Cat Cooties?

You know that old saying about how a dog's mouth is cleaner than a person's? Anyone know what the rule of thumb is for cats? Because my cat has become addicted to drinking out of my glass. And by gosh, last night that was the end of the tea pitcher, and I was not throwing out that tea. So we shared it.

Shower Me With Gifts

As Sara was opening gifts at her bridal shower this weekend, I did not have to envy her brand new towels like most people who have been married 9 years would have to do. Instead, I remembered that I have a mother-in-law who was smart enough to box up the excess towels and store them for me. So the next day I asked for my reserve of towels. And what did Doug bring home? FOUR PAPER BOXES FULL OF TOWELS. Holy shit. I had no idea this whole time that we had that many towels in storage. I was thinking, like, 1 box. And I thought it was only bath towels. I had asked for kitchen towels for Christmas two years ago in a name swap for heaven's sake! And lo and behold, there are kitchen towels, full size bath towels, hand towels (needed so badly), and wash cloths. And in about 4 different colors.

So how in the world did we end up with enough towels to stock our house AND have 4 boxes in storage? Well, fellow WP'ers will attest to the fact that WP folks buy from Roses. And Roses has dust collectors. So at one point prior to the wedding, I was in full freakout mode about not having anything practical -- "LIKE TOWELS!" -- but we would sure as hell be able to decorate our house. Poor Doug was the recipient of this spill many times apparently. So if anyone asked him what we needed: "TOWELS"

And there you go. That's why I now have 4 boxes of brand new towels sitting in my home office.

Jeb, The Sequel

Being 7 years older than my little bro often made for mothering rather than sistering. One of the things I remember with such clarity about when he was little is how S-L-OOOOOO-W he did everything (still hilarious to me that the slow moving person joined the military). He would get up from the table, clench his dirty hands together so he wouldn't accidentally touch anything, then stop in front of the TV. And stand there. And watch. And keep standing there. Until Barbara started in on the crazy harpie hollaring. Many, many daily tasks ended this way. And Jeb would then slowly make his way into the bathroom, wash his hands like an OCD person, slowly dry his hands, slowly hang up the towel...just reliving it is making me want to scream. And that is exactly how I feel about Elliott's morning routine. Hold cheese toast, watch TV, keep holding toast, listen to me yell, "EAT YOUR TOAST," take one little nibble, repeat process for 15 minutes. Then I called Doug to report how slow he was being, and even Doug, the in-law, said, "He is so much like your brother."

My Other Needy Child

I'm trying to find balance is so many areas of my life. For one, turning down the mommy guilt so that I don't always have to accompany Doug and Elliott to see Doug's parents on Sundays. Mommy guilt of not seeing my child on the last day of the weekend versus getting things accomplished around the house. Yesterday I did dishes, LAUNDRY (in all caps to emphasize how much I did and how much I still need to do), cleaned the hall bathroom (Kasey, boys are so gross, I don't know how you live with 2 add'l ones), planted more (free) flowers, watered flowers planted on Friday, paid bills, attempted to make a menu for this week, etc. At some point during the day I noticed that Priss was following me around. And not with the "Hey, I'm hungry, would you please follow me to the laundry room and feed me" walk or the desperation of a crazy animal that can sense weather or doomsday. Just a casual accompaniment as I went about my day. I guess I realized it when I was scrubbing the tub and she was sitting on the side watching me. Later that night she sat on top of the wingback while I looked at a magazine. Doug commented on it, and I reported that she had been following me around all day. Sweet, right? Or does it signal, as I suspect, her utter dislike of having Elliott take over the house. I think it's her not so subtle way of reminding me exactly who was the first child. It makes me feel kind of cool to have a feline entourage. Right up until I realize that makes me one step closer to crazy cat lady later in life. I guess better crazy cat lady than crazy parrot lady. Then again, how totally pimp is it to nonchalantly walk into a pharmacy with a parrot on your shoulder and scare the living shit out of a perfectly nice technician?

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

You can see from earlier posts that nutrition is weighing heavily on my mind not just for myself but also for my child. His people are not thin and tall, I'm just saying. I also struggle with menu planning, home meal preparation, and NOT EATING SO MUCH FAST FOOD! So lately when we are in a hurry we try to at least make better fast food choices. Such as getting the baked potato at Wendy's rather than fries. So I've been lightly mentioning here and there to Elliott about healthy food and growing big and tall. Which seems a little cruel when you think about his genetics, ha. When we went to McDonalds the other night prior to Kitty's tball game, I was talking to Doug and eating my fries with more gusto that I have been lately. Truth be told, I was trying to eat them while they were hot since their fries are really not that good anymore. Elliott leaned over and said with much authority, "Mami, eat your hamburger; not so many fries, they are not good for you." That kid. Sigh.

Cupcake Canvas

Five years ago when Erica got married (wow, I didn't realize until just now it had been 5 years), Holly, Michelle and I set out to liven up her self-planned bachelorette spend the night party. She had planned the location and food and everything, so we decided we had to do something funny/naughty. Not sure how she drew the shortest straw, but Holly called bakeries around Jackson inquiring about adult novelty cakes. Now you cannot appreciate the true funniness of this unless you really know Holly. But I will always remember with an uproar of laughter how she recounted the disgust in the woman's voice when she informed her they did NOT make those kind of cakes. Having struck out and been mortally embarrassed, Holly passed the baton to me. Luckily, I can usually find some freak to go with me on such a mission. So off set Sara, Elizabeth and I to Fantasyland, on Hwy 69 of course. The phalic cake pan was a bit too much, so we chose the cupcake pan; and it was not cheap. And giggled all the way back to Tibbee. When I got ready to make the cupcakes, I called Sara for tips on flesh colored icing. Who knew that her graphic design degree and all that training in art would turn out to be so beneficial for not only making the most perfect flesh colored icing in the world but also for all the thought she put into the realism of those cupcakes. They were works of art. She even took a toothpick and sculpted the icing. And I think we burned hundreds of calories laughing while we did it. I was both proud and somewhat embarrassed to reveal, and later consume, those cupcakes. But nothing would compare to the mortification I would days later know when Mr. Turnip told me how funny he thought it was. CUE SHOCK AND COMPLETE AND UTTER EMBARRASSMENT. Seems Erica thought it was so funny that she took the last remaining cupcake and showed her then future in-laws. I'm not sure I've ever been able to completely look him in the eye since then.

A River Runs Through It

Doug has entered dangerous ground. I turned on the sound machine last night, went to the bathroom, came back and got in the bed, and after a minute I said, "this doesn't sound like the ocean." Doug: "that's because I changed it to running stream." THE MAN WHO CAN SLEEP THROUGH A TORNADO THINKS HE HAS THE RIGHT TO TOUCH THE SOUND MACHINE BELONGING TO THE PERSON WHO HASN'T SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT IN 3 YEARS?!? DOES THAT SEEM LIKE A WISE MOVE?!?

Tupelo, if your beer doesn't get delivered one day, it's because I bashed his head in during the night with the sound machine.

I Dream of Seagulls

I PURCHASED A SOUND MACHINE FOR SLEEPYTIME YESTERDAY! WOO HOO! We got ready for bed, Doug plugged it in, turned and said, "Which of the 10 sounds would you like?" Uh, duh, OCEAN WAVES. If only it didn't have a 60 minute automatic shutoff.

Metabolic Metamorphosis

Obviously weight is on my mind. A LOT. For some reason this morning I was thinking about the difference between those who grow up with a weight problem, and those who develop a weight problem later in life. Kind of a "is A or B worse?" scenario. I have a couple of childhood friends who had weight issues early in life. Now, I'm using the term weight issues very liberally here, please know. A few cases for both sides of the argument:

Scenario A1: I have one friend who no longer lives around here who was always a solid kid growing up. Thick if you will, with a slim and trim mother. She reached her tween years and said enough is enough. She has since been engaged in a constant battle of weight and eating right and exercise. And she is smokin' hot. I believe she once participated in a Hawaiian Tropic contest if that gives you any idea.

Scenario A2: I have another adult friend who was sat down by her mother at TWELVE and told essentially, "Look around. We have weight issues. You will always struggle with this." Fad dieting ensued until she found her happy place -- marathon running. She is the picture of good health, athleticism and great lifestyle choices today.

Scenario B: I grew up with an average, athletic build. Some years bordering on skinny, though I never realized it since my reality of skinny is my older brother. Never much worried about my weight, though I didn't like my proportions. In those terrible teenage years, my mother was an awesome cheerleader for 'You look great; even when I was skinny I wasn't as small as you." I did think my hips paired with my lack of boobs made for an odd look. All my life growing up I played sports but ate whatever I wanted. I believe a sense of false security came over me. And then there were the conflicting family images to deal with: the Elliotts, tall and slim and athletic versus the McTaggarts, short and stocky and hippy/butt. I can actually remember being a teenager and being shocked by someone's weight gain and thinking, "that will NEVER happen to me." AAAAAAAH. But see, a sneaky thing happened. Upon turning 20, my Elliott metabolism MORPHED into a McTaggart metabolism. It was a very sneaky trick.

So which is worse, A or B?

Sigh, I know, I know, the answer is C: None of the above. All children should grow up eating nutritionally, engaged in active play, and reinforced with positive body issues. This is a monumental parenting task. I am overwhelmed by this responsibility.

Pride Cometh Before the Fall. Literally.

Last fall I almost signed up to be on our work co-rec softball team, but this inner voice said do you really want to give your coworkers ammunition against you? But this spring, I took the leap and joined the team. And after each of the 5 regular season games (2-3 record), I would come home and upon Doug asking me how it went I would reply, "Well, I didn't embarrass myself." And in our final regular season game, I had the best hit all night. I was feeling good about my overall season performance. And then came last night's championship game.

We started out gang busters, looking like a real team. And then there was the inning where we looked like the out of shape older staffers we are. We had good, we had baaaad. My high point came when the pitcher and I (I was playing 3rd) got a girl out in a rundown. It was awesome. Not long after, though, came the moment that I wish I could undo. Hitting the ball yet again to the 6'5" shortstop, I was trying to beat out the throw to 1st base. I was running as fast as my overweight self would allow. But then my mental determination pushed me faster. Unfortunately, that big brain (ha) must have made me top heavy and my feet began to stumble. Head over heals I tumbled BEFORE I ever got to the base. For those team members in the dugout watching, it looked like I tripped over 1st base. That would have been less embarrassing than tripping over air. And tumbling like only a fat girl can tumble. Covered in red clay. Female 1st baseman from other team all "ARE YOU OK??" My boss, who was coaching 1st, was there to help me up. Because that is what every embarrassed person needs. Their BOSS being the one to pick them up, to have seen the fall from a closeness that no one should have to witness. And damn it hurt. I imagine it will hurt for many a day to come.

After I dropped Jack off and headed home, the tears started. Not so much for the embarrassment, though that was part of it. But every bad thought I have about my current physical state, or lack thereof, became tied up in that moment. My fat, my out of shape, my lack of oxygen, my inability to lose more than 5 lbs even though I've now been working out for 12 weeks this Thursday. All of it rolled and tumbled in that red clay. And I am not sure I have ever felt worse about myself.

When I got home to my 2 sleeping guys, I was thankful for being able to skulk into the bathroom unnoticed and soak in a long, hot bath. I added Spongebob bubbles to cheer myself up.

In Other News

My younger brother special ordered these delightful trunks for his intramural swim team. These two are making me look like the normal one.

My Brother Got a Boob Job

Only my family could take a sweet, low-key lady like my sister-in-law and corrupt her to such a level that she voluntarily made her husband (my brother) a boob cake for his 32nd birthday.

He Makes Bonnets Look Cool

I know, bonnet is such an offensive word if you have a boy. But by george that's the name of the parade. Last year I made his hat the night before and was totally disgusted with my choices at Wal-Mart. And then totally disappointed the next day when I saw the awesome inventions of more talented parents. I could not be outdone! So this year I bought the supplies two weeks in advance, which included a black cowboy hat, green grass, camo eggs, and a green and a yellow bunny.

Here are some before shots:

The finished product:

And the model:

He could make anything cool.

I Blame the Nightlight

I have a confession to make. I love sleeping on the couch. I am not mad at Doug, I just love sleeping by myself now that I caught Erica's lightest sleeper disease. Not that I'm in her category, but I'm damn close. There is no one else to bother me in the living room, except Priss who is so excited to be with me and away from Elliott that she is a perfect angel. And I sleep so soundly! Until at 1:30 am a little child comes running in there to tell me he tee-tee'd in the bed. Please take note that he didn't wake up his daddy who was LAYING RIGHT BESIDE HIM. So Mami gets up and changes him and puts a towel down so he can go back to sleep without major interruption. But then I had to get in the bed with them b/c he insisted. AND SO HELP YOU IF ANY OF YOU MAKE NOTE THAT HE SHOULD NOT BE IN MY BED; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Anyhoo, I had plugged in the nightlight in the hall earlier, and I guess that's what made me think EVERY 20 MINUTES from 1:30 to 5 am that it was already 5 am. I almost drove Doug crazy kicking him and asking him what time it was b/c I thought he was going to be late for work. Over and over again. But then again, maybe now he will realize what it is like to be awakened over and over again by the other person's insanity in the bed.

Another Day In My Swimsuit Wearing Life

Some days I may appear outwardly to have gotten a grasp on life and responsibilities. If you had seen me this morning with Elliott's bag on my left forearm, keys and a container containing dinosaur-shaped sandwiches in my left hand, container containing Easter cupcakes in my right hand, Elliott's Easter "bonnet" atop my head, heading into daycare herding Elliott carrying his basket filled with dinosaur head eggs, you might have been fooled. But if you could have seen through my pants, the turquoise swimsuit bottoms would have shouted out to you, "HA HA! Wrong again! Another day of waking up to discover she has 'forgotten' to do laundry!"

WARNING! Slipper Slope Ahead!

Ok, we all know I lack the necessary motivation to get fit on my own. That is why I was so thankful to end up with my unlikely workout partner JC. Because he manages to motivate me in the same way ole' Coach Huey could. He uses a special talent for getting in my head. And most of you have heard me complain at least 500 times in the last few years: "When have I ever exercised? I haven't. I played team sports. There is no real internal motivation needed -- there is a yelling coach for that!" So, when he bails on me, I just don't go. ARGH! EMILY! Go to the gym by yourself like a big girl! Find the intrinsic motivation for exercise that you've always had for school! Instead, I had a Java Chiller that was as many calories as I would have burned at spinning.

This lecture is not yet over, young lady.

Tree Killers

As made plainly evident in an earlier post, we have a bit of an issue with dealing with paper at our house. I'm doing a little better, so when I realized that we are essentially getting 3 notes from daycare for every 1 event, I got a little ticked off. A few weeks ago we got an "agenda at a glance" if you will for the spring months. So count that as Note #1 regarding Easter festivities. And Note #1 had the wrong date on it. Ok, then we got Note #2 about Easter festivities, which appeared to be all inclusive. However, then the newsletter arrived, which I will consider Note #3, which included info about a 2nd hunt for E's class. Ok, I was able to throw Note #1 away, but now I have to keep Notes #2 & 3 on the fridge due to vital info. Note #3 also contained news of the Week of the Young Child, which also had its own info sheet, Note #4, and separate t-shirt order form, Note #5. Holy shit, people! Not only are you driving me insane and pretty much begging me to forget something, now you are further ruining the environment. How about I volunteer my services and get you going ELECTRONICALLY. I mean if I'm complaining about your old fashioned ways, you are in trouble.

My Irrational Hatred of Counters

2002-2005 was a very hard 3-year span. Just ask Doug. I graduated with my bachelor's in May 2002, started on my master's in August 2002, and took my first full-time, professional job in August 2002. Oh yeah, and we bought our house in March 2002. That's the published, obvious stuff. The real hardship was the infertility battle. Then again, it was partially the infertility battle, but mainly the battle of how to proceed with the adoption. What are our options? How to we get this kind of $? Domestic or international? What country? The amount of trees that died in my quest to possess every piece of information on international adoption is amazing. I had a very hard time throwing out my research at a later date because I had such a connection to it.

As much as I hated my master's, I realize that the pursuit of it and the completion of it partially saved me from an emotional breakdown. Instead of ticking off the days until I was 25 and we could begin an international adoption, I busied myself with research papers and night classes (vomit).

So why am I reliving this today? Because I just signed up for my first course as a undergraduate readmit/second bachelor's student. I am pursuing my dream to become a social worker. Yes, it is the ambition I did not fully realize until 2005. I believe it to be my calling. But, I have to admit that it may not be a coincidence that I am doing this now as I begin to feel the tugs of the baby bug. Going back to school just might save some poor person's social networking page from my irrational emotions.