Mr. Meaty's Feeding Her Lines

I pinned my hair back last night before I started cooking dinner. It was nothing special, different from what I ever do with my hair, but I kind of liked it.

Later that evening, as I was tucking Jessica in to bed, I bent down to give her a kiss goodnight:

"Mom. I really like what you've done with your hair. How did you get it to grow out of your nostrils that way?"

Nice one.

In Case You Were Wondering....

This is my life today:

A nameless member of my family (namely, one of the munchkins I live with) took an apocalyptic crap a little while ago and I'm waiting for the bathroom to air out since I don't have a Yankee Candle to burn in there anymore.

Once it airs out, I'll get set to play plumber, minus the crack, and take apart the bathroom sink to unclog the massive plug of wax stopping up the drain. I had a Yankee Candle blooming in the bathroom yesterday and someone decided to pour the pool of wax down the drain.

So yesterday after I discovered the layer of wax coating the sink drain and subsequently discovered that a pool of it must've set up in the elbow and hardened after I ran the water and watched the sink fill up, I began jamming a chopstick down the drain to loosen up some chunks of wax. And then I snaked a straightened out wire hanger (bite me Mommy Dearest...I have wire hangers in my house) and jammed that down the drain some more. Interesting tidbit: Wax floats. So everytime I let loose a bunch of wax, it would float up the drain and into the sink. Seeing large chunks of wax floating to the top gives me the same satisfaction as peeling off large flakes of skin when your skin peels after a sunburn.

I've figured out how to get my kids to eat their meals. Starve them. Don't give them snacks. And then when it's meal time, they'll eat. So now their appetites won't be filled with 99% snack food and 1% percent well rounded meal food.

Brendon had his last day of baseball clinic today. Other than getting pushed around by some of the older kids (he was the youngest boy in the clinic) he had a blast. He wanted it to last until Saturday. I thought maybe he was being bullied because he was the youngest twerp, but it turns out they were rambunctious and Brendon got caught up in the fray. He made plenty of friends and would like to do it again the next time the academy offers up another clinic.

When Kids Are On Winter Break Vacation....Hit Youtube For Sanity

When you hear statements like:

"Mom, I need the vaccuum...because I need it...um...for something."

"Mom, close your eyes...I have a present for you." And the gift is a wet hot mess.

Go to Youtube for some laughs.

The Boys Of Summer

"I'm going to miss this tonight."

That is how Brendon expressed to me how much he liked baseball clinic. He didn't want the experience to end.

"Well, you'll be going again first thing tomorrow morning, so you won't have to wait too much longer", I said half helpfully and half tongue in cheek.

He is attending everyday while on Winter break this week.

He told me how they taught him a new way to hold the ball when he pitches.

They taught him to keep his foot forward and hold his head up when he's at bat.

He said he didn't know a single boy there, but he eventually made some friends.

A little bit of Summer to break up the heavy Winter.

Tomorrow we're getting a mix of sleet and snow to add to the mass of compacted, crispy snow we have on the ground already.

Dreaming of green grass, warm sun, and billows of dust coating faces of some who are bored and others who are earnestly waiting for the ball to come their way.

He loved every minute of baseball clinic despite the fact he found himself to be 45 and drank a juice at the end of the session today.

Tomorrow, I'll make adjustments to his basal to make sure he doesn't drop down so low. And I'll remind him to check himself sooner, maybe during snack.

The feel of bat in hand, practicing the proper swing is what calls out to him.

Throwing the ball as fast as he can while his fingers grip the white leather the way he was taught is what drives him.

He doesn't have to worry about anything other than being a boy of summer.

Candy Cigarette

The girl in the previous post is actually holding a candy cigarette. It was taken in 1989.

The photo below:


Damaged Child (1984)

Your immediate reaction might be that the child has been beaten, but actually, the child is allergic to gnat bites and was bitten up one summer.

Sally Mann is one artist that gets me thinking and has me identifying with her point of view. I guess because I have three children of my own as she does.

I found it interesting that pictures of her kids who were dirty and unsmiling were seen as neglected and/or beaten children by critics I came across while learning more about her this weekend.

When I saw her pictures, it never occurred to me to think along those lines. I guess because from my own experience and what I've seen my own kids go through, they just seemed like they were playing outside all day. Frumpled, crazy hair. And that perhaps the photos were taken more spontaneously. To me, the photos were REAL rather than posed and say cheese...smile for the camera kind of shots.

Kids aren't always shiny, happy people. Even when they aren't smiling, they can be happy.

Well, that is my culture experience for the time being.

A Day With The Ladies

How do you feel about this photograph? What does it tell you about the girl? Let me know in the comment section.

Yesterday, I met up with some of my OC friends, Nicole, Kerri, and Julia for a play and an early dinner afterward.

Nicole was thoughtful enough to invite us to see the play about Sally Mann at the playhouse where she works in Rhode Island.

Sally Mann, a famous and controversial photographer of many different subjects, has been more famously criticized for nude photos of her own children with critics citing they push the boundaries of child pornography.

Sally Mann's provocative choice of subject is based upon the everyday life she and her family lived on their expansive and isolated land. Her children lived a more feral life, as she did during her own childhood, with her children often running around nude (as mine have and still often do).

So, to many who are used to living a more structured lifestyle, Sally's subject matter may seem taboo.

What is taboo to certain people in our society isn't necessarily taboo for others. So, essentially, who is to dictate what is acceptable and what isn't.

During the Talk Back after the play, Nicole brought up an excellent point that while the photographer has her own innocent point of view of her subjects, it's the audience who brings their own experience to the photo thereby marking it as innocent or controversial.

I personally love the freedom of her children. There is no pretense in their actions and they aren't harnessed by society's boundaries. Sally Mann's photos are snapshots of her children's natural, innocent tendencies. Children have no preconceived notions of what is acceptable behavior until it is pressed upon them by adults.

So, this is my intellectual take on a really interesting woman.

I so badly wanted to participate in the Talk Back discussion (btw, we were the youngest audience members there amongst very distiguished looking "early bird specialists") and throw the word "taboo" into my comment. I felt like I could've contributed something intellectual if I did that, LOL. Instead, I sat in a murky haze caused by a double dose of cough medicine I took so I wouldn't hack all over the girls and the elderly folk.

Afterward, we walked around the corner to a little pub where, amongst other "provocative" subject matter, we talked about how hairy/hairless our significant others were. The intellectual flow went rolling right along......

May The Good Lord Save My Soul...True Love Triumphs Over Sphincter Failure

I think the hardest thing to do is to click on 'publish post'.

When I was in college, I'd drive a few hours from South Jersey to Upstate New York on the weekends to visit Jeff. I'd only bring enough clothes to get me through a couple of days.

The Sunday I was to leave to return to school, we ordered Chinese takeout. After we ate, I was laying in bed reading a book and my stomach felt funky. Like it was empty and a little sore.

It was time for me to drive back to school, and about 20 minutes into my ride, I felt like I was going to throw up. I knew I'd never make it back to school, so I turned around and drove back to Jeff's house.

I finally got there, ran through the door, up the stairs and made it to the gracious porcelain god just in time to feed him some dim sum and chicken lo mein.

I wasn't going back to school afterall. And that moment was just the start of my nightmare.

I felt awful at that point and crawled into bed. Jeff asked if there was anything he could do, and I said there was nothing, to just let me sleep it off.

The food poisoning just kept getting worse. I threw up a couple of more times. Later, I was burning the candle at both ends, so to speak. There was enough food that traversed through my intestinal track to give me a good dose of the trots.

To make a cruel sickness even more evil, as I'd throw up, it would come out the other end too....at the same goddamned time!

I started dipping into Jeff's underwear drawer because I went through my own skivvies. I didn't think he'd mind.

I was in a world of hurt.

Well, I finally fell asleep for the night after my ordeal, but something woke me up. It was another wave of nausea.

There was something else that woke me up too. It was the feeling of wetness in the underwear I was wearing. My sphincter failed me miserably and let the digested Chinese dinner escape while I slept. Those sneaky bastards.

Here I am, a grown, sophisticated, college educated woman shitting her pants. Nice!

I was humiliated and was convinced that Jeff would be thoroughly disgusted with me and never want to lay eyes, or anything else on me again!

He just left me to my own devices and probably curled up into a safe place in his mind to protect himself from my intestinal assault.

Thank sweet adorable baby Jesus that he bought a shitload of underwear because I must've gone through 5 pairs.

I was sick for a couple of more days, able to keep down fluids, and finally returned to school by Wednesday.

Lo and behold, Jeff called me and asked if I made it home OK. And then I visited him the next weekend. We ordered pizza this time.

Communication With Your Kids And School Is Key

Yesterday, Jeff had a talk with Brendon about the football incident at school (see previous post). Amongst the daddy wisdom he imparted upon Brendon was the suggestion that in order for everyone who plays the game to be on the same page, to literally take a page and write down rules that everyone must follow.

Now, in order for Brendon to not come off as Mr. Boss again, Jeff suggested that everyone picks a rule to put down on paper.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

Well, today Brendon suggested the idea to his friends and they were all for it.

Each boy made a rule. The one that wasn't included was blocking!

They had their teacher makes copies for herself, each of the boys, and the recess teacher.

Today, they played a game of football while Brendon refereed.

--------------------------------------------

Jeff talked to the Vice Principal of the school about the fact that Brendon's glucose wasn't tested during his act of aggression although a low blood sugar wasn't the reason for his behavior.

She said she totally understood because she has a male relative who has diabetes and he gets aggressive when he's low, so she understands the importance of checking Brendon. Plus, she knows we're not trying to use his diabetes as an excuse to keep him out of trouble, so our credibility isn't being questioned which helps with the school's staff be more cooperative and not so quick to undermine the plan.

Next week, we'll meet with her and the guidance counselor to review the plan we have in place. A suggestion I'm going to make is that a list of procedures be planted in each place where Brendon will be throughout the school day so that if he acts out or misbehaves, the teacher on hand can refer to the procedures and take the planned action rather than give an immediate reprimand.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

Playground Rules

One of the only outstanding signs of a low that Brendon shows is aggression.

Brendon handed me a form from school that had marks on it indicating he was not safe, responsible, or respectful.

The teacher in charge of recess wrote that he admitted to pushing players down to the ground during a football game to get to the quarterback.

I asked Brendon why he did this and he said he had to do it to get to the quarterback because he had to push the blockers out of the way. I told him that playing at school is different. At school, he shouldn't look at the game to win, but to just throw, catch, and run because he can get into trouble if he plays too rough as proven by the form that was sent home.

He started getting frustrated with the conversation, but I kept my cool because it would only escalate his temper.

He opened up to me some more and told me the other boys were fighting with him and that he was getting mad at them and wished he banned them from the game. I asked why he didn't tell the teacher. He said he didn't want to. But after talking to him further, it turned out that they weren't listening to his advice about not playing a blocking game. Today was the first day they played a blocking game. Usually they just play pass and run. He said if it's his ball that he brings in everyday, then he should be the one to make the rules.

That is an issue we'll need to deal with and teach him about compromise.

A little light went off in my head and I asked if he thought he was low during recess. He said he didn't know because he was never tested.

In the plan we gave the school, it states that if he shows any form of aggression or frustration, then his glucose is to be tested due to those being, most of the time, the only signs of a low that he exhibits.

I told Brendon that we would talk to the guidance counselor about making sure he gets tested during recess when he starts getting aggressive like that.

So, tomorrow, we're calling the school to go over the provisions in the plan and to make sure that each and every teacher who has to deal with him knows the steps they have to take when they see Brendon misbehaving.

For now, he has to face the consequences because after reviewing his pre-lunch number and his after recess number, there was no way he was low during the recess incident.

He's accepted the punishment and knows he did something wrong. Hopefully in the future he'll be able to finesse the team members a little better.

8 Is Enough

8 Things I’m Passionate About.
1. My family.
2. Diabetes (cure and improved care).
3. Eddie Vedder.
4. Irreverent writers/comics.
5. Reading.
6. Rainbows.
7. Unicorns.
8. A world without blemishes and swear words.

8 Things I Want to Do Before I Die.
1. Grow old.
2. Witness Brendon being cured.
3. Taste absinthe.
4. Travel through Spain, Italy, Morroco.
5. Lose the last 12 pounds I've got on me.
6. Not regret my mistakes.
7. Live a satisfyingly full life.
8. Hear my kids say "You're a good mom".

8 Things I Say Often.
1. Move it, you idiot (said to other drivers).
2. Why are you crying?
3. Let me drink my coffee.
4. No.
5. I'm dying (when something is funny).
6. Do you have/did you do your homework?
7. C'mon, stop it.
8. Oh my God.

8 Books I’ve Read Recently.
1. Answered Prayers by Truman Capote
2. Empire Falls by Richard Russo
3. A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle
4. The Apprentice by Jacques Pepin
5. Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell
6. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
7. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
8. Music for Chameleons by Truman Capote

8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over.
1. Why Do I Lie? - Luscious Jackson
2. Elderly Woman Behind the Counter In A Small Town - Pearl Jam
3. Trouble - Ray Lamontagne
4. Black - Pearl Jam
5. Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
6. Square One - Tom Petty
7. Bonnie Brae - The Twilight Singers
8. Given To Fly - Pearl Jam

8 Things That Attract Me to My Best Friends.
1. They appreciate me for who I am.
2. They make me laugh.
3. They think I'm funny.
4. They're genuinely nice people.
5. They're supportive.
6. They don't criticize.
7. They're easy to talk to.
8. They're down to earth.

My Crazy Ass WW Leader...Skip To The 5 My Darling

I didn't post last week. I lost .6 pounds at Week 4 by the way.

Tonight my leader (if aliens ever land, I will name her as such if they ask) talked about writing a cookbook. She said when she mentioned it to her Nashua group, they said she should write a book about her life.

She told them if she did, it would be filled wirty dords and dirty jokes. I must be dyslexic because I heard wirty dords correctly until someone laughed and asked if she said that on purpose. She did.

I have a weigh-in ritual that is borderline disorder. I wear the same exact clothes every week or at least similar in weight. I don't wear a bra (gasp!!) and I step on the same scale. And I eat very light (as in light in weight) foods so that it doesn't add to my weight too much. I even take off all of my jewelry, even my wedding and anniversary bands.....my suburban bling adds weight, dontcha know.

A few weeks ago, a member brought a friend in who was joining for the first time. I could tell the friend was an amateur from checking out what she was wearing and the member pointed out to her friend all of her weigh-in mistakes (she didn't even know I was thinking what she was saying):

The friend was wearing a t-shirt, a hoodie, glasses, jeans, piercings, a headband, and lots of jewelry. The member listed off everything she was wearing and said it was going to add to her weight.

Holy shit we are all out of order!

I wore my bra tonight, and despite that, I lost 2.6 pounds.

SLAP

I take for granted the daily tasks I do day in and day out.

Make breakfast
Check glucose
Fold laundry
Grocery shop
Sit down to dinner
Dose insulin

For five years, there was something about the way I coped with managing Brendon's diabetes that I couldn't put my finger on, but I finally did the other night.

Brendon was tested in the middle of the night, and he was a 45.

So I made a sandwich while Jeff brought juice up to him.

We roused Brendon from his deep sleep and we picked him up to prop him upright. He sat on the bed on his hands and knees, one fisted hand rubbing the sleep and confusion out of his eyes as we put the cup to his lips and he took sips.

I put the sandwich to his mouth and watched him eat.

SLAP. Out came diabetes with a white glove and slapped me across the face.

"DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M DOING TO YOUR SON? LOOK AT THE THINGS I DO TO HIM! CAN'T YOU SEE IT?!"

Yes I can. I can see it. Clear and crisp.

I watched Brendon take bites of the sandwich and couldn't hold back the tears. I turned my head from Jeff and tilted it downward so that Brendon couldn't see the tears either.

What I couldn't put my finger on all those years and finally did that night was that I go through day to day management tasks with little emotion behind it....my senses were dulled.

But, that night, Brendon and his condition were brought into crystal clarity and I felt it.

Diabetes has lightly slapped me on other occasions during the most mudane of times, like when I'm weighing food, or giving Brendon a cotton ball to soak up the blood from his finger. And although I'd rouse from my own slumber and see the depth of Brendon and his condition, it would only last a second, and I could never articulate the effect or reasoning behind those slaps.....until now.

My senses are razor sharp.

I Was Raped By The Marketing Machine...And I Think I Liked It.

The kids have been cooped up in the house all weekend since we were working on painting Brendon's room, so we decided to take the kids out today.

Jeff suggested taking them to see the much publicized movie, Hannah Does Montana (Julia has rights to Hannah Fucking Montana). And man, does Hannah do it right!

$15 per ticket.

Nowhere on the movie theater website, nor in the movie theater itself does it state that tickets, each and every fucking one of them, costs $15.

Jeff pointed that out to the ticket boy, so the kid gloriously cut us a break and charged us for only 4 tickets instead of 5.

We didn't even get to keep the 3-D glasses!

I was bitter and ready to rip the movie to shreds, but it wasn't half bad.

I can't say it was worth $15 necessarily, but the kids sat through it with only ONE bathroom run and only bugged us a short lived ONCE for more popcorn after they finished their share, so it was a pleasant outing.

We don't take them out often at all, so I'll let the cost of this outing slide.

Smut On The Cartoon Network

At 2 a.m. during my nightly round of insomnia, as I was watching The Bourne Ultimatum and wondering who would win a fight-Jackie Chan or Jason Bourne, Jessica came into the room saying her ear hurt.

I gave her some medicine, told her to lay on the futon in the play room, and watch some cartoons until she fell asleep.

The only thing she could find remotely cartoonish was on Cartoon Network.

OK. Fine.

I finished watching the movie, ventured into the playroom to check on her, and sat at the computer to tweak some links on my blog's sidebar per her request to stay in the room until she fell asleep.

As I'm hypnotically sitting at the computer, I hear the droning of the TV in the background and all of a sudden, PENIS jumps out at me.

I couldn't have heard that right, so I turn to see what cartoon is playing.

I half heartedly listen, but PENIS jumps out of the dialogue again.

WHAT??!! I can't believe they're saying PENIS on the Cartoon Network!!

So I pay closer attention and quickly look at Jessica, who to my relief is sound asleep.

And realize it's an adult cartoon!

Apparently, the jackasses who are in charge of programming decided that it's totally appropriate to show adult cartoons on a network geared toward kids. And apparently, although it was after primetime, these programming "geniuses" don't have kids otherwise they'd realize that there are kids who are up at ungodly hours for ungodly reasons needing to watch TV to give their parents an ungodly smidgen of sleep....especially during those times when kids are sick.

I also hear:

"If you don't tell me where the goods are, you're going to be thrown in jail where big men will cornhole you in the pants."

Wow.

I'm not a prude by any means, but let kiddie cartoon stations be strictly for kids no matter what time it is.

The Second Coming Of Anthony Bourdain

"....that elegant three-star concoction is the collaborative effort of a team of 'wacked-out moral degenerates, dope fiends, refugees, a thuggish assortment of drunks, sneak thieves, sluts, and psychopaths,' in all likelihood pierced or tattooed and incapable of uttering a sentence without an expletive or a foreign phrase."
-Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential


When I read that passage in Kitchen Confidential, my mind immediately brought Jacob into focus. Is that my son folded into the description of the hardscrabble world of chefs?

Jacob is my sous chef in the kitchen. He is completely and utterly fascinated by the kitchen world. I have my cutting knives and pointy objects, like lobster forks, high up on a shelf in the kitchen cabinet because of his penchant for pulling them out once upon a time (when he was around two) and said, "I want to cook!" I felt like a negotiator calmly speaking to a crazed criminal who was on the edge of calm, weilding very sharp knives.

I gave him a cookbook written by Alice Water's daughter, Fanny At Chez Panisse, that he reads like a story book.

He knows how to cook oatmeal in the microwave and adds cinnamon with milk, he makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the mess, and he toast waffles, cutting them into strips with a butter knife and dips them in a small cup of syrup. He also whips up a mean batch of scrambled eggs....all at the tender age of 4 years old. Yes, safety is high priority in the kitchen, so don't think he stands over a hot flame while cooking the eggs! His responsibilities are to whisk the eggs and to tell me when I should take them off the flame.

While Jessica and Brendon are off in their own little worlds bickering, or watching Hannah Fucking Montana, Jacob is in the kitchen with me assisting in adding spices and opinions as to what else to add to a meal. "How about adding soy sauce, mommy."

He is the one to get into the most trouble in the family. All fingers point to Jacob when a scribbling is discovered on the wall, or black tipped matches are discovered in the corner of the kitchen.

So, I feel that in order to harness his deviant behavior and direct it toward the good light, I am taking advantage of his interest in cooking by teaching him all he needs to know to make spectacular meals.

Maybe one day you'll see him on the Food Network instead of America's Most Wanted ;)

Ember

I feel it's time to spend one on one time with my kids. We are always together and our relations are filled with vying for attention from me that I can't give to each one as they need.

I particularly feel the need to spend alone time with Jessica. I'd like to take Jessica to mother/daughter outings away from our testosterone filled house whether it's doing something girly like getting manicures together, doing something 'cultural' like going to a children's museum, or simply hanging out in a little restaurant having lunch.

I thought if I started now, we'd have the establishment of a relationship where she can feel comfortable opening up to me later on.

I can be excited for her as she tells me about a vibrant love.

I can relate to her broken heart and tell her that although the pain is palpable, she'll overcome the hurt and that the best revenge is to live a good life.

I can relate to deciding whether to trust first instinct, or intellect, or the heart.

I can reassure her that making mistakes are OK. It helps a person improve their lives and decision making skills provided you don't be an idiot by making the same mistakes over and over.

I can counsel her on decisions she's making in her life if she asks.

Or I can simply listen.

It would be nice to relate to my daughter aside from disciplining and telling her to get her pajamas on and brush her teeth.

I don't expect to be a friend, but I do hope that as her mother, she'll see me as someone she can trust and not fear judgement for how she conducts her life provided it's not hurtful to herself or others. Only then might I become a meddling mother.

The Little Buddha

Brendon was always a contemplative baby. He'd quietly sit and study the activity in the room. He had a round head and a very round belly. I called him Little Buddha. I always wondered what he could possibly be thinking in that round baby head of his.


When he was old enough to crawl, he'd make his way to the coffee table, pull himself up and onto it, turn himself around and sit in a pose with soles of his feet touching and his hands rested upon his knees.

He'd simply take in all that was happening, sitting there like a Little Buddha with his round belly.

Nothing shook him. No matter what, he was stoic.

When he was diagnosed with diabetes, something was unleashed inside of him. He'd fly into rages as his body took in the insulin we injected and tried to make sense of a new way of living. He became moody and combative as the ups and downs of his body's blood sugars tossed him this way and that.

He is different now. I don't say that in judgement. He is who he is. He influences the world around him rather than watch it go by. But, I still remember his round head and his round belly and the way he sat, contemplating the world around him.

Isolation In The Suburbs

I thought moving to the suburbs would be filled with socializing, kids playing in the streets and backyards, and meeting all sorts of great people.

I imagined it would be the way it was during my childhood.

I'm not outrageously outgoing, but I don't have a problem starting small talk with a perfect stranger.

So, to that end, I have met people while living here for the past 5 years, but haven't connected with anyone to the point where I can consider calling them for a spontaneous gathering.

It seems that people are so absorbed with their children's extracurricular activities that they leave very little time to simply gather together over drinks and a simple dinner while the kids run around in their pajamas playing together. They book their time so that they're too exhausted to do anything else.

I feel lonely to tell you the truth.

It's especially difficult when living in a climate where going outside means dressing from head to toe and staying outside just long enough to avoid frostbite.

So going to the park is out. Anyplace indoors costs an arm and a leg and with 3 kids on differing schedules, it's virtually impossible doing anything during the week.

My kids have playdates with their friends (which is another issue....what happened to a kid spontaneously knocking on the door asking if anyone is available to play? It's all so planned anymore and don't tell me times are different nowadays. No one is more at risk for danger than they were when we were kids), but parents use it as time to get things done rather than gather and chat over coffee, cocktails, snacks, whatever!!

There are a lot of demands and obligations that having a family imposes, but there are times when a casual gathering isn't so out of order.

This isn't a criticsm, persay. Every family has their way of living their lives and doing what's best for them.

I guess I'd like to find friends who are laid back and not so planny planny.

All Parents Should Be Bilingual...W-H-O-R-E Doesn't Cut It Anymore.

When I was a little girl, both of my parents worked, so my grandmother would watch me during the day.

My grandfather was a baker who worked the night shift and would hang out with us after he woke up in the afternoon.

My grandparents would kick into the Polish language whenever they had discussions they didn't want me to know about.

As hard as I concentrated on trying to decipher the foreign, complicated turnings of their tongues, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what they were saying.

Flash forward to tonight.

We're sitting down, eating dinner, and during conversation Jeff mentions that Amy Winehouse apparently won a lot of awards at the Grammies.

I said it's funny that her last name is Winehouse considering her reputation.

The ever knowledgable Jessica points out that Amy Winehouse is Jewish and she sings like a cheap whore.

Whoa-Whoa-WHOA!!!!!!

I couldn't have heard that last part correctly. After I asked her to repeat what she said, it turns out she said Amy Winehouse sings like a cheap girl.

OK, not much better, but better nonetheless.

So, I said to Jeff, "I thought Jessica said she sings like a cheap W-H-O-R-E."

Soon after, I hear Brendon ask, "Does that spell wore?"

ZOINKS!!!!!

It slipped my mind that he knows how to read and spell and do all sorts of things he couldn't do when he was aged newborn through 4 years old when spelling out words was the best I could do in lieu of speaking a foreign language.

Maybe I should try my hand at mental telepathy.

Do You Consider Me Spoiled?

My eyelids are heavy as I pull back the covers and drop into bed.

I snuggle down deep into the mattress, under the comforter, protecting myself against the cold winter air.

Jeff mentions that he should've brought the test kit up to our room.

I get annoyed and ask why he didn't. I certainly don't want to do it now that I'm comfortable.

We watch TV and I hope I fall asleep before he does.

But, when I look over at him, I see that he's beaten me to it.

I glance at the clock and I see I have 30 minutes to stay awake.

So, I watch a little bit of Larry King as he talks to Natalie Holloway's mom about Jaron's murder confession to a gangster. I notice she's had her face done. She looks glowing.

Then I turn on the last of the Apprentice and wonder why Omarosa wasn't fired.

The car pulling away from the curb tells me it's time.

But, I'd rather stay where it is warm and cozy and way too comfortable to leave.

I think about the agony of the cold hitting my body as I imagine myself getting out of bed.

So, I stay a while longer watching a show that isn't remotely something I would watch.

But, I use it as a snooze button and tell myself when the next commercial comes on, I will get up out of bed, go downstairs, get the test kit in the kitchen, come back up, and pray that he has a number I don't have to trouble myself with.

The next commercial comes, and I do what needs to be done.

The meter shows 54.

Shit.

I trek down to the main floor and then down to the basement where we keep the juice out of Jessica and Jacob's reach above the freezer.

Juice that Brendon refused to drink earlier in the evening when he was low because he's sick of drinking juice.

I make him a cheese sandwich to hold him overnight and bring it and the juice up to him.

I pray that he doesn't refuse the juice.

I curse him silently for not rousing as quickly as I'd like him to and eat as quickly as he normally does.

He takes agonizingly small bites of the sandwich. I tell him to take bigger bites because I don't want to sit there all night.

I just want to get this over with and get back to my cocoon.

I don't care that he is suffering with a low.

I just want warmth and comfort.

He drinks and eats, I reduce his basal.

I cover him to his chin to protect him from the cold winter air.

Yeah. Consider me spoiled.

I'm Mad As Hell, And I'm Not Going To Take It Anymore

Last night, I was working out on my elliptical, sweating away, watching Rachel Ray, while listening to my iPod.

During the middle of the workout, I got this wave of anger that swept over me (surprisingly, it wasn't because of Rachel Ray).

I am sick and tired of these goddamned 20 pounds squatting on my body for the past 2 years.

I gained 60 pounds while pregnant with Jacob, and I lost 40 of them. Those 40 pounds of fat cells knew they had overstayed their welcome and they scrammed.

But these last 20 have made themselves quite comfortable and I let them hang out.

Well, no more!

I'm sick of:

eating to lose weight

I'm sick of:

thinking about losing weight

I'm sick of:

reading articles about losing weight

I'm sick of:

working out to lose weight

I'm sick of:

depriving myself of buying new clothes because if I buy them and lose weight, I'll just have to get rid of them.

I'm serving an eviction notice to my 20 pounds and by the end of April, they'll be thrown out onto their tiny, plump asses.

I want to get to a point where losing weight isn't an issue for me.

I want to get to a point where if I gain 5 pounds because I pig out during the holidays, then all I have to do is lose 5 pounds instead of it adding to my pile o' fattiness.

I don't want to lose weight anymore.

I'm done with playing around with these little fuckers.

Beat it.
Scram.
Take a long walk off a short pier.

And now I'm doubley piping hot PISSED because my template is all fucked up after inserting that fucking countdown fucker fuck fuck piss mother fucking fuck fat fucking fat cells fuckers fffffffffffffffffUCK!!!!!!

My Crazy Ass WW Leader Week 3

The meeting started off with a bashing of the Giants and grumblings from the WW Leader about Belichick being the cause of the Pats loss because he didn't wear his Tweety Bird sweatshirt.

I sat very, very still during that time because I was afraid that any movement might tip them off that they had a Giants fan sitting amongst them.

I lost 2 pounds for a total of 5. I received a gold star and a star catcher. I feel so dainty.

Happy Birthday Brendon!!

Today Brendon is 8 years old.

He is a lover of baseball, football, and basketball, and whatever other sport he can get his hands on.

He was also very happy to wake up this morning to find a note from Jeff wishing him a happy birthday and that the Giants won the Superbowl (THEY TOTALLY ROCKED ALTHOUGH I WAS VERY NERVOUS THROUGH THE WHOLE GAME....WAY TO KNOCK DOWN BRADY OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER....HE WAS SO WHOOOOZY......WHOOOOO!!!!!)

He is currently tossing his football around (one of 3 received at his birthday party on Saturday) reenacting some of the plays he saw during the first half of the game yesterday.

He is brilliant, resilient, and shows a humongous enthusiasm for life.

Happy Birthday to my big boy.

I have pics from his birthday party that I'll post when I download them!!

Jessica's Shopping List

I'm in the middle of making a list of Superbowl goodies and other things we need from the supermarket.

"Mom, can you buy chickpeas, tuna, and man eggs?"

"We have tuna, but did you say man eggs?"

"Yeah."

"Do you mean mayonnaise?"

"Yeah, man eggs."

He Defies The Laws Of Gravity, Physics, And Whatever Other Scientific Thigamajiggers There Are

**Thank you all again for the birthday wishes. You all know how to make a girl feel good :D**

Please watch this breakdancer's routine....the whole 1 minute 57 seconds of it.

And then at the end, take a very close look at how he does pushups.

I concentrated on his hands the first time I saw it, but then when I watched it again, I saw the rest of his body and thought, "Is he possessed????? WTF????? Can a human do that without wires holding him up??????"

I can't believe how powerful his body is.

If Einstein saw this, he'd have to rethink the laws of something or other. Like E=MC Hammer just shit his pants watching this guy.

37 Is Just A Number (Happy Birthday To Me)

Yesterday, I was chatting with Kerri and she asked me how I was doing.

I said I was depressed because my birthday was tomorrow and turning 37 is just that much closer to old age and death. I told her I'm almost 80 now. Old age comes up fast.

Kerri said:

I don't know....once you stop having birthdays, you're dead.

I told her that was so profound.

And then she told me she almost spit out her coffee.

And I laughed.

Today is my birthday and it's a good day. I'm happy.


P.S. There will be six more weeks of Winter.