No Crazies Allowed
There are only a handful of lots left in our housing development. One is right beside us and it's a fabulous lot. The same size as ours, it backs directly to the park. It's going to have a perfectly flat back yard and I was puzzled as to why it wasn't selling.
It could just be that the guys don't have anything better to do than transfer dirt from one lot to another today, but they are completely clearing it today and taking the dirt and rocks elsewhere.
While I'm excited about having an actual house beside us instead of a dirt pile, getting new neighbors is always a bit nerve-wracking. Maybe it's because I used to live next to the local Britney Spears, but I know that one bad neighbor can really wreck things for you.
I started thinking about how weird it's been living here, with no crazy neighbor to speak of and I started to reminisce. Everyone around here is very normal and extremely nice. They also read my blog (Hi neighbors!), so I wouldn't tell you if it were otherwise.
If you haven't read it before, it's new to you. Plus, everyone can appreciate a good story about a crazy neighbor wearing fuzzy slippers who stares into your windows while drinking a glass of wine at 10 a.m. right?
Hammer Head
Someone has released an army of little men with hammers in my head and when I find out who did it. . . it's not going to be pretty. In addition to the pulsing and pounding head, my throat feels like a swollen mess and let's not even talk about how bad my spine hurts right now.
After being kissed, hugged and breathed on by "Typhoid Mary" (aka Lil C) for a week, I knew it was only a matter of time. Plus, you know, Mr. BBM spent the weekend doing nothing but being miserable and daring to breathe his germs in the house too.
When I realized I was getting sick yesterday, I quickly cleaned the entire house. I washed sheets and clothes. I put away all the clean clothes. I vacuumed the entire house and then mopped all the tile floors. I can't stand to be sick in a dirty house.
Because I was having Mommy guilt, I also took Lil C outside for some sledding and snowman building.
This snowman looks the way I feel right now. . .
Here's hoping tomorrow is a better day for both of us.
Who Designs This Stuff Anyway?
The girls are at a playdate today and I've had hours to myself. I spent part of my day shopping. I went to Gymboree and spent my Gymbucks with perfection-only $1.74 over my target amount. I was going to stop by KB toys to pick up a toy for a birthday party we have this coming weekend, but they are going out of business and I didn't really think a 1-year old would appreciate store shelves. Yes, everything must go.
When I realized that was futile, I thought I'd try to find a new pair of jeans. I got some kind of oil stain on my current favorites that just won't come out. Plus, they're becoming less and less of a favorite thanks to my hard work at the gym so it was time for a new pair.
I first went in Gap. Because sizes are completely different from store to store, I took back everything from a 4 Regular to an 8 Long. Not a single pair was purchase worthy unless I feel like being a plumber. I don't get why clothing designers can't get that little hip to waist ratio right. Girls are not straight from top to bottom. I tried on about 10 pairs and decided it wasn't my day.
Then I remembered The Limited. In the past I've been able to find pants there and they're always long enough. I walked to that end of the mall and did a scan of the general area. My beloved Limited is now a car showroom.
As I did a scan of the surrounding stores, I realized I was in teeny bopper hell. And not just teeny bopper hell, but rather teens trying to look like they work the streets hell. What the hell?
I figured I'd try one more store and went into Express. I know the economy is bad, but there were two employees for the entire store and not a one was about to help me find a suitable size. I was about to throw in the towel. I was stupid to wear a fleece zip-up pullover and a heavy down coat to the mall. I was breaking out in a serious sweat.
I took three pairs back to the dressing room and tried them on. I quickly realized that designers aren't worried about the hip to waist ratio because apparently they think that all girls have really fat ankles. What is up with these flare jeans that are wide enough to fit a tire? Sorry, but this hug the heiney, show the crack, squeeze your thighs in and then let your ankles breathe business is ridiculous.
So I ended up in my favorite store, Ann Taylor Loft (not at the mall). I tried on a couple pairs of jeans, but I know they are going to be half an inch too short as soon as I wash them. I need to order online.In addition to jeans I was looking for some kind of "going out" top to wear for my birthday party. Ann Taylor Loft didn't really have anything, so I was out of luck.
Were you aware that the new going out shirt styles are completely incompatible with any and every type of bra ever manufactured? I swear clothing designers are creating clothing for women with fake ones exclusively. Real ones need a bra. If you don't want the "support your own boobs" look, then your only other choice is this baggy business and seriously, I couldn't figure out where my head was supposed to go. When the sleeve openings are as wide and baggy as the neck opening, it's time to call the fashion police. That stuff doesn't flatter anyone. Don't kid yourself if you think it does.
It occurred to me as I was driving home that maybe I'm getting old. But then I decided I am not going to accept that. Most teenagers who walk around wearing that stuff look ridiculous and that's not just old people talk. I don't start every sentence with "When I was a youngin'" and T.I.'s Paper Trail is currently my favorite album download. I'm not old!
Nope. I refuse to accept it. I like to dress nice and stylish when I go out and there has got to be a place that makes clothes for women like me. Where are you??? Any ideas people? This girl is desperate.
In My Next Life, I’m Coming Back with a . . .
I was completely beat and my leg was really bothering me yesterday afternoon. I had just started making dinner when Mr. BBM called to tell me he was feeling awful. Headache, body aches, fever, nausea. I guess he wasn't going to be able to go to the grocery store for me after all.
He came home, went immediately to our room, changed into comfortable clothes and took up residence on the sofa. Within minutes, he was asleep.
While I certainly have an appreciation for a good stomach virus, I was about to burst into tears. My leg was throbbing and I needed to sit. Now I had to serve dinner, clean it up, get the kids ready for bed, put them to bed, and go to the store, when all I really wanted on my agenda was to sit down and ice my knee.
I cleaned up dinner, even made some quick dessert for the girls (and me-hell, I deserved it), and then headed out the door for the grocery store. I picked up the staples I'd need to get through the weekend. You know, beer, wine, vodka, milk, juice, tissues, lots and lots of tissues with lotion in them because Lil C is starting to look like a chapped Hitler from using up about eight boxes of tissues per day. I really hope child services doesn't get their undies in a bunch over her chapped lip or I'm in big trouble.
I was talking to my fantastic friend, Renovation Girl, on the way home from the store and I told her that in my next life I'm coming back with some enhanced anatomy. That's right people, I'm coming back with a penis.
It doesn't matter how nauseous I am, how high my fever is, or whether or not I have a serious case of peeing out the heiney. Life goes on as normal for me. I still have to get up and get Big I off to school. I still have to play the part of a short order cook for Lil C all day long. I still have to help Big I with homework, tend to the laundry and keep the household moving. There are no sick days when you're a Mom.
Even last year, when I was in agony after ACL surgery, I would sit in my bathroom while drying my hair and wipe the counter down. I can barely get people in this household to rinse their toothpaste down the sink when they're healthy. It's frustrating to say the least.
This morning, Big I and Lil C were up by 7:30. I was trying to keep my eyes closed for as long as possible when Lil C tossed two hard backed books at my face and demanded I read them to her. She struck my nose and made it bleed a little. It hurt enough that I teared up, and then, while standing in the bathroom, I just started to cry.
Later, as I was sipping some coffee, Mr. BBM told me how lousy he's still feeling. "Great," I said, "I'll probably get it just in time to start the new semester this week."
"Well if you do," he said, "just lay down and go to sleep it off," he said.
I started to laugh. "Mom's don't get to lie down and go to sleep. That will never happen."
I'm telling you. In my next life, there will be some new equipment to learn how to use.
There are some great new reviews up at The BBM Review, including Wii Fit and some other fitness equipment, the new Incubus CD, plus a website that helps you organize your life. Check them out!
Mixed Messages
You know you're in for it when the nurse who's about to take your stitches out, takes one look at your leg and says, "Oh, you have one of those. . . I'll be back." My surgeon does this running loop stitch thing and it mimizes scarring but stings a bit more than normal stitches when it comes out. When it comes out, it's one piece and you can feel it tugging underneath your skin.
She came back a few minutes later and peeled up the steri-strips. "Oh" she said, "I'm going to need to go get him. It's still open." My surgeon came in, took a look, and told her to go ahead with taking them out. It looked so disgusting that I wasn't sure if I wanted to gag, throw up, or pass out. With all the mixed signals, my body just decided to ramp up the heat as it began to feel like I was in a sauna and I broke out in a serious sweat. The bonus of having an incision that isn't completely closed yet is that the stitches don't pull as much coming out. Still, I couldn't watch.
Instead of watching the nurse pull out the stitches and put more steri-strips on the incision, I concentrated on my surgeon's face. He said that he removed part of the sheath, and all the scar tissue that had built up all around it. He said there was a lot of fluid in there too and that I should be good to go now.
Of course, there are limitations. I'm supposed to take it easy for the next 7-10 days and avoid doing any type of activity or stretching that would widen the incision and subsequent scar.
When all was said and done, he told me that in a few weeks I can get back to normal. We talked about pivoting, twisting, kicking and sparring and he made it quite clear what he thinks about me sparring again.
"Three step sparring is o.k. but if I were you, I wouldn't do anything beyond that. Revision surgeries do not have a good success rate, and we're talking about your leg and the rest of your life here."
Truly he's right. It's just not worth it.
As I was leaving he smiled and said, "I'll see you around, just hopefully not here." I should have invited him to my birthday party.
On the way home, I stopped at the gym to ask them if they could put a medical hold on my account. In total it will probably be about three weeks that I'm out of commission. At first, they seemed really willing to help. Then she said she would need 20 days prior notice to put it on hold. "I don't think I even had 20 days notice that I was having surgery," I told her.
I asked for the guy who signed me up and he saw me coming as I walked back to his desk. "Remember that free month you promised me when I signed up? I never got it. I've been paying every month since I signed up. I'd like you to put that free month through now. I threw my leg up on the chair and pulled my pant leg up.
He wrote down my membership number and said he'd take care of it. I figured that flashing a little leg would work, just for different reasons than one would think.
Apparently, the 20 days prior notice business is somewhere on my contract, in microscopic print, on the backside of the paper, written in Arabic code, and requiring a decoder pen from a cereal box. I would just like to know when helping people became secondary to screwing people.
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