Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Suck town

I went to bed all comfortable and cozy yesterday, and woke up in SUCK TOWN. Where the thought of food made me all sweaty and queasy. I spent half of the morning hugging the toilet, while Allessandra practiced pushing open the bathroom door, squawking, "mumm mumm mummm."
After throwing up whatever was left over from dinner two nights ago-cause WOW Chinese food stays in your system a while, I thought perhaps the sight of her mother making out with the toilet, just might be one of those things that causes permanent damage.
So I did what any disgustingly sick mother would do. I called Josh and demanded that he get his ass home. Which he did, so I was able to be sick in PEACE.

I do remember texting and writing emails to people from my phone, saying something along the lines: "Rats took a dump in my soul, have bubonic plague-there is yellow caution tape around my door. I am being punished. I will miss you bye bye Mass"

Feeling better this morning. Thinking I just might stop eating permanently.

Will live solely off Gatorade and water.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

And Why I used to write to Shannon Miller

I did Gymnastics for many years. I was pretty good, just saying. However, I was utterly, painfully, inflexible. I could do back handsprings, front walkovers -back walkovers on a high beam. What? That's right, I even got so far as practicing back handsprings on said beam. But if you asked me to do a split? Well you were just shit out of luck.  While the other girls were fitting their heads through their legs, I was working super hard at trying to grab my poor tiny toes. And while I was all of ten years old, I understood that even though I could not dislocate my hip from its socket, I could beat all their stupid faces at flips. I was the friggen Queen at back handsprings, Oh you want to shove a sock in between my legs to see how tight my form was? You better believe that sock was stuck there like friggen super glue. I also OWNED the uneven bars. I placed first in each and every competition we EVER had. Am I gloating? Hell yes. Ask me to even hold my body weight on one of those bars now, and I would most likely slip and break my jaw, or smash my teeth into the back of my throat. But back then, I was in my element. Back then I still had the same bra size, but I was this fierce strong little thing. Up until a few years ago I could still use my back handspring skill as a party trick. Like at summer parties, after a few beers, I would hike up my Lilly Pulitzer dress, pull out my hoops, and charge down the grassy surface like an over sized elephant, whipping my body backward through the air, as my Mother screamed in the background. "Goddammit, CHELSEA, I AM NOT TAKING ANYONE TO THE ER TONIGHT, YOU ARE TOO OLD FOR THIS!"

And naturally, I would land with a few inches of my life. My vision would blur for a few seconds, and I would choke back my dinner, that was very close to being sprayed all over my family. The point is, I still could do it. Which I imagine would have been my last words as my leg was being set in a cast.
The point here is, I no longer do back handsprings. 
The other day I was showing off to Allessandra and did a one arm cartwheel, and seriously almost broke my neck.

I decided to hang up my gymnastic skill, and let it be a cool story that I tell, and not a point I try to make.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Date night

This was the nice picture, till I decided that no one was going to understand what was on my shirt. Are those clumps of tissue? Is your chest bleeding? Did you desperately need direct pressure from gauze?

So I made Jen take another one.
I feel as if you understand the shirt more. Anthropologie has some floury shit huh?
I totally rocked it, I am not gonna lie.

Josh and I hit up the BBC (which is the British Beer Company) in case you were wondering. Many moons ago three years ago, we had our rehearsal dinner at one, so we kind of love it there.
I had ever intention of ordering the turkey pasty. Which is like the best thing they make, but at the very last minute, thanks to Gretchen Rubin (you remember, the Happiness project, blah blah blah) I needed to branch out and try something different. I decided since Josh ordered a SALAD, (pardon me, were those Pigs FLYING by our WINDOW?) I quickly ordered the Mediterranean pizza -and by the way, the things on the pizza that look like kidney beans, they are olives. Just saying. 

Looks good right? I am thinking the left overs are so gonna be my breakfast.

 I have to say, there really is nothing better then grocery shopping with your husband, at 9PM on a Friday night, without your child. Its like you kind of want to skip and hold hands, just because you can.
I was all, "Look, honey, TWO FREE HANDS! I am not CARRYING ANYTHING WOOOO!"
And then Josh was all, "Can you stop being an ass and grab something out of my hands, I don't think I am going to make it to the car..."

Friday, March 26, 2010

On Crying

After my Dad and Brother died, I reached a point where I forgot how to cry. It sounds ridiculous, like all of a sudden I lost the ability to walk or something, but it happened. I would be sitting in some sort of limbo type trance, trying to cry. It became ludicrous at points, because I would have to think of sad things, mundane sad things, like Hallmark commercials, or dropping the carton of milk on the kitchen floor, sending milk shooting up to the ceiling like a God Damn volcano. Spilled milk was what I needed. And boy did I cry over it, I cried about everything, instead of really dealing with the real magnitude of the situation.

I remember turning on PS I love you, a few months after their deaths.  I had to be pregnant at that point, and chalk full of hormones and sobbing potential. To tell you that I cried would be saying that a tsunami is a wave.
I believe that I was inconsolable, shaking with emotion, really feeling my feelings in surround sound. I barley remember that movie, all I remember was cancer, death, sad, have to move on. 

I know you are all really confused at this point, and wondering if I have hopped on the loony bus again. But I have not, stay with me here.

Now that I am working out my Postpartum depression, I can cry for tangible reasons: I am crying right now, because I don't want Allie to have to go to day-care. I am crying right now, because I have so much packing to do and none of my friends want to come over and do it FOR ME. I miss my family, my child kicked me in the face, ect ect ect. 
I am not just crying because I am crying. No longer am I sobbing behind the wheel of my car, terrified that I might not make it home.

My sadness has a purpose, I can slap a label on each emotion, and give it a chance to work itself out.

Almost two years after my Dad and my brother's death, I feel lucky.
Incredible isn't it?
I know what it is like to love something so completely that nothing else matters. And with that being said, I know what its like to be loved that way.
And even though I am able to cry now, the real thing, the real silver lining, is almost two years later, I finally smile more then I cry.

My Dad and my brother, the two guys front and center. I miss them everyday.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Two posts in one day....

We have a vagina problem. And no, thank you its actually not my problem, mine is fine, thanks. Its with the very small vagina that is both Josh and my responsibility, excuse me, I found out last night, that Allessandra's lady parts are solely my responsibility and, my responsibility alone. See, I had no idea that when Josh was changing poo diapers, he was neglecting the crevices that so very badly need attention. I am not saying that he was not wiping her, because that is totally not true, its just, as he says, "Her lady parts, are not his job."And he is not, how do you say,  pulling anything apart to make sure everything is kosher. End of discussion.
 Well, after our disastrous trip to the Doctors office, I feel the need to discuss the fact that, her VAGINA needed attention. And since Josh, does not (only on occasion) have one, then he has no idea what it feels like to have an angry one. An angry vagina is no joke people, there are claws involved and probably the reason why she bit me like a rabid dog, and KICKED ME IN THE FACE this morning. I tried telling her that its Daddy's fault, that I have always, and will always be attentive to her, out of sheer empathy. But apparently she had a discussion with her father, who reminds her on a daily bases that he is not to be involved with anything having to do with lady holes. (His words not mine)

Everything is under control as of now. And seeing as though Josh has pulled the, I get all the pee diapers or else I am just gonna wipe till there is no more poo and I am certainly not checking anything card. I have advised him, that someday she might be changing his diapers, and OH, I will remind her, yes, yes I will.

Dinner out

I did something last night, that I promised I would never, ever, ever, do. I brought Allessandra out of the house, at night, close to her bedtime, to a restaurant. Where there were actual people all around us.  All with judging capabilities. All, innocent victims of potential tantrums or face melting screeching. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I think I advised my brother twenty-seven times that, "Shejusthadfiveshotstodayandshedidn'treallynapthatmuchanditsclosetoherbedtime" To which he replied, "Its the Olive Garden, It will be fine."
 And, truthfully, it really was. Allie, had her first scrumptious taste of crack bread sticks  and thoroughly enjoyed  sucking ketchup off french fries. She flashed her glamorous smile at every single person and seemed to have really mastered the pageant wave. There was only a couple times when she tried to match the volume of the restaurant, hell bent to grab everyone's attention in the entire establishment .
The dinner out was very bittersweet since its my last dinner with my brother, who is moving to Australia at the end of the month. Yes, I know I moving next week, but Hi, its a 2 hour plane ride, not a 2200 ticket and a 30 hour plane ride. Australia trumps Atlanta, which is so typical of him always trying to one up me. (I say that with love as a baby sister)

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I had to pin Allie down today.
With my body weight.

The worst part, I was asked to do this.
Today was our last Doctor appointment that was so fun filled, it came equipped with 5 shots. 5. As in 12345 in my monkey's chubby thigh. For real people, I had to PIN HER DOWN, while she screamed bloody murder, right into my ear-and that's right folks, guess what she was screaming.  If you guessed Mama, you would be correct. But it was more like, "Mama, why? WHY MOMMY?  WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?"
That's what I heard anyways.
After the tears were dried, and the sobbing gasps began to subside- we were ushered down the hall, for a small finger prick.
So let me say, 5 shots AND a finger prick. Which is why I have blood on my shirt, and my face. Once that band-aid was neatly wrapped around her middle finger (awesome right?) she tore that band-aid off like it was made of acid. And, yes, began WHIPPING HER HAND UP AND DOWN and wiping it all over my face and shirt.
So, me, my coffee, snot, and toddler blood caked self, shuffled our way out the door and waved goodbye to our Massachusetts Doctor.

And in the words of Eminem, Allie and I will most certainly will be, One tough act to follow. 

Allie, still has a huge ass head, as in it is STILL in the 70 percentile, her weight is in the 20th (she actually lost weight, which is why I am going to be feeding her Crisco for lunch) And her height is in the 70th percentile.
My little supermodel with the pumpkin size head.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Julie/Julia Project

I have wanted to be able to make Boeuf Bourguignon ever since my mother pointed to the pot on the stove and stated, "This is what we are having for dinner." It was so french, so exquisite the way it rolled off my mother's tongue. I believed that we lived like royalty, because we ate french food.

After Julie and Julia came out, there was an uproar of cooking of the boeuf, in fact, many people like myself, actually believed that they could also master the art of French cooking. There were Julie/Julia parties flying out of the wazoo-people bathing in butter again, smearing slabs of that fatty goodness on everything-all in the name of "Julia Child". Me, well, I was more impressed with the nobody, turned blogger, turned bestseller, turned, Hi! My book got turned into a movie and I am so famous and awesome and have lots of money famous.
But truthfully, I have always wanted to serve boeuf bourguignon to someone. So tonight I had my moment, I not only made boeuf bourguignon, but I also made homemade crepes. That's right bitches, I am half a second away from being accepted at the Cordon Bleu. And even though I did not have enough chairs for my guests, and seriously made them eat on the floor, they ate every bit of dinner, and did not convulse from food poison or spit anything into a napkin. Score!
Good right? I don't even like beef, and even I ate it.

And since I was basically threatened today for not writing, I thought I would quickly clean the kitchen and get my ass in here and write, before one of you sliced my tires, or killed my cat.

And on that note, one of the funniest emails I have gotten in a long time-and for all you literal people out there, this person is joking. (I hope)
With No blog on a rainy day I am forced to counter you random acts of kindness with random acts of meanness.  For example, At lunch I unplugged the soda machine.  Now everyone is putting in money and getting nothing back.  I hope you're happy. 
Technically I did not skip a post today, I was just busy cooking.,

Monday, March 22, 2010

Act of Kindess Day 2 and 3

Yesterday we ventured out to visit Allessandra's Great Grandparents, and pay our respects to Josh's cousin's grave site, who died tragically in Iraq last year.
I took some photos of the site:
So, then I asked if Josh's Gram wouldn't mind taking a quick picture of Josh and I, since we never really get to have a picture of us, you know, standing up, without one of us taking it-and cutting off someone's head. So, what we ended up with is a picture of Josh and I, looking slap ass happy in front of his cousin's grave. Totally not intentional, just ended up that way.
Then later on that night I went out and shoved hot greasy food down my throat with some awesome friends
Like this little lady, don't you like it how I look like I am 7ft tall? And also how I didn't change to go out?  I know, I needed to embrace my Granny sweater. Jen, is like my only reader, I am thinking of signing a napkin for her-she also is an excellent babysitter. 

And then this morning I totally copied a Random Act of Kindness, and taped a sign on the soda machine, after lining up three quarters. What? They are TINY SODAS! I am not cheap!

"Random Act of Kindness Enjoy and pass it along"

How much do you want to bet that Josh is bullshit right now that I gave away 75 cents?

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Random act of Kindness Take 1

So I was stalking reading some new blogs lately, and found this one. Michelle is super awesome and always leaves nice comments here, and I kind of love her, but ANYWAYS, I read that she was doing 29 random act of kindness, and I am all, "So if I change 29 dirty diapers, and let Josh do the rest, have I also participated in the quest?" And then I continued to read-and well, she's super nice, and I just try to be.

So long story short, I guess its really not that long of a story-but since Josh was taking his sinus infection like a five year old girl in pig tails, I decided that I would whip up a batch of some Crisco laced cupcakes and scatter them to nice people. It was like I was the Crisco Fairy Princess- giving the gift of cellulite.

It was an awful lot of fun dropping of the cupcakes and seeing the surprise and bewilderment flash all over their faces. Especially the tight dress wearing, girl who kept commenting how how lucky I am to have such a handsome, tall, thin, TONED, well DRESSED, husband, because she has noticed him and he is just SO NICE.
I may have wanted to smash cupcake all up her nose and scream, "He's MINE BITCH!" However, I realized in that moment-since I was being kind -and practicing it, you know, randomly, I would not beat the shit out of her for noticing how sexy my husband is. Because, truthfully, if you want to know how sexy Josh is,  just ask him.

I did, however, give her two cupcakes.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Packing sucks

The ONLY good one we could manage. 


Another part of the Happiness project is De-cluttering your life. Which is hilarious, because I am basically a hoarder.  I am the proud owner of 9 God damn gingerbread cookie cutters. 9. As in, every winter we get a hankering from some gingerbread and are all, "You know what we need? A Gingerbread cookie cutter, lets go out and get one!" Thus, ending up with 9 of them.
Also, Josh and I are just plain lazy. There are cups of crap laid out throughout the apartment, wrappers, socks, bras, pants-(as soon as Josh walks in the door, he whips off his pants-he is not a fan of clothes) As far as the bras go, I am notorious for quick changes-and sometimes bras happen to go flying and end up hanging off edges of bookcases or chairs. I can't even begin to tell you how Josh and I managed to lose 90,000 pairs of Allie's socks. For real people. Where did they go?
Under the couch, ottoman, toy-box, shoved in-between the couch cushions, under the fridge- you know, good places for them.
My point here, is we have too much clutter, too much shit, too many cat nick knacks. Gretchen suggests that throwing out the clutter, and organizing, will ultimately lead to happiness.

My favorite motto of her's is Do it now, which makes me rinse of my plate and shove it in the dishwasher, instead of tossing it in the sink. The simple act of putting things away, and throwing out the many cat objects that we have collected over the years, not only is oddly relaxing, but it helps verify the fact that Josh and I wont be those people with cat nick knacks. 

My favorite part of this project, is taking ten minutes at the end of the day to tidy up. Tossing Allessandra's toys back into their places, wiping down the counters, getting the coffee maker all set to go for the AM, running the dishwasher, ect ect. It makes life much easier, and way less cussing in the morning.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Getting more quality sleep

Can be very challenging if your husband is a douche. Or rather, if he refuses to fight fair. In The Happiness Project Gretchen Rubin, speaks of trying to obtain more quality sleep by turning off flashing lights. This poses to be a problem since Josh enjoys watching TV with his eyes shut. Every. Single. Night.

I have tried for eight years to kick this habit, but Josh is a man of habit and God forbid  he missed an episode of King of the Hill (that he has seen 50 times) the world would spin directly off its axis and Josh would ultimately end up crying in a corner from all the change, or the quiet, either way-he would never be the same.
So every night I am stuck hearing, "But, I was WATCHING THAT!" After he had seriously been snoring like a homeless monkey for thirty some minutes.

My quality of sleep has never been the same since about nine months of pregnancy.  That is OVER a YEAR of interrupted sleep, that averages to roughly six hours a night. I am not even counting the months of insomnia, that was filled with hand wringing anxiety and the Face-book stalking. But since my goal is to gain some more control over my energy (aka: Happiness) I decided to take a stand last night and make Josh set an alarm on the TV-making it shut its own damn self down at midnight. Which makes my life way easier, since I will no longer be waking up at 2AM to the SHINING.  Hi, not a comfortable movie to be woken up to, and frankly to this day I still am angry at Josh about it.
So, long story short-I slept a a full eight hours. And even managed to get to the gym this morning.
Sleep is an amazing thing- especially a full night's sleep.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

What does happiness mean to you?

I have hopped on the happiness bandwagon.

I recently purchased 'The Happiness Project" in the hopes that somehow I could participate along with all the other self help crazed bloggers out there. I too, want to be happy. But after sitting squished way back into my couch, feeling a radiating pain rush throughout my lower back, and noting that before purchasing the book, I was filled with an irrational anger that NO ONE WAS AROUND TO HELP at Barnes and Noble, and furthermore, my lovely daughter was having no part of sitting quietly in her brand new umbrella stroller, and instead was doing the whole slide the body all the way down and try to wiggle out of the straps routine.  I was angry, and snippy, and a pulsating headache reared its ugly death grip around my face.  But there I was, purchasing a book about getting happy. 
 I can honestly say, at this particular moment, I am happy. Well, I mean, I am not unhappy. Nor am I depressed, thanks to the 150mg of medication I take everyday.
I just am. 
But ever since Ms. Rubin threw out the challenge that there is more to life then stress headaches and Nutrigrain bars- I am intrigued. I want in. I want to see if I too can be happier by changing a few things in my life.

As I was writing this, and answering my own question in my title, Happiness to me is apple picking with Allie, drinking hot apple cider, and baking an apple pie, and then purchasing the biggest pumpkin EVER and carving out scary faces. Halloween, people, when I think of happiness, I think of Halloween.
My GOD, I have issues.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Revised & Expanded EDITION

I decided to make meat Loaf tonight. I have no idea why, seeing as though I have a slight dislike of anything raw that could possibly still be mooing. But after coming across a Good Housekeeping cook book that was gifted to me circa 2004, I decided to get all hands on in the kitchen and whip up something tasty.  I plopped myself on the couch and thumbed through the glossy illustrations. On the first page it reads:

Dear Chelsea,
Happy Twenty -first birthday
Have fun Cooking. Can't wait to come to dinner!
Mom and Dad

But, seeing as though up until I had a baby, I loathed cooking, Josh is really the only one that has made anything out of it. And by anything, I think he might have looked up something silly like Apple pie, or  Hard boiled eggs. Anyways, for whatever reason I was filled with nostalgia -and mashing up some raw meat and onions seemed like the cure for missing out on the opportunity to have both my Mom and Dad to dinner.

However, making something for dinner that did not come from anything weight watcher related, sent my poor Josh into a tizzy. 


He snatched the cookbook from it's perch, and frantically began typing ingredients into a website that automatically spits back point values. For real people, there is friggen MEAT, and ONIONS in the recipe for meat loaf, I could have told him the stupid thing was 78 points, and it would still have been better to him then the sheer emptiness of not knowing. 
After an hour and 30 min of baking, we hunkered down and enjoyed our meal, and I was quickly informed, rather condescendingly, that a piece of meat loaf is 6 points. 
Fan, fucking Tastic. 
Just by knowing that, my day suddenly was complete.

Also, in case you were wondering, Josh no longer will kiss me on the mouth, or change in front of me, for fear of getting me pregnant. So much of me wants to punch him directly in the throat. But on the plus side, we are about to embark on a two month separation, me in Georgia and him tying up loose ends here in MA.
Is it wrong that the thought of being apart for so long, just kind of, today, feels a little like Christmas and my Birthday all wrapped up in one?

Wednesday...to be continued

Even though I woke up this morning feeling like death, I made myself workout. And that sick feeling that has been hiding in the back of my throat, is virtually gone.  I know its Wednesday, and I promised that on Wednesdays I would give weight watcher advice, but today, I am not feeling very sage like. But what I can do is advocate for exercise . Even when your insides are being ripped out of your body from an unknown force, a little bit of movement is just what the Doctor ordered. I didn't do anything crazy, just a little "Moms into Fitness Boot camp" DVD. Which always makes me work up a sweat, with minimal soreness. Lindsay is super awesome, and I have even chatted with her a few times on Facebook. You can read her blog HERE

I am feeling slightly motivated today. I am back in my yoga pants and sneakers ready to conquer yet another suitcase and/or box of shit.

I might even make it to the grocery store...who knows.

Monday, March 15, 2010


Being a mother has taught me that nothing will ever go as you plan it. Ever. Up until I birthed Allessandra, I planned. Meticulously.
I was a day planner carrying, list making, crazy ass, cat lady. And truly, I owned it. 

Now though, now, a cat is, just a cat. And lists are nice, but I usually forget them on the couch, or in my car if they make it that far.  As far as plans go, well all I have to do is remember the birthday party on Saturday. It doesn't matter how many pink balloons you have, or what shade of pink the cake is, if the guest of honor has a fever and hates the world, well you better pray you remembered to shove some ear plugs in those goody bags. If you even provide goody bags, which in my case, I didn't.

And since I literally threw everyone out. I feel as if I should have offered some sort of parting gift, other then the pending doom that comes along with being around a very sick child.

Clearly the party is still bugging me. Allie is doing much better, the sheer volume of her protests have gone back to normal, and our regularly scheduled activities have commenced. Such as, throwing things at the cats, or mommy, or the TV.

Just a little preview of what she looked like before the party started.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Birthday Parties are better with a fever!

This is how she looked the ENTIRE time. 102 Temp, exhausted and angry.
The party was not a good time.

You can see the sweat building up on the back of her neck, and how ripped my arms are from lugging her around.

Friday, March 12, 2010

How Times Flies.

 Dear Allessandra,

You are not going to believe this, but I am tearing up right now. I know, I am SUCH an embarrassment.
You are 52 weeks old, 12 months old,

ONE YEAR OLD. On this very day. Actually it was more like way early this morning you officially turned one, but whatever, I am suppose to know all those ridiculous details-and trust me, I will share them with you as often as I see fit. Like how the first time I breast fed you, you latched on all tongue tied-and as a result made me whimper for the rest of the day, and recall better times when my boobs did not bleed.

I remember seeing you for the first time, laying under the heat lamps all serene and calm like, something that since then HAS NEVER HAPPENED. I learned later that you were high off epidurals, because once that wore off you no longer were tongue tied, or quiet.
But, Allie, I looked at you, and called your name, and you whipped your head around and looked at me, as best as a four hour old baby could. And I wanted to shout to the nurses, "See! She KNOWS ME, this baby really is MINE!" Because, my little one, you, at that moment, did not look anything like me, in fact, whenever your daddy would come into the nursery to feed you, or hold you, they would chuckle to themselves and announce, "I know what baby is YOURS!" It was funny for the first 3 or 4 days, then it just got old. I am grateful that you are looking more like me these days.

And now I look at you, shoving random objects into your mouth, figuring out which button to press on the monkey to make him squeal, just enough times to make me want to set it on FIRE.
It was just yesterday, after you snatched my blackberry for the 75th time and chuck it at my face, when I simply asked you, in my nicest voice, to "Please give mommy her phone!"  That I thought, almost wishfully,  What happened to my baby?

Everyone always says that your kids grow up too fast. but when it is happening right in front of your face, you want to reach through time and press the PAUSE button.
 Where do I even start, Allie? You are walking, you are throwing things in frustration, you are squealing with delight, you can even slide down the slide like the big kids. You are magnificent. You even have HAIR! You can say "Hi Da". "Bye Bye." "Cat." "UH O!" And sometimes you just speak "baby"- a slew of nonsense sounds, spoken with great seriousness as if you are telling everyone something SUPER important.
....But, um....you say "Mama" when its super late at night, and you don't feel good, WHEN NO ONE BUT ME HEARS IT! I am hoping that in these coming months you say it more frequently.

I want to tell you this, because for me, its a big deal.  When I am with you now, I don't feel like I am alone. I know that sounds silly, but for a long time I felt so alone with you, you were this wiggly, angry squawking newborn that demanded so much of me, and I felt totally inadequate. But just the other day, I was sitting in the living room crying over something stupid, and you crawled your way onto my lap, wrapped your arms around my neck, and patted my back. Just like I do for you, when you are sad.
It was that very moment that I thought my heart might just explode with love for you. Even though sometimes I am positive that you are possessed by demons, I am mostly blown away at how sweet and gentle you can be.

This year we are picking up and moving to Georgia.  I am filled with a lot of emotion about this, mainly because there are so many people in your life right now that adore you. And I would love it if they too, got to see you grow up.  It will be difficult to move away from them, but family is always with you, no matter where you are, I hope that you know that.

After I held you for the first time, and you looked into my eyes, I knew that you were my gift. After all that sadness of losing your Grandpa and Uncle, you came into my life and truly brightened my world. You made me a mom. 

My wish for you, my angel, on your birthday, your very first one, is that you always know how much your Dad and I love you. That you continue to explore, to learn, and to understand the importance of  asking for help when you need it.

 I love you Allessandra.
Happy 1st Birthday.

Love Always,( and until next year )

Thursday, March 11, 2010

...Remembering the Train Wreck...

Its hard to believe that last year, at this time, I had already been in labor for about 9 hours. I think it was right around 8AM where I started praying to GOD that someone would just KILL ME.
They say you forget, but they are full of shit. I distinctly remember feeling as if my body was just going to detonate from the sheer volume of pain that was clenching my body. I remember grasping the metal bars of the hospital bed, trying to breathe as if I was running up hill at full speed. I admit it, I took the pain like you would expect someone to take the pain that never went to ANY birthing class, like, at all.
I cried.
I withered in pain.
I swore like a truck driver.
I kept thinking of ways I could get out of having to deliver the baby.
And, I begged for drugs at about 4cm dilated. Because in my infinite dumbness, I was sure that by 9 HOURS I WOULD AT LEAST BE AT 8!
The prospect of continuing, sans drugs, was very much like someone telling me, that any moment someone was going to enter the hospital room, and chop off my legs. And I had two choices, Keep legs, or lose legs. I choose to keep legs, BRING ON THE DRUGS.
Irony.  For the rest of the day, and into the night, for she was born at 1:41AM March 12th, I was paralyzed from the waist down.
And that was by far the most traumatic part of my labor.  The throwing up, the c section, or when THEY THOUGHT THEY LOST A SPONGE IN MY BODY, did not even hold a candle to not being able to move.  When they wanted me to "push" the baby out. And I am all, "I can't even wiggle my toes....." 

But she eventually came out. Clearly. And this morning I swooped her up in the air, and covered her tiny face with slobbering kisses, and she let out a stream of giggles, and grabbed my face in her hands, giving me her version of a "kiss", which is more like her licking my cheek.
Every second of that train wreck of a birth was worth it. But I have to tell you, whipping up french toast this morning, and listening to my daughter laugh, is WAY better then trying to get an 8 pounds baby out of my
va jay jay.

Cheers! To not having to deliver a baby today!

If you are captivated by my labor, and you want to read about it first hand, right AFTER it happend last year, when I am still high off adrenaline and percocet, then you can read that HERE

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Weight Watchers Wednesday

 Disclaimer. I am by no means a licensed nutritionist and if you seriously want to lose weight I would advise you to speak to your health care provider, and/ or simply put the fork down. I am in no way shape or form getting paid to advocate for Weight Watchers, I am just a girl standing in front of a guy, telling him he needs to get off his fat ass and lose the belly weight, before he has a heart attack at 30. Weight watchers worked for me, my mother in law, my Granny, and my husband. If it works for you, GREAT. If you would like to pay me for my services that would be greatly appreciated. I would appreciate bills in the form of Ben Franklin.  Thank you and have a nice day.

When I first suggested to Josh that we try WW, he looked at me as if I had announced that I wanted a sex change.
He was not a fan of counting "points" and immediately assumed that WW would cost money and he would have to go to meetings and hate on birthday cake and crap.
So I did what any sneaky wife would do, I tricked him in to doing it. Josh, by nature is a follower. I don't mean that in a bad way, I just mean: Josh would eat the same thing, say the same things, watch the sames things, wear the same thing, till the day he died, unless I provide some sort of intervention. Such as, suggesting new things to eat, or do, or watch, or SAY.
So I partnered with my mother in law and I started WW on my own.

And just like I expected, he loved it, he owned it, he now speaks WW fluently.  Probably after he realized that some foods were 0 points, which means, my friends, you can eat as much as you want.  Of course most of them are veggies, but in the very beginning it was pickles. You can eat as many pickles as your tiny heart desires, and this seemed to please Josh. That, and the fact that he got an outrageous amount of points. At the time I was nursing so I automatically was allotted 12 points, in addition to whatever else my height and weight added up to. And even after that, HE STILL HAD MORE POINTS.
I remember him right before bed, stomping around the apartment, because he STILL HAD FOUR DAMN POINTS LEFT AND WTF SHOULD HE EAT?!

But the weight basically flew off of him, and the more he ate, the more weight he lost. And the more weight he lost, the more motivated he became.
The reason why I am writing about this, is I have been approached by some men in my life that were curious about Josh's progress, and wanted to learn how he did it, and is keeping it off.  From the outset, WW seems like it is A. expensive, or B. For chatty women who fear Birthday cake.
Both are huge misconceptions.

In my opinion WW is the ONLY plan that works. Hands down. I can still eat jelly beans and chocolate, and have my skinny latte, all with staying within my points range. And just cause you have a penis, doesn't mean you cant hop on the bandwagon and lose weight along with the rest of us.

So with that being said, Wednesdays I will be posting helpful tips and recipes.

How Many Points Do I get?

In order to not offend anyone that is actually GETTING PAID to give out that info. Just go ahead and search for that info on Google. Unless you want to pay me, in which case I will gladly tell you.

The points of a particular type of food is based mainly on fiber, the more fiber something has, the lower the points. I don't get very many points during the day, so you have to be pretty creative and truly eat foods that are filling.

This Points calculator will help, figure out how many points is in a certain type of food.

Also two sites I read religiously that have tons of WW recipes or give the points value of their foods
 Gina's Weight Watcher Recipes I actually made the Irish soda bread yesterday, and its amazing.

Also, Momma Mitchell's recipes 
The recipes are easy, quick and healthy.

OK: SO my breakfast this morning
Irish Soda bread with a tiny bit of honey 4 WW points
1 packet of oatmeal 2 WW points. Coffee black
Total 6 points for breakfast

This pic was taken in the fall, so he has lost more since here
You can clearly see the difference

And then you all know this pic just to show the difference a year makes

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Play Dates

I am a competitive parent.
And it is probably my least favorite quality about myself. I talk about my child as if I am putting her on Ebay. I list her qualities, her milestones, her absolutely amazing breath taking beauty. I am that mom that has pictures in her purse, on her phone, taped to the dashboard in her car. I am an over sharer (clearly) and I know how annoying I am, because pre baby, I consistently rolled my eyes at over sharer parents.

But I can't shut up. Seriously. Whenever I am with another mom, who is also an "over sharer" I somehow manage to get in a pissing contest. "My child crawled at 4 months" (Well she did, people.) To which they reply, "Oh, well my child sat up at five months, and is pulling up and is looking like they are going to walk, and they are only 8 months!"
And then I suck air through my teeth, and gulp back my coffee and secretly am setting them on fire with my mind.
"Its not that my child is not walking, she just prefers to walk on her knees. She CAN walk, she takes steps and stuff, but, again, she walks on her knees. Quite successfully I might add." Insert nervous laughter< here>

When I relinquish this tiny detail among the other "Super Moms" they tilt their heads to the side and give me sympathetic smiles, "She'll get there, don't worry, not every baby can walk at 2 months like little Jr here!"

They think they are being reassuring, but really, what they are doing, is making me want to let the air out of their tires. Or call their child ugly, or dumb.
But I don't.
I am an adult people.

My Mom and my Mother in law both encourage me to relax.  "You are rushing her, you are putting too much pressure on her, just let her be a baby." And I am all, "HOW AM GOING TO ONE UP THE OTHER MOMS? How will I write in caps lock and shout to the internet at how AWESOME my child is, if she falling behind all the OTHER CHILDREN?"

Then Josh steps out from behind the scene and punches me directly in the baby maker.

He is not a fan of my competitiveness. Because, EVERYTHING in my life is a competition. In fact he is probably reading this and shaking his head. And 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, my phone will ring, or he will instant message me, and be all, "You are ridiculous. Now, step AWAY from the other moms, before someone gets hurt."

Monday, March 8, 2010

And why my life sucks part 345878

You know, internet, life for me right this second is pretty stressful. S to the tressed I am doing my very best to supplement my ever changing anxiety ridden attacks with positive Hippy yoga crap. Things such as meditation and sun salutations.  I even say things such as, "Everything happens for a reason, It's all going to work out." Smile, wave, repeat.
But last night, last night the universe was all, "You big fat LIAR! Let me SHOW YOU HOW YOU REALLY FEEL." In my head the universe sounds exactly like that evil dude from "inspector Gadget"

 Anyway, I digress. Right smack dab in my I am so positive speech, I BROKE OUT IN HIVES.
HIVES people, H I V E S. If you have never experienced this little number, then perhaps you will die a very happy/lucky/stress free/ individual.
I am infested with stress. Its coming out in a red ugly RASH on my neck. And it (excuse me) fucking hurts.
On top of the HIVES, I have my child's cold, and am acting exactly like she was in that video I posted, except there is virtually no one who cares wants to take care of me. Not even Josh, who basically is all "suck it up woman and get me my dinner" Just kidding. He did act momentarily sympathetic. Kind of.

Also, I am re thinking absolutely everything in my life, and I have a Birthday party to plan and Presents to wrap and a Cake to make and when all of that is done, I have to move my child and my entire LIFE, to Atlanta Georgia.
Oh, and Find an awesome job that pays me lots of money and provides stellar heath benefits.

If you are looking for me, I will be hiding under my bed.
With all the cats. 

When in Doubt

Just climb in the toy box

No one called her a BOY today!

Sunday, March 7, 2010


I have been so productive you wouldn't even recognize me.

I have updated my resume, cover letter, applied to several jobs, packed, made lists, and kept the sobbing to a minimum.
I even managed to buy real birthday wrapping paper (instead of wrapping everything in xmas paper, cause yeah we do that around here)  for my little one, who, although is in the throes of  sniffing and sighing very loudly, will ultimately be ONE on FRIDAY.  Alert the friggen media people, seriously, this is the longest I have EVER kept ANYTHING alive. OK that's a lie, I do have four cats. (I know right, thank God I am married with a child, cause I would so totally be that lady)

But yeah,  RIP my many many  house plants and gold fish.

So just to clarify: I am Half Packed, Half started to apply to jobs, changed my phone number to a GA area code, uploaded and joined bull shit networking sites. I have three weeks left in MA, 2 weeks left of work and less then a week till my baby's birthday.

I also banged out four miles today on the treadmill and feel totally motivated.

Ate this for breakfast, with some home fries after my run.

And totally half fit into this 700$ dress...

Happy Sunday!

Saturday, March 6, 2010

My Child

Is the most dramatic sick child in the world.


Friday, March 5, 2010


I wonder why Monster.com now wants you to "upload a photo of yourself"?
It makes me feel pretty uncomfortable that I am going to get judged right away on appearance even before I make an ass out of myself at the interview. Is it at the interview or on the interview? See, stuff like that makes me second guess myself, its been so long since I have actually cared about finding a job.
One wrong word, one hesitation, one bad picture and all of a sudden you are no longer a candidate.

What if I decided to up load a picture of myself with blond hair, purely cause I like the photo, and then I show up with brown hair and suddenly I become a liar. Same goes with boob size. I like a photo of myself with ginormous boobs, but again. Lie.They would take one look at me now and be all, YEAH RIGHT, NICE TRY.

Or I could be sly and use my doppelganger shot of Kerri Walsh

Or I could use the picture of me actually at work. Proving that I have/had a job?
 I am on the left.

I think I will just leave the profile pic empty, might be easier that way.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

I am the douche


My daughter, she actually is not a douche. Turns out her mother is.

102 degree fever would make anyone cranky, No?

Feeling slightly guilty right now. Note to self: Don't let Allessandra lick public restroom toilets again.

She just looked so cute doing it.

Also, she can totally work the slide just like the big kids! Even with a 102 fever, and an icky stomach! See also: Projectile vomiting all over mommy.
Why does EVERY child try to climb back up the slide?
I did it, You did it, we all did it, but why?