Emergency Clothes

I'm not a stupid woman, but I felt enormously stupid this morning as I watched my child vomit all over himself and his carseat in the doctor's office parking lot about two seconds before I took him out of said carseat for his 15 month check-up.

See, I had not packed him a change of clothes because I had no idea Silas didn't feel well. So, Michael and I (mostly Michael because I was dumbfounded and panicky and freaking out and talking too much) had to strip Silas down and cart him into the doctor's office in a diaper and socks. People stared.

Luckily, I have the messiest car in the world...I rummaged around in the trunk and found the outfit he was wearing on Christmas before we changed him. So, eventually, we got him dressed.

My next issue was the eternal working-mom struggle. Do I take off work? I chose to do so today because I could not in good conscious send my virus-ridden son to infect someone else's household....certainly not 4 days before Christmas.

So, I've spent the day with one eye on my blackberry and one eye on Elmo books.

Silas is currently holding down chicken noodle soup and saltines. So, I'm hopeful that we'll all be 100% by morning.

Moral: ALWAYS pack an emergency change of clothes. You never know when you'll have an unexpected eruption of Mt. Vomit all over your child's lap.

Instructions not included

All the people who create packaging for toys are on my $#!+ list.  Do none of these people have children?  

Surely they cannot.  Otherwise, I would not spend 25 minutes with an impatient child crawling all over me while I try to extricate ONE toy from it's packaging.  I almost want to throw my hands up and walk away if the toy has multiple pieces.

My 15-month-old has very little patience and a very short attention span (wonder where he got that).  We (yes, we) had a full-on melt down over an Elmo guitar yesterday because it took too long to get it out of the package (the melt down continued every, single time you tried to replace the guitar with an unopened present for him to unwrap.  Moral?  Don't skip nap time).

It seems like the devices employed to harness these toys in their cardboard boxes are becoming more and more difficult to remove.  Is it really necessary for me to need scissors and a screwdriver to get a Barbie out of a box?

Last night my father-in-law kept telling my husband to "look at the instructions" before he had even removed a toy from its package.  Michael's reply?  "Dad, they don't make instructions for how to get it out of the box."  

Well, maybe they freaking should.  Maybe they freaking should.

Where's my momma's boy?

Frankly, I was shocked when, at 15 weeks pregnant, my sonogram technician announced I was having a boy.  I was not prepared for it, and the idea took some getting used to.

However, I quickly remembered that boys are supposed to like their mothers better than their fathers, and this won me over to giving up my dreams of shopping and pedicures and planning a wedding for the daughter I had imagined I was having.  

I couldn't wait to taunt Michael on (at least) a weekly basis about how much our child preferred me and so set about re-imagining a son who would choose mommy (me) over every one else on earth.

Well, Silas must have been busy running a muck and destroying things and missed that day of training.  Why?  I rank at the bottom of the list of his favorite people  (don't worry, I'm not crying, I've made my peace with it).  I'm fairly certain he prefers our dogs to me.

Latest example:

My mom kept him last night so that Michael and I could go out for our anniversary.  Therefore, I had to haul my arse out of bed an hour early to pick him up this morning.  Upon my entrance (smile plastered across my face at seeing him), Silas promptly whined and turned away from me in favor of his Nana.  It was only after I mentioned his baby sitter's name that he consented to letting go of his Nana and allowing me to carry him to the car.

We got into the car where his daddy was waiting and Silas promptly rewarded him with a big, slobbery grin, "Da da!".  Several minutes (and a McDonald's hash brown bribe) later, we arrived at the baby sitter's house.  He was elated to see her.  I'm not sure I even got a second glance (and he certainly wasn't kissing me goodbye) as I schlepped back to the car....defeated.

Michael and I had a conversation a few weeks back wherein he explained that Silas' preference for everyone who is not me is imaginary and only exists in the part of my brain where I store my crazy.  

I'm not convinced.

Happy Anniversary!

In honor of today being my anniversary, I give you:

TEN REASONS I LOVE BEING MARRIED TO MICHAEL

1.  Sometimes we rock-paper-scissors over annoying tasks and sometimes I whine long enough that he just does them to shut me up

2. When I go to a restaurant, I don't have to pretend that I only eat lettuce and then go home and stuff my face later.  We just order cheese fries and eat them together and talk about how awesome they are.

3.  He's doesn't get grossed out if I go three days (or two weeks) without shaving my legs...instead, he teases me mercilessly and threatens to post pictures on Facebook

4.  He knows that I cry over television shows and movies incessantly and finds it endearing (and hilarious)

5.  Those stretch marks I earned making that baby?  Yeah, he's proud of them too.

6.  He participates in the use of my made-up words and ever-changing nicknames

7.  There's always someone there to listen to my asinine commentary and ridiculous stories

8.  He goes out of his way to make me smile and really thinks about what I need to be happy and tries to give me that

9.  We're so different that we constantly challenge and teach each other

10.  He's hot ;)

Happy Anniversary, Michael!

Four years of family

First, I want to say that I've done no better by day five than I had on day one-half.  So, if you want an update on my progress, just re-read this five times.  I see a New Year's resolution just waiting to be broken in my future!

Moving on to what I came to talk about.  My anniversary .  For better or worse, I've been married to Michael for four years tomorrow.  I've posted some high points and low points on this blog.  So, if you've been reading it for a while, you know that we've seen good times, bad times, better, worse, sickness, health, richer, poorer - all in the span of a little more than a year...and if you want to go back to our first year, we've seen the most horrific thing I can imagine us facing, and we survived it together.

So, if you're one of those people who is confused by my marriage (because maybe yours is a little, um, calmer?) - understand that we're two people who have been to hell and back together, and sometimes one of us loses it for a little while and the other one has to drag that person back to reality...but everyone gets their turn.  I just didn't have a blog when it was my turn.

The day we got married

Currently, every one in our little unit seems sane and on the same page.  We laugh together and take turns with household chores.  We take Silas and Jailyn out to do things as a family and spend time in the floor playing with them.  We eat meals together and talk about our fears and goals.  We are a family.  We chose to be each others family.


Sometimes you don't like your family and the choices they make and sometimes they don't like you and the choices you make.  However, you know that they will be there when you really need them.  You know that they love you.  You know that they are the people you call on in crisis and in triumph.  You don't turn your back on your family or refuse to acknowledge their attempts to make things right.  You forgive them and give them second chances....as many times as they need them...and you know that they will do the same for you. 


Regardless of all of the mistakes Michael and I have made, I'm proud to be married to him.  I'm proud of us for surviving the catastrophes we've faced.  There are many, many times we almost threw in the towel, and I assure you, it would have been much easier to quit than to fight.  But we fought, and I'm glad we did.


Happy (almost) anniversary to my husband, my friend, my family.

Day One-Half: Fail.

I thought I'd update you on my half-day's worth of progress in my quest to get healthier and lose weight.

For dinner, I had a BBQ sandwich and some mac and cheese.  Then, at about 11:00, I had a quarter of a pint of Butterfinger ice cream.  I washed both things down with regular Coke.

For exercise, I chased Silas around for a few hours and then I laid in bed and watched about 10 episodes of season 1 of Weeds.

However, I did consciously put one less creamer in my coffee this morning.  So, that's, what, 20 less calories?  Also, I did not go down and get any free breakfast in my building's lobby this morning (mostly because there was some guy down there playing violin that weirded me out), so I'm also minus a blueberry muffin's worth of calories on the day.  Progress.

The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like, and do what you'd rather not. - Mark Twain.  Yes, Mark Twain, yes.  I'm really trying to get on board.  Really.

Goodbye Fat Ass?

Well, I opened my mouth and said something, and now I'm practically in a "let's get Michelle thin again!" support group.

Michael has never said a word to me about my weight.  He's told me I'm beautiful practically every day since he met me (when I was a size 4) to today (when I'm a size 14).  I've been bigger than I am now, and he's never complained or made snarky comments or bought me a thigh master.  So, kudos to him.

However, today, I cried and said that I feel bad about myself (he is the only one who ever hears the truth about these things.  Everyone else just gets to hear self-deprecating jokes), and he said, "well, let's fix this" and has gone all support group director on me.  I don't feel like he's secretly been wanting me to get skinny for 2 years and saw this as his golden opportunity because I honestly don't think he cares what I weigh.  I have friends whose husbands care, and Michael just is not one of those men.  I truly believe that he thinks I'm at my breaking point with being overweight, and he knows it's time to help me fix it.

I'm not putting a lot of pressure on myself because I've been up and down the scale so many times, but I guess if I'm crying about my weight, it's time to put down the donuts and get off the freaking couch and at least try to get some of it off.

Cheers (with water) to getting healthier and losing some of this weight.