My Christmas List.

I haven’t given much thought to what I’d like for Christmas this year, probably because Husband hasn’t asked me yet. Hmph. So this morning as I was applying concealer to my dark undereye circles I started thinking … what would I like for Christmas?

Here is my grown-up Christmas list:

1. A breast lift. I thought I wanted to wait until after I was done having kids, but after the week I’ve had … I think I’m done.

2. A gift certificate to a bariatric weight loss clinic. No, I’m not above that. In fact, I’d embrace it.

3. Someone to buy our house for the amount we owe on it.

4. To be near my mother and mother-in-law so I could get a break now and then.

5. A break now and then.

6. That vein-zapping treatment for the backs of my legs, which I discovered last night are a virtual road map of blue lines.

7. Cute workout clothes. Because as soon as I finish typing out this list, I’m loading up the kids and making a trip to the YMCA to join. I planned to go yesterday, but we went and got a Christmas tree instead.

Yes … all of the items pretty much have to do with vanity. Even numbers 4 and 5, because if I had a “break now and then,” I would likely use it to shave my legs. I’ll leave the virtuous wishes (world peace) to someone else.

Happy December 1st!

Sign Me UP.

$76 a month for a membership to the YMCA down the street that offers childcare? That’s a lot of money. Several weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I could justify spending it … we are already pretty tight on funds.

But now? I would probably pay double that much, and just skimp on food and toilet paper for my family. I am DYING over here. Why did we start having kids when we live 6 hours from our parents? That was not the best decision we’ve made. Now we have a mortgage on a house we need to sell, and hopefully one day we will return to our homeland where our mothers reside.

Until then … I need a break. If I have to take a spinning class or yogalates or sit in a locker room to get it, then by golly, SIGN ME UP. My ass is huge and my kids are crazy. Something has to give.


My ears are RINGING. Like actually, physically, hurting from three-year-old chatter. Nonstop. All. Day. Long.

Mommy. Mommy. MOMMY! Baby Asher smells like pepperoni. Let me smell you. Oh! You smell like pepperoni too! Do you have a horse, Mommy? A real horse? Not a pretend horse, but a real one, with a mouth? What about goldfish? No, not the crackers. Real goldfish. The kind that swim. Why don’t we have fish in the house? Fish don’t eat people. Did you know that, Mommy? Sometimes big fish eat small fish, but they don’t eat people. It would be safe to have one. I wouldn’t let it hurt you. Or the baby … Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Where are  you going? What is that? What are you doing? What are you drinking? Is that juice? Can I have some? Why not?

Yes. It’s juice. Fermented juice. 

I’m exhausted.

Sleep Training.

Last night was TWO’s first night sleeping without his Woombie. A Woombie is a zip-up swaddler that literally saved my sanity when colic was taking over my life. It’s really cute, in a Hannibal Lecter kind of way.

Yes, those are my feet.

I had an epiphany two days ago and realized that TWO will never learn how to self-soothe, and therefore sleep like the rock I wish he would, without access to his hands. So that means sleeping without the straightjacket. That scares the crap out of me.

It’s not the same as when ONE was three months old and we were growing out of the hellish colic phase. I could let ONE fuss and cry if needed — I didn’t jump out of bed at every little sound. But this time it’s different. I don’t sleep much. Because if TWO gets cranked up, and he can get to that point quickly, his big brother will wake up and that opens up a whole new problem I don’t care to deal with in the middle of the night.

Last night, at midnight, both kids were awake and Husband was snoring soundly through all of it. I finally chose to handle it by pointing a serious Mom finger at my older boy … I have a vague recollection of saying something like I don’t want to hear it/go back to sleep/you better keep your butt in bed … and apparently it scared him into quieting down. He never came out of his room. He whined and then went back to sleep.

Since when did I learn the Mom finger? 

Probably when I decided to start using a switch.


Sometimes, when people meet me, they mistake my happiness for ditziness. It’s happened to me my whole life. It used to offend me … if I found out later. But now I just think it’s FUNNY.

Another common mistake: thinking that niceness = weakness. 

It does not.

I am happy because I choose to be happy. I have problems I could focus on, if I wanted to. I could let them drag me down. I could harp on them. But why? Why would I want to be unhappy, when I can be happy instead? 

This is something I’ve never understood about the people who are wallowing in their sorrows and can’t or don’t want to pull themselves out of it. These are usually the same people who think I’m ditzy.

I strongly feel that you get out of life what you put into it. I complain and bitch as much as the next person, but at the end of the day I really am happy with everything that I have. We get one chance to live this life. I recommend LIVING it, problems and all.

This concludes today’s sermon.

Proof That I’m Losing It.

I’m losing it. 

Not that you people couldn’t already see my mental state unraveling before your very eyes, via this blog. TWO is almost three months old and, I have finally come to grips with the fact that I’m on the cusp of … something. What it is exactly, I do not know yet. A mental or emotional breakdown? Postpartum depression come late? Or perhaps just a break THROUGH, where I will accept the things I cannot change (my children, my husband), embrace the madness that is my life, and stop worrying about whether I am doing anything right.

Today I let one of my sons hang out in the laundry for awhile, and the other one has been wearing my apron all day. 

I see nothing wrong with this.

I DO see something wrong with the fact that I walked around the house with a Magic Eraser today and most of the marks on the walls were caused by Husband and not a child. I’d like to go into more detail here, or maybe a crazed rant, but I love my Husband and talking trash about him on the World Wide Web seems wrong somehow.

But seriously … HOW CAN ONE MAN DESTROY SO MUCH? When he gets home, I’m going to look at him like this:

Lapses In Judgment.

When I am sleep-deprived, I tend to make questionable decisions. This may involve anything from wearing a terrible outfit in public (these pants aren’t too tight … they don’t show my crack … do they? I’m sure it’s fine …) to something more serious like choosing to skip a final exam in college because I was too. tired. to. get. up. Tired, not hung over. I wish to clarify this.

At this point in my life, I am in a constant state of sleep deprivation. The other day I spent 10 minutes sitting in my driveway trying to figure out how to plug my GPS into the car charger. I have had this GPS for months. Charged it numerous times. Finally I turned off the car, brought it inside and demanded angrily at Husband to please show me how it plugged in, because clearly it was his fault that I couldn’t figure it out.

Two months ago, the idea of attending a midnight movie premiere sounded FUN, like something a girl who had just had a baby would love to do. In reality, it was pure torture. I put both kids to sleep, changed out of my jammies and chugged a 5-Hour Energy drink. I decided to use a mantra: TAP INTO YOUR TWENTIES. TAP INTO YOUR TWENTIES. Because there was a span of time in my life where I slept very little and still managed to function in the daytime, thanks to crack a whole lot of energy drinks.

My friend (also a mom) and I had to give ourselves a major pep talk just to make it through the previews. I felt old. I felt really, really old. But … we did it. We made it through the fourth installment of the cheesiest movie series EVER. I made it home and got in bed at 3 a.m. which did not make me feel like I was living some sort of exciting life. It made me want to slit my wrists.

Lest you think I didn’t actually go out and do this stupid thing, here is proof in photo:

What’s that? You want to know what we’re drinking? It was called a Breaking Dawn. That’s right. It was the $5 special. And yes, I was definitely holding up my lanyard for the photo. We were VIP. That stands for Very Important Person.

Guess what I got to take home with me?! A shirt with a big ol’ J on it. My swag bag had an “E” shirt in it, and I swapped it out. I felt like an idiot the entire time the swapping process was going down, but I figured I had the lanyard around my neck and I was in a theater when I wanted desperately to be asleep, so I may as well get the right t-shirt.

Four hours of sleep and a pot of coffee later, I decided it would be the perfect time to shop online for Christmas presents. A big apology to my entire family for the items they will receive from us this year, because I have no idea if they are AWESOME or TERRIBLE. What I find the funniest about all of this is the fact that Husband had nothing to do with any of it, yet his name will be front and center on every one of those gift tags. 

Happy Holidays!