win win

The Sugar Daddy and I rented the movie "Win Win". We had really wanted to see it because it was written  and directed by one of our favorite screenwriters.

If you haven't seen it, I won't ruin it for you by telling the story. I'll just say it's about a family, well really just a man,  who is coping with all the stresses of daily life and not doing too well.  The children are needy and the bills are heavy. 

He eats a lot of ice cream late at night.

At a certain point in the movie, Sugar Daddy and I looked at each other and commented that it felt like we were watching our own life play out before us.  The guy in the movie is pretty bad off.  We aren't bad off. But the Sugar Daddy does like to drown his troubles in a bowl of Ben and Jerry's.

 It's the daily stress that we feel acutely. The kind of stress that can drive you to do crazy things if you don't manage it.

I love my husband. I love my children.  I love my life. The older I get, the more I realize that the American dream isn't cheap.  Every single thing you add into your life comes with a price.  

Szun Wu, Thom's beta fish died this week. I felt sad. For a fish. Everything has it's price. Szun Wu cost $3 and a couple days worth of grief.

To be fair, he was a magnificent beta in his heyday.

I've heard it said that no one would do anything if they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into.

If this is true, I hope I stay as naive as possible.  I have found that when all is said and done, things that require the most work, yield the best returns.

You know, like kids and husbands and houses and the like.

tales from the bionic woman

So I went to the doctor and you're not gunna believe what he said is wrong with me.

I'm really quite stunned and disappointed truth be told.

He said there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I am super healthy.  No mono. No thyroid problems. No anemia.  No pneumonia. Not even high blood pressure.  I'm like, the epitome of good health. I'm the freakin' bionic woman.

He was talking. I could see his mouth moving. But I was thinking, Then why the hell do I feel like I'm dragging day in and day out?  Surely there must be something wrong. Why have I been sick ALL winter?  Why do my limbs feel like Jell-O at three-o-clock everyday?

And then I tuned back in to hear him say that dreaded of all diagnoses- stress.

How very obtuse and non-commital of him.

But deep down in the scratchy dark corners of my being I thought he might be right.  Just maybe.

So I have a little stress. I do. I know. What?

Then the good doctor went on to prescribe exercise.  Four days a week. Reaching my anaerobic threshold for at least fifteen minutes. It has something to do with adrenaline levels and a bunch of other scientific stuff.

In my brian I'm all, Are you kiddin' me? For the love of Pete man! You are sitting here telling me I suffer from too much stress, and, oh yeah, you need to add more things to your schedule?

Seriously?

Here's the deal-

Nothing is wrong with me and that means everything is wrong with me. I can't be the person I want to be without losing it.  I can't do all that I want to do without feeling like the living dead.  I can't.  I'm not cut out for it.  

I'm not the person I always thought I was.  That hurts to realize. It's a little like when you are a kid and you realize your not as cool as your mom told you are.

So I have a choice.  I can start cutting things out of my life. I can simplify.  I can give up blogging and Secondsister. I could walk away from my studio. Shut the door for a few years.  

Except I can't.  

So I'm left with the doctor's solution.  To have enough energy to keep up with my crazy life I'm gunna have to run faster, harder.

I'm going to have to get up early and go to the gym. Ew.

It's going to be hard.  

But I owe it to the littles.  They deserve to have a mom that can keep up. How can I justify running a business if I don't have the energy to make them dinner?

This is it. No excuses.  I'm putting this bionic body to the test.

*Que Eye of the Tiger*

Damn it all anyway. I was sure it was mono.

confessions of a perfectionist turned mother of three

Lately life has been, well, tumultuous.

We've had our fair share of the crud, passed around between family members like a hot potato. There was a very unfortunate run in with poison oak, a broken car window, discontent at the office and a small flea infestation. On the dog, not the people.

I sat down with the best of intentions of writing a festive holiday post. Really I did. But my mind took me to other places and hours passed and in the end I had created a graphic, not a blog post.

But the graphic perfectly emulates my life right now. I've never been so blessed and yet some days I want to hold a gun to my head and scream at everyone to step away. Leave me alone. And don't touch the freaking fridge because I can't take anymore fingerprints on the stainless steel. For Pete's sake.

I reflect on how blessed I am several times a day. I have the life I wanted as a little girl. I have the life I want now.

But sometimes the fingerprints and the dirty diapers and the hullabaloo drive me to stuff Dove chocolates in my mouth as fast as I can unwrap them and mutter incoherently to myself.

Someday I'll get this motherhood thing down.  Someday I'll be able to roll with the chaos.  But I gotta be honest. Right now it's hard.  

On a lighter note, I'm happy to report that the poison oak and the fleas have been eradicated and life is starting to settle down to it's normal, harebrained pace.  Just in time for a twelve hour car ride to Grandma's for Thanksgiving. Goodie.

keeping my chins up

At 1:24 last night my eyes popped open and I was sure I was having a heart attack.

Serious. As a heart attack.

I went through the list of symptoms:
Shortness of breath, check.
Pain radiating from my chest down my arm, check.
Nausea, check,
Back pain, check.
Lightheadedness, check, check, check.

I was dying. And Ben was at the Jade market in Hong Kong.

And then it dawned on me it might be heart burn, which I've never had before. I took an aspirin and a Pepcid. I wreathed around in pain for a good two hours then drifted back off to sleep.

I'm generally not a dramatic person. Oh shut up, I'm not.

I don't get too excited over aches and pains, but this really scared me.

And I gotta tell ya. My hats' off to all you working single parents. How in the hell do you do it? I'm so stressed I'm having fake heart attacks.

I've been baking to help myself cope which is a really bad thing to do. Treats last too long in this house with out The Gobbler, a.k.a. Sugar Daddy, around.

joy

Hummm. I wonder if it has contributed to my "heart attack"? Too many sweets?


So I'm baking and eating and by the time my husband comes home I should look just like a root beer barrel.

Ummm. Root beer....

Anyway, I've hatched a diabolical plan so that I won't look so fat next to everyone else. I'm sharing my (ahem, I mean, my friend Johnna's) peanut butter cookie recipe that will change your life. And your thighs.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies

* two cubes butter

* one cup brown sugar

* one cup sugar

* two eggs

* one tsp. vanilla

* one cup peanut butter- the cheap stuff, like Skippy or Jiff

Cream together.

Add:

* two tsp. soda

*one quarter tsp. salt

* three cups flour

And lastly:

* one bag peanut butter and chocolate chips

Make em big. Criss cross with a fork on top.

Bake at 350 for fifteen to eighteen minutes until golden on the edges.

Enjoy. A lot of them. Really.

And don't, (Jenny I'm talking to you here) bastardize this recipe by trying to make it all healthy and crap by substituting whole wheat flour and natural peanut butter. These cookies are what they are and really, if you want something healthy, eat some cottage cheese.

certifiable

My logical mind is able to step outside of myself and see that my behavior over the last few days is borderline certifiable. But I can't stop.

Must. Carve. Stamps.

The subject displays erratic and compulsive behavior pertaining to, but not limited to, art work. She can be found hunched over for hours on end carving stamps. She seems unaware of the goings on around her and if watched closely one can detect a slight rocking in her movements, which may or may not be attributed to the Ben Fold's music she listens to on her iPhone.

I am quite fascinated by the fact that I am responding to the stress of this week in this way. Poor Sugar Daddy doesn't quite know what to think. He has been very patient. The boy is loving the new found freedom he has with his distracted mother. At one point I emerged from my coma to find that he had helped himself to two Popsicles, a pixie stick and a bag of animal crackers.

I also found this.

If I hadn't been so busy being mad about the orange ink on the bar stool, I might have been able to appreciate the artistic value in his work.

Now, what can I make next?

please check your stress at the door

I've been running from stress this week. In my mind stress looks like my third grade teacher, Mrs. Nexdorf. Backcombed beehive and polyester slacks. Liver spots and rigid spine. Oh, how I despised that woman.

She's dead now, but she still haunts me in times of stress. She digs her pointy fingernails into my shoulders and stands on my chest when I try to sleep. These past few days she has had me firmly by the hair. She is pulling, and I am trying to run, and it is causing a terrific headache.

I sat, criss-cross applesauce, on the floor of the nursery. The morning sun shone in. and I tried some deep breathing. I starred at the sharp shadow the shutters cast on the wall. Finn sat by my side, eyebrows twitching, tail waging, expecting something to happen. And, after a time, I knew what had to be done.

Mrs. Nexdorf isn't allowed in Anthropologie. The beauty of it makes her burst into flames.

And I needed a new hat.

sugar free

As hard as I try, I can't seem to keep stress from creeping in during the holidays. I feel it crawling up my back and pinching the back of my neck. And the worst part is, I'm off sweets. Yes, the time has come to crack down and loose some pounds.

I know you must be thinking "Silly girl, doesn't she know it is Christmas!?" Yes, I am all too aware. I am aware of every ounce of sugar in my house. But, the time has come, and so I must go forth, without.

Until Christmas day of course, then all bets are off.