Hoho...Ho?

No, this post isn't about what you may think it's about. It's about me losing my train of thought like every 2 minutes. I've heard that doing crossword puzzles sharpens your mind, exercises it, if you will, but I fall asleep while pondering the first 5 clues. I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but I have an idea. I think my brain is full.

On a daily basis, I am a mother, a wife, a business owner, a business manager, a graphic designer, a webmaster, a secretary, a mediator, a dog trainer, a dog walker, a counselor (totally different from mediator), a cook, a housekeeper, a nanny (yes, for my own kid, but still...), a skilled puppetmaster, a dancer, a writer, and a taxi driver, just to name a few. Before I was married with a child, I was me, with a typical 8 hour a day job, and a girlfriend. I don't remember what I did with my free time, nor how I managed to never get anything done. Because now I do all of this, and still don't get anything done. Somehow I manage to vacuum 5 times a week only because, if I didn't, dog hair would take over the house and smother us all.

I frequently think of something that I need to finish in the office, only to go upstairs to the office to forget what the hell I was going there to do. Then the phone will ring, and someone will be on the other end reminding me of something else I forgot to do and can I do it that second? So I'll do that one thing, put down the phone, and go to get the thing I had in mind for my son, only to forget what exactly that thing was, but thankful that he still a) is easily persuaded to do something else or b) loudly demands what it is that I forgot that I was getting for him. Again, I tell you, my brain is full.

My husband will get home from his day of work, kick off his shoes and watch tv. His work is done. I get home from my day of work and...oh, wait, my day of work is never ending. Because even after the kid is asleep, I'm still on duty for when he gets up in the middle of the night and if the dog throws up at 3am and...and I think I read somewhere that your brain begins to melt when you never get a vacation. Because even on my vacations I'm still working. And melting my brain.

But here's the thing. Save for the occasional really bad day, I love being supermom, juggling ten million things and never getting to rest. I really do. Yes, my house could be cleaner, my office neater, my hair done on a daily basis, but seriously, life is too short. I'm trying to cram it all in. But what happens when there is no more room? Does your brain implode? Stretch? Accomodate even more information on a daily basis? I'm determined to find out why only 10% of our brain is used, because dammit, I could use an upgrade and a little bit more storage space.

Now what the hell was I really going to write about?

Not Much Less, But Still Less Ass

Even after a horrific day or two of gorging on yummy Thanksgiving food, I have still managed to lose 1.6 pounds this past week. Not bad, if I do say so myself. And thankfully, it's just in the nick of time. Because after having to go to dinner last night, and after trying on just about everything in my closet, I came to yet another conclusion. My asses don't fit in anything that looks nice, and nothing that looks nice manages to look good on me. There is something about that revelation that makes snacking on salted cucumber sticks seem like a real treat. And believe me, it was.

So I'm posting my goal publicly for January 1st. I want to lose another 14.7 pounds by then, for a total of 16.3 pounds. It will be hard. There is Christmas and cookies and candy and yumminess all crammed into the month of December, but if I look and feel like a whale, what does it matter?

I am celebrating the 1.6 pounds that have come off my body with a jaunt on the treadmill after my son goes to bed. That is in addition to the two dog walks I took today for a whopping 60 minute walk. I think my ass deserves a little extra exercise to celebrate losing a fraction of it's size, noticeable or not.

Total weight lost: 1.6 pounds
Goal by Jan 1: 16.3 pounds

I'm Thankful Thanksgiving Is Over

I won't go into it. But I"m way excited about Christmas.

To Be Thankful

I come from a family that doesn't say prayer before dinner, that doesn't go around the table at Thanksgiving and say what we are each thankful for, nor do I come from a family that openly communicates. Last year at Thanksgiving, my mother and her then-boyfriend hosted Thanksgiving, and before we all were ushered off to my brother's for dessert, blurted out that the next time we saw her, she'd have a different last name. Other than the fact that she announced she was marrying now-husband three days later, I only remember the fact that she made my grandma cry. The last Thanksgiving we were to ever have with my Gram, my mother made her cry.

Tomorrow we will go to my mom's house for Thanksgiving one year later, and according to my mom, we will "have a toast to Grandma". I wonder if my Gram ever told my mom that she didn't approve of her marriage. I wonder if my Gram ever told my mom how she felt that day. I wonder if my mom knows she made my Gram cry. I remember giving my Gram a hug while the tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head and said "Why is she doing this? What is she thinking?" I could only say that I wished I knew.

Now, don't get me wrong, our Thanksgivings are never full of angst and argument, nor are they ever full of lively banter and teasing. They are somewhere in the middle, somewhere between duty and enjoyment in the company of a few well-liked relatives and a big fat turkey. But Thanksgiving meant more when Gram was around. She made the gravy, afterall. I will be thoroughly disappointed if, upon tasting my mom's gravy, Thanksgiving takes on a whole new eating direction. But I can't help but wonder if Thanksgiving will feel, well, less thankful, with Gram gone. I know it will never be the same, just as it will never be the same that my dad is not the one carving the turkey, but will still call full of sadness and alcohol sometime later in the night, wishing he hadn't thrown it all away somewhere in his voice.

Tomorrow, it will be hard to bite my tongue and not accuse my mom of ruining the last Thanksgiving Gram ever had. Tomorrow, it will be hard to sit and toast Gram while her seat at the head of the table is filled by someone else.
Tomorrow, it will be hard to take the 3 generation picture, when last year there were 4.
Tomorrow, it will be hard to be thankful, but I will be. I am.

One of the many things I am grateful for is everything my Gram taught me about life and love and family. She was not perfect, not by any stretch, but she embraced life, let it knock her down and then would stomp to her feet again, and enjoyed every bit that she could. For that, I am thankful. Because tomorrow, I will go in to my mother's house knowing that my Gram would want me to sit there and enjoy it, to be thankful for the family that is there, to be thankful for the family that is not, to be thankful for the family that is mine and mine alone- my husband, my son, my dogs; to be thankful for all the time we have to be a family, whether happy or sad time, as time is short on this earth. To be thankful for such things is a blessing. And Gram was right. Family is everything.

Deck The Halls...

And the living room, and the bathroom, and the stairway... all so that I won't eat something I shouldn't. But hey, I'm three days ahead of schedule for putting the Christmas tree up! Our house already looks like the day after Thanksgiving. Did I mention that I'm still starving? Apparantly giant fake Christmas trees and cute stockings and lots of lights tends to equal a craving for Christmas cookies...

Because I Have Two Asses

After spending the whole summer avoiding both the treadmill and a bathing suit, and noticing at my Grandma's wake that my only pair of really nice dress pants were WAY too tight, I have come to the conclusion that I am starting to look like my mother. Now, I can handle being a bit plump, have a little spare tire, but when I officially start to look like my mother, it's time for a change.

I love my mom. She is strange and distant and detached, all the while pretending to be all Mrs. Cleaver-ish, but she's still my mom. Growing up, my mom was everyone's favorite mom. She was good at being with little kids, and she still is. She should quit her job and run a small daycare. It's adults she has a problem relating too, especially when she used to know them as kids- like me and my brother, for example, and all of our friends. In a nutshell, it's bizarre. I hope that in that aspect, I am not like my mother, but in another, I am. I love to snack. It's a beautiful thing. Until, one day, you turn around and you have two asses.

Since having my son, I have become a slug. Not by choice, so much, but by lifestyle change. I used to walk my two dogs 3 miles a day at least 5 times a week, both summer or winter. Then I had a c-section, and did nothing for a long time. I had a hard time healing, but wanted to get back in shape. So I walked without the dogs, and just the stroller, and did... ok. But when your abs are sliced in half, you realize how hard life is without them. And how hard it is to get them back. I have yet to get them back. It took me one year to be able to do a crunch without feeling two sets of muscles in my abs, and it freaked me out. Now, I just hate the thought of crunches. So I don't do them. And now that my son hates being confined to a stroller for more than 15 mintues, we don't walk anymore either.

If we lived in a community with sidewalks or streetlights, I would walk the dogs at night when my husband got home. Before we moved here, I would run with my lab at 11pm, just loving the quiet and her being able to be off-leash. Not safe, some would say, but we lived in a safe community, and I had a big burly dog running next to me. But now we live in a community that has neither sidewalks nor street lights, and back up to a forest preserve that, after dark, leaves your imagination to scary things, and believe me, you wouldn't walk near there after dark either. So that leaves the treadmill, which I hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Did I say that right? Oh yes, I hate it.

I saw my mom last week, and listened to everything she said. I say it all, too. I need to lose weight. I need to get on the treadmill. My pants don't fit. I need new clothes. I need to start eating better. I hear all of those things, say all of those things, but like my mother, don't do much about it. And it scares me. I don't want to look like her- she's at a point where you can tell she's becoming unhealthy. I'm not there yet, but it's a short leap to get there. So yesterday, with an extra mental push from Speckblog, I joined Weight Watchers online.

I'm not going to meetings, because I don't have time. But I will keep track of what I'm eating, which is what I really need to do. Because I don't account for the leftover fruitsnacks, the quarter of a PB&J sandwich, and other half eaten things my son leaves behind, which is a lot of my problem. The other part of my problem is that damn treadmill, which I got on for 30 minutes last night, and told my husband he needs to make me do every night. Not force me to get on it, but simply say, I'll hang with Evan for a half hour if you want to hop on the treadmill. How do I say no to that? I can't. So he has to say it. Has to. And I have to get on it. Have to.

I'm sick of having two asses. I would like one ass again, one that looks great in a pair of jeans, one that is tolerable in a swim suit, and should I ride horses again on a regular basis, looks great on the back of a horse, too. I don't want my ass to match my horse's ass. Nor do I want my ass to match my mother's ass. I don't expect to ever get my old ass back, but a newer, better ass than the one I have is fine with me.

The Cutest Kid Ever

Evan is becoming more and more of a little boy, and less like a toddler every day. Granted, he still has monstrous toddler tantrums that can put most toddler tantrums to shame, but everyday, he's speaking, walking, running, and jumping like a little boy. At 2 1/2 years old, it doesn't seem possible that the next time I look really hard, he may be in kindergarten, or high school, or getting married. I hope I look hard every day, but when I stop to think and appreciate this little human, I get all teary eyed and proud.

Today, he's helping his daddy put up new closet doors on our front hall closet. He's handing him tools, counting screws, and asking "What Happened?" each time daddy does something new to the doors. He's running around with a tape measure being daddy's little helper.

I'm trying to imagine him being a big brother, and I think he'd be ok with it. I know right now he yearns for more interaction with kids than I can give him, and it's almost time for preschool. Just got to get that potty training thing down.

It's a little weird, this "trying" for a baby thing. Little E was not planned, nor on the horizon, but was a wonderful and liberating surprise. When my husband and I got married on the beaches of St. Thomas, I was 19 weeks pregnant, and all was good with the world. And though we were not married when he was conceived, I wanted a baby with every fiber of my being, wanted a baby so bad that I think my mind literally overrode my body and rendered my birth control pills obsolete. Mind over matter, I suppose. So now that we are trying for a baby, there are a lot of firsts. Including WANTING a positive sign to show up on that stick.

Until Evan, I had never taken a pregnancy test. Never. I was 27 years old, and yes, I had a couple late periods, but nothing that ever made me take a pregnancy test. Now, I've taken more than I can count in the last few months, half hoping, half dreading the result of each test. But the fun part is, that when it is finally positive, it will be something to celebrate from that very minute, without the constraints of worry that came along with the positive test for Evan. With Evan, it was worry about everything with the hopes that it would all work out. And it has. Evan just sped things along, as my husband likes to say.

So now, I watch the cutest kid ever run around this house, and hope that the second time around will be just as happy and just as fun and just as exciting. Yes, there will still be worries, but they will be different ones this time. And this time, when that stick is positive, I won't have to start the conversation with a knot in my stomach as I say "Um, I have something I need to tell you...". And hopefully, the second time around, the first reaction won't be "Are you going to tell me you crashed the car?"

7 Days of Torture

Aunt Flow was 7 days late. SEVEN. We have discussed child #2, and I was fairly certain I was ready. Now I know I am.

I just spent a boatload of money on home pregnancy tests, all for a big fat negative each and every morning I was late. And I am never late. So who knows why my body decided this was the month to be late, but it did, and I was. But not anymore.

But those seven days gave me a lot to think about and process. Can I handle two children? How would I handle my business? Would I have to go back to work part time? What on earth do I do when I have only two hands and two children? When my two year old is up every 3 hours, could I juggle that with nursing, no sleep, and an infant that wakes every 3 hours as well AND still be a good mom in the morning? How do I get the contorting, kicking, screaming 2 year old in the car when one hand is holding a baby? Will I ever sleep? Will I ever eat? Will I ever have time for me? Will I ever have time for anything? Am I insane?

But all in all, when Aunt Flow arrived, I kissed my husband happily when he came home from work. I told him that we were not pregnant, and he warily asked if that was a good thing. When I was still all cheerful and happy after numerous cantankerous toddler episodes, he curiously looked at me and said in his "you're up to something" voice, "What do you want?".

And I answered honestly and whole-heartedly with 100% certainty, "A baby."

His eyebrows raised, as he probably thought "umm, I thought we had already decided that a baby was something on the horizon", but didn't say anything. How could I tell him that, up until I was 7 days late, I had doubted that I could do it successfully, much less do it at all! But thanks to Aunt Flow showing up a bit off schedule, now I know.

I want a baby.

RING! RING! Hello? VOTE DAMMIT!

Our phone has rang a thousand times today. Each phone call, save for one, has been a "Paid for by the Democratic/Republican Party-go-out-and-vote-for-me" phone call. Seriously, this has to be illegal by the next election.

If nothing makes me want to vote less, it's having people who I do not agree with politically calling my house and waking my 2 year old from a nap. It's having a political party leave me recordings on my answering machine TWELVE TIMES in a 6 hour period. It's having the phone ring at 9:15 pm (again, can I mention the sleeping 2 year old???), and having some idiot who doesn't know I am a democrat teetering on and on about their republican candidate.

If one more republican or democratic party calls me today, I'll, I'll, I'll just... sigh. I know it will be over soon. I know it is great to have the right to vote. But I didn't give these people my phone number for a reason. And to top it off, I'm getting calls like this one:

"Hi, would you mind taking a quick 2 question survey?"
"Uh, sure, I guess."
"Great! If you were to vote today, would you vote for candidate A or candidate B?"
"Um, I don't really know."
"Well, let me give you a little information. Candidate A is for this, this and this. And Candidate B is Evil. Now, who would you vote for if you were going to vote today?"
"Well, neither. I don't make snap political decisions based on biased, unsolicited phone calls."
"Ok, thanks."

Is the election over yet????

November 7th: New Rules!