Everything to everyone?

To be everything to everyone is impossible. So why do we try? Who knows... Cause it's better to be liked than not?

Why do we try so hard when in the end it doesn't matter? You can't be everything to everyone, so why not spend the time making it count to the ones who really matter?

I'm guilty of taking things and people for granted. I put on a polite smile and a kind word for people I don't even know (and quite frankly, don't matter in the grand scheme of things) but I come home grouchy and grumpy to the people who love me and want to be with me. Why do I do that? Granted, it's not an everyday occurrence (I'm not that bad to be around!), but it happens more than it should. I am very blessed to have an amazing group (friends & family) around me. I may not have the material stuff, but I'm coming to grips with that because (like my brother-in-law says) they won't be pulling a U-Haul behind my hearse.

I think at some point we all take those we love for granted, thinking (whether consciously or unconsciously) that they will always be there. And, really, shouldn't they be able to deal with us and our moods? We deal with theirs! I don't think so. Yes, we should be able to talk to them about what's going on and how we feel, but not to take it out on them. I hate how easily I get frustrated at times because of some outside influence (bills, road rage, laundry, etc...) and I hate how I let things like that (that don't matter) effect my mood and my family.

I'm a Christian and I should be giving my worries to God, but man is it hard, and I feel like less of a Christian when I can't. How do you give it to Him and why does it seem so easy for some people? Seriously, what makes me think that I can do a better job than Him? Why am I such a control freak? Why do I have more questions than answers?? :)

I know that I can't be everything to everyone. I know that I can't make everyone happy. I just hope that I am making the important ones happy. I hope that above everything I'm making God proud and my family (I include friends when I say family) proud and I hope that both know how they are my everything.

Shoes & Coffee Make Everything Better

Here's why I think they make everything better...

Shoes: Shoes never let me down. They never make me feel fat. They don't judge me. Shoes can make or break an outfit. A good pair of heels can make you feel sexy and beautiful. It may sound incredibly un-feminist, but I want to feel like a girl and a great pair of heels does that for me. If I have had the worst day, I can try on a few pair of shoes and feel better. They are magical... I mean, really look at those shoes, sleek, beautiful... Now some of you may be saying "How in the heck do you walk in those!" to that I say "Slowly, and with practice!" I mentioned before, I wore heels up until about a week before I had my son, as much as I loved being pregnant, my heels let me hold on to a little bit of normality! Now, I'm not saying you have to wear heels to the grocery store (but I have and I rocked them!), but every once in a while it's fun and uplifting!

Coffee: A good latte heals all... Hot, creamy, soothing... amazingness. A fresh, hot Pumpkin Spice Latte or a rich CocoMochaNut Latte... Mmmmm My mouth is watering at the thought. My analogy is this: a hot cup of joe at the end of the day is to me as a glass of wine is to someone else. It relaxes me, and comforts me. So warm and cozy. Loaded up with splenda and fat free flavored creamer it makes it like a decadent dessert with out a bazillion calories!

A crappy day? Meeting up with a friend for coffee talk is a great remedy. Having a playdate? Coffee is a wonderful icebreaker (especially if you have lots of flavored creamers to make a coffee bar). 

In short, it's pretty easy to make me happy... buy me a coffee or find me great deal on a pair of beautiful heels! I'm willing to take donations for the "Make Jen Happy" Fund which will enable me to purchase smile inducing, awe-inspiring shoes. My psyche will thank you.

BTW... this post is riddled with sarcasm, I hope you find a bit of humor in it... :)

Thirty-what?

I'm 31, 32 in December? When did that happen and where was I? Somehow I lost about 13 years somewhere.

I may come off all calm, cool, collected and confident, but most days I feel like I'm still 18. Straight out of high school, feeling like no one will take me serious. I think that stems from working in a job where I was always the youngest (by at least around 10 years) and I felt like they never put a whole lot of stock in what I said even though I rocked at what I did. The other thing I was good at was eventually getting them to do what I wanted them to do (usually they took credit for it) and it was successful. No matter how good things turned out, I never "proved" myself to them. It seemed as though I was always the "kid" playing dress up.

Now that I am away from that, I still find myself falling into way of thinking. Why is it that every year, the number changes, but our minds don't? It's like my mind can't grasp the idea of of being "grown up"! I mean, really, I'm a mom?? Aren't moms supposed to be super smart and know everything? Seemed like my mom always did. In fact, I still call her for everything... yes, pretty much EVERYTHING. When am I supposed to know that stuff? Did I miss a class somewhere? How am I going to pass along wisdom, when secretly I'm calling my mom on the phone asking for her answer?

So, I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up, nor do I know when I will actually be grown up, but I'm getting pretty good at faking it! :)

I'm wondering though, do you ever feel grown or is there always that insecure little kid lurking in your subconscious? Do super successful business men feel their age? Or are they always second guess themselves too?

I'm crazy, I know...

But I miss it... being pregnant. That DOES NOT mean that I am ready to have another one, because I'm not ready for what comes after the whole pregnancy thing. (Screaming newborn, left over baby weight, hormonal changes, endless diaper changes, endless breastfeeding, sleepless nights...)

The one thing I didn't like? Being caffeine-free... Prior to getting pregnant I tried to get rid of everything that might not be good for baby, and caffeine was one of those things. I'm sorry, a large fat-free cinnamon hazelnut decaf latte is just not the same. I was thrilled to have my caffeine back as was my blood stream (I think that my blood needs a little, or a lot, of thinning out with caffeine).

I feel like I was one of the lucky ones. When I was pregnant with Moose I didn't have any morning sickness. The worst that I could say is that in the beginning I was exhausted ALL of the time, to the point where I could not keep my eyes open after about 2:00 in the afternoon. I did have waves of nausea, but it was nothing alittle food didn't fix! I only actually threw up once, but we were on a cruise (the roughest waters we had ever seen on a cruise) so I think it was actually a combination of seasickness and being pregnant.

I didn't have any back pain or hip pain (I went to a chiropractor my whole pregnancy, thank you Dr. Jackson). I wore heels up until about a week before I gave birth. My due date came and went and I was ok with that. As far as I was concerned, he could stay. People said I was crazy, but as long as he was inside, I knew for sure he had everything he needed, no guessing!

I really liked being pregnant. I miss the feeling of the baby moving and getting the hiccups. I miss the closeness. I must also admit, the vain side of me, misses the attention, too. (insert sarcasm font) I do miss the excitement of it all though. Not just the excitement of having the baby, but of knowing that my body was growing a person with fingers, toes, lungs, a heart and everything else. It was amazing and a huge part of me can't believe that it's been 2 years since I was actually pregnant. Crazy...

There is nothing in the world like being pregnant, good or bad. I think every mother would admit that. It's kinda sad that men don't get to know that, but let's face it, they couldn't handle it. Jon, for example, has to open the package of his new gadgets before we even get out of the parking lot of the store, there is no way he could go 9 months!

I have to say, no matter how much I miss it, I'm not ready for another one, yet. In the mean time, I have my memories... at least some of them... Have I mentioned I have a horrible memory? Which means that I will probably forget that I actually typed this and be pregnant next week... (HA...HA...HA...Definitely insert sarcasm font here)!!

Questions I Hate (yes HATE)

"Aren't you ready for another one?" So, aside from "do you think he's hungry?" that is my least favorite question out there.

People have no shame. I remember holding my two week old baby and someone asked me if I was ready for another one. "Huh?" I thought "I'm not entirely sure I knew what I was getting into with this one!" I mean really, does everyone in the free world think that just because you procreated once that you are suddenly ready to be the star of your own show "Jon & Jen Plus 10?" Some people only want one child, some want 19, some tried so hard for that first one that the thought of going through that again may be devastating. My husband and I waited almost 10 years (by choice) to have Moose, best decision we ever made, but we still have not decided if we will have another one. We are still having too much fun with Moose! Plus, let me, at the very least, get him potty trained!

As I mentioned above, my next least favorite question "Do you think he's hungry?" Now I don't get this one as much anymore since Moose is almost 2, but when he was little, he had about a 2 month period where he was extra fussy (mainly gassy)  and when he would start to cry, I would inevitably get the question "Do you think he is hungry?" In some instances he could have just eaten and they'd still ask. In other instances, I'd be thinking "I don't know, he can't tell me and I can't read his mind." Asking questions like that to a new mom only frustrates us (because we don't know how to fix the broken baby), no matter how nicely you meant it.

Another horrible and I mean HORRIBLE question is "When are you due?" I don't care if you can see a hand print of the unborn fetus protruding from her belly, don't ask... She may have just swallowed a small child, you don't know. I was asked that question (not once, but twice... ugh) and it was not pleasant. The second time I was asked was finally the motivation I needed to lose weight (at the time, I was about 75lbs overweight). The sad thing is that immediately after the guy asked me that question, he realized it was not appropriate and the life drained out of his face. I simply replied "I'm not, but, uh, thanks for noticing!?!" Stupid question, guys, erase it from your small talk library!

These are just a few to start off with, I have many more, and I am sure they will be the topics of future posts. None of these questions have been asked to me recently, they just popped into my head and I needed to release some pressure up there!

What questions tick you off?

A tale of two spiders...

So, apparently, I am overwhelmingly attractive to spiders lately. Nasty, bugged eyed, nasty, eight-legged, nasty, hairy, nasty creatures.

The first instance happened when I was innocently making a deposit at my bank while talking on the phone to a dear friend. She must have thought I was being robbed because mid sentence I screamed into the phone and started whimpering. What she couldn't see was that a huge (ginormous) wolf spider had quickly scampered in and out of my rolled-down window.

When I caught my breath, I explained to her what happened, but reassured her that I was fine because it had gone back out of my truck. I continued my conversation (mostly reminiscing about the time that the spider scurried into my car window at the bank) and waited on my receipt from the teller.

Suddenly, without warning, the stupid spider ran back in and out of my truck followed by my screaming again. I quickly rolled up the window and waved to the teller (as if she understood that my wave meant I was forgoing my receipt due to a persistent arachnid that plaguing my car). I continued to whimper into the phone to Sarah, more shaken by the second attempted attack by said spider.

One little leg... two little legs... reaching around my mirror. AHHHH!!!! STUPID Spider.. He (must be a he, as persistent as he is being) crawled onto my mirror and laughed in my face "Ha ha ha... stupid human! Just wait til you park!" Shows what he knows. No way I am parking my car with a gigantic spider attached to the side of it. On down the road I went! reaching 30mph (still there), 45mpg (does he have super glue on his legs?), 50mph (starting to wobble), 55mph (VICTORY!). He flew off my mirror and landed in the middle of the road. To give you an idea of his size, I watched him hit the road in my rear-view mirror and roll down the street. Let that be a lesson to you silly spider...

Fast forward to yesterday... again at the bank (you'd think I had lots of money as much as I am at the bank). I pulled out on to the main road and stopped at the red light. I was looking out my window, minding my own business, when a moving shadow caught my attention. I slowly looked up and AHHHH another sticking wolf spider! Seriously?? Do I have a sign saying "Psst... Hey spiders.... come live here..."? I had flashbacks to the movie "Arachnophobia" Gross! The pic to the right is the actual spider as seen on my mirror THROUGH my rolled up window.

I tried the whole driving fast trick again, but to no avail. He crawled behind my mirror where, I'm assuming, he now resides. I imagine him back there, plotting and scheming a way to give me a heart attack by doing a sneak attack when I least expect it. Fantastic...

Maybe he got word of his brother.... Crap...

Moral to the story... be good to spiders, you never know when they will have the upper hand.

(There, I told them to be nice to you... can you leave now?)

So much time... So little to do...

So much time... So little to do... I feel like that sums it up pretty much all the time for me. Not that I am complaining, because I don't complain... (insert sarcasm font)

How can a day go by so quickly that you look up and suddenly the sun is setting? There are days that I feel like as soon as I wake up, it's time to go to bed again.

My day (much like most of you, I'm sure) is filled with waking, showering, dressing, hair & makeup, eating, waking the toddler, feeding the toddler, clothing the toddler, loading up the car with diaper bag toys & said toddler, taking toddler to moms, heading to work, work, head back to moms, load up the car again, head home, taking something out for dinner, work from home, play with toddler, cook dinner, do dishes, laundry, bathe toddler, dress toddler for bed, put him to bed, do anything else that needs to be done, dress for bed, lay down, think of starting it all over tomorrow..... WHEW!

Ok, I know that I'm not the only one who's day is filled like this (and most of you, I am sure, have more hectic days) but it seems like there is no time (or money for that matter!) for all the important stuff... fun stuff... moonlit walks on the beach, vacationing in Paris, relaxing on with the family on a Disney Cruise....

Did you catch the movie title in this post?? Remember what movie it's from?

A good friend of mine recently said "There is always time until one day there just isn't". Isn't that the truth? A scary, scary truth at that. I don't want to wake up one day and wonder why I spent my days filled with errands and chores instead of living, loving and laughing! So here I am watching my son dance around my moms living room, I think I'll join him!

What fictional character would you want to be?

Shameless confession....

I want to be Melinda Gordon.

So... I'm a dork, I know this, but Ghost Whisperer is my guilty pleasure and I love Melinda Gordon. I am addicted to watching reruns on Ion Television and WE TV. Except for the whole talking to dead people thing, she is everything I aspire to be. Ahh.... Maybe some things are better left unsaid! I know what you are thinking... LAME! I agree, but Jennifer Love Hewitt is beautiful and in this show she has the most amazing wardrobe, hair and make up.

I want to live in the adorable little town of Grandview, where everything is within walking distance. I want to own my own little store (maybe not antiques, maybe a cupcake shop or coffee shop) where it's never really busy and I can close up whenever I want, but it is profitable none the less. I want my wonderful best friends to live in the same town as me and we get together all the time.

I want a gorgeous 2 story house on a quaint little street where all of my neighbors know and love me. I to be able to see the seasons change, but where it never snows and is always beautiful out.

Most importantly, I want her wardrobe, shoes, make-up, hair and waistline. I can be a tad vain... :) (insert sarcasm font)

In conclusion, the fictional character I would choose to be is Melinda Gordon. I'd love to hear who you all would choose... Talk to me!

Postpartum Depression... Shhh... It's a secret...

Bear with me, this one may be a little lengthy...

Anyone who knows me, knows that I suffered from Postpartum Depression. And no, it's not just because I was an uncontrollable mess 24/7, it's because I talked about it. Ok, well maybe not to everyone in the beginning, but eventually I did and if you hang out with me too long, I'll probably tell you about it too.

Why? Because too many women don't. They feel like it's something they should be ashamed of (like they can really control it), like they did something wrong, like they are a failure, or all of the above. Or maybe that's just how it was for me. Maybe it's different for everyone.

All I know is that it was miserable, I was miserable, until I got help. At first I didn't know what was wrong with me. It really started before I even left the hospital. I was 3 days overdue and they said they had to induce. I didn't want to induce, I didn't want drugs, I wanted it as natural as possible. I felt like I got robbed of the full experience. (Now, I'm not coming down on anyone who is pro-drug, pro-c-section, etc... this is just how I felt about my situation.) I really felt like he wasn't ready (and he wasn't I gave birth 47 hours and 45 minutes after they began the induction) and I didn't want to rush it.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my son, but I didn't feel an instant bond (gasp!) with him. I had a flood of emotions and guilt and loneliness and doubt and every other bad emotion you can imagine and then I felt guilty for for feeling bad. It was such a vicious cycle.

Each day after I had Moose, my appetite was less and less and I wasn't getting any sleep. Not just from the newborn (he was actually doing great), but from the nurses in and out, checking on me, checking on Moose, sending in student nurses, banging the cabinets in the room next to us. That in itself was enough to drive me crazy. The night before I was discharged, friends brought us dinner at that point, I just sorta pushed it around and forced a few fries down. The next morning the midwife came in looked at me and asked "How are you doing?" I said "Fine, Moose has been doing great." She said "No, how are YOU doing?" I lost it. First off, I felt like that was the first time since he was born that someone asked how I was really doing. Tears started streaming down my face. Blubbering (I am a crier after all), I said something like "I'm just so tired, there is someone in here every 20 minutes. I haven't slept since Thurs night (it was now Tuesday) and I am just a mess." She hugged me and reassured me and I think I felt better for a bit.

The next two kind of run together. I remember spending alot of time on the recliner, not leaving the house much, crying uncontrollably a and really just going through the motions. I did it cause I had to, I knew that much, but I didn't want to be around anyone but Jon. When he went back to work, I balled my eyes out, and called him several times begging him to come home, to take vacation time and stay home a little longer.

As I stated in one of my other blogs, I lost 30lbs in less than two weeks. I didn't eat and I breastfed (in hindsight, probably not a good combination). Speaking of breastfeeding... It was so hard... I feel like no one really tells you that and the first doctor we took Moose to freaked us out saying she didn't think he was eating enough and we needed to supplement with xx amount of formula. I went home and cried (notice a theme here?). Blubbering questions to Jon (that he didn't have an answer for, of course) like "Why do we have to supplement?" "What happens if he forgets how to nurse?" "Why can't I provide enough for my son?" As I said, it was horrible...

Then on the other side of that, a week later, breast feeding became overwhelming so I switched to pumping (I have no idea why that seemed easier, looking back) every 3 to 4 hours. On a Saturday night, it got so bad that Jon took me to the emergency room. Not because I wanted to hurt myself or my son (that seemed to be the "it" question at the ER), but because I literally could not stop crying and I felt so terrible. She did a psych evaluation (which, in my opinion, make you feel like a criminal) and decided to release me to the care of my husband as long as I went to my doctor first thing Monday morning. Sunday was the longest day ever.

Monday came and I went to the doctor (it worked out well, cause it was the same day as Moose's circ) and he asked what was bothering me. My response? Uncontrollable crying, again... He got the gist of it and set me up with a prescription. Yes, I was medicated for about 6 months. Boy did it help. I am so thankful that I didn't let it drag on. I truly don't know how some women hold it in, I couldn't have stayed that way for long.

My happy, healthy, handsome man

I did continue to breastfeed Moose until he was 13 months old and I am happy to report that he successfully latched back on and I actually nursed him. When the 6 months was up, I went off the meds. I feel like that was the best decision for me, but I have to admit, I still have bad days every once in a while. I feel like that's normal though. Life is a journey of ups and downs and I prefer it that way, who just wants to ride in a straight line? :)

I hope that my sharing this helps bring to light that PPD is nothing to be ashamed of, that it's not anyone's fault.

Goodbye stitches, hello screams...

Today was the day, the day the stitches come out.

I have been dreading this day because I knew that getting the stitches was not fun at all so I sorta had a feeling that this would not be a pleasurable experience either. I was also really worried for Moose. I didn't know if it would hurt him, if he would freak out or what.

So I got off work at 1:30 and went to my moms to pick him up. I walked in about 10 minutes til 2:00 and my mom was in the room where Moose naps. I said "Great, did he just wake up?" She looked at me (seemly exhausted herself) and said "No, I was just about to put him down, we just got home." "Hmm....," I said, "that won't work, his appointment is a t 3:15pm and I have to stop by the real estate office on my way there. So basically, we need to leave now."

Ugh... no nap... Now, don't get me wrong, Moose is an amazing kid, but no nap and having someone tug at thread connected to a "booboo" on his lip did not seem like a good combination. But, ohhh, I had no other option, so we loaded up and headed out.

You know what they call a doctor who had a C average, right? Doctor!

We get to the doctors office at 3:05, the appointment is for 3:15, perfect! Just in time.

Yea, just in time to wait. Stupid doctors office. So generally when I make an appointment for him, I ask for any doctor except for Dr. Soandso. I forgot to do that ans she was the only one in today. Booo... After an hour of waiting in the waiting room (with loud, unsupervised 5 & 7 year olds, mind you), we were finally called back. More waiting... Seriously? There was one person before me, what is taking so long?

Did I mention my son is exhausted? The doctor eventually decided to grace us with her presence for a grand total of 1.5 minutes. Here is how it went:

She said "He has stitches?"
I said "Yes".
She said "When did he get them?"
I said "Friday at 10:30pm"
She said "Let me see them." (looks at his face, he starts crying, she looks frustrated)
She said "Ok the nurse will be in in a minute to take them out."

What?? Really? All of that for her to send the nurse in to do it? Thank you very much Dr. Stupidhead.

The nurse comes in and he has me lay Moose down and hold his arms. My heart breaks because he looks at me with those big, beautiful, brown eyes and has a look of sheer terror. Stop! Don't do it! Can't the stitches stay in forever? We could come up with a creative way to explain it to people... (again, sarcasm)

But, no, they must come out.

Now, I have been fortunate enough not to have stitches at an age that I can remember, but I will say it looked painful. My poor baby. At least it only took about 2 minutes and we were done. Thankfully!

Almost instantly, the tears stopped, Moose "high-fived" the nurse and said "Tank ooo" (Thank You). I have such a polite little boy... :)

Stitch free! A little medicine for good measure!

All in fun...

I just want to take a minute (for those who don't personally know me) to explain a little bit about me, and this blog.

I am super, SUPER sarcastic! Everything I write on this blog, for the most part, is all in fun. A good friend once mentioned that she wished she had a sarcasm font as to inflect tone.

I have a fantastic family, amazing friends and I am in a really great place right now. The purpose of this blog is for me to rant and ramble and just let loose the ridiculous thoughts that float through my mind. I don't actually want my son to marry an orphan (well ok, maybe a part of me does). Insert sarcasm font here.

My brain needs an outlet and instead of boring my husband to tears or having him think that I am utterly crazy, I choose to write it down, and maybe entertain a few people. I can hope, at least.

I am one big smile in a sea of happy faces.... hopefully I can put one on your face a time or two!

I'm a planner, not a fighter...

Well, ok, I'm a fighter when I'm not able to plan the way I like. Now, I'm not compulsive about it or anything, but, for example, if I have a trip coming up, I like the details mapped out. I want to know that we have a hotel room set up, that the flight has been booked, what day we are leaving, what day we are coming back...

A perfect example is my son's birthday. Last year for his first birthday we did Super Mario Bros (an homage to my childhood). I had the theme picked out before he was born... Sad, I know. But the worst part is that while I was planning that one, I was already tossing up ideas for his 2nd birthday (and I wonder why it's going by so fast). Monkeys or Muppets? Muppets or Monkeys? So I force my preferences on my son, he's not old enough to decide yet, so he gets the birthday's I never had... I figure I have plenty of years to give him the birthdays that he wants. (Ughhh... I dread the days where he will  beg of mass marketed movie or TV birthday themes... No offense if you like those, just not my cup of tea.)

Monkeys, by the way, that's what I chose for birthday #2... "Monkey See, Monkey Do, Little Moose, is turning 2!"

Back to planning, one of the things that drives me the most crazy (one on a very long list), is to know something is coming up, and not being able to plan properly. I want all my ducks in a row.... I want all my bags packed.... At the very least a rough time-line will do, but to have nothing.... UGH.... murder for me. I mean I can be as spontaneous as the next gal, but for matters of big things, I want a plan.

When I was pregnant with my son, I remember thinking "When can I find out what I am having? 18 weeks! Sweet!! What? My next appointment isn't until I'm 22 weeks? Well can't we schedule early?" Boo... I didn't like that at all. Once I found out? I was buying paint, picking out fabric so my mom could make his quilt, registering at baby stores, emptying out the room that would be his room... I love my friends who waited to see what they were having, but I couldn't have done it. Planning makes me feel good... makes me feel in control and everyone knows that I'm all about control!

Here's his room :)

Emotional Eater, Party of One...

I'm an emotional eater, there I said it... what a weight off my shoulders! Now hand me a cream puff... crap, there it goes again.

Basically, it goes like this...

• When I'm happy, I celebrate with eating
• When I'm sad, I self medicate with food
• When I'm stressed, I feel better with chocolate
• When something good happens, we go out to dinner
• When my favorite TV show is on, bring out the pretzels

Notice a pattern here?  I sure do... but I rationalize by saying, "I'll be better tomorrow".

Tomorrow... ahh, tomorrow... there is always tomorrow, yet tomorrow never seems to get here.

Why do I do this? Beats me, I mean, technically I feel better mid bite, but before I can brush the crumbs off my shirt, I am already thinking, "Why, did I eat that? I didn't need it". Then I walk by the pantry and hear the peanut butter calling my name.

How does emotional eating effect dieting?? Umm, hello, negatively!

Sure, I still blame those few extra lbs on baby weight (I know he's almost 2, don't judge me!), but I'm starting to think that those 4 cream puffs I just ate aren't helping anything either. I gained (gulp) 49lbs when I was pregnant. The 2 weeks after he was born I lost 30lbs (postpartum and breastfeeding will do that to you). A few of those lbs creeped back (mainly on my thighs, I think) and I am still about 25lbs or so heavier than I was pre-pregnancy... ugh... Let me be perfectly clear, I am by no means saying I'm fat, I am just not at my goal weight. Sometimes being a girl sucks! *We are always worrying about weight, makeup, fashion, shoes, skin care, being submissive little housewives... (haha!!! Now that I have set the feminist movement back a few years, I'll stop!)

*Disclaimer: Just to clarify, I was making a joke about the things we actually worry about, we are way more complex than that, I mean, I didn't even mention hair care... ;)

And now for a laugh (more cartoons I came across while searching for one to suit the topic):

Bitter coffee, bitter thoughts

Let me be clear... I LOVE coffee, but I do not like my coffee black and bitter, I like it like I like my thoughts: light and sweet!

I'm pretty sure that in my next life I will be a barista making creamy, sweet, delicious coffee creations. Spreading love one caffeinated drink at a time. Hot ones, iced ones, blended ones... mmmmm, but alas, here I sit with my hot cup of joe sweetened with splenda and flavored with Coffee Mate's Creme Brulee creamer. That's as close as I'll get for now.

Now on to bitter thoughts...

Over the past few years we (mainly I) have gone through some changes, some good, some bad, all that have made me the person I am today. I try my hardest to focus on the positive, but sometimes it is hard and the bitter thoughts creep back in.

It's very hard for me to comprehend how quickly people change from loving you and thinking you are the best thing ever, to thinking you are the anti-Christ bent on world domination no matter who you step on to get there (no one in my life currently, mind you, things are pretty great right now).

For a very long time I had my priorities pretty messed up and gave too much of myself to people who were way to quick to try to take it all away. People I trusted, people I respected, people who then called into question my character. I was crushed because those who really know me, know I mean no harm. As much as I try to move on and try to forgive those people, a part of me wants to remain angry... needs to be angry, a part of me wants to hold on and I think that's what makes it worse, that they still have some control over me. Broken hearted is the best way to describe it.

As I said, everything I have gone through has made me the person I am today, good, bad or indifferent, here I am... But know this, I'm a bit more cautious who I really let in, I'm a bit more careful what I consider a priority and I will never give that much of myself to anything that is not my family (and by family I mean friends too, you are all my family).

I Hope My Son Marries an Orphan...

Yea, I know that seems blunt... but there is truth in humor, right?

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, I've had conversations with other moms of boys who have said the same thing. They just may not admit it too publicly. Me? I'm not afraid. I have a feeling I will be like the Jane Fonda character in the movie "Monster-In-Law". “It's wonderful being in love. But I don't think marriage is the best solution to a thing like this.”

What I am afraid of is my son falling in love and running away with her family. Is that wrong?

Seriously, he's not even two yet and I am worrying about his future family. But when I found out that he was a "he", that was one of the first thoughts I had. Well... actually... when I found out he was a boy, I cried for a day thinking "What am I gonna do with a boy?" when in reality I think I would have done the same thing if I found out I was having a girl. I think that "knowing" was just what finally made it real for me.

Everything I have heard from the mothers of girls is that, yeah, it may be harder to raise girls, but once they grow up, girls still need their mothers. Most of what I have heard from mothers of boys is that they get married and adopt the wife's family. I'm terrified of that. I love the fact that my son needs me and thinks I am the greatest person ever (I am, after all, the greatest person ever, it's just nice that he recognizes it) and I am the most important woman in his life.

Not to mention, I really don't want to see some girl who thinks she knows whats best for him. Is this a premature fear? Yes, and I am aware of that. Does that make it any less real? No...

So in conclusion, I hope my son marries an orphan, that way there is no competition. Yes, I'm selfish, I am aware of that too... the sooner everyone else realizes that, the better off we will all be... :)

No Pacie, No Pacie, No Pacie

Tonight, Moose went to bed with out his pacie and with out even asking for it. Last night was the first time we tried it with out the pacie because of his stitches and no fight then either. I know that most mama's would be thrilled if their babies didn't have a problem with giving up the pacie...

I am not one of those mama's.

You may be asking "Now, Jen, why aren't you happy?" Well, let me tell you. Moose is my baby, my only baby. I know he is almost 2, but he's still my baby and other than the fact that he still wears diapers, the pacie is the last piece of his babydom... I'm not ready for him to no longer be a baby. Boo... BOO, I SAY!

Moose has never been one of those babies that "had" to have his pacie, meaning if we left the house without it, it wasn't a problem, but he still liked it. My husband and I didn't mind him having it. Don't get me wrong, we knew one day we would have to wean him off of it, I just thought he'd put up a little bit of a fight. I mean, look at Maggie Simpson, she's been enjoying her pacie for like 20+ years now...

I should have known that he would be easy to wean. He has always had a time frame for things. He never liked to be held for too long, he was swaddled every night for six months and then one night out of no where was done, he picked up a sippy cup one day and never went back to the bottle. Guess that's how the pacie will be, too.

Anyone who knows me, knows that Moose's milestones are bitter sweet in my eyes. I'm thrilled that he is walking, talking, eating solid food... but seriously, it comes way too quick for me! He will be 2 next month (pause for a brief freak out) and I have no idea where it went. Didn't I just bring him home from the hospital last week?

Really!?! Pardon me while I get him all packed up for college, it'll be here before I know it.

Not good in an emergency...

I, apparently, am not good in an emergency, so don't call me. 

Unfortunately, I found this out the hard way.

Let me paint the picture for you...

I love food... pretty much all things food (except scary food... i.e. bugs, oysters, bananas) and my husband is very meat and potatoes. So when I found a friend that I could share this love with, I was super excited. Last Saturday night Lacey came over and I prepared a delicious spread of food for her that my hubby would have turned his nose up to had I told him I was fixing it. (BTW, Jon tried and liked everything that I fixed...) Anyway, she wanted to return the favor and since her husband is alot like mine in that respect, she was just as excited! All week I was so looking forward to Friday night which was only intensified when she texted me the menu (Brie and red pepper jelly in puff pastry, bruschetta, brie and pear in phyllo cups, a cheese tray, danishes, chips and an assortment of dips).

Friday was a busy day. Up at 6:30am. I got showered, dressed my son, got myself ready, fed Moose (my son) breakfast and headed to my sisters house. I dropped Moose off and headed to work. I left work at 12:30 and met my sister and dad at Red Robin (Yummmm) for my dads b-day lunch. After my yummy southwest salad, we headed over to see "Rise of the Planet of the Apes". (Not bad but the CG in some areas could have been better.) After the movie, I headed to my moms to pick up Moose. We then headed to the mall playground to have a playdate with Gigi and Liam. The boys had a blast and Liam found love...

After our playdate, Moose and I left to pick up Jon so that we could head to our much anticipated dinner. We traveled the 30 minutes to Lacey's house and unloaded. It was right about 6:30 and we walked in the house and it smelled amazing, fresh baked pastry, yummo! The spread was everything I dreamed it would be... sweet deliciousness...

We ate and talked and laughed, all was right in the world, at least, for about 40 minutes.

Moose was dancing and spinning. I turned my head to say something to Jon and turned my head back right as Moose's head slammed against the edge of the coffee table. AHHHHHH! Silence, then screaming. Me? Blubbering idiot. I wasn't crying, mind you. Just could not talk or think. Lacey was handing me paper towels, Jon was asking if he was alright and I think all I actually verbalized was "I, uh, I don't, uh, oh my, I don't know". Jon rushed us into the bathroom to get into better light and all I could do was look at the gaping hole in my son's lip. At that point, Jon decided that he probably needed stitches and Anthony said we could follow him to the hospital. Moose talked the whole way there, like nothing was wrong. What a strong little boy.

After 3 and 1/2 hours, we left with a very tired Moose and 3 stitches. All I can say is, Moose did amazing. I was so fearful of how he would react to being swaddled and restrained, but he was so good, crying only a little. I am so thankful. I have to say I was completely nauseous (especially with the smell of the laytex gloves wafting up my nose) and Jon was light headed, but we made it through.

 

The car ride home was hilarious... I'm guessing that he was feeling pretty good from the lydocaine because he was quite the chatty one. "Mommy, my lip hurt coffee table" "Mommy, saw a docker" "Grrrrrrrrrrr" "Hee heee heee heee". All I can say is I am glad he was in a good mood at 11:30 at night!

Moral to the story? Got an emergency? Don't call me... I apparently become mute.