My Oscar Party

It's all so relative. Lately, I have been making a little more effort to take care of myself, hair cut and colored, renewed subsrciption to US Weekly- even though we are on a tight budget. Finding some maternity pants that actually FIT ( was someone going to tell the 5 foot 8 girl that they don't make maternity pants in "LONG"??) . And buying myself some new Urban Decay eye shadow. To put in the pocket of my new purse. Yep. New purse, too.

And to me... this is "ape-shit". Like... totally crazy spending on myself that is super duper not needed. But admittedly, makes me feel so much better. Really, it does. When I walked into my condo with my new purchases yesterday, I was actually giddy like a school girl.

I have spent the last weeks barely existing. I have been sick. And being preggers, quickly realized there is very little you can do about the inability to sleep, drippy-to-the-point-of-gross nose, and massive soar throat that feels similar to cat scratch. But because I am taking some time off next year-I am doing my best to hoard my sick days, and as it's just a cold, well, I have been trudging to work laboriously- making do, and then coming home and collapsing on my couch. The laundry is stacking up. The floors are getting pretty... umm... gross. We are out of light bulbs. Dinners have been either sandwiches or frozen pizzas. I have been doing my best to keep up, but really, the walls are caving in.

One of my biggest crosses to bear at the moment ( and yes, grab a kleenex for this one-and here - grab one of mine- I have butt loads at the moment) is that my closet is out of control. Between my weight watchers pre-pregnancy "small" clothes, the " I am newly pregnant and in month three BIG girl clothes", my "regular clothes", my maternity clothes, and all of the loaner maternity clothes that need to be kept seperated in order to return them to their rightful owners, my closet is a cluster fudget of smock shirts and khaki cottons. In varying sizes. We have spilled over into the "boxing arena/ baby's room / second closet". It's chaos at best.

And my intention as of two weeks ago was to box bag ship and move everything out of my way- cleaning up my rooms and streamlining my dressing process. But since I haven't been well, this major task that requires patience, energy, thought, and organization has fallen into a hole of deep despair. So yesterday- when I was feeling better for the first time in weeks, what do I do? Shop. Not organize- but SHOP. I wanted to get out of the house. And I wanted some pants that fit. And now that I have my outsides all set up and ready to go- it's time.

Today is the day. Boxes are out and ready to be filled. Garbage bags are in full supply. Attitude is upbeat and motivation level is beeping off the charts. I do not promise to complete the entire task, but I do plan on muddling through a good start at least as I watch Angelina and Brad grace the red carpet. I mean, who doesn't want to clean the closet out while watching the Oscars?

Two Year Anniversary

I never thought I would be this girl. I wanted to be this girl- but I really had thrown in the towel that I would ever BE this girl.
When I approached my 30's, single as a single could be, I began to question what was going on with me. My SIL's told me without any hesitation that I had "commitment" problems. I couldn't have disagreed more, but those words sat with me. And grew. And nagged at me as I continued to cry my way through lease signings- refuse to schedule any type of vacation- and shirk any form of lengthy project- such as a Master's program.
Eventually I came to see their angle and began to absorb that there was some truth to their words.
The funny thing is that all along the way- my goals had remained the same, and I was resolute about that. I want to be married to the perfect guy for me, own a house, and have his babies. I want to belong to church, I want to stop spending my weekends at the bar, and I want my family to come back into sharp focus.
Since that time, things have changed so much. I credit my SIL's for forcing me to see the truth, I credit my Mom for being patient, and I credit myself for finally facing what I didn't want to see.
This weekend, as I sat in my condo, celebrating our two year wedding anniversary, five months pregnant, my calendar filled with family gatherings, church a regular part of my life, and bars a place I haven't seen in months- maybe years, I am finally happy. Really happy.
My husband and I decided to not DO gifts but instead got massages and went pheasant hunting together. It was one of the nicest weekends of my life. And despite some major skepticism by what were my friends at the time, I couldn't have made a better decision in choosing him to become my lawfully wedded husband. I am just thankful my SIL's got their hands on me before I passed him up.

Clean House

Lately- with my husband in physical therapy three nights a week, and me fighting off a cold, dinner creations have been... whimsical. I have never been one for the European style of grocery shopping, not even as an urbanite, and instead prefer to mentally catalogue a series of meals and basics and load up my cart for a once a week haul. But this week has been different. Last weekend, when said haul usually occurs, I was not feeling up for it. And as I perused my freezer I pulled a variety of meats out and figured that with some creativity I could make my way through the week.
And make my way I did! Shockingly, what I discovered, is that I have a ton of food stuffs that have been cast off from a previous recipe, never made, or quite frankly, just forgotten. As I persued the wide array of seasoning packets, hidden behind the forty-odd tins of tuna fish, I recalled an article written by a local "chef", if you will ( actually- a housewife with self-proclaimed cooking skills ).... she mentioned that January was clean house month at her house.
She described making her way throught the nooks and crannies of her pantry- pulling, tossing, baking and cooking all those morsels with expirations dates approaching or cans of what-nots whose partners vanished in a flash of cooking lightbulb moments or Betty Crocker inspired frivolity.
The trick for me was to not let my husband recognize the sudden adding and subtracting of ingredients in what we have deemed a "previously refined dish". So there are almonds in the brownies. So there is pineapple in the jell-o. Wait. There is JELL-O? I put sprinkles in the cupcakes and excuse me but yes- that is what I call mayonnaise on your burger. Delicious, isn't it? And stop asking about the amount of pickles this week. I just crave them. Eat up, honey! Chop chop now!
And so we have made it. We have been well fed and nary a meal was tossed. And now again it's Saturday and I am considering managing another haul-less grocery weekend. To flush out the last of the oddities... pesto pasta anyone? and forge through another creative week of cooking. By Wednesday evening, when we sit down to a glorious meal of Italian Meatballs and french fries, I am sure we will be ready to get back to the old ways, where the protein is enhanced by the carb and the veggies are meshed with the protein. In the meantime, our meals will look increasingly like a three ring circus until the last of the artichokes are baked and the pimentos stuffed.

The Soiled Egg Salad?

As I have indicated as much in previous posts, this pregnancy has left me hormonally challenged. Looney tunes. One step closer to forever alienating myself from sanity. I try to control it with walks, baths, reading, etc. But seriously? It's like a flip switches and instead of actually CALMING me the distracting activity generally just goes awry as opposed to staving off another bout of mouth over-use.
Most weeks, in an effort to save some money, as well as maintain our health, I try to make my husband his "lunches". It has become fairly routine and I generally make a big vat of something or other, like egg salad or pasta or burgers and he takes the whole big pot of it to work and portions it out there. I do not judge. He's a man and works in a man's world.
This past week, my husband requested egg salad. Since he stayed home sick on Monday, it was off to work he went Tuesday morning with a 2 pound casserole of egg salad and a loaf of his favorite whole-wheat bread. I sigh in relief as I see another week of lunches, done and out the door.
Tuesday evening, as per usual, I feel inclined to ask about the quality of this particular batch of egg salad, knowing full well that to him it tastes like all the OTHER batches of egg salad. "Good", he replies. I leave well enough alone. He thinks it's good enough to eat, which is good enough for me.
On Wednesday, I shockingly spy the empty caserole on our kitchen counter. Hmmm, I think to myself. Where did all of that egg salad GO? Moving on to other things, the egg salad left my thoughts as we danced around other more important matters, like the weekend and what's for dinner.... The only two things I really seem to care about these days. Later that evening, as things calmed down and we lay in "our" spots on our respective couches, I remembered to ask my husband what happened to all of the egg salad.
He replied, "Oh, I shared some with a guy at work." Generally speaking, my heart would melt at my husband's senstivity and kindness to others, but remember, I am hormonally challenged at the moment.
"YOU WHAT?". He quietly repeated himself, " I shared it with a guy at work."
I quickly find an opportunity to fling something onto the coffee table in an effort to demonstrate my irritation. Knowing full well, his eyes are fixed on me. "You are NOT pissed about that, ARE you?" he asks in shock.
"YES, I am, it pisses me off. Why can't he get his own lunches? He canceled on you last week, so WHY would you give him food? He's unreliable!."
I hear my husband mutter, " I can't believe you are mad about this. Whatever."
My mind is reeling with "JERK! What A JERK! Of COURSE I am mad! What a jerk. "
In order to avoid a blow out, I quietly turned back to my book. Within a few minutes, as my insides caught up with my brain, I mustered, " I think I hit a wall, I better get to bed."
It wasn't until morning that I really ingested what had set me so off the night before. Oh yes... as the room came into focus and my thoughts began to align, I recalled that I was angry at my husband for... Oh NO! I did it again! Shoot shoot shoot! Egg salad? Oh LORI! Why???
And ONCE again, we start off the day with an apolgy.
With each passing day, I love my husband more, never knowing previously the depth of his patience. His forgiveness comes before the apology. He doesn't hold it against me. If it wouldn't potentially piss me off so much I would buy him a vacation far far away from me, to reward him for his stability. Instead, I just wake and "sorry" and set things right in the world again.
With five more months to go... I am not sure how he's going to make it!

Roller Party

It's been a really long time since I have been roller skating. So when we got the invite to my nephew's first boy/girl roller party I immediately cleared the calendar in anticipation of the big event.. that is of course AFTER asking my doctor if pregnant ladies can roller skate... "Yes, " she said, "Just don't land on your belly." I figured I could manage that and mentally prepared myself for a broken wrist.
And last week, as I dragged through the school week, I used the roller party as my "light at the end of the tunnel". Enter Pink Floyd background music here with a dash of strobe lights. It got me thinking about the days of old, garnering rides to the "rink", making sure the battery pack on my red light-up visor was charged, seven dollars tucked into the pocket of my coolest jeans, the ones with the roller skate on the back pocket...
Screeech! Enter reality. What am I going to wear? Now, I know my GM ( generous Mother) bought me some exquisitely comfy maternity pants, including some hip jeans, well... as hip as maternity demin gets for me. However, when I sported said jeans to work on Friday, we ran into some "issues". As in, they won't stay on. They are too big. Way too big. Of course, this didn't become apparent until I was walking down the hallway during passing periods and I was quite sure that the "maternity" portion of my pants was hanging well past my deirrier. And being that my arms were full, led to some temporary panic. I made it to class but spent the remainder of the day seated behind my desk as much as possible. In the end, the idea of wearing these jeans roller skating, well, it would never do.
I went on-line and found that the closest maternity-carrying Old Navy was a good twenty minutes away, and so it became the "Saturday mission". Off I went, patient husband in tow, and within ten minutes I found myself some NEW jeans. Not nearly as cute, but with a little more staying power and illiciting a lot more confidence.
We arrived at the party right on time, and after waiting in line for no less than ten minutes, I finally had my skates. As I laced up dandy pair of beige and orange rentals, I inhaled the familiar scent of old, sweaty leather. Of course the first pair didn't fit. The ogre behind the skate rental desk begrudgingly gave me a new pair. Eventually, it was time to stand. After a good ten minutes of arm waving balancing acts, I felt back in the swing, and off I went, like it was yesterday. Around and around the rink I went, gliding with the wind in my hair. At least that is how I felt- I tried to ignore one comment "Are you sure you should be skating? You looked so wobbly out there! " I could have stayed for hours. Wobble or not.
In the end, I find that I still love roller skating. And all Junior High kids aside, it was still fun.