, lay on the couch while eating ice cream and watching Dr. Phil, I'd do it!

One thing is for certain. I am one of those people that you either get me or you don't. You either like me or you don't. There is no middle ground. I guess I'm like Howard Stern. Those who get him and where he's coming from, totally love him (like me). Those who don't, hate him and wish he'd be banished from society forever.

Whaaaa, whaaa, whaaa! I'm starting to sound like one who takes themselves too seriously! I'll stop here before I put my big, fat foot into my big, fat mouth again.

Just know, however, that I am usually a very happy person who enjoys life. I try never to take myself too seriously, and often find humor in my own misgivings. I like to joke, check, and joke some more with my the people I love. There is no malice in my intent. I am very loyal, and will do just about anything in the world (within reason, of course) for the people dear to me. While I am starting to learn that I cannot please everyone, it upsets me when I think that I've hurt someone. Believe me, it's NEVER, EVER intentional. I just talk too much, and that's always gotten me in trouble.

MILs from Hell

I truly hope that when my son decides to marry, I will not mysteriously transform into a MIL from Hell. Seriously, I know moms are typically close to their little boys. How can they not be??? Little boys are so awesome, and they love their moms like no one else can. I can only imagine how difficult it will be to let him go. And I am sure that I will be leary of every girl who comes into his life. However, I pray that God will give me the courage to stay out of his freakin' business, and let him live his life!

As most of you know, I have a MIL from Hell. I thought she was THE MIL from Hell. Apparently, though, she is not the one and only MIL from Hell. It seems that being from Hell is quite characteristic of your typical MIL. Strangely, the Heavenly MIL is an anomaly and somewhat of a precious commodity. (My friend has one of those freaks of nature. Her MIL is awesome beyond belief! It's no fun trying to commiserate with her.)

The phenomena known as the MIL from Hell is complex. There are varying degrees of hellishness. All this time I thought that Dante's Inferno was a fictitious saga about the depths of Hell. I suspect, though, that Dante' may have had a MIL from Hell from which he got his inspiration. The characters obviously represent the MIL's from Hell that Dante encountered.

Depending on the spouse's "crime," the suffering varies. In the first circle of hell, the strong-willed must take a MIL with no manners and obnoxious public behaviors. The ankle-biter MIL is punishment for the passive in the second circle. One of the worst MIL's from Hell, the malicious meddler, is saved for the irresponsible and carefree in the deepest circle. Get the idea?? My personal hell is in the first circle. Another friend's MIL is worse, though.

My friend, V, has an ankle-biter. You know the type. She's like one of those really small, yelpy dogs who constantly bark and bite at your ankles until you kick the hell out her. She has no llife but that of her child's. Seriously, she is all up in the Kool-Aid, sniffing around in their business like the IRS. The ankle-biter is at V's house every single day. Much like the dog, she hovers over the children just waiting to attack anyone or anything that touches the litter. Regardless of what poor V does, the ankle-biter is there to take over while appearing to be helpful. This is no exaggeration either.

I recently had the pleasure of interacting with the ankle-biter. I was at V's house and fed her 1 year old a cheese puff. You know, the ones that melt in your mouth? The ones that require no teeth or chewing?? Since the MIL from Hell was hovering as she does, she nearly had a stroke!! She zoned in on that cheese puff like it was an assault weapon. In a flash, the ankle-biter destroyed the cheese puff and snatched the baby out of harm's way. Phew...another disaster averted thanks to her superb instincts!

My MIL is, in fact, from Hell, but at least she stays out of my business. Of course, she does live over a hundred miles away. I suspect she'd probably be a bit nosier if she were closer. Regardless, I appreciate the fact that she leaves us alone.

I guess there is truth in the saying, "God only gives you what you can handle." With almost complete certainty, I'd be looking for a job out of state if I had V's MIL. I would only be able to fake a joyful expression when she enters the door for about a week before I blew my stack. I'm not exactly sure what I'd say or do, but right now I am getting a visual of Linda Blair in the Exorcist throwing objects around the room with my head doing a 360 as I spew venemous green stuff. Let's just say, we'd probably need the crime scene clean up crew afterwards.

I Kicked Some Teenage Butt Today! :)

For those of you who teachers, you know that coaches have a pretty damn good gig. Yes, the do teach and some of them are even good at it. However, they do get some pretty incredible perks. Most of the paperwork that the regular ed teachers have to deal with is of no particular concern to the coaching staff. In the words of a fellow teacher and male coach, "What report?? Oh, I'm not doing that!"

As a result, I pretty much forced myself on the volleyball coach. (Luckily, I consider her a good friend too.) I told her that I wanted to be a coach, and asked if I could be her assistant volleyball coach. Did I mention she is really nice friend??? Considering the fact that I know absolutely NOTHING about volleyball, I think she's just trying not to hurt my feelings.

Regardless for my first day as the new assistant volleyball coach, I joined the team at their weekly karate/kick-boxing class. I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck, but I did it. In fact, I held up better than some of those little petite sixteen year olds! I can do more push ups and kicks and arm circles than a few of my very own students!!! Not bad for a 43 year old woman, huh??

With the exception of the standing jumps, I hung with the best of them. While they were crying, I was rocking. And if I didn't pee on myself every time I tried to jump, I would have probably rocked that as well. (Those little girls don't understand what age and childbirth does to a woman's body.)

Now I just have to pray that I'm able to get out of bed in the morning. I remember the first time I ever snow skied. We spent the entire day on the slopes, and I was so proud of persevering. The next morning, though, I literally fell out of bed. When I tried to stand up, I fell to the ground in pain. Needless to say, I hung out in the lodge for two days before hitting the slopes again.

Today's victory will probably be tomorrow's agony... I'm afraid this is going to be a long season.

Demonic Possession?? Or PMDD?

I am on the verge of SCREAM-ing my head off right now!

It all started yesterday. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and was certifiable by the time my husband got home from work. I actually got in bed at about 5 p.m. for a "sleep over" with my son hoping I could sleep it off. Of course, my son just thought it was fun to put on his pjs and veg-out in front of a good DVD while the sun was still out.

This morning I woke up hoping for a better mood. It didn't happen. Instead, I screamed and yelled at my kids all day long! I hate days like this! My poor babies weren't any worse than usual, but anything and everything sent me into a tirade. I feel like if I ripped my shirt open, a terrible beast would be release from my chest! Incredible Hulk style!

I have taken a ton of deep breaths only to feel like a ton of bricks is still on my chest. I'm sure it's anxiety that is causing my labored breathing, but what do I have to be anxious about? Yes, keeping my kids from killing one another or themselves is an enormous challenge and can make anyone feel stressed. However, no more so than any other day.

Is it possible that my body has been taken over by some demonic entity? Is an exorcism the answer? I've seen folks on the National Geographic Channel cured by exorcism so it must be effective against evil spirits. Of course, I'm not sure I even know how to contact a priest willing to perform such a ritual. All the ones I've seen on TV were done in Third World countries like Ecuador and Nicaragua. Somehow I just don't see my husband agreeing to a Nicaraguan vacation.

I do need something, though. I was diagnosed with PMS many years ago and have been taking Zoloft ever since. I'm feeling pretty certain that it isn't working. And every time I talk to my OBGYN about my "episodes," he dismisses it as being just a normal part of mothering two small children.

Okay, if 100 mg of Zoloft per day is not helping me keep my composure then there has to be something else going on. Agree??? I'd hate to think I am just a completely insane bitch that is able to hide the fact for 20 days each month. I don't feel CRAZY! But then again, most crazy people have no idea that they are actually crazy. I have an uncle who is more than just a few cans short of a 6-pack. In his eyes, though, the rest of the world is off it's rocker and out to get him.

After some extensive research via a very reputable medical source (i.e. the internet), I've decided that instead of PMS I have PMDD. According to the experts:

PMDD symptoms are not always present. Symptoms disappear during or by the
end of menses, and return at about the same time during following cycles. If
symptoms are present every day, then they are unlikely to be due to PMDD.
To be considered PMDD, symptoms must be severe enough to really disrupt a
woman's life -- interfere with work, school, social activities or interpersonal
relationships.

I don't know what the rest of you think, but screaming at my kids all day long probably meets the criteria for a "severe disruption" in my life. Any other day, I make every attempt to find an alternate means of addressing bad behavior. Sometimes I yell, but I'm usually able to control it enough to correct it. On those days prior to my period, I am a different beast altogether.

I've decided that I will track my symptoms over the next few months. If I provide concrete evidence that my symptoms are quite severe, MAYBE, just maybe, my doctor will take me seriously! I may even take my plea to my general practitioner who happens to be a woman. Surely, she won't try to minimize my concerns.

In the meantime, I'll have to isolate myself from the rest of the world a few days each month. Since real isolation is impossible with two kids hanging on my legs, the gym is probably as close as I'll get. I'll just have to create my own peaceful setting with an elliptical machine and my iPod.

The Gym Is My Friend

I've recently been in a bit of a funk about my lack of progress in the weight loss department. I've been drinking my water and staying within my calorie range only to have lost 1.8 pounds in three weeks! I've been frustrated to the point of chunking my scale out of the window. Of course, I'm trying to teach my 3 and 4 year old that tantrums are not the way we express frustration so I will show some restraint.

In all honesty, though, it's not the scale that's the root of my frustrations. Instead it's my big fat rumpus that won't allow the scale to move in a downward motion. My poor scale is just an innocent victim is this feud between Skinny LB and Chunky Dunkin' LB.

I've always known that the key to weight loss for me is exercise. I can eat twigs and berries for a month and not lose an ounce. The minute I start exercising regularly, the weight comes off. As long as I go to the gym a few times a week, I can even eat ice cream and lose weight. Simple enough, right??? HOWEVER, I HATE to workout.

Well, it's not really the working out that I hate. It's the act of getting off my tail, putting on two very tight sports bras so that the girls won't hurt anyone, tying my shoe laces, getting into my car, and driving those 5 miles to the gym. If I were one of the Jetson's, I'd be all over the gym every single day. I am a lazy perfectionist -- a walking, talking oxymoron!

But I am not going to allow this "minor" flaw in my genetic make up to keep me fat for the rest of my life. Nope! Thank God for the persistent perfectionist in me! I am going to get my butt to the gym even if my husband has to use a bull whip to get me out of the bed in the morning. (He's a bit kinky so I think he'll probably like that.)

And in all reality, once I'm there it's all good. This morning I watched a few episodes of "Phineas and Ferb" (my kids think I put it on for them) while I rode the bike and the elliptical. I even used the machines and did some crunches. The best part is that I felt won-DER-ful after it was all over. I'm all about feeling good. I hate being in a funk!

In an effort to keep myself motivated, I decided that I needed to get my head in the game. By always proclaiming such disdain for the gym, I've actually made myself believe that it is HELL on Earth. I've got to reprogram my thinking about the place.

I have to psych myself into believing that the gym is my friend. I can think of it as being as wonderful and relaxing as a day spa in the Mediterranean. Even better, that Brad Pitt is spotting me on the equipment. Okay, I know it's a stretch. I'm going to have to work on my visualization strategies. My lazy genes are much more dominant than my perfect genes.

The Mighty Saboteur!

I am the Mighty Saboteur, the arch nemesis of my superhero (and alter ego) Skinny LB! I am able to destroy weight loss goals with a single bowl of ice cream! Fruits and vegetables are no match for the power of my chocolate arsenal. I am here to ensure that Skinny LB is banished! Forever!!!

Okay, so I'm a bit dramatic but... It took me two weeks to lose 1 1/2 pounds. So what do you think I did to "celebrate" my little victory??? I ate ice cream! Not just once, but twice! For the past two evenings I've had a bowl of ice cream before bed. Yesterday, I even tried to save my calories so I could splurge. I guess that's better than going balls-to-the-wall like Wednesday when I went over my calories and fat.

I wonder why I do this to myself. This seems to be a pattern with me. It's like I think of eating right and watching my calories as some type of punishment. Then when I see some results, I feel the need to "reward" myself with the things that I love. Uuggghhhh!!! I totally suck at dieting.

I think while I'm getting the girls analyzed for plastic surgery, I'm going to look into liposuction. Maybe I can figure out a way to get my insurance company to pay for it. Naw, they'll just tell me to get up off my fat ass and hit the gym.

Which leads me to the moral of this story... The only way for me to lose weight is through exercise. I am not good at depriving myself. I am a binger, too, so I tend to binge on that which I am deprived. Currently, that appears to be ice cream.

I guess I should look on the bright side. At least I did make sure it was Breyer's ice cream. According to the book, "Eat This, Not That!", Breyer's is the best choice of ice cream. It doesn't contain all the preservatives or that cancer-causing villain, high fructose corn syrup.

{Careful now; the ADD is kicking in!} Speaking of that, did you know that high fructose corn syrup is in EVERYTHING??? I read somewhere about all the bad effects of the stuff, and wanted to cut it out of our diets. When I started reading food labels, it occurred to me that the stuff is in nearly every item in the grocery store. It is nearly impossible to find a product that tastes good without high fructose corn syrup. We're doomed! And our kids are destined to be FAT!

I'm Going Under the Knife! (WARNING: graphic pics included)

I must preface this post by saying that the pictures shown are not me! They are merely some before and after pictures I found while doing research. They are provided for demonstrative purposes only. Furthermore, this post is intended for mature audiences. Parental discretion is advised.


Now then... I have been contemplating it for awhile, but I'm really going to do it this time! I'm talking about a boob job! I got the okay from my husband and go for a consult at the end of this month. Those of you who know me are probably gasping and wondering "WHAT THE HELL? Aren't those things BIG enough??? She's finally going to put someone's eye out!"





Relax. The girls are just getting a little renovation. I want to have them reduced to about a B cup, and then I'm getting a hydraulic lift kit so that they look like headlights instead of torpedoes. While I'm not quite ready to post some before pics, I'm sure you can visualize the effects of gravity, age, and childbirth. Let's just say, they ain't pretty!





My friend and I were talking recently about young girls and how they take those nice little boobies for granted. They walk around in skimpy tops with which they can't possibly wear a bra. A shelf bra or even a strapless bra are no more than pasties with binding. They offer ZERO support! If you are under the age of 30 with no children and are reading this, take heed and go to a mirror to check out those nice and lovelies. As you look, take into account that the gravitational pull of the universe is at work. With every day that goes by, gravity is working to pull your boobies to the ground. One day you'll wake up and not even recognize them.





I, personally, have never been able to walk around comfortably without a bra. My girls have always been on the gargantuan side. I was unfortunate enough to start wearing a bra when I was in the 3rd or 4th grade. Many girls were envious, but I was just embarrassed. At age 13, I was already sporting a C cup. I hated it!





Which is why I am feeling so jubilant now... I cannot wait to go bra-less!!! Don't worry; it won't be a regular thing for me. Once I get these baby girls looking righteous, I am going to protect them with my life. I'll rub them down with cocoa butter every night and possibly sleep topless so that they can get some fresh air. JP will be so giddy! It will be like Christmas every day.





I'll post the details for the bra-burning memorial bash when all the dates are finalized. With all my size double Ds, it'll be a full fledged bonfire. I may have to get a permit...

Tip #547 - NEVER, EVER, NEVER weigh while PMSing

Okay, so I've been basically starving for the last week or so. Not really, but I haven't gone over my calories. I've even gotten pretty good at lowering the carbs and increasing the protein. Hell, I cooked broiled fish last night, for heaven's sake! This is a BIG.DEAL as I hate fish unless it deep-fried with a thick cornmeal batter and comes with hush puppies on the side! (Great, now my mouth is watering. No wonder folks in the South are so fat!)

So I was feeling a bit brave this morning... I took the plunge and jumped on the scale. Lo' and behold, I'd gained 1/2 a pound! WTH? How is this possible???

Let me preface this by saying that I am DEATHLY afraid of scales to begin with. I was damn near bulimic at one time and obsessed with my scale. I weighed myself constantly. If I went over 110 lbs. (makes me sick just thinking about it), I would eat laxatives and live on SlimFast for a week until I was back under 110.

After college and a few episodes of "Intervention," I realized that bulimia was very dangerous and stopped. I threw the scale in the garbage. For the longest time, I didn't even own a scale. I was too fearful that the purging cycles would continue.

The scale is a good thing and a bad thing, though. Yes, it's bad to obsess but it's also bad to be oblivious (which was my most recent issue). By not weighing, I was unaware of actually HOW FAT I'd gotten. Recently I purchased a new scale so that I might keep track of my progress. Scales are good, right??

WRONG!!! They are BAD, BAD, BAD (to put it in my son's terms)! I know I'm about to start, and I do suffer from severe PMS (probably PMDD). But c'mon... A gain?? Really? It's just not possible! It makes me want to go buy the BIGGEST Reese's-Butterfinger Blast imaginable from Sonic. While I'm there, I might as well get a big, fat cheeseburger too!

Not really, but I'm still pissed. Of course, PMS makes me ill any way so what else is new?

I <3 BOYS!

Since my daughter's been at dance camp this week, I've been able to really spend some time with my son. He's four, and the funniest thing I've ever seen! I laugh so much when I'm with him. Oftentimes, he has no idea why I'm even doing it. "What's so funny, Mom?" he says.

Watching him play is better than watching any movie! He really gets into character. Some days he's Scooby; other days he's Mickey Mouse. He could be Jack Sparrow or Peter Pan. Sometimes he is a combination of a few characters all rolled into one like Super Hero, Pirate Mickey, in his Mickey pjs wearing a pirate hat and a cape. He never runs out of story lines. The boy is good!

Yesterday, he combined Sheriff Woody with Handy Manny by sporting his Woody hat and his tool belt. And the day before, he became Shaggy, the Fireman, with his goggles, fire hat, and a play tire iron. When he was Special Agent Oso, he packed a suitcase with a roll of duct tape, his green crocs, and his goggles. Those were his spy gadgets needed for his assignment.

In the bath at night, he likes to play Super Heroes. He brings a Batman, a Spiderman, and any other "Super Hero" he can find including Mickey Mouse, Goofy, Diego, and Buzz Lightyear. Of course, he is always the Super Hero who swims. He puts his black goggles on (he LOVES those goggles!), climbs into our big garden tub nearly filled to the top with water, and explores the ocean while helping his friends.

How can someone so small have an imagination so big?? My daughter pretends a lot, but she tends to mimic real people. Not my little boy, though. It has to be an action-packed adventure filled with unicorns and goblins and giant gorillas! It must be fun to live in his world. Although I'm not in it, I can envision it from the sidelines.

Buzz Lightyear saving a fairy princess!

Shaggy, the firefighter and rescuer

Shaggy here to save the day!

More Chez LB

Ta-Da!!!

Over the weekend, I hit the fabric store and got my sewing machine out. I love cute boutique clothing for my kids, but I'm sick of paying so much money! Since Miss High Maintenance was in dance camp this morning, I finished two projects. I found a very cute custom-made pattern, but it was a bit more cumbersome than the factory ones I've tried. G's pants didn't turn out EXACTLY as I wanted, but they still look cute. Oh, and I also learned to applique (gotta LOVE Google)! Check out my appliques on the Wally World tees. This type stuff sells like hot cakes on eBay. Too bad I'd rather stab my eyeballs out than sew for someone else (unless it was a good friend, of course)!

Here's Mr. E in his octopus ensemble. The shorts are made of a navy gingham poly-cotton. The red shirt cost about $4 at Walmart. I made an octopus applique with the same gingham used on the shorts.

Here's G in her fru-fru pants and coordinating top. Again, the top cost about $4 at Walmart. The applique is made of the same material as the pants. (Please excuse the messy house. I'm sewing - not cleaning house!)

I can feel my mom smiling on me now. She's so proud!! :-)

Temptation Island

After spending the morning at the zoo, we decided to stop for lunch. I personally had Subway in mind, but no! My husband wanted the buffet at CiCi's Pizza. When he voiced his desire, of course the kids were like, "OH, YEAH!" Great...here we go.

I mean, Subway cannot compete with CiCi's and it's big screen TV and video games. There are barely enough chairs in Subway for a family of four to actually sit down and eat. Let's face it. Subway is downright boring. My husband and kids outnumbered me so I gave myself a Vince Lombardi-type pep talk and off to CiCi's we went.

First, can I tell you that my husband makes me sick? He is 6'4" and 195 lbs. after a really big meal! The man eats anything and everything. His two favorite people in the world are Dolly Madison and Little Debbie. We are so like the couple in the SlimQuick commercials. It is true! He cut back on soft drinks once, and lost 20 freakin' pounds! I switched to diet drinks years ago, and am still waiting on my reward.

When we get to CiCi's, he stayed true to himself and ate about 40 pieces of pizza plus 8,000 varieties of dessert. Me?? It hurt, but I went for the salad bar. I use the term salad bar loosely as there wasn't much more than lettuce and olives. But I was determined. I sucked it up and got the salad with unsweetened (YUCK! Why is this even served in the South?) tea.

I felt like I was on Temptation Island, though. Remember that show?? According to the FOX website: Four couples tested their commitment in this hormonal reality series set in a tropical paradise packed with the requisite sexy singles. The couples were separated from their significant others and sent on dates with compatible partners. The dates were then videotaped and observed by the person's loved one.

So basically, they took these couples "in love" and in very serious relationships, put them on beautiful, but separate, islands with barrels of liquor and droves of hotties, and made them go out on dates with the aforementioned hotties. All this to test their love for one another. Did I mention there was lots of alcohol involved??? I watched that show every season (fine, I've outed myself ) and never saw a relationship survive.

That pizza buffet was like putting me on an island with 4,000 Brad Pitt look-a-likes and an Olympic-size pool filled with Jungle Juice. (This is where you imagine the theme from Rocky...) Only in my version of Temptation Buffet, I prevailed! I stayed away from those yummy, gooey apple cinnamon pizza things. I didn't even glance at the chocolate brownies or the big, fat, juicy supreme pizzas. Okay, maybe I glanced...but I was still triumphant. As much as I love Brad Pitt and jungle juice, I held strong.

One small step towards a slimmer mid-section, and one giant step for ME! Bring on Brad Pitt and the booze! (Just kidding... That would even be hard for a tough girl like me.)

Nightmares in Babysitting

Okay, so I went to my reunion last weekend. I'm still depressed; some of my friends looked like supermodels; I look like a cow in all the pictures; my husband keeps talking about how hot some of them were, all the while professing his undying love for me; blah, blah, blah... Same blog, different day.

I won't drone on and on about it. I did have a great time with my old girlfriends. And I'm, once again, on a diet. 'Nuf. Said.

Speaking of the weekend, though, I must explain the babysitting situation. My kids are only three and four so I did not feel comfortable leaving them over the weekend with someone. Instead, we decided to bring them along with a babysitter. That way, the kids would get to spend some more time with my dad and get ANOTHER little vacation. (Although they've been partying like rock stars since school let out!)

We rented a big three bedroom condo near the beach so that everyone would have their space, and my husband called the mother-in-law to see if she wanted to go as the babysitter. Of course, this was before we actually thought things through. (That's one thing about my husband that makes me crazy. He will always DO something during the planning phase. I prefer to lay out my plans, ponder them, make adjustments, then take action. Not him! He will do and do and do over again just for the sake of doing. Drives me crazy, but I'll save that for a future post.)

After further consideration, I wanted our regular babysitter to go along. She is awesome; the kids love her. Even better, we love her too. When my husband heard my idea about bringing our regular babysitter, he agreed and was actually looking forward to the trip. She always plays with the kids, and they have a great time.

On the contrary, my MIL considers flopping her big ass in the recliner and yelling at the kids all day real babysitting. Don't get me wrong. I, too, like to flop my big ass in the recliner and shout orders. However, I'm the mom -- not the babysitter! Besides that, she eats us out of house and home!

The babysitting job sounds like a no-brainer, right? So what's the problem, you ask? HOW DO WE CANCEL THE SERVICES OF THE MIL???

Prior to the trip, my poor husband (bless his heart) tried to convince MIL that going to the Coast for a weekend with the kids was going to be tough work. He reminded her of the tropical climate. He told her there would be a lot of walking. He reminded her that she was only going to babysit so the trip would not be a real vacation. The "sales job" went on for weeks. Unfortunately, he's not much of a salesman.

Against my better judgment, we took the MIL to babysit while we went to the reunion activities. The whole time she kept wondering when we were taking her out to eat. Then we had to drive to the beach although it was less than a block away. In fact, she wanted us to drive to the pool that was merely 50 yards away!!! To make matters worse, the kids were cranky due to lack of sleep. She called my son a Cry Baby, and I wanted to rip her head off!!! How did she expect them to sleep when she was on the phone all night gossiping so loudly that the folks in Timbuktu could hear her?

Oh, but it doesn't end there. One of the main reasons for a babysitter is because we were going out until late with friends. I knew I'd be drinking, and didn't want to have to deal with kids in the morning. However, MIL wanted to sleep until 10 a.m. and my oldest got up at 5:30 a.m. She'd send him in our room so my husband got up. Needless to say, JP was packed and ready to roll back to the house by 6:30 a.m. on Monday. Even my kids were looking forward to being back home without MIL.

After bashing her so badly, I guess I should mention some good points. When one of our kids is sick and we can't possibly take off work, she's ready and willing to babysit. When I had my 2nd child, she drove through a snow storm to my house so that she could keep my oldest. While I was caring for my dying mother, she stayed with the kids as my husband worked. That woman loves our kids. In addition, she's all they got!

That doesn't mean I'm retracting my previous comments, though.

Move Over Chez Ami, It's Chez LB!

I think I've said it before, but my mother was the craftiest of the crafty. She came up with awesome ideas, and turned the most minscule, unassuming thing into a piece of artwork. When I was growing up, I remember the house being scattered with bridesmaids dresses, Mardi Gras trains, wind chimes made from spoons, sun catchers made from stones and pieces of glass, etc. She had a real gift.

All these years, though, I figured that gene just skipped my generation. My sister couldn't even match a decent outfit much less create an ensemble of beauty. And me?? Well, I took home ec and hated it. "Screw cooking and sewing," I thought. "That stuff is for frumpy old ladies with nothing better to do. If I want something good to eat, I'll go to a restaurant. If I want a pretty dress, I'll buy it!"

I've always been like that -- I want it, and I want it right now! I don't want to wait on anything. I am too impatient which is why my husband says I'm hard to buy for. Anything I want, I just go get it myself. You can only imagine his frustrations at Christmas. I usually end up getting my own gift, having it wrapped at Macy's, and letting him be surprised on Christmas morning.

Now that I have kids, though, I have gotten better. I still like instant gratification (Dave Ramsey's biggest nightmare), but I am a bit more patient. I don't get nearly as frustrated with tedious tasks, and I can wait out a temper tantrum like a champ.

Better yet, a positive side effect has come from the patience needed to be a mom. I am actually more apt to do things that I wouldn't attempt before -- those things that require me to focus for more than a few moments. It is true that my self-diagnosed ADD gets in the way some times, but I can stay focused if I don't have many interruptions. Let a boo-boo on the slide happen, though, and "now what was I doing with this?" will come to mind a few days later and the original task will never see completion. I'm typically able to work around it, though.

Now don't get me wrong; I still hate to cook. My kids love hot dogs, and I can eat cereal every night until I die. However, I have discovered my inner artist! I first noticed it when my kids became interested in coloring. I can literally color with my kids for hours on end. I love to color, and find it a natural cure for a bad attitude or overwhelming stress. When my mom was in the hospital withering away, I colored. My dad thought I was a nut job, but I was cool as a cucumber when he was falling apart.

Recently I decided to give sewing another try. Since I despised my home ec teacher, I figured maybe she was the reason I never got into it. My husband bought me a basic sewing machine for my birthday. (Well, I did since he doesn't buy gifts for me anymore.) I went to the local Hancock fabric, bought some material and an "easy" pattern, and cranked out a little outfit for my daughter.

Yes, I've discovered my inner artist, but it will never dominate like my inner perfectionist. It took me literally 2 days to sew this thing. I sewed and ripped out and sewed again and ripped out... It's a good thing I was working with cotton. After 2 days, it was done except for the needle work and trim. Awww.... Success??

Only partial success as I left it sitting for 2 months unfinished. Yesterday, though, I decided to do the needlework while I watched the kids ride their 4-wheelers. I even added a little decoration to it. The seams aren't the best looking and the arm holes have a few "bumps," but overall it looks pretty good. So good, in fact, that I let G-baby wear it today. To top it off, nearly everyone I came in contact with raved about the outfit! Honestly, I had 3 people in Walmart alone ask me where I got it.

However, I don't know if or when I will try again. It took so much time! Who knows...maybe I'll find some inspiration from an $80 dress at The Freckled Frog. I hate paying so much for those simple, yet ADORABLE, dresses and outfits. Now, if I can only figure out how to make shoes...
;-)

I just added this one because I can't ever get them to be nice to one another. This was a first!

I couldn't get her to put down the make up, but the pocket has a daisy coming out.

There's another daisy on the leg. The stem and leaf are white ric rac.

My posers... Don't tell them I cut off their heads to get a shot of the outfit.

20 lbs. in 5 days???

If anyone has any great ideas or full-proof diets that will help me lose 20 lbs. in 5 days, I am all ears! The dreaded (I mean that lovingly, of course) reunion is next weekend. How did I let it sneak up on me?? Uuuggghhh... I really wanted to lose about 15 lbs. before this weekend. With all the chaos known as my life, I've just not been able to pull it off. Now I'm desperate! I need a quick fix -- laxatives, a colonic, self-induced vomiting, a magic potion -- ANYTHING!

I wish cosmetic surgery was available through a drive-thru window for $9.99. I'd get my "fix" every week. Some people think Joan Rivers looks bad, but hell, she's 100 years old! Yes, she's had a million cosmetic surgeries. But she still wears a size 6, and you can't find a wrinkle on her face or neck. You put her up against any 100 year old lady, and I bet you'd be impressed.

Screw the pedicures, give me liposuction! Hey, maybe the Asian community would get their entire families trained in operating that lipo vacuum and the chemical peel lasers. They have the nail thing down to an art. If a nail salon isn't owned by an Asian family, I won't even go inside. Why bother?!? I already know the pedicure will be nowhere near as good as that which I can get for $27 at T's Nails.

I hate that I am so obsessed with my weight. I wish I could just be happy with my body. I am so jealous of my friends who are able to accept themselves for who they are. I am too much of a perfectionist and way too critical of myself. It's not just my weight, either. It's in everything I do.

Last weekend, we went through some pictures from back in the day. I remember how obsessed I was with my weight back then, too. I always thought I was too fat. Now that I see myself, I think "WTH?" I don't care what anyone says, 120 lbs. is NOT fat. I can remember being obsessed with the scale in college. I would drink Slimfast for a week if I went over 110 lbs. I weighed 103 lbs. when I first went to college. When I left, I was 120 lbs. How I wish I could get there again...

Hmmm, I wonder where I can get a high colonic in Memphis this week.