mom of the year

I've been trying to cut the cord with the kids a bit. They're 8 and 5, so I don't really need to be the helicopter parent that I once was.

I was at Jo-ann's with the kids the other day, and we had just gotten in line when BK announced that he had to go to the bathroom. Of course.

The line was too long, and I never thought he'd make it, so I asked Bug to take BK to the bathroom. "Walk him to the bathroom, wait outside for him, and then come back," I warned. Bug was excited to have this new responsibility, and happily trotted off with BK.

I was still in line when I saw BK walking towards me, alone and crying. "C'mere, Baby," I said. "What happened?"

"I was alone and couldn't find you!" BK cried.

I calmed BK down and waited for Bug to return. I wasn't worried. It's not like it was the mall. I don't know, how is different from leaving them alone at school every day? I figured Bug had gotten distracted by something shiny.

We were almost to the front of the line when I caught a glimpse of Bug. She was still standing by the bathrooms. She was pacing and looking towards where I standing in line. She looked nervous. I smiled. Cute kid.

When it was my turn to pay, I asked the cashier if she could page my daughter. "Bug, please come up to the front register," the checker said into the loud speaker. "Your mother is waiting for you."

Bug came up to me in full panic mode, sobbing. "Mom! I don't know where he went! I was waiting for him, and I can't find him! Help!"

"Bug, it's ok," I soothed. "BK is here with me."

And then she REALLY started crying. "I was so worried, and I knew you were going to be so mad!"

"It's fine now, it's ok. But what happened? How come you didn't see him walk out of the bathroom?"

It turns out that Bug needed to go to the bathroom,  too. So when she came out of the bathroom and saw that BK wasn't outside, she figured he was still in there, so she waited. Meanwhile, BK must have gotten out while she was still in there, and made his way to me.

"Well, it's all ok, so let's go home. We've caused enough drama here today."

Bug took a deep breath and tried to stop crying. "Can I say goodbye to Miss Diane first?"

"Miss Diane? Who the heck is that?"

And then I looked up, and into the judging eyes of the church children's director.

Crap.

Working With Friends

After over two years of trying, one of my closest girlfriends finally got a job with my company. She starts working in my office next Monday.

I am very nervous, for many reasons:

She's going to hate the job, and by extension, hate me.
She's going to decide this isn't the job for her, but she won't have her previous job to go back to.
She's going to make friends with everyone in the office and won't like me best.
She's going to be the total B of the office and everyone will hate her.
Things are going to change, and I don't do well with change.

But most of all:

She's going to find out that I've talked about her over the years to my other work friends.

Please tell me that I'm not the only one who does this. But I'll be at work, gabbing with my work friends, and I'll talk about what I did over the weekend. And I'll say something like, "My girlfriend came over. Her husband is a total jerk wad-- he's cheated on her three times, and they're on the verge of getting a divorce. She really needs a friend right now, so I had her over and we drank wine and vented about guys." You know, I never thought she would actually meet any of these people, and it's not like I was talking smack.  I was just talking about what I did over the weekend.

But now she's going to be working here, and it's not like everyone in the office knows, just two people. But still. I feel bad. I certainly wouldn't want to start a new job and have people already know my personal business, even if it's only two people.

How would you handle this situation? I'm having such anxiety over this. I hope I'm making a better deal about this than what it is.

Sigh. I need Ryan Gosling to make me feel better.

Thank you, Ryan. 

Weekend Update

Another weekend in the books!

Friday is typically our pizza and movie night, but The Agent didn't feel like pizza, so we all got in the car and went to Chili's for dinner. They make fantastic guac, right at your table, so you know it's fresh! So good! It's a good thing I ate a lot of it, because the chicken enchiladas I ordered were NOT the best thing ever.

On Saturday, The Agent worked. Again. Let me tell you, I'm getting pretty of sick  of playing single parent every weekend! I guess I should be thankful for the extra money, but I am exhausted! I punished him by doing a whole lot of nothing all day.

When The Agent came home, we made plans to have dinner with my parents, so we met at a Mexican restaurant and had a chicken taco salad and a margarita (WAY better than Chili's. I'm not sure why I thought Chili's could make Mexican food).

On Sunday, I went shopping with my girlfriend. I was late leaving to go pick her up and this happened while I was backing out of the garage:

Crap.

I put that out of my head and engaged in some retail therapy! It was 93 degrees outside, but the stores know that Fall is on the way, and I'm ready to get my leggings and Uggs out! I bought 4 sweaters, 3 shirts, 3 dresses, and a bunch of jewelry (oh, and three candles from Bath and Body Works). It sounds likes there's going to be a fashion show post in the future!

Meanwhile, The Agent and the kids stays home and did the grocery shopping for the week. Sweet!

Ready to tackle another week? Let's hit it! OH! I almost forgot! I lost weight this week! I'm down 20.5 pounds!

 

Living Alone and Loving It

The first time I moved out on my own, I had two roommates. They were both guys, but it was nothing romantic. We shared a house in the town where I was going to college. One guy owned the house, but he had to travel a lot for work. The other guy and I were going school and working, and the three of us never saw each other much. 

Two years later, I lived with the boyfriend that I had at the time. There's five years I'll never get back. He was not a nice person, and that was not a good time in my life. 

I didn't live on my own-- really, truly on my own-- until I was 25. That same boyfriend helped me pick out a cute two bedroom duplex ("we'll turn the extra room into the baby's room when you get pregnant,"), he helped me move in, and then proceeded to break up with me before I had even slept there one night. Thanks for nothing, Dude. 

But after my tears were dried, after I had unpacked all my belongings, put my pictures on the wall, and turned that second bedroom into my cat's personal play room, I realized that living alone was pretty awesome. The house was always exactly how I wanted it. I always got to have only the food I wanted in my refrigerator. If  wanted to sit in my living room in my underwear eating Cheetos, I could. I was so free. I was independent. I was alive. 

It is only after you realize that you can  take care of yourself that you're ready to take care of someone else. That was the house I was living in when, three years later, I met The Agent. And by then, I was ready to share my life with him instead of being alone.  

  

Christmas Shopping

Let's talk Christmas.

Hey, It's September 9th. There's only 107 days left. We might as well start talking about it.

In the past, I've done most of my shopping on Black  Friday, and I get anything I missed online or on a trip that I take to The City the first or second week in December. I am usually done two weeks before Christmas, and I use the remaining time to wrap and bake and enjoy the season in general.

But I've been reading a few blogs lately, where they're bragging that their Christmas shopping is nearly-- if not completely-- finished. Braggers.

I would love to have my Christmas shopping done right now. But how do you do it? Seriously, how?

I don't buy for a lot of people. Here's my list:

The Agent
Bug
BK
Dad
Alice (my stepmother)
Lucky (my brother)
Alice's Mom
Alice's Dad
My niece
My nephew
BFF #1
BFF #2
BFF #3 (and this one is questionable)
Bug's teacher
BK's teacher
The two after school teachers

That's it. We're not ones to give presents to the neighbors and the garbage man and whatnot. The Agent doesn't talk to his family, and my Mom and Kari (my sister) refuse to accept presents. So Christmas shopping really isn't that difficult.

I could see being able to buy the teacher gifts early, and even the BFF's. But let's look at some of the other people. Let's say The Agent wants a new Bose speaker system. That's a pretty awesome gift, something that his hot wife would be more than happy to give. But there's still 107 days before Christmas. That's 107 days that The Agent could buy a Bose system all by himself. Or decide that he hates Bose. Or that he wants black instead of white.

Or maybe BK loves Lightning McQueen, so you buy these cool custom painted shoes:

Aren't they cute? Go here to buy them! 

But what happens when BK decides next week that he likes TMNT instead of Cars? Or his feet grow three sizes?  You can't return a custom item, and even in the case of the Bose system, you can't return most items after 90 days. So, how do you get around these problems?

Now, I know that the biggest argument is going to be it's the thought that counts, It's better to give than receive, blah blah blah. I'm sorry, no. I am not made of money. When I buy something, I want it to be something they actually want or need, or alternatively, include a gift receipt.

And just so you know, this works both ways. I currently have $184 worth of clothes in my online shopping bag at Nordstrom. I could tell The Agent and my parents that I want these things for Christmas, but I don't want to wait!

Weekend recap

I am tired.

I had the day off work on Friday to go to another funeral (my stepmother's grandfather). He was 93 years old.

That Agent was one of the pallbearers. I didn't get a picture (because it's just weird to me to take a photo at a funeral, but that didn't stop a lot of other people from doing it), but The Agent looked fantastic! He was definitely the hottest pallbearer I've ever seen!

The funeral was much smaller than my grandfather's last month. My dad had said there wouldn't be a lot of people there, because "when you're 93, a lot of the people you knew have already died." But that didn't really make a lot of sense. And then when I asked if they wanted to me to write the obituary, my stepmother said no, "because there are some people who we don't want to know about the funeral... at least not until after the fact."

OK. Whatever. Rock on with your family drama.

So, on the day of the funeral, there weren't many people there at all. Maybe 30. And me, a step great grandchild, was somehow close enough of a family member to make it to the front row. That didn't make sense.

"Alice," I whispered to my stepmother during the mass. "Doesn't your mom have like  five brothers and sisters? Where are all the other children and grandchildren?"

"We didn't tell them," Alice whispered back. "Nobody had called or visited him in the last 12 years, so we didn't think they needed to know now that he's dead."

Umm, ok. I'm not sure I agree with this, but it's not my family. What are your thoughts?

Anyway, that took up the whole day, what with the mass and the burial and the reception afterwards. We drove home, picked up the kids, grabbed some take out for dinner, and I fell asleep on the couch while the kids watched Wreck It Ralph.

On Saturday, The Agent worked in the morning and I decided the kids rooms needed to be cleaned. Bug and BK did a pretty good job of organizing their rooms, while I tackled their puzzles and Legos. That took pretty much all morning, and I really didn't want to do anything afterwards! So the grocery shopping and the Costco run waited until Sunday (Am I the only one who seems to go to Costco EVERY weekend?). It's a rare occasion that I can go a whole day without putting a bra on!

I thought Sunday was going to be super busy. I had scheduled a playdate for 11 am, and my BFF was coming over for dinner at night. The Agent went fishing again, so I was on my own with the two kids, and we had to squeeze in shopping for the week and getting the house clean. My day started at 5:30 am, just so I could have  an hour of quiet time with my coffee before the craziness began! But then my playdate  got canceled, so that freed up a lot of time for us. The kids and I went out to breakfast and then did our shopping and we were home before noon. That still gave us 5 hours to clean the house!

The kids still wanted to go have a picnic in the park (that's what we were going to do on our play date), so I told them that if they helped me clean the house, we would go. Do you think those two naughty children helped me? No, they hid in their rooms! Silly kids! So, we didn't go to the park, but they were mostly good.

BFF came over for dinner, so we could chat and catch up, and she could tell me about her recent vacation to Iceland, and she could share her photos from the vacation. All 422 of them! She expected the kids to be interested in all of them, and of course they weren't, but I liked them. There was beautiful scenery! Still, not a place I ever need to see in my life-- no offense to my thousands if Icelandic readers out there! BFF said she would go back!

The Agent came back from his fishing trip super grumpy, and with no fish! And he had been up since 3 am, so he was ready to call it a night. I think I was in bed by like 9:30. We are party animals, let me tell you!

I pretty standard weekend, so I'm not sure why I'm so tired this morning! What did you do? Hope is was something fun and exciting!

Let's get Physical

So. My Dad was just diagnosed with heart disease, and I'm 40 now. Maybe it's time for a physical. 

Plus, I've been a little ill. Not anything to get excited about, just little things. Like every time I take a deep breath, I get a pain in my stomach. I can't take a deep enough breath to get a good yawn out, so I'm incessantly yawning. Weird little things.  

So, I went in for a physical. Here I am right before I left: 

Please ignore the messy laundry room behind me. I just wanted to get a good before picture.

The physical was pretty normal. The doctor didn't care much about my stomach pain. "Take some meta-musil and a stool softener." Umm, ok.

But, she much more concerned about my pulse. A normal pulse is between 60 and 100, and I'm usually about 70. But when I went in for my physical, it was only 45.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It could mean several things," the doctor replied. "Usually athletes have a low pulse," she said, looking me up and down, "but you're not an athlete."

No, I'm not an athlete. And F you, by the way.

The Doctor decided I need an EKG.  Here's the bed I had to lay on while they hooked me up with all kinds of wires:

And my pulse was even lower-- only 41.

My doctor didn't know what to make of it, so she called the cardiologist, who said I needed to take a treadmill test.

Meanwhile, The Agent was at home,  kind of freaking out. He kept texting me: "What's going on? Do I need to come get you? Does the doctor need to talk to both of us?"

No, Honey. Stop freaking out. You're making me nervous.

So, next was the treadmill test. When they hooked me up, I saw that my pulse had gone up to 63:

"Look, it's back up to normal. Does that mean I don't have to take the test?"

"No, the cardiologist replied. "You're probably nervous, so that would raise your pulse. Your blood pressure is higher than it was before, too."

Rats.

Ok, so the way the treadmill test works is that you start slow and flat on the treadmill, and then every couple of minutes it gets steeper and faster. You're hooked up to all kinds of wires, and the machine records how fast your pulse accelerates, and how long it takes to get back to your resting heart rate when you're done.  The idea is to at least get to your target heart rate, and then try to go as long as you can after that.

Ya'll. It turns out I AM an athlete.

It took me 8 minutes to get to my target heart rate.  I was on the machine for a total of 9:31, and afterwards I thought I probably could have gone longer, but it was going so steep and fast by then that I was afraid I was going to fall.

It took me two minutes to get back to my resting heart rate.

The cardiologist looked at the results and said, "Your heart is very healthy. I'm sure your pulse rate is just low because you're in such great shape."

I looked around the room to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else. No one has ever said I'm in great shape before.

"Well, that's nice of you to say," I said. "But what about.... I mean, I'm like 30 pounds overweight."

"Healthy isn't always about weight," the cardiologist answered. "Your heart is healthy, but I can't say anything about the rest of you."

My heart is going to inhale a pan of brownies now...