I May Never Take Them Off

Ok, so my sister is getting married next week (yay!) and I ordered my dress months ago. When it arrived it fit fine (not great), but I figured I had months to loose a few pounds, right?

Wrong.

So when I tried the dress on last week with the undergarments I realized that I was ok standing up (and my posture was perfect), but I could not really sit...or breathe.

So I was going to cut out carbs for the remaining 2 weeks. I quickly realized that most of my diet consisted of carbs - I love cereal, I love sandwiches (SS #2 works at Subway) and I love pasta and rice.

So then I was only going to eat good carbs, but the place the makes my panini for lunch doesn't do it on wheat.

Then I was going to fast, but by 1 in the afternoon I would have knocked my own daughter down for some of her goldfish (also full of carbs)

Then I was going to take water pills, but I tried that right before my own wedding and they didn't do anything.

So I did what thousands of other woman have done, including Oprah. I bought Spanx.

Holy crap! No wonder this woman is a billionaire. I bought the Higher Power, high wasted power panty and I could not believe it. The dress fit beautifully, with room to spare, and I was so comfortable.

I don't know what took me so long to get on the bandwagon, but I seriously might have to live in them.

Perhaps I should buy more than one...

We're Back to a Household of 6

No, I am not pregnant.

SS#1 is coming home from college. No, not just for the summer. He was, shall we say, asked to leave school. I do not know the whole story. Mainly because I've been to annoyed and angry to call him, but I have heard the words "failed miserably" and "partied too much".

Now while I know that these things happen to college kids, he is 21 and this was his third college. And if I were to get technical, next June will be 4 years that he is out of High School and should be when he graduates college. Yeah, that's not going to happen; not with the fiasco of his first semester away at college #1 and the whole "I miss my girlfriend" crap along with whatever happened this semester.

Honestly I am angry for two reasons (well, there are probably like 50, but two main ones). One because we were so proud of him. He was doing well, on his own, we thought he had finally grown up and he would graduate from this college and do well from there.

And as my husband's kids go, they are not students. Not one. We're not sure how it happened this way, but they're not. And we're not talking average students, we're talking bad students. All four of them (and they're mother was a sahm, just for the record *wink*). So for my husband, this is so upsetting because #1 was following his footsteps by going away to school and he doing ok.

So with this and ss#3 attending summer school this summer, we are banking on our two year old daughter be the super star of the family. First we must master potty training.

And the Worst Mother of the Year Award Goes to...

Me.

I do not know what possessed me to do it, but I must say it made for a pleasant shoe shopping experience. And I finally got shoes for my sister's wedding in 11 days.

Before my daughter and I ventured into the shoe store, I made a pit stop and grabbed something for her to snack on while I agonized over the huge selection of this season's must-haves.

Now her ordinary healthy snacks would not do. Even Pepperidge Farm goldfish would not keep her quiet; I knew this going in. Plus there was the possibility of the goldfish being thrown onto the floor in an "I want out of this stroller RIGHT NOW" rage.

I bought, for my almost 2-year old, chocolate covered pretzels. In may defense, I looked for regular pretzels, but they did not have any. Also there was a good chance the pretzels would have suffered the same fate as the goldfish.

There I am selfishly trying on shoes while my daughter is quietly covered in chocolate, licking her fingers clean. Did I mention she was quiet? Even when she asked for more and I was in the middle of strapping a shoe to my foot, I would say "one second sweetie" and she said "ok mommy".

It was like heaven. Chocolate covered heaven.

Zoom Zoom

Dear Mazda,

I do love my new CX-7. You did a very nice job on the design of the interior and exterior and an even better job on the price. And while I understand that I bought the sport edition, and I should not expect all of the bells and whistles, you do not need to rub it in my face.

On the upper instrument panel there are three sections - an indicator for the clock and one for the radio and the other is empty. While I did not notice it on the two test drives in the daylight, the evening I picked it up, I was able to see the little temperature indicator man sitting there with the temperature bars and such.

I called the dealership the next day and asked them why it didn't light up. They explained that I had the sport edition and that's not an option. Then why can I see it????

(Click on the picture and see it enlarged and you'll know exactly what I am talking about)

It's not bad enough that gas prices are ridiculously high and most economists say that we're in a recession, but now every day when I get in my new car, I am reminded that I was not able to afford the more expensive edition.

It's like my car is mocking me - "you could have seen your temperature gauge and know what the temperature is, but you're too frugal and you bought the cheap model." And then it sticks its tongue out at me.

Why, oh why, didn't you, you genius car engineer people, make the instrument panel 2-sections for the cheaper model, instead of 3? And seriously, how expensive is it to put a thermometer in a car and light up the damn third section that is obviously there?

Just something to think about. I have another 35 months left on my lease and I think 35 more months of me calling my husband to ask him what the temperature is, might drive him a little crazy.

And I thought the only thing I would miss about my Altima was the gas mileage.

Thank you,
Coma Girl

To Work or Not to Work

That is probably the hardest decision mothers today have to make. Other than minivan or SUV, or playdates with or without alcohol.

I stayed home with my daughter for 15 months and I feel very fortunate to have had that time with her. My decision to go back to work was not an easy one, but I feel it was the right choice FOR ME.

I feel I have to make that clear because I believe that, just like every child is different, so is every mother. Not every woman is meant to be a stay-at-home mom, but I don't believe that that makes them less of a mother. Just because you stay home with little Johnny and watch 3 hours of soap operas while he sits in the next room watching Nick Jr, doesn't make you a good mom just because you're home with him. Quality, not quantity.

I am going to admit something that may make you gasp and shake your head: I get bored 7 days a week doing the mommy gig. Maybe it's because my daughter cannot stand to be alone for more than 45 seconds, so I constantly have to play with her. And yes, to me peek-a-boo gets boring after the 180th time, and I get dizzy after only about 5 rounds of ring around the rosy. But by working part-time, it gives me the boost I need to give it my mommy-all on my days off; it might be because of the guilt, but it works. On my days off I am like SuperMom - going to the park and sliding down the kiddie slide, doing crafts, happily reading 'Corduroy' 15 times in a row. I think it works for us.

Lately I have had my share of comments subtlety made to me about my decision to work. Now, let me be clear - I WORK 3 DAYS A WEEK (a total of 24 hours). My daughter is in daycare 2 of those days and home with her father the other (ya know, the parent that no one gives shit to because he works...and travels). It is not like I am a partner at a law firm putting in 70 hours a week.

And when I walk in the door at the end of the day, my daughter does run to me and yell "Mommy!", not "who the hell are you?" And for the record, in the 8 months since I have been working she has only cried 2 times when I have left for work. She cries when my husband goes to the bathroom.

And she loves daycare. I know many moms say this to make themselves feel better, but a few weeks ago I had to run up to the daycare on my day off with her and she cried when we left because she wanted to stay. So either she loves daycare or she is sick of me.

Now you may be thinking "who are you trying to convince? Us or yourself?" And you're right, I am trying to convince myself because I am always doubting the decisions I make (for instance, as you're reading this, I am doubting whether or not I should have published this post). But I know that when I was a stay-at-home mom, I would look at women eating their lunch in their business suits and I would have a tinge of jealousy. At the same time when I am running out to lunch in my business suit and I see a woman pushing a stroller down the street, I also feel a tinge a jealousy.

So for right now working part-time works for me. For me (one more time for those of you in the cheap seats), it is the best of both worlds.

Who Else Hates Doing This?

OK, one thing that no one tells you before you have a baby: you will have to clean out his or her closet and drawers every month or so. Seriously, no one else hates this task?? I dread it. Think about it, how often do you clean out your own closet and drawers? Twice a year? I hardly ever do it because I refuse to believe my size changes, so I just keep adding clothes and keep the size 8's that haven't fit since I found out I was pregnant...2-1/2 years ago.

My daughter seems to be growing so fast and cleaning out all of the 18 month clothes is sad for many reasons. One of those reasons is because sometimes I will pull out things with tags on them and notice that I spent $25 on this adorable dress and she never wore it.

And then the big question - what do you do with all of this crap these clothes? I am saving some for my sister (who is not even married yet and will, with my luck, have boys). All of my other friends are either finished, or already have girls and their own Rubbermaid totes full of pink shirts and Dora pj's, or are not even considering children in the near future. So for now they all sit in my basement awaiting my garage sale, also known as "get rid of my baby crap sale", while my husband just rolls his eyes knowing that this garage sale will never happen and I will just wind up donating 17 Rubbermaid totes to the church.