Thursday, January 31, 2008

A Little Help, Please

Hugh and I are planning to do it up right when we celebrate our fifteenth anniversary in September. We would like to do it somewhere tropical. With nice beaches, snorkeling availability and good food, preferably all-inclusive.

We don’t want to cruise, though.

So? Any suggestions out there? One of my girlfriends raves about St. Lucia. Is there anywhere that any of you would recommend?

Please, feel free to de-lurk if you have a suggestion. I promise I don’t bite.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

What the Doctors Don’t Tell You

Every year at my annual groping, my gynecologist asks me a series of questions about my health and habits and, each year when she asks if I am taking a daily calcium supplement I smile brightly and lie through my teeth; yep!

I am determined not to be a liar this year and have thus started choking down two giant horse-pill-sized calcium caplets each day. I was feeling quite virtuous about it, too. That is, until I started to notice certain, um...difficulties in the bathroom arena.

Without going into too much detail, allow me to be the first to inform you of a little known fact that the doctor will not share with you; calcium causes constipation.

Like, really.

Never fear, after much research on the topic I learned that a simple magnesium supplement counter-acts the plugging properties of the calcium and is required by your body for muscle repair, etc, anyway. So, now I swallow a dainty little magnesium tablet after gagging myself on the giant horse-pill-sized calcium supplements and all is well in Pooperville.

Thank goodness for Doctor Google.

Also, my damn body had better appreciate my efforts; if I wake up twenty years from now with a spine that is doing an S-curve after all this effort, I will not be a happy camper.

Oh, I will exploit my unfortunate condition for purposes of creating truly creepy Halloween costumes (think, Igor) but I will not be happy about it.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Perhaps I Should Clarify (Because I Just Can't Embarrass My Son Enough)

Yesterday’s post about the Man-Cub’s old underwear prompted several people, including my mother, to comment about how odd it seems for a school to ask for underwear donations. I explained to my mother that the underwear is given to kids who have accidents in school and, while the Cub is nine years old and most kids his age are clearly past the stage of accidentally crapping their pants, the underwear in question was a size 6/8 and I imagine that there are six-year olds who still have accidents (and a few who are large enough to wear a size 8 boxer short).

And yes, I realize that the fact that my nine-year-old son was wearing underwear designed for children ages six to eight probably contributed to the whole wedgie issue. In my defense, my son is a skinny little monster with nonexistent hips and absolutely no butt; larger underwear slipped right off, which could prove far more embarrassing for him than wearing underwear designed for a second grader. You know, should a playground de-pantsing incident ever occur.

I’m just sayin’

Monday, January 28, 2008

And It Goes Without Saying That I Labeled Everything

This Saturday was the first in recent memory that Hugh has not had to be away from home for wrestling or other job-related tasks. It was nice to have him around and you can be certain that I put our time together to good use.

Welcome to Honey-Do Saturday, Hugh! Glad you could make it.

We Hugh accomplished almost everything on my Honey-Do list; he cleaned out the garage and the attic above it. He installed the new drop-down staircase thingie to the attic so that I will no longer have to pull out a ladder every time I need to get up there. He put away all of the boxes of holiday decorations and cleaned most of his junk out of the office in preparation for installing our new computer.

Did he actually get to the part where he installed the new computer? Not so much. But, I have high hopes for it happening sometime this week.

While Hugh methodically checked items off the Honey-Do list, I transferred home videos from VCR tapes and super 8 cassettes onto DVDs. It took hours but I feel like a huge chore is out of the way. Also, it was a lot of fun to watch the videos (I cannot believe my children were ever so small. And, delicious, my god, the cheeks! I just wanted to reach through the television screen and eat them. And, I digress).

While the videos were transferring, I cleaned out the Man-Cub’s drawers and bagged all of his old underwear to donate to the school nurse (the last newsletter from the Principal practically begged for underwear donations as the school’s present supply was dwindling which? Ewww. But, mine is not to question why, mine is to replace the Cub’s wedgie-creating undies with new well-fitting undies so that he might refrain from constantly picking at his ass. Having somewhere to send the banished wedgie-producing undies is a bonus. Also? Digressing, again).

This morning, I handed the Cub the bag of old underwear and asked him to drop it off at the office on his way to his classroom. You would have thought that I had handed the kid a pistol and told him to bring me a few hostages instead. He was practically in tears when I relented and agreed to take the Bag o’ Panties in to the school myself. Of course, I had planned on doing it myself all along but I needed some entertainment this morning and nothing says “good times” like torturing a small child.

I like to start the day off right.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

It Doesn’t Take Much To Make Me Happy

Yesterday I purchased an electronic hand-held label maker. I’m not sure what it says about me that I am so giddy over such a thing but, that’s how I roll.

When I was a kid I desperately wanted a label maker, you may remember them, a gizmo that punched out labels on plastic strips? That thingie? Yes, well, I always wanted one and now I have an even better one; life doesn’t get much better than that.

Except, it does! Guess what I did all day today? I bought merchandise for the store. I spent my day shopping and I got paid to do it. Nirvana? Xanadu? Shangri-la? However you want to label it; it’s paradise to me.

Get it? Label it?

Ha! I slay me.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008


Last night Hugh, Emily and I attended a Business After Hours held by the Chamber of Commerce (Oscar is out of town so we willingly obliged Emily’s offer to escort her to the event; hey she paid!).

The After Hours was held at a new bank in town and, having heard a lot about the artwork that one of my friends had been commissioned to do for the building, I was looking forward to attending.

I was also very much looking forward to taking a small break from the sugar detox and thus joined the line to the dessert table, eyeing a plate of chocolate-raspberry brownies; my god, they looked good.

Too bad they tasted like ass.

Seriously, my brownie crumbled into dust the second I stuck a fork in it. I was so disappointed and, at that point, the other desserts, which may or may not have proven more promising, were already gone.

I could have cried.

I complained mightily about the injustice visited upon me by the asslike brownie for the remainder of the evening and I’m sure Emily was happy to be done with my whining when we finally dropped her off at her house.

Hugh wasn’t so fortunate since he does live with me and had to listen to my continued bitching the rest of the way home. At least the conversation was entertaining:

Chelle: That brownie sucked. I can’t believe they would actually serve something so vile. It was totally dried out.

Hugh: Of course they were gross, they had nuts in them.

Chelle: Whatever, nut-hater. I’ve had plenty of brownies with nuts in them and they were just fine.

Hugh: Maybe they were moist nuts. Ha! You like moist nuts!

Chelle: You wish.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Who Cut the Cheese?

I love French Onion Soup. The golden broth, the caramelized onions, the low-fat crouton smothered in low-fat cheese and broiled ever so slightly; my mouth waters just thinking about it. So, I ask you Oh Wise Internet, why does something so delicious have to produce gas so rank?*

Inquiring minds want to know.

Inquiring minds also want to know why I am typing this entry surrounded by jungle animals, AKA: Webkinz. Do my children not know how to put their toys away?

That was a rhetorical question, by the way; I know my children know how to put their toys away. They just don’t.

Plus, if someone had found the time in his busy schedule to actually install our new computer I wouldn’t be sitting here surrounded by a dog, a monkey, a tree frog and an elephant; they would be clustered around the children’s computer clear across the room.

I’m just sayin’.

*Um, you know the gas to which I am referring emanates from other members of my family and not from my pure-as-the-driven-snow digestive tract, right? Just so we’re clear.

Monday, January 21, 2008

That’s the Way (uh-huh,uh-huh) I Like It

Quiet. Uneventful. Two words to describe our weekend. Two beautiful, wonderful, peaceful words.

The Girl’s friend spent the night with us on Friday and, on Saturday; we drove to Neighboring City to do some shopping at Sam’s Club or, as I like to call it, the Senior Hellmouth.

I scored a few great bargains (blueberries! Oh how I have missed you!), the kids got their fill of samples and the crowds weren’t half bad which is saying a lot for Senior Hellmouth so; there you have it.

After Sam’s, we headed to Old Navy where we scored a number of bargains in the kid’s section. The Man-Cub was especially pleased with his find, 98-cent tee shirts. I bought The Girl and her friend- who, by the way, spends at least one night each weekend with us and should probably have a name here hence, we shall call her Kaz-matching hoodies since they are BBFs and like to dress alike at school (two for fifteen bucks!). Of course, I also purchased a few things for myself although none of the items was on sale; let us just say that I am prepared for spring and leave it at that.

Following a trip through the Chik-fil-A drive thru (recent scene of a visit by none other than Jessica Biel and Justin Timberlake, so says the local news. Not that we went there because of its brush with stardom, I just happen to love the chicken), we headed back home where we spent the remainder of the day being lazy and eating take-out.

Yesterday I did laundry (the excitement!) and cleaned the house. The most exciting part of which endeavor was my nearly gassing myself on bleach fumes in the shower (once again, the excitement!).

Hugh spent the day trolling friend’s homes to watch football since our local CBS/FOX affiliate burned to the ground during the night on Sunday and was therefore obviously not televising the game which, could be considered eventful I suppose so, maybe I lied about it being a completely uneventful weekend.

I do that sometimes.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Things That Make You Go Duh

The television weatherman keeps saying that a cold front is moving into the area and I’m like moving? Are these temperatures that we have endured lo these many weeks not indicative of a cold front that has, perhaps, moved into the area, already? I think the weatherman needs to go back to weatherman school.

Seriously, I am jonesing for some springtime. Warm temperatures, strappy sandals and Capri pants, oh, Capri pants! Where for art thou, Capri pants?

And yes, I realize that it is January but a girl can long for the warm embrace of her summer lover, the sun, now can she not?

Speaking of the cold weather, last night Emily and I attended a vendor training held by our county government. The training was intended to update us all on the new tax that went into effect on January 1st. Apparently, the county elected to not exempt agricultural items from the tax.

In an agricultural community.

You didn’t need a weatherman to tell you that a cold front moved across that room, I assure you.

Still, the county administrators were all “We had no idea you would take this so badly” and, again, duh.

This morning, I had to take a copy of The Girl’s immunization records to the school so that she would be exempted from a Tdap clinic later this month. I explained the reason for my visit to the school nurse and handed her the immunization record indicating that the child was up to date on her immunizations. To which she replied, “I’m glad you brought this in, now The Girl won’t have to have the Tdap shot when we immunize the rest of her class!”

Really? Well, then, I am so glad I happened to have a copy of her records with me when I came in this morning! You know, with no purpose, whatsoever.


Perhaps my favorite duh of the day, however goes to a recent poll conducted by British researchers, the results of which indicate that kids are afraid of clowns.

Do I even need to say it?

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Where Is My Merit Badge?

Today I helped chaperone the annual Cub Scout sledding trip at the local winter recreation area.

I drove twenty miles with six nine-year old boys and as a result, am no longer convinced that girls talk more than boys do. Oh, girls definitely squeal more than boys but boys are neck and neck with the female of the species when it comes to both volume and magnitude of speech.

My ears might recover in time to chaperone the trip next year but I cannot make any promises.

Aside from wanting to chew my own arm off in an attempt to escape the numerous fart jokes, poop jokes and odd belching contests during the drive; I enjoyed the trip. The other Scout moms are incredibly cool and we spent the majority of the time laughing and visiting over cocoa and Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies; those are my kind of women is what I’m saying.

And, even though I am still riding the sugar-free wagon and therefore could not partake of the Tools of Satan Little Debbie snacks, I enjoyed the conversation almost as much as watching the boys navigate the ginormous jumps that some adventurous soul had constructed on the sled hill. For the record, no one was hurt but we sure did witness some fantastic wipeouts, none of which involved my son otherwise I would no doubt be typing this from the emergency room.

Which would have been bad since wrestling season starts in just a few weeks. Speaking of, guess who is in charge of the Pee-Wee program this year and didn’t even know it until the previous organizer breezed into the hardware store, dropped off the information folder and booked it out the door with a hurried you’llbegreatthanks,bye!?

Yep. Apparently, Hugh mentioned that we might be interested in taking a more active role in the association, which the old administration took to mean, “hey, let us do all the work”.


Forty-five little wrestlers between the ages of five and eleven,ninety demanding parents twice weekly practices, three months worth of weekend tournaments, team pictures, tee-shirts, sweatshirts, singlets and entry dues to each tournament for each child.

And it’s all my responsibility to coordinate.

I mean, come on! Don’t I deserve a merit badge?

Monday, January 14, 2008

Twisting the Knife

After the drama of last week, it was nice to have a quiet weekend at home. Of course, by quiet weekend, you know I mean a weekend of housework, errands and chauffeuring my children hither and yon but, still.

The Cub accepted my apology and the speech that went along with it. He has a slight understanding now that adults sometimes do ungracious things and that we sometimes have to deal with the repercussions. That is a tough lesson to learn at the age of nine.

When I told him how sorry I was that his father and I had been so hard on him he said, it was ok but, really, Mom, it wasn’t Dad; it was you.

And, of course it was me; his father breezed over the complaint with a stern “Save it for the wrestling mat, son.” Because he is a man. I am a mother and want nothing more than for my children to be responsible, upstanding citizens of the community, which, apparently, is the difference between the sexes (no offense, if you are reading this and happen to be a man).

Save it for the wrestling mat, my ass.

Anyway, the knife wound through my heart should heal any day now.

The Girl did come to my defense, however. In fact, The Girl was a huge help this weekend, cleaning her room as well as the bathroom that she and her brother share. She even informed him that the bathroom cleaning would be their responsibility from now on and she cleaned the toilet. All without my even asking her.

I’m not sure who this child is but when the Mother Ship comes back for her, I am not letting her go.

Speaking of space cadets, I mentioned last week that I was training New Girl at Old Job. It went…ok. She is um…different and I have my concerns about the future of a program that I worked so hard to build but, on the other hand, I wouldn’t go back so; it’s all good.

Also, this weekend, I spent a couple of hours on the phone with one of my best girlfriends. Nothing can make you feel better about your parenting than talking to friends who laugh at your mistakes, admit their own and help you plot revenge against those who have wronged you.

It's the best medicine for those pesky knife wounds through the heart; shame modern medicine can't put a patent on that.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

In Which I Write a Novel About My Poor Parenting

Last night I got a phone call from the Man-Cub’s teacher, Ms. W. She wanted to let me know that a parent had complained about my son’s behavior on the playground. The parent indicated that it was an ongoing problem that included my son making racial slurs against the Hispanic kids and essentially begging another child to hit him so that he could hit him back.

I was stunned. That kind of behavior is not even remotely something that I would expect from my son and I told her so. To my relief, she agreed, indicating that the Cub is nothing more than a typical little boy in her classroom; if he does get scolded it is always for either speaking out of turn or for acting the part of the class clown (no idea where he gets that from). She expressed bafflement at the situation but, more than that, she expressed concern for the Cub’s welfare if he was indeed taunting another student into hitting him.

I told Ms. W. that Hugh and I would obviously talk to the Cub that evening to try to get to the bottom of things. I also mentioned the issues we had had with the Cub’s after school program and indicated that punishment would again be delivered swiftly. When I mentioned the after-school situation, however, I noticed that the teacher got a bit quiet. I didn’t think too much about it however, given the fact that I know teachers hate to make these types of phone calls to parents and, assuming that she was just relieved to have it over and done with.

When I picked the Cub up from his new program, I got right to the point; his teacher had called and we were very unhappy with his behavior on the playground. The look of utter confusion on his face was my first clue that not all was right down in Smallville.

But, because I have always said that I am not going to be one of those parents-you know the-My Child Never Does Anything Wrong, You Can’t Blame My Child (and, yes Mrs. Dahmer, I’m sure that little Jeffery is a vegetarian and that there is a reasonable explanation for all these body parts in the fridge) Parent. Yeah, one of those parents, so, instead; I raked my child over the coals for three hours last night trying to get him to tell me what had happened on the playground to require a complaint from another parent.

Three hours.

He was adamant that 1: He would never make racial comments about Hispanic kids because, hello, half his friends are Hispanic and if he did that they might not want to play football with him anymore and 2: He wouldn’t ask someone to hit him because he doesn’t want to get beat up (said with a look of genuine panic at the thought that someone might actually hit him).

I was at a loss. A huge part of me wanted to become one of those parents but I didn’t. I told the Cub that I loved him and that I always would but that I was very disappointed in him for not copping to the truth (and, I may have threatened to send him to the local Catholic school where the nuns are perfectly free to wrap the knuckles of naughty children with a ruler. I AM NOT PROUD!), I also told him that the possible outcome of our meeting with his teacher might be the loss of recess for the rest of the year.

Kid still didn’t crack, insisting that he doesn’t have a problem with anyone, that he doesn’t get picked on nor does he pick on anyone else.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well last night.

Today, when Hugh and I visited with the teacher and I mentioned the name of the kid that he had had problems with in after school programs, she literally blanched. So, I asked her if it was the same kid he was having issues with now and she nodded. When I told her that I had specifically asked the Cub if he still had problems with that kid and that he said he didn’t even see him anymore since quitting after school program she admitted that the kid was notoriously bad about lying and causing problems. Her concern however was that the kid's mother had made the complaint. The mother who, by the way, works at the school as a para-professional and therefore has insight into what goes on on the playground.

She went on to say that the parent had told her that the Cub’s behavior on the playground at recess on the Friday before holiday break was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say, and that was why she had complained to the teacher. She had, after all, seen it with her own two eyes.

Uh, huh.

It was at that precise moment when the realization of what an incredibly horrible parent I am finally hit me. Hard.

Because, as I reminded Ms. W, the Cub didn’t go to recess that day. The Cub was sick and he stayed in for all three recesses, I know because I was at the school that day, helping with the classroom Christmas party and Ms. W. and I had a discussion about how even the sick kids want to go to school on party day. Also, the parent? Same woman who complained that the Cub had given her son the Indian Burn-the offense for which we removed him from after school programs and which he always denied.

Let me tell you, people, Ms. W? Was pissed.

It occurred to her that she had been lied to and used by a parent who might could maybe just have some underlying reason for picking on my son which, I am now convinced is the fact.

Also pissed? My husband who put two and two together once he heard the complaining parent’s name; that’s right, guess who arrested a family member of that particular parent?

I was and still am, livid about the entire situation.

While I feel a great deal of relief about the Cub not being a Jeffery Dahmer in Training, I am appalled at my own handling of the situation.

My son now believes that his parents think he is a liar and cannot be trusted. How do I even begin to repair that damage? How do I convince him that his father and I will always be on his side when frankly, we weren’t? I wasn’t there for my baby and I will never forgive myself for it.

I will, however do my damndest to buy back his love with Webkinz and Nerf products.

I am also going to do my damndest to see that parent/para “professional” censured by the school, starting with the local administration. If that doesn’t work, I’m going all the way to the School Board and, if that doesn’t work, I’m going to taunt her into hitting me on the playground and then I’m going to kick. Her. Ass.

(If you know me in real life you know that confrontation ranks on my list of favorite things right up there with repeatedly hammering myself in the head with a gold club but, this time, I am all in.)

She’s large but, I’m fit; I think I can take her.

I'll still be a shitty parent but at least I'll feel better.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008


Yesterday I waxed poetic about the fact that I am finally on something of a schedule and the fates heard me and went “Oh, look! Girlfriend is getting smug... snap! No routine for you!”

So, The Girl is home sick today. She has what I am certain is her first migraine headache (hormones are a bitch. Oh, and, genetics; genetics are also a bitch) based on her description of both the pain and the “weird, squiggly things” she saw just prior to her head feeling like it was being split in two by the Jaws of Life.

All of which can mean only one thing; Aunt Flo’s inaugural visit will be sooner rather than later. This, by the way, is a fact that caused Hugh to turn several interesting shades of green when I mentioned it to him, earlier (which amused me greatly).

Poor baby (The Girl, not Hugh. As I just said, his discomfort amuses me), I really hoped she would dodge the migraine bullet but, with such a strong history of the headaches in my family, her chances were never very good and the best that I can hope for now is to get her into the doctor for a prescription that will work (I tried several different drugs unsuccessfully before hitting on Imitrex which works like magic for me).

I just hope she does not also inherit my other PMS symptoms; I do not think our grocery budget could stand another chocoholic carb addict in the family.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Finally, a Routine! Of Sorts.

The kids started back to school today, Emily and I have finally found a rhythm to working together in the cramped office space that we share at the store and I am back on the diet and fitness wagon. I cannot tell you how much I need a routine to keep me focused and on track which is so weird given my Sagittarius tendencies towards impulsiveness; I am an enigma wrapped in a mystery and smothered in inconsistency.

Don’t I sound delicious?

Of course, now that I am finally starting to feel somewhat settled, I have been called upon to head back to Old Job to train my replacement. Happily, I will be setting my own schedule which will be dependent upon learning just exactly how much money New Girl is making; if they started her anywhere near what it took me eight and a half years to earn, she can damn well train herself.

Did that sound bitchy? Oh, well.

This afternoon I am also returning to my woman’s club, meetings for which have been suspended since our Christmas party early in December. I miss the ladies who lunch and am looking forward to reconnecting with everyone.

This evening I will spend two hours on the couch with my daughter watching the season premiere of One Tree Hill. I have no love for the Hill but The Girl lurves the Chad Michael Murray and I am loathe to let her watch such a sophisticated show unsupervised.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Also, this evening, I plan to harp in the harpiest way that a harpy ever did harp until Hugh takes down the outside Christmas lights, hangs the framed black and white photos that I brought back from Old Office in my home office, and installs our new home computer (squee!).

With routine comes one hell of a honey-do list, apparently. But, did I mention how happy having a routine makes me? And, when Momma is happy, everyone is happy.

Cocktails all around!

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Why, Hello God! What Are You Doing at the Hellmouth?

Yesterday, as The Girl, two of her friends and I were shopping, a pickup truck slammed through the front door of the Hellouth and into the jewelry department, pushing jewelry cases into the electronics department and almost to sporting goods. Glass rain showered the store.

The driver of the pickup had suffered a heart attack while navigating the parking lot and had passed out with his foot jammed against the accelerator. He was unconscious behind the wheel when the truck burst through the heavy front doors of the store. The truck hit at least four people and numerous other people were injured by flying glass.

It could have been the most tragic thing that our small city had ever experienced.

Instead, not one person was seriously injured. The driver himself was upgraded today from critical to serious condition.

Just prior to the truck hitting the building, I had been in the electronics department, picking up a memory card for my camera. The girls were in the pharmacy section grabbing something for me; we had just rendezvoused in the grocery section when we heard the first in a series of loud crashes followed by the store employees’ frantic calls for help on the loudspeakers.

The Hellmouth is the last place I ever expected to feel the grace of God but, there you are; we were all together in the safest section of the store when the accident occurred, none of the people hit by the car were injured badly enough to require long-term hospitalization and the driver is expected to make a full recovery.

God was looking out for us and angels were working overtime. In fact, the only casualty of the accident was the Hellmouth’s daily profit margin.

Aww, poor widdle Hellmouth.

P.S. I did not take this picture. Unlike some people, I am not a lookie-loo who gets in the way of emergency personnel when they need to do their job. Just sayin'. Also, I have never seen so many cell phones whipped out so fast by so many people in my entire life.

Friday, January 04, 2008

Old Scale Was a Big Fat Liar

The following conversation with Old Scale took place in my closet (where Old Scale was banished following the purchase of New Scale) this morning following my first weigh-in on New Scale.

Chelle: The hell Old Scale? A five-pound difference? Five pounds? You’ve been lying to me all this time? Why?

Old Scale: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Chelle: Wha?! What I’m talking about? I’m talking about the fact that New Scale just informed me that I weigh five pounds more than what you have been telling me. And don’t you even try to tell me that it’s water weight, either because he measures that, too.

Old Scale: And you choose to believe this New Scale character over me, your friend, and the scale that saw you through the thirty-two pound weight loss? The scale you have visited every Friday morning for the past three years? You’re going to believe that new guy?

Chelle: He’s scientific!

Old Scale: Whatever. I was just telling you what you wanted to hear, anyway.

Chelle: I hate you.

Old Scale: Don’t kid yourself, baby; you’ll be crying for me the next time New Scale tells you something you don’t want to hear. Crying. For. Me.

Chelle: Whatever, Old Scale. You bastard.

And I thought my relationship with New Scale would be heavy on the hate.


Thursday, January 03, 2008

Sugar Detox, Day Three

Head aching. Check.

Heart racing. Check.

Energy levels in the toilet. Check, check (fell asleep at the dinner table last night).

Cravings barely controllable. CHECK.

Yep. Detox program is right on schedule.

Yesterday I blew the dust off my exercise videos and started back on my program. Today I am sore but not to the point that I want to die. Tonight I am doing DVD number two, which includes weights and lunges so; the desire for a quick death should kick in around this time, tomorrow.

As an incentive to sticking with a healthy diet and excercise program, I bought a new scale, a really high-tech fancy-ass scale that computes body weight, body fat percentage and water percentage. It also stores your weight in memory so it can tell you precisely how much weight, fat, water, etc. you have gained lost each week. I anticipate having a love-hate relationship with Mr. Scale, heavy on the hate.

For breakfast this morning, I had a bowl of Special K with skim milk. It tasted a lot like I would imagine hay to taste and had a similar texture so, when I do my grocery shopping this week I will be looking for a good low fat, low cal cereal that does not taste like ass. Suggestions are welcome.

On a completely unrelated subject, Oscar and Emily should be back from Chicago tomorrow so, we will soon know just how spectacularly I managed to screw things up at the store this past two weeks (kidding, I have done a remarkable job if I do say so myself and, I do). I have gotten the hang of pretty much all the daily tasks and at least have an understanding of the quarterly, yearly stuff, etc. I’m not bored yet and I have only wanted to kill my husband a handful of times so, overall, the new career is going well.

As an aside, the ratio between how many times I have wanted to kill my husband at home compared to the number of times I have wanted to kill him at work are approximately 5:1 so, it might make sense for us to spend less time together at home and more time together at the store. Who knew!

Also, I am kidding. We actually work and live quite well together and, once again, who knew?

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to drop The Girl off at her friend’s house for a play date. She has spent the last half hour asking, “Are we going yet? Can we go now? When are we going? Are you done yet?” and is thisclose to getting a serious noogie.

Girlfriend needs to learn that you do not mess with a woman on a sugar detox.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

What a Difference a New Year Makes

Happy 2008! I hope your new year is going well so far. Mine is starting out quite nicely, thank you for asking. Our party last night was a blast, literally (as an aside, when the cops show up to remind you that fireworks are illegal and you are, in fact, a police officer, there may have been a tad too much alcohol on the agenda, Hugh).

Jana and I wupped up on the men in our lives during a rousing game of Pictionary and, maybe it’s just me but; I am a far better artist with a few glasses of wine under my belt than I could ever hope to be while stone-cold sober.

We continued the festivities today with our annual sledding trip and, although it was colder than in any year past, we had a great time. Rowdie was especially entertaining to watch since he seemed to think that sledding down the hill on Hugh’s lap was better than a new bone. Luckily, Hugh didn’t mind the company.

Tonight, the children are spending the night at Jana’s so Hugh and I took advantage of the time alone by going to see National Treasure 2. I highly recommend it.

Tomorrow, it is back on the diet and exercise bandwagon as my diet lately has consisted primarily of sugar and fat; not a good combination for either the waistline or the complexion, I assure you.

Other than the determination to pull my cholesterol levels out of the stratosphere, I haven’t really made any New Year’s resolutions. I would like to be a more patient parent, a goal to which I am sure, many of you can relate. I would also like to spend less money on stupid shit but, seeing as that was a resolution circa 2005, 2006 and 2007, I don’t hold out a great deal of hope for 2008.

Maybe 2009