I was going to say how wonderful it was the past few weeks with my daughter sleeping through the night... and then last night happened. Again, it wasn't as bad as it has been -- although I could be completely wrong about this, considering it was the hubby who got up with her all night last night. But it wasn't like he had much of a choice, since the little brat kicked me out when I went up to check on her, and screamed NO!!!, GO!!!, and DADDY!!! at me on my way out the door. And I absolutely cannot sleep when she screams like that. It honestly sounds like she's being beaten and stabbed up there, yet when I go up, she doesn't want anything to do with ME; she wants DADDY. Yippee. For both of us.
Now, while we were in the middle of the last sleep crisis, I made an appointment with a Pediatric Sleep Clinic. (Are you surprised too?) Unfortunately, like all specialists, they were booked out until the end of December. If this keeps up, of course I'll keep the appointment, but what about if it stays this weird intermittent thing? There's no rhyme or reason to it, that I can tell. And I know what I hear from everyone: consistency is the key! And we do keep a fairly stable schedule during the mornings. It's the nap where it gets all wacky.
It's like Russian roulette napping. An hour? Two hours? Three hours? Forty minutes? Twelve-thirty? Two? Four o'clock? There's no telling with this kid. Sometimes she passes out cold on my way home from the gym; sometimes she's up for two more hours, and going gangbusters. So I never know how the afternoon will go, or when the nap will take place. Even when I know she's sleepy and tired, it still may or may not happen. I've driven her around for miles before, and nothing. I've also put her in the car at 11am before, gone back inside to get my keys or shoes, and come back out to her snoring away in the backseat.
So, as of yesterday, I was going to say that things were going great... but now that we had another relapse, I'm not sure how long this is going to last or how bad it will be.
There's also a nice hole apparently in her room, because on Sunday, I got a text message saying that there was a massive leak in the ceiling. I got home, and apparently water had dripped down between the seams of the drywall sheets, and there was a water line halfway across her ceiling, and the drywall was mushy. I called my neighbor over to look at it, and he just pushed a finger straight up through it and into the insulation, which was soaking wet. Of course. There's no water lines and no water heater up there, at least, so that does narrow it down... but this is only one of several leaks we've gotten over the last year, so our ten year roof may be on its last legs. Again. Great. Fantastic. WHEEEE.
And then there was the exorcist-like happening on Sunday, where water just began to randomly drip out of the light fixture below the upstairs bathroom. At least now we have a good idea as to why that light went out.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Alright, So It's Offical: I Give Up
At least with actively trying to get the weight off. Because NOTHING I have tried works. NOTHING. I get all kinds of advice, and have now compiled a short list:
And people will tell me, "Oh, but I'm sure it's MUSCLE." Honey, if this were ALL muscle, I would look like a GODDESS. I mean seriously. And my pants would probably fit again. But it isn't, and they don't.
SO. Here's the new plan: there IS no plan. No calorie counting, no diets, nothing except trying to eat healthy, not go overboard, and keep my activity level at least where it is. I have turned my attentions to another goal, another obsession -- Ihor, my Ukrainian drill sergeant, and trying to not feel like a redheaded stepchild every time I come out of my dance lesson. (If you're wondering how to promounce that, think an internet prostitute, adn I'm sure you're work it out correctly.) He asked me to compete in this year's Harvest Moon Classic. I said no, mostly because it's ungodly expensive -- starting with the $300 entry fee, and the $60 dance fee for a minute and a half for each dance. (Keep in mind this is one of the CHEAP competitions.) But then I went to watch, and realized where he wants me to be. And I'm nowhere near that good.
I also realized that if my technique were better, he would spend less time drilling me on basics and more time on teaching me cool stuff. And that would also be a better use of my time with him. So what I've been doing is going to the gym as much as I can, and working on drilling basic CRAP over and over until I either "get it" or get sick of it. But it's really hard to get sick of samba music. Or salsa. Or cha-cha. Rumba too. Ooooh, the TANGO. Did I mention waltz? Much better than watching Rachel Ray or The Andy Griffith Show (no, I'm not kidding) for the five-hundredth time while my eyes glaze over on the elliptical. Or while going around the track for the eighth time, only to realize that's only four miles. Much better use of my allotted nursery time, I think.
I can also work on my posture -- on which I get lectured on endlessly. Okay, it's less of a lecture and more of a surprise sharp poke to the ribs with a Ukrainian behind me scaring the crap out of me yelling, "SHAPE UP!!" It's not awful, but it's really irritating. And it'd be really nice to have my instructor not say after a dance, "That was GREAT! Except your posture was TERRIBLE."
My arm styling too is fairly lousy, since I'm terrified to do anything with my arms. I don't know why, I just am. Oh, and I'm not exaggerating. One of the other teachers had me for a one-time lesson, and his words were, "Your arm styling? It is terrible." I think that was about two years ago or so. A little less. So at least now, I can take some time to work on it and get more comfortable with it.
I think I have also discovered my inner hippie. I started poi or "spinning." I picked it up a little in martial arts in college and always liked it. Then a few weeks ago, I saw a group of performers called Thee Inner Cirkus at a bellydancing show, and loved it! So I picked up some practice poi and have spent a few days this week and last trying not to give myself a concussion or brain damage. I may even start hoola-hooping. The hoop girls were FANTASTIC. They could do such amazing things with a hoola-hoop. It was insane.
So there you have it. I'm dropping one obsession to spend more time on another. I don't know what it'll do for me, if it'll help me accomplish previous goals, but hey, at least I'll have a good time with it. So anyway, we'll see how it goes. Hopefully my husband won't kill me when I ask for a $30 "professional" hoola-hoop.
- You need to eat LESS.
- You need to eat MORE.
- You need to watch your snacking.
- You need to lift weights.
- You need to add more aerobic activity.
- You need to eat less carbs.
- You need to have your thyroid checked.
- Blah blah blah blah...
And people will tell me, "Oh, but I'm sure it's MUSCLE." Honey, if this were ALL muscle, I would look like a GODDESS. I mean seriously. And my pants would probably fit again. But it isn't, and they don't.
SO. Here's the new plan: there IS no plan. No calorie counting, no diets, nothing except trying to eat healthy, not go overboard, and keep my activity level at least where it is. I have turned my attentions to another goal, another obsession -- Ihor, my Ukrainian drill sergeant, and trying to not feel like a redheaded stepchild every time I come out of my dance lesson. (If you're wondering how to promounce that, think an internet prostitute, adn I'm sure you're work it out correctly.) He asked me to compete in this year's Harvest Moon Classic. I said no, mostly because it's ungodly expensive -- starting with the $300 entry fee, and the $60 dance fee for a minute and a half for each dance. (Keep in mind this is one of the CHEAP competitions.) But then I went to watch, and realized where he wants me to be. And I'm nowhere near that good.
I also realized that if my technique were better, he would spend less time drilling me on basics and more time on teaching me cool stuff. And that would also be a better use of my time with him. So what I've been doing is going to the gym as much as I can, and working on drilling basic CRAP over and over until I either "get it" or get sick of it. But it's really hard to get sick of samba music. Or salsa. Or cha-cha. Rumba too. Ooooh, the TANGO. Did I mention waltz? Much better than watching Rachel Ray or The Andy Griffith Show (no, I'm not kidding) for the five-hundredth time while my eyes glaze over on the elliptical. Or while going around the track for the eighth time, only to realize that's only four miles. Much better use of my allotted nursery time, I think.
I can also work on my posture -- on which I get lectured on endlessly. Okay, it's less of a lecture and more of a surprise sharp poke to the ribs with a Ukrainian behind me scaring the crap out of me yelling, "SHAPE UP!!" It's not awful, but it's really irritating. And it'd be really nice to have my instructor not say after a dance, "That was GREAT! Except your posture was TERRIBLE."
My arm styling too is fairly lousy, since I'm terrified to do anything with my arms. I don't know why, I just am. Oh, and I'm not exaggerating. One of the other teachers had me for a one-time lesson, and his words were, "Your arm styling? It is terrible." I think that was about two years ago or so. A little less. So at least now, I can take some time to work on it and get more comfortable with it.
I think I have also discovered my inner hippie. I started poi or "spinning." I picked it up a little in martial arts in college and always liked it. Then a few weeks ago, I saw a group of performers called Thee Inner Cirkus at a bellydancing show, and loved it! So I picked up some practice poi and have spent a few days this week and last trying not to give myself a concussion or brain damage. I may even start hoola-hooping. The hoop girls were FANTASTIC. They could do such amazing things with a hoola-hoop. It was insane.
So there you have it. I'm dropping one obsession to spend more time on another. I don't know what it'll do for me, if it'll help me accomplish previous goals, but hey, at least I'll have a good time with it. So anyway, we'll see how it goes. Hopefully my husband won't kill me when I ask for a $30 "professional" hoola-hoop.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The Sleep War Continues
I guess if you're one of Facebook friends, you can guess what this is about.
I should actually just re-post the blog entry from July 1st right here. It's the same story with just more screaming. At least then, she would at least stop screaming when we got upstairs. Now she just keeps going until we're sitting down with her, and she's actually back in her bed.
We're hoping she's starting to calm down, since last night she only woke up twice -- meaning that the hubby and I actually got more than four hours of sleep in ONE night. I think we may have even possibly achieved six hours, but I'm not really sure.
I'm really starting to understand why I've been so slow to get moving in the mornings lately, why it's so hard to get to the gym. Especially these last two weeks. I don't mind being sleep deprived for a day or two, honestly. And usually when it happens, it's just because I had something that caught my interest and consumed me while I sort of forget that whole am deadline -- namely, when Cutezilla wakes up. But these past few weeks, I'm too tired to do much of anything during the day or night. and when I do end up doing something at night, it's usually just trying to reclaim some time for myself; I almost always pay for it on the back end, when Cutezilla gets up. If I'm lucky, we don't end up yelling at each other because I'm too tired and burnt out to deal with anyone, much less my toddler tyrant, who, while she is very sweet and loving and smart, is also very demanding when it comes to her activities and the necessity of Mommy as company. You know, since no one else is around.
What has been nice, is that some people are coming around to understanding. My babysitter, after spending an evening with Cutezilla in full grump-mode, said upon our arrival back to the house, "Boy, that kid sure has some lungs." Most people don't see her in Mr. Hyde mode. She's cute, she's sweet, and perfectly adorable, a perfect Dr. Jekyll... until you put her in bed. Then it's all on for the All-Night-Scream-A-Thon.
I honestly think this is some sort of separation anxiety. This fight with sleep started back when the hubby had to leave for work for five days. I took her Cuteness down to honor the grandparents with her presence, and instead of passing out cold for my mother in a delightful eight minutes flat, she fought going to bed for almost the entire visit. Two words: NOT FUN. Especially with my dad recovering from surgery, and grumpy as hell, because we were all cooped up in the house due to recovery and rain. Which means he was driving my mother insane, and I ended up playing referee. But at least they weren't hen-pecking ME.
But it's two weeks later, and like clockwork, at 12:45am, the screaming begins. One of us goes up, gets her settled back down, we wait until she's out again, come back downstairs, get all cozy, and then BAM. Round Two begins. Repeat process until dawn. Preferably until fifteen minutes before hubby has to get up to go to work. Or at least that's what the rules seem to be, according to the 'Zilla. And then she gets up an hour or two later, happy and bouncing through the kitchen.
What worries me is that the hubby will be traveling again in a few weeks -- NINE days. I really have no idea what that's going to do to us, if this thing really is separation anxiety. But I guess we'll see.
I should actually just re-post the blog entry from July 1st right here. It's the same story with just more screaming. At least then, she would at least stop screaming when we got upstairs. Now she just keeps going until we're sitting down with her, and she's actually back in her bed.
We're hoping she's starting to calm down, since last night she only woke up twice -- meaning that the hubby and I actually got more than four hours of sleep in ONE night. I think we may have even possibly achieved six hours, but I'm not really sure.
I'm really starting to understand why I've been so slow to get moving in the mornings lately, why it's so hard to get to the gym. Especially these last two weeks. I don't mind being sleep deprived for a day or two, honestly. And usually when it happens, it's just because I had something that caught my interest and consumed me while I sort of forget that whole am deadline -- namely, when Cutezilla wakes up. But these past few weeks, I'm too tired to do much of anything during the day or night. and when I do end up doing something at night, it's usually just trying to reclaim some time for myself; I almost always pay for it on the back end, when Cutezilla gets up. If I'm lucky, we don't end up yelling at each other because I'm too tired and burnt out to deal with anyone, much less my toddler tyrant, who, while she is very sweet and loving and smart, is also very demanding when it comes to her activities and the necessity of Mommy as company. You know, since no one else is around.
What has been nice, is that some people are coming around to understanding. My babysitter, after spending an evening with Cutezilla in full grump-mode, said upon our arrival back to the house, "Boy, that kid sure has some lungs." Most people don't see her in Mr. Hyde mode. She's cute, she's sweet, and perfectly adorable, a perfect Dr. Jekyll... until you put her in bed. Then it's all on for the All-Night-Scream-A-Thon.
I honestly think this is some sort of separation anxiety. This fight with sleep started back when the hubby had to leave for work for five days. I took her Cuteness down to honor the grandparents with her presence, and instead of passing out cold for my mother in a delightful eight minutes flat, she fought going to bed for almost the entire visit. Two words: NOT FUN. Especially with my dad recovering from surgery, and grumpy as hell, because we were all cooped up in the house due to recovery and rain. Which means he was driving my mother insane, and I ended up playing referee. But at least they weren't hen-pecking ME.
But it's two weeks later, and like clockwork, at 12:45am, the screaming begins. One of us goes up, gets her settled back down, we wait until she's out again, come back downstairs, get all cozy, and then BAM. Round Two begins. Repeat process until dawn. Preferably until fifteen minutes before hubby has to get up to go to work. Or at least that's what the rules seem to be, according to the 'Zilla. And then she gets up an hour or two later, happy and bouncing through the kitchen.
What worries me is that the hubby will be traveling again in a few weeks -- NINE days. I really have no idea what that's going to do to us, if this thing really is separation anxiety. But I guess we'll see.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Okay, So I'm Sure There's A Good Reason
For not blogging. I'm sure it was... um... well... hmm. Er, let's just assume there was and just be happy that I got back around to this, shall we?
Address of The State: nothing much has changed. The summer break with no Mother's Day Out (heretofore known as MDO) went better than expected, and I did not actually lose what's left of my mind. Not that anyone can tell, but hey, I'll call it a success. Cutezilla is doing well, and her vocabulary gets bigger by the day. Including starting to call her daddy by his actual NAME. We were sitting in the bathtub, and I called him to get something for me, and the next thing I know, Cutezilla yells, "KWISS? KWISS!?!" Plain as day. The hubby's response?
"Well that puts her 11 years up on the sass scale."
In other news, I bought a miata. Okay, the hubby bought it FOR me, I guess. Which still works. So I drive it to the grocery store after he gets back from work. You know. The whole quarter mile. We haven't been able to make it to an autocross lately, and I think it's been getting to me. I got a speeding ticket last night, then found out my tags were expired, and that apparently, I hadn't paid my taxes. YIP-FREAKING-EE. So I tore the house apart looking for the paperwork, and yeah, lo and behold, there it was. The upside? I finally went through the mail that's been sitting on the dining room table since [apparently] before June.
We also got the carpets cleaned on Tuesday. Cutezilla broke out into hives at her school so I had to go pick her up -- missing my Zumba class, mostly because, I couldn't in good consciousness drop her off at the nursery there when I didn't know what the hives were going to do. So we got home, and no sooner had we hit the door when I smelled this awful waft of something... and found whatever it was coming from Cutezilla's diaper. I won't go into detail (for once) because I think that you should be able to go to sleep tonight and not have nightmares about it. See what a thoughtful person I am? Suffice it to say that the hubby rented a steam cleaner on his way home from work. The positive here is that the floors actually got vacuumed AND steam-cleaned, which was awesome. And the baseboards finally got dusted. Okay, some of them, but not all. Cutezilla is full-time, okay?
And yeah, I did get sick for a few weeks, too. Stuck in bed while Cutezilla runs rampant is not my favorite way to go with that, but it's what happened. I love it when I go to see the doctors, and they say, "Well... you don't have flu." Great. What if I wanted the flu? What if I wanted, for once to be able to say, "I KNOW WHAT I HAVE!!! I AM ACTUALLY SICK, AND NOT MAKING THIS SH*T UP!!! I HAVE PROOF!"
And yeah, the baby-weight is still here. I had actually lost enough to get my damn engagement ring back on, and then I gained it back. (I visited my parents for a week after my dad had surgery on his shoulder, and we were all cooped up in the house, and I had nothing to do but cook. Can you guess what happened?) But I'm trying to get back to it. Supposedly the MDO days will help, but as it is, I only have 2 hours left today, and I need to do some more writing. Fiction, of course. But the jones for that is bad too, and it's not illegal. Thank God.
So hopefully I'll be able to get back here a little more often and post. Wish me luck.
Address of The State: nothing much has changed. The summer break with no Mother's Day Out (heretofore known as MDO) went better than expected, and I did not actually lose what's left of my mind. Not that anyone can tell, but hey, I'll call it a success. Cutezilla is doing well, and her vocabulary gets bigger by the day. Including starting to call her daddy by his actual NAME. We were sitting in the bathtub, and I called him to get something for me, and the next thing I know, Cutezilla yells, "KWISS? KWISS!?!" Plain as day. The hubby's response?
"Well that puts her 11 years up on the sass scale."
In other news, I bought a miata. Okay, the hubby bought it FOR me, I guess. Which still works. So I drive it to the grocery store after he gets back from work. You know. The whole quarter mile. We haven't been able to make it to an autocross lately, and I think it's been getting to me. I got a speeding ticket last night, then found out my tags were expired, and that apparently, I hadn't paid my taxes. YIP-FREAKING-EE. So I tore the house apart looking for the paperwork, and yeah, lo and behold, there it was. The upside? I finally went through the mail that's been sitting on the dining room table since [apparently] before June.
We also got the carpets cleaned on Tuesday. Cutezilla broke out into hives at her school so I had to go pick her up -- missing my Zumba class, mostly because, I couldn't in good consciousness drop her off at the nursery there when I didn't know what the hives were going to do. So we got home, and no sooner had we hit the door when I smelled this awful waft of something... and found whatever it was coming from Cutezilla's diaper. I won't go into detail (for once) because I think that you should be able to go to sleep tonight and not have nightmares about it. See what a thoughtful person I am? Suffice it to say that the hubby rented a steam cleaner on his way home from work. The positive here is that the floors actually got vacuumed AND steam-cleaned, which was awesome. And the baseboards finally got dusted. Okay, some of them, but not all. Cutezilla is full-time, okay?
And yeah, I did get sick for a few weeks, too. Stuck in bed while Cutezilla runs rampant is not my favorite way to go with that, but it's what happened. I love it when I go to see the doctors, and they say, "Well... you don't have flu." Great. What if I wanted the flu? What if I wanted, for once to be able to say, "I KNOW WHAT I HAVE!!! I AM ACTUALLY SICK, AND NOT MAKING THIS SH*T UP!!! I HAVE PROOF!"
And yeah, the baby-weight is still here. I had actually lost enough to get my damn engagement ring back on, and then I gained it back. (I visited my parents for a week after my dad had surgery on his shoulder, and we were all cooped up in the house, and I had nothing to do but cook. Can you guess what happened?) But I'm trying to get back to it. Supposedly the MDO days will help, but as it is, I only have 2 hours left today, and I need to do some more writing. Fiction, of course. But the jones for that is bad too, and it's not illegal. Thank God.
So hopefully I'll be able to get back here a little more often and post. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Cute from the 'Zilla
Today's epsiodes, Cutezilla woke up from her nap this afternoon, and cried out for me. I was upstairs, so I came out onto the balcony, and she started to "shhh" me, which is her way of asking for her pacifier... However the paci was IN her mouth, so she lifted up her finger to make the shhh gesture/noise, and was really surprised when her hand hit it. She pulled it out, looked it over a few times, popped it back, and laid back down, happy as a clam.
This morning when I went to get her out of her room, she decided that the only way I was going to be allowed to change her diaper was if I proved I was worthy of the challenge -- which is to say, I chased her, tackled her and wrestled her to the ground, and pinned her to the floor while I got my dirty work done. She was none-too-thrilled. So when I picked her up from the nursery today, you can imagine my surprise when the ladies who look after her informed me how helpful Cutezilla is when she needs a diaper change -- to the point of unlocking the little staircase under the changing table, pulling out the stairs, climbing up and handing them the latex gloves they use when they change diapers. The upside is, she's also the only kid in the nursery who can open the locks on the changing table. The downside is, she can open the locks, and they look suspiciously like the "childsafe" ones on my dishwasher.
This morning when I went to get her out of her room, she decided that the only way I was going to be allowed to change her diaper was if I proved I was worthy of the challenge -- which is to say, I chased her, tackled her and wrestled her to the ground, and pinned her to the floor while I got my dirty work done. She was none-too-thrilled. So when I picked her up from the nursery today, you can imagine my surprise when the ladies who look after her informed me how helpful Cutezilla is when she needs a diaper change -- to the point of unlocking the little staircase under the changing table, pulling out the stairs, climbing up and handing them the latex gloves they use when they change diapers. The upside is, she's also the only kid in the nursery who can open the locks on the changing table. The downside is, she can open the locks, and they look suspiciously like the "childsafe" ones on my dishwasher.
A Post? Really?
Yeah, really. I'm as surprised as anyone is, I'll bet. But while I haven't been blogging much, at least I have a few good things going on -- mostly, that I've been pretty happy, and I'll say that's pretty big. Not that I'm not usually happy, but most of the time I'm just preoccupied by whatever cloud is hanging over the horizon. I'm your consummate worrier, and I'm really an overachiever here. However, what with Cutezilla's new nap schedule, there seems to be more time to take care of things, and get to things that have been driving me up a wall. Not that this means the house is clean, mind you, but for example, it means that today I was able to mop the floor. And since I haven't done that in at least six months or longer, that makes it kind of a big deal.
Today I even managed to make the bed (again, HUGE, if you know how often I normally make the bed... that's probably the second or third time this year), mop the floor, and start laundry. Okay, I haven't done laundry in about three or four weeks, I think, but still, I got it started today, and for a change, I even got some of it hung up within 24 hours of starting the load. This time, since it was within 12 hours, it's even more of a miracle. Seriously crazy. I even got to do some leisure writing, which I've had a serious jonesing for lately.
The other huge thing that's happened lately: I sent off my/our manuscript. It was in the mail on July 9th, arrived on July 13th or 14th, and as they instructed on their website, I sent along a self-addressed, self-stamped postcard, so that when they opened it, they could drop it in the mail to say, "Hey this thing's been opened." I guess that heads off a lot of phone calls from neurotic wanna-be writ-- uh, I mean perfectly reasonable persons who want to know that their manuscripts reached their intended destination. Um, no, no completely neurotic wanna-be writers here... :looksnervouslyatblogtitle: But I actually have no idea what that could possibly mean, other than the manuscript has been opened entirely. I'm just going to assume it's sitting on someone's shelf somewhere, waiting for said someone to briefly browse a page or two just far enough to send my "you suck" letter. But hey, I sent it, and that's a start.
Beyond that, Cutezilla has been pretty happy too, and even moderately manageable. I have no idea if this is a function of me getting extra time to myself because of the extended nap, or if she's napping longer, because I keep her moving and happy... but either way, the result is something I am supremely happy and thankful for. Life does not get any better than this.
Or does it?
A few weekends ago, while we were in Houston, I was finally compelled to buy new underwear -- and not for the normal reasons like, say, it disintegrated in the wash because it was falling apart, or the elastic finally gave out, or a hole developed in someplace uncomfortable. I realized at some point, that my underwear was wrinkly and loose because I'm finally seeing some sort of result from all of my hamster-wheel-workout routines... and I am ecstatic and elated. My jeans are finally feeling loose, and this past weekend, I bought a pair of size 6 capri's and found they too were a little more loose than I realized.
Okay, so I wasn't in the junior's section this time, but WHO FREAKING CARES???? My pants are finally loose, and my husband is severely complaining about my butt-crack showing. It's freaking awesome. My legs even look a little thinner, which is nice because they felt like hamhocks or even mammoth thighs, especially during my pregnancy. I'm not going to tempt myself with actually trying on my old jeans yet, but I'm starting to feel a lot better about things, even if my scales say I'm still up fifteen pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight. If I can get back into my old jeans, even if I stay at this weight, I'll still be completely thrilled. They'll have to sedate me I'll be so sickeningly happy.
I tried on my engagement ring today too, and while it's not quite ready to go back on my finger, it's certainly more comfortable that it has been. I'm really hoping to get it back on by Cutezilla's birthday in a few weeks. I honestly think that could really happen.
Today I even managed to make the bed (again, HUGE, if you know how often I normally make the bed... that's probably the second or third time this year), mop the floor, and start laundry. Okay, I haven't done laundry in about three or four weeks, I think, but still, I got it started today, and for a change, I even got some of it hung up within 24 hours of starting the load. This time, since it was within 12 hours, it's even more of a miracle. Seriously crazy. I even got to do some leisure writing, which I've had a serious jonesing for lately.
The other huge thing that's happened lately: I sent off my/our manuscript. It was in the mail on July 9th, arrived on July 13th or 14th, and as they instructed on their website, I sent along a self-addressed, self-stamped postcard, so that when they opened it, they could drop it in the mail to say, "Hey this thing's been opened." I guess that heads off a lot of phone calls from neurotic wanna-be writ-- uh, I mean perfectly reasonable persons who want to know that their manuscripts reached their intended destination. Um, no, no completely neurotic wanna-be writers here... :looksnervouslyatblogtitle: But I actually have no idea what that could possibly mean, other than the manuscript has been opened entirely. I'm just going to assume it's sitting on someone's shelf somewhere, waiting for said someone to briefly browse a page or two just far enough to send my "you suck" letter. But hey, I sent it, and that's a start.
Beyond that, Cutezilla has been pretty happy too, and even moderately manageable. I have no idea if this is a function of me getting extra time to myself because of the extended nap, or if she's napping longer, because I keep her moving and happy... but either way, the result is something I am supremely happy and thankful for. Life does not get any better than this.
Or does it?
A few weekends ago, while we were in Houston, I was finally compelled to buy new underwear -- and not for the normal reasons like, say, it disintegrated in the wash because it was falling apart, or the elastic finally gave out, or a hole developed in someplace uncomfortable. I realized at some point, that my underwear was wrinkly and loose because I'm finally seeing some sort of result from all of my hamster-wheel-workout routines... and I am ecstatic and elated. My jeans are finally feeling loose, and this past weekend, I bought a pair of size 6 capri's and found they too were a little more loose than I realized.
Okay, so I wasn't in the junior's section this time, but WHO FREAKING CARES???? My pants are finally loose, and my husband is severely complaining about my butt-crack showing. It's freaking awesome. My legs even look a little thinner, which is nice because they felt like hamhocks or even mammoth thighs, especially during my pregnancy. I'm not going to tempt myself with actually trying on my old jeans yet, but I'm starting to feel a lot better about things, even if my scales say I'm still up fifteen pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight. If I can get back into my old jeans, even if I stay at this weight, I'll still be completely thrilled. They'll have to sedate me I'll be so sickeningly happy.
I tried on my engagement ring today too, and while it's not quite ready to go back on my finger, it's certainly more comfortable that it has been. I'm really hoping to get it back on by Cutezilla's birthday in a few weeks. I honestly think that could really happen.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Back in the Airport, The Return Trip
So I'm here in the airport again, and we have another hour or two until the next flight takes off. (From Charlotte to Greenville, so technically we could have been home two hours before we will land, but we originally scheduled our flights to accommodate having Cutezilla with us. But it's relaxing, and it's all just fine with me.)
We had an excellent weekend with our Notre Dame co-exile-ee's. We came in from the airport, got picked up, no problem. Our luggage even showed up. Got back to the house, the boys left for the bachelor party, and the girls went out to go see the new baby, Libby, and have a little stitch-n-bitch, minus the stitch'n. After awhile we went out to dinner, and the table next to us was very obviously celebrating. They came over to see the baby -- who was quite happy to accommodate them with smiles and flirting -- and after playing with the baby for a few minutes, told us that they were celebrating their own future new addition. When our food came, they came over and asked to hold the baby while we ate -- which was awesome, I thought. Libby seemed happy, so we got a nice peaceful meal without having to juggle her around. Next thing we know, we get the baby back, and they've paid for our meals... including the margarita! So the baby is already ahead of the game in the flirting department.
The next day, Phil took me out for a bike ride in Memorial Park, I got in a little mini-workout, since I knew I would be spending the weekend gorging myself. (And I did.) Then we went to the pool and played water volleyball, and it was AWESOME. We got home, and Phil made some rockin' stuffed spicy peppers and sausages. And somehow I managed to drag his wife out dancing with me at a sister dance studio to my own, and it was WONDERFUL.
The next day we drove out to Gonzales, Texas for the wedding, grabbed some kolaches (KO-lah-chees) on the way (one egg, ham and cheese, two cinnamon twists, and a blueberry for ME) and spent the day catching up with the rest of the exile-ee's. Our buddy got hitched; we got a little blitzed. (We were sitting on top of the margarita machine. Poor seating choice? More like inspired.) We spent most of the night too, chatting it up. We didn't get back to Houston until 2am, and got back up around 9am and headed out to the Cadillac Bar for an amazing brunch. The Belgian waffle bar, crepes, blintzes, fruit, the taco and fajita bar with four or five different kinds of meat, every topping you could imagine, the omelet bar, and the dessert bar. I didn't eat until again until 9:30 that night. I haven't been that full since I was pregnant. I felt swollen. And it was delicious.
I also managed to talk our buddies into one last hurrah at The Cafe Adobe. It has a dish that was so good, I had it twice the last time we were here, and I've been thinking about for OVER TWO YEARS now. An avocado, stuffed with shredded chicken and cheeses, battered and lightly fried. It may not sound great, but it's freaking amazing. It comes out looking like a softball covered in salsa. It's so damn good. I cannot for the life of me figure out how they batter this puppy and FRY it. It's baffling to me, and I don't think I can wait another year to have it again. What if they go out of business, and I can never have it again? This would be a crisis of epic proportions.
After that, though, we went home, and I watched Twilight while everyone else went to bed. We said our goodbyes, but I think they're planning to come out our way soon, and I think this will be an awesome trip to look forward to. So yeah, I'm sad to be leaving, but happy we got to see our friends, and happy to be getting back to Cutezilla.
We had an excellent weekend with our Notre Dame co-exile-ee's. We came in from the airport, got picked up, no problem. Our luggage even showed up. Got back to the house, the boys left for the bachelor party, and the girls went out to go see the new baby, Libby, and have a little stitch-n-bitch, minus the stitch'n. After awhile we went out to dinner, and the table next to us was very obviously celebrating. They came over to see the baby -- who was quite happy to accommodate them with smiles and flirting -- and after playing with the baby for a few minutes, told us that they were celebrating their own future new addition. When our food came, they came over and asked to hold the baby while we ate -- which was awesome, I thought. Libby seemed happy, so we got a nice peaceful meal without having to juggle her around. Next thing we know, we get the baby back, and they've paid for our meals... including the margarita! So the baby is already ahead of the game in the flirting department.
The next day, Phil took me out for a bike ride in Memorial Park, I got in a little mini-workout, since I knew I would be spending the weekend gorging myself. (And I did.) Then we went to the pool and played water volleyball, and it was AWESOME. We got home, and Phil made some rockin' stuffed spicy peppers and sausages. And somehow I managed to drag his wife out dancing with me at a sister dance studio to my own, and it was WONDERFUL.
The next day we drove out to Gonzales, Texas for the wedding, grabbed some kolaches (KO-lah-chees) on the way (one egg, ham and cheese, two cinnamon twists, and a blueberry for ME) and spent the day catching up with the rest of the exile-ee's. Our buddy got hitched; we got a little blitzed. (We were sitting on top of the margarita machine. Poor seating choice? More like inspired.) We spent most of the night too, chatting it up. We didn't get back to Houston until 2am, and got back up around 9am and headed out to the Cadillac Bar for an amazing brunch. The Belgian waffle bar, crepes, blintzes, fruit, the taco and fajita bar with four or five different kinds of meat, every topping you could imagine, the omelet bar, and the dessert bar. I didn't eat until again until 9:30 that night. I haven't been that full since I was pregnant. I felt swollen. And it was delicious.
I also managed to talk our buddies into one last hurrah at The Cafe Adobe. It has a dish that was so good, I had it twice the last time we were here, and I've been thinking about for OVER TWO YEARS now. An avocado, stuffed with shredded chicken and cheeses, battered and lightly fried. It may not sound great, but it's freaking amazing. It comes out looking like a softball covered in salsa. It's so damn good. I cannot for the life of me figure out how they batter this puppy and FRY it. It's baffling to me, and I don't think I can wait another year to have it again. What if they go out of business, and I can never have it again? This would be a crisis of epic proportions.
After that, though, we went home, and I watched Twilight while everyone else went to bed. We said our goodbyes, but I think they're planning to come out our way soon, and I think this will be an awesome trip to look forward to. So yeah, I'm sad to be leaving, but happy we got to see our friends, and happy to be getting back to Cutezilla.
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