Saturday, October 20, 2007

Carboard boxes, duct tape...

Moving time... I'm gonna go check out a different program for a while. Blogger has pissed me off for the last time!!! ;)

The move may be temporary until I find a program that offers everything I want. I apologize if I'm not as easy to find as I usually am. Think of it as me, playing hard to get. Think of it as one big fun wild goose chase. Or hell, don't think of it at all and just click here.

Expect a sub-par layout, but a comparable level of whining!

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Why I Need To Hire Smokey The Bear As My Gym Trainer.

Watching my body adjust to postpartum life has been like a ten week walk through funhouse mirrors. My fat cells can't quite decide where to settle, so they spend a week in my stomach, then down to my ass, around to the thighs, with a few lone explorers checking out the living conditions of my upper arms.

When I started working out again, Chris begged me, in quite the Sir-Mix-A-Lot fashion, to "please don't lose that butt". I've always been blessed in the booty department, but things have gotten a little out of hand lately. Out of two hands, actually. I have a spare tire, all right. Only it's not in the normal spare-tire-around-the-midsection locale. I couldn't get the metaphorical spare tire up over my birthing hips, so there my fat rests, in thighs and ass.

I hadn't paid much mind to it until last week, when I did quite a bit of walking around. I had chosen to wear a skirt that day, which made me feel pretty and ladylike... until I was actually in pain from my thighs rubbing together when I walked. By the time I got home, I'm not kidding you, I had two red patches on my inner thighs from the skin-to-skin contact.

"Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrris!" I squealed. "You're not gonna believe this. It's worse than my ass almost bouncing me off the treadmill."

"Uh-oh," he said, knowing that he was crossing into dangerous territory.

"LOOK!" I screamed, spreading my legs and pointing. He raised an eyebrow. "NOOOOOOOO NO NO NO, not that! Here!" I shouted, showing him the silver-dollar sized rashes on each inner thigh.

"What... the... hell?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I got these FROM WALKING! My damn thighs are rubbing together so bad that I got a rash! I'm just lucky the friction didn't start a forest fire!!!"

"Yeah," he said, a smirk sliding across his face. "Literally."

Friday, October 05, 2007

Playing the part of Proud Wife

Ever wonder what happens when Chris plays Ipod Commando?

He wrote about it here.

Mr. Cantwell did a guest spot for
Re:Generator last week. He provided five music videos for the weekly "Five Music Videos To Help While the Weekend Away" column. I provided some snappy adjectives! (Reprieve! Penchant! Totally mine.) Anyway, you should check out Re:Gen despite the fact that Chris contributed this week, especially if you're into metal. Like, It Sounds Like We're Getting Prison Raped By Satan Metal.

If you need something sweet after all that, here:

The Dutch Apple of My Eye


Looky what I made!

With Reagan being baby number three and all, I was a little worried that the novelty of an infant would have worn off a little bit. I'm gonna level with you here: I'm not enraptured by wee babies the way most women are. I like the ones that can tell me what they're thinking, can wipe their own butts, and especially ones that laugh at my jokes. Frankly, I don't vividly remember the infancy of Maddy and Brady; it's mostly just a blur of "leaving the house is a pain in the ass" and "when was the last time I showered?".

This time around, I'm enjoying it a lot more than I remember. I'm certainly not playing favorites with the children themselves, but the circumstances are much better this time around. I'm married. I'm not working. I'm getting enough/maybe too much sleep. Although I've doted on all my children, Reagan's got me whooped. If my day was broken down into a pie graph, the biggest slice would be "stares lovingly at baby." If my life was an actual pie, it would be Dutch Apple, and win a blue ribbon at every state fair.

My reprieve from work has created ample opportunity to give more attention to the older children as well. I can finally be the mom that isn't too tired to play outside with them after school! I'll read more than one bedtime story, and not fall asleep sitting up, still mumbling "I do not like them Sam-I-Am..."! I'll occasionally make something for dinner that doesn't have the word "cheese" in the title! And get this: yesterday, we actually made play-dough.
AND, my life of sunshine, fresh flowers, and cupcakes with sprinkles just got a little better yesterday. I finally bought a new pair of jeans... something with an actual waistband, not elastic. And you know what? They're a size 7, not too shabby, not too much farther to go. Not even fitting into my pre-pregnancy size 4's could make me any happier than I am with life right now.
Although, after mentioning it, I wouldn't mind a piece of pie.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Book Pimp

The best part of being a Stay At Home Mom, aside from the obvious "Baby-bonding", is the fact that I'm left with long stretches of empty hours when the munchkin is sleeping. When I get tired of staring at her, and after I’ve made up a good enough excuse to postpone the housework, I set up camp with a book. I've read a ton of great books in the last month, and when I was out of fresh material, I scoured my bookshelves for those titles I was more than happy to dust off and revisit. And now, being the generous soul that I am, I'll share a few of my favorites of the last few weeks, both old and new, with you.

It's officially Autumn now, so even if you're not an avid reader, maybe the thought of curling up in a cozy seat with a cup of tea and a good book sounds appealing. Or better yet, sit outside for a while without fear of heatstroke, and take a glass of wine and a pack of smokes (if you're into that), and one of these:

Rant: An Oral Biography of Buster Casey by Chuck Palahniuk
C.P. is the same mastermind that brought us Fight Club, and Rant is along the same twisty-dark lines. Granted, the best thing about the movie Fight Club is Brad Pitt's body, which Chuck Palahniuk isn't responsible for, but I think we all can agree that it's still an amazing concept. Rant is a little confusing at times, but well worth the mental workout once you get accustomed to the style of narrative- which is basically a bunch of different people giving an account of a man named Buster (Rant) Casey. (Hence the “Oral Biography” warning.) I also read Lullaby this summer, and although it was entertaining, I liked it far less than Rant and another C.P. book I read last year, Choke.

Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas, and also Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman
Both of these books are collections of essays/articles by Pop Culture Junkie Chuck Klosterman. I loved both of them, but if I had to pick just one to recommend, it would be Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I, for one, enjoy people who can make me feel intellectual and vital to society while I’m reading about Star Wars, Saved By The Bell, and the Pam and Tommy sex tape. C.K. gets a standing ovation from me- or better yet, the Slow Clap.

Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress by Sarah Jane Gilman
Sarah Gilman is everything you love about David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs, but with ovaries. This book was so fantastic that it completely erased all the guilt I was harboring for spending so many years pouring over vapid chick lit. Yup.

My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One Night Stands by Chelsea Handler
I’m not kidding you, this is the fourth time I’ve read this book. It might be a little on the vulgar side for a lot of people, but I absolutely loved it.


So, there you go. I’ll probably add more to this list later, but there’s a few of my favorites from this summer to get you started. And, as a little bonus, if you’re interested in reading any of these books, I would L-O-V-E to lend you my copy. Maybe if you have something you think I’d like, we could even trade. These books are too good to sit on my shelves, so if you can give one of these a good home and a little attention, they’re yours for the taking.

So, what books are you currently pimping? I’m almost through with re-reading
To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife. When I’m done with that, I’ll need some new material… suggest away!

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Estrogen-Infused News

Don't sue me for libel.

Faulty Pipes (and that's not just a critique of the singer):
British alternative rock icon Morrissey cancelled two of his LA shows due to a burst water pipe at the venue. It's actually a great thing that the building proved to be unstable before the show, so they'll have time to fix the problem. If the venue can't sustain a leaky water main, there was no way in hell it was going to stand up to hundreds of crying Smiths fans. Umbrella is the new scarf.


Britney Britney Unfitney...

What the hell kind of world do we live in that makes Kevin Federline the responsible parent? He's now full-time Papazao because Britney allegedly failed to show up for her court-ordered drug tests. Maybe if her weave wasn't so tight, she would have realized that she wasn't supposed to be testing the drugs, but that she would be tested for drugs. "Them drugs work just fine, y'all!"
Let me tell you what I like about this whole Britney scandal. For the last 10 years, that girl has been the go-to hot chick for any male with a fetish for the innocent school girl. The statistics on that? It's right up there with the amount of men who breathe, masturbate, or like pizza. I'm willing to bet that every female in my age demographic has had to listen to male friends- maybe even boyfriends- call that Pop Tart hot. And she was, in her heyday, which just makes her that much more annoying. I, for one, once dated a guy who kept a life-sized cardboard cutout of Britney in his bedroom. Like that's not intimidating. Time that I should have spent enjoying myself was spent vowing to do more situps.

Now? HA! NOW I ACTUALLY DO HAVE ABS LIKE BRITNEY- no crunches required. Thank you, Britney, for simultaneously "hitting the bar" and lowering it. It takes a lot of money to look that cheap.


Leave J-LO A-LOne!

Ok, I'm officially over the J-Lo pregnancy rumors. The media has been swirling preggo rumors about her for what feels like years now- can we get over it? Doesn't the gossip media have anything better to do- like find out for me what Luke Perry is up to. That, I care about. I love pregnant celebrities, so I'm getting a little tired of the tease. Wishing that Jennifer Lopez would actually be pregnant is giving me blue ovaries.
What grinds my gears about this particular rumor is that it's set off every time J-Lo is photographed in something on the modest end of the scale. It's a Catch 22... either you go around half-naked and get criticized relentlessly (see above), or you wear age-appropriate fashion and get accused of being pregnant.
The only point of contention I have with Jennifer Lopez is that marrying Marc Anthony pretty much obliterated any chance of a clever "Hollywood Smashed-Up Couple Name" a la "Bennifer". I'm punny as all hell, and even I can't think up anything catchy. Ben Affleck had the right idea- he just married another Jennifer. Smart move.



This concludes our broadcast day.
As for me, my husband should be home any minute. I'm going to pour us both a drink, cuddle up with him on the couch, put on a movie, and then spend the entire time trying to think up a clever name for Mr. and Mrs. Marc Anthony.

Update from Camp Cantwell

I've certainly been lacking in the blog area of life, because diddlydoo is going on. Actually, that's not entirely true, but try as I might, I just can't get around to posting an entire entry about how I burned my face making bacon (what a way to go) or how interesting it is teaching a seven year old how to spell the word "doughnuts".

Aside from those things, my days consist of speaking in a secret language to my baby. If you live under our roof, terms like "shadooby", "shadinky", "Rootus" and "Boof" all have their own specific definition. I also serenade the cat with impromptu songs like "Fatzilla Catzilla" and "Let Me Brush You, You'll Look Ten Pounds Lighter". Needless to say, by the time Chris gets home from work, I am near delirious with anticipation of speaking to someone who comprehends what I'm saying and appreciates me on a deeper level than "I Like You Cuz You Feed Me." It's also nice having someone contribute more to the conversation that "Waaaaaaaaah" or "Meeeeeehreooow".

One noteworthy thing that happened last week: Maddy was inaugurated as Super Student of the Week in her second grade class, the first student of the year to be picked. HECK YEAH. As a young, once-single mom, I feel like there's a bit of a stigma, so I'm prone to pushing Maddy academically because I have to overcompensate for the silent judgement I get from some of the other mothers. Maddy's school is teeming with affluent Stay At Home Moms, and a handful of them are Big Fat Bullies. So here's what I have to say to you, Condescending Mom Who Always Makes Me Feel Bad- SUCK IT. Your child? She wore a t-shirt with the periodic table of elements on picture day and my beloved bastard daughter still won Super Student. Go cry about it into your Starbucks Coffee with Seventeen Modifiers all the way to your kid's ballet class. Nyah-nyah-nya-nya-nyah. (Usually I'm not quite this... well, mean. Let this out-of-character rant, in my defense, serve as testament to the fact that this lady has it coming.)

In other, less estrogen-infused news (ok, there's an idea I'm gonna take off running with, ye be warned): Both the boys have birthdays this week. Brady turned the big Oh-Four over the weekend, and is extremely proud that he can now show off his age by doing this:
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Chris won't reach official birthday boy status until Friday. Ah, it seems like only yesterday that I was affectionately referring to him as "22". We did have a BBQ on Sunday as the Pre-Party, and I can honestly say it was the most fun I've had in a long time. Chris had a blast, even though he doesn't remember the last part of it. It's a shame, really, because the most hilarious part of the evening was when Chris was coming back out to the backyard where everyone else was and slamming the sliding glass shut just hard enough for the lock to latch behind him. "Somebody locked me out!" he said, indignantly. "Nobody did, honey. We're all outside. You know how sometimes the slider locks when you shut it?" Chris then proceeded to knock on the glass. "Who, exactly, do you think is going to come unlock that for you? The baby?" "Someone locked me out, on purpose, and they're still in there. You know what, whoever you are? EFF YOU. Yeah, eeeeeeeeeeefffffffffffffffffffff yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooou!"
(Complete with photographic evidence:)
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All in all, it was a great day. We made not only a killer lunch, but a killer dinner as well. For the PM crowd, Chris grilled two whole chickens, a ton of shrimp, and an entire prime rib. My only job was to handle the side dish- roasted veggies. Delicious, scrumptious roasted veggies, that ummmmmmm, that sat whole and raw in the refrigerator because I didn't remember that I was in charge of cooking them until I was piling my dinner plate high with an array of protein. Ooops, my bad. This is why we can't seem to keep Vegetarian friends.


If you weren't there but wish you had been, here's your chance to live the action vicariously! Be thankful that you weren't there to witness firsthand my husband's proclivity to giving kidney punches to unsuspecting friends. Maybe it's not just the vegetarians that we're driving away, come to think of it.


So, I suppose saying that diddlydookins has been going on is a bit of an understatement. Usually a comment of that nature isn't followed by multiple paragraphs of rambly text. Hey, Keep Em Guessing, that's what I always say. Who am I kidding, I never say that- I always say "What's for dinner?"

Well, that and "SUCK IT!"