HOLIDAY EATING TIPS

Normally I don't even bother reading the holiday emails that get spread around like a cold in day care...but this one resonated so completely with my feelings about holidays and food, I had to share! 

1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.

2. Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. It's rare...You cannot find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog-alcoholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think; it's Christmas!

3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free...lots of it. Hello?

6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.

8. Same for pies. Apple, Pumpkin, Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? Labor Day?

9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention. Re-read tips; start over, but hurry, January is just around the corner. Remember this motto to live by:

"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, a glass of red wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "PRAISE GOD, what a ride!"

Revelations

I recently googled the name of a blog I was trying to find- we are looking for some guest bloggers so we can up our weekly blogs, you see, and while I didn’t find who I was looking for, I did find about 50 mom bloggers who all came to the same idea: as mothers, we have absolutely no idea what we are doing. Then, out of curiosity, I started looking up other things. Relationships. Dating. Fashion. Dieting. Blogs and blogs and blogs of them. You know what I have discovered?

NO ONE KNOWS THE EPH WHAT THEY ARE DOING. Not a blessed honest soul. Those who do are either lying or have those annoying advice blogs that no one reads because, (by jove I’ve got it!) no one wants advice, we want to commiserate Goshdangitt! I don’t want to read about how perfect your kid is and how best to model mine after it. I want to read about how you too had to comb dried spit up out of your hair and how you didn’t cry about it until four hours later when you were looking at pictures from last month thinking that what if that were the LAST TIME YOUR PRECIOUS CHILD SPIT UP ON YOU. I don’t want to read about how your finances tripled overnight on the stock market while you canned and cooked and baked from the vegetable garden in your modest 4 bedroom that you purchase in all cash because you went to a college you could afford so you don’t have loans. I want to read about the poor family who defaulted on their student loan so their kid could get braces while they were eating offbrand poptarts because they are cheaper than the real brand even though you can kind of taste the difference and no we don’t share bedrooms we just don’t drive a BMW. Live within the means type of thing.

I guess my point is, we rant and we rave but at the end of the day, we want to spill our guts and in exchange are willing and even anxious to read your spilled guts, as long as our guts can rant and rave together. The minute your guts crow over mine about their perfect lives I’m outa there.

In the name of not know what the eph we are doing, I’d like to throw out just a few things I did wrong today that prove I had no idea. Maybe the rest of you do.

• -          I forgot to buy breakfast bars again and spent three hours at work wondering why I was so hungry.
• -          I stayed up most of the night with my 5 month old who was rolling around whining, and allowed myself to get irritated before I remembered she was teething.
• -          I sat at work on the computer (facebookblogsgmail) before looking at the clock and realized I have 2 hours to get done 2 days worth of stuff before I had to leave. I’ll probably be staying late. Stupid stupid stupid.
• -          My hair, for the 7^th month in a row, is in a ponytailbun with my bangs pulled back and about 3 inches too long. I could spend some time and money and style it or cut it. Or I could just keep thinking about doing it…
• -          I spent $150 at Walmart on food and crap when I could have spent $75, and then wondered why I didn’t have money for later in the month. But it was really good crap.

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What did you today without knowing what the eph you were doing? 

So Why Don't I Have a Boyfriend?

“I'm kind of pretty, and pretty damn smart.”

          “You are!”

“Thanks! I like romantic things, like music and art.

     And as you know, I have a gigantic heart!

So why don't I have boyfriend?

     F*@$! It sucks to be me!”

                                            – Avenue Q

The pages of my 'dating diary' are rather empty. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been attracted to someone who was attracted to me at the same time. I'm reasonably certain there have been a few times where I was attracted to someone after they were attracted to me, but that is sadly unhelpful in the grand scheme of things.

So I wonder, what's wrong with me?

The pat response is, of course, nothing is wrong with you! You just haven't found the right guy yet. Or, you would be such a great girlfriend/wife. It just takes time. You're still young. There are lots of people your age who are still single. Of course you're going to get married.

I don't mean to be the Debbie Downer at the pep rally or anything, but my record, as it stands, indicates otherwise. I'm just being realistic, at this point. And despite what people say, I am past the average age of women who get married, so my odds are only going down.

So again, I ask, what's wrong with me?  

Because seriously, not to play the bitch card, but I personally know girls who I think are less attractive than even my rather dim outlook of my own personal appeal, and others who have all the personality of a brick, who have managed to attain, maintain and retain a spouse. Even including my appearance, there are quite a few things that I like about myself. I mean, come on...I'm hilarious! So what is it, exactly, about my genetic/environmental/situational cocktail that has thus far prevented any mutually beneficial partnerships of the romantic type from being willingly contracted? I would really like to know. Because I'm quite sure, myself, that I'm rather well-suited to the role.

Why I'd be an awesome girlfriend/wife/kept woman:

Number One: I have all the necessary, requisite parts. This is sort of 'Being a Girl 101', but it bears mentioning. Biologically, I'm all set.

Number Two: I like men. I can imagine that it would be kind of difficult to be in a relationship with a member of the opposite sex if you were constantly working against your dislike for him just for being of that gender. I'm rather sure it would become an issue at some point.

Number Three: I am interested in being in a relationship. If not, it would be like that time I tried to become a runner. (If you don't even have the least bit of interest in actually doing any running, it's kind of impossible to achieve.)

Number Four: I have mastered the balance between bra-burning feminism and retiring femininity. I appreciate chivalry: opening doors, pulling out chairs, giving over of jackets. It makes me feel delicate and precious and giggly, and just generally 'swoon-y'. (Side note: swoon is a weird word. Say it five times fast. Swoon swoon swoon swoon swoon. It kind of makes you dizzy. ::nudge nudge:: pun INTENDED!) But at the same time, I don't need the extra consideration, just because I'm a girl. God blessed me with two functioning arms and the foresight to bring my own friggin' coat if I need it, just like any man.

Number Five: In that vein, I have a job. By which I mean to say, if a man wants to buy me dinner, I'm all for that. If a man wants to go to dinner with me, I am completely willing and able to buy my own meal. Just because I lack a Y a chromosome does not mean I lack the ability to pay for things. (Seriously ladies, don't you ever feel like a sponge letting your boyfriend pay for you all the time*? Don't you think he'd like it if you bought him dinner every once in awhile?) This, of course, does not apply when becoming a kept woman. Him paying for everything is just part of the deal, in that case.

* Obviously, the case for spouses is a bit different, given shared finances and what-not. In my house, my mom is the one who pays for everything because she's the bill-payer. My dad just gets an allowance.

Number Six: I like televised sports well enough to participate in the activity. Unless it's basketball. Even golf is better than basketball.

Number Seven: Parents love me. What's that saying about a lady on the streets and a... well, you get the idea.

Number Eight: I'm not insane. Especially for a girl, I'm rather appropriately mentally balanced. I do not get mad for no reason. And if I am mad, I will gladly share with you the reason why if you ask. I do not cry for no reason. In fact, I don't really cry that often at all. My little sister likes to tease me about my older sister's wedding. 'I was bawling my eyes out, and Evelyn just let one, perfect, elegant tear run down her face.' What can I say? I like to keep it classy.

Number Nine: I like to make other people happy. Naturally, I like it when other people want to make me happy, too; but there is just something so satisfying about putting a smile on another person's face.

Number Ten: I am fantastic at snuggling.

Cheese and Its Accompanying Perils

When I was in sixth grade my teacher would spend the first hour of the day doing devotions. She'd read us a story from a children's devotional--these inevitably involved gossiping girls or rough-housing boys on the playground--and then go around the room and take prayer requests.

On one memorable morning--the only memorable one, come to think of it--Caitlin asked for prayers for her grandmother. She was old and sick and constipated, she said. "What's constipated?" asked Brett.

"It means you can't poop," said Caitlin matter-of-factly. My teacher sort of spluttered--she was a soft, powdery sort of woman who had probably never used the word poop in her life--but she couldn't deny that this was, indeed, what constipated meant.

I remember that morning so vividly because it was the first time I'd heard of this particular condition. Not being able to poop? Could that happen?

Now that I'm older and wiser, I can say unequivocally that yes, it can happen. And I can further say that if one's workplace is having a lunchtime pizza party and stuffed crust pizza is on the menu and if one is already prone to poop problems, the stuffed crust is a bad idea.


And that's absolutely all I'm going to say about that.

...except that I'm rethinking that brie appetizer I had planned for our dinner party this weekend.

Of Which you can be Certain...

With so much of life up in the air and outside of our control, it's sometimes valuable to stop and appreciate the things you can always count on.  Marriage and motherhood have only served to demonstrate further both how little control I have over the majority of my life, and the few things that are Certain to Occur.

I call the following the "It Never Fails Laws:"

• If you straighten your hair, it never fail to rain (despite any and all weather forecasts)
• If you decide you to stay up late (because what the hell, just because your a mom doesn't mean you can't have a little fun), your child will never fail to wake up multiple times in the wee hours of the morning
• If you go grocery shopping without a list, (no matter how few items you need or how many times you repeat them in your head on the way to the store) you will never fail to forget something both crucial and obvious
• If you decide to risk it and boldly wear the same outfit twice (because you didn't get it dirty and there is No Way you will see the same group as yesterday) it never fails that you will run into someone who saw you the day before
• If you decide you will have a miserable time at an event no matter what...you will - it never fails
• If you only give yourself exactly the amount of time it normally takes to get ready in the morning on a day when you need to be on time for something, it never fails that the baby will demand to cluster nurse the entire hour before you have to go
• If you yell at your husband for doing something you have repeatedly asked him not to do, it never fails that soon after you will totally forget and do something he has repeatedly requested You not do
• If you get angry at a car that didn't stop at a crosswalk, it never fails that you will shortly thereafter get cut off by an aggressive pedestrian...presenting you with an aggravating opportunity to hold your tongue
• If you begin to get irritated with a particularly annoying trait of your mother's, it never fails that you will start noticing that you are doing it too
• If you dress the baby in an outfit you really really like and you want someone to see, it never fails that he will poop/spit up all over it, right as you are trying to leave to show said outfit off
• If you spend 10-15 minutes in quiet alone with God in the morning (no matter how completely impossible it feels to set aside that time) it never fails to make the rest of your day better
• If you vent that your husband never says "I'm sorry," life never fails to present you with multiple opportunities to "demonstrate" for him how to do so
• If you hold your tongue and choose Not to add your very accurate opinion about an extremely heated topic being debated on a friend's FB page, someone else will shortly do it for you - it never fails
• If you obsess over something a friend has that you want (being thinner, wealthier, having cuter clothes, a cooler job etc.) it never fails to become more and more important to you.  If you can rejoice for her, it never fails to cease to be a big deal

And Finally

• If you recognize that you are lost and broken, in desperate need of a Savior...God will Always reach out and heal your wounded heart, put back together the myriad broken and scattered pieces of your life, offer you not only Forgiveness but Redemption and Love you with an Unstoppable, Wildly Passionate, Forever Love. 

•  He Never Fails.

Anecdote of the Day: Why Does the Milk Taste Funny?

For those who think pumping is easy, its not. Any kind of pumping, really. Pumping weights, for example. I don't think you can legitimately call lifting five pounds "pumping weights". I imagine a burly guy laying on a bench with two hundred pounds of steel being hoisted in the air accompanied with heavy grunts. That's me with pumping at work. (Editor's Note: I never meant to keep writing about stuff that has to do with moms, it just seems to overtake my life at the moment with a 5 month old. Sorry friends, I promise my next post will have NOTHING to do with babies, motherhood, etc.) 


It's big trouble. I've got about 15 minutes to will as much milk into that bottle as I can humanly manage before I have to run back to my office. This probably could be a fairly easy and stress free process except for a few things: First, I have to leave my office and go all the way across campus to a bathroom that has a seat and a plug. Why so far? Because it's the only relatively quiet place around, and the idea of being barged in on while I'm hooked up like a cow being milked is just too unbearable. I didn't come from a naked house and all parts should be covered! Second, I have yet to explain to my employer why I'm squirreling away, shamefaced, every day at exactly 11:15AM. You'd think it would be obvious, a working mother who is BFing, the kid's got to get the milk somehow right? But my boss is a guy who is my age, and while his wife is preggo and he's not stupid or weird about women, I just don't think its something he has thought about. And it's not that I don't think he'd be understanding and cool about the whole 15 minutes off thing to feed my kid, I just cannot bring myself to talk about It.

Ok anyways, back the to anecdote. With my work comes the added annoyance pleasure of working with the elderly who help run the church. One that I work closely with is a fairly awesome 70-something guy who swears and loves halloween (although not in church. the swearing I mean). He's head of finances and is always popping into my office needing something. So remember this guy, who I will refer to as Fred. He's important.

The refrigerator in the staff room is always full of the weirdest things. There are over 40 employees and someone is always leaving leftovers and trash in there, and goodness knows what really belongs to who after a certain point. I usually stuff my little neatly sealed of bag of milk gold in the back of the freezer. It's labeled, clearly says what it is...well it says Mother's Milk on the back (thank you Lasinoh for spelling it out so clearly) and is frozen into a small block.

Yesterday I ran out of bags and forgot to bring one to work. AH oh no what to do...so I grabbed a styrofoam cup and put my name on it and poured the liquid gold in. (Editor's Note: It's liquid gold because you can pump for a half an hour and get 3 ounces and get more excited than when you go to Disneyworld, it's that big of a pain. The gold is HIGH COMMODITY.)

Awhile later, Fred comes waltzing into my office asking about the date on the milk and if it's bad.

I pause, wondering what the heck he is talking about.

Fred goes on to explain he didn't have anything for his coffee and he found the milk in the back in a neat styrofoam cup and since it's got my name on it I must know how old it is.

I tried to conceal my horror as I assured him it was fresh. Quite fresh, actually.


After he left, I put up my little "Gone Away" sign and drove my liquid gold home, mourning the loss of over an ounce, feeling a little sick, and wondering when I'll be able to look at Fred the same way again. Probably never.