Skinny Jeans

So I've lost 17 pounds. This sounds like a lot, and its great, but there is a lot more to loose. After Baby was born and I went back to work I lost my will. I went into survival mode and said "fuck this man! There is no way I can exercise and work and take care of Baby- are you kidding me?!" After a year of this attitude the clouds parted, work got easier, Baby got easier and it was time to get back in the saddle of the treadmill again.

A lot of my time off from the gym was spent thinking about the gym, and how it was all going to work its way out- so to speak. At first when I had gone back to work I tried getting up at 6am to work out, then get Baby up and so on. However, the first night Baby decided not to sleep through the night ruined all that. Baby is an amazing sleeper, I'm not going to lie- I have it good and I know this. There was just no way I was getting up any earlier then I had to, to work out. I'm not a morning person and just because I'm a mom doesn't change this fact. There are things that change after childbirth, and there are things that don't. The fact that I hate everyone and everything in the morning did not change.

So after my year of thought, I realized that joining the gym in my work building and working out at lunch would do the trick. Low and behold it worked! I actually made it work, and I actually enjoy going since its not at the end of the day when I am exhausted, I'm not taking any time away from my family, and its not in the dreaded morning time. The only thing I miss out on is my girl time at lunch, but Best Friend number 1 now lives down the street so we carpool and I have also made it a point to have girls nights at least once a week to see Best Friend number 2 and Best Friend number 3. Not to mention Good Friend Boss has also now joined the gym so I get to pal around with her and lament about the Gym to someone which is like a bonus!

But lets get real here- rainbows and butterflies aside: loosing weight sucks a bag of dicks. Before I was pregnant I had gotten down to a size 8. Now for me being 6 feet tall this is like a Christmas miracle, like turning water into wine. I have never been a fat girl, but I have never been a small girl either. I'm tall, big, a curvy woman- so a size 2 is never gonna be my life, like not ever. But a size 8?! This was like heaven for me and all because I had finally after all the years of going up and down on the scale figured it out. I figured out the food and the exercise and I managed to actually enjoy my life also, meaning: I wasn't throwing up, starving myself or being unreasonable. I was just a fit person who ate healthy. Then I got pregnant and yada yada you know the rest. Sooo I know after all these years what it takes to become that size 8 again. I know that you don't just magically get there with no work. You get there with a hellava lot of work and then once you are there, you relax because the metabolism is working again and the body is lookin' hot and having wine and cookies on the weekend doesn't even effect you because you 'got this'.

However, getting to this weight nirvana is like a slow unicycle ride up a graded hillside in the snow. Here's what it means for me:

5 to 6 day a week workouts lasting at least an hour long, which consist of cardio and weights. Cardio being either hour long spin classes, running on the tread mill or the boring, grueling eliptical machine. Doing weights every other day. Constantly pushing myself to the next level and not getting lazy about it by sticking to the same routine, it means mixing it up and looking for the next challenge. It means 1600 calories or less a day, 7 days a week- no cheating until the weight is off. It means eating six small boring meals a day- and where the exercise has to change regularly to keep weight coming off, the food is the exact opposite and needs to stay mind numbingly boring sameness day in and day out. It means preparing meals at home and being constantly prepared during the week. Having to compromise during the weekends. It means if Husband wants to go to In-n-out on the weekend that I have to get a protein style burger which consists of a single meat patty between two sheets of ice berg lettuce, no fries. It means always being on top of the grocery lists and knowing there is food in the house. Making sure that if there is a meal eaten out that its a salad and not the good kind with candied walnuts and blue cheese dressing, but the boring salads with a lot of dreaded greens. It means no cake at office parties, no enchiladas at work lunches, it quite frankly means : I hate you if you are eating anything remotely that looks like it might taste good.

Now I know all this, and this is why I put it off for a year. The stress of having a new baby and being a first time Mom meant to me that I got to eat. I didn't have the time or the money to shop, I couldn't go out with friends, I barely had time to take a good crap so I got to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted and I stopped caring. I didn't have to figure out my next workout or my next meal. I could just relax when I had the time to sit still, and that was my way of giving myself a break after giving birth: a little back on the back-'you did it you had a child!' Unfortunately now, I am paying it back full time.

Oddly its not as hard as it seems. I am a slave to routine, and by slave I mean a joyful S&M slave and not someone chained against their will. I enjoy routine and the mediation it brings to my life, it helps me feel secure. I like knowing what is coming next. so I do well with it and once I work out the bugs it goes pretty smoothly for me. I've always been an all or nothing kind of girl anyway.

So Ive lost 17 pounds in two months and I still have another 27 to go before I reach that size 8 again, seeing as how I didn't loose any of that Baby weight like I was supposed to after giving birth. Instead I just lost the basket ball in my stomach and kept the rest. its a long road but I am determined to get there. I will be wearing my skinny jeans again by the end of this year!

Baby I like it

Marriage is hard. Being with someone for seven years is difficult. Raising a child with someone is exhausting, and for all these reasons you end up kind of hating your spouse most of the time.

Here's my theory on why: when you are young and going through adolescents and even young adulthood, you go through many fazes of hating yourself. Then one day you get older and you stop hating yourself because you think "Hey, I'm kinda cool, I like me, scratch that -I LOVE ME!" For me this happened at around age 27. What usually follows this discovery that you are indeed not only a worthy human being, but even perhaps quite lovable is that you suddenly meet someone who also thinks this about you. Which is exactly what happened to me with Husband. Within a month of saying out loud to myself "Wow I'm pretty great, I can be single forever, cause I know how awesome I am and won't settle for some lame ass guy that doesn't see that" that's when Husband appeared literally on my door step. But Let's face it, we all need someone to hate, that's why we have George Bush and the Ku Klux Klan: focal points that we can hate on-you've got to hate someone. Therefore after seven years instead of hating myself, since I am too old and smart for that now, all my hate has transferred onto Husband.

Like any transferred self hatred it comes and goes. I don't always hate Husband, in fact sometimes I think to myself "huh, I really like him-weird". There are days though, where I really hate him. I'm not too big a person to admit this, in fact I think its normal in any good marriage or union of two people after 7 years. Hate is kind of a safety net in marriage, it gives you a place to go when everything else in your life is running smoothly. Things wouldn't feel right in the world if I didn't most of the time hate Husband for something or other.

So that being said there are also days when I forget that Husband used to be 25 and that I used to be 27 and that we used to have the most fun anyone could ever have together. I forget this, especially during the week days when I am tired, and Husband is tired, and I would rather sit in the living room and watch The Vampire Diaries on the Big TV then listen to him tell me about his day, and then one day something changes....

In the New Year Husband and I implemented 'Date Night' every other weekend. We decided it didn't matter what we did-even if we just went to dinner- we would be guaranteed a babysitter for that night for at least a couple hours to go out and enjoy the awesomeness of being adults without a child in tow. This is new for us, usually Date Nights were few and far between and would get lost in the shuffle of life and never really happen that often, but not this year! This was scheduled, and on the calendar- come hell or high water there would be a date every other Saturday God Damn it!

Our first date night I figured we would just go to dinner, it would be mellow, our usual stand by for going out. However this time, Husband surprised me by planning a night at a piano bar with his work friends. At first I was hesitant "eh it'll be lame" then I became non committal "whatever, at least I'm going out". As the night got closer and closer I felt more and more like I didn't really feel like going. I just wanted to maybe go to a nice dinner, but to bar with people I didn't know? Yuck! It sounded exhausting.

The night arrived and Husband had a whole plan laid out: we would drive to his friends house (a couple I actually know and quite enjoy) then we would take a cab together to first have dinner and then meet the rest of the group at the bar. Alright, Husband gets points for the fact that its all planned and I get to just go along, maybe this could be alright after all. Nanny showed up at the appointed time Husband had requested, and then, we were off!

Husband was in a great mood, cheerful, pleasant- the work week safely behind him. I thought: Huh, this is kinda fun"...still hesitant, I wasn't going to count my chickens before they hatched and get excited. Then Husband pumped up the radio to this cheesy music station that plays all top 40- which is very unlike him and began singing along to all the songs. "I love this station!" he called over the music smiling at me. "You do?" I asked confused, this was shocking to me. Husband normally only likes indie rock and kind of stick closer to his favorite bands. I on the other hand not only love our indie music that we share in common, but have an almost obsessive love for crappy pop music too. So I was shocked to find out that Husband would even know to listen to this radio station. "yeah its great!" Husband exclaimed. Then without warning 'Baby I like it' by Enrique Iglesias came on. Even with my intense crappy pop obsession I am waaaaay too cool to like Enrique Iglesias, however this last summer he had come on to my morning show that I watch every day and I found myself dancing along to this stupid song. I had it stuck in my head for the rest of the day and found when I heard it again that I really liked it despite myself. Embarrassed about this discovery I kept my love to myself not even buying the song to work out to. To my great surprise, Husband turned the volume up and started singing along in a loud falsetto. I laughed shocked Husband seemed to know all the words and said sheepishly "I kind of like this song". "Are you kidding?" Husband exclaimed "This song is awesome!" and continues to sing all the words loudly as we pull into our friends driveway. He turns it up again and we both sing in high pitched whines "Baaaaaaby I liiiiike it!"

Its hard to explain the feeling when you rediscover that the person you are with at the moment is a kindred spirit, especially someone you spend most of time slogging through the difficult patches of life with. There is a certain point when you go through enough of the daily grind with someone that you wonder: is there any fun left to be had here? and then.... 'Baby I like it' comes on and you begin a whole new romance with the person you have spent the last year of your life changing diapers and chasing down a screaming toddler with.

Suffice it to say, we spent the rest of the evening drunk, happy and dancing with friends to all the music that we love, and love to hate. At the end of the night we went home, sent Nanny on her way and crept into our office where we shut the door and pumped up "Baby I like it" on the computer, where we danced wildly around the room one last time before crashing into bed.

Death by Mothball

Hello New Year! I'm back! I'm here. It was almost like I died I have been blog-less for so long, except not like that at all, but you know what I mean. I started the new year with work , exercise and diet. As you may know this deadly combination will suck all the joy from your life and what you are left with is sleep, work and household chores because you are too tired to even care about anything else. However, I am starting to get used to my 5 day a week work outs during my lunch hour and I am now resurfacing mentally once more.

so we didn't go to Oregon. That's it. That's all I will say about that as of now, because at this point in time the reasons are not funny enough yet to go into detail about, but with some time and space there may be some funny yet to discuss at a later date.

So, back to the important stuff. Two days ago there was a Great Smell in our hallway. When I say 'Great' I don't mean awesome, I mean large. The Great smell was difficult to diagnose. If you know me at all, you know that I have a major smell situation happening in my life. I can smell everything in intense waves and can easily tell you what the source of the smell is immediately, I am 98% accurate most times. This smell was hard for me to decipher, it smelled chemical, oily, deathly and yet, familiar- hard to put my finger on. I also cannot tolerate a bad smell, it needs to be figured out and dealt with immediately. Therefore when The Great Smell happened I was obviously irked.

Husband could also not identify The Great Smell, and being Husband with smells didn't seem to care one way or the other, which I find mind boggling! Smells OFFEND me. How could he be so blaze?! I made sure that the smell was not penetrating Babies room, or our bedroom as we slept, because this is the type of thing that will keep me up at night, literally worrying about what it could be. Will it kill us? Will it make us retarded? will the house explode? vaguely in the back of mind I recall telling signs of toxicity levels that will indicate onset sudden death, things like: blue fingernails! coughing blood! feeling dizzy or faint! I creep into babies room and made sure that he was still breathing. For the first time I was grateful that our bedroom is so drafty and thanked our crappy louver windows for letting in so much fresh outside air! Husband was clearly un-alarmed by The Great Smell lurking in the hallway and went to bed as usual.

Meanwhile I lay in bed that night wondering what it could be. I got up and creep around the house which I am prone to do at night if I hear a weird noise, and realized The Great Smell was coming from our creepy basement door-the smell seems to be hallway and basement door centric to which I deduce that obviously something has died in the basement, or the dead body I have always imagined down there has been uprooted by the recent rains and we will soon realize that we are living in a real life poltergeist house. I retreat back to the bedroom trying to formulate a plan. Husband snores idly in bed next to me and all I can think is how can he just lay there when we have a smell crisis on our hands!

Lets be clear: the source of many smells in our house come from the basement, or as I fondly refer to it "a place where child molesters might go to die". Our creepy basement smells like death on a good day. It consists of old wooden steps that go down into a dark dirt hole where we keep things we don't want but can't throw away. I am so fearful of this place, that when I have to go down there I leave the door wide open and turn all the lights on. I do a safe jog quickly up and down the steps for fear I will accidentally be trapped in this tomb if I linger too long. we actually keep the door locked with a special key that's how serious the basement is. Nanny won't even go in there at all. We had thoughtfully suggested that we keep the mop at the top of the stairs as a convenient place to be able to retrieve it. Nanny silently refused this placement by shaking her head and frowning and then in broken English explained "I no like, I put mop outside" where the mop now lives next to the house ever since.

Day 2 of The Great Smell started to make me mad. If Nanny wasn't such a Nazi about cleanliness and so sensitive herself to smell, I might not have even gone to work due to the fear of Baby being subjected to The Great Smell all day. Luckily for me the first thing Nanny did upon entering the house was squinch up her nose and announce that she would be opening all the windows immediately. I knew Baby would be safe on The Sarges watch. By the time I had gotten home from work that night the house reeked and I had had it! It was time to take back my house from the looming enemy of The Great Smell. With Baby on my hip I marched over to Husband and declared that I would be calling Landlord! "oh Jesus" Husband said rolling his eyes, "well I'm not dealing with him". He then took his dinner plate and went into the bedroom and closed the door. I yelled through the door self importantly after him: "I will be dealing with this!" Baby and I were on a mission. "for Gods sake" Husband adds through the door "Don't tell him you think something died down there, then he'll never come over". Good point. it happens to be a fact that our basement is a place where animals go to die. It may even be used in our neighborhood as a formal animal morgue for all we know. Husbands right, its not breaking news if something "died" down there, Landlord will just say in his casual Texas drawl"yeh, I guess you'll just have to wait it out".

I knew Baby and I needed to be smart about this, we couldn't just say 'anything' to get this problem solved, we had to be clever. While Baby negotiated how my chandelier earring worked by tugging harder every minute on my ear, I texted Landlord. I wrote that there was a "strange smell" in the house, that I was "concerned" about. He swiftly texted back asking "does it smell like gas?". It was obviously not gas, I'm not an idiot, but I also knew that my lackadaisical charming Landlord would call it an evening if I didn't put some merrit behind the issue, so I wrote: "I don't thiiiink so, but maybe??" . I hate to admit it, but I will use the dumb blonde approach when I need to, to get what I want from time to time. It worked because immediately Landlord responded "be right over!"

Baby and I stood watch and awaited Landlords arrival. When Landlord showed up two minutes later to survey the situation, it was clear that he could smell The Great Smell however, similar to Husband he seemed un-alarmed by this clearly hazardous situation. His first question was "where's Husband?". Translation: "you have a Husband why don't you make him go down to the basement and figure out what is causing the death scent?" again I played dumb, as if the question was merely factual and not intended to question the validity of my predicament: "he's getting ready for bed" I lied. With this Landlord made the executive decision that he would need to go into the basement to investigate further. I helped promote this idea by throwing out "maybe its something coming from the heater??" knowing this would concern a Landlord. He took the bait and asked for the basement key. I quickly busied myself with walking to and fro with baby acting as if there was important work to be done, and therefore I would not be able to perch at the top of the basement steps or worse have to go down into basement with Landlord.

After about 7 minutes, which seemed like a million years Landlord emerged "well.." He stated factually "its what I thought..." A dead body! I almost exclaimed, "there's a box of Moth balls that someone has torn open next to the water heater and the smell is coming up through the stairs". Huh? Then with his usual 'come what may' disinterest he shrugged, as if to say "someone should really clean that up". As if we had gone down there and opened the fresh box for kicks and it all just got out of hand. Then he helpfully added "you should probably crack a window in here". and that was that. problem solved. Its only a-toxic-bug -killing-banned from use- hazardous to your health- emitting unexplained from your basement poisonous gas that you have lived with for two days-nothing to worry about!

In all honesty, knowing for me is 90 percent of any solution, so I was actually mildly calmed by this information. However, doing research today at work one of the first things it says is "do not have fumes around infants- could be fatal!". While I flaffed about afterward, putting baby to bed consumed with thoughts that clearly we would have to put Baby in a special needs class when he reached school age now since all his brain cells were obviously destroyed by the killer moth balls Husband was going up and down the basement stairs cleaning and getting rid of the death balls without even being asked.

The bigger question is: how did they get down there? and who mysteriously opened this box obviously trying to kill us? it will unfortunately remain a mystery for now...

Thus begins the travel...

The Holidays are upon on, they are not only upon us, but right behind us shoving us along....

We leave on the train to go up to Oregon to stay with my parents on Tuesday. There are a lot of walls to climb when traveling with a little one, not to mention we have never done it before. where will we stay? Although beautiful, parents house is the size of a shoe box so they are renting a trailer-this was an adventure in and of itself. My father has already measured the wheel well and built a ramp for the trailer. What this ramp will do or where it will go is any ones guess. The train trip itself will take 24 hours. We have our own room with a bathroom. From the location that the train lands we will be picked up by my mothers friend who is a local to the area. This is due to the fact that the journey from the train station to my parents house is treacherous and my father refuses to do the journey any more. Husband also is terrified of this drive and does not want to drive it and so my mother has enlisted a local friend to do this drive for us. He is supposedly experienced in this manner of driving and there fore this drive will be "easy" for him quotes my Mother. Husband is still suspect and has been checking the the weather report hourly. It of course is supposed to snow the day we arrive. I have already decided that if we get trapped in a snow bank I will eat Husband first, since he is annoying me so badly. I might mention that this is a two hour drive in a car with a 1 year old, a cranky husband and a man I have met once before...yep.

So for the last 12 hours while packing and trying to organize not only our own stuff but Baby's stuff, Husband has gone the spectrum of laughing at the ridiculousness of the trip, to having meltdowns about the details of the trip. The last of which entailed how the logistics of the trip were not "well planned out by me" and that "none of it would ever work". our trip back from my parents to the train station will be in the afternoon while it is still light outside over the treacherous snowy pass. Thus ending with us in the tiny town where the train departs hours before the train will actually leave. I might also mention that the train is never, I repeat, never on time. its also late at night. My plan which I did indeed think out- thank you very much was to go to a local hotel, get dinner and then take a cab to the train station which is less then 4 miles away from the hotel. I have cab numbers, a cheap hotel address and directions to and from the hotel to the train station.

Husbands latest meltdown was over the fact that how on earth would we put baby in a cab?! well.. I said we are bringing the car seat with us for this very reason. We also need it to get too and from the train station in L.A since I have also arranged for our friends to drive us and pick us up. "we can't put a car seat in a cab?!!! with all the luggage!!!!"

Why would we be able to put a car seat in a car?- that would be ridiculous! what was I thinking? I wondered afterward how he thought we would get the car seat into my mothers friends car and how that was all going to work-somehow a cab is a very mysterious vehicle that repels car seats.

Since this was Husbands second meltdown of the day, I lost it and told him he was being a jerk. That's the nice version of what I actually said. Then I made a list of everything I have done this year for Christmas versus what Husband has contributed. After that I felt fully justified to move forward in hating Husband.

stay tuned for more Christmas joy...

giving

So we made it. We actually successfully made it through Thanksgiving this year! Combing forces with Husband proved triumphant! We are like a super hero and a an arch nemesis (I won't go into who is who, but we all know who the nemesis is...) cooking together is hard, but when it happens we can't be stopped!

Working in the kitchen with Husband is an interesting experience to say the least. He is very controlling and likes to dictate what I should be doing at all times. He also is adamant about cleaning up as he goes. There is no idle chit chat when at work! No standing around when there is a job to be done! Cooking is work and that is that! He also, like any good General gets very frustrated if something is amiss. The stove top stuffing directions were proving to be inadequate for his liking: "I don't understand it doesn't say what we are supposed to do here, I don't get it, do we have to cook the stuffing first?!!" Keep in mind this was our very first Thanksgiving dinner that we have made with a Turkey. I calmly tried to tell husband that yes, you make the stuffing first, then you put it into the bird and then you cook the bird. "well, it doesn't say that!" Who's to say I was even right to be honest. What do I know? Besides the fact that I watch a lot of cooking shows, I know nothing about cooking. However, I felt if I said such information with authority he might buy it. Turns out I was right, truth be told I was merely guessing.

When we sat down for our Thanksgiving feast finally, there was a little bit of general chaos-Baby was howling because he was hungry, the cats as usual were standing around the kitchen meowing and Husband was running back and forth tripping over Tupperware left on the floor by Baby and cursing. We sat down and finally there was calm and we began to eat... and by God it was awesome! Our combined forces worked great together. The Turkey was moist and delicious, every side dish was steaming hot and fantastic, even my hand made cranberry sauce that I had never made before was excellent! I couldn't believe it! The funny thing was we now wished we had invited guests. I told Husband that next time we would, now that we had the confidence in our abilities as bird cookers.

By God I think she's got it!

Happy thanksgiving....

Thanks

Today I started thinking about past Thanksgivings. Something I like to do during the Holidays is a little 'remember when' kind of a game...so I started thinking about my most memorable Thanksgivings over the years...

Thanksgiving with my parents as a child was usually the same every year, so they blur together, but what I liked most about them was that they were always fun and silly. It was only ever just the three of us. Both of my parents had left their home towns creating a new life for themselves in California, and for the most part never looked back. We were still in touch with both sides of the family, but it didn't really include the holidays, no more then a phone call was ever expected. My dads side of the family was all in England, so thanksgiving wasn't much of a holiday tradition for him, and so my parents created their own holidays with me. It usually involved something unusual and fun. Although we always had a big meal on the day of thanksgiving and sat down together to eat, it was never at noon and it was not often Turkey. Sometimes it was lobster or whatever spacial entree my parents were in the mood for that year. We had our own family traditions, but it never really involved praying at the dinner table or jello salads. A few things were for certain: there was always music playing and often me and my Dad would dance around, there was wine or beer for my Dad, fancy outfits for all three of us, and my mom did all the cooking. it was simple and we always had fun. I didn't really know there was any ting different until I got older and saw how other people experienced the Holiday.

As a young adult I took the opportunity one Thanksgiving to traveling to Oregon to visit my friend. His father had died earlier that year and I knew with how nontraditional his family was that I wanted to go there to be with him during the Holiday. weather he was used to celebrating it or not. So me and best friend went to Oregon, just to two of us to visit our childhood friend. I was about 19 at the time so being away from my family for a Holiday was kind of a big deal, although you would never know from how my parents reacted. They were always good about giving me my freedom. It felt like a grown up choice to go and visit my childhood Friend in this way, to be assertive about this decision. At the time we were all in college, and our fried was living in a house with his brother and another guy- it was very much a stereo typical college dude house: not very much furniture, a kitchen filled with beer cans, and unexplainable carpet stains. We spent the majority of our time throwing pennies into a can across the room and drinking beer. One day we left the house for a coupe hours to go on a hike in the forest, another day we went into town to the local coffee house for lunch, and that was about it. we slept in our friends tiny bedroom. I got the low single bed and best friend slept on the floor and childhood Friend sleep in the middle of the floor between us. we would go to bed late talking til dawn in the dark each night and making each other laugh. We would sleep most of the day, eat breakfast in the afternoon and begin our drinking games again. We would wrestle around the house, running and throwing things at each other like children and then lounge about watching TV. On Thanksgiving day we decided that we should celebrate somehow, so we went to childhood friends dads apartment which they still had, and was the same since his death. we bought Turkey lunch meat, dinner rolls, cranberry jelly in a can, and powered mash potatoes. we made our Thanksgiving dinner and ate at the the dining room table. Although we never discussed why we had come for this visit we did go around the table and say what we were most thankful for, it turns out we were each greatful for our health and our friends. That trip made me feel very grown up since I had made the decision to spend the Holiday with friends instead of my family. At the same time it was clear to me that we were in no way grown up at all, but merely trying to replicate what we thought grown ups were. It was a good Thanksgiving and I will always remember it with fondness.

Another memorable thanksgiving was the first I spent with Husband. we were barely together but spent the holidays together none the less. He went with me to my God parents house. We had so much fun talking and laughing with the guests. I turned the corner into the living room and found Husband sitting by the fire place hanging out with one of the uncles small children who had severe autism. Husband was surrounded by the child's family watching him in awe as Husband squeezed a woopy cushion over and over again making the child laugh with glee. "He never laughs" they said. I was in awe myself, seeing this side of Husband. I knew him as the boy upstairs living with two other dudes. All I ever knew the three of them to do was drink, watch sports, and work. To see Husband in this light was eye opening for me in many ways. Later that night we went back to his house where the dudes had made their own Thanksgiving and had invited friends over. We ate a second meal and drank bottles of two buck chuck. we both woke up at 3am with splitting headaches vowing to never drink two buck chuck again. It was a wonderful thanksgiving for me.

My last Thanksgiving was not on my list of favorites, although it was memorable. Baby had just been born 18 days before. Although both Husband and i were on leave from work and started to get a routine down, we were exhausted. we are perfectionists and thinking we had it all perfect and yet knowing we really had no idea what were were doing at all added tons of stress and pressure to our daily lives with a newborn. only getting 3 to 4 hours of sleep at a time didn't help matters much either. The day before Thanksgiving on the drive home from seeing a friend who was visiting from out of town, Baby started to scream. It was way past the time he was supposed to eat and we were stuck in the car in traffic. Neither Husband or I had eaten anything ourselves in hours. It was the night before thanksgiving and where friend was staying they were in the deep midst of preparing tomorrows feast and were not concerned at all with what we were going to eat at that particular moment. I was beyond exhausted. still trying to breast feed unsuccessfully and pumping every two hours had worn me thin, I was tired in a way I didn't know was even possible. Husband had had a few drinks with our out of town friend and left me to care for Baby while he threw back beers and chatted happily. By the time I couldn't take it any more I was exhausted, fed up, and starving- it was way to late to salvage any thread of calm. We argued the entire long drive home from Santa Monica to the east side of the valley. I still remember it as the longest ride of my life. The next day proved to be no better. We were supposed to go back to God parents house, but the arguing had begun again and the thought of even seeing a soul that day exhausted me to to no end. we decided at the 11th hour to stay home- with nothing prepared. we had no food in the house for a dinner. If I remember correctly Husband made left over frozen chicken and whatever canned vegetable he could find in the cabinets and we called it a night. it may have been the worst thanksgiving of my life.

This year, with a year of Baby under my belt and a new house, I decided that I wanted to cook. Husband who is the real cook in the family offered to help me. Fixing dinner together sounds fun to me and I am really looking forward to it. I never have the time to cook in my every day life with working so late every night, so this will be a real treat for me.We have no guests coming so there is no pressure to make anything particularly good. if it gets cooked and makes it to the table, I will consider that a success! Wish me luck.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The confronter

Last night I came home to Husband and Baby sitting on the floor in the living room watching as two what appeared to be pimple faced teenagers- were standing around doing what they considered trying to fix/connect/install our new HD Tivo. They had missed their earlier appointment and hadn't shown up at all, not even calling. Seeing that I hate confrontation Husband had called in demanding they send someone tonight. Suddenly I was a stranger in my own home. I was greeted by Workers before I was greeted by Husband or Baby, following suit I casually said "hey" in greeting, as if we were old pals. "Hey whats up? " was their response.

As the evening progressed, I fed Baby or rather watched as Baby rubbed mustard all over his face, Husband excitedly walked back and forth from the living room to the Kitchen to report in a stage whisper: "THEY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY ARE DOING!! (this part louder) ANOTHER TYPICAL CABLE EXPERIENCE!".

Here' s the thing about me: I cannot deal with talking behind peoples backs when they might possibly hear-it is one of my worst fears. Husband feels exactly the opposite and seems to think it is not only an acceptable way to express ones feelings about others, but the preferred way to get ones point across. He then scowled down the hallway at them driving his point home. After another 1/2 hour of what sounded like a lot of talking on a Cel phone by said "technicians" it was decide by Workers that nothing could be accomplished at this point, and that it was time to pack it up. At this time I was huddled in Baby's room eves dropping on the monitor because I knew that Husband would not take this news laying down. We listened while worker #1 told Husband that they would be back in the morning. Oh dear, I knew this would not bide well with Husband. "The morning!" Husband exclaimed "What will change in the morning about this situation then what you can fix right now?". I shrunk lower on the floor in Baby's room wincing from Husbands accusations while Baby happily chewed on his snow white book. What would worker #1 do? Then I lost the thread of the conversation cause baby decided to stand up and babel loudly about the changing table drawer that he was unable to open. Missing the end of the conversation completely to then hear Husband say calmly "OK man, thanks a lot- have a good night" "you too" said worker #1. what? huh? what the hell happened?

You see this is always the case with Husband. I find him to be offensive and overly aggressive His very forward tactics of dealing with issues seem so overbearing to me. Even in situations where we are getting the shaft by the cable company, yet again. The thing is, that I hate to admit is: he's usually...right. urg that hurt to even write, but its true...for the most part. I despise playing the role of the squeaky wheel or the bearer of bad news where Husband seems to revel in it, taking great pride to be the one who has reported the injustice. I cannot stand confrontation. Husband lives for it. Point him in the direction of the misguided and he will shed light on the situation, telling everyone what they can do with their wrongs. What I find the most interesting is that Husband although offensive to me doesn't seem to offend others in the same way. His casual "Have a nice night" is usually how it ends with said person walking off with good tidings.

I appreciate the squeaky wheels of the world because without them we wouldn't have any of the modern day luxuries that we have today. If it were up to me we would still be stoning our clothes against rocks in the river and hanging them in trees to dry. It' the people like Husband in the world who stood up one day and said "this sucks, it hurts my back, I don't want to do this anymore. Can't we do this an easier way?".