So here's the deal. I am 6 feet tall and was about 140 lbs a few months ago. I went on medication, stopped obsessing about food, starting eating normal stuff and gained a few pounds. I am NOT PREGNANT.
I have had WAAAAY too many people recently make comments (or in some cases flat out ask me) about the fact that I appear to be pregnant. If I were, A) I would end up single parenting THREE children and B) there would be a lawsuit filed against a physician.
So am I preggers? Nope, just bloated. The problem is that two children later what little breast tissue I have left sags so poorly that unfortunately even the slightest little bit of bloating makes my pathetic little belly stick out further than my sad little barely-B-cup boobies.
And when I say I gained a few pounds, I literally mean like 5 pounds. Can someone problem solve for me why in the hell it goes straight to my gut? I mean really, can't my boobs pick up a pound or two? A pound per boob would be GREAT! Why is it always in my belly?
And as soon as I locate 15 minutes in my day for some light exercise you KNOW the first place I will lose will be: THE BOOBS!
So the next time you see me (or someone else you know who used to be skinny) and you have the slightest inclination to ask them if they have procreated, please refrain! Especially if you ask me, I am likely to go postal on ya!
One more thought before I sign off for the day. I had my first mammogram last year and I do have to make an appeal: please, if anyone out there can figure out how to harness all the breast tissue I had squished into that machine into one cup, I would pay a nearly unlimited price for that bra. I was unaware until then how much breast tissue is underutilized in my current bra configuration.
So really, maybe losing weight isn't the answer, but getting a good bra is!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
When do ear drums mature?
Just a question, when do the ear parts of children mature to the point where they actually HEAR you? My mom seems to think not until they turn 32 or 33 years old. I am inclined to think that mine matured WELL before then, but her opinion is her opinion.
Have you ever noticed that children hear things like "who wants ice cream?" or "who wants to go to the park?" or "who wants a puppy?" but if you use the same volume, tone and inflection to say things like "time to brush your teeth" or "time to go to school" they act like they don't even know you are in the room?
It's like they have their own computerized word recognition system that bounces words back out of their ears like "bedtime" or "no" or "stop kicking your brother". They are pretty sophisticated systems, really.
I also notice that they are programmable, so when I go out of town for some reason and Mark has to single-parent, if I promise the kids I'll bring them back a present if they are good & listen, they turn down the filtration system and most messages are received.
I really wish the National Association of Pediatric Physicians (if there is such a thing) would commission a study on this phenomenon. It is quite puzzling to me, as there also seems to be an unrecognizable and highly complicated pattern which really makes communicating important messages like "get your shoes on this minute" very difficult to convey.
Another really strange thing is that they do tend to hear words they shouldn't while still managing to filter out those that they should. For example, "you need to eat your frickin' breakfast right now before you have to stand in the corner" but what they hear is "frickin' breakfast" and oddly enough they repeat it. Over and over. While running laps through the kitchen.
I am just amazed at this complicated and highly sophisticated listening/hearing program they have. Somewhere along the line we do lose it, though if you ask Mark, mine is still alive and well.
Have you ever noticed that children hear things like "who wants ice cream?" or "who wants to go to the park?" or "who wants a puppy?" but if you use the same volume, tone and inflection to say things like "time to brush your teeth" or "time to go to school" they act like they don't even know you are in the room?
It's like they have their own computerized word recognition system that bounces words back out of their ears like "bedtime" or "no" or "stop kicking your brother". They are pretty sophisticated systems, really.
I also notice that they are programmable, so when I go out of town for some reason and Mark has to single-parent, if I promise the kids I'll bring them back a present if they are good & listen, they turn down the filtration system and most messages are received.
I really wish the National Association of Pediatric Physicians (if there is such a thing) would commission a study on this phenomenon. It is quite puzzling to me, as there also seems to be an unrecognizable and highly complicated pattern which really makes communicating important messages like "get your shoes on this minute" very difficult to convey.
Another really strange thing is that they do tend to hear words they shouldn't while still managing to filter out those that they should. For example, "you need to eat your frickin' breakfast right now before you have to stand in the corner" but what they hear is "frickin' breakfast" and oddly enough they repeat it. Over and over. While running laps through the kitchen.
I am just amazed at this complicated and highly sophisticated listening/hearing program they have. Somewhere along the line we do lose it, though if you ask Mark, mine is still alive and well.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Did I misplace my happy pills?
In reading my most recent post it appears that I may have forgotten to take my meds. It is less of a humorous account and more of a bitch session. Oops!
And IF my neighbors read this blog (I think they might, the last 2 nights have been 4-wheeler free) I do apologize if I hurt your feelings. That doesn't mean I want to you ride your machines around, just that I didn't mean to be so cranky about it. Maybe hillbilly hell was a little extreme to title that post....
Moving on....
My dear husband woke up with a hangover today. The man can't hold his whiskey & 7-up apparently. He has been having a drinky-poo each night this week (it is month end so he is having to do that ghastly accounting stuff) to let go of the day.
Last night he made himself one, and then while I was refilling my bailey's on ice, I made him drink #2. Which was honestly mostly whiskey, but he swore he couldn't taste it. Guess I make a mean drink.
In any case, I got out of bed at 6:15 and jumped in the shower. By 6:45 I was dressed, made up and starting to brush my teeth. Lazy bones was STILL in bed nursing a hangover and asking for a beer-driver (a friend's surefire hangover cure-all cocktail of beer & orange juice).
THEN he tells me he needs me to iron his clothes and take the garbage to the top of the driveway. Why on earth, in all the years we have been together, would I choose today to start ironing his clothes (nevermind taking out the garbage-AS IF!)?
He slept in, whined about a hangover, and forgot about the garbage. What could possibly motivate me to help? Well, the promise of a boat could go a long way, actually.
But then again I would ALSO be responsible for getting the two children ready to go, and as you are aware this blog is partially about CHAOS. Need I say more?
I do love the man, and can't imagine why he married me (I feel like such a lucky girl). After all, I don't cook, I don't clean, I don't iron his clothes or make his lunch, and worst of all I have no boobs. Why, indeed?
And IF my neighbors read this blog (I think they might, the last 2 nights have been 4-wheeler free) I do apologize if I hurt your feelings. That doesn't mean I want to you ride your machines around, just that I didn't mean to be so cranky about it. Maybe hillbilly hell was a little extreme to title that post....
Moving on....
My dear husband woke up with a hangover today. The man can't hold his whiskey & 7-up apparently. He has been having a drinky-poo each night this week (it is month end so he is having to do that ghastly accounting stuff) to let go of the day.
Last night he made himself one, and then while I was refilling my bailey's on ice, I made him drink #2. Which was honestly mostly whiskey, but he swore he couldn't taste it. Guess I make a mean drink.
In any case, I got out of bed at 6:15 and jumped in the shower. By 6:45 I was dressed, made up and starting to brush my teeth. Lazy bones was STILL in bed nursing a hangover and asking for a beer-driver (a friend's surefire hangover cure-all cocktail of beer & orange juice).
THEN he tells me he needs me to iron his clothes and take the garbage to the top of the driveway. Why on earth, in all the years we have been together, would I choose today to start ironing his clothes (nevermind taking out the garbage-AS IF!)?
He slept in, whined about a hangover, and forgot about the garbage. What could possibly motivate me to help? Well, the promise of a boat could go a long way, actually.
But then again I would ALSO be responsible for getting the two children ready to go, and as you are aware this blog is partially about CHAOS. Need I say more?
I do love the man, and can't imagine why he married me (I feel like such a lucky girl). After all, I don't cook, I don't clean, I don't iron his clothes or make his lunch, and worst of all I have no boobs. Why, indeed?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Hillbilly Hell
Now I am not opposed to people owning "4-wheeler" recreational vehicles, nor am I opposed to them storing them at their home or ridng them on occasion to visit a neighbor. What I AM opposed to are my frickin' neighbors who have, for the last two nights (maybe more, we were gone until Sunday) been doing laps around our RES-I-DEN-TIAL neighborhood.
Just when I think I am going to get a break in the noise, (they ran a "course" on the PAVED road behind my house, down and around the corner still on a paved road, and through their own property which created a giant POOF of dust with each turn) they were only trading vehicles.
Is it just me, or is the purpose of a 4-wheeler to drive it in a place that is NOT easily accessible by traditional transportation such as a road bike or a car? Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the noise pollution and negligent consumption of a natural resource grounds for a ticket? Attention Bonner County: here's an opportunity to raise money to finally pave that horrific dirt road that runs to the front of my house.
Needless to say, this isn't going to help me sell my house by complaining about my hillbilly neighbors who have no other entertainment apparently than driving their noisy toys behind my house. I just can't fathom driving a 4-wheeler in a subdivision. Call me crazy.
Just when I think I am going to get a break in the noise, (they ran a "course" on the PAVED road behind my house, down and around the corner still on a paved road, and through their own property which created a giant POOF of dust with each turn) they were only trading vehicles.
Is it just me, or is the purpose of a 4-wheeler to drive it in a place that is NOT easily accessible by traditional transportation such as a road bike or a car? Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the noise pollution and negligent consumption of a natural resource grounds for a ticket? Attention Bonner County: here's an opportunity to raise money to finally pave that horrific dirt road that runs to the front of my house.
Needless to say, this isn't going to help me sell my house by complaining about my hillbilly neighbors who have no other entertainment apparently than driving their noisy toys behind my house. I just can't fathom driving a 4-wheeler in a subdivision. Call me crazy.
Friday, August 1, 2008
The "logical" places we find things
The better part of last night was spent packing and organizing for a weekend camping trip. Of course that was AFTER swimming lessons at five, a community youth event at 5:30, four suckers, a bag of cotton candy, an hour in an inflatable jumping house and a 10 minute ride home with screaming children who didn't want to leave the event.
Once we wrestled (croc-hunter style) the kids into and out of the tub, then into their PJs, and literally tossed them in bed, it was time to pack (after Bailey's on ice).
So rewind to last Sunday. We came home from our "family vacation" in time to have to shove everything laying around into as many vacant spaces with lids, covers, etc so that we could show our house which is for sale on Monday night.
As you can imagine we had to hurry and didn't really pay attention to where we put a lot of things. Well some of us anyway. Fast forward to last night.
After about a half our of searching for my daughter's hiking boots I started to turn a litle red (and quite angry) thinking that they were left in Mark's brother's suburban on Sunday along with his wallet and sunglasses (and yes, somehow that was my fault).
Once I channeled my inner sailor and really started cussing it up Mark asked what I was looking for. I told him about the boots and told him I'd looked in the garage, her room, the cars, the little bins in the mud room where we keep all our shoes, under beds, etc. He suggested I check in the laundry basket in our room.
Huh.
Well, what do you know, there they were, underneath a box of gun ammo, running shoe inserts, three pairs of MY shoes, and some shaving cream. Who knew the most logical freakin' place for all that crap was, of all things, a LAUNDRY basket. Can't wait to see what else I find in the other one.
Once we wrestled (croc-hunter style) the kids into and out of the tub, then into their PJs, and literally tossed them in bed, it was time to pack (after Bailey's on ice).
So rewind to last Sunday. We came home from our "family vacation" in time to have to shove everything laying around into as many vacant spaces with lids, covers, etc so that we could show our house which is for sale on Monday night.
As you can imagine we had to hurry and didn't really pay attention to where we put a lot of things. Well some of us anyway. Fast forward to last night.
After about a half our of searching for my daughter's hiking boots I started to turn a litle red (and quite angry) thinking that they were left in Mark's brother's suburban on Sunday along with his wallet and sunglasses (and yes, somehow that was my fault).
Once I channeled my inner sailor and really started cussing it up Mark asked what I was looking for. I told him about the boots and told him I'd looked in the garage, her room, the cars, the little bins in the mud room where we keep all our shoes, under beds, etc. He suggested I check in the laundry basket in our room.
Huh.
Well, what do you know, there they were, underneath a box of gun ammo, running shoe inserts, three pairs of MY shoes, and some shaving cream. Who knew the most logical freakin' place for all that crap was, of all things, a LAUNDRY basket. Can't wait to see what else I find in the other one.
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