Aww Right!

How many 3 years olds find Family Guy hilarious? Ours does. But not necessarily the actual cartoon, which he pays attention to WAY too much for us to watch anymore while he is awake. But my husband has a ton of Family Guy stuff, being the unending child that he is, and Evan knows all the characters. Daddy got Family Guy Uno for Christmas, and one of Evan's favorite pasttimes is to put the cards down in front of Daddy and make Daddy talk in that character's voice. It sends him into hysterics that would crack anyone up. His favorite game right now is for Daddy to talk like Quagmire and everything becomes a "giggity goo" something or other. He'll run around the house laughing so hard, he can barely squeak out "giggity good dog!" or "giggity bath time". Something about the word is just the funniest thing to him.


Now in the morning, Evan pleads with daddy to "talk yike Quadmire!" To start any morning of with laughter is a good morning, but this morning Daddy left on a particularly high note. Instead of being sent to work with a now traditional "See ya yater, Giggity Daddy!", this morning, before Daddy left for work, Evan said "Have a giggity goo day, Evil Monkey Daddy!"

Seriously, how can you not have a giggity goo day after a send off like that?

Evanisms: Age 3 Years, 10 months

Man, our kid is almost 4 years old. How did that happen? We have the most awesome, most independent, most intellectual almost 4 year old around, and I love him to pieces. He constantly amazes me, and teases me, and loves me, and every day I learn more about myself because of him. He is my heart.

We were planting new flowers around the tree in the front yard, and he helped like a little trooper, eager to dig the holes and water the newly planted flowers. When daddy came home that night, he said, "Daddy! Today mommy and I planted Daffydils and Tula-toops!" Daddy was proud.

Evan's hardest thing is life is saying goodbye. And I guess, its' everybody's hardest thing. But he takes leaving his friends or family to heart, and it hurts him deeply each and every time. I know someday he'll be ok with leaving, but for now, he is not. But somewhere deep inside of him, he knows he's not supposed to act so sad, but instead of just waving and saying goodbye, he will always get upset, cross his arms and say, "I don't want to see you again. I'm not coming over again. I will NOT say goodbye." Poor guy. I guess he has it figured out already that if you don't say goodbye, it can't hurt.

Lately everyone we know seems to be pregnant. The other day we were looking at my friend's ultrasound pictures of her twins, and Evan looked at me very intelligently and said, "Mommy, do you have a baby in your tummy?" And I said no, but I would really like for one to be there. And he thought about it for a minute, and he said, "Mommy, I don't want you to have a baby in your tummy. I don't think I would want a baby in this house." I asked him why, and he thought about it and said, "Because babies are boring". Then I reminded him he would be the big brother, and he could boss his baby brother or sister around, and when they got bigger, he would always have another kid to play with in the house. He thought about this intensely, then brightened a bit, and said, "Ok, Mommy, sure, sure. You can have a baby in your tummy. I YUV to be da boss. Dat means I'm da one in charge!" Don't I know it.

Our newest game is silly names at bedtime. Usually, the names are made up and nonsense words, but suddenly Evan gets it that certain words are even funnier if you add them to Mommy or Daddy. Our names were usually "Mommy Glah-ga-bug" or "Daddy Mususuma"- things along those lines. But, T\the other night, he looked at me with a big grin and said, "You're a stinky mommy foot!" and cracked himself up to the point where he couldn't breathe.

Is that a dog?

I got home from an event tonight at about 11pm, and after chatting with the babysitter, I let the dogs out and went back to chatting. The dogs were barking up a storm, and it was 11:30pm or so by then, and I immediately went to go shut them up so the neighbors wouldn't hate us.

I opened the door, and heard another dog barking back at them from the other side of the fence. It had a higher pitched bark, and sounded frantic, so I just assumed it must be little. I caught a glimpse of a lighter colored coat in the moonlight, and he was nose to nose with the dogs through the fence. I ran to get my shoes, thinking a lost little dog was out late at night, and I worry about the coyotes in our area. Last night, our cat slipped out unnoticed, and I practically gave myself a heart attack looking for him today, thinking of finding his collar in a pile of coyote poop somewhere - thankfully, he came stumbling home all by himself after a night out on the town*. Anyway, I digress. So I throw on my shoes and run outside, where I see the little dog trot off as I whistle. I'm trying to get the dogs to come inside, but they are not taking kindly to that little dog on the other side of the fence. I run back inside to grab a flashlight to see if I can track the dog down.

The sitter comes back outside with me, and I think we make somewhat of a gasp/choke noise in unison as I shine the flashlight to the other side of the fence to follow the flash of light colored coat as it dashes sideways, and a coyote is staring back at us a mere 8 feet away. It thinks for a moment, and then trots off behind the tree, then stops and thinks some more as it stares at us. I stupidly ask, "Is that a coyote that was barking at my dogs?" and she says, "I'm pretty sure that's a coyote." The dogs are still going crazy, and the dog/coyote trots off into the soccer field behind our house.

I usher the dogs inside, as it's now quarter to midnight, and I'm sure the neighbors are cussing a blue streak from their houses, and go back out to the fence. I stand there quietly for a moment, then turn the flashlight back on. That damn coyote is STARING at me from about 20 feet away. Not running, not hiding, but STARING at me, as if I interrupted his fun and he's pissed as all hell about it.

Now, my dogs aren't small, and there are three of them, but I also know that coyotes hunt in packs. Why the hell was this coyote right up against the fence yelling at my dogs? Was he trying to lure them out to where the other coyotes were? Was he rabid? Was he just simply unafraid of me because, well, he sees us bipeds just a wee bit too often these days? And why was one coyote willing to go up to three good sized dogs? Was he tame? Just a pup? What????

I'm sure I won't know the answers any time soon, or probably ever, but I will be sure to explain all the hubbub to the neighbors tomorrow. Especially the ones next door, in whose yard the coyote was standing in. They don't have a fence, and they have a bite-sized dog, so I think they will need to be most vigilant in keeping him on a leash in the dark.

I'm not one who thinks the coyotes should be shot at or punished for being forced out of their habitat and into ours. We hear coyotes all the time at night, as we live right down the road from a marsh preserve, and they often trot through the soccer fields in the middle of the night, and we pick up their chilling cries of the hunt on the baby monitor (there is nothing creepier than waking to the sound of a dozen coyotes in your bedroom!). But the fact that this one came up to our fence and had no problem with being nose to nose with our three dogs... well, that creeps me out.

Looks like it's time to install some lights in the the yard.


* Kitty is an indoor kitty, who is hell bent on going outside. Seems his former owners must have allowed it, and he has no respect for our rule that says kitties live inside only. He managed to push an entire screen from the frame to let himself out in the middle of the night, and we woke up to him missing this morning. I aged 10 years this morning, as I have NEVER lost a pet, and don't intend to start now. And I especially do not want him becoming a coyote snack.

Here we go again...

12 dpo. Yep. Again. I hate this stupid day. Right now, my fertility chart says that all is right with this cycle, that I'm functioning as I should be, and if someone were to actually read my chart, they might even suspect that I could be pregnant this cycle. But the stupid pee sticks say no. No, no, no. NO! ARRRRRRGGGHH!!!!

I know it's only the 2nd cycle since the miscarriage, but I'm ready to quit, because the obsession that takes over from 9dpo on is stupid. Stupid and pointless and wearing on me.

Stupid pee sticks. Stupid miscarriage. Stupid body.

Big Boobs & Politics

So, buying a swim suit when you have big boobs is not easy. But what about summer shirts? The stores are now under attack with skin-showing ensembles that, once again, exclude big boobs. I have found the only tank tops that I can wear where I do not resemble a hooker are "wife beater" tanks- you know, the ribbed ones that you just can't make look cute no matter how hard you try? Or I can wear empire cut tanks, where I instantly appear to be pregnant. Nice. Capped sleeve tees look ridiculous on me since I have bigger arms, and t-shirts in the summer- well, I'm outside so much that they are actually too hot for most days and I end up sweating my bazongas off.

What to do? Huh. Maybe lose weight. Is that the answer to everything? Sigh.

On another note, it turns out that most of my friends are democrats. Though I may have always suspected, the friends that I have that are the most cherished, the ones that I get along with the best and enjoy intelligent conversation with, are turning out to be democrats. Huh. The associates that I have where they tend to drive me insane with mundane conversation and lack of drive? You got it. Republicans.

Now, it's not like I started out looking for friends with typical political alliances, but isn't it funny that's how it turned out? And I'm only finding out now, as the political world heats up, where those friends stand politically. Those are the two things I hate to talk about, politics and religion, because I don't really uphold any sort of particular framework for beliefs for either of them. I believe what I believe, and I don't care what you believe, as long as you let me believe what I believe- ya know? And I'm finding that my friends are right along those same lines, even in regards to politics. So it makes sense that they are democrats as well, seeing as that's the only real choice when you believe in an actual democracy without religion getting in the way.

What's funny is how, out of all of my friends, none are for Hilllary right now. Everyone is supporting Barack Obama. And I find this interesting, because you would think that with the majority of my friends being female, at least one would be for Hillary. But none are. The main reason- they think she is calculating and conniving. A typical woman who has power but is not comfortable with herself yet. And that scares pretty much everyone I have conversed with on this. Because how do you trust a woman who does not trust herself? So everyone I've spoken with is backing Obama, because he is a man who obviously trusts himself and then some. Whether or not either one of them becomes president remains to be seen, but I think it's interesting that all the women I have spoken with do not think she is "the" woman to become president. Huh, again.

Anyway, no point to this posting really, just some rambling thoughts.

Ahhhhhhhh!

The weekend was awesome. Relaxing. No watches, no agenda, no meetings, no customers. It was perfect. The weather cooperated, too, allowing us to stroll through downtown St. Charles like it was June, eat out on the patio at a local restaurant, and do it all without wearing jackets.

I had my second full-body massage ever, and it was heaven. I was mush and could barely walk out of there. Fun night of comedian on Saturday night, and a Sunday morning with Champagne brunch followed by a manicure and pedicure. A bit too girly for me, but still fun, and relaxing. We never even made it into the hot tub or pool, so thankfully, my fat ass stayed sufficiently covered all weekend. Overall, I can only say that we are already planning next year's trip.

The cheesiest thing about the girls weekend was our trip to a local candy store. An old antique store that also housed a candy store was filled to the brim with 80's candy. We bought candy cigarettes, Big League Chew, Candy Buttons, sixlets, pop rocks... you get the idea. Yes, we drank, too, but our latest night was 1am, and that was really pushing it. But, since that first night was spent drinking in our room, it was convenient that our beds were right there. So, I just find it hilarious that three grown women, out on their own for the weekend, have the most fun puffing on bubblegum cigarettes and pop rocking at 11pm at night. We. Are. Crazy.

Of course, now it's back to the grind, but I'm recharged and ready to jump right into projects that seemed overwhelming before I left. The trip worked, and I can't wait to do it again. And I may just need to indulge in a massage once a month... or week!

Run, Fat Ass, Run

Somewhere amidst my receding pregnancy, my ass expanded. I fell back on my mother's habits of Wheat Thins and Cream Cheese, homemade Rice Krispie Treats, and lots of dining out to appease the torture my body and my mind were enduring. And did I mention, chocolate is a great emotional band aid?

I knew I was doing it, but the fact of the matter was, I didn't care. I had a million other things in life to uphold and keep duct taped together while inside I was falling apart. If I was going to patch the leak on my soul with french toast and chocolate syrup, so be it. It worked.

Flash forward to the present. I have a "girls" weekend starting on Friday. The last time I went anywhere that cost actual money with my girls was the year after I graduated from college. My best friend and my cousin and I drove to Panama City Beach during Spring Break, though none of us were actually youngsters by spring break standards anymore. I was 22, my best friend was 21, and my cousin was 22 as well. Damn if we couldn't still pick up adorable 20 year old boys to dance and drink with. We lied and said we were seniors (actually, I believe my best friend actually was), and had a blast hanging out with some adorable boys from another Illinois school who had no interest in anything other than stalking 80's hair bands and tracking the mullet count at each bar. They were awesome, the trip was innocent, and most importantly, probably the best trip of my life (not including my wedding trip, but that's a different category). So, needless to say, I'm super excited about getting away this weekend, even if it's a budget trip. 8 years is a long time to wait for another girls trip!

Yesterday while Evan was at school, I went to go find a swim suit that I would be comfortable wearing during our girls trip. We are going local, but to a fun hotel with a spa package, a great pool, and lots of local flavor. First, I tried on some jeans, always frustrated at the fact that whatever pair of jeans I bought and liked 6 months ago, Levi has managed to obliterate from the face of the earth when I need to buy more. So, 10 pairs of jeans later, I had one pair that I even remotely liked on me, and even then, I was starting to panic. The jeans I even remotely liked were huge. HUUUUGE. Did I even want to attempt the swim suits? Fuck.

So, here's the thing. Do swim suit designers ever actually put their swim suits on anyone over a size 2? Because I highly doubt it. Because, if you are over a size 8, most likely, you have boobs. And, more than likely, they aren't tiny and perky ones that sit high up in a little string bikini. Your boobs have, um, substance, and sometimes, like in my case, their own zip code. No way in hell would I ever be caught dead with some of the tops those swim suit designers had in mind for a size 10. Good god, I might as well stand on the street corner they way they just swayed in the breeze. Now, I know that you can buy wonderful swim suits at very expensive stores that have support and are actually designed like bras. But if I wanted to spend $200 for something I'm embarrassed to be out in public in, I'd buy a beater car. So 8 swimsuits later, with the only front runner a "instant slim" deal that cost $84, I left without a swimsuit and with a terrible revelation. I am fat.

I bought my one pair of fat jeans and a nice fat-hiding hoodie sweater, and headed home. I had exactly one hour left in my short window of toddler-free zone to do something about my ass. So I ran on the treadmill for the second time this week. I wish I could write while I ran, because I swear that, even though I hate running with a passion, my clearest and deepest thoughts come while I am struggling to power through and breathe. I wish I could have a recorder in my head, because if I could, I'd run even more and be really skinny, and on top of it, I'd be a published novelist. I can write and write and write in my head, but somehow, by the time I get to the computer, daily life has already beaten away the ideas that just minutes before were just floating to the surface left and right. As much as I hate running, I feel so powerful when I'm done. If I could bottle that feeling, I'd be a millionaire. But that's one of those stupid realizations that that feeling is so easy to attain, if I'd just run my fat ass more often. I could conquer the world. Instead, I get bogged down in being super mom, a boss, a wife, and the million other things I do.

Flash back to spring break, 8 years ago. I remember bringing my bikini and, even though I think I was probably as sexually confident as I may have ever been, like most young women, my body was still an embarrassment to me. I remember standing next to my best friend on the beach, who at the time was built like a 12 year old boy, and thinking how fat I looked next to her. She was brave enough to get a henna tattoo on her belly, I was brave enough to get one on my ankle. God forbid I call attention to my flat stomach. I look back at the pictures and can only shake my head at how dumb I was. Oh, man, if I could have that body back now. I can still get it back, but the main problem is that every single month when I think there is a slim chance I could be pregnant, I back off. I do really well for two weeks, and then during the "two week wait", I don't run, I don't walk, I just obsess. Well, you're hearing it here first- I'm done with that. From now through whenever, if ever, I get pregnant again, I will continue to exercise. I was actually hoping that this month would end in a big fat negative while I was on the treadmill today, but only if I keep true to myself and keep running. Because I know I should be healthier to have a healthy pregnancy. And I can only be healthier if I stop obsessing and keep exercising. If it will happen, it'll happen, right?

By nature and thanks to my mother, I am a binge exerciser. I exercise in spurts, see a difference, and quit. I need to change that. I will never have the metabolism that I had when I was 22 ever again. Sob. But, I could make simple changes, one being drink more water. I think if I substituted my other drinks with water, I could save anywhere from 150-500 calories PER DAY. That requires no exercise, and no real diet changes. So yesterday, I filled up a 2 quart pitcher of water, put it on the counter, and poured my drinks from that all day long. And guess what? I ate less. I did it again today, and guess what? I ate less. I also got my fat ass on the treadmill again.

I'm not making any promises. I don't know if I can keep this up. But I do know that I cannot keep going in the direction I am going. So I just need to keep chanting to myself, Run, Fat Ass, Run, and I might actually go somewhere this time.

Maybe.