What's a little judgement among friends?

I'm a pretty accepting person. Seriously. If your lifestyle doesn't hamper my lifestyle, generally I could give two shits about what you do in your spare time. But I got pissed yesterday and in fact I'm still pissed today, the more I think about this. And feel free to tell me if my line of thinking is wrong; it wouldn't be the first time. After all, I put my thoughts out there on the world wide interweb-thing so people can openly argue with me... or try to sell me Chinese Viagra, there seems to be a lot of that going on lately.

Anyway.

Let me preface this with a few bits of information.

1. I'm aware that people have different beliefs. I'm no dummy; it's what makes the world go 'round. And I know that I'm not going to agree with everything everyone says; that's what makes me, me.
2. I know that when people find something that makes them happy, they want to share. It's human nature. Examples: "Mint M&M's rock my world and you should try them; you're going to love them." "The Octagon is the best movie of all time - you need to watch it." "Tyler Florence is the hottest man alive and therefore everything he cooks is AMAZING, I'm not kidding." See?
3. In spite of the fact that I publish many of the minute details of my life here and on Facebook, I'm sort of a private person. There are two things I think shouldn't come up in conversation with strangers or with casual friends: politics and religion. And not because I'm not informed (although I don't watch Fox News 24/7 nor do I attend church on a regular basis) - but because some things are just private. To me, faith is a very private thing. My relationship with God is just that - my relationship. Last time I checked, I didn't need to have to check with anyone else in order to maintain that relationship. When and if I choose to divulge that information is my prerogative.
4. And just as a side note, I have known two door-to-door vacuum salespeople, two travelling missionaries and have family that belongs to the Church of Latter Day Saints.

So taking into consideration all of the above information, read the following narrative and decide if my feelings are out of line.

The Bee and I hosted a small get-together yesterday afternoon. My youngest brother and his significant other and their new (adorable!) puppy as well as a friend of the Bee's and the friend's older brother. We grilled hamburgers, cut up a watermelon and ate too many no-bake cookies. Good times, right?

Sort of. The Bee and I are lackadaisical (at best) in our church attendance, as is my brother. We each have faith, in our own personal ways, and believe in the Lord but religion is not at the forefront of our daily lives, even though we're aware that it would provide comfort and stability to our relationships and our lives in general. We get that. I get that. However, the friend and the friend's brother are members of the Church of Latter Day Saints, have strong beliefs and convictions and, as former missionaries, are happy to spread the word of Jesus Christ into the lives and homes of their friends and even the homes of strangers.

This is where I start to get pissed.

This isn't my first encounter with the Bee's friend and it's not my first encounter with the friend's brother. However, it was my first encounter with the two of them in my home, eating the meal that we provided to them, and enjoying our hospitality. It's also not the first time that the Bee has heard their spiel - he's listened quietly and declined, he's spoken loudly and declined. Knowing that he's not interested in their message, don't you think they would have passed on offering up their message once more?

Nope. After dinner and during (too many) no-bake cookies, here it comes: "I have a gift for you that I'd like to leave here for you to peruse at your disposal. It's a gift that changed my life and I think it could change yours..."

What?! Are you serious?

Now, since it's the Bee's long-time (we're talking they shared diapers and playpens) friend, I decided to stay out of this conversation and see how he would handle it. The friend continued. "I have a book I'm going to give to you, it's 521 pages but you don't have to read all of that. I'm going to mark a few passages that I think will improve your life."

Not joking here.

In the three years that I've known the Bee, I don't think I've seen him pick up a book unless he was moving it out of his way or using it to steady a drink. He's not a literary kind of guy; I know this and accept this about him. His friend knows this too, having attended high school with him and probably assisting him in passing classes that required large amounts of reading. But the friend continued. "As the man of the house, it's your decision as to whether or not you allow your family to enjoy such happiness..."

STOP. RIGHT. THERE.

First off, "the man of the house" makes all the decisions that affect the family? Since when? The man in this house can't ever decide what we're having for dinner, much less make the decision to join a church and bring happiness into our (apparently) dismal lives. Second, who are you, friend, to make the judgement that the man of this house and his family need to be saved and you're the one to bring us to the light? By coming into our home and telling us that our lives need improved and here is the path to that improvement, isn't this friend passing judgement on the way we live our lives, the decisions we make and the relationships we have with God? Who is he to do that? What is so hard about accepting the idea that we do not need his gift, we have not asked for his gift and that we will not be acknowledging his gift into our lives? Why can't we all continue to be friends without the constant rift of religion? Knowing that God accepts all his children, sinners or saints, regardless of the path they choose - shouldn't that be enough to keep the propaganda at bay and allow friends to be friends?

But, like I said, I chose to stay out of this discussion, knowing that whatever came out of my mouth would likely be words that discouraged further barbecues, and I wanted to see how the Bee would respond to his friend. The Bee's response? Gobble, gobble, freaking gobble. After imbibing in a little bit (ha.) of Wild Turkey and Coke, he generously accepted the invitation to keep the book, read the message and see if this path could improve his life and the lives of his family members. Knowing that I was sitting just a few feet away, close to boiling over with obscenities, he quickly ushered the friend and the brother outside and bid them farewell.

So as I write this, there's a blue book in our kitchen junk drawer, mocking me, inciting me, reminding me that we're apparently not good enough and our lives will forever be lacking because we're not following the chosen path to enlightenment. If I weren't against the desecration of books as a general rule, I would have happily taken the gift outside and set it on the still-burning charcoal grill in the driveway. I'm still pissed about this little exchange; I'm pissed that his friend has the nerve to come into our home and tell us our spiritual beliefs are inadequate, the nerve to brazenly declare his path the best path, the chosen path, the only path. And to be honest, I'm a little peeved at the Bee for letting this take place in our kitchen.

Am I wrong? Am I wrong to be offended by this "invitation?" Should I be more accepting of the message and the messenger, even if the messenger is aware of our lack of interest? Should I write this off as a friend merely sharing his excitement for his passion in life or is it okay to be offended by this shameless speech and bit of propaganda left in my home?

I've given you the topic. Discuss. Get back to me. I'm curious. If I'm wrong, I'll admit it. I'll also be happy to share a gift with you, a gift that I've received that has made absolutely zero change in my life or my beliefs but might make a change in yours - and it's not even a fruitcake.

We like to party all the time

We're hosting a birthday party on Saturday. And it's not just any birthday party, it happens to be Brodie's FIRST birthday party. Can you believe that? Brodie is going to be one next week. (And that makes me officially old, because I can now quantify my child's age in years as opposed to days, weeks or months.) One! Where has the last year gone? He seems so advanced, he's done everything so early I feel like he's literally running out of the baby stage and turning 12 years old. I tried to tell him that he's not allowed to have any more birthdays but just like when I tell him not to unfold all the dish towels it's in one ear and out the other.

But the planning of his party has been enjoyable, at least for me. I'm pretty sure that everyone around me is sick and freaking tired of discussing the pros and cons of homemade red velvet cupcakes and butter cream icing vs. a boxed cake mix but I've had a good time making and sampling cupcakes. (Come on - who doesn't love a cupcake?! Oh, really? Well, I'll eat yours.) And I know for a fact that if I bring up party decorations to the Bee again he's going to strangle me with streamers and stick candles in all my orifices. (And not in a fun way, either.) I guess we have strikingly different ideas of how to celebrate a one-year-old's birthday party.

For example...

• Superjanel: "I think we should get a banner for Brodie's party, you know, one that says, 'Happy Birthday, Brodie' on it." Bee: "If they're at his party, they're gonna know his freaking name."
• Bee: "Do you think a keg would be out of line?" Superjanel: "Can you get kegs filled with apple juice? He's turning one; ask again in twenty years."
• Superjanel: "Do you realize we're sending out forty invitations to our son's birthday party?" (Imagine look of shock and awe; for the most part I can't think of 40 people I want to spend 10 minutes with let alone an entire afternoon.) Bee: "That's all? Who did we forget? Let me see that list..."

Fun, fun, fun.

Oh, here's some news for you. The Bee and I have come to another stage in our relationship: we're getting married June 11. Now there's a shocker, huh? We've been the ultimate transitional couple - together but not together, living together, not living together, totally not together, together but don't tell anyone, together, not together, together, in jail, in limbo, together - for the last three years and now we're getting married. I'm not offended by the look on your face; up until we applied for the marriage license a couple weeks ago I'll admit that I was one of our biggest doubters. And not because I doubt the Bee, his feelings for me or his commitment to Brodie or myself - I was in complete denial that marriage is where we were headed.

Let's face it, I'm not exactly batting a thousand in the marriage department. And I've been the relationship asshole for the better part of the last year. (You know every relationship has at least one "relationship asshole" - the person that's snarky for the sake of snark, mean for no reason, unhappy with everything, and the first to pack their bags - or pack the other person's bags - when things get hard.) I'll own that title and I can't even give you a good reason for it other than fear. But it's time to grow up. We're living the life - kids and house and bills - we're forever intertwined. And for all the time we complain about it (and who doesn't complain about it at one point or another?), we're actually pretty happy. And since that's the case, let's make it official. I love the Bee. I love that we've created the most amazing person and we have another one on the way. And I'm genuinely happy to be getting married.

The wedding is not a big deal. I don't mean that we're not taking it seriously, I mean it in the sense that we're taking the easy way out and getting married in front of a judge. It's in a courtroom. No kidding. Bring on the jokes about marriage and the proverbial "death sentence" - it makes me giggle that we're being "sentenced" to a lifetime together. Jokes aside, we'll be having a party in the fall to celebrate and have all our friends and family together. At this party, we might even have a banner, a keg and more than 40 people, no arguments from me.

Closing the door and throwing away the key

The last couple weeks have been challenging for me. Don't get me wrong - life at the moment is good: Brodie is amazing and the Bee is happily back to work. I lead a chamed life - I get to stay home and raise my baby and prepare for my next child to be born - lots of people would love to be in my situation and I'm honestly very grateful for what I have.

All that said, I came across some news that shocked and saddened me. I can't decide if it's wise to share it here, the conflict I'm feeling leads me to believe that I should keep it to myself so I think that's the best route. However, I can say that it left me feeling more than a little hurt and wondering why I wasn't good enough to be put in that position, to be offered those chances, to be that person. I know that everything happens for a reason, that God sees more than I'll ever know and in the big picture (to which I'll never be completely privy) it will all make sense. But I was more than a little stunned. I suppose it's part of the process of healing and moving on; I think the psychological term is "closure." And now I guess I've acheived closure... or it's been achieved for me.

I'm okay with that. I've (obviously) moved on  my life is good. I'm not the only one that deserves to be happy.

And in the very remote chance that you ever see this, congratulations. I think you'll find this opens your heart more than you ever imagined - I'm truly happy for you. You deserve it.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus...

So I got a random comment from some guy, I think his name was Mike: "So is this thing, like, over or what?"

No, Mike, this thing is not, like, over. I tried to take my blogging business elsewhere for a while but I never really felt comfortable over there. Someone told me it felt like I was writing for an audience instead of for myself and when I re-read what I'd written with that critique in mind, she was right. My whole "voice" had changed. I sounded stuffy and uppity and (as my dad would say) high-fallutin' and totally not like me at all.

So here I am. I'm back. I can't believe it's been six whole months since I've written here. I'm trying to think of what's been going on for the last six months. The highlights, or at least the December and January highlights, can be found at the other location. The Bee and I had some big news - baby #2, Z, is due August 11. We spent New Year's and a lot of the month of January in North Carolina; we talked (okay, I talked) about moving out there but the idea was met with such resistance that I gave that up pretty quick. (Okay, not really. I pouted for a good month or so before I decided to let it go. I can always try again later...)

February went by quickly, as always. I got surprised with flowers and a card from the Bee on my birthday - I hadn't even expected him home from the job he'd been doing. Brodie even got me a card - he's so thoughtful. :-) And even March has flown by. We did our taxes, paid off a TON of bills, bought a Wii and Nick got called back to work (at his real job, even!); it's been a good month.

And that's pretty much my six months in a nutshell. Boring, isn't it? Aren't you glad I didn't blog? Me too.

It seems like most everyone I know that has had a blog has stopped. Is life so blah right now that no one has anything to talk about? I have stuff to talk about - I just can't seem to find the time to do so. I'm working on that; it's on my list of things to do.

But not right now - apparently we're going to see the Harlem Globetrotters tonight. Interesting. I'll let you know how that turns out.

I'm not afraid of the dark...

...and it's a darn good thing I'm not, given the amount of time I spend standing outside in the dark, in the cold, in the damp, urging a puppy to do her "business" - nevermind that the puppy has the attention span of a fruit fly and has forgotten that her "business" doesn't include chasing leaves into the street with me chasing after her.

Back that train up, you're saying. Puppy? Her? But what about Kingsley? How could you have abandoned the pootie? Fear not, dear reader. Pootie is safe and sound and probably sleeping in my spot in my warm bed. Nope. Suckers that we are (okay, sucker that I am), we are the recently adoptive parents of a cute but annoying bloodhound puppy, Eleanor.

Eleanor: Playful but untrainable.

But SuperJanel, are you crazy? Yes, dear reader, yes apparently I am. Because I responded to the Facebook posting titled "Puppy in need of a good home" and the bells went off in my head that we're a good happy home of two adults, an infant and a dog - why couldn't we provide for a puppy in need? And here we are, now a happy home of two adults, an infant, a dog and a puppy that screeches like a hoot owl being attacked by hyenas whenever she encounters something that she doesn't like. Good times.

She'll outgrow it. At least that's what I'm telling myself in order to feel a little better about a rash decision.

But friends, readers, strangers, poor souls that have happened across this page of mine, I offer up this plea: The next time you have a dog, a cat, a bird, a gerbil, a freaking washcloth in need of a good home - please remove my name from your mailing list.  Currently, I'm out of room and patience for even the cutest, the sweetest, the most inanimate objects.

...until the next one shows up. :)

Where's my coat?

Do you want to know how cold it was in my house this morning?

(How cold was it?!)

It was so cold, I had to drink *hot* coffee. No joke here, I really drank hot coffee. And I HATE hot coffee. But I left a window open in the living room and the thermostat read 51 degrees.

Ooops.

So where have I been? I've been on blogcation. Similar to the seemingly popular "staycation" in that I've been home, I've just been staying away from my blog. You'd think that this would have provided me with a surplus of things to discuss with you but it hasn't.

I'm going to go clear the frost off the television. I'll be back.

Have some wine, it'll warm you up.

It's Labor Day. Or if you're Canadian (or just unnecessarily fancy) it's Labour Day. Being as I don't currently have the option to labor (or labour) for dinero this year, I shouldn't be celebrating Labor Day. But since I was in labor about four months ago and damn it, I think that counts for something, I'm putting my feet up with the rest of the country and enjoying a day of rest.

At least until Mini Bee wakes up from his morning nap.

It's cold in the house this morning. I have the windows open and the air conditioning on (because I like to party and because it helps my allergies) and the combination of 55 degrees outside and 70 degrees inside makes it freaking cold where I'm sitting (next to the window and under a vent). I should take my own advice and go put some more clothes on; in a few months the Bee will be complaining that it's subzero in the house and why can't we turn the heat up above freezing in the house and my response to that will be that he should be wearing more than his underpants and a pair of socks, for the love of all things holy it's December and who in their right mind walks around in their underpants in December.

And to answer the question that I know is on your mind at this moment, Yes, I'm already wearing more than just underpants and socks.



My idea of comfortable home heating and cooling has always been a little backwards than the norm. In warmer months I like to set the thermostat at about 66 degrees so I can wear slippers and sweatshirts. And then in the winter I lower it to about 60 degrees and wear t-shirts. And all year round I have the windows open because I hate the smell of stale air (and confined dog). Last year was even worse in the winter - I was preggo and my internal thermostat was all effed up anyway. I turned the a/c on in February and have yet to turn it off.

We're having dinner guests this evening. The Bee invited a friend over for dinner and that friend invited a few other people for dinner (AT OUR HOUSE!) and so a small dinner is turning into a large dinner and once again I find that I have to go to the damn supermarket just to buy food for other people. I think we should start hosting BYODF (yes, I want you to bring your own DAMN FOOD) parties. We'll be happy to prepare it and serve it and most likely even clean up afterward but holy crizzap, you people are getting expensive. Nothing like extending the invitation of your unemployed friends to others.

Being that these are the Bee's friends, he's not too upset with the virus-like spread of invitations - his only stipulation is that they bring the beer. Now, if I got to drink any of this free beer then my attitude might not be so bad. But I'm the one upstairs, tending to the baby and the leftovers and the clean-up and the barking dog and empty beer cans. Wah, wah, wah. I ought to just implement a "You can't come in my house unless you bear gifts for the Janel" policy and tell them all I want wine. So our BYOB parties have now evolved into BYOBADFAAPFTJODCI parties. And for those of you that can't keep up, that translates into "Bring Your Own Beer And Damn Food And A Present For The Janel Or Don't Come In."

So... who's coming for dinner?

Mmm, pencils.

It's September. September rings of school, football games, and fall foliage. If September had a smell, it would be of freshly sharpened pencils and brand new notebooks. I love the smell of school supplies. I like the feeling when you walk into an office supply store and you're confronted with the overwhelming scent of office supplies. My mom said I should have been a teacher, if only to smell the supplies at the beginning of the school year.

Anyway. Can you believe it's September already? Where has the year gone? I mean, I know where my time has been spent. How about yours? Did you do anything fun? Have you accomplished all your summertime goals?

For always complaining of boredom and having nothing to do, I actually had a semi-busy week. Last Friday I had a job interview; it didn't go so well and I don't expect them to be calling me anytime soon. It wasn't the interview itself that sucked, I was just a wreck. Earlier in the afternoon I'd laid my clothes out on the bed so I could get out of the shower and iron them. Well, Kingsley decided that he was going to take his pent-up anger out on the bed and pee all over everything, including the only even semi-professional outfit that currently fits me. I could have killed him but that would have only made me more late. So I broke out the B-team outfit, ironed it and rushed out the door. The interview was going great until I looked down about halfway through and noticed that I'd sweated completely through my shirt, like from shoulder to elbow - totally noticeable. GROSS. And apparently in my rush to get dressed and get out of the house I put my underwear on backwards and they rolled down under my butt cheeks, making me looking like I had a giant turd stretched from hip to hip. SWEET. And the cherry on this proverbial disaster of a sundae? My super-hot, knee-high business socks apparently lost all elasticity mid-interview and I had to stop in the hallway to hitch them up so I wouldn't trip over them. That wouldn't have been so bad except for the turd-roll under my butt cheeks that everyone saw when I bent over to hitch up my business socks. AWESOME. So I'm not going to sit around and wonder why this company isn't calling - I'm pretty much aware that I bombed that meet-and-greet.

Some days I wonder why I even bother...

This last weekend Libbeth and her family were in town. They had a family reunion to attend on Saturday and spent the rest of the weekend in Des Moines, so I got to see them on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It'd been almost 16 months since I've seen them - the kids are getting big and I finally got to meet (the newest) Baby Girl. And Libbeth and Ryan got to meet Mini Bee; they both said he looks older than he already is, which I don't see but I spend all day, every day with him. They feel like a second family to me - they've been there for me in great times and some of my most dismal times, too. It was wonderful to see them and I cried when they left but the Bee and I are talking about making a trip down to North Carolina later in the fall. I hope that happens.

My mom and step dad are separating. Sort of. They're moving to separate apartments, which is pretty much separating, except they're only six doors apart in the new building. Literally. So they're separating but they're going to be neighbors, which makes me giggle. And not because I don't understand the reasoning - I do get it - but it just sounds like a really bad television sitcom. But it's not my place to pass judgment. I hope they're happy and can either work it out or end it amicably. My idea of happy isn't everyone else's idea of happy and vice versa. Not that I even know what my own idea of happy is, most of the time.

But it's too late to get into that. I'm too tired for that conversation tonight.

Late night philosophy...

I've tried to live my life by the saying, "I do not regret the things I have done but those I did not do," meaning to me that the choices that I make are less regrettable than the choices I've failed to make and opportunities I've passed. (Made famous among people my age by a cult movie Empire Records but a form of this can be attributed to Mark Twain. But anyway...) And then I had a couple shitty years and realized that in spite of trying to live free of regrets, I was accumulating them anyway. Apparently, there's no "do over" in life once you reach the age of 10, no matter how nice and convenient the option may be. But all choices have consequences and some leave us wondering what could have been - "what if?"

We all do this; we all play this game. Looking back, there's choices that didn't turn out so great - the end result was different than we expected and we're left to live with the aftermath. We don't regret, necessarily, the choices that we've made but from time to time we wonder if it was the best decision. Could we have played this a little better? Was there a better answer? I do this all the time, in regard to decisions I've made over the years.

Here's a good example: In April 2008, the Bee and I went to a pet store to look at puppies. I could stop right there and ask who in their right mind does that? Looking at puppies is one of those things you do that never ends well. But for the rest of that month and into May of that year, we pined over the boxer puppy at the pet store. We himmed and hawed about getting a dog, and what breed, and when to buy and how to pay for it. Not once did it occur to us that getting a dog would create wrinkles in our lives. And so one weekend in May, we bought a dog. A few days after that I picked him up and brought him home. And life has not been the same since.

Instead of being able to leave the house for hours on end, even to go to work, we now have the duty of making sure that Pootie gets outside on a regular basis for walks and potty trips, making sure he has food and water and toys and treats - all of the responsibilities that go along with owning a dog. Is this a decision I'd change? Would I call a "do over" on getting the Pootie? Probably not; I love his drooly, wrinkly little mug to death. But knowing what I know now, we probably would have nixed the idea of getting a boxer and gotten a dog more suited to our lifestyle. We would have thought about the hassle it would be to find a place to live that accepts dogs and the mess that living with a dog presents. We probably would have gotten a dog anyway but it would have been a more educated decision.

Maybe that's how I should approach this. Maybe I should say that I should have made more educated decisions in life. Maybe I should have stopped what I was doing and what I was thinking and considered all the outcomes (if that's even possible).

That said, if I lived my life more carefully, made my decisions more deliberately, there are some conversations I never would have broached. Topics best left alone, secrets never shared, complete situations avoided - and the domino effect that follows them would have been avoided, too. If I'd followed the path opposite to my gut, my instincts, my heart...

There it is - the big IF. What if...?

And *what if* I had? What if I'd done the opposite? Where would I be? What would I be? What would I have? If I called for a "do-over" on some of my biggest regrets, I wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't have some of the things I treasure the most. I wouldn't have the experiences, good and bad, that I feel have shaped the person I've become. Calling for a "do over" on some of my most painful memories takes away some of the happiest moments of my life. Maybe that just goes to show that you can't have one without the other - you can't have moments of pure joy without experiencing profound sadness. Gain is only appreciated by loss.

I've always felt it's better to know than to spend a lifetime wondering. Some people might feel that's akin to kicking a dead horse but the "what ifs" have always plagued me. What if I'd tried a little harder? What if I'd kept my mouth shut? What if I'd gone? What if I'd told the truth? Someone once told me that regret and guilt are feelings we put on ourselves; we're in complete control of inviting them to the table and similarly we can ask them to leave. No one can make us feel guilt - we do or we don't. No one can make us regret - we either do or we don't. But once they creep in they're hard to turn off.

What if, what if, what if...

"I do not regret the things I have done but those I did not do."

Sometimes.

The art of doing nothing.

Three weeks? Three whole weeks, are you kidding me? What the heck have I been doing for three whole weeks that I've been too busy to write? I have no idea. Nothing spectacular, that's for sure. I've lost my motivation for a lot of things, which is weird because I finally feel like the Mini Bee and I are starting to agree on a routine. I'm getting more sleep than I've been able to get in months and yet I'm just exhausted all the time. What's up with that?

As usual, things around here are in a constant state of flux. The only constant thing in life is that things are always changing. The Bee got laid off again this week. Awesome, right? Yeah... The last round only lasted two weeks but it felt like two months and we were ready to kill each other. This time around it's predicted he'll be out of work until spring. Spring! That's two whole seasons away! I'll be 30 before he heads back to work! What are we going to do for six whole months? He's got some ideas, some projects, some side jobs, thankfully, because that's a long time for us to just sit around and stare at each other. But if we don't keep our attitudes in check it's going to be a rough few months.

It's Thursday - usually on Thursdays at this time I can be found standing barefoot in a line of women (and one man) ranging from pleasantly plump to crazy heavy, waiting to weigh in for the week. Instead I'm home this morning. I actually have things to do and the timing of my Chubby Kids meeting just doesn't work with everything else there is to do. Mini Bee is starting to cut teeth and his naps and eating schedule have been all messed up the last few days. I hate dragging him to Chubby Kids when he's not had a morning nap - he just wails and I have to leave early anyway. (It's rare that he's ever really unhappy but when he is, he's definitely not shy about letting you know.) But those are just excuses. Mostly it's the fact that I've fallen so far off the Chubby Kids cart that I refuse to weigh in this week. I have to get back on track. My stomach has been upset lately and I've been having heartburn (which I haven't had since Mini Bee was born) and I know it's because I've been eating like a cow. Like last night, I was up at 12:30 eating Wheat Thins. I've never been a middle of the night eater - I felt really guilty, standing in the kitchen with my hand in a box of crackers, but not guilty enough to stop eating. Ugh. And then when I woke up this morning I was still hungry for breakfast. What the French, toast?

Moo.

Speaking of food, there's a new eater in the house. Mini Bee is big enough that we've added fruits, veggies and cereal to his diet. And he loves it! He seems to enjoy just about everything we've tried but especially likes prunes and sweet potatoes. Kingsley thinks it's pretty cool that Brodie is eating food - he gets the leftovers. And that explains why Kingsley has been farting so much lately. Apparently prunes aren't good for boxer puppies. :)

So tomorrow my oldest little brother is moving to Colorado. For some reason, I didn't think this would effect me as much as it is. Craig came over yesterday to sort out some stuff we have stored for him in the garage and I cried when he left. I'll see him tonight and it's not like I'll never see him again. But he's more than just my brother, he's a good friend. And I'm going to miss him. He's moving because the love of his life just moved out there; I can't think of a better reason for him to go, especially when she's as sweet as she is. They seem to get along exceptionally well - they're great together. And so I wish him the best of luck. :)

But like I said, I have things to do today. Brodie and I are heading to Williamsburg to pick up one of my favorite aunts. He needs to have breakfast, I need to shower, got to go to the post office, have to run by the union hall - so much to do and all before noon, when I need to be in Indianola to eat lunch with my mom. So I'm going to get busy.

Give me a Wii, I'll be yours forever.

I'm sitting in bed, Brodie sprawled out in the Bee's usual spot and Kingsley at my feet. It rained last night, I can see out the window. I didn't sleep very well but don't chalk that up to the rain. No, I didn't sleep very well because the Bee didn't sleep very well. And because we don't have one of those Swedish-spaceman-wonder-material Tempur-pedic matresses - you know, the one where one person can breakdance and the other can sleep with a glass of wine balanced on their forehead - I felt every time he rolled over to get out of bed. Which was often. When the Bee doesn't sleep well it makes for an especially long day for him and an even longer day for those around him. I pity those stuck in the tunnel with him today at work.

So I'm tired today too. Tired but not grumpy.

Yesterday didn't turn out to be as fabulous as I'd anticipated. But maybe I set my expectations too high? In spite of my good mood and the great weather, I wasn't able to find my motivation to do much of anything. I looked up and saw that it was nearly 1 pm - at that point I'd barely moved from the sofa. I was grungy, Little Man was still grungy, I hadn't Shredded or eaten or anything. The day just sort of got away from me. I found myself running to get things done so that it appeared that I'd accomplished something when the Bee got home from work. I hurried up and popped in the Nazi's DVD and Shredded my way through level two, only to end up with an oddly swollen knee and quite a bit of pain. Damn you, Jillian Michaels! Damn you!

I iced it and took some Advil; by early evening it was feeling significantly better, especially in comparison to the ankle I rolled while limping my gimp ass up the stairs, not able to walk correctly because of my bum knee. But this morning I'm having hardly any pain - things seem to be back to normal. So here in a few minutes I'll tie on my tennis shoes and try again. I was kind of hoping that taking a day off would help relieve the pain in my knees. I don't know if the pain comes from the weight or the exercise; I guess I'll just keep going until the answer makes itself clear. Obviously, if I continue the exercise and lose the weight and find that my knees don't hurt - then it was the weight causing the pain. If after continuing the exercise and losing the weight, my knees still hurt, well, then it's the stupid exercise that caused the pain and I'll sue Horse Face for all she's got. (Which would be a good plan except for that huge fine-print message at the beginning of the workout that basically says, "If this causes you pain, knock it off. If this causes you pain and you don't stop, we're not responsible for your injuries, dumb ass.")

I did set up two interviews for this coming Monday. Both are with temp agencies. I was sort of depressed about this until I realized that my interest in any job they offered would be temporary at best, fleeting at worst. I have no long-term career goals anyway; maybe I shouldn't be looking for long-term work?

Interviewer: "SuperJanel, what is your short-term career goal?"
SuperJanel: "Get paid."
Interviewer: "Oh. And your long-term goal?"
SuperJanel: "Don't get fired."

When I started the interview process at Giant Conglomerate Bank, I knew from someone that worked there that they often gave away gaming consoles and trips and money as incentive prizes for people to come to work and do their jobs. So when the HR rep that called me asked why I wanted to work there, I was pretty honest: "I want a Nintendo Wii." And I STILL got hired. But I never won a Wii. Which I probably should have put on my exit interview paperwork as the main reason I left. Oh, wait. I never went to the exit interview. But that's because I was never asked to go to an exit interview, the bastards. I wouldn't have gone anyway, but still, it would have been nice to have been invited.

Oh well. It's now 7:32 in the a.m. I've got to go take my daily beating before I shower and head to Chubby Kids for my weekly session of public humilation.

"Thank you, Jillian. May I have another?"

Oh happy day!

Today is going to be a good day. I can just feel it.

It's Wednesday, hump day. Doesn't that just sound dirty? I mean, I know that the hump is referring to the middle of the week and not camels or, you know... I guess it's just the third grader in me that giggles whenever I hear the phrase "hump day."

I just woke up in a good mood this morning. And that usually makes for good days. It's sunny outside, warm but not hot, clear skies - all that makes for good days too. Maybe later I'll round up the MiniBee and we'll go for a walk. (Round him up - duh. Like I don't know where he is at all times...)

Want to know who is not having a good day?

Jailbird Kingsley

Kingsley. Kingsley is not having a good day. Kingsley decided very early on that he was going to be a jerk today. He's usually obnoxious in the morning - it's like he's so excited to be awake he can't help it. He runs up and down the stairs, off the sofa and back again - and I generally don't mind nor do I get in his way. But this morning he added a new facet to the routine and started barking, right in Brodie's face. Not cool, Pootie. Not cool at all. Now Pootie is in puppy prison, for at least part of the day.

So I guess it's not universally a good day. Good day for SuperJanel? Indeed. Good day for Pootie? Not so much. Good day for Brodie? It's always a good day for Brodie; this kid hardly ever has a bad day. Good day for the Bee? I'm not sure; he's always grumpy in the morning and that makes it hard to tell. Good day for that Harvard professor and the cop that arrested him? Not today but tomorrow they're getting drunk with the Prez, how can that be a bad day? Good day for Brett Favre (Faaaahhv-re)? Eh, probably not, he's staying retired. But ask him tomorrow, you never know.

Anyway.

Yesterday, I did not Shred. I did not do anything. (I feel like Dr. Seuss here. "I will not eat green ham on a train, I will not eat green ham on a plane...") Mega-Nazi bizzo Jillian finally won - she strained my left knee to the point of no motion. I felt extremely lazy and my appetite was out of control. You know, I'm not sure if no exercise and a ravenous appetite are related, especially in such a short amount of time, but it weighs heavily enough on my mind that even a false connection stands as a great motivator. Exercise = no cravings = less food = fewer calories = losing pounds = successful weigh-in at Chubby Kids. Although really, I could break that down to exercise = successful weigh-in at Chubby Kids and save myself a lot of time and thinking. So today I will Shred. And probably go for a walk. If the dog isn't still in doggie jail this evening I'll take him out for a long walk; he's a good walking buddy. Definitely more entertaining than most people I know.

Did I tell you Brodie's exciting news? He rolled over on Sunday morning. I'm pretty sure the crying that ensued was due to my excitement and yelling, not the act of rolling over. I didn't even get a picture, I was so busy clapping and screaming. It wasn't the most graceful movement but it was definitely a roll over. He's getting so big! Then Monday night was our first night of rice cereal. He's had cereal in his bottle before (he used to really enjoy it and then he started refusing his cereal bottles, I'm not sure why) but this was his first time with cereal from a spoon. And I consider the entire operation a success - more cereal stayed in his mouth than came back out. And he slept like a rock that night and pooped twice the next day. Go Brodie go! Last night he fell asleep just as the six o' clock news came on because he didn't nap all day and stayed asleep until 3:30 this morning. His schedule will be a little off today but we ought to be better by tonight. He's getting to the age where he's really a lot of fun. I get to watch him experience things for the first time - his facial expressions are priceless. He loves to talk and coo and laugh, especially at Mommy. He loves to give kisses and suck on his thumb and he really likes his bathtime. Being a mom is more than I ever thought it could be - I can't even put it into words.

One of Little Man's favorite places to be: his lights and sounds activity gym. Not that you can see the lights or hear the sounds; trust me, it lights up and makes noise.

Brodie's not quite sure what to think of rice cereal.

Brodie and Daddy hanging out. OMG, they look alike.

Grandma gave Little Man some vanilla pudding. :)

And now I'm off to get busy. I have to Shred and give MiniBee a bath and take the dog out and pick up yard bombs and feed the baby (after I wash my hands, of course). So much to do, I'm so very busy.

Ha.

Do you hear that?

It's completely quiet here this morning. Well, completely quiet except for the dog tipping over the trashcan in the bathroom and the ceiling fan and the neighbor's kids are screaming. But it's still pretty quiet. No lullabies, no mobiles, no baby cooing, no drill sergeant Jillian Michaels... It's nice and quiet.

It's just me and Pootie home this morning. The Bee and the MiniBee took off for his cousin's house early and left me home alone. I feel weird, like there's something I should be doing but I'm not sure what it is. I did my Shred this morning (day 11 - woot!) and then went for a bike ride, came home, talked to my momma, made some breakfast and now I just don't know what to do with myself. I miss the MiniBee (and the big Bee too, lol). I've never sent him out to play with Daddy before - I'm a little nervous. But I'm sure they're fine.

I fell off the Chubby Kids wagon hard last night, to the tune of beer and martinis and pizza and ice cream cake. I guess that's what weekly points are for but holy cow. I can't be doing that very often. It was Mark's birthday and we all got together at West Glen to celebrate. We ate at Graze; I'd never been there before. Their menu is all appetizers, which is kind of different, but all so very good. Remember that I said the Bee would never eat ground chicken? I lied. If I could make ground chicken taste like the Food Guru makes ground chicken taste, we'd eat it all the time. Freaking amazing.

How does one get the moniker of "Food Guru" anyway? I want to be a "Something Guru" where something is replaced with something awesome, like food. What kind of guru could I be? How about a cheese guru? Or a waffle guru, I do like me some waffles. Although Chubby Kids has pretty much done away with my enjoyment of most cheeses and waffles, unless you count the 2% cheese I've been eating (which is SO not the same; cheese should not bounce like Jell-O) or the Eggo Nutri-Grain Low-Fat waffles I heat up in the toaster (which pretty much suck but aren't as many points as toast). Some days I just miss food. And then I think about the weight that I've lost and where I'd like to be (in terms of pounds, not location) and I can hear my mom's voice: "There is always another pizza." I have moments where I'd like to stick a virtual sock in my virtual mom's mouth and eat the damn pizza but mostly I just resign myself to eating half-ass cheese and cardboard waffles because that's what the Mega-Nazi Jillian would want me to do.

I have nightmares about that woman. *Shudder.*

Anyway. I'm going to go turn the radio up, clean my kitchen, maybe vaccuum and take a nice long shower. And then I'll wait for my baby to come home. :-)

It's Thursday, I got nothing

I have to give credit where credit is due. I have to thank Jillian Michaels' for her hand in this week's spectacular weight loss at Chubby Kids - I lost 3.8 pounds. I haven't done much different as far as my eating habits or my points so unfortunately it seems that exercising in her stupid little six-minute circuits seems to be doing the trick.

Hey, I just said I had to thank her. I didn't say I had to be nice to her. She may have aided in my weight loss this week but she's still a horse face bizzo that sucks the fun out of my mornings.

I took Pootie with me to Dairy Queen tonight. And before you all start calling me a big hypocrite for going to Chubby Kids and Dairy Queen all in the same day, I had a slushie, damn it. Back off. (LAY OFF ME, I'M STARVING.) But the great thing about driving around with the Pootie is watching him stick his head out the window. His cheeks flap in the wind and his tongue hangs out and looks all funny. It's great. If I weren't busy driving and balancing my slushie and the Bee's Blizzard, I'd have tried for a picture. Alas, it was not to be. Maybe next time.

The Bee and I have been at each other's throats all week. He's stressing about money and tired from work; I'm stressing about finding a job and started that stupid Shred DVD. We're both cranky and pissy and just plain mad about life in general; the only thing we can agree on is that MiniBee is awesome. Except for when he poops beside his diaper and not in his diaper; we pretty much agreed that that was not awesome. By the time that was over we were all covered in crap and Brodie was the only one happy about it. I still don't know how that works exactly but that's what happened.

Anyway. I'm tired of complaining and just plain tired in general. MiniBee is down for the night; I think I'm going to turn in early.

I never thought I'd say this...

It's time to go back to work.

Do you have any idea how much I hate saying that? It goes against every fiber of my being to admit that I need to get out of the house and go to work. Obviously, there are financial benefits to working, like being able to pay our bills. But secondly, and almost as important, I need a little interaction. Don't get me wrong, Brodie is absolutely fascinating. But he's not much of a conversationalist. (Yet, anyway. I have a feeling one day he'll open his mouth to start talking and won't ever be quiet again.) I spend the majority of my days reciting nursery rhymes, making bottles, washing nipples, folding laundry, and harvesting my Facebook farm. It's an enviable life, I suppose, but I'm starting to get bored. Which is why I'm saying it's time to go back to work.

I'm actually kind of disappointed that I'm not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I thought I'd be good at this. And maybe I'd be better at it if we didn't have the financial stress that we have right now. I love being home with Brodie, I really do. But I feel guilty for not working, for not helping provide for the household and for putting that kind of pressure on the Bee.

The problem is that I find work just as boring as being at home. I've had a bazillion jobs and only really enjoyed maybe two of them. It used to be the topic of many a humorous tête-à-tête that I'm truly a jack of all trades and a master of none until I realized that I don't really find it that funny. If I were to be honest while writing my resume not only would it be about 9 pages long and have only three solid references (two of which are family), it'd be incredibly depressing. I mean, do you know anyone - other than me - who's had more jobs than she is years old? Think about that - I might as well hand a potential employer a piece of paper that says, "Don't hire me. I'm flaky, irresponsible and suffer from an adult onset of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, self diagnosed. Please save both of us the time and effort and turn me down for [insert job title here] immediately." But, in spite of a fantastic job record and an equally impressive attitude, I keep plugging away, applying for this and that, here and there, under the guise that someone will eventually bite.

Ugh. I'm tired of stressing about this. I'm going to talk about something else now...

Today is Day 7 of Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred. Cheesalicious as this might sound, I actually can feel myself getting stronger. I can do push ups now. Not very many of them and I'm sure my form is pathetic but it's more than I could do a week ago. I still hate jumping jacks and I think her bicycle crunches are the stuff of Satan but I have to admit it's doing something for me. If I can do this anyone can do this. I'm as uncoordinated and unfit as they come. Plus I have a baby that giggles at me, a dog that won't leave me alone when I lie on the floor and green beans for hand weights. (I still haven't broken down and bought actual weights - I should probably do that sometime soon.) I'm still out of range of a Presidential Fitness Award but I do sense improvement. And I guess that's the point.

I'm making Blue Cheese Burgers for dinner tonight. Well, the Bee is making Blue Cheese Burgers for dinner tonight - he's the grill master of the house. I refuse to use the grill, it's a charcoal grill and I've seen him come inside too many times reeking of gasoline and burnt hair. Anyway. The recipe calls for ground chicken but I know I'll never get the Bee to eat ground chicken burgers. So we're making our burgers with hamburger instead. But I suppose I should get off the computer and get myself cleaned up and get to the store. I need a shower, the baby needs a bath, the Pootie needs to go outside. Things to do, things to do...

What the hell happened to the driveway?

The Bee is cheap. (Well, about some things.) It's one of his more endearing qualities.

"What are you buying? Well, I heard we can save four cents if we drive across town and buy 17 of them..."

I've learned that the best way to deal with him is to indulge him on occasion.

"Really? If we buy 26 rolls of paper towels they're only $2.24 instead of $2.29? That's a heck of deal!"

Never mind that we rarely have room for 26 rolls of paper towels, the giant 50-pound bag of dog food, the 1,380-cup industrial size canister of coffee. That's just a technicality. We will expend the energy to live around whatever it is we can get on sale just to save a few bucks.

Prime example: Right now, the Bee is out in the driveway changing the oil in his truck. We had to spend $61 to buy the supplies to change the oil, not to mention the kitty litter we have to buy to sop up the puddle of spilled oil in the driveway, the shirt that was ruined in the removal of an oil filter and decimation of the neighbor's tools (because when the job is messy, it's better to use someone else's stuff and not your own).

All to save $19.95.

And then there are things the Bee is not cheap about. Like bacon. The Bee will not buy cheap bacon. We can't buy whatever bacon is on sale, we have to buy the $7 package of bacon, because expensive bacon is obviously better. I don't know. I just nod and smile and say, "Okay," because it's easier than the argument that ensues if I don't.

The sacrifices we make for relationships.

Day 1: Complete

I hate Jillian Michaels. If I could find the receipt, I'd take this DVD back. She makes me feel fat and flabby and she has horse teeth. I hurt in places I didn't know I could hurt, although I think that means that there are still some muscles under all my extra weight.

I shredded today. I jumping jacked and push-upped and lunged my way around the living room (as much as someone of my stature can do, anyway), stepping over the dog and ducking out of the way of the ceiling fan when necessary. I looked like a damn fool and felt pretty stupid too. Jillian is a no-break-taking, 20-minute workout Nazi and she'd roll my ass if she saw the lackadaisical approach I was taking to her shred. I wasn't even using real hand weights, I was using green beans. (She ought to be thankful for that. If I were using real hand weights I'd have chucked those SOB's through the tv. She's lucky; I won't waste green beans.)

But I figure, some shred is better than no shred and if it turns into 60 days (or 90 or 120 or 733 days), what's the harm? It's more than I did yesterday (hell, it's more than I did all last week) and if I stick to my Chubby Kids and keep walking the dog, it's definitely an improvement. I asked the Bee if he wanted to shred with me. He laughed. But after having done this I realize that our living room floor probably couldn't take the both of us doing jumping jacks at the same time. Oh well. He'll be jealous soon enough.

I'm going to go collapse now.

SuperJanel enters stage right

I'm waiting for my coffee to kick in before I really get my day started. I hate coffee. I hate the way it tastes. But I've found that with a lot of ice (and a fair amount of fat-free French vanilla creamer) it doesn't taste like coffee but I still get the coffee drinker's energy boost. Plus, there are no points in coffee or fat-free creamer. Bottoms up.

It's grey outside today and supposed to rain. I love summer storms. But it makes it hard to do much with Mini Bee when it's pouring outside. I don't have much to do today: we're going to lunch with Mom and I have to go to Target and the post office, blah blah blah... My one goal is to track down "Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred." After listening to the testimonial given by my best good friend Libbeth (who has never been one for exercise) and reading the testimonial of Benjamin's mommy (who claims to have zero willpower) I figure the least I can do is give it a try. Especially since it's on sale at Target this week. The other thing I have to do is track down a cute lamp for Mini Bee's room - I decided last night after about breaking my neck, tripping over the fan, that we need a better source of light. Plus I'm only a mediocre diaper-changer in broad daylight - in the dark I tend to put diapers on backwards. Poor Mini Bee.

Kingsley came home from Grandpa Donnie's Doggie Day Camp this weekend. Did I tell you that already? I think I did. But after spending the day with him yesterday I think he's depressed. Or maybe he's just really tired. He spent all day yesterday and all of this morning so far just sleeping. I did take him for a lo-o-o-o-o-ong walk last night; it's a good excuse for me to get out of the house and clear my head. Plus he just loves to walk. One thing he learned at day camp was how to properly walk on a leash, sort of. As long as there are no other dogs, people, kids, bicycles, roller bladers, strollers, cars, motorcycles, trees (do you see where I'm going with this?) within a 50-foot radius of the Pootie on his leash, he's great. The rest of the time I have to keep him reeled in.

Between Pootie and a nearly 14-pound Mini Bee (and Jillian Michaels) I am going to have super buff arms by the end of the summer.

So yesterday I had a job interview. It's hard to judge how those things go. Short of being hired on the spot or being forcibly removed by security, you really have no idea what kind of impression you leave on people. I went to a local Chevrolet dealership to interview for an F&I position. And for those of you that don't know what F&I is, it's the person in the dealership that no one really wants to talk to - it's the person that makes you pay. You either have to hand them a check or hand them your personal information so they can judge your financial history and stability. Either way, the F&I person is never too popular. And they're usually pretty crabby, because they're surrounded by idiot customers that have no idea how the car buying process really works and they're required by management to be at work about 900 hours a week. However, the F&I person generally makes pretty good money which makes being disliked (and a crappy work environment) a little easier.

Anyway, my interview went like this (paraphrased but definitely not embellished for entertainment purposes, of course):

Scene: A sleek, modern car dealership, full of natural light and glass offices - I like to refer to those as people aquariums. Enter Interview Guy, a lifelong slick city car dealer with the hair to match, wearing perfectly pleated khaki pants and a moderate scowl. He greets Superjanel, wearing the only pre-pregnancy pants that (almost) fit, a head-full of massive and unruly curly hair and a big orange Swatch watch. (Hey, love me or leave me, I yam what I yam.) They walk to his particular people aquarium; he ushers her to sit in a straight back wooden chair with leather wrist cuffs attached to the arms while he wanders around his seven acre desk to sit on a throne of silk and satin throw pillows in various jewel tone colors. There is a young woman holding a fern fan and a plate of grapes in the corner and an Irishman in a kilt playing the bagpipes near the window.

Interview Guy: "So why did you leave your last job?"
SuperJanel: "I didn't leave, I escaped. I was a cog in the machine of Giant Conglomerate Bank. I busted outta there, broke outta my chains, took as many people as I could with me, all the while screaming 'This way to freedom! Follow me if you want to be free!' But I kept my parking pass, the bastards. I showed them. WOOT."
Interview Guy: "...?"
SuperJanel: "Okay, so yeah, I had a baby."
Interview Guy: "Um, yeah. That concerns me."
SuperJanel: "Me too. I don't want to work 900 hours a week. I'd like to see my baby from time to time. Plus I get crabby when people expect too much from me. I don't really like people. Or work."
Interview Guy: "Then you don't want this job. And I can tell you that you don't want this other job; you're too smart and you'll get bored. Then you'll just leave and I'll be looking for another employee and that takes time. And my time is the most important thing in the world because I am the most important person in the world."
SuperJanel: "So..."
Interview Guy: "It's actually quite hard being me. I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany. I have to have my teeth bleached on a weekly basis and sleep in a tanning bed to maintain this John Bachman-like appearance."

[Note to readers: For those of you not familiar with WHO-TV, the NBC affiliate here in the Des Moines area, John Bachman is a 643-year-old television newsman, pumped full of formaldehyde and kept in a UV light radiation chamber when he's not on the air. He's like a local George Hamilton.]

SuperJanel: "Um..."
Interview Guy: "But I can see that you understand being awesome. Your resume, all 14-pages of it, and your references - both of them - speak volumes for your job stability, your intelligence and overall awesomeness. So let me tell you about this other position we have available..."
SuperJanel: [Zoned out, focusing solely on the large piece of lettuce in Interview Guy's teeth and silently agreeing that she is pretty freaking awesome]
Interview Guy: "...Let me get my office manager down here so she can bask in your awesomeness for a few minutes."
SuperJanel: "Let's get this show on the road."

And that's pretty much how it went, sort of. It's not the position I applied for, it's not even the position I interviewed for. But if it's meant to be, it will be. I'm not going to stress over it. I liked the place, I liked the people that I met. I actually went to school with one of the salespeople. ("Wait! ...a minute!") So I'm going to take the "wait and see" approach rather than the "run around like a chicken with my head cut off and my panties in a wad" approach.

Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.

Okay. I've obviously been caffeinated. I'm going to go get busy now.

Monday morning musings

The Mini-Bee is 10 weeks old today. He's been smiling all the time and cooing. He puts together a vowel and a consonent sound (ooh-ga, usually) and tries so hard to laugh - you can see it in his eyes when he's laughing - it won't be long before we hear him giggling. He hasn't rolled over yet but I think that has to do with the fact that he doesn't spend a lot of time on his tummy and hasn't developed those muscles. He's not a big fan of tummy time and I'm not a big fan of making him cry but we're working on it.

I have a job interview today. I'm nervous about this interview, more so than others I've been to. Does that mean that I want this job more than I want other jobs or does that mean it's been a long time between interviews and I'm just nervous about interviewing in general? I don't know. What I do know is that if I don't get a job soon I'm going to go bonkers. I'm in need of some adult conversation, some big people interaction. I find myself hanging out at Target, lingering in the laundry aisle, desperate to make conversation with random strangers.

No, not really. But it won't be long...

I should really lay off the coffee; I'm nervous enough as it is. If I keep up the coffee drinking I'll be Parkinson-ing my way through my meeting with my potential employer and then he won't want to hire me because I'm awesome, he'll hire me because I fulfill two minority categories - female and disabled AND I'm awesome.

The weekend was sort of a bust. The Bee and Mini-Bee and I went camping with the Bee's family. Again. For the second weekend in a row. And I was miserable. I couldn't sleep. I got attacked by a 12-pound mosquito and was surrounded by frogs and had a huge, sweaty, snoring Bee drooling on my shoulder in the 212% humidity all night. I didn't sleep at all. So Saturday morning I got up and declared that Mini-Bee and I were going home. I'd had enough. I was sweaty and itchy and frizzy and dirty and oh-so-tired. I was miserable and I was making people around me miserable and I wanted to go home. So we did. And you'd have thought I hauled off and kicked the Bee in the shins and broken his favorite toy given the look on his face. But he did have a good time, a much better time than he would have had with me there.

Pootie came home yesterday. I had to get him a new collar and it took an hour of scrubbing in the tub to get the kennel smell off of him, but he's home and seems to be happy. Is his attitude any better? Eh... He still doesn't listen for crap but he seems a little calmer; maybe that's what happens when you get your balls clipped off. (Poor guy.) When he first got home he was mad at me - he wouldn't come to me at all and wouldn't look at me in the bathtub. But I put his new collar on him and he's now my best bud. I missed that little wrinkly face.

I think I hear Mini-Bee waking up. The full-size Bee's almost sister-in-law is coming this morning to watch him while I go to my interview. I should probably get in the shower so I'm a little prepared when she gets here. I have a much better chance of getting a job if I don't smell like a foot.

Wish me luck.

Don't bother. This post is boring.

I can't sleep.

It's nearly 2 a.m. and I'm still awake. Yup, I'm still awake as in I haven't been to bed yet this evening. At this point, I'm trying to stay awake because Brodie generally wakes up around 2-2:15 to be changed and fed. And to fall asleep for 30 minutes would just be painful.

I hadn't blogged in a while, going on three weeks, and then I blogged the other night in a fit of self-pity. It wasn't pretty. It was so not pretty that I took it down the next morning. That post won't be coming back soon. It's not that I don't have time to blog; I do. It's not that I don't have things to talk about; I do. I just don't seem to have my words lately - nothing seems to flow like it used to. My conversation, in person and online, seems to gravitate towards the Mini Bee, and rightfully so, he's terrifically interesting. (At least I think so.) For those that aren't related to us, and probably for some that are related to us, that probably gets old. Hell, sometimes I think I've given all the Mini Bee related news and then I open my mouth and surprise myself with more.

A lot of that has to do with the fact that I'm currently home on what I'm still referring to as "maternity leave" even though that insinuates that I've only temporarily left somewhere, not left somewhere on a permanent vacation, which is a little closer to the truth. And being on "leave" is fantastic; I enjoy being home with Brodie. But let's face it - he's not much for conversation just yet. I talk ALL THE TIME and get no response. So when I'm around adults I find myself gabbing away. Sometimes I'll listen to what I'm saying and have no idea what's coming out of my mouth; I guess I get pretty excited over a little interaction among big people.

The point is that I could come here every day and bore you to death with the mundane details of life with a two-month old. Or I could post sporadically, when the urge strikes and I have something fabulous to say.

Unfortunately for you, dear reader, this post is neither. Because as I write it, and as I'm sure you read it, it's boring as poo. There is nothing fabulous occurring here. I admit it.

*Sigh.*

It's tough being mediocre. Good thing I don't have to experience that on a regular basis.

We're going camping this weekend. We consists of myself, the Bee, and the Mini Bee. We're heading to Lake Rathbun on Friday afternoon and we'll be home Sunday morning, the earlier the better. That boils down to about 40 hours of camping. I keep a mental countdown running at all times; it makes me feel better about the idea of sleeping in a tent.

This won't be our first camping trip this year. Last weekend we were at the lake for a couple of nights - the first night was great, I slept like a log and Brodie slept in the camper with the Bee's parents. About the time I got attacked by the tree frog in the shower house was when things started going downhill, at least for me. The Bee got pissy when everyone went to bed at 8:30 on Friday night and he realized that drinking alone in your campsite while your campmates sleep is actually pretty pathetic. Top that off with 18 hours of pouring rain and that makes for crabby campers all around, especially those that sleep in a tent. A leaky tent. More specifically, a tent with a leak directly above my forehead. Water torture, anyone?

Bueller? Bueller?

That's what I thought.

We're camping (again) with the Bee's family. His parents have a fifth-wheel trailer with air conditioning and a flat screen tv. If only they had wi-fi, it'd be perfect. But last weekend I sat in the camper, warming up something to eat and watching Regis and Kelly while sitting in the a/c and laughed at myself for calling that camping. I've stayed in hotels that weren't as nice.

But in exchange for this weekend's camping trip I have gained the Bee's word that we will be viewing the new Harry Potter flick next week, come hell or high water. I've seen every Harry Potter movie on opening day in the theatre - there were showings where I was not only the oldest in the room but also the tallest. And *yes* - I've read the books. And *yes* - I know how it's going to end. But I still want to see it. Consumerism in the flesh.

It's now 2:10 a.m. and not a peep from the Mini Bee. I think it would be stupid to wake him up but I know as soon as I drift off he'll start to whimper. Or, I'll sit here all night, waiting for him to wake up and it'll be one of those nights he sleeps all the way through.

Doh!

I'm hungry. But it's now officially Thursday and I don't eat on Thursdays until after chubby kids weigh-in and that's not for another 8 hours. I think I'll lie here, wait for the Mini Bee to wake up and think about waffles and peanut butter. And milk. And ice cream. OMG. I think I may starve.